Monthly Archives

July 2017

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Over it. A Guide to Speed Healing.

July 28, 2017

One of my girls posted the following…
I don’t know where my boyfriend is.
He’s just not answering any of my phone calls or texts all of a sudden, I didn’t know where he is, I still don’t. I’ve been worried all night. I wish he would just tell me what’s going on and not keep me in limbo. I feel sick to my stomach and haven’t slept….
So…fuck I feel pretty shitty. Not knowing is the worst and keeps me up.

PIC commented
If you don’t know where he is, he’s not your boyfriend.

PIC has this uncanny ability to cut through bullshit with a magical machete.

There is a backstory here. The boyfriend of the girl who posted this is a bonafide piece of shit. This has been going on forever. They’re either fucking or fighting, he keeps a revolving roster of girlfriends that he is either fucking with or fighting with.

She will quit him when she is ready and not a minute sooner.

It is the way of the world.

Me personally?

My ‘not’ boyfriend?

After 5 days and now 3 blog posts.

I am over it.

I sat in my grief and knew from experience that at some point in time, I’d be over it. So I just decided that time would be now. Or in truth, Wednesday night around 8:14pm after a hit of Charlotte’s Web weed. That shit is like a magic eraser for those nagging voices of self-doubt. I got the giggles and it turned off that chattering of voices that were screaming ‘you weren’t good enough to be the actual girlfriend’.

So fucking what? Look what he did to his actual girlfriend. Bullet dodged.

I’d settled into a bed of lies and deemed it fine.

In retrospect it wasn’t fine.

No one mourns the loss of a tumor. You cut that shit out, keep the wound clean and go on living.

Honestly, I am fine now.

No amount of wishing or regret or pain is going to make him into something he isn’t

He’s not my person and he never was.

Grief doesn’t have to be a process, and suffering is optional.

A male reaction to my last post…

Yeah if a guy doesn’t have the balls to be honest with either girl up front like an adult… then he doesn’t have the balls to deal with his own conscious telling him this is wrong every day. Because every day he’s asking himself, how can “I” keep this going? He knows he can’t, yet he expects or assumes that since he’s gotten away with it so far that he’s favored and is drawn into the addiction of letting fate work it out for him. At this point he’s so far stuck up his own ass, that he’s forgotten just how much he’s also affecting the lives of two other people. This is where pride becomes a sin.

Is it pride?
Yes.
Pride alone?
No.
Greed, gluttony and lust are in there too.

I have my own pride driven thoughts about what happened too.

I kinda get it.

If I had access to fuck me, I wouldn’t say no either.

And I know I wasn’t myself with him. Too submissive.

I am beautiful, kind, loving and understanding. I made no demands of him whatsoever and never fought with him.

She’s a fighter and has every right to be.

He used to be so strict with me about no conflict, but he also chose to with the one who fought with him.

Men say they want peace but I don’t think they know what that word means.

Goes back to the dead deer analogy…

Men will sit in a tree, sweating, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, sleep in a tent on the hard ground for a week just for the chance to shoot a deer. And if the get one they gloat and show it off like they found the grail and their dick grew 5 times its regular size.

Put that exact same deer on their doorstep dead and they want nothing to do with it.

Hunting instinct.

Ladies, don’t be a dead deer on a doorstep.
(Sherry Argov)

He asked me to send him detailed lists as to why I liked him.

And I did it, even on that last day around 1pm I did it.

I know what it’s like to be torn down, so I build others up.

He never returned the favor.

When you add the truth and subtract the lies, he wasn’t a terribly good boyfriend.

I bought all the excuses as to why he couldn’t see me, reveled in the constant daily attention I did get via text and IG and just assumed he had gotten hurt in the time called before so his heart was guarded.

In light of recent revelations, I don’t fucking care.

Whatevs.

His behavior is in my wheelhouse of things I’ve been through and he knew it, and he done did the exact same thing to me anyways.

I had a moment on the porch with Panda, we were smoking, and the loop in my head was ‘I can’t ever talk to him again’ in waves, just pounding at my psyche threatening to tear my sanity apart.

I said it out loud and she said “I know”.

For a minute there my angst became a sharpened dart aimed at her.

How could she be so flippant about my horrible truth that I was barely brave enough to admit out loud much less accept in any way? I was still bargaining then, ‘well maybe if he…’

But there are no words in any language that can atone for this, and I know it. She knows it. Everybody knows.

Here is the upside.

I get to wake up in the morning and be me.

He has to wake up and be him.

I cannot imagine how insecure someone has to be to be that dishonest with two women who loved him sincerely.

I get it. He has that high school jock/bully mentality wherein he takes what he wants without consequences. But high school was 10 years ago and there is a thickening occurring around his middle and a thinning occurring up top. He has another 2 or 3 years where he is cute enough to get away with this shit, and I think he knows it. That former glory he clings to is fading.

I don’t wish him any harm. However, for his sake, because I did care about him once. I wish to bestow the gift of self-awareness and honest reflection.

What better place than here, what better time than now. RATM

This too shall pass, it always does.

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The Cushioning

July 26, 2017

Fingers crossed for a crazy ex.

What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?

I entered the bargaining phase of grief.

I laid awake last night and realized what I was doing, knew I couldn’t let it go until I knew something, anything and I was selfishly proactive.

Maybe I do have an iota of self-preservation after all. A really tiny iota, but an iota nonetheless.

So, ya.

I posted an article last week about the ‘newest trend in dating’. It’s called cushioning.

It was met with a rousing chorus of ‘no, that’s not new, people have been doing that for a millennia’.

I am in an arguing mood, so I am going to argue semantics.

Once upon a time I was queen of the monkey bars as far as dating goes. Not letting go of one relationship until I had a firm grip on the next. Not classy by any stretch, but I think cushioning is worse.

Actually, I fucking know it is.

In contrast, cushioning is having one or several human pillows to land on should one let go of their current relationship.

Tomato, potato. But still.

It’s disgusting to use people this way. No actual commitment or effort, totally selfish.

It’s the easiest thing in the world now. Someone likes a few of your pics on Instagram, a few harmless messages back and forth and suddenly it’s full blown flirting and you haven’t disclosed your relationship status.

Just in case.

Here’s an idea. Just keep that hoe phase going until you are sure you have it out of your system.

A lot less human collateral damage is created when people tell the truth.

We all need to be telling more of the truth.

Or, you could do what my ex did, make a profile on Tinder, meet me, date me, demand exclusivity and all the while living with the supposed ex-girlfriend.

I have somehow graduated from being the side-piece/coleslaw in this scenario and turned into a queen-sized mattress that he’d land on whenever he felt like it or they’d fight.

Ew.

Fuck.

I am so much better than that.

The actual girlfriend in the scenario messaged me two days ago.

Yesterday I stated I was not going to engage with this woman. And then the anger wore off, the sads hit hard and bargaining reared its ugly head.

He responded oddly to my queries. Accusing me of talking to her in the time called ‘before’.

No honey, I dumped you for being a bad boyfriend, because you are a bad boyfriend. I figured that out on my own and promptly forgot it when you came back. My bad.

Soooooooooo, whatchoo on about now?

I did not know this woman.

I didn’t even know of this woman until she messaged me on Instagram.

I hate hate hate when I do girly shit. But I caved.

I unblocked her and said “I need answers, can we speak as adults.”

I watched Panda bond with the girlfriend of her vacation dick guy that asked her to go to Thailand with him. And I watched it fall apart when he knocked that girl up a few months later. At least Panda got answers and closure. And just maybe, being a dad will help DaveDave keep it in his pants. Unlikely, but maybe.

Speaking of dads and Thailand, I never reached out to the Muay Thai Fighter, nor his fiancé when I found out he was engaged the entire time we were together because we both made it clear it was a temporary, summer fling. To say something to her would cause harm, without doing any good. Condoms were worn, no promises were made. If properly motivated I can justify anything so just let me have this one.

I spoke with a few of the Poet’s harem of pretty girl writers, but that got painful for me, as I realized how much I gave him and how little I got by comparison.

Every time my ex-husbands mistress approached me as an ‘adult’ she just had a mouthful of wasps and lies, carefully calculated word wedges. It was stupid on my part to look to her for comfort, or anything really. Nothing she said ever changed the fact that ya, he was cheating. And not just cheating but having a full blown emotionally committed relationship on the side.

That’s the kicker.

And now I am dealing and reeling in the truth that I was that girl to someone else.

As the giant in Twin Peaks would say…

It’s happening again.

I dated and waited faithfully for a full calendar year for a man who lived with his girlfriend.

And here is where the bargaining came in…

How in god’s name did he ever let me in the house?

She managed to explain that. A few well-timed fights wherein she moved out for a week or two. So he’d make me dinner instead of trying to patch things up with her. Seems legit right?

The texting me all day every day while he was working during the week and the predictable Friday night fights wherein I wouldn’t hear from him again til Monday morning.

Sadly, for both of us. Neither one of us is the crazy ex. She’s the current, with rights to be there and I was an unknowing interloper. Once again, I am Sarah, daddy’s dirty little secret, nice to meet you. Fuck, enough already.

I won’t say we bonded. But we were kind to each other. Answering each other’s questions as thoroughly and gently as possible.

And now I know.

Apparently there is something about my personality that attracts men with gaping black holes for egos, that suck in all of the light, indiscriminately and without remorse.

It’s not the first time.

(Giant, Jesus, Muay Thai, and now Lumberjack, ya that guy.)

Let it be the last.

Take me to some galaxy far, far away from the event horizon before I get sucked in again.

My arms are tired from holding onto nothing.

I don’t want to be a cushion or coleslaw.

I know there is a huge chance she is going to vilify me if she decides to get back with him, and honestly? I am fine with that.

I know, had he come to me as an adult and explained the situation I woulda said ‘boy, bye’. And I know how she feels.

If making me the bad guy or anything I said to her today helps her sleep at night, I am fine with it.

I’ve hit that drama-free point in my life.

Not everything happens for a reason, but everything can be learned from.

I’m still learning.

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Sisters, Soulmates and Side Bitches

July 25, 2017

The Lion’s Gate opened early this year. 19 days early to be exact. There’s that number again. Black 19.

Seems there was too much spiritual awakening to be contained. So be it. I am up now. Second coffee.

The breach occurred on the new moon in Leo a few days ago. It was all about giving up fantasies.

Apparently I neglected to do so.

I once wrote “the moment you think you are cursed, you are.”

I are.

The good news is, I think it’s my own doing, so I can undo it too.

Once upon a time I dated a guy for a year. We split in the middle for a bit. But 6 weeks later he moseyed back into my inbox and we picked back up like nothing had happened. We spoke practically every day. He claimed me as his, I thought he was mine. Made some promises about fishing and movies. We had good dinners and phenomenal sex. I met his sister and loved his dogs. I didn’t see him much, I was kinda in a relationship with a ghost in my phone, but I deemed him worth it and waited. It was still more attention than I was used to.

I wasn’t just blind, I was willfully blind (AHS)

Until I got a delayed message from the universe in the form of an actual message from his actual girlfriend.

And it seems that I although I was (one of) his. He was never mine. They were together before, during, after and still apparently.

I didn’t engage, I just blocked her.

We will just put this on a list of things I didn’t need to know.

The bubble of any future possibility is broken though, so that’s a small kindness.

I refuse go to war for something I cannot possibly win, and don’t want now.
This isn’t my fight, hasn’t been for some time.
I don’t think it ever was.

I keep thinking I am doomed to repeat the same patterns, but maybe not.

I spent 7 years married in another fantasyland, wherein I thought I belonged there.

I didn’t, and fighting didn’t make it so, it just made me miserable.

Now my girls think I should educate this woman. Tell her what I know.

Nah.

She knows enough.

And now, thanks to her, so do I.

Ex hubby’s mistress used to flood my inboxes with fuzzy, sneaky sleeping selfies, screenshots and the like. It’s tacky and rude. And it hurt me.

I don’t know this woman. I have no quarrel with her. Like I said, I knew something was rotten in Denmark and I stayed. That’s on me.

In fact, my entire life is on me.

My decisions, my behavior, my reactions. That’s kinda how I got here.

So, permit me this small trip to fantasyland once again, wherein I actually did speak to this woman.

Here is what I would have said.

Oh honey.
I don’t know you, but I have been you.
Paranoid enough to go through my man’s phone. Angry enough by what I found to message strange women.
It’s not a good place to be. Trying to get some control over your life by sending texts to some girl.
Sorry, but you picked the wrong one.
I don’t negotiate with tiny blonde terrorists who seem to know their man is cheating and continue to call him ‘my boyfriend’.
I can tell you that this behavior of yours is unbecoming, not sexy and pretty fucking rude.
I am not left wondering why he wandered, and again, I don’t know you from Eve.
I can tell you that if you actually love your dude, you have to love him as is, and according to your messages he seems to be a bit of a man whore.
You gotta love that too.
There is no changing people.
Trust me, I’ve tried.
I can only control my reactions and here they are…
Go back where you came from.
Stay out of my inbox with your problems.
Maybe get a little therapy, try to have a nice life and stay the fuck outta mine.

Lucky for me, I have built a solid life of my own.

I don’t need ownership nor attention from any man to be happy.

It isn’t in me to cause pain to anyone.

I have had enough drama for this life and the next.

Uncategorized

I Know How This Ends

July 22, 2017

“I may not be a smart man Jenny, but I know what love is.” Forrest Gump

Unlike Forrest Gump, I am a smart woman, really fucking smart actually, I know a little of what love is (finally) and I DEFINITELY have a PhD in what love isn’t.

I’ve been so close to love I could touch it and taste it and I’ve been so far off the mark I might as well have been on Jupiter.

I do know what tough love is and I’m about to dish some of that up, with some sprinkles and a cherry on top.

One of my girls said “but I’m in love with him” while also describing some pretty shitty behavior by her SO.

It took a lot for me Not to scream ‘no you fucking aren’t’.

My tongue is still bleeding, all over this post.

Instead I said “when you are ready to hear my opinion, let me know. I will try to be nice.”

I see a lot of myself in her, my old self, the sad self that clung to men for some semblance of self-worth and identifiers I hadn’t yet created on my own. She has one main identifier and he wants her to quit it, it is taking a lot for me not to get on a plane and go get her.

Ever hear that saying that the things we hate about others are reflections of the things we hate about ourselves?

Ya that.

I wish we had some kind of hive-mind-Borg capability, like the telepathic part in our brain would reactivate instead of lying dormant so I could just reach out to her and she could feel what I’ve felt. Saying ‘I know how this ends and it’s ugly as fuck’ is not enough.

I do know how this ends, and it IS ugly as fuck. She is overlooking ALL the clues, subtle and blatant for a delusion she’s created.

And of course I can sit there and say this, because I’m not in it.
I can see clearly what he is doing. Read his body language in their selfies, hear the words coming out of his mouth without putting a filter on it.
But when I look at my own relationships, the rose-colored glasses come on and I can’t see red either.
I had a man tell me I wasn’t allowed to love him and my initial reaction was to be stubborn, dig my heels in and stay. It’s too late, it already happened.
Luckily my voices of reasoning and self-preservation showed up in the night. Maybe their flight got delayed, who knows. But I woke up and saw the truth. Either someone broke his heart before or he was born without one. Regardless he didn’t have love to give me. Attention and affection, sure, but not ultimately what I want and deserve.

I pulled way back, to the safe place and regrouped.

I have my Buddha on the mountain top, wise woman moments. I’m fairly Zen. I accept my flaws and try to work with them or around them. My fragile heart that used to be made of not-quite-dry papier-mâché is now made of safety glass, so when it does get smashed it hurts less. We call this progress.

I have also accepted and embraced the idea that we can’t change people, we have to love them as we find them. The flip side is we can chose to love them from a distance. I do a lot of loving from the safety of way over here.

I’ve also realized there are so many kinds of love. I used to be addicted to that fiery-passionate-fuck-or-fight all the time “love”. I abdicated that throne and moved over to being the Sovereign Queen of Settling, that old married feeling after a few months. Neither one suited me.
So I stopped.
I spent 4 years alone realizing all of my accomplishments were my own and I could’ve done a lot more had I comprehended that truth sooner and cut loose the dead-weight of my plethora of exes.
I love being alone so much that even though I’m with a good partner now, I still crave it often.

Gimme Agape, an adulty, pure kinda love mixed with some eros. Agape is defined as selfless, uncomplicated and unconditional. Without angst or pain.

I mean if agape was the only kind of love we had, we wouldn’t have any semblance of art as we know it. No one wants to read books or listen to songs about coming home and just feeling calm and good. I sit back now and listen to music about unrequited love, or crazy passionate love and I shake my head and think ‘you poor fucker, I hope it gets better for you.’

The friend in question? I want to shake the baby. Pull a Cher in Moonstruck, slap her and say “snap out of it”.

Actually, truth be told I have a few girlfriends, myself included, that are clinging to mens that are not their person. But only one of us is across the international dateline getting treated like shit.

So listen.

You don’t love him. You love the idea of him. Your biological clock is ticking so loud you can’t hear the truth. He doesn’t love you either. Which is no fault of your own. He doesn’t know you because you don’t know you. How do I know? Because I was you, I know you and I do love you.

You are fooling yourself, ignoring relationships with your friends that are reciprocal (because we do know you and love you) and you are wasting valuable time and money on something that is going to go down in flames when he carelessly tosses yet another match at it. You are the only one who is going to get burned.

He is not your person, come back to your real people and regroup.

I am the eldest of the group and I can tell you, we only have so much time in this life. I would give anything to go back and escape every minute I have spent pining over my idea of who someone was. Take off the blinders and see what is actually happening instead of seeing what you want to see.

Please just come home.

Author’s note

Almost everything ends.
When it comes to romantic relationships I believe the mourning period is extended by a secondary kind of death.
The loss of the future you imagined with this person.
By lying to yourself that there is even a future there, that is a slower even more painful death, that can be avoided with proper treatment. Like pulling your head out of your own ass for starters.
Plucking out my eyes and handing them to her so she can See what is actually happening isn’t feasible.
Good news is that looking at her problem gave me new eyes about my own.
There is no happily ever after for me, for now and that’s fine. I’m good with what I got.
I think a huge part of the mourning process in break ups is dealing with the things that didn’t happen…the wishes you made on behalf of someone else.
The universe doesn’t work that way.
Build your own solid life before you invite someone else in.
Create your own happiness withing yourself, otherwise it can be taken away from you.
The end.

Uncategorized

Matthew Hussey, Mansplainer or Romance Guru

July 18, 2017

I have 92 minutes left on the dryer and this has been on a loop in my head all day so …
let’s see if we can get this done shall we?

I am pro Matthew Hussey.

But after posting a few videos of his to my page and my profile I am realizing not everyone is.

So be it.

 

 

To be fair, this was posted by one of the strongest women I know. Who also has no interest in a relationship. So really, these aren’t the droids you’re looking for.

And there’s that word again…Should.

Ya, a lot of us should be able to do a lot of things. And yet, here we are. Lost and confused as a whole.

Some things that are blatantly obvious to some of us are not as obvious to others. Experience or ego gets in the way.

I picture myself like her when I get older. She is single, ferociously independent and happy as is. I don’t expect to find one person to live happily ever after with. I am 43 now, I am happy, I have my dog, my life, my words, my son and my friends. I am fulfilled. And yet, I do keep trying with men. I like them and I love sex.

The second coming comment reminds of this “so he can make you cum that doesn’t make him Jesus” Tori Amos

Which lends itself to “little girls shouldn’t treat little boys they happen to meet like little gods” Voice of the Beehive.

And yet, we do. I do anyways. I give control of my happiness and self-esteem over to men who can’t even handle their own shit much less me at my best or worst. Or I used to. I am getting better. A lot of that comes with finding joy in being alone. But that is another post for another day.

Another opinion on Mr. Hussey Media usually placates to the lowest common denominator. Agreed, woman need to take more control, but personal accountability isn’t something our government/society encourages. I’ve never met him, he might have his heart in the right place, but his biceps and hair…..? Anyone that tries to explain a formula for finding love has to be digging for gold. There isn’t one.

Valid points. There is no formula for something that is as varied as our hearts and life experiences.

And yes, this is a different time for women. It’s so hard to find a balance when any show of strength gets you labelled a bitch and any show of open sexuality gets you called a whore.

But if you listen to him, he talks to women like people.

It’s not the biceps or the hair, nor the accent, which by the way has been scientifically proven to put us both at ease and under the assumption the bearer of an English accent is intellectually superior and trustworthy. Weird right? England had a long standing tradition of invading other countries and fucking shit up…but maybe that’s why it’s both familiar and authoritative.

Nearly naked girls sell products, British accents sell ideas.

The world has pretty much figured this out as a whole and I cannot see it changing anytime soon. I personally like to fall asleep to David Attenborough’s snake charming grandfather timber, so there is that then.

I cannot remember the first Matthew Hussey video I saw. I think it was the one about unrequited love being worship.

Thunderpunch to the heart chakra. Here I was thinking it was romantic and pure and a testament to my piousness and devotion. Nope, nuh-uh. We shouldn’t worship people. Relationships are partnerships and when they are one-sided, it’s just sad and a waste of perfectly good effort and emotion.

I felt liberated.

I have since added this to my life practices when assessing romantic situations and writing about them. I mean I was kinda there, but the way he said it, made it click home, hard.

And therein lies the secret of his success and why I find him both refreshing and useful.

When he speaks, to me, things click.

I don’t equate this with mansplaining. Mansplaining to me is a ‘not all men’, ‘but what about men’, ‘this goes for guys too’, and the worst offenders the men who speak overtop of women and just say exactly what the woman just said and all the other men in the room all suddenly agree.

Matthew Hussey doesn’t do that.

And yes, sometimes he is Captain Obvious. But so is Dr. Phil and errrbody eats his condescending circus shit up with a spoon. To me Dr. Phil isn’t any kind of therapist, he’s just more logical than most people.

The reason for both their success?

No, not Oprah…

It is because logic becomes gospel. It’s rare.

The most commonly asked question I hear from women with man problems is “Well, what did he mean?”

To which I invariably answer, “Well what were the words he used? He meant those words in that order.”

It’s a good rule of thumb.

This isn’t always true exactly. Fuckboys speak their own language, which Matthew Hussey and I both have covered extensively, his stuff gets more hits but it’s not a competition.

Women, as a general rule, are emotional and complicated thinkers. Men as a general rule are more logical and simpler creatures. Unless it comes to building cars because heaven forfuckingbid they put them together so you only need 3 tools to fix them, nope, 27 different screwdrivers, torque wrenches, regular wrenches imperial measurements, metric measurements all on the same damned car. The fuck guys, it’s almost like you don’t want us to fix our own vehicles.

Where was I? Oh ya. Emotion versus logic and simple versus complex.

Now. When dealing with human beings in general we all carry the narcissistic trait of using our own base of emotion and experience to assess any situation. It is unfair to say its narcissistic actually. All we have is our own viewpoint and reality really. But where the problem arises is when women expect men (or vice versa) to process information, events, tasks etc. the way SHE would.

Ain’t gonna happen. Again, generalization. Some men have more empathy, have been raised by women/around women and can thereby ‘get it’ a little better than others. Same scenario with women. But for the intents and purpose of this article I am speaking of the average cisgender, sexually mature male and female human. Factory default settings I guess.

I know plenty of women and men that are terrified of the opposite sex. To the point where they will have a crush and go months without saying a word or approaching this person.

Personally? I’m not like that. If I want you, you’ll know. But, stepping outside of my own viewpoint, I can see the use for people like Matthew Hussey and other life/relationship coaches. I’ve been to therapy, I needed and adultier adult with a fresh perspective. To me, that is what Matthew Hussey does, just gives a fresh perspective to those who NEED it.

Don’t need it? Don’t watch him.

I don’t care for wine so I don’t drink it, leave it for the wine drinkers to enjoy. I don’t complain about it, I don’t question the existence of wine. I simply don’t imbibe.

I said earlier I don’t remember the first Matthew Hussey video I saw, I think it was the unrequited love is bullshit, but again, I can’t be sure.

I do know the last one I saw and I’ll post the links at the end.

Thunderpunch to the heart chakra.

He equated being in love, and losing that person, to quitting an addiction.

Fuck, yes. That is exactly what it is.

And me with my graveyard of zombified ex-lovers who just love love to randomly pop into my inboxes. I can testify it IS a rush, it IS a fix.

Hello, my name is Sarah and I am an addict.

Those messages send an opioid rush through my system, feels like sunshine to be remembered. And since I loathe unanswered messages, and I want to get high, I always message back. Usually within minutes.

He went on to talk about how healing and potentially getting that person back being the same process. If a man feels he has nothing to lose he will keep putting in the bare minimum to keep you around, after all, you are his fix too.

I have moments of awakening. At least 2 in the last few months have been because of Matthew Hussey. For that I am grateful.

I can dole out good, sound, responsible relationship advice to everyone on the planet, I’m really good at it. I rarely follow it. So I am one of those people who needs to hear what that man has to say, because for whatever reason…I actually listen.

We need more love in the world. Less fear, second guessing, less confusion and heartache.

I am behind anyone who tries to make it so.

To me he is just another logical light in the chaotic dark.

 

http://www.howtogettheguy.com

 

https://www.facebook.com/pg/CoachMatthewHussey/videos/?ref=page_internal

 

 

 

 

Uncategorized

Shatter Your Delusions of Love, Lol.

July 15, 2017

I have to go buy black dress pants and a black shirt and I don’t want to.

It’s not for the funeral. I am not going to the funeral.

I am cooking for the barbecue tomorrow after the funeral and I am happy about this because Jesus Christ I need a job. When something like this happens I need a job. I need something productive and helpful to do.

Not just when something like this happens, always. I always need to feel useful.

My inner 50’s housewife has been in hyper drive lately and I can’t shut her off. Like a Stepford wife on Adderall and lithium batteries. No rest for the wicked.

I am buying black dress pants and a black shirt because I am taking a bartending gig tonight and the woman in charge hates skirts. Even though it’s 90 degrees I will acquiesce to her request because I want this job. Even though I can cut and stack firewood, cook, clean, change a tire, mow the lawn and do pretty much everything in a skirt, I will abide this woman in charge.

I want this job so bad.

I want this job because I want to be normal.

I don’t want to be the ‘did you hear he’s dating a stripper’ girl anymore.

It’s not who I am, it might have been who I was but it isn’t who I am.

I don’t want to be disposable anymore because of what I do.

It’s not who I am.

I am learning I have value.

I am having a funeral of sorts in my head. For that girl that I was, for finally getting to the end of my fantasyland fairy-tale bullshit delusion I had in my head about happily ever after. Because there was no happily ever after.

I acquiesced to his request and he said lol.

No the end. No horse and carriage no marriage. No good girl or my girl or okay baby.

Just lol.

The shutdown ‘word’ of all fuckboys and men.

The ‘I don’t want to deal with your feelings and I can’t be bothered to type ha-ha so” lol.

Lol = I don’t care enough to respond.

The international word for ‘just kidding’ when we all know there is a whole lotta truth behind every just kidding, like if I gave permission he’d say okay.

But I am not giving permission.

What we allow is what will continue.

We are in charge of our own fate and our own fairy tales. We get to write the ending however we chose and when the prince reveals himself to be a fuckboy in tinfoil instead of a knight in shining armor then we get to say, this isn’t how this ends for me.

Next chapter.

And we will hold tiny funerals in our hearts and our girlfriends say nothing because they tried and tried and tried to tell you that you were a side piece but you couldn’t see the color red until it was all you could see.

I am not coleslaw.

I ain’t even mad.

I did this to myself.

I had a cabin in the woods in my head and I lived there with someone who didn’t make time which is why I had so much time to make these stories up in my head.

And when I told him he just said lol.

It wasn’t a no, so I ran with it.

Straight into a brick wall because I was blind and I couldn’t see.

And he said he would turn my imaginary hammock into a sex swing and I said I love you.

I fucking love you.

After months of tasting blood in my mouth from keeping it off my tongue.

I tell my friends every day that I love them, but with the men in my life it’s been harder to say. I hold it back. The last 10 years I have said it 3 times and only once was it returned.

But it wasn’t with him.

He said I wasn’t allowed.

No lol.

A full on nope.

And it still took me days of denial and a harsh text about something else before it hit me.

He doesn’t love me.

He is never going to love me.

The imaginary cabin in the woods burned to the ground.

Nature will take it back.

That burned black space that was left behind when the fire came and took away any idea of home and comfort.

Then something else can grow there.

Something real.

Uncategorized

Queens and the Fools who don’t even Try to Love Them

July 13, 2017

PIC is home, maintaining, with ALL OF THE DOGS. Angelface is at work, heading to Hawaii shortly. Manda Bear is sleeping and getting her hair did and only had one breakdown yesterday. Panda was in bed with RuPaul, but she ate finally. Kidlet ate too and listened to polka with me in the car.

Okay, I can breathe now.

I still can’t remember what we all did on Sunday. I feel like we were together and it was good, amen, that will have to do.

Then life happened. More specifically death and cheating.

Wish we could turn back time, to the good old days, when the mama sang us to sleep but now we’re stressed out. 21 Pilots

We are stressed out.

When something happens to one of us, it happens to all of us. It’s not my pain, its hers but it hurts just the same.

It’s been a calendar year since the boyfriend of one of us went on a 5 day bender, sent himself into a cocaine psychosis, attacked the girls in the car and landed himself in the hospital. Almost a year to the day since he sent her life into chaos, and just as she was getting it back together, he died.

She knew it was coming. Just like meteorologists know these super storms are coming, but it doesn’t stop the devastation.

He loved drugs more than life and finally got his wish to be free of the mortal coil.

Death doesn’t stop the pain, it just transfers it to someone else.

I wish he would have realized this.

There were no words or quotes or actions that could have stopped it.

Kidlet lost a friend the same day. 2 weeks in a coma and he finally let go.

Panda found out some bad news as well, and after she laughed, she cried.

We are all in varying stages of grief over varying scenarios and for each other.

I feel like I jinxed us. Like I thumbed my nose at fate. We were all on an upswing, all adulting and I said so, out loud.

“No stress, I feel light as a feather right now.”

That was Monday, before work. Before the bad news.

We got together Tuesday morning and spent the day with each other.
We swam, they drank, I fished, we ate. We laughed and cried and on the way home 2 of them screamed NOOOOOOO emphatically in the back of my car.
It was a wonderful horrible day.

I finally crumbled late Tuesday night after playing strong all day. East side Mario’s parking lot, 9:30 at night. All I wanted was a chicken Caesar salad and some normalcy.
He asked if I was alright, I gripped the steering wheel so tight I could have broken it in half and said no.
“What’s wrong?”
These are my best friends, amazing women all of them, and they deserve better than this life and these men that die, lie, leave, beat, steal and cheat.
That’s why I cried.
That and for my son’s friend and his hardened heart, that growing up a city kid, it’s normal to lose multiple friends by the age of 21.

These women of mine are Queens goddamnit! Where the kings at?

So far it’s just been jokers and fools and little fuckboys refusing to grow up.

I weep for their parents. I thank god for my son and the luck that has gotten us this far.

I weep for my girls, and for me and I thank god again that we found each other in the dark.

Can we just take a good long look at how we treat each other? How we drop everything to be with each other. How we hold each other up and love each other. How we can say ANYTHING without judgement or repercussions. How even on our worst days when one of us is being a total cunt muffin we still love each other. Can we please realize that this kind of love exists? That we deserve nothing less from Anyone we let into our space. Men included. I fucking love you bitches with my whole heart. I don’t have room for any man who can’t keep up, show up and man up.

I say I don’t. But it will be my turn to cry soon enough. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe we can wake up one morning and decide to change.

I told Panda not long ago, “if he spent every minute of every hour for the next ten years trying to man up and be what you deserve, maybe then I could forgive him. But he just wants to throw phones and tantrums.”

Step up or get out.

That goes for all of them and all of us.

I don’t have much money, but boy if I did, I’d buy a big house where we all could live. Elton John

With a big sign on the front gate.

QUEENS ONLY, NO FUCKBOYS ALLOWED.

Uncategorized

Unrequited Love and Funerals for the Living

July 13, 2017

Authors note:
I wrote this on Monday for publishing on Tuesday. Woke up at 8:49 am, walked to the porch for a cigarette after I’d put the kettle on. Just like every other morning. But unlike every other morning Panda opened the door and said “___ died last night, I am on my way to Manda Bear’s”.
Her face was swollen from crying. I opened our group chat and saw the texts. My heart broke.

I am currently wracking my brain trying to remember what we did on Sunday, but I can’t. And maybe that is some bliss in itself.

I know Tuesday by 11:30 we were all gathered on a patio, just to be together. I had more bad news, but that can wait for another post.

I am telling you this because I rushed this post. My girls wanted something to read and distract so I shoved it out of the nest without spellcheck etc…

So here is the revised version.


I Walk on Water by Kaleo YouTube, that is what I was looking for.

Actually looking for Peter Gabriel singing I Grieve, which I found, then Kaleo

Because I grieve, I grieve for you and you leeeeeave you leave me…

And also I do walk on water…

Except when I don’t.

I sink and I swim and I float.

Had a good float going.

But Nooooo YouTube is trying to kill me, Explosions in the Sky, the album “Those who Tell the Truth Shall Die, Live Forever” (the album) just came up.

Fuck you YouTube. I didn’t need reminding, I never forget.

That’s I all I ever do.

Remember and tell my truth, the whole of it and nothing but the truth so help me god.

Help me god, seriously. Need a little help down here.

I know I’ve sinned, it’s what I do but I cannot abide a lord who would give me a body like this that does the things it does and then says ‘nay Sister Sarah, deny thine fine self.’

I’ll make my own kingdom of heaven here just in case I’m wrong and I don’t get in.

Heaven once was Black 19/Moonface or picking up take out and coming over for couch cuddles.

“I miss the way he talked” Panda said.
Me too baby, me too.
And him cutting his eyes at me while we were watching a movie because he knew I wasn’t paying attention to anything but the curve of his top lip, and how it curled when he knew I was looking.

I sent the bulk of this post to our Sara of Lords. I was in the car on my way back from a bar.

Not a fan of bars.

When did I stop dancing and singing and smiling? Who told me my teeth were ugly and my voice unpleasant and my dancing awkward?

And why did I listen?

I know who…Varying exes and toxic friends. My sister mocked my singing voice until I just stopped. For like 30 years I didn’t sing. Now I sing in the car, alone. One person has heard me, once, because I didn’t care.

And I know why. I didn’t love me. I didn’t love me because I didn’t know me. I am still learning.

I’m getting better, in this circle of friends I have. I don’t have to care about what they think because they love me, tone deaf derpy dumb girl that I am.

When they hurt, I hurt. And some of them are hurting right now. These mens of ours are not doing right by us.

I can sit here like some wise woman on top of a mountain doling out wisdom about heartache and how I’ve overcome losing men I’ve loved.
How I survived being the girl you fuck but never marry. but I gotta tell you a secret.
It could be 2am or noon and sometimes it’ll just hit me that one or all of them or gone and it’s a sucker punch to my heart.

It fucking hurts.

I dread running into Giant and his traveling waitress because I know I’ll time-travel back to the girl who ugly cried and chain smoked in her bedroom begging for another chance while Panda and kiddo pulled their hair out trying to pull me out of my heartbreak funk. I don’t think the hurt would last as long as the first time, but still. Wounds reopen and you never can tell.

Every breakup is a loss.

You have to mourn.

It’s the same as death.

And we have to get up.

Someones gotta buy the milk and walk the dog.

You force yourself.

You baby step and purge. The time spent not crying starts getting longer like the days leading up to summer.

Then you start deleting messages and pictures like pulling out splinters so your body can heal itself.

My girl sent me pics of her ex.

So she ‘knows they exist somewhere’ before she deletes them.

I wish I was so brave

My inboxes folders and archives read like war memorial. Date of birth, date of death, pics and screenshots.

They have to exist somewhere just in case I start feeling crazy, like it was always unrequited and maybe I was just too blind to see. But I open them from time to time, I wasn’t blind, they said those things.

I know this shall pass.

But right now I am thinking about the Muay Thai Fighter and his face when he opened the door and saw me in the red dress, or when the Hulk saw me in the other red dress.

Red dresses instead of black.

Funerals for the living.

Those whose eyes used to light up when I walked in the room turning to cold, dead stares.

I remember when I lost my joy, just like I remember every kiss every hit.

When my Jeep got plowed into from behind and we rolled and skidded for a mile all my muscle memories were lost on impact. I barely remember learning to walk and talk again, but I did it. I am here.

I still get jolted awake in the night remembering the accident to but I got behind the wheel and drove. I got back on stage with knees made of jell-o and agonizing pain and I did it. I moved.

Bravery is movement anyways.

It is dragging yourself out of bed with a broken heart, crying in the shower hoping no one and everyone hears you, but you have to get it out because it’s killing you.

It’s waking up one morning down the road and not crying first thing. Its moments of forgetting that stretch into hours and eventually days.

Its seeing punch buggies and not cringing, its hearing that song on the radio or smelling that cologne and not having the sting of tears breach your ducts and hit your cheeks.

You think you won’t live, but you will.

And scientifically speaking, 7 years from the last day they touched you and it burned like a hot stove that you couldn’t keep your hands off, your body gifts you with regenerated cells that they haven’t ever been privy to.

Memories fade. Time moves forward whether we want it to or not.

And at least we have each other.

 

dancing girls

No Rules

July 12, 2017

PIC loves to say ‘no rules’. She usually has a drink in her hand and is about to get up to some kind of mischief. But we love her.

I once called her a balloon. We just hold the string and keep her away from sharp things as she floats.

It’s a good analogy. I occasionally hit one out of the park.

I called Panda’s ex ‘human margarine’. He is. No substance, just a grease stain on some white bread offering nothing but empty calories in paste form. A barely edible oil product.

Speaking of which, there are some rules.

Human Serotonin remarked the other day “I don’t know how you and Panda can live together, no one can live with friends and stay friends, but you two make it work.”

That we do. I stay home, she goes out. She takes me out and I keep her home. Yin and Yang baby.

I also follow the rule of 5.

If it’s not going to bother me in 5 hours, 5 days or 5 years. I keep my motherfucking mouth shut. Ya, she gets ready in a rush and leaves her creepy as fuck hair extensions on the bathroom floor and I hate it. So I pick them up so my dog doesn’t pee on them, my dog thinks she is people and has to pee on the bathmat. Both irritating things, but this is life.

She is my sunshine my only sunshine, she makes me happy when skies are grey.

We used to Tinder together, scroll scroll swipe swipe oh hey look at this one.

She’d turn her phone to face me, showing and telling and my invariable reply was “He’s not my type, but I get it, go git it girl.”

And vice versa. She can usually find something endearing or understandable about the men I bring home. Like referring to the Hulk as ‘the guy who reminds me of my dad.’ Or about Moonface ‘he was really hood for you, but I liked the way he talked.’

We balance. I don’t want to wear her clothes very often and I don’t care if she wears mine.

We have different styles and tastes in men and everything. This is why we work.

My shortcomings are her strengths and her strengths balance my bullshit out.

And deep down at our core, we share a moral code.

Even if she paraded some Adonis through the house with angel wings and the body of a panty soaking Greek god, I wouldn’t blink. I shall not want. My friendship with all of my girls is much too valuable to me to trash it over some boy who is probably gonna end up trash anyways.

I have a few posts fighting it out in my head right now. Moonface is among them, which leads me to another tale along the riverbank.

Once upon a time in a strip club not far away I saw a boy and I liked him. PIC saw him too and liked him too. But I saw him first and after talking to him I was smitten. Now normally I would take one for the team and hand him over on a platter, but I didn’t. That one selfish bone in my body won the day, or the night really. PIC was pissed, fair enough. She said as much but I already knew it and I had a good idea about what it was about. I waited. She waited. We both waited until the situation had diffused enough to talk to each other like grownups. I apologized sincerely, she accepted it. She wanted me to be happy. We moved forward.

And in the grand scheme of things I did actually take one for the team because he borrowed money and disappeared. Better me than PIC. I got this, it’s in my wheelhouse to just take the pain.

So what happens when someone outside of our group starts seeing the ex of someone in the group?
And what if said ex happens to be the big bad, aka human margarine.

Well, we rally.

We were already pre-rallied so she was surrounded by a protective circle of women as the news came out of my mouth. She howled.

We warned the outsider that he is bad news. It is our obligation as women to point out red flags to the colorblind. The question remains however, how much loyalty is to be shown by someone who was never one of us? There is a girl code and this is pretty bad.

Nothing is ever good with that fucker. For someone I have met three times he has caused an awful lot of chaos drama and pain in my life.

I have a bad feeling shit is about to hit the fan again and he is the one with his pants down.

So be it.

My girls are my heart.

I will never take their men, I will always take their side and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I have a feeling I am going to walk into the drama den aka work tomorrow and crucified, and I have hit this point beyond caring. I did the right thing. Anyone would have done the same in my shoes, anyone worth knowing anyways.

I told the truth. It’s what I do. Tried to keep a girl I don’t even like from getting hit and tried to keep Panda from getting hurt further. I’ll take that bullet, thanks.

We need to shrug off these chains we have been given, that women should compete with each other. It is only serving to hold us down and keep us controlled. When what we really need to do is rally around each other.

Women need to have each other’s backs like we do when we are drunk in bar bathrooms.

Those are the only rules.

 

Uncategorized

Love and Funerals for the Living

July 11, 2017

I Walk on Water by Kaleo YouTube, that is what I was looking for.

Actually looking for Peter Gabriel singing I Grieve, which I found, then Kaleo

Because I grieve, I grieve for you and you leeeeeave you leave me…

And also I do walk on water…

Except when I don’t.

I sink and I swim and I float.

Had a good float going.

But Nooooo YouTube is trying to kill me, Explosions in the Sky, the album “Those who Tell the Truth Shall Die, Live Forever” (the album) just came up.

Fuck you YouTube. I didn’t need reminding, I never forget.

That’s I all I ever do.

Remember and tell my truth, the whole of it and nothing but the truth so help me god.

Help me god, seriously. Need a little help down here.

I know Ive sinned, it’s what I do but I cannot  abide a lord who would give me a body like this that does the things it does and then says ‘nay Sister Sarah, deny thine fine self.’

I’ll make my own kingdom of heaven here just in case I am wrong and I don’t get in.

Heaven was Black 19/Moonface picking me up from work, or picking up take out and coming over for couch cuddles.

“I miss the way he talked” Panda said. Me too baby, me too. And him cutting his eye at me while we were watching a movie because he knew I wasn’t paying attention to anything but the curve of his top lip and how it curled when he knew I was looking.

I sent the bulk of this post to our Sara of Lords. I was in the car on my way back from a bar.

Not a fan of bars.

When did I stop dancing and singing and smiling? Who told me my teeth were ugly and my voice unpleasant and my dancing awkward?

And why did I listen?

I can sit here like some wise woman on top of a mountain doling out wisdom. About heartache and how I’ve overcome losing men I’ve loved. How I survived being the girl you fuck but never marry but I gotta tell you a secret. It could be 2am or noon and sometimes it’ll just hit me that one or all of them or gone and it’s a sucker punch to my heart. It fucking hurts.

I dread running into Giant and his traveling waitress because I know I will travel back to the girl who ugly cried and chain smoked in her bedroom begging for another chance while Panda and kiddo pulled their hair out trying to pull me out of my heartbreak funk. I don’t think the hurt would last as long as the first time, but still. Wounds reopen and you never can tell.

Every breakup is a loss.

You have to mourn.

It’s the same as death.

And we have to get up.

Someones gotta buy the milk and take out the trash.

You force yourself.

You baby step and purge. The time spent not crying starts getting longer like the days leading up to summer.

Then you start deleting messages and pictures like pulling out splinters so your body can heal itself

My girl sent me pics of her ex

So she ‘knows they exist somewhere’ before she deletes them.

I wish I was so brave

My inboxes folders and archives read like war memorial. Date of birth date of death, pics and screenshots.

They have to exist somewhere just in case I start feeling crazy, like it was always unrequited and maybe I was just too blind to see. But I open them from time to time, I wasn’t blind, they said those things.

I know this shall pass.

But right now I am thinking about Muay Thai matt and his face when he opened the door and saw me in the red dress, or when mike saw me in the other red dress

Red dresses instead of black.

I remember when I lost my joy, just like I remember every kiss every hit.

When my jeep got plowed into from behind and we rolled and skidded for a mile all my muscle memories were lost on impact. I barely remember learning to walk and talk again, but I did it. I am here.

I still get jolted awake in the night remembering the accident to but I got behind the wheel and drove. I got back on stage with knees made up jell and agonizing pain and I did it. I moved.

Bravery is movement anyways.

It is dragging yourself out of bed with a broken heart, crying in the shower hoping no one and everyone hears you, but you have to get it out because it’s killing you.

It’s waking up one morning down the road and not crying first thing. Its moments of forgetting that stretch into hours and eventually days.

Its seeing punch buggies and not cringing, its hearing that song on the radio or smelling that cologne and not having the sting of tears breach your ducts and hit your cheeks.

You think you won’t live, but you will.

And scientifically speaking, 7 years from the last day they touched you and it burned like a hot stove that you couldn’t keep your hands off, your body gifts you with regenerated cells that they haven’t ever been privy to.

Memories fade. Time moves forward whether we want it to or not. We move ever upwards on onwards.

 

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