Blogging: The New Prostitution

Sexy-Blogger_3887-l

There once was a girl from Nantucket

Who wrote her thoughts on a blog and said fuck it.

She let it all rip

and said with a quip,

“If words were a cock I would suck it.”

-Lexiconlover-

We’re all selling something aren’t we….

Some people whine.

Some bitch and rant.

Some write poetry.

Some bloggers stick to philanthropy, trying to “help” others out with their self-actualized knowledge they’ve gained on their way up Maslow’s pinnacle.

Some folks are so heady that they don’t want you to really understand what the fuck they are spinning.

Still others post some one line, inane banter with a shock value photo attached to grab your attention.

Other’s  write of trying to get by day-to-day in a seemingly endless quagmire of bullshit and recovery from a lifelong battle of living in their own personal hell.

Then there are the angels among us.  Those wonderful people I call liquid Prozac.  They are so authentic and just raw, unfiltered, unpretentious folks who lay it out and you can’t help but laugh.

*****

To all my fellow bloggers out there bloglandia,  I raise my glass.

I’m a Fucking Marketing Dream

It occurred to me the other day as I stared up out of the fucking Bell Jar.

So many of the commercials on TV for depression are so fake-ass.

They depict people suffering with depression having the a seemingly mild case of the  “doldrums.”

They never show you what depression really looks like.

I am willing to let a pharmaceutical company hire me for a certain fee, in my own natural habitat.

****

It would look something like this…..

****

Voice over of announcer says, “Depression robs a person of their energy.”

Camera pans to me sitting in the middle of my living room with a mountain of dirty laundry staring at it like the woman from Close Encounters of a Third Kind.  Saying, “I know I should wash you” and then just shaking my head no and finally collapsing back into the cushion flipping it the bird saying “fuck it.”  I am down to one pair of clean panties this is now my “edge play.”

Voice of announcer:  “Depression feels physical.” 

Camera lens catches me waving goodbye to Fuzzy boarding the bus, closing the door.  Moves to the kitchen as I stare at the heaping pile of dishes that has amassed in the sink and repeat “fuck it” as I then head to the bed and proceed to pull the blinds.  (Time elapses)   I rise in my pajamas in a haze as the afternoon the bus pulls up again.

Voice of announcer:  “Depression causes changes in appetite.”

Last scene too fucking easy.  Like a fucking vampire I awake from crypt to sit down to eat a box of girl scout cookies.  Camera fades with me on the couch with said cookies in the middle of the night swearing at the girl scouts for peddling their crack.

*******

Yeah.  Why doesn’t Eli Lilly, Pfizer, or GlaxoSmithKline want to show what real depression looks like?

I could have dated Charles Manson

I was watching an old interview with Manson in prison where he was singing.  It was more rare footage.  I have to say that is charismatic, enigmatic, energetic, articulate, intelligent, creative, artistic.    He possesses just about every quality that captivates me.    There is this way he drew me in even watching him on the TV screen.  Hell, I was enjoying watching him how fucked up is that?  He is supposed to be a villain.  A devil.  Evil incarnate….

I can see how a girl of 19 could have been easy prey for him.   Not even 5 minutes into the interview I was so engaged and taken by his charm I had almost forgotten that he was responsible for the murderous rampage of the Sharon Tate and her unborn baby.   Which made me shudder.

But then I ponder….. just as sociopaths find their prey in a crowd, seeking out the weak ones.   Maybe the inverse is true.   Maybe prey seemingly seek out their predators……albeit unconsciously.

It would explain so much of why I’ve ended up with the men I’ve been with in my lifetime.

Nothing happens by chance, especially not when it happens repeatedly.  That is why it is called a pattern of behavior.  It is no coincidence.

Compound Expletives

I think I was about seven years old when I said my first swear.   Maybe it was “shit” or something.   I can’t remember.   But I know that I got my mouth washed out with soap.

By the time I was fifteen, my dad had dragged me by the pony tail into the bathroom to wash my mouth out with soap too many times to count.  This one time he was so pissed off because after he had stuck the bar in my mouth I said, “I think I prefer the Dove to the Irish Spring.”   He got red in the face and just stormed off.  Then came the ritual of carefully removing the soap chips from behind my teeth.   And then brushing your teeth several times to get the taste out.

The soap didn’t do shit to clean up my mouth.  It was just more of a nuisance and the only lesson it taught me was not to swear at home.

I STILL SWEAR LIKE A SAILOR  in places where I know it’s “appropriate.”   Obviously, not in the library, at the opera, or some cultured event or in front of the elderly et cetera.  But I let the swears fly in certain situations despite a large repertoire of vocabulary at my disposal.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

A compound expletive is formed when the first expletive serves as an adjective to modifiy the expletive noun in the sentence.

Example of simple expletive (noun):             My ex  is an asshole.

Example of a compound expletive (adj + noun) :   My ex is a mother-fucking asshole.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

sidebar:  I despise the use of expletives, wish the soap had worked

My new addiction

My name is Lexi and I am powerless over watching “An American Horror Story”

It’s true.

Stellar Cast.

Jessica Fucking Lange.

Can we say brilliant fucking screenwriters?

Gifted actors/actresses.

What character development/plot (no pun intended)

And it encompasses all the darkness that seduces us all, along with the struggle for good to conquer that evil:

BDSM, homicide, deceit, manipulation, the interplay between good and evil (even within one character), sex, rape, drugs, necrophilia, rubber suit, mass murder, self-mutilation, suicide, paranormal, medium, ghosts.

This show has it all.

This show had me hooked from the pilot.    I don’t know what I am going to do if they cancel it……….*shivers*

Mastercard moment – Colonscopy “prep”

1 Roll of toilet paper ………………………………………………….. $  1.29

1 Pack Lime Jello cups ……………………………………………..   $ 2.59

2 Packages Chix broth ……………………………………………….. $ 5. 00

1 Rx for G0-lytely bowel prep after insurance copay………………. $2.50

Look on my face after finishing the last 8 oz glass of that slimy, nasty, fake-ass-lime-flavored gallon of Nagasaki-in-a-bottle, that I had to drink every 15 minutes for almost 3 hours, to clean out my colon, so the doctor can feed some “flexible” scope the entire length of my colon tomorrow morning………..

priceless.

(There better be a gold star in this for me somewhere, because that Go-lytely did NOT go lightly)

Statistical Improbability

I was standing in line today at the Suprette.  Is that even a word anymore? Superette?  No, nowadays it’s called a convenience store.  No, actually now it’s just 7-11, Cumbies or Store 24 here in New England.  Who the hell knows what it is in the Midwest or West Coast.

And I look behind the large protective glass case that contains all the lottery tickets.  And I say to the clerk as she rings me up:

*****

me:   I so want to win, but I never play; I mean I never buy any tickets yanno

clerk:   me too, I think about it, see’ em all day but never buy ’em

me:    It’s always some tooth-less old man livin’ in a double-wide trailer that wins like the big two-million jackpot

clerk:   I know right LOL

me:    and he’s always like only 2 years away from death and has no relatives

clerk:   it’s so true

me:    I wonder who gets the money after that?

clerk:   how bout it

me:    what’s wrong with me,  the poor bastard, I should be happy for him, now he can buy false teeth and shit

clerk:   but he won’t though, he’ll probably just get a huge plasma TV and watch porno all day

me:    and upgrade to a triple-wide trailer

(we both laugh)

I don’t buy scratch tickets.   My first  fiancé E,  was an economics and philosophy major.  We purchased 2 shares of BRK-B  together.  (Hey, we were only in our twenties and that’s all we could afford)  He was an individual investor and forced me to read  “Investment Biker: Around the World with Jim Rogers”, study Warren Buffet.  Then E forced me up late nights teaching me about the market.  If I hadn’t been in love with him, I would have choked him to death it was so fucking dry and boring.  But E taught me the importance of being a long-term share holder.  Spending money on scratch tickets would have gotten me choked to death.   When I broke off our engagement in 98′ E offered me my share of the BRK-B, but out of animosity I declined.  I considered it blood assets, so I stood on my lofty moral principle.   I wonder if I would still make the same choice today…  Nevertheless, the stock has done so well, my decision…it just stings a bit.  LOL.