The End

I have decided that I am not going to give Satan, or Poppin’ Fresh Lisa, or anybody else who has hurt me in the past any more energy. I’ve said my piece. I’ve gotten the majority of it out in a public way. Time to move forward.

Now how can I move forward when that shapeshifter Satan shows up periodically to break my heart again? I’m not sure. Just don’t fall for it again. I’ve learned my lesson with “Paul.” It’s difficult when you have a supernatural “not quite human” human coming in and out of your life. I think he’s just hooked on making me fall for him. He certainly has no real interest in being with me. I’m still not sure whether it’s a spirit that’s possessing these guys (because I had a weird experience with my friend Robby where he appeared to be Satan at one point), or whether he truly is a shapeshifter, or it’s a combination of the two.

The thing with Robby is that after we had our experience, he left and got a Pan tattoo and was convinced he was “the Pan.” I think Mike/Damian/Paul possessed him for sure. I needed someone to worship me as a Godhead at the start of my initiation, and there he arrived out of nowhere and did it as though it was all practiced. We were definitely channeling a big deal production at that time. Apparently the whole thing gave Robby a major boner. He was always trying to have sex with me back in the day. It’s like Dude! I know you’re bisexual, but you don’t use condoms so I’m not ever ever ever going to have sex with you, no matter HOW big your dick is. I’ve heard it’s pretty big. I just don’t think of him that way. He’s like a little brother.

But I will work hard on the no more energy plan, and if IT turns up, I’ll just have to keep it moving.

I have no problem with torturing him if he shows up again.

I happen to be a very good actress.

I respect you Satan. Your job is not an easy one. But you cannot continue to toy with me. It’s unacceptable. I told you when you asked me what I want. What did I say? Let me remind you. I said Peace. You left me with anything but. I guess you don’t own my soul after all, so quit bugging me!

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Maybe that’s the point of my life, to overcome Satan. Maybe that’s why I’m here, my destiny.

I certainly have a lot of prophetic dreams about the weirdest things. Stepping stones on my life’s path.

I have had to learn things the hard way. Like not teasing people, making fun of them. I’ve never been able to do it. Every time I’ve tried they’ve whipped me back with a much more cutting remark and have used it as a whip on my ego. I don’t do this to people who insult me, however. I just leave them. They usually wind up paying the price in the long run. I’m a writer, you see. I remember every wound, every scar. It’s called PTSD.

I do snap at people, though. Something I’ve developed over the years. If I feel I’m being disrespected I will tell a person off. Like some bitch who wants to use my shoulder as a table for her handbag on a crowded bus. Happened to me one time. Had to yell at the stupid bitch three times in order to get her to remove it. I do not like my personal space invaded and disrespected.

I have embarrassed friends in restaurants when we were getting bad service. I’m sorry, but I shouldn’t have to wait twenty minutes after drinks are delivered for you to take my order. I can drink or eat through the spit. I don’t care! You WILL wait on me properly.

I was NOT able to eat through the pee, however. Here I thought I was this BAAAAAD motherfucker, and nope. Left the chili on the table and just enjoyed my root beer float. I could probably eat through the pee now, though. I’m not particularly suicidal these days. I could do The Blues again. It’d be more atmospheric this time, less invasive and penetrating. I have a really deep heart. I don’t let many see it, but it’s 1000′s of leagues deep. I’m a little bit better protected in that area these days. A little wiser.

Rollercoaster of Love

I dated one of these types:

Do not recommend. Value your sanity.

Yes, I think I’m God sometimes, but it’s only a part-time gig. It’s just that, sometimes, I wish for the impossible to happen, and it does. Almost all of the wishes, good and bad, that I have made for my friends and family have come true. I did NOT wish for my brother to go homeless, but I DID know he was in trouble and did a big working to get his ass into the system.

If I could just win the lottery! Ohtheallthewell.

Most wishes that I make for myself don’t come true if they’re beneficial. It seems like only my dark fantasies come to fruition. I’m not sure why. Just damned, I guess. I’m constantly having to correct myself when a dark thought passes through my mind. “Nope, not interested.” “No thank you.” “Let’s not and say we did.”

Unfortunately I was so mad at my mother one day I cursed her yard with sewer trees. Guess what started growing? And guess who has to deal with them? Mmm hmm. That would be me.

I wanted my sister to die at one point and she came real fucking close twice in exactly the way I had written, but luckily she was pulled back from the brink. She really has got to learn not to piss me off. You’d wish her dead too, if you were related to her. Now I just want her to leave me and my mother alone. Just live her life and keep it relatively separate from ours. She’s not welcome at holidays anymore because she stole my mother’s disability checks a couple of years ago. I made sure to get a social worker on her ass for that one. You don’t fuck with my mother!

I don’t wish much for my niece. She’s got her life handled pretty well. She’s doing a good job. She’s a nice person.

My nephew, that’s another story. I am actively not thinking about him because when I do I want to run the little shit through the ringer. I think the boy might actually be more corrupt and manipulative than his mother. I really think the evil streak in the family was passed on to him. I wouldn’t trust him around children. He needs some serious life lessons handed to him to humble his entitled ass. He actually accused my mother and I of being racist. Sorry, I am not in any way, shape, or form racist. I worked really hard to clean all of that bullshit out of my system. I take people as they come. Not a homophobe, not racist, not sexist. Definitely can’t stomach assholes, though.

Fuck Guilt

I wish somebody had told me when I was little “People are going to disappoint you. They will shit on you given the chance. Even your family. You’ve got to always have your own back. Stick with the ones who stink the least.”

I was always so naive. So virginal. Always looking for the best in people. Always sympathizing with assholes who were using me as a toilet. I mean, there has to be a reason WHY they’re such a shitty person, right? Of course I have known some genuinely nice people in this world, but once I was let loose at 18, whoa! My head was way underwater. I would never raise a child in the church. Being raised a Presbyterian did not prepare me for the real world. It taught me to turn the other cheek in order to let some asshole slap the other side.

Now I DO get the concept of turning the other cheek in terms of picking your battles and walking away for one’s own good rather than getting into a fight. I get that.

I am usually kind to others, and I still don’t speak up enough when I’m being bothered by someone. I guess it’s a choice of whether I really need some asshole to like me or not. I am generally non-confrontational. You have to really piss me off to get me to fight with you.

My nephew, all he wanted to do was fight with me. I will never allow him to live with me again. He stole from me, lied to me, stood over me screaming in a threatening manner, called me all sorts of names. Sorry, but I’ve already made good with my mother for my behavior towards her in the past. We get along like peaches n’ cream now. I don’t feel guilty anymore. I was wrong and she was wrong and we abused each other equally. I don’t need the universe sending Mr. Asshole Singh to give me a karmic lesson. If I don’t see him for another ten years it will be ten years too soon.

Three things about me:
1. You don’t hurt my mother.
2. You don’t hurt my pets.
3. You don’t hurt me.

I threw two people’s things out. As a consequence, I threw my own stuff out on multiple occasions. I even burned my Baby Book. There are barely any pictures of me left. I will never feel guilty about what I had to do ever again, and if anybody tries to make me, I will let them simmer in the stench of their own farts.

I sacrificed my perfume collection. I sacrificed my giant cluster of quartz crystal. My jewelry, my shoes, my books, my clothes, my keepsakes, the last things that my father ever gave to me, Everything. For a couple of people who aren’t even worth the soot beneath my feet. Guilt? Fuck it. Been there, done that. Next!

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I’m giving up drinking again. Now that Marc’s dead I don’t need it to cope with him. I had a black out this weekend. That’s only happened to me one time before and both times were embarrassing. I just poured out the rest of my vodka. So I was a pickle from age 21 through 26. That’s five years of steady drinking. Then I quit with the cigarettes. I was sober until… hmmm… 2008. Did some drinking with my brother Kevin at family gatherings. Then quit again after I was 5150′d that year. Oh no, I had drinks at my friend’s wedding in 2007. Yeah, so I stayed sober until I’m gonna say spring 2010. That’s when Marc was back in my life. Began to drink one night a week. I mean get WASTED. But now that he’s gone, I really have no need for it. It’s really just a hindrance at this point. Plus it’s fattening.

On another note, I’m making a pot roast for dinner which won’t be ready for another two hours. I used fresh thyme and oregano, and dried savory and bay leaves. The veggies are carrots, celery, onions, and canned tomatoes. Was going to throw zucchini in there but I’m saving that for the beef soup I’ll be making tomorrow.

Looser Jeans

My jeans are looser, so I guess that means that I’ve lost a couple of pounds. The amazing things that will happen when you switch from Coca Cola to water as your drink of choice. I mean, I don’t LOOK like I’ve lost any weight, but I’ll take this for now.

When I lost weight after my gain from quitting cigarettes I ate exactly 1200 calories a day split up into five small meals a day. I made sure I got protein by eating a half cup of cottage cheese with lunch and dinner, which was basically either a half can of soup or two cups of salad with two tbsp of Catalina dressing. I would eat plain oatmeal every morning with a half pat of butter and a tsp of sugar. I’d have a cup of tea with every main meal with 2 tsp of sugar. I would work out for an hour every day plus walk for a few miles. I was in really good shape. My muscles were beginning to cut.

THEN men kept harassing me on the street and I felt unsafe. I was travelling back and forth to my clinic down in the valley by bus and it was in the evening and men just thought they could get out of their cars and walk up and talk to me. So I was on Seroquel at the time, and was doing pretty well with my weight, but BAM! the stress of all these men bugging me plus the suggestion that my med would make me pack on the pounds allowed me to gain 60 pounds. I went from a size 6 to a size 20. Men don’t harass me anymore, but I’m really unhealthy. My cholesterol is really high and my sugar levels are all out of balance. Plus I have no energy.

Now I only eat one meal a day—dinner—so I’m trying to make sure that I eat oatmeal every morning. I’m also drinking green tea twice a day with 2 tsp of sugar and drinking plenty of water. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that diet I was on again… it was tough. I had a focus, though. My oldest friend was getting married that summer and I didn’t want to go to the wedding unmarried and looking like a big fat blob. I don’t have that kind of emergency motivation right now.

I just have to make healthy choices, like drinking water instead of soda, staying away from anything that says “diet” or “lite” on it, eating more fruit and veggies, trying to have a salad for lunch instead of nothing. Thing is, I don’t get hungry until 5, and that’s suppertime and when I take my meds. I usually eat a big supper. I’m the one who cooks and my mother like MEAT. For instance, tonight I’ll be making a pot roast. She likes steak and potatoes with a veggie on the side. I’ve been making more chicken lately but she complains if we have it more than twice a week.

She actually went out to the kitchen two nights ago, and with my help, made some baby backs. They were gross. She used this weird Moroccan spice rub on them and they were just ick nasty. I ate asparagus that night. It was good. I gave a rib to Happy, even though you’re not supposed to give pork bones to dogs.

At this point if I could just get the dishes done every day, I’d be happy. I’m so fucking sluggish! It’s not the internet’s fault. Back when I was thin I was on the internet just as much as today. The thing that pissed me off about the seroquel was that I had naturally become vegan. I just lost my taste for meat and dairy, but once I started taking that drug it was like “Cheese? Yes please!” If I get stoned I lose my taste for those. When I’m stoned, all I want to do is drink water, eat fruits and veggies, and brush my teeth. I do like Kentucky Fried Chicken, though. Just the chicken. I’m such a weirdo. All that junk food just tastes so chemically to me, as does soda and things like 4 Loco and Seagrams drinks. Wine, however. Wine and pot go hand in hand for me. And I’m talking about cheap ass Franzia Chillable Red. That’s a good night there.

If I weren’t on a fixed income, I’d totally get my Medical Marijuana license.

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When I was a little girl I was deaf in one ear for awhile. My family kept yelling and yelling at me and I would just happily go about my way, dpoing whatever I was doing. Finally they took me to the doctor, Dr. Donna. She looked in my ear, took a scoop, scooped out a big ball of wax, cut it in half and discovered a little paper ball in the center. At least I never put beans up my nose.

Pubes

LOL, my mom just told me that she shaved her pubes for my father once. Oh lord. At least she only let him sucker her into it once. I swear I’m the only child that my mother tells everything to.

We were discussing her lack of hair everywhere, which I noticed when she was bedridden after her knee replacement, and I had to take her to the toilet. She told me her mom had long pubes and I told her that must be where I got it from. Apparently the family was at the pool one day and my grandmother’s pubes were sticking out the side of her crotch as they are wont to do when you don’t shave your bikini line. My dad threw a fit at my mother, and made her “go take care of it.” Oh lord.

I trim my pubes, but I rarely shave them off. I have oily skin and they tend to ingrow and then I wind up with giant ugly painful zits. I do shave my ass out because that’s just the sanitary thing to do. No dingle berries on this girl. The only problem with this is when I have sex, men think I want it up the butt. I don’t do that anymore. The last time, I bled every time I took a shit for two months. No thank you. Ouch.

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Why the fuck do people do “empties” videos on YouTube? Like anybody cares about your trash!

This bitch has a lot of candles:

Just because they’re 2 for $$22 doesn’t mean you have to buy every scent in the store.

Why would you hold on to all this trash?

Fucking crazy people on YouTube that you run across when you look at make up tutorials.

These beauty vloggers who use Jordana are idiots. That’s 99 cents store make up. It’s CRAP! Just spend 5 more bux and get yourself some Covergirl or something.

Oh yeah, and about Wen. Meh.