Monthly Archives: November 2018

The Jig Is Up

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Okay. So I totally blew the diet. I’ve been freebasing flour and sugar for like a month now, easily.

I’m not sure I have the wherewithal to try again to get back on the proverbial wagon.

I’ve noticed a few changes.  I mean other than the obvious weight gain one would expect.  I have also noticed my mood could best be described as “bitch” on steroids.   I have a short list of at least 5 people with which I’d like to take a bat to their head like a piñata.

I’m pretty sure this isn’t good thing.

Oh and salad? Yeah all the shit to make one putrefied at the back of the fridge 3 weeks ago.  I ate pumpkin pie for breakfast and dinner today.   I think I need a fucking intervention but it doesn’t look good for me.  Not with the bat and all….


Beauty’s only skin deep

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Lizzie is beautiful, too bad society is superficial.


Pearls of Wisdom

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“In the desert, an old monk had once advised a traveler, the voices of God and the Devil are scarcely distinguishable.

-Loren Eiseley


IRL☘️

Ireland beats the All Blacks

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Ireland beat the All Blacks 40-29 in Chicago to claim their first win against New Zealand since their first clash in 1905.

 


Mwah ha ha ha!!!

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Timely words

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Jesus called the crowd to him and said,

“Listen and understand. What goes into someone’s mouth does not to defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what the defiles them.”

-Matthew 15:10

Though written so long ago, this is an especially timely message.

 

 


Mwah ha ha ha!!!

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Public Apology to dragos1229

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Some time ago, around mid July , I was perusing the blogs and I came across a blog:  thestoryline.co.uk

The blogger had posed a question to  readers asking why he thought his blog had been banned several times.

I did a very cursory look at the content, less than 5 minutes and wrote to the blog authors contact page privately to tell him what I thought:

”Firstly, You don’t have the balls to let readers leave a comment. That’s fucked up. So I guess that makes you somewhat of a stalker that you get to comment on others blogs but not let anyone comment on your own. Secondly the content of your blog sucks. For example,  you wrote about the night you spent with a hooker and another high-end escort you brought home to your folks. Big deal. Do you know how many “I fucked a hooker blogs” are out there that say that, but are actually in interesting read? Thirdly, it is clear as day that you are misogynistic. So what, all us women should be clamoring to read your words wielding shit about us neatly hidden (or not) behind saccharine pleasantries. So we should be grateful you let the hooker stay with you overnight instead of paying her and letting her go home.  She was probably counting the minutes to get the hell away from you. If you’re such a great fucking guy why the need for a whore? Get a relationship. Real men don’t need to pay. So yeah, unless you want to bunch of blokes reading your blog, try little harder. Hide your vitriol towards women a little better, or just openly admit you fucking hate women. Just because you have a fat wallet and a fat cock doesn’t make you Ernest Hemingway.

It was only after I sent it I realized I shouldn’t have.   Often times we don’t think about how words impact others.  Normally,  I do.  Normally I am careful with people’s feelings, I am very empathic.  The multitude of personal and relationship issues I had been going through made me lose my own basic courtesy.  The deaths of two parents 3 months apart, losing my son to a year long treatment center, a slow steady disintegration of my diet of my present relationship with daily verbal abuse were among the stressors.

There is still no excuse to displace aggression on another.  There is no excuse treat anyone with disrespect, either publicly or privately.   I would like to extend a public apology to him for my words.   Also to the blogging community at large.   It marked a personal low for me. I feel ashamed of my actions and wish I could go back in time and have simply said nothing.

Dragos1229, I am very sorry for my actions.  None of what I said had any basis in truth, it was more representative of grief and my own mental state.

 


Brokenness

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Growing up I had many fears.   They were not just ordinary kid fears.  For there were things which lurked in the dark.  Things from which my parents could not protect me.   I often felt petrified particularly at night.   The nights were long and at times seemed to stretch out interminably.

To make matters worse the landscape of my daytime was such that I was rather invisible.   Usually well-behaved, I got lost in the shuffle of the chaos and discord,  the cacophony of our home.  I needed comfort after the unspeakable terror of the night.  I often fantasized about being rescued by a benevolent parent archetype.  Someone who would recognize my hidden suffering and rescue me from the profane which my parents could not see.

So ever since I was small I can remember seeking out bits of care and affection hoping to stitch together enough to survive.    I have a crystal clear memory of cutting a bunch of lavender colored lilacs with a pair of scissors from the bush outside my bedroom window.   I brought them to school as a gift for my 3rd grade teacher, with some tin foil wrapped at the base.  I was hoping my good deed would earn me a bit of her praise.  Wishing she might look favorably upon me.   I was starving, aching for somebody, anybody,  to tell me that I was a good girl.

That desperation has not changed much since then; only my age has.

Even when I have managed to capture that attention and validation from a man as an adult,  that I had so desperately sought back then, I cannot hold onto the warmth I feel from receiving it for very long.  Because my early childhood trauma left me with a hole somewhere, all of the warmth and goodness I am able to take in slips away into the darkness leaving me feeling empty and alone.

I have been left in a constant unending cycle of seeking attention and validation from others.  The process itself is exhausting, time-consuming, and always ends the same.   I must begin it all over.

Trying to figure out how to construct the emotional glue with which to fill this invisible hole has proven a lot harder than I ever imagined.  For I don’t know where the hole exists within myself to patch and the spackle is not readily available at the local hardware store.

I still feel like a little girl inside, wanting that care and reassurance that I am lovable and good.  There is the sobering realization that it’s all going to have to come from me.  I’m going to have to be that voice I always needed.

I don’t want to shoulder this.  I want a different way.  I continue to struggle with accepting that there will never be anyone to rescue me.   There won’t be any grown up to tell me that I’m good.  Because I’m not 7 years old anymore, even if I feel like it on the inside.

It sucks being broken.   Dealing with kid feelings, kid fears, in a grown up body.

Kid Fears – The Indigo Girls – 1988

Pain from pearls, hey little girl
How much have you grown?
Pain from pearls, hey little girl
Flowers for the ones you’ve known
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Secret staircase (secret staircase), running high (running high)
You had a hiding place
Secret staircase (secret staircase), running low (running low)
They all know, now you’re inside
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Kid fears
Skipping stones, we know the price now
Any sin will do
How much further, if you can spin
How much further, if you are smooth
Are you on fire (are you on fire)
From the years? (from the years)
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Replace the rent with the stars above
Replace the need with love
Replace the anger with the tide
Replace the ones, the ones, the ones, that you love
The ones that you love
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give for your
Kid fears
What would you give for your
Kid fears
What would you give for your
Kid fears
You can’t feel
The kids
Songwriters: Amy Elizabeth Ray / Emily Ann Saliers

 


Porn

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The mere mention of the word in certain circles is enough to stir a heated debate among some.   Hey,  it’s right up there next to fornication.

It objectifies women.   It’s addictive.   And the latest is that it’s a gateway behavior.   The last one is really the best one, you know.  ‘Cause gosh so many of my friends who have watched porn over the years are now either working in the sex and porn industry don’t cha know.

It always starts out so innocent with watching online videos, then progresses to a threesome, followed by a pole-dancing job at a strip club, and ends up with a job at Studio 20 working livestream camming…………Not.

Seriously though, while I do believe that it can be a gateway behavior for some, I believe the comparison is the same as alcoholism.  Some people have a proclivity to develop an addiction to porn.   There is a direct correlation with the amount of porn usage and the susceptibility to porn addiction and that’s what the data doesn’t say.

There is also a double standard.   If a man is caught with porn, bloody hell, he best be ready to do hand-to-hand combat with his partner and should hire a damn good defense attorney because he’ll be sleeping anywhere but their bed.   If a woman is caught watching some porn, she’s a spicy catch.   It’s like winning the lotto.  Something is wrong with the way our society views gender roles and sexuality.

If a man likes and has a lot of sex he’s considered a stud.  If  a woman likes and has a lot of sex she’s considered a whore.  What?!!!!!

Sexuality has always been taboo here in the U.S. ever since the Puritans stepped off the boat in 1630.   The fact is there is nothing wrong with our bodies.  They are the greatest instrument we will ever own.

Whatever your opinion is on porn, one thing is for sure, this 97 billion dollar industry isn’t going away any time soon.  I for one am glad about this fact, because on occasion,  I enjoy watching some porn.

#LoveMyself

 

 

 

 


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