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The title of my last post was mildly misleading. I didn’t explain the Dildo part.

Nor Dick’s really.

Clickbait babes. I am not ashamed to admit I name things to get more hits.

Anything with sex fuck vagina or dildo gets read more often.

On the first day of adventures with my Ripley sisters they told me to call in late for work and get in the car.
They had to take me to this place and it was a secret.

Our destination had been chosen for 2 reasons. There were supposed to be whales feeding and breaching and, the name of the place. I was thinking it was going to be something like Immaculate Karma Bay or something mystical and magical.

They took me to Dildo Newfoundland.

That’s a real place.

The locals said it got lost in translation between the French and English.

In French it is D’isle de l’eau. The island of water due to an abundance of fresh water springs on a tiny island in the middle of the bay.

But ya, in the way white people do shit and the amazingly thick accents on the Newfies here… It’s now called Dildo.

I have never seen whales in the wild.

As we were driving and catching up on the first day, I started to look at this place with their eyes. Same as how I got to revisit the Wizarding World of Harry Potter by imagining the Last One beside me. I got to borrow a new set of eyes.

I forgot why I was here.

It is incredibly beautiful even in its rocky barren and decidedly brown state. Everything is brown or grey. It’s just rocks and trees and dirt. And it is beautiful.

Came back along Marine Drive on the 3^rd day and my eyes were well fed.

But on the first day…

We sat down to eat at the Dildo Dory Restaurant, overlooking the ocean.

I had a moment wherein I stated out loud, “I really hope we do see whales, I think that would fill me with profound joy.”

And we did, and it did. And in this moment I am happy.

You kinda have to relax your eyes and watch for what looks like puffs of smoke coming off the water. But when you finally see them, it is glorious. They were far away. I will get on a proper boat tour before I go and get closer.

Day two was a place called Bell Island. Dick’s is the name of the fish and chips place we went to. There was a theme to the trip. Best fish and chips since childhood suppers out at Erie Bell where I am from.

Third day I was in charge. I am not good at being in charge, but I had two things on my bucket list and 2 things I had already done that made me happy, so we did those things.

Finally went up to Cape Spear without a boy and actually got out of the truck and toured around. It is amazing and old and weird, just like this whole place. Tiny Dino enjoyed herself.

We went to Middle Cove, which is numbered among my happy places. Everything good starts there.

Finally made it to Mallard Cottage and the food was orgasmically good.

Between those two trips, we did a circle around the area, I actually planned that part okay. I took the girls to the Ocean Science Center. My last trip there the sun was out, the tide was high and the waves were crashing rainbows in this skinny little inlet, it was awe inspiring.

This time it was raining, the tide was low and nothing was crashing. It was just damp and yet still pretty.

I didn’t actually realize I had been there before, when my boss had tried to pry me out of one of my earlier funks by driving me around.

It was cold that day so we didn’t do much.

I’d been told that I just had to go back and see the seals. I was expecting some grand beautiful vista with seals lounging on rocks and puffins flying around.

Ya, that didn’t happen. It was 3 seals in 2 tanks with little ramps and platforms to hang out on, casually looking over their shoulders at us.

It was hilarious and kinda a metaphor for my experience with the boys here.

I get so excited, and they end up being just cute, big-eyed, lumps in a fenced in area. But I got so worked up about them, I forgot to drive around the island and actually look around at where I am.

This has been amended.

Amen.

par·a·digm shift

noun

1. a fundamental change in approach or underlying assumptions.

Needed that.

I woke from a strange dream wherein a blue alien who looked and spoke quite a lot like Benedict Cumberbatch was leading me around old places I had lived so I could revisit them (and I had to get the boy to the dentist weirdly in the midst of all this). While trying to teach me lessons and turning down my sexual advances, also weird, it was a dream and I watch a lot of 3D anime monster porn on Pornhub.
But at one point I did or said something and he looked at me and said “You’re the shift” with this look of great relief and satisfaction on his face at this grand epiphany. Then he morphed into the boy. I gave him a dance and he fucked me, I orgasmed for reals in my sleep and I woke up happy.

There was a part in the dream where there was a hard to see glass door that kept changing locations, and sometimes I would wait for someone else to open it, sometimes I would go around and sometimes I could just go through if I relaxed my eyes enough to see it. The boy was on the other side of it.

I also, immediately knew what it all meant.

I made a decision to be the sad, lost homesick (with no home to go to) girl sitting at the bar stagnating and drunk.
So I can decide not to be.

This is not a weight to carry, this is lightness, this is freedom.

If I belong nowhere, I belong everywhere too.

I don’t have to sit and wait for things to happen, I can make them happen.

I have been hiding out from the world, afraid of who I might run into, then Dani and I ran into the Nope holding hands with a vanilla pudding girl. Instead of being painful, I howled. This is what they do. They run and hide behind the plainest girl they can find. Enjoy your cardboard cut out honey and be well.

At one point this week, in real life, I met a man at the bar, he was from Singapore and was delighted that I spoke a smattering of Cantonese.
At one point he looked at me and called me “enchantress”.

I forget myself often. I am exactly that, ancient and magic, among other things.

Then some random person, place or thing reminds me and I am alright again.

Shouldn’t need to be so fucking hard
This is life on earth
It’s just life on earth
It doesn’t need to be the end of you, or me
This is life on earth
It’s just life on earth

The first light
The first light on the silent shore
Just the ships set anchor me and you
The way home
This is always the way home
So you can rip that map to shreds, my dear

This is not love you had before
This is something else…

Snow Patrol, Life on Earth

I sent this to the Giant a week or two ago, called it life changing… it is.

I needed a change. A shift.

IT SHOULDN’T HAVE TO BE SO FUCKING HARD.

But I was making it that way.

Put your happiness in the hands of others and they will drop it every time, every fucking time, without fail.

Things didn’t go the way I wanted so I just stopped living.

Then 3 things happened.

1. The blue alien Bunnyface Cumberbuttons dream
2. My girls came from away
3. I got a little blue dinosaur in the mail

I have done more adventuring and living in the last 3 days than I have in my last 3 months here.

I saw whales, caves and “secret” beaches. Ate amazing food, hiked in the rain and was disappointed by seals.

Halfway through my time here and I am finally enjoying it.

I hit my fulcrum last week too. I have been here longer than I have left before I leave.

I don’t know where I am going to end up.

And that is really okay.

The way home
This is always the way home
So you can rip that map to shreds, my dear

I don’t have a map. Never did. Instead I have strange dreams, amazing friends, gut feelings and a renewed sense of adventure.

Tiny dino and I are going to have an adventure a week, and I am going to start living again.

So mote it be.

Ex hubby messaged because he’s having reoccurring dreams that I’m yelling and drowning.

I’m trying to convince him I’m okay, but there is some truth in his dream.

I am drowning a bit and I am trying to figure out how to stop it.

I know I just need to stand up, yet again.

Fall down seven times, get up eight.

I also have to figure out what I am doing wrong. I am not sure yet. But there is something.

I’ve had an absolutely garbage week, starting with Monday the creepy fuck boy and continuing on until, well kinda now.

Girls are mad at me again for whatfuckingever reason they have decided on this week and I’ve spent more than I have made. The ban on playing cards is still in place and I’m just cranky. Nope is docked at the harbor and that isn’t the easiest thing to deal with although, it’s been keeping me more sober-ish.

I’m going through hell, so I will keep going. Winston Churchill

That’s all any of us can do.

Except the ones who look around at their own hells and decide it’s someone else’s fault.

Me playing cards has nothing to do with how much money someone else makes.
I am not casting bad mojo around the bar, that’s the bad drugs honey.

I have a long list of things that are most definitely my fault. Mostly centering around mistakes I made with my child especially when he was young. I’m working on forgiving myself, but it is difficult.

We spoke on Mother’s Day and I apologized for the thousandth time for fucking up so bad and he responded “If it had have been easy I wouldn’t be so tough now, and I need to be tough.”

He is my favorite thing on the planet.

We have grown so much together since he was born and exponentially so in the last 4 years. He astounds me every day with his logic and determination.

I made a decision to be where I am and it was not made lightly. A few things I have done since then were regrettable see that last 90 days of posts about being drunk and sleeping with the wrong person.

There is no one to blame but myself however, and I know this.

I used to play the blame game. And my life just kinda stayed in a shitty holding pattern. The outside influence I was blaming would change, but my circumstances did not.

Until I realized I am the common denominator and these are MY patterns.

I still blame the moon sometimes and there are hormone fluxes I can’t exactly control, but I am, at the end of the day in charge of my damned self.

And my ‘self’ is a stripper witch.

I think I got comfy and cozy back home surrounded by likeminded or at least understanding people.

It’s not like that here.

They throw the word at me like it’s a bad thing.

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
— Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride

See also, “I’m not a witch I am your wife”

I am no one’s wife and I am a witch.

All that means to me is instead of having a cross for comfort I have runes of protection on my door, black salt under my bed.

I clean and smudge when the moon is in certain phases. I can read your palm and if you are sick I can cook something that will make you feel better.

My superstitions are different than yours.

I believe very firmly in karma and what I put out comes back to me, so I try to only put out good.

Sometimes I fuck up,. I’m fallible and human and I’ve been drinking, but still. I wouldn’t wish ill of anyone. I might not want to share my space or conversation with you, but I’m not going to cast a spell to get rid of someone or harm them, because it will come back at me threefold. To me that’s better motivation to be kind than an old white dude up in the clouds watching me masturbate and judging me.

What it means is if you need a baby wipe or a Band-Aid, I will gladly give you one of mine because I can. And potentially one day I might fall down and need help.

I am currently burning “Jinx Removing” incense that was sent to me from home. I also know that if a jinx does exist, I created it, therefore I can reset my thinking and destroy it.

So mote it be.

I went looking for my horoscope before I started writing this. It’s not there yet, but this was…

Sacred Advertisement: This Perfect Moment is brought to you by your powers to grow moonflowers in a wasteland and locate a good omen in a scary place and alleviate half of your raw suffering and resurrect a seemingly dead dream as you triumph over a nightmare.

https://www.facebook.com/Rob-Brezsnys-Free-Will-Astrology-133041234078/

I had such a lovely Sunday. I truly did. Protective circle of pretty boys at the bar, made a bit of money, had charming conversations and I didn’t get too drunk. Got tipped on stage. Everyone left in a good mood.

Then came Monday.

What the actual fuck Monday?

That was just rude.

I usually love Monday’s late start, early finish, day off the next day. But we can’t play cards and I am pushing through until my girls get here so I can have a good night out.

This was not a good night.

Add to it the loveliness of Sunday as a juxtaposition. Just heinous fuckery most foul.

Nightmare night.

I have slept with 2 people since I got here and at one point they were the only 2 people in the bar.

Nope and the one that should have been a nope and never fucking happened.

Wait, back up.

The bar was dead for most of the night, except for one exceptionally obnoxious drunk man.

I have dated alcoholics that hit me and hurt me, and I can recognize the ones who have a mean streak. This one did so I steered clear until he poked me, and even then I stayed calm and told him ‘no touching.’ He called me an asshole and was asked to leave.

Then I get a message request on Instagram. Ex hubby asking me if I am a Newfie now.

It’s been 4 years since we had any kind of contact. It didn’t go well last time.

He asked me if I remembered why he stopped talking to me.

“I am a giant whore.”

“I was gonna say oversharing, but I suppose it’s the same thing.”

Kinda wish he had just said what he wanted to say in the first few lines which was he would look after my son so I could go be happy. But we have never been able to keep things short and sweet. We had text fights that would go on for days and days. I am not that girl anymore.

“Looks like you are stripping.”

“I am.”

And it kinda went downhill from there.

None of these things were really enough to make the night that bad exactly. Drunk Josh, no the other Josh, Josh with the crazy girlfriend Josh popped in and was in a sooky mood and pulled me into his lap and bought me a couple whiskeys. So that was nice. The lack of clientele meant we didn’t have to go on stage till late, so that was good too.

Nope showed up mid stage show looking adorable. I am still unsettled by this. He said something about making me lose focus, to which I replied “It’s not the same anymore, you broke whatever this was, and I wish you hadn’t.”

I miss the attention. He gave really good attention.

The other one however. I do not miss. I regret. And I rarely regret anything.

And of course he waltzed into the bar last night. Asshole. Who takes pictures of sleeping girls and shows their friends? Apparently that guy. I do not like being recognized by a boy I have never met because he saw pics of me sleeping naked. The level of creepiness is overwhelming.

I wish I had a magic eraser for that few weeks of my life. I was exceptionally depressed and made a very bad decision which I think was a catalyst for other things not going my way. Lesson learned.

And kudos to the Nope, I told him what was happening and he asked me what I needed him to do.

“Just stay with me for a minute.” And he did.

The other one left without incident and everyone seems to have slipped into the portal wherever fuck boys go.

I made it, I always do. No meltdown, despite a thousand triggers.
Tonight is a new moon, thank god. We need a little new around here.

Good omens and moonflowers instead of a chaotic mess in a scary place.

I cussed out the creep so hopefully he will stay the fuck away.

“I pity your wife if you think 6 minutes is forever” Freddie Mercury

Also, if you are gonna be a fuck boy of epic proportions at least be good at fucking.

Once upon a time I went to see “Get Out” with a 25 year old Scorpio who did steroids. It was our first date and I truly believed it was going to be our only date. The preview for Beauty and the Beast came on before the movie and he said “we should go see that”. I laughed and said we wouldn’t make it that long, but sure I will agree to the imaginary thing in the future.

He pulled a mind fuck on me and showed up the next day with cheeseburgers and cuddled me on the couch while Panda grilled him to make sure he was worthy.
He just kept showing up. A few months later he surprised me with tickets to Beauty and the Beast.

And it was good, until it wasn’t.

I think that was the last time a man proved me wrong.

Heard this on the radio this morning

The moon is on my side
I have no reason to run
So will someone come and carry me home tonight
The angels never arrived
But I can hear the choir
So will someone come and carry me home

Fun, We are Young.

Kinda sums up my night last night at the bar, surrounded by lovely, sweet, young men. Except I didn’t need carrying and the angels did kinda arrive.

Went out for a cigarette and told one of them my age, he immediately said “oh you’re ___’s girlfriend”. No I am not, I do not belong to anyone.
He said he recognized me and told me a rather creepy story about seeing naked pictures of me sleeping, but I am not ready to deal with that just yet. He is my birthday twin, 23 and put his number in my phone as “future husband”.

This is a tiny fucking island, everyone knows everyone and everything. I spent 3 weeks with the wrong person and it is still haunting me.

I stated very clearly that I only date younger men and we discussed the dangerzone that is those approaching 30. They want to nest and I am not wifey. So of course he immediately proposed.

But this isn’t about him. We have a mutual friend.

At one point in the conversation I found myself thinking “my kingdom for a 21 year old Scorpio on Tren who knows what he wants.”

He had been in a few days ago “I want to tell you a story” he said.

It wasn’t so much of a story as he was looking for a bit of advice and reassurance. I am the Scorpio whisperer and the younglings trust me. This one is 21, a Scorpio and I call him Smiley. He has a very distinct and infectious smile.

He isn’t one of mine per se, but he buys the occasional shot of whiskey for me and we talk about the Matrix and the Mandela Effect. On this weird little island I will take intellectual sanctuary where I can find it. He is a snappy dresser and he makes me smile. So there is that then.

There are others like him. Boys I have no design on at all, but whose company I enjoy. No strings.

But this is the story of a 21 year old who told a really long rambling tale about the older woman he wants and in doing so taught me a valuable lesson.

I saw this video a year ago. And it hit me like truth in my chest. Unlike her I have always known I had to go. That there was more for them than me. That my job was to love them and leave them wild.

https://www.facebook.com/heyirisdotcom/videos/1771510762916269/?hc_ref=ARTS4bBDViqIfPy_4atc-KcPWnTlvqaXqsEuLwyZ4Hw22N2VITb_nmzWCtUOlz0fN30

“I was 45 and he was 29” she says.

She got 4 good years with him. They forced themselves apart and came back together like a wound that wouldn’t heal. Both trying to concede to other other’s needs, even though that wasn’t their fate.

I know that ending well.

But…

There is always a “but”.

Conversation with Smiley last night. He wants a woman who is 12 years older. He is dead set on having her. In a way I have yet to see in men twice his age. Like, she is his person and he decided and this is just the way things are.

It’s falling apart because she is being stubborn and I kinda wanna smash her over the head with the truth, which is how can you squander this gift from god?

I only ever see things from my side. Like somehow I am the adult and that gives me the right to decide how things are. But I am not the only person in the relationship and I don’t need to be right about everything.

Smiley has more emotional maturity and poise than most, and it is unfair that he is being dismissed over a number.

In spite of everything, I listened to him state in a very logical Scorpio manner all the reasons why she thinks it won’t work and that he understands everything. Then he said “but I am still in love with her.”

It warmed my heart and reminded me of what Our Sara of Lords said once upon a time. “It is not a burden to be loved by you.”

Goes for both of us, we aren’t burdens, we are blessings.

May we both get what we want.

Guess who showed up last night?

The Giant.

Not physically, he just texted. But that was enough. It’s been 84 years, or like a month really.

They all do this. Disappear and reappear. But last night felt like the universe was throwing me a curveball and it hit me in the ear.

It was already a perfect storm for emotions. I pre-warned everyone and had napkins in my purse.

Kinda for a minute thought I was gonna be okay.

Then the bing of a text.

Said he was drunky and had a story for me. So I sat on the stairs at work and listened to a tale of how his hot neighbor that he tried to date until she made it abundantly clear that she wanted a baby RIGHT NOW, had found a pair of my panties in his bed. I was drunky too and I can’t quite remember the rest of the story but she’s moving in 4 months and hostile and it was really good to hear his voice.

We both admitted to purposefully leaving the other one alone, with great effort.

He said he got laid the night before and it was disappointing.
Reminded me of how it always was with us after. Listening to music and just touching until we fell asleep. Lightning bolts in our fingers.
I know the feeling babe and I am sorry I spoiled you but you spoiled me too.

He was the hardest thing about leaving.

I spent my first month here in tears. Probably a little longer than that if I am being totally honest.

Been good about it the last little while, keeping my eyes dry.

Not last night.

Intellectually I knew I shouldn’t be drinking. But I did it anyways.

My uterus is in full war mode and revolt, we didn’t have enough girls for me to get an extra day off this week. My day off was not what I thought it was going to be. My pain level is at a 6 and breaching at an 8. And I am disappointed.

Not a good day to be drinking but alas.

It’s a Thursday. Notoriously bad for this kind of thing.

Shenanigans ensued.

I think if I ever sit down to write about my adventures here the book will be called “I was drunk the entire time. But mostly on Thursdays.”

He, the Giant, keeps telling me he is coming for me and then he doesn’t talk to me for a month.

Seems to be the story of my life.

Varying levels of fuckbois, all the same with different faces and talents and timelines. A never-ending game of “come here/go away.”

And I have to keep reminding myself that this is the choice I made, to be this way. To live and date this way. Makes for good blog fodder I suppose.

My ex-husband said if I kept going like this I would end up old and alone with only memories. Isn’t that kinda the point? To live and remember the adventures?

547 posts, this makes 548. 8 have been set to private and 90% are about lovers past and present. Giant probably has more posts to his name than any other. Not probably, definitely.

84 actual years could go by and I would still pick up the phone if he called. And so it is with 90% of them.

Nope showed up last night and I did a grand job of pretending to be mad while still holding onto him by the hoodie. But I am not. Didn’t help he got a haircut and looked cute as fuck.

I remember watching Brokeback Mountain finally, years after it came out. It was a rainy day in Parry Sound right before the lodge opened for the season. I had heard that line over and over again

“I wish I knew how to quit you.” and it resonated to my core. This is me, summed up in a movie quote about gay cowboys in love.

Because there was more to it…isn’t there always?

“You have no idea how bad it gets! I’m not you… I can’t make it on a coupla high-altitude fucks once or twice a year! You are too much for me Ennis, you sonofawhoreson bitch! I wish I knew how to quit you.”

Jack: Once in a while? Every four fuckin’ years?

Ennis: If you can’t fix it, Jack, you gotta stand it.

Jack: For how long?

Ennis: For as long as we can ride it

There is nothing to fix. It just is what it is.

And ya, sometimes you have no idea how bad it gets.

And then, when I am least expecting it, something good comes through the door.

Not hurt, just irritated. Just did what I said he was gonna do. Heaven forbid I ever get to be wrong.

I sat in my tiny little strip club by the sea on Saturday night, cards in hand, watching Tina laughing and winning. Whiskey in my sippy cup but still sober and being stubborn about it. My Josh and Stacey home from forever away and life was good for minute or two.
Three girls who had previously been angry with me over varying things were suddenly making small talk and being nice again, and I was happy.
Peace is good, I like peace.

I actually stated out loud “I think this is the first time since I have been here where no one is mad at me.”

It was time for a change.

The only constant is change. Even when it feels like you are doing the same thing over and over, there are subtle differences if you look close enough.

Especially when you feel the change as it’s happening and have to wait for the truth to catch up.

Woke up this morning, had my coffee and my smoke on the couch, looked out the window like I have every other morning and lo, upon the bare branches of yesterday, there were green buds. The leaves are coming.

I struggled my first month here. The weather was shit the money was shit and I felt like shit.

Second month got better.

Now I am a good way through the third. And I feel like that, tenacious green where there was only grey before. Blooming in spite of myself. Predicting the future. You know, the usual.

Once upon a time I met my first real fuckboi. Named him Wolfling, he growled a lot and looked like Logan/Wolverine, but the youngling version. He was my first bag of frozen peas experience in many, many, many moons and I found myself craving him in spite of myself.

That was 4 years ago. He saw me last year at a bar, right around now if memory serves and immediately blew up my phone with the howl of the fuckboi. You are so beautiful, wyd, wanna come over and hang out, do you remember where I live.

Of course I remember and no I am not coming over.

He was the one who forgot everything, what I look like and what my mouth do. Seeing me triggered his memories of how sweet I can be.
It happens often.

Shouldn’t have forgotten in the first place.

I remember everything and I delete nothing. Scrolling back after those  texts I saw the pattern. Clusters of messages and “good morning/good night beautiful” texts that became increasingly spaced out. Every few days, begat every few weeks, to every few months then nothing for a year.

He broke a few dates and I let him.

Don’t let them.

WHAT WE TOLERATE IS WHAT WE RECEIVE.

Wolfling was a gateway douchebag. I know that now.

There have been others.

They all bring lessons.

I am learning.

Effort versus reward.

When the effort stops and becomes excuses, is when I leave.

Row, row, row your boat the fuck away from me.

Predicting the future doesn’t take the sting out of it, just gives me a few extra days to process what’s happening.

I called it when I called myself flavor of the month.

It’s been a calendar month. I realized that when I was counting my days off, the one fucking day I get a week and the dangling carrot that was no longer there.

Tiny crushes and bullets dodged. He has now fully earned his nickname and I have yet to be proven wrong.

I’m not broken, the situation is.

3 years ago I left future me a message upon the Facebook…

“Tom Waits and Elsa are performing a rather interesting mash up of Hold On and Let it Go in my head.”

Followed by “If something seems to good to be true, it’s Satan in a Sunday hat.”

Ima be Elsa.

Not today Satan, not today.

I’ve been a magical magpie stripper this week. Men keep gifting me blue and shiny things.
Gifts include…
Denim shirt (I kinda stole that one, but he let me)
Diamond ring
Silver ring
Pulp fiction lighter (tried to give it back, I swear)
Pretty white gold chain
And ya. A large group of US military men walked in. I looked at one of them and said “I am leaving with that shirt on, mark my words.”
Yep, I totally got a Deadpool shirt off a dude from Alabama, he let me walk downstairs with it (and nothing else) on and his army buddies cheered me out the door. After tipping us all and treating us like queens.
God bless the troops and Yay me.

I needed this.

Guess I got my swagger back.

The Deadpool shirt night was also my second $1000+ night since I got back here.

Needed that more than I can express in English, I’ve been feeling like a struggling unicorn.

Don’t be too jealous, I had to fucking WORK for it.

You have no idea.

Best line of that particular night.
After 4+ hours of dealing with a giant child/ drunk lawyer who repeatedly told me
I wasn’t worth anything because of my profession/you’re so smart you should be doing something better with yourself/fuck you
A nice man overheard everything, bought me a shot then took me upstairs and simply said

“I apologize for my gender.”

There is hope.

I always find the hope in these places. Usually in the form of Younglings defending my honor. People getting me home when I am too fucked to function and the ones that get me that fucked up and bring me rings to apologize.

There is always the bad too. But they are blissfully rare.
I know there are a lot of misconceptions about strip club customers.
I would say 90% ish are just regular dudes.
A few pervs, but very few.
And then there is this special brand of asshole who sees another guy having a good time with a girl or two and makes it his mission to interfere intervene and just be an angry little douche canoe.
Happened when the boy would come by and happened again last night.
Just no, mind your business and let the people be happy. Fuck.

Some research group somewhere polled a bunch of strip club patrons asking why they went to strip clubs. Entertainment, someone to talk to were the main reasons but the scary one was so they could turn down and insult women that were out of their league.

It happens.

The group of American Military dudes also heard the drunk lawyer baby berating me and got between said douchebag and I outside, and a few of them made a point of asking me if I was okay.

I am.

Been through worse. There were 3 days in a row where men decided grabbing licking my ass was a good thing to do.

Narrator: It was NOT a good thing to do.

I get that my butt looks like a nicely decorated well framed peach but NOTHING OF MINE GOES NEAR YOUR MOUTH.

I didn’t end well. I know ju jitsu. And I am very protective of my body even when I fill it full of whiskey.

Which I also did for 3 days, not the same days but still.

Everything in 3’s and I am glad that phase is over with.

The first butt licking incident occurred when I was beyond wasted. A tiny blond stripper had to come get me and keep me from unleashing more hell, and she had to do up my bra. It was being tricksy. And yet another Youngling came to my rescue when Tina and Alex couldn’t figure it out either and their nails got in the way. They found a safe boy to dress me and apparently I greeted him with a big grin and my arms out like Jesus on the cross.

I wish there was video sometimes. Like when my manager notices me going from functioning to wasted in 2 seconds and asks me how I manage. My answer, and now the code word for “give Sarah some water” is me answering with a shit eating grin simply stating “Magic.”

I do have my magic back.

And a Deadpool t-shirt.

And a lot of hope for the future.

Oh for a moment
What a moment this is
Oh for a moment of forgetting
Is a moment of bliss
Peter Gabriel

I woke up at 9 yesterday morning, without a hangover. Sun shining, up early and aware for the first time in a while and I realized why my tiny orchid is struggling, poor baby was getting direct sunlight. They don’t like that.

I had to buy an orchid. The amaryllis has gone back into hibernation and I need living things in my room, something to look after, keep me tethered here.

I planted it when I got back from Newfoundland the first time and it came up beautifully. I named it Hope and it was well looked after and loved.  I cut it back before I left for Mexico and figured that was that. It could live in storage with everything else and bloom again next year. But as I was getting ready to come back here a month later, there was a tiny sprout, so I brought it with me. Still calling it Hope. Still watering it daily and speaking nicely to it.

I took it as a good omen.

It sent up 5, 3 foot leaves and never did blossom the second time around. Went through weird cycles of perking up, then drooping like it was over then perking right back up again. I finally gave up Friday and cut it back. Put it somewhere cold and dark till next time.

This is both absolute truth and a fucking metaphor.

I am not sure why I decided to keep a record of every fucking feeling I have ever had, but I do.
Just opened an old, seemingly harmless, innocuous blog post and ended up bawling over a line or two. Three really.

“You spoil me” he said, right after, as he was holding onto me like the grail.

I know he meant it as a compliment but it tore through me like a knife. Echoes of ___________.

I dug my fingers into him, trying to keep my grip on this reality and just stay in it for a minute.

That seems like a different life. But it was the end of January. I was speaking of Big Spoon for the record.

The more things change the more they stay the same.

It is still so weird quoting myself.

And while digging through my old mess looking for things to post I realized I forgot to delete “Friday Night Fights (Nfld. Part 4).”

I have deleted everything from that chapter of my life.

It’s now gone but not forgotten. I couldn’t read any of them anyways. I know exactly what happened and I know what I wrote.

I meant every word.

It is my blessing to remember everything, even if I don’t write it down and I do, at great length whilst leaving trap doors for myself to fall through.

For the record, I have not forgotten why I am here. How could I?

Maybe that is why I have been drinking so much. If I am blacked out I don’t remember. If I am sober I have to use the other stairwell, the cold one by the door.

Nah, nothing is anyone’s fault but my own. I know this. I am painfully shy sober, I have stage fright, time moves quicker when I am drinking and I honestly enjoy a good buzz. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy. The problems arise when I drink too much and get sleepy and stabby.

I picked a really odd job all things considered.

First night after my third round of deciding to sober up, again.

Made 100
Drank but didn’t get drunk.
I have 5 packs of Marlboros
Thank you to Josh for the smokes and for questioning my request for a whiskey.
His inquiry made me check myself, and he was the only one who even tried to stop me.

I am trying hella hard to be better to my body. My heart, not so much.

Letting go is a messy process sometimes and I am terrible at it.

My friend Lorri gets it…

You’ll “let it go” a hundred times…trust me…but it’s always there, down deep, in the shadows between need and want. We can say “bullet dodged”, but we don’t believe it. Not really…

No it isn’t. It’s an amaryllis bulb in a cupboard that failed to bloom a second time.

I keep waiting for the moment of clarity, and it hasn’t come. I am watching another one slip away and I am detached, like watching something on a movie screen. The “he’s gone” message of Friday morning is making more sense now, and I did not see that coming. Nope.

My buddy messaged me this morning in a slight panic.

“The strippers got me really drunk and I accidentally let slip some feelings for the unicorn.”

This whiskey tastes like I am about to tell you how I really feel.

“She messaged back with 4 hearts, so that’s good right?”

He has found himself a unicorn girl. Nigh impossible upon this island of harpies and sirens.

Yes. It okay.

Everything will be okay in the end.
If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.

See also, nothing is the end of the world except the actual end of the world, and then it really doesn’t matter now does it.

There are no accidents really.

Que cera cera whatever will be will be, the futures not ours to see…

I also told him that everything is as it should be, so don’t stress too much about drunk texts.

They are the bane of my existence too. Trust.

I am not working next Tuesday either.

Not one of my finer moments.

I try to live a life without regret, however, there are times when I should not be allowed to have my phone which happen to be the moments where I hold it most ferociously.

I once said “whiskey wants to know when you are coming home.”

That particular drunk text was well received and that whole situation went fine until it didn’t. And that is the secret dear friends, it’s all gonna be fine until it isn’t. Then we mourn, deal and move forward.

Apparently some scientists got together and decided that our true authentic selves come out when we are inebriated. Fuckity fuck fuck. I am saucy when sauced. Sometimes a puddle and sometimes very brave. Always babbling like a brook.

But we knew this. Drunk words = sober thoughts.

I also know how good it feels to find a unicorn after a long drought of nothingness. You start to believe you will never have the good sex, good conversations, good vibes ever again, and it sucks. So the fear of losing them exists, whether its rational or not.

I know more about how he feels about his unicorn than she does.
Fucking Libras and the chasing of the ladies. This drunken slip of the tongue came on the heels of a “victory” wherein he got her to message him first. This is not a game, it’s not war. I believe in telling people how you feel.

It is okay to be vulnerable sometimes. Stay too guarded and the truth won’t come out. That is the only real thing to ever regret. The chances you didn’t take, the words you didn’t say.

I am here aren’t I?

Alternately, tell the truth and run.

Speaking of, I think I am having some preemptive empathy for said drunk friend.

“My current situation? One of us is gonna show the other our throat soon. And it’s probably gonna be me. Shark week cometh and the whiskey floweth… ya, it’s definitely gonna be me.”

The baring of the throat is vulnerability.

Out of the 500+ articles I have written on here I would say about 90% involve feelings of some sort. As in ‘I tripped and fell in some feelings’.

I do this, it is my natural state of being. And honestly, for all the times I have failed, which have been all for the record, I still wouldn’t trade it. I like being like this.

Sometimes brave, sometimes vulnerable, always all in.

There is a word on this island for what I am sometimes. Sooky.

I used to call it sucky. As in I am sucky as fuck right now.

Well not right now, but I can feel it coming. I can feel a lot of things coming. It’s about time.

Anyone who knows me, knows I ebb and flow. It’s just what I do. And somedays I am a glorious goddess that can take on the world others I need my blanket and a hug.

Sometimes my blanket is a person.

Me: refer to the conversation a few days ago wherein I told you “you look at me like you want to tear me apart”. I know what you think of me.

Nope: You think you do

Me: this is true, I am not a mind reader. Body language, yes. Minds, no.

My Biker Body Pillow used to say that I could predict future behavior by remembering every fucking thing that has ever happened to me in the history of ever and seeing patterns. I can read situations like Rain Man counts cards.

And the Nope is right, I only think I know things. Maybe I am wrong about everything.

Que cera cera.