Tag Archives: relationships

Dance, Baby, Dance


And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.

Like Romeo, I’ve been making an effort to have my Rockstar forget any other home than ours; sadly, I work completely opposite hours from him, and so see him (if I’m lucky) a total of about eight hours a week. I have feared that leaving him to his own devices so regularly should cause a rift between us that cannot be repaired.

Fortunately, the both of us wish our home to be ripe with bright colors and pleasant comforts, so neither of us has a chance really to become bored and listless. While my days at home with the dog are filled to bursting with painting of walls, and thinkings of painting of murals, his nights are filled with thoughts of luscious fertilized grass without bald spots. Our little time that is spent together is spent these days at Home Depot and Menards, where we have spent unmentionable sums of money.

This past weekend, we hurried to Menards for their Memorial Day sales and spent a goodly part of our morning navigating the aisles for things to make our house a castle. While I had the intention only of buying a few color-changing solar lights to brighten our sidewalk, my Rockstar insisted on buying a little bit of everything. $400 later, we exited the store with a lovely flower rug (which was his choice), 20 solar lights, garden edging, yard soil, and an outdoor swing. Sadly, I had to rush off to work for the day, so I was to enjoy none of our purchases immediately.

After spending a lovely day with my Auntie on Sunday, I arrived home to my Rockstar and his Daughter, who had decided that we must grill steaks on our new adorable grill. He approved of my mixing of alcoholic beverages for the two of us, and while his Daughter ran around with our Pup and her friends, we proceeded to get happily tipsy.

No drunk evening would be complete without a little Rock-N-Roll, which was filtered through our walk-out screen door. R and his Daughter have this little dance they’ve been working on since long before I was around, and I watched from our beautiful swing as they spun and twirled.

“You’re turn! Dance with dad!” His Daughter urged when the song ended.

I arose from my swinging, and it didn’t take long for R to realized that Phil Collins stole his song title I Can’t Dance from me.

“You’re so stiff! Loosen up! Yeah, you’re not graceful.” His responses to my awkward gamboling just made me giggle. Well, that, and his forceful grip on my drunken ass.

A dancer I may not be, but hey. I cannot be perfect all the time. I do, however, know the steps to the waltz (because I am very cultured) and also the snake-like arm movements of bellydancing, so I coached R and his Daughter on these finer points of dancing. I chose to don a pair of my taller heels to better match R’s height, only to have him say I was better at my own height, because my belly more perfectly bumped up against his man-parts. (This too made me giggle.) When he tired of my unfluid movements, I danced with myself among my many rainbow solar lights, pretending that I was in an enchanted forest.

There comes a time when One has had enough drink, and must retire. When my time came, I crawled into my bed, intent on passing out until the morning, only to be wakened by a hard chomp on my ass. Too, no drunken night is complete without having a long-haired Rockstar whisper in your ear, “I want to hear you come.”

XOXO

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A World on Its Axis


planets colliding photo: ezy colliding planets 20080925_colliding_planets-1.jpgI was just thinking..

Whether they will admit it or not,

in their own minds,

each person is the center of their own universe.

Every individual is the apex of their very own world.

So what happens when these planets collide into each other

be it intentionally or accidentally,

physically or mentally?

If two humans become aquainted

and share no common bond,

do they simply go on twirling through space

never really noticing they just entered a whole new galaxy?

Or,

when two people meet

and they have a connection,

does this alliance begin to meld their two universes together

and create a completely new solar system?

What if such a bond ends in heartbreak and grief?

Do they spin away from each other

and become exploding stars that

eventually,

no one even knows were there?

It’s something to think about.

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NaNoWriMo: Chapter 1


Well, I didn’t finish my NaNoWriMo novel, but can’t let it go to waste, so here’s the first chapter…

I opened my eyes, threw back my head, and laughed in delight.

I’d waited my entire life to get to this place, and even though I had no conceivable idea how I’d gotten here, I was here, and that was good enough for me. I saw an unpretentious breeze, or rather, the effects of it, and a leaf from one of the massive sunflowers I was standing in the midst of brushed lightly against my cheek. I lifted my hand and pressed my fingers to the spot, imagining for a moment that being kissed by an angel  must feel very like having a feathery sunflower leaf caress your cheek. I raised my eyes upward, and through a canopy of honeyed sunflower petals, I beheld a flawless azure sky; I watched contentedly as whispy silver clouds meandered by. I’m convinced for a moment I saw the form of Alice’s white rabbit scramble past before it dissipated into the heavenly beyond.

Standing amid the towering plants, I had no idea how far the field stretched, only that I couldn’t see the end of it. I wanted to barrel through the tall stalks until there were no more to barrel through, so I did. As clumsy as I tend to be, it didn’t really seem to be a very good idea, but I felt weightless as I ran, and my feet refused to be obstructed by clods of dirt or wayward sunflower stems. I raced through the golden crop, until I realized that if it ended, I was nowhere near that end.

I slowed, just as I felt of burst of sunlight fall across my shoulders. I raised my arms and bounced gleefully, bellowing “HERE COMES THE SUN! DOOBIE DOOBIE!” and giggled, because I haven’t the faintest idea what the rest of the words are to that song. I didn’t even know it was a Beatle’s song until well into my 20’s. For shame.

I continued to dance foolishly through my sunflowers, giving no thought whatsoever that my dance moves have always rivaled those of a pious eighty-year-old nun. In the past, I would shudder at the thought of even dancing alone in my apartment, and sooner die than set foot on any designated dance floor, but here, among my blooming friends, I felt no such humiliation.

“Doobie doobie!” I sang again at the top of my lungs, celebrating the glorious Sun’s visitation upon me, my arms still aloft, inviting her to share her blessed vitamin D with me. She consented, and I smiled into her radiant heat with face lifted, swaying slightly with my fellow sunflowers. And like them, I didn’t sneeze as I normally did when faced with direct sunlight; instead, I drank in her rays like a parched traveler in the desert.

As I absorbed the shining nourishment with my eyes closed in prayer, I felt again an angel kiss upon my head. My eyes slid open and I embraced my sunflower lover, pulling his head down to better examine each petal, each seed, every floret. The intricacies of my lover’s face bewitched me, and I could not look away. Instead, I found myself adrift in his gaze, awed by the spectrum of colors. My sight was more keen than ever it had been, and no matter where I looked, I saw more than ever I had. I wondered if this was a gift from Mother Sun, and mentally thanked her.

Suddenly, I noticed a massive oak behind me, and I wondered how I had missed it during my absurd Sun Dance. I let go my sunflower’s head, and approached this majestic tree.

I racked my brain on any topiary trivia I might have picked up, but the only thing I could come up with was that this tree must be ancient to have grown to such huge proportions. I looked up at the gnarled branches, and was surprised to see an array of crimson and russet colored leaves; several of them floated lazily down to me, and I caught one, congratulating myself on my expert leaf-retrieving skills. The leaf in my hand was dry and brittle, and because I had caught it with such vigor, when I opened my hand to look more closely, I realized it had crumbled to powder in my palm. I pouted, and tipped my hand, silently observing the spread of oaken ashes in the light breeze.

Before the last fragments were gone, I heard someone whispering, but when I turned to look for the source, the only thing I saw was a crude heart chiseled in the trunk of the tree. Within the heart, the initials

RD

+

JL

I reached out and traced the letters as an overwhelming flood of emotions filled me. I knew this tree.  A long time ago, before the miscarriages and tears, before the grown-up decisions and divorce, a beautiful boy and a younger version of me had laboriously scraped these letters into this tree with a dull pocket-knife. This tree sat in the middle of where we would have built our house, if it had all worked out.

The tears came, unwelcome- tears, not because of regrets, because the decisions made had been the right ones, but because these memories were not welcome here, not on this day, not in my coveted field. The fingers outlining the letters curled into a fist, as did the fingers of my other hand, and then they were beating furiously on the foul carving, again and again. I heard myself cursing violently, and salty tears blurred my vision, and I continued to strike mercilessly on the oak’s mighty trunk until my fists were bloodied and raw.

I wiped the hated tears away with my forearm, and glared at the wretched heart, now bleeding with my own vital fluids. It seemed to pulse as I stood there, but I knew it was only the rage inside of me that lived. I screamed at the aged tree, and it paid me no mind. I wailed until my voice was ragged, but still this oak stood sentinel over the engraved memory, and it was not removed.

At last, when all of my energy was spent, I sank down against the base of the tree and covered my head with my arms, sobbing uncontrollably for all that was, and wasn’t, and couldn’t be. My divine Sunshine continued to pour over me, but I hardly noticed.

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… And Fiancee


Before you jump to attention and your phalanges quicken to congratulate me on my engagement, let me stop you right there. I am not engaged.

*Pause for collective sigh of disappointment*

Ok, now that that’s done, let’s get down to the real story of what’s going on.

I seem to be remiss in my blogging duties as of late. Though I would love to blame it on NaNoWriMo, I cannot, since I have written only 2100 words so far. Yet another project left unfinished. Talk about an unfinished life…

Anyhoo, I HAVE been quite busy doing other things besides sleeping and watching the boobtube. (Yay, me!) After two months of barely looking, and one week filled with house showings, we have come upon a most amazing house that shall be ours. It seems R is content with me enough to agree to purchase a real live home with me. (When I say “live”, what I actually mean is “alive with personality” not “alive with ghosts”. I have enough of those caged in my head.” )

The house we’ve found was once owned by a professor, which instantly boosts is on the cool-o-meter. It too, comes complete with a huge entryway, a closet big enough to house my entire shoe collection comfortably, three bathrooms so that all members of our little family may poop simultaneously, a fireplace and chimney large enough to allow Santa access, and a perfect spot to display a full-size mermaid statue. (I might mention here that one bathroom includes gnarly monkey and parrot safari wallpaper- I have not yet decided if this diminishes the rating on the cool-o-meter.)

I knew upon entrance to the house that it was surely the one for us, and my Rockstar seemed to agree with me, because despite his hesitance about purchasing a home for the first time ( all that yard work to do- even though I shall be the one more than willing to do it) he was quick to agree to making an offer. (With a little urging from me…no, I didn’t use my oral skills.)

The offer was accepted, contingent upon a home inspection and assessment. We had the home inspection tonight.

We arrived at our soon to be casa to find Mr. Inspector already finished with his business. Mr. Inspector was an adorable elderly gentleman who reminded me of Jolly Ol’ St. Nick, who was quick to point out the uniqueness of the place. He had brought with him his own folding chair to rest his considerable weight upon, which endeared him to me instantly. We ventured through the house, the whole while, Inspector St. Nick pointing out all the cool and unusual aspects of the house. When we were done, it was time to go over his findings and to write him a check. As I glanced through the first page of the report, I noticed my Rockstar’s name at the very top, and under it, my first name, followed in very small writing and parentheses “fiancée” I giggled when I saw it, and immediately put the report down.

It seems since I have begun telling people of our intentions of buying a house, most are quick to comment with “Oh, you know what’s coming next!” and “When are you getting married?”

It’s funny, because since we found this house, I haven’t once thought about that. I know I’ve blathered on in the past about “why won’t my Rockstar marry me?” and “Oh, what to do about my Rockstar not marrying me?”, but it seems the insecure Sparkle has disappeared, and has been replaced with one who really doesn’t give a fuck about that shit.

Whilst all my Facebook friends are posting non-stop about getting engaged, or getting married, or having babies, I have begun to realize that maybe my life is not about all that. Yes, I still wish for babies, but instead of being sad I haven’t any, I am more focused on teaching R’s Daughter that maybe she could be an artist when she grows up, or a baker, or a candlestick maker. I am more intent on becoming a published author than in years past, and now that we have found a house, I am excited to have a 2200 square foot canvas on which to express myself with art. If there are to be babies, or marriage, let them come- I’m not scared. But I’ll be even less not scared if they don’t come. And when I’m done tiling my mermaid bathroom in iridescent one-inch mosaic tiles, you can all come over and take a poo in it. XOXO

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Roses and Threats


Alyssa pulled her purple Ranger into the driveway with enough speed and gusto to make her fiancée Ryan cringe. He gripped the “oh shit” bar and was about to comment on women drivers as she came to a notably abrupt stop, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to put Lyss in a pissy mood. He jumped quickly out of the truck, thanking heaven he was still intact after the ride.

“I’ll get the mail!” He offered cheerily, already making his way to the mailbox.

Alyssa grabbed her purse and climbed out of the driver’s side, grinning to herself. She loved getting to Ryan like that. She admitted that she wasn’t a cautious driver, but she knew he didn’t consider her a good driver anyway, so she did shit like that just to bug him. She hummed as she stuck her key in the door, but stopped when she noticed the overwhelming smell of roses as the door swung open.

There were white rose petals EVERYWHERE. Alyssa’s eyes widened as she looked around. The ancient door normally swung back into whoever was walking through it, but the carpet of flowers made it stick half way open. The floors and countertops were crowded with crystal vases of every size, stuffed with long-stemmed white roses. Every step she took sent up a floral aroma, because there was no way to step around the carpet of petals. She was still standing completely awed in the middle of the kitchen when Ryan walked in the door.

“What the-” Lyss grew more bewildered when she saw the look of confusion on Ryan’s face. He smiled when she looked at him. “You tryin’ to butter me up, Baby? I prefer beer to roses.” His joke fell flat when Alyssa responded.

“I didn’t do this. How’d you afford all this?” Alyssa was still too overwhelmed to say anything else. She looked around and noticed the envelope with Ryan’s name sitting on the table the same time he did. Ryan shuffled through the matting of roses, and Alyssa giggled at how ridiculous he looked. He picked up the envelope and tore it open as Alyssa leaned forward to sniff a vaseful of flowers. She breathed in deeply and her eyes slid shut as she luxuriated in the smell, so she didn’t see Ryan’s facial expression darken from confusion to rage.

“WHO THE FUCK IS JACK?” The question reverberated throughout the room, making the many roses shiver. Alyssa jumped at the unexpected outburst, and knocked over the vase of flowers she’s just been enjoying.

“What?” she whispered. Her heart pounded in her ears as she waded through the mess. Ryan flung the card at her ferociously, and backed away from her. The look of utter malice in his eyes as he did so made Alyssa’s stomach drop. She looked down at the card in her hands and mouthed the words as she read them.

Ryan,

You’ll never be able to give her this. You can’t even afford to pay the electric bill, can you? She’s too good for a loser like you, and you know it. Alyssa is mine, and I can give her everything you’ll never be able to. Take a hike, buddy.

Jack

Alyssa looked up from the note, and Ryan mistook her wide-eyed expression as guilt. He backed even further away, shaking his head in fury.

“I know I’m broke, but what the fuck?! You find some rich asshole to have an affair with and talk about what a loser I am? What kind of sick cunt do you have to be to do that?”

It felt like Ryan had just punched her in the face when he said the words. He had never once called her any offensive names, and as far as she knew, he’d never found her untrustworthy. She felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, and she stuttered to correct him.

“No, no, no,” She put her hand out to grab his, and he swatted her away. “Jack is that creepy guy I told you about that stops by the store; the one who kept asking me out, even after I told him about you. I’ve never seen him outside of work.” She felt herself becoming hysterical the more she thought about it. “He had to have gotten in here somehow- he had to have followed me- oh my god, Ryan, he was in our house.” The moment she said it, she began shaking.

“Well that’s probably because you fucking let him in, Alyssa.” Ryan’s tone was cold and unforgiving. “How else would he fucking know I’m broke unless you told him during one of your sex romps?”

Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head furiously. She didn’t know if the tears were from shock or betrayal, but they would not be stopped. She could hardly breathe, but she refused to let Ryan think she’d cheated on him.

“No, I never told him that. I swear I never did sex with him! I was nice to him at the store, that’s all. I kept telling him I had a fiancée, but he kept asking me to have a drink with him. He said he just wanted to talk, because I was nice to talk to. I didn’t- I would never, EVER do that to you, Love. You have to believe me.” She opened her eyes, and squealed in surprise. Ryan was still looking at her like he wanted to strangle her, but her focus was behind him. Jack was standing directly behind Ryan, with a deadly-looking bowie knife gleaming in his hand.

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Saying The Things You Shouldn’t Say


I’ve been accused more than once of being unedited. Hell, I’ve even been fired from a job for writing the things I was thinking in my head. Sometimes, I just get really tired of people not saying what they’re thinking, so I will be the one. Sadly, by the end of this post, I may come off as a huge bitch. But sometimes a long bout of holding in what I’m actually thinking results in a bad case of virtual verbal diarrhea.

People be having some UGLY babies- Am I the only one who thinks all these babies people are having on Facebook aren’t as cute as they should be? Let me be clear- the premature ones don’t count, because they just wanted to hop outta the oven before it was time. I’m talking about all the other ones. And when people keep commenting, “Oh, I’m so happy for you, your baby is adorable!” and “What a cutie!”, I just want to comment too (in a Spanish accent, of course), and say, “You keep using those words. I do not think they mean what you think they mean.” I know people don’t have control over what their kid looks like, but GEEZ, I don’t think I want one if the majority of them look like Gollum.

If you’re completely miserable with your spouse, or boyfriend/girlfriend, be done with them- This may seem harsh, and if you have children with this person, it’s a bit harder situation to get out of, but no amount of drinking or bickering or pretending is going to do any good for your kids. Yes, marriage is supposed to be a life-long commitment, but there are just some people who were silly enough to marry someone they didn’t like very much, with the idea, “Hey, it’s ok. I’ll just go out with my friends a lot and drink to drown the fact that my wife/ husband is a complete bitch/ asshole.”  Well, enjoy your perfectly pretended life. As for you all who are not married to your asshole, dump him/her immediately. And no, I am not going to be the person to make your life better with amazing sex, because I am smart enough to be with someone who does NOT annoy the shit outta me.

That chic shouldn’t be wearing that/ or SHOULD be wearing that- sometimes people shouldn’t clothe themselves the way they do. Yes, I’ve preached tirelessly about fat people in stretchy pants, but I am also including here the sermon about skinny girls with love handles who continuously wear low-rise jeans. Just ’cause you ain’t got no cushion for the pushin’ don’t mean that you’re toned. As evidenced by the cellulite once sported by my size 00 ex-sister-in-law. And Miley, put some damn clothes on, already. Yes, we get it. You’re edgy and controversial. Or suffering from multiple drug addictions.

Kids are sometimes not your entire world- I realize that since I have borne no offspring from my loins, I cannot fully understand how a child changes you and makes you devote your entire being to them; however, I have known enough people who have little to no patience for their humanoid cubs, and would rather be out partying with their friends. I know that no parent is suppose to come out and say, “I’d like a day off”, but I urge each and every one of you to realize that it’s ok to admit parenting is at times a trying and monotonous task, and is sometimes best replaced with a stripper pole and a shot of whisky. This doesn’t mean you love your children any less, it just means you have not joined the Stepford community.

Why don’t we let educated people into America?- I realize Lady Liberty is all about giving refuge to the starving and the destitute, but wouldn’t our country benefit a little by letting in someone who is not hungry and can actually support themselves? Instead of giving a bunch of monetary support to people who don’t even bother to learn our language, why don’t we give free visas to people who ALREADY know our language and have their own money? I’m not being prejudiced. The uneducated are welcome too, but they should be given the same opportunity as I- that is, the opportunity of working more than one job just to make sure I don’t have to move to Florida in order to sleep outside and not freeze to death because I am homeless.

 

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June 18th, 1994


Today we went to the grocery store to get stuff for the party tonight. Travis had Cory over, and they were there. Cory saw me, and said, “What are you doing here.” and I said, “What do you think?” and Travis said, “could you talk any quieter?” and I said, “If I tried.” Boring! Oh, well, maybe next time. Cory’s sorta cute, but if he asked me to go with him, I don’t know what I’d do, because Kelly really likes him.
Haha. And I said, and he said, and then I said. Very important stuff, this.

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After Effects


BEFORE.

Greg shrugged sheepishly, and lowered her down to the floor, though he refused to remove his grip from her lovely ass until she forced him to.

“Well, you are young enough to be my daughter. How was I supposed to know you were into such mature men?” His thumbs stroked her behind, and he relished the unbelievable softness.

Casey laughed and wriggled out of his grasp; Greg tried to hide his disappointment. “That tickles!” She scooped up her discarded yoga pants and danced a few feet away before turning to face him. Greg admired her confidence as she stood in front of him, pants-less, and raised one perfectly-arched eyebrow.

“I’m into anyone who looks at me the way you do, so there. And I don’t really think there is such a thing as a ‘mature man’.” She did air quotes with a wad of pants in her hands, and Greg felt himself smiling. “I am convinced men are  completely led by their dicks, and only pretend differently to keep up with the women.” Her tone hardened a little bit during her statement, and Greg was going to argue, but she skated off to the bathroom before he had a chance to reply.

Greg pulled on his pants, and began surveying the many titles that lined the bookshelves he’d just defiled. He was surprised to find they were alphabetized according to author, and that there was quite a variety. Classics, biographies of Presidents, history of warfare, science fiction, art, philosophy- they were all there. He stopped when he found three copies of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. He’d read it in high school, and found it to be incredibly dull. He wondered why someone so full of life would have three copies.

“See? They are beautiful! You cannot help but be enamored of them.” Casey stood looking at him approvingly, and Greg wondered how long she’d been watching him.

“Well, you weren’t in here for me to look at, so I had to look at something.” Greg flirted, badly.

“Ugh.” Casey narrowed her eyes and did a jacking-off motion with her hand.” Please. As if I’m better to look at than Jules Verne and R. Scott Bakker.” Greg couldn’t believe she didn’t realize the effect her looks, and her body, had on him, but felt too foolish to point it out. He also felt slightly uncomfortable that Casey seemed to be ignoring what had just happened between them.

She wandered over to the refrigerator. “Did you want anything to drink? I have-” she looked inside for a second, then shut the door. “Well, I have nothing. Did you want to go get a beer or a bottle of whiskey or something?” She looked at him from across the small space, and Greg felt they were on two islands miles apart. Clearly, the sex was casual for her, and even though Greg didn’t exactly know what he wanted from this sexy young thing, he knew things were not the same as they had been before he’d entered this apartment. He felt stupid, like a teenage girl, but he wanted more.

“Um, would you like to go out to dinner with me? There’s a really good Mexican place down the street.” He weakly replied.

“Food! Oh yes, food is good.” Greg felt himself relax with relief. “Shit. I have to go to work soon.” Casey looked at him apologetically. Maybe tomorrow?” The relief was momentary. Greg got the distinct feeling she was blowing him off. He decided to admit defeat.

“Sure, if you’re not too busy. Just let me know. I have a thing I gotta do tonight  anyway.” He lied, and hated himself. He walked to the door and stopped, debating on whether he would say what he was feeling, and thinking better of it. Instead, he looked at Casey. “Your books are beautiful.”

Casey grinned, stepped over to where Greg was standing, and kissed his cheek sweetly.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

Greg nodded, but didn’t say anything as he walked out the door. He trudged down to his own apartment, wishing he hadn’t fucked things up.

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Good Girls Only Please


So I was listening to Lex and Terry on the radio the other day when they were giving advice to a dumb young dude who was going to marry a much older woman with a kid. They then got to talking about good girls versus sluts and the like, and how most men will never marry the girl the had the most amazing, naughty, unspeakable sex with, but will always marry the good girl. That explains a lot.

The more I got to thinking about it, the more pissed off I got. Not because I am the girl no guy would ever marry, after all, I bake cupcakes and pack lunches for my beloved and am not opposed to bringing new life forth based off of our undying love and all that bullshit. That, and the fact that I was married once, and have yet to decide on whether I would repeat those shenanigans. No, I was pissed off, because how stupid are men?

There are enough men who have readily admitted that they think with the brains that are located between their legs. If that is true, then would it not benefit them to marry the girl who so completely satisfies those brains on a daily basis? Instead, men are too embarrassed to admit their lack of emotional what-have-you, and marry the virgin, or the girl who might not necessarily be willing to give a blow job, just to be able to show her off to mom and say, “Isn’t she a perfect lady?” But really, where does this leave them?

I’ll tell you.

It leaves them overly horny and hunting about for a bad girl to satisfy their un-attended to needs. And when they find the girl that’s willing, it leaves their good girl home alone or hanging with her friends while the dude is out tying up the bad girl and doing her in  the butt before spraying his load all over her face because he would never dare to do that to his perfect wife. Sure, maybe some of these dudes don’t actually go cheat on their good wives, but those are the ones who develop carpal tunnel from jacking off in front of the computer while WATCHING some dude spurt his load all over some slutty girl’s face. So how does this a wonderful marriage create?

I admit that I do not know the sexual habits of all married couples, but there are quite a few married men that have had the balls to ask for favors from me in the past because they weren’t getting what they wanted at home. To them I said, “That’s YOUR fault, buddy. Maybe you shoulda married a bad girl.”

And really, why is a girl who is up for lots of sex considered at bad girl in the first place? And what if a girl likes sex, yet will still bake you cupcakes? Is she a good girl or a bad girl? Oh my God, I sound like I’m in Oz- “Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?”

And I completely realize that sex is not all that a relationship should be based on, but I certainly know what a lack of it can do to a marriage. I believe a good  marriage is a composed of two people who wish to grow old together, and who plan on doing it until the day one of them dies, with the help of blue pills and dentures, if necessary.

 

 

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It’s the End of Neuroticism as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)


To some people, their current lives are the result of one “AHA” moment in time when they say, “Enough’s enough. My life is going to vastly change from this second on.” For others, it is a back-and-forth battle with tears and much boob sweat, orgasms and sucker punches. Usually the second kind of people are suffering from mental health issues, or are born under a Libra sky. Whatever the case, I would most definitely agree that I am of the second and (in my opinion) more interesting sort- and yes, I suffer from both an indecisive Libra birth and un-medicated mental health issues.

You all know by now that of my own volition, I have been married, divorced, been called a cunt, accepted barrenness, and have made a few friends (and enemies) all while writing about it occasionally and refusing to seek treatment for my shoe and book addictions. I must admit, immediately after my divorce, my Rockstar was right to accuse me of “neediness and instability.” In my defense, after a twelve year relationship, I had every right to suffer these inadequacies. Still, I am pleased to announce that while not completely healed of my self-inflicted scars, I have accepted my faults, and since people still believe in my general awesomeness, it seems, released them.

Throughout my three year relationship with my Rockstar, it’s true that neuroticism and anxiety has reigned supreme. Perhaps it was because I was worried he might not have feelings for me, or perhaps it was because I was afraid I might be wasting my time trying to become an acceptable step-mother figure, or perhaps it was just because my Rockstar was too male-minded to realize what he’d not have if I decided to leave. I understand his irritation at tears I may have shed, as well as I understand the reason for the tears themselves. It’s taken me awhile to notice that sometimes, guys just don’t get it.

After talking to an old acquaintance the other day, despite the fact that I despise my job and sometimes my apartment, I was pleased to discover that all is right in my world. I have found the strong and independent woman who decided to leave her husband all those years ago even though she knew it would hurt, and I am perfectly content with my Rockstar, whether he will admit his Lovedom of me or not. It seems he has accepted my histrionic disorders, and tries his best to cater to them though he might not understand.

I know, you ask- “What little consequence is it to us, your readers,  that you have finally become instability-free and happy? Write about something interesting already!”

To you, I say- Without my anxiety, there will be many more delightful and witty posts for you to read. And anyhoo, this is MY blog, bitches! And while the entire world is maybe not always about me, my blog world most certainly is. So there. XOXO

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