Geronimo

When I was a freshman in high school, I auditioned for a local production of Andrew Llyod Webber’s “Evita”. This was huge to me. When I was maybe 5 years old, my parents, still together, took me to see a medley of famous actors singing Webber’s work. Micheal Crawford was there. I vaguely remember him singing. What was most important was a woman coming out in this white ballgown singing  ”Don’t Cry for Me Argentina”. I leaned forward, in awe, silent. Then I knew that was what I wanted to do.

The movie came out when I was in elementary, and I saw it 8 times when it was in theaters. We had oretoricals that year, and I did mine on Eva Peron. I sweaped the class compition, and did the same with the grade level. I would have won the school level, but each time they pick someone very patriotic, and Eva is from Argentina. Each judge told me that. I was proud of that, and still am. No other student did anything else like it.  Then, I hit high school, where the Louisville Youth Choir practiced, and I scanned the Leo and saw that there was a production of that musical that lit the fire in me. I scored the role of the mistress. I was estatic. Youngest cast member in a sea of college students, I felt so grown up. I loved the fact that my mother and the costume supervisor had to figure out an age appropiate “sexy” outfit for me. And opening night, I got a suprise. I got more applause than the star. And each night, the same thing happened.

Richard and I rehearsing for "Evita", 2000

Why do I mention this shit? I can’t sleep. I woke up around 3, and it’s just not happening. So I put in the movie, and the memories came  back. I have seen this movie so many times. I can sing the entire thing. Every plot, even the spanish. It’s fun in a sea of manic energy.

I woke up yesterday from a nap with these ideas. I want to make Padme’s “Fuck Me Anakin” outfit out of duct tape and the skit to go along of it will be a “MythBusters” take with my Dad dressed up as Jamie Hyneman, giving the myth of if you can make a costume out of duct tape in the galaxy far far away.

Padme is trying to say to Anakin: "You want this shit. Fuck me HARD"

That shit is fucked up.  Then I want to commision my friend Traci to make a dress that’s a take on the tutu Natalie Portman wears in “Black Swan” for my birthday next year, where I want the theme to be “Dark Fantasy” and I want to rent a party bus.

I also want to go to a local convention and dress up as a Series Seven Amy Pond. What the fuck? I have no clue how to make a duct tape anything, my dad is very against dressing up as anything, we do not have the money to commision anything, nor a party bus.

Gotta love mania, right?

Also in the mania catgory, before I go to therapy, I am posting this:

 

in three areas of the house to remind me that I need to do Sarah Cleaning Program in those areas of the house. Living room, my bedroom, and the bathroom. Again in the bathroom. I had hair dyeing disaster this weekend, which should have alerted me that an intense bout of mania was on its way. When I want to change my hair drastically is when shit is about to hit the fan. I wanted to get a lighter red. That’s what the box was suppose to do. And it did. To my roots. Not the rest of my head. So I got another box and concentrated mainly on the tips, and left it on for 40 minutes. No, no, no, that did not work at all. My hair is jacked up. Friend M’s hair stylist apparently is really good with color, and does color and cut for $50, so I might go for a consultation, and see if I can get Amy Pond red hair, which is what I was going for in the first place.

Interesting conversation with Ian. There’s been a slight debate on if he is hotter than Chris Mann. Here is a picture of Chris Mann so you can see his hotness.

yes. I know

I had once said that I was biased because I was in love with Ian. After waking up from a weird dream where George Clooney sent Ian and I to New York to see Rickey Martin in “Evita”, I decided to try a “scientific” approach to the problem. I’ve met both of them in person, I’ve heard both of them sing, I have hugged both of them, I have seen how they interact with their “fans”, how their voices sound, and my chances of getting in their pants. That is fucking important. My pussy needs some loving. It feels empty and lonely. Mr. Pike is looking good at the moment. Anyway, Ian won. I can drown in his eyes, his kisses make me so wet that I could possibly have an orgasm from them, he is caring to everyone, and I have a better chance of getting in his pants and having me some good wholesome fun. And orgasms. Many many of them. He has an amazing sense of humor.

Speaking of Mr. Pike, I have a very important wedding to go to in August. I’m so happy for the bride and groom. They deserve all the happiness in the world! Downside, B is going to be there. I desperately want to piss him off and show up with some hot guy and be romantic and PDA all up in that shit. And piss off some members of a certain frat while I’m at it. And why not show up with Mr. Pike? He’s a hell of a lot better looking than B, and I am a hell of a lot better looking than anyone that B could bring. And to piss B off even more, I will clearly wear open toed shoes with blue nail polish. He’s a fucking freak with that foot fetish, and he demanded that blue nail polish. I have about 7 shades somewhere.

Why the hell did I stay with him that long? That shit was fucked up. I am much happier being miserable than being with him.

I should go back to pretending that I might go to sleep at any minute.

 

 

Tonight I am getting a hold of Mr. M, making him meet me at Sergio’s, getting a free beer, and getting fucked long and hard.

 

PS: NEW STEPHEN KING COMES OUT TOMORROW!

 

He’s not some kind of mad man then?

I have been trying to write this post for days. Literally. It sat in the draft area for a while, and then I relized that it no longer made any sense because it was a week old and the bullshit detox program was no longer in effect because Ian couldn’t keep his hand off his dick. We are sexual creatures, and if he didn’t have that hang up of saving himself for marriage, I would be up there every day fucking him, doing dirty dirty things that would be illegal in all states and would leave me sore and my ass would be violated and the entire neighborhood would know how I scream when I orgasm. And how absolutely sexy he sounds when he does.

However, that isn’t going to happen and I will be stuck with having sex with stupid people like Mr. M. Yes, I am talking to that asshole again. I haven’t had sex with him yet, but the only reason that hasn’t happened yet is because of bad timing. Tonight was not a good night. I was faking being drunk and being downtown for Thunder over my house. He decided that it would be the best idea ever to have a threesome with him, myself, and friend M. What the fuck? No thank you, I will never have a MFF. Maybe one day an MMF. Because I love me some cock. I do not love pussy. Except mine.

I’m back in therapy. It’s needed. I have to cope with Ian not loving me. Caring, yes. I have a deep jealousy that he loved Jamie. I am dissapointed that he chased after a married woman, knowing my mistake with CL. I’m relieved that it only went as far as phone sex. The confusion over these feelings is odd and weird and just off. After a summer of mourning the loss of him because he told me I was dead to him, it was a total shock when he decided to take me back into his life. It’s understandable that it’s an adjustment, and I need a therapist to help me figure this out.

I know it’s not heathly to want to go back to sleeping with Mr. M and wanting to get back in contact with BL to go back to sleeping with him. And there’s a new man who wants to sleep with me. Let’s call him… Mr. Pike. He’s a guy I meet in Greek Life, and while he was in the asshole frat, he was one of the only guys who has expressed that what a certain frat did to me was really shitty. That’s comforting. And his cock is really pretty and his orgasm face is nice.

Well, isn’t that wizard!

I am currently hitting myself upside the head. Not only am I really stupid in my mission to be the most supportive friend ever to Ian, I am now torturing myself as well. Score me, right?

 

Ian is kinda orthodox Catholic.  This has to be the most fucked up religion ever. No offense. But a religion that makes you feel guilty about masturbating is just wrong.  If you are going to go screaming about the evils of birth control and the even worse sin of waiting until marriage and that the marriage bed is only for making babies, I just don’t get why masturbation is a sin. Ian explained this to me once upon the time of junior year of high school. Apparently ::rolls eyes:: it’s a sin because it’s greed. It took me six months to convince him that it’s perfectly natural and even more so because it keeps you healthy. My masturbation is a sin because I’m only doing it for myself, if we all know that I honestly don’t believe this shit.

I feel really helpless, because this is just… wrong. This is how you oppress people. This creates life long issues. It creates the idea that sex for pleasure’s sake is a bad thing. I’m not going to sit here and say that all religion is bad: there are some things in the Catholic Church that I really like. This idea, however, is just… wrong. It’s so wrong.

So, back to why I am going to be torturing myself. This entire thing has been brought on by Jamie. Can I scream at her even more? She cheated on her husband, and because Ian was a part of it, he now feels the guilt that she should be feeling. He’s decided that a “detox” of porn, sexting, porn, and masturbation is called for. Yes, I’m doing a head tilt RIGHT ALONG WITH YOU. But, instead of pointing out all of this shit, I told him I’d be right next to him every step of the way.  And I don’t even believe this bullshit that sex is something I should be feeling guilty about.

Y’all, I have stepped off my rocker. I love orgasms. I love sex. I love dirty pictures and porn and cocks and everything else that goes along with sexuality, and not just the fact that I am straight. The extent of “this is a bad idea” is huge. Oh, no sex with BL? I was planning on this today until I woke up and reliezed that “Holy Hell, I can’t do that”. I do not get to even change the wallpaper on my phone because I have cock pictures in my folder and that, my dears, is porn. Or at least naked pictures of cocks; I don’t think any of them are dirty besides just being hard and pretty and makes me want to give head.

I thought this detox thing started on Monday. That’s mainly because I thought yesterday was Saturday. Oh no. And what am I going to do about the fact I have a happy hour on Saturday? Drunk me is going to be very angry at this detox thing. While it’s more than likely a good thing to lay off the sex… but all sexy fun times?

See, this makes me want to cry. A lot. And curl up with a pint of Ben&Jerry’s and Baz’s “Romeo and Juliet” from the 90″s and just wish I was dead.

This is only Day One.

 

One has a smile and one has teeth.

An Open Letter to Bitches who fuck people over:

Yeah. You. I’m talking to you. Just because certain people are too nice to say something to you about this, well, I’m not. You and your whorish nature have damaged my own relations with this person, and I am not one to sit here and NOT SAY SOMETHING.

You are so fucking glad that I value my relationship with this person more than the intense satisfaction telling you off would bring. Even more than the pleasure of telling your husband what you’ve done. However, since there are children involved, you are spared some of my absolute anger. Because of my respect for the man that you tore apart is why I hold my tounge. But get what, sweetie? He is no where to be found on this blog. I am free to not hold my tongue.

 

I understand feeling like shit. Hell, I live most of my life feeling like shit. Yes, I have decided to go get horizontal with some people just to make myself feel good. However, not once have I intentionally hurt someone the way you’ve hurt him. If I’ve slept with someone, they were fucking single, or the best to my knowledge. The entire time I would be sleeping with them, relations would end IMMEDIATELY if one of us were seeing each other, or, better, if I started getting feelings.

I have never corrupted someone’s view on the  world because my husband wasn’t making me feel special enough.  Actual long lasting love takes hard work on both people’s part. Instead of promising things you can not even hope of fufilling, take that time and go to the fucking marriage consolur. Because you’re gone, and you’ve left him broken, and don’t worry, I will take care of him until I am no longer breathing, but your hurt has changed him in ways that I can’t even touch. You see, you and I both know, there is that one person who is the first to show you that your heart can break so much and hurt so bad, that you never really see the world the same way again. You will love again, and trust me he will love again, but it’s never that same absolute emusion of feeling, because you are always holding back a tiny part of yourself because you are still scared of being hurt again.

He will love again, and I will make sure that you never have a hold on his heart again. You will wilther into nothing in his eyes, until you don’t exsist.  Doesn’t matter if I’m on the recieving end of that love. I want to hear him laugh. I want to hear him without that pain in his voice.

I want him to believe again.

He will. But right now he’s reverting to behavior that I haven’t seen in him since I was a junior in high school, my heart going to him all the way in South Carolina. Things were better, you fucking whore. I might not have been there but he was BETTER.  I was content knowing that whoever he was going to love would see what an amazing soul he is. Instead, there was you.

Be glad I can’t get a hold of you. My grip on my anger would be burn to ash if I could express how much I want to fuck your life up. Once again, if you didn’t have children, I might toy with the idea. The only thing that keeps me from saying anything is how much I love him. I can’t see him in even more pain than he is in right now.

Be happy about that. You are going to get away with cheating on your husband and being a shitty parent to your kid. Yay! But know this: he is going to find someone so much better than you. And that love will be deeper and more meaningful because you can’t touch it.  I’ll make sure  of that.

It’s been good though, hasn’t it?

Right now it’s 6:47am on a Wednesday. I have not slept in about twenty-four hours. I’m about four hours from the time that I can’t pretend anymore. I want to shut down. I’ve been eating very little- my appetite is gone. I know I’m not drinking enough. I am not making an attempt to socialize or leave the house.

Yeah, I’m either heading to CSU or the hospital. Take your bets on which, because I’m kinda worried that it’s going to be hospital. I don’t like that idea. My communications with the outside world would be so limited. I wouldn’t be able to pretend that this is just a little bump in the road.

It’s not. I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. To just sit there, not eating, not drinking, not taking meds, just me, sitting there, letting everything happen around me but not doing anything. No talking, no anything. My mind can’t take this anymore. I am so tired of pretending that everything is going to be okay, because it’s not. It’s going to break, yet again, another setback, more bills counting up that I can’t pay.

It was good, wasn’t it? I’ve got Ian back, I had some fun times. I lasted longer than I thought I would. Now it’s time to break. It’s okay now, no more stress. I can let go and go off and be the crazy that gets me back together.

 

Damn, this just sucks.

Oh, that’s very clever

Surprises all around today, my dear readers.

I’m writing again. Not just here, but actual holy hell, a story. THE story. The one that I’ve been trying to get a decent start on for years now. Once upon the time when I was a sophomore in high school, when computers were giant and AOL was king, I ventured into the world of chat based role playing. I got the hang of it over in Yahoo, and then took that character I created and strutted into AOL chats. This is where I became a Star Wars uberfan, discovered the book series “The Forgotten Realm”, and through all of that, started rping with a character named Max. And Max was Ian.

Those story lines were so great, and I’ve always meant to write them out as a novel. Twists, turns, violence, lust, love, and death, once we all stopped doing it, I was never able to get it out the way I wanted. Where was I going to start? Who was the narration going to follow?

I’ve got the first chapter banged out, and I like it. And while I only write in spurts, and when I go online to look up a fact I get distracted by Facebook (who doesn’t get distracted by Facebook?), but Ian’s agreed to read that first chapter, which is a really good thing, because it’s from his character’s POV. I won’t be writing the entire book from his, just the first chapter and the last chapter, but for everything to work, that first chapter has to capture his thoughts, the way he sees the world, and how he reacts to things perfectly, so my character can spend how every many chapters stepping off of that baseline.

Imagine this, add some violence, lust, love, death, and holy hells.

Ian and I are having weird conversations. Not bad ones, but just… odd. Part of me is glad that Jamie is a bitch and decides to air this out on Facebook, where things never dissappear. But then, I also hate it because Ian loved her. He should have known better, seeing the hell that I went through with CL, however, when you’re lonely, and someone makes you feel special, you push the warning signs aside and just go with it. I can’t pass judgment on him because I did it too. All I can do is offer my support and very non-confrontational advice. It really sucks. All around. He’s rightfully angry, but I think it’s more than being angry at her. I think that he’s mad at himself.

PS: It’s almost Wednesday, which is kinda when I’m expecting to go to CSU. I better get laid again before that. BL mentioned something about tonight after he gets off work, but I’m not holding my breath. However, if I’m wide awake at 2am, I will send him a text.

PPS: On a completely not related to sex or Ian, OMFG Stephen King released him reading an almost ten minute clip from the audiobook for his latest Dark Tower book (call it 4.5) entitled “The Wind in the Keyhole”. Here it is. I demanded dead silence in my entire house and outdoors for the length of it. Here ya go:

But where’s the fun in that?

I’ll tell you where the fun is. I’m just going to go into too much information land here. It’s 4:30 in the morning. My pussy hurts. My hair is still fucked up. My thighs are sore. For the first time in days, I’m laughing for the sake of laughing.

I love sex with BL. Because I can be rough with him, make mistakes, and laugh. Then things get serious, and then there are no holds barred. As much as I wanted to meet up with him, then go to his house and have rougher, nasty, longer sex in his man cave, but since I have apparently misplaced my license in Monday’s the medics took it from my wallet when they were taking me away. I left the hospital with it, but I was out of it, Dad was too concerned about me, so currently we don’t know where it is, or my old Indiana license, so driving all the way out to the Knobs was worrisome. Not that I wouldn’t do it, but BL suggested the closed park by the mental hospital. We’ve fucked back there before, hell, I’ve fucked there when the park was actually there.

I’m kinda glad we didn’t have sex in my car, even though my backseat actually has more room. Sometimes you need to have that cramped space, that makes things a bit more risky for me. Windows steam up faster, you get in positions that you didn’t even know your body could do that.

As soon as he kisses me, I want to rip his shirt off. Most of the time it’s a button up shirt, and this just pisses me off most of the time. I really have a fantasy to be so impassioned that a shirt doesn’t matter. I want buttons to fly, damn it. BL does have really nice clothes, so I can see why me tearing it apart would be an issue. However, my red lace bra did get some damage from him taking my breasts out without taking the bra off. My breasts are big. DDD. Tugging them out like that is bound to do damage…. not that I cared at the time. Panties off, my head goes down, and I just about came from the taste of him, the thickness of him… it’s just indescibable. Before I knew it, he’s got the condom on, and he wants me on top.

Mind you, that isn’t my favorite position. This is mainly a self esteem issue. I’m plus sized and damn proud of my curves, but I just… sometimes it does it for me, sometimes it doesn’t. I hadn’t had sex in months, and him shoving his thick huge delicious cock all the way into me hurt. I bit his shoulder, and I wanted him on top of me, legs wrapped around his waist, getting him deeper that way. Plus, a part of my brain was worried about hitting my damaged head. Switched positions, I’m crammed into the corner of the backseat, and he fucks me hard. The way I needed it after what’s been happening. And I forgot, lost in the moment of him inside me, how he felt, how he tasted, how great it was when I came.

Best part? Joking about how we are both panting, not moving, basking in the glow of that quick hot sex in a place you shouldn’t be having it.

 

Downside is what I call the agongy after sex piss. I’m good about peeing as soon as I can after sex, but I have an issue that with rough sex, it burns like I am going to die during that piss. I swear that the toliet water will be filled with red. Na, nope, nada. Just a tad bit of bleeding on my panties, which doesn’t surprise me.

On a more not so amazing subjects, I know I need to go to CSU, because while I was waiting to meet up with BL, I had the desire to be petty as hell and have my phone on while I was fucking, and have that leave all those noises on Ian’s voicemail. I didn’t. But I wanted to, for a moment, and then I knew I needed help once again.

Something interested happened last night, though, concerning him. After that horrible conversation we had, I went to sleep crying, questioning my entire future. And I dreamed of Grandma Molly, and she told me something my mom use to always repeat, that she heard from my Grandma. When you turn 44, you can do whatever you damned well please. My mom did that, too. In my dream, Grandma told me that, except she said don’t wait until I’m 44, I don’t have time. I need to do it now. We were in the backyard of her house, near the grape plants and there was the smell of lilacs that she had. She told me again that I didn’t have the time to wait until I was 44, that I needed to start doing that now.

I couldn't find a picture of Grandma Molly online, so here are the dancers at the club in dayton back in the day, Cousin Wayne dancing. He died of HIV, and I miss him.

I woke up, and I went into the kitchen to get some orange juice. Looking out of the window, I saw our lilac tree, and I knew that Grandma Molly was right. Ian doesn’t know who I am anymore, and maybe I don’t know him as well as I did. That is no reason for me to not move up there. It’s not for him. And there is no reward without risk.

And that’s what I am going to do.

 

Whatever I damned well please.

thought it would never end.

 

Ever since high school, I’ve wanted to move to Ohio. I’ve talked about this, and what my plan was. I told Ian tonight that someone sent me a penis pic in an effort to date me, but I told him that I was interested in someone else.  His reply? That I should be interested in someone else, not him. Someone closer. And I told him my plan to move, and his reponse was that he didn’t think I should move, not for him. I told him I had family up there, which is kinda true; dead family and my godfather. The truth is, I am moving up there for him. Distance is the problem, so I’m going to solve it.

Everyone would ask, is it worth it?

And with him saying what he said tonight, I don’t know anymore.

I don’t know anymore, and it’s tearing me apart.

For so long, that’s been my dream. And if you don’t have dreams, what are you? There were things I wanted to do once. I wanted to be a wife. I wanted to be a proffesor. A lot of that I still want, on some level.

I told him that how can he dictate my actions? He doesn’t want me to move up there just for him. I want to move up there for my dreams, and he just happens to be a part of a bigger picture.

I scatter the words, in the past, present in future. As a warning. This is my destiny. It shall not change.

That’s like a school trip.

I’m sorry, I had to write about this from my sick-couch, because A Joseph H Banks commerical just came on, and I burst into laughter. Dad pokes his head into the family room, with that “what the fuck now?” look, and then just walked away.

Mr. M, who is only 33, has this thing where he dresses like an old man. I think he secretly longs to be some old Irish dude smoking a pipe with some scraggly looking beard and lives in some sort of stone cottage talking about lepracauns with some faked Irish accent. Then he goes to the pub and drinks his dark beer.

So, to fufill this dream in the Ole’ Kentucky home is to wear jeans, not correct dress socks, that stupid ass hat, and those DAMN SWEATERS from Joseph A Banks. If he weren’t a fairly reliable fuck buddy (except that time I made him feel like shit for being an ass), I wouldn’t be fucking him. Or talking to him. He’s 33. You are not old. BL is like, 30, and dresses great. That’s also because for the longest time we all thought he was gay. Oh no, he is not gay. Although last time I saw him he did say that he has a gay guy’s ass. Shape, not things being shoved up it. Hell, he could be into that, I don’t know… haven’t tried that yet. I have however experimented with sex toys…. but I’d try that first with Mr. M

As soon as I get him to ditch those damned sweaters.

men don't wear these until you are 40

‘Cause a better world takes its place

It kinda looks that “a few days” was about less than a day. And then he sent me a picture of SPAM and bread with the caption “my kinda sandwich” on it. Made me smile a bit, even though I knew it was a mass text. Except he told me he sent it to me to cheer me up.

Besides being sick as hell, things have gotten even worse. While meds doctor, last time I saw her, was suggesting CSY, now Dad really wants me to go, since I had a panic attack that made me stop breathing for a few minutes or so, two trips to the ER in an ambulance, another by myself, and that period of time I forgot what was going on, he wants my meds straightened out.

I don’t want to go. I know it would be smart for me to go. Daddy didn’t raise no fool. An actual hospital would be better, since this is more about meds, but they don’t let you have cell phones. I want to keep in contact with Ian, even though I would only have it during the day.

So the decicion was made, and now I’m just waiting for the meds doctor to get back into town. It’s a hell of a lot easier to get in with her help than by myself.

 

Let’s talk about happy happy subjects.

Like BL’s cock.

I would adore to show it’s magnificent to you, but sadly that wold be taking it a little too far. Someone might recongize it. I’m not an idiot that he he fucks other people, I just keep that idea away by living in a bubble. Back to the subject of this cock of amazing. It’s like a Greek sculpture made the cock of the gods in marble, and BL just happened to have been born with it’s re-incarnation. While I still don’t feel up to sex (that’s happening Saturday night, if you must know) exchanging a pic of my tits for several views of that cock was way worth it.  I’m actually looking forward to angry sex. Nasty dirty makes you feel wrong in the morning dirty sex.