Honesty

  So, I apparently blog unlike most bloggers.... not that anyone is going to read this, or care. It's a journal, an open book, the place I vomit my thoughts (and sometimes wind up deleting them the next morning if I've had too much bourbon to navigate good taste... wait, I apparently don't know what that is when I am stone cold sober).
  I'ma bitch now, kk?

  I won't know until tomorrow, just how soon I can get in to see a therapist- I say "A" therapist, because I'm frankly undecided that this is going to be helpful, or successful... but not for me and kind of worried that whatever I say will be taken out of context and used against me. At least here, I can say what I wish and there is a small footprint to be referenced when it's used against me. *sigh*... Either way, I'm in a bad spot and trying not to say anything that I'll deeply regret, even if it is completely true.

  In personal relationships, I am not known for diplomacy, or even tact. I assume that being intimate with me, you're fully aware and okay with the fact that I simply speak the truth, as I see it. I throw that card down on the table to be played off of. Pussyfooting around the truth doesn't make it any lesser an evil. However, in completely superficial social situations, I'm good with playing the diplomatic role, even that of peace keeper- because I... Just. Don't. Care. The long term outcome means nothing, so my personal integrity isn't as much a consideration. Fucking personal integrity.

  I'm a fan of people being completely, one hundred perfuckingcent honest with me, one hundred fuckingpercent of the time. I take being secretive as having something worth hiding, which I will *never* be ok with. I just won't. Period.
  If I can't trust you not to need (or want) to hide the truth from me, well... I just can't trust you. Especially if you've left evidence in the past of your bad behavior- or your intent to behave badly... Which, by the fucking way, I have the decency to announce BEFORE hand. Yeah, if I'm going to do something earth shaking, I'll let you know first, so you have the time to fucking come to terms with it.

  In so many ways, I'm  old fashioned as a mother hubbard.  I expect, even *demand* decency from those who I am closest to. Being fucked over isn't my favorite past time, but it's one I've learned from... If you cant claim me openly, happily, proudly, well... You don't deserve me, or all that I do for you. If you're going to behave like you're ashamed of me, I might as well behave accordingly, no?
  It's like accusing someone each and every day of cheating, being a cunt about it, eventually he'll do it because he has no reason not to. You already believe he has, what would it change?

  Unlike those who use their intellect as a superior throne, I claim nothing other than being a plain spoken, self educated, left leaning, free thinking highschool drop out who makes incredible grammatical errors, but at least knows how to fucking read and spell (OK, so grammar isn't as bad as it could be. Notice there is no comma between and, and spell(: ).
  Take it or leave it, I am what I am. If you're ashamed of my unpolished form, I'm ashamed of your superiority complex. When it comes down to raw humanity, I can successfully navigate around the piranha. Can you claim the same? Fuck an an, I've made my mistakes, but I OWN them. Integrity? Anyone?

   Why does being honest always have to hurt?

Prowler

  So, I made the mistake of telling my ex that we would be away for the weekend camping... Yeah, I'm a fucking dumbass.

   While I was picking up the kids toys in the back yard (yeah, the ones they were told to pick up), I notice that the row of corn planted next to the garage has been trampled- directly in front of the window. To anyone else that wouldn't look lie anything important, but I now better. The kids hadn't been in the back yard since before we left. My lovely stated that he had been incredibly conscious not to step on it... It couldn't have been done by the 9 lb dog.
  Upon further inspection, I find the grate which is in front of our crawl access ajar. I consciously closed it all the way before we left, because I didn't want critters in there.
  At that point I felt incredibly uneasy, so I walked around the property checking doors and windows, only to discover that the back entrance to the garage had been tampered with.

  Coincidence that he knew we were supposed to be out of town, and I stumble across evidence of attempted intrusion? I doubt it.

  Just when I was finally beginning to feel safe here.

Hallmark Holidays

  This is the time of year I feel completely unappreciated. It is entirely selfish of me I know, to want or dog forbid, hope for a little pat on the back for everything I do.

  Mother's Day absolutely is a Hallmark Holiday. It would take a complete fool (or idiot) to deny that, but it is not only a justifiable Hallmark Holiday, it is one that Dog damn it! We deserve.

  For 40 weeks, we puke, stretch, gain weight, have headaches, are constantly tired, grow into planet sized belly status, are an insecure, worried, miserable, emotional wreck as we obsess over what is best, what is harmful, what we should do.
  We cope with heartburn, which just breathing seems to cause. Incontinence- fuck, sneezing, coughing, laughing, doing nothing will cause us to piss ourselves. The roids... yeah, those fun, swollen, itchy, painful ass bumps that only get worse when you actually shit out the little "miracle". An inability to sleep in any comfortable position, and then being told if we sleep any way other than on our left side, we'll kill our babies. Yeah, that's helpful!... The constant back pain, stretching ligaments, muscle cramps, constipation, fuzzy vision, foggy brain, sciatic nerve pain, swollen ankles, feet, hands, everything. Sore, saggy, leaky, swollen, milky, stretch marked boobies. The smells... Yeah, everything smells approximately a million times stronger- I can tell if that baby in the basket over in isle 5 needs a change, all they way from isle 23. The constant nausea, you know, like you ate 3 foot long corn dogs and then rode the Ninja half a dozen times in a row.
  I could keep going on about how miserable being pregnant is... But it won't mean anything to anyone who hasn't been pregnant.
  Then comes the really fun part! Labor. In may case, never less than 36 hours worth of it... Then... Actually forcing another living human being the size of a large melon, out of a hole the size of a ping pong ball. Then... the best part of all!! Recovery!
  You get to spend weeks with a crying, shitting, spitting, sucking bundle of joy that needs you 24/7, while your crotch which feels like a pound of ground round tries to heal. Every time you piss it feels like someone's dropped a fucking napalm bomb on your twat. Every time you shit, feels like giving birth alllll over again- and remember those roids? Yeah, they're not ass bumps anymore, they look like a fucking bunch of grapes. Your tits are as hard as fucking rocks, leaking on everything and hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes just remembering it. Oh, and the cramps, you know, as your uterus tries to shrink from watermelon back down to pear size. Then there is the period that never ends- kinda like the song that never ends, except that there isn't a cute little lamb singing, and you're passing blood clots the size of a gerbil every few minutes, and can't use tampons... so, should your pad leak- yeah, there goes the only pair of pants that fit in the wake of all of this destruction.

  In the months to come, you're nothing but a walking milk dispensary. Your sole purpose is to shove a boob in the crying little miracle's mouth, and wipe it's ass. Which would be fine, if you could lose weight while doing it, but unfortunately dieting and nursing are not compatible if you desire to keep an adequate milk supply.
  Then, they hit that stage where they start moving around. Crawling, walking, getting into absolutely everything that hasn't been nailed, glued, or otherwise sealed completely shut.
  After that, the terrible two's- the only word they know at this point, is "No". Which they use for everything.
  Later, kindergarten... learning to be social and navigating all of the pitfalls that come with... Then, then comes the really fun age, when they think they know EVERYTHING there is to know about anything- then the teen years, which thank Dog I haven't had to cope with yet, but anyone who has deserves a fucking medal simply for not killing the little bastards, or committing suicide.

  Moms are the snot that sticks the tissue to the lining of the jacket pocket. There isn't anything we don't sacrifice to take care of our families- and not just our children.
  We lose sleep, skip meals, are denied all privacy (I have yet, in 10 years to piss by myself), we keep everyone else going even when we're sick, when we walk into a store and look at sales, we're looking at teenie sneekers, pants, shirts, next year's school clothes... not a sexy little black dress. We skip showers when the clock is running fast, and forget about having our hair or nails done, we learn to be happy when we have time to brush our teeth- things that everyone else takes as granted, because we make sure that they have the time they need to do them.
  We give up friendships, hobbies, alone time, careers... We give up our bodies and our lives. They're no longer ours, they belong to our children. We give up control, which is the hardest part... letting go of what you want, to do what everyone else needs.

  So... It may be just a Hallmark Holiday to you, but to me, it is the one day each year that at least some of those life altering sacrifices are acknowledged. In fact, it is sad that it took corporate America to realize this, and capitalize off of it.
  We deserve a thank you, ALL of us- regardless of how shitty your mom might have been, you wouldn't be here without her.

  If you're not a mother, you'll never understand just how much we give up- or how much it hurts that it is simply taken as granted that we do so without thanks. That it is simply expected of us. As rewarding as motherhood can be, it truly is thankless... Having one day a year that we're acknowledged should be a granted. But, I guess it isn't.

A little insignificant thing called "Corporate Identity"

  I've had just enough bourbon to realize that A) I could really benefit from a therapist *right now*, and that I am going to make mad pytos. B) I've had just enough bourbon that I don't give a shit about either.


  Since I don't have my DL yet, therapy is out. Since I don't have access to a car I can drive during the day so I *can* get my DL, therapy is out. Fun, eh?
  That leaves me full of bourbon, pissed at my ex, the judicial system, my lovely, his fucked up mother and the rest of the world that has beef with me because I have not been successfully brainwashed into needing a deity to dictate what does, or does not happen to me, with me, my children, or my life.

  The ex, I can't do shit about. I am Northern stock, raised in the dirty south, bred with and married a good 'ol boy (now, if you can take into account that down here, rape does not legally occur within a marital bed, you'll understand much clearly)... I made my bed, now to lie in it. Fuck me running. One of these days he's going to kill me, I'll be another unidentifiable body if ever I'm found. Thank the US Navy for that... the fucker had already graduated BUDS when we met, though the story surrounding his "Other than honorable" discharge is one for another day... lets just say, if I had the balls to talk about the shit I've seen him do, he'd be done.
  The SC judicial system is something which I shouldn't need to explain. It is broken, utterly fucked. Run by "Good 'Ol Boys". If you have a clit rather than a cock, you best just shut the fuck up and bend over.
  The never-going-to-be-inlaw... She's a piece of work. So incredibly ashamed of the fact that her son, her baby, the one she wishes so badly to control is involved with me, that she LIED to her bestie about having visited. Having been in our home. Having seen us together. Having knowledge of our relationship. Man, how fucked up is that? Seriously?
  She's a fundie. So is my mum. We were raised in the same 'first generation crazy' household... On the same street. In the same church. We saw the same reality, though it took him longer... It took the pain of naivety. It took being taken advantage of. Which I had nothing to do with... but the simple fact of my presence is enough for her to place blame.
  I must laugh at the fact that, though I am far removed emotionally, mentally, demographically, politically, I am still attached to the grape vive. Whatever is said, eventually trickles down. Especially when you say it to one of the biggest gossips in the south eastern US. :) Yeah, that bit about not knowing (after you'd already visited) that we were living together, resulted in an *immediate* phone call to my mother. To "warn" of what her daughter was up to. LMMFAO!!!

   The thing that bothers me, is that more than 2 1/2 years later, because of all of this, regardless of what life is like at home. Regardless of what we really are, he is afraid to admit we are anything. He won't let us be seen as a "Corporate Identity" ie, a couple.
  Thank you JW. Thank you for fucking up one of the most incredible men I have ever known. Just because you were an obese, schizophrenic, homeless, jobless midget who saw easy prey. Then tore him to shreds when you realized he was better than you. You can take the trash out of the trailer park, you can't take the trailer trailer park out of the trash. Glad you feel all cozy and at home now, back in you element.
  Thank you LB for causing my life to be a living hell by spreading rumors. By speaking out against me in our community (which resulted in abuse you can only imagine). By accusing me of somehow leading your children astray... if only you knew of all the things I talked then OUT of doing. If only you knew the things they really did- because you were so barbaric in your religious control.

  It really doesn't matter that I'm not openly an important person. That I'm hidden behind the curtain, I wash his clothes, cook his meals, support him in any way I can, without a second thought.
  It really doesn't matter that I can't be a prize, or that I'm even something to be hidden from others... I keep things moving smoothly, on an even keel. I know how important I am to him, even if he is afraid to say it to you.
  It doesn't matter that it hurts, that you will always see me as a lesser human being- I've PROVEN to be more than you ever could have been. I am stronger. I have stood in the face of adversity and said Fuck You. I have been through the fire. I've stood up for, beside, and behind in support of him through the hell which was opened up in her wake... in wake of the woman you opened you life up to without question, because she "appeared" to you as someone she was not. I am what I am. I am honest. I hold steadfast to my integrity- no one can take that from me. Honesty is threatening.
  Much as it'd be wonderful to be accepted. To be open. To be proud... the reasons that can't happen are obvious.
  You don't have to like the reality, but understand that what the outside sees, or is allowed to see and what actually is, are two different things :)
  Love is a verb. Love is a verb.

Bin Laden Mania

  Kill a terrorist and every fundie comes out of the woodwork to say "Thank you lord!". Seriously. I don't know how much more I can take.

  Mahatma Gandhi said "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind." More accurate words I can not find to describe what is happening.

  Why is is so complicated to comprehend? Every action has an equal reaction. By killing him, you're simply asking "Please, please fucking attack me. We're bored and need a reason to make the general population fearful, because they're easier to control that way."
  I'm not suggesting that we turn our cheek, only an idiot does that. But it takes a FOOL to provoke a snake into striking.

  On this day, I can say without malice that I am ashamed to be an American. I am ashamed of my fellow Americans. Of their behavior. Particularly those who claim that Jesus was the Christ.
  On this day, I am proud to be an Atheist. I am proud to be able to see things for what they are. I am proud that I have not lost the ability to look at the world around me in a practical, rational, analytical manner.

  As for OBL... Well, I really have nothing to say. Nothing that anyone wants to hear.

Goddamnit

  Two things have pissed me off today. Here is the first. My ex husband. Not an unusual thing to be pissed st, or about. But, get this... He just got out of jail time for the $6,000+ that he owes in child support payments.

  You know you live in the dirty south when, your criminally abusive ex can walk into court, throw a sob story at the judge and have it come down to simply being a "Good 'Ol Boy". Yeah, I know. My fault for marrying him- I knew it was a mistake at the time. What I didn't know, when I was 17, when I met the sorry sack of shit was that he would be like fucking cancer.
  So, he goes in there, says "I broke my knee, lost my job and when I have the money I pay." Judge is perfectly OK with that... NEVERMIND that he works under the table so he doesn't have to pay taxes because he can't claim the kids and get his $2,000 when he only made $17,000 that year.

  Right now, I could spit fire. It isn't about the fucking money, I'll never see any of it. It is simply that EVERY time he winds up in trouble, he slimes his way out of it... AND.... AND.... AND.... The goddammed judge TOLD HIM that I filed the complaint against him!!!
  The judge in question, was the one who handled our divorce. THAT is another issue which will always piss me off. So, the sorry fucking sack of cheese curd vag puss tells him that *I* am the one responsible for his presence in court... He tells that to the psychotic piece of shit that tried to kill me for not cooking his eggs correctly!!! The same sack of shit that tole me I deserved what I got, because I slept with another man before we were divorced... Yep. That sack of shit who refuse a protective order, despite the evidence that my life was and IS in danger.

  Why I ever thought that the system would actually fucking help, I will never know. Maybe I am as delusional as those who attend church every sunday.

The Drama Llama Needs To Mosey On

  I've had enough drama to last several lifetimes. So much, in fact, that I can say without malice, that if you are a Drama Llama you can just mosey right on out of my life.
  For years, and years, I put up with it from all sides. I mediated, listened, was a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board. I should have nipped it in the bud then, alas, I did not and am now saddled with the reputation of being a "safe" person to talk to. Which is true, whatever you speak in confidence stays with me and me alone... But, do you really expect me to fucking care? Especially when it is something you, with foresight, decided to do- even when you knew it was either none of your fucking business, or a really stupid idea to begin with.

  You know, if I want drama I'll go pay $9.50 for a comfy stadium seat. I'll sit back with my bladder buster & popcorn, enjoy the show and walk away. THAT dearie, is what drama is for. It shouldn't ever become a normal, daily routine for anyone. But, it is for you, and you, and you, and you, and you. I don't know if you prefer it that way, or if the cycle has you trapped.
  My ex provided me with an endless stream of unwanted drama which I will forever be linked to... It'll never go away until he is either abducted by aliens, or makes some typically stupid decision which results in his death. That said,  I have enough exterior pressure form it to make me implode, without your added bullshit.
  Sorry, but it isn't your business who got who knocked up. It isn't your business who someone decides to sleep with (or what gender they are!!!!!). It isn't your business who someone decides to befriend, how many animals they have, how they vote, what the eat, believe, or how they dress. It isn't any business of yours if they don't make the same life decisions you do- and it certainly isn't your place to stick your big ass right in the middle of it... FURTHERMORE, your hatred and intolerance disgust me. But, you'd never know that for all of the patience and reserve I exercise while dealing with you.
  If you could leave well enough alone, you wouldn't have drama- neither would I. Unfortunately, I gave you the benefit of the doubt... My bad. You're simply a Drama Llama, you always have been. You thrive off of the negative energy it creates.

  This is me, being finished with the fucking bullshit. Yes, bullshit apparently fucks.
  This is me arriving at the reality that I can't be good for you, because you aren't good for me.
  This is me taking a step back, reevaluating the situation and saying "Oh, fuck no!" which I should have done years ago.
  This is me letting go of the broken people who refuse to rebuild... I've been broken too, but unlike you, I want more out of life. I've rebuilt, I have a foundation to stand on- where's yours?

  So long, fare thee well...