You First

Have you noticed that some relationships resemble a dance?  At least for me, they do.  I'm always waiting or the guy to lead for fear of stepping on his toes. 

He's the first to ask for a date.

He's the first to hold hands. 

He's the first to move in for a kiss.

He's the first to show physical symptoms of liking our time together. 

He's the first to say those three little words. 

He's the first to talk about marriage. 

He's the first to daydream about kids.

He's the first to get the new car. 

He's the first to move out of the bedroom. 

He's the first to leave the marital home for days at a time in fits of rage. 

He has to be the first to see other people. 

I can't do it. 

I can't. 

Despite my lectures from a male friend about being human and needing to consider my own needs, I can't bring myself to be with anyone else. 

That thought makes me eat.  This is probably why I'm 17 pounds over the limit of decent looking.  The extra pounds are hard on my knees but the fatter I am, the less awkward situations I endure with  other men.  Few of them can tolerate lard.  

Okay, the truth of the matter is that I have a friend living in the basement.  I cannot communicate with him.  I don't know who he is anymore.  Still, I think he thinks he has a chance and I want to make sure he moves on before I do. 

I can't stand it when people hurt my exes.  Why should I hold myself to a different standard? 

I must be insane.

The Lesson in the Laundry Room

Today I had an ephiphany....

in the laundry room....

as I did my ex a favor so that I could be rid of the stench emenating from the basement....

and washed his skivvies. 

I had a pile of freshly bleached briefs sitting in a basket and turned to do a double take. 

The tags were all on the outside. 

That didn't look right.  I had folded about thirty pair of them inside out. 

Then it hit me. 

I've been folding his undies inside out for twenty years!  

Why didn't I know that the little access panel thingy went on the outside? 

I thought about it....

and thought about it...

apart from models, I don't really recall ever seeing a man in real life wearing those things.   

Really....

I've never had the opportunity to unwrap a package that I can recall. 

Never....

No wonder our relationship is dead.

I've never been fun! 

How disappointing is that? 

Geez! 

I asked him about it and he's always noticed but never said a word because it doesn't take but a few seconds to turn them right-side out in the mornings. 

Really? 

Wow... I guess if I had been more of a slut I would know how men's undergarments should be folded. 

Man...oh, man...

Since we were talking about packages and access panels, we began talking about more personal stuff.  In the end, it was decided that we should not even think about getting into that marital stuff again.  When men start kissing women, they start putting the woman's needs ahead of their own.  Then they go nuts because their needs are not getting met.  We both decided that it was high time for him to think about what he needed for once without intererence. 

Then I interfered.

I also asked him to consider speaking to his father.  His dad rarely blew crap out of proportion; he only did that when his wife really freaked up and he needed to defend her.  I suggested that he, consider maybe, doing a guy thing that would keep the women at bay (e.g. football game).

Whenever my exes come to me with the need to do soul searching because some chick tried to change them on some level, I hypnotize them to go take a hike.  It always works like a charm. They come back changed men.  All three of them.  One cheats, though, he bought a huge monster looking truck to take him to the top of the mountain.  The other nearly lost his toes hiking in a flooded valley.   The third one came home sunburned and sore while swearing up and down that I must be someone wonderful to trust him to have his space; yeah, yeah...I know what he likes to do while hiking. 

When we were really young, an old man caught us and quipped, "so you found a girl into who is into fly fishing....keep her!" 

Why didn't I take note of the undies that day? 

What is wrong with me? 

This was the first time I told a guy to spend time with his dad away from obnoxious gossipy women.   I wonder if it will have the same impact. 

We'll see. 

As for me, I'm going to do more laundry.  Maybe I'll get more insights as to how crappy it is for some poor soul to be married to me.  How abusive is it having a wife that makes you undress yourself?

I really suck!  Well, maybe..... not as much as I thought.   

Love,

S.

Warrior Gods, Jewelry and Shoes

My ex was in my room. 

How do I know? 

Well, I've lived with a pagan for nearly twenty years and when in Rome, act as the Romans do. 

I have an altar set up to Mars.  Don't know why but I found him to be one of the most interesting Gods to meditate to.  Mars likes meat, blood, guts and all those things I'm not fond of.  

I like the dreams where the spirit of the warrior God is giving me advice on love.  I get the sense while meditating with him that my job is just to keep a man's belly full and look pretty.  I'm supposed to let him go off and fight all the wars he wants to fight.  My problem is that I do too much, wear too much, and fight too many battles; this is why my ex is my ex.  I get the sense that my ex still lives in the basement because he thinks I'm pretty and he doesn't want to see me with anyone else. He may actually be trying to protect me from something by staying here.  Maybe someday I'll be able to ask. 

I like trying to see the other side of the coin.

The man in the basement went upstairs, entered my room and bumped into the altar for Mars set up five feet from the ground just to the right of the entrance to my room.  The candles fell on him and his shirt and carpet was covered in hot, red, cinnamon scented wax. 

That's what a man gets for violating a woman's boundaries. 

Nothing gets past Mr. Ex..... nothing.  He took note of the containers of shoes which surrounded my bed and my jewelry box which has been sitting on my bed for the past few years. 

He made mention of being replaced by shoes and jewelry. 

That must be sad. 

I didn't have the heart to show him what I bought.  People are now turning their thoughts to self-improvement and I'm beginning to make some sales online.  I earned some dough and found these for $10 (new with tags!!).  I figure if I don't wear them, I can turn around and resell them for three times the money or give them to one of my daughters (two of them wear my size shoes).

If it helps him, he hasn't been replaced by cheap shoes.  They're designer. 

The truth is that I know a lady who runs a charity on the south side of town.  She made a deal with the consignment shops in the area to pick up the stuff that doesn't sell so they don't have to liquidate it.  When she runs out of room in her tiny shop, she'll sell what is left to me.  I've so many brand new designer shoes that were given to me for donations of between $1-$10 a pair.   They usually sit in my room before going to Goodwill, the neighbors, or my daughters. 

That charity is on my tithe list for the days when the money comes rolling in.  There are a couple of others that I trust enough to share with; the musician group that feeds starving artists, the police officers that give money to help kids with cancer, the guy who runs the soup kitchen downtown, the shrink who gives jobs to schizophrenics, and a couple of other groups that I send money when I have it.  The Creator takes care of me when I remember to take care of these people.  When I forget to give at least 10% of my income away, it all tends to evaporate. 

Interesting... guess my primary motivation to work has always been to help the charities.  Marriage always got in the way of that.  Men don't understand the concept of abundance and increase; the more we give, the more is returned.  I wonder why that is? 

Speaking of money, work and sharing....it's time to get back to the studio. 

 I'm trying to decide where to set up my office.   I'm being pulled back home on the west side of town but I should probably invest in the city where people trust me enough to tell me what they want to see in their local government (even if the head tax auditor and her lawyers have threatened me). 

I'm a hypnotist.  I can play their game.  I know the lines:

"At the count of three...you'll forget the number seven!  You'll get it back when you follow the letter of the law and play fair with the people!!"   

That will screw with their numbers.  And if they think that won't work, I've got news for them.  The more analytical they are, the easier it is to confuse the holy sh!t out of them!! 

People pay me $150 an hour to do that. 

Yes, there are benevolent uses to convincing someone that I can make them forget something that they take as a fact of life.  If they believe it is a fact that they fail at everything they do, or that they will always smoke, or overeat, or anything.....we can remove that just as easily as we remove the number seven.  I do this all the time. 

I don't understand why any auditor would want to play head games with me.   

Sigh......

Take care dear one. 

Love,

S. 

Dysfunctional Siegfred and Her Violin

Let me grab some rosin and fire up that bow...

so I can play some pity party music. 

The man in the basement wants to work things out....so...

I told him how he hurt me.

He lied. 

A lot. 

He promised me I could continue with school when I let him put that fake diamond on my hand.

He promised me that I could work. 

I trusted him when we married and put his name on my bank accounts.   I was actually attacked by a wasp as I sat in the bank.  In retrospect, I think the spirits were trying to get me out of there before I ruined my life. 

His control started off slowly.  His mother wanted to see us every weekend.  Then she wanted every holiday.  Then she wanted to visit the house we rented whenever she felt like it. 

Then she wanted us to own our own home because that's what good providers do.  Then she told him that what was mine was his and what was his was his (and by extension of this..what is his belongs to his mother and father).


He bought a house in a dangerous part of town with my life savings.  I begged.  I pleaded.  He ignored me.  Besides, it was too late as he had but every dime I had on it anyway as earnest money. 

My security was shaken.  I tried to get out of it but I would have lost all of the money.

I grew up in poverty.  I was orphaned and sent to live with a rich uncle who was too busy jettsetting to take care of a teenager.  I got a job and bought everything I needed (except rent) because my uncle was never around.  He fell in love.  His girlfriend wanted me out, so I left home with a garbage bag of clothes at the age seventeen.  I was luckier than most people in my situation.  I made it through college.  I never did drugs.  I never got stuck on welfare. 
I learned early on that one always has to have a back up plan.  One always has to live near public transportation or have a car in good repair.  The house in the boonies was nowhere near a bus line. 

One week after we moved in the house, he told me that the brakes on his car were out and that his transmission wasn't working.  He needed my car.  I told him 'no' and he got violent.  I was out of a car for three months. 

I did get the permission of my boss to come in late everyday as I had to hitch a ride with a neighbor but my former boss (to this very day, 15 years later) tells me that it was proof that marriage made me lazy.  I hate running into him.  He's not a good reference. 

I ended up leaving that job and trying to do everything from home.  I want to say that this doesn't continue to happen...but....it does.  What is mine is his and what is his is his.

Everything I do has to be on my own.  I don't know how to explain it but he will admit to sabotaging the vehicles and the house to keep me home. 

Now, if I try to talk to him....he ignores me. 

That's what hurts. 

He IGNORES me. 

Not with the little stuff....

it's the big things!!! 

He'll ignore me on the important things.

The biggest blow-outs were during my ninth months of pregnancy when I had to arrange a ride to the hospital and childcare for the other kids while I'm in labor.

I wish I were joking.   

I'd ask if he would help and he'd ignore me and tell me to babysit the kids while birthing or drive myself.

When I get on his nerves his famous retort is along the lines of "[my] mother is stupid.  My sister is stupid.  They are both women.  You're a woman.  You are stupid.  I don't have to listen to you!!" before spinning on his heels and walking away. 

It doesn't matter what the topic is. 

I was offered a paid position in a Ph.D. program studying computer science and psychology...the same thing happened. 

Job offers....internships....opportunities....

help around the house....car repairs...lawn work....

He doesn't want to help me because when he was little his mother made him do that.  He doesn't want to talk to me because when he was little his mother made him do that.  I can't have needs because his mother made him attend to hers...and so on....and so on....

It gets old paying for the sins of someone else's mother and sister. 

Yesterday, I lost it. 

I was bad. 

I was dysfunctional.  I told him why I burned my childhood diary. 

I mean, what in the world is he thinking....for 15 years, he thought he could 'out crazy' a woman.

No insane man is crazier than a sane woman.  We can make anything crazy! 
I told him about my Step-father, the disabled veteran with PTSD, who acted out war crimes with my pet animals.  When he was sober, he was tolerable.  When he was drunk, everyday was World War II. 

This is the guy who shot my kitten in the head in the bathtub in front of me one Thanksgiving despite my screams to the contrary; everytime I see a huge chip in a filthy bathtub it reminds me of that horrible day.  This idiot gutted kittens in the front yard when he was drunk.

Now, to be fair, I don't know why he did those things.  The official story was that the cat broke her back (not sure about that) or that the kittens were dying (not sure).  The man lost his marbles when he drank. 



My step-father died when he was playing Russian Roullette with my thirteen year old baby sister.  He's lucky he died that day.  If my sister would have died during her turn (that bastard had her go first), I or a member of my maternal family would probably be in prision for his murder.

So, it can be said that I have step-daddy issues even though I spent very little time with the monster when he was drinking. 

If my ex wants to stay with me and wants permission to act out every little revenge fantasy he has with his mommy on me...

I want to know when it is my turn to get freaky on him. 

Not really, this is the reason why I had so much therapy before getting laid or hitched.  Psychology, quite sadly, has consumed much of my life in some form or another. 

As of this morning, my ex has been very quiet.  He also promised to repair the chips he put in the tub.

Maybe I've been going about this all wrong? 

Maybe I need to treat him as he treats me. 

Sadly, I wish I were lying about gutting the cats.  In the seventies, our parents and grandparents likely grew up in rural areas and were familiar with death.  They saw animals as property, not pets.  It was a different world back then. 

As for now, we all have trauma.  What I endured is a walk in the park compared to the stories I hear from many of my clients.  I was lucky, I only had a few snippets of hell, most people never had relatives take them away from their abusers.

Our parents did the best with what they had.  What we consider horrific child abuse today passed for discipline in the last generation.  My parents lived through three wars.  Their parents starved through the great depression and won World War II.  Many of my friends became afraid of allowing their kids to be emotionally neglected in the same manner their working Boomer parents did: many of us learned that gadgets and excess are no substitute for guidance.  Generation Y considers technology to be an intricate part of life and I often see their children playing with phones that would intimidate me!

In context, my experience doesn't freak me out too much.  It probably explains why I can't stand blood or meat.  My ex should consider buying a condo or something without a lawn and hiring a maid.

We all have baggage; we shouldn't make other people carry it for us too far. 

As far as my relationship, I don't know.  If he stops comparing me to his mother... and he tells me the truth about our finances....stops lying about the money he makes.....stops hiding the money and making me beg to buy a loaf of bread...works with me so I can hold a job.... maybe I can stay for the sake of the kids.

I don't think it's going to happen though. 

One of two things happened yesterday.  Either I scared him and he knows he lost control of me -or- he thinks I'm vulnerable and will try to be with me again.  We'll see what he wants. 

Don't dwell in your past.  Don't criticize your parents too much.  Don't let something you can't control intimidate you into failing to live today.  Overcome it and move on. 

Love,

S.

Love Rocks

I've always liked rock.  Rock bands, rock music, guitars, electric basses, seaxaphones, amps, amethyst, quartz, and really, really, really, really old sparkly coal in golden settings.  

I spent a lot my childhood playing with rocks, boning up on research, and making myself sick playing with radioactive stuff like petrified wood*
(*no, and this time I am NOT using that phrase to refer to my ex when he's randy and I'm angry). 

I grew up in a city within biking distance of Golden, Colorado.  Two fault lines lie beneath Golden. They are said to be right under the brewery, so if an Earthquake happens and you're lucky enough to be there...uh...try grabbing a couple of mugs, maybe you'll get lucky.  As a teen, I spent a lot of time on my ten speed in the area.  It's always interesting to hike and bike around there and see all the damage that was done to the little cow town due to earthquakes.  You can see a lot of evidence of prehistoric life and fossil evidence on the mountains in the area, too. 

On the campaign trail, I constantly heard people ask if fracking caused Earthquakes. 

Yes, indeedy. 

It is nothing new.  Here is a link to an article from 1972.  It was an oft discussed tidbit in geology circles.  They used to pump salt water into the ground around Denver and cause all sorts of tiny earthquakes.  My understanding is that the salt water injections were the inspiration for the research (but don't quote me on that).  If you're interested, check it out here. 

http://www.onepetro.org/mslib/servlet/onepetropreview?id=ARMA-72-0689&soc=ARMA&speAppNameCookie=ONEPETRO

For what it's worth. 

Love,

S. 

P.S.  Maybe I should spend the holidays out there again...I'll pack two mugs, one for me and one for you...

frack away babies. 

Really..don't...I'd hate to see houses ruined due to oil companies' greedy ways.   They are messin' up our water supply and I fear the taxpayers are going to be footing the bill. 

Crap, another windmill for old Siegfred to chase after....all these problems, not enough activists. 

There's no rest for red-headed b!tches. 

sigh....

Sick and Scheming

Still Sick....

That gives me a heck of a lot of time to scheme! 

I know how to end the $1 per hour work-fare scheme! 

Off to talk to the union reps....

Ha...ha....ha...ha...

I may have to actually run for congress time time which will make my ex happy because I won't be able to divorce him until after 2012.  

I may have to run as an independent as I am switching parties so I can vote for Ron Paul.  I'll be going against a former mayor and a guy who I fought against this year.  Ah, the things I do to help end corporate welfare. 

Or, I can just start a rock band and sing subliminal messages about making the political swine work for their supper.  Now, they just let their corporate buddies feed at the collective troughs while our neighborhood children stave cuz their daddy lost his job to a welfare mom who isn't getting paid for the gig that used to feed the family. 

If they paid workfare workers minimum wage and offered basic workplace protections, there would be no need for food stamps (yeah!!  no block grants from the feds, no drain on the county workforce centers, no workfare agreements that remind me of why the USSR toppled in the first place).  They wouldn't mess around with lowing wages for the women and the disabled.  Quasi-governmental corporations would not be benefiting from the cheap exploitation of the poor. 

The government essentially introduced an artificial system of rigidity that has lowered the wages of women, disabled, and people without college degrees (the bottom 1/3rd of the labor pool can't find work).  The Dems are complaining about not paying people living wages...well, then, they need to look at their own policies.  Why aren't we paying people on Food stamps a living wage?  If we gave them minimum wage, there would be no need for food stamps or TANF. 

In fact, the lady I chewed out at the county was a workfare worker.  My second college degree was a a BA in social science with a minor in psychology.  In the past, they used to give people like me those jobs out of college.  I was an advocate for crime victims (usually the families of murder victims or women impacted by rape and domestic violence). 

I shudder to think what happens if they put a workfare person, who probably has issues, in the DAs office.  Let's end this crap now. 

I'd rather play wanna-be subliminal singin' rock star....but...perhaps playing nasty politician/activist is what I need to do right now.    I promised myself a brand new bass once the election is over but maybe....just maybe...I'll get myself a blue suit and a makeover instead and save the skin on my right hand a little while longer.

I do feel a tad bit emboldened.  I got my first "the best candidate for mayor didn't win" fan letter today.  It made me cry.

I'm not done workin' for the people.  They need somewhere to turn. 

So, I'm finding myself pondering a run for congress.  I can get more done in the press then.  Best of all, I can sit with the eventual winner and hypnotize the snot out of him (the other two people considering the race are men). 

That strategy worked like a charm last time....the candidates repeated every darn thing I said.  If they don't follow through....if they don't....well.....let's just say they'll be itchin' to get it done. 

It's good to be a hypnotist without scrupples. 

Sucking down my wine, taking my Nyquil and trying not to dream of strangling RHINOS,

S.  



 

How to Market Clothes When You Can't Sew

Can't sew?

No problem!!! 

Hire a bunch of starving kids overseas!

When the underage children in your sweat shops are so tired that the stitching in the undergarments they slave 20 hours a day for three whole cents fall apart, 

What do you do? 

What do you do?

You market them as crotchless!!

Yeah, yeah, that's the ticket!! 

Oh...but now you're so darn cheap that you're making them smaller and smaller but the butts on the American women who buy them are getting bigger and bigger....

oh crap....

(those undies won't hold that in)...

hmmmm....

what to do?


let's get creative here...

hmmmm....

this is a tough one....

wait for it....

wait or it!!! 

Oh, I know....Let's piss off legions of parents by marketing them to children!

Stupid people....

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/11/15/crotchless-panties-kids-store_n_1095184.html

In-Laws' Illness

Two days ago I fielded a phone call stating that my father in-law had stage one lung cancer.  I told his son. I asked them to call their son directly but they declined.

This morning my former best friend from high school called and left a message making sure that I let my ex know that his father had esophageal cancer, stage iv and inoperable. 

I asked my ex to call his family. 

Do I dare educate him on the problems of dealing with elderly narcissists?   It's all about boundaries, boundaries, boundaries and covering your @$$. 

I have a letter they sent in '02 disowning him.  It all started the day I won some money in '99, bought a car and offered my old one to his brother.  My mother-in-law called and spent an hour b!tching  about my brother-in-law borrowing her car and that she didn't like having to walk two blocks to work every day.  I had just purchased one and was getting ready to donate my old car to charity, so I figured I'd just offer it to his brother. 

That pissed his mom off because she couldn't make demands of her son anymore in exchange for letting him use the car.  So, my mother-in-law started a campaign of harassment that would make the Nazi's look like kittens. 

She had her daughter terrorize the renters next store with her handgun.  They had their police officer friends threaten my neighbors.  They didn't know my neighbors were paranoid alcoholics which made things really get interesting for our family (they would take BB guns and brandish them in our windows and file false complaints with the authorities).


My sister-in-law went to visit with my graduate academic advisor to tell him that I was a bad wife for going to college (which actually got me concerned phone calls from my professors who knew I was being abused). 


They spread so many lies about me that I couldn't keep up. 

At one point I started getting phone calls from my brother-in-law's bill collectors who swore up and down that I was his wife and owed them money. No, I have never nor am I currently married to anyone named William!

I am not getting into the physical attacks against my daughters nor the threats to beat me up.  This is the short and sweet version. 


Then there was someone who claimed my mother-in-law owned the house that I scrimped and saved to buy before I married her son....sigh....she has nothing to do with our finances. 



I had an internet store and they wanted to use my tax ID to buy high end wholesale jewelry tax free (not realizing that I would have to pay that tax as they would be the end user). 


In '01, due to the problems with the neighbors, we  ended up selling the house at $65,000 profit and throwing all of the remaining money on a new one on the other side of town.  We were careful not to share our forwarding address and phone numbers.  We made sure to stay unlisted as to end the harassment. 



Due to a twist of fate, one of my professors lives directly across the street.  This person tried to get me to leave numerous times over the past eleven years but I fear she fails to understand the gravity of the situation. 


Within three days of moving, I was in a head-on car crash that mangled my spine, my reproductive organs, my feet and my knees.  This led to the most frightening experience of my life. 

Within a year I lost a baby.  It was Valentine's day 2002.  I was a sick, dizzy, fainting and bloody mess.  Once we realized what had happened, I had to get a rhogam shot to save my fertility.  Upon arriving home, in tears, from the doctor's office,  I checked the answering machine.  The children overheard a gruesome message from their paternal grandmother calling me a "baby killer".  She said that I was supposed to call her immediately or she would go to her niece's house (her niece was my best friend from high school) and beat her up.  I saved the answering machine tape.  



Upon hearing that my mother-in-law actually did drive over to my former friend's house and threaten to "hurt" her, she received a succinctly written cease and desist order offering her complementary family counseling.   



In response, my ex got a letter from his father that was not very kind to me and disowned him.  That was when my ex amped up the abuse towards me.  Maybe some day I'll write about it.  I tried to get him into therapy as he would constantly disassociate and take on the personality of an angry ten year old boy.  The insurance wouldn't cover it. 

I wanted to leave him but didn't feel right about it.  I couldn't leave the kids alone with him either. 

There must have been some horrible abuse in his childhood.

I'm still walking on eggshells. 

I mean, it is none of my business.  I got caught up in something that I shouldn't be a part of.   I've had so much therapy over the years to help me deal with this crap.  It's been about five (maybe six now) years since his ten year old self has shown up and threatened to kill his mother.   He does constantly compare me to her but he has never threatened to kill me. 


This is why I won't hypnotize him.  I don't know what would happen if I tried to help him lose weight or sleep better.  I'm not sure if he has DID or if he's a hell of an actor.   

He family knows how to bring out the crazy in him. 

Still, I have to ask myself what are my in-laws up to now? 

They always liked drama around the holidays. 

Part of me hopes they are lying about the cancer.  I wouldn't want anyone to endure that.  Given the way the story is constantly changing, there must be more going on than meets the eye. 

I'll be praying for them but I will not help them.  I have no money.  I'm basically bankrupt with nothing, I can't afford to clean their house or give them dough. 

Given the way they lie, I have to stay away.  This may be the straw that forces me out of the house. 

We'll see.

Love,

S.

Thanksgiving Dinner

1/2 baggie of almond covered M&Ms
2 Strawberries
6 crackers w/ cream cheese
2 NyQuil
2 cans of Diet Dr. Pepper

This must be a dry run for my post-divorce life. 

It's not so bad. 

Love ya,

S. 

For Once I'm Really HOT

Yep, I've got the flu.  I'm dizzy and delirious. 

I think the thermometer said 103. 

So, I'm hot. 

I'm not very happy, either. 

Sometimes I think my ex still loves me.  He sent me upstairs around 7:00 p.m. last night to get some sleep. 

I awoke to a smelly house full of dirty dishes, the putrid smell did not help my stomach. 

Moments like these prove to me that he does not care one silly bit about me. 

Oh, and his sister called last night to  tell me to tell her brother that their father has stage one lung cancer.

I really don't like being the go-between.  Every time they pull that and my ex doesn't do what they want, I end up being blamed. 

Six years ago, I was hanging out with a group of Wiccans at a metaphysical fair when my brother in-law approached me.  He was carrying on about how he mailed a wedding invitation to our home and his brother didn't show up to his wedding. 

He further went on to assert that I must have thrown the invitation away without sharing it with his brother.

There are several things wrong with that statement.  First, he and his wife were married several years prior to that.  I do not recall receiving a wedding invitation; they would probably take pains to keep my name of the envelope anyway thus I wouldn't know the contents nor would I be privy to opening it. 

I'm not even sure they had our address at the time. 

I found his wife at the fair and congratulated her on renewing their vows.  She had no clue what I was talking about.  There was no wedding, no invitation, nothing.  They were hoping to stage an intervention for someone but everyone chickened out at the last moment. 

That's when things got bad.  My husband's brother became increasingly hostile as my witch friends watched.  Finally, one asked me, quite loudly, if I would like some banishing oil and a black candle. 

At this point my friends were talking so loudly that I couldn't hear my brother-in-law's ramblings as he turned to walk away. 

I think my in-laws are up to something. 

Now, every time my in-laws call over here due to someones health issues, the request is that I drop whatever I am doing and become their maid.  Yes, I do have OCD and they may think that I like cleaning.  They may think that they are helping me but I can't do that for them anymore 

I used to spend several hours a week helping them.  I used to clean their homes, cook for them, do their laundry, take them to appointments and babysit their other grand kids.  That is, until I was accused of stealing Beanie Babies (seriously...), of scheming to take their retirement, and of saying vague threatening things to them. 

I can't put myself through that again.  I'm afraid that they are going to try to have me arrested for something they made up.

My husband is the cousin of my former best friend from high school.  I used to help her mother a lot but the lies got to be too much.  I can't even talk to my old friend without hearing the hissing from her relatives.  I went to her mother's funeral and was shocked at the sheer amount of glaring I had to endure from my husband's family.  They're still pissed.  They're still lying.  They ignore me unless I can do something for them. 

My in-laws have three grown children, they can man up and help their parents around the house.  Let them earn their inheritance. 

Hope my father-in-law gets well. 

Going back to bed now.  I've been dreaming about all the abuse I've endured over the past twenty years.  I'm really not looking forward to falling back asleep. 

Take your vitamin C, you don't want what I've got. 

Love,

S.

TMI

My hard drive is still dead and I'm using the computer in my recording studio to clean up my eight websites and four blogs.

I may not fix it because I hate Facebook; this little Toshiba is too old to hang out on Facebook without crashing.   This is great!  I don't have to answer requests from men who want to grab a cup of coffee; they always claim its innocent but it rarely is. They want me to grab a cup of Joe, Todd, Bob, or whomever the victim of the day is.

I would consider them victims if I chose to be a filthy old lady.  I would bore them to death. 
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I can't...If I told people why my marriage died, they'd laugh.

Want some TMI?

Well....

You don't want to know....

It's stupid...

Okay....

my ex has sleep apnea.  Over three years ago, he was fired from the city because of it.  I think they were afraid he'd fall asleep at work. His coworker found out about our health issues (don't know how)and told the boss that he was sleeping on the job but the boss admitted to me that nobody ever caught him sleeping.  His coworker, wanting a big promotion, contacted the HR who fined us for trumped up crap (e.g. book on desk, checking out taxpayers/customers businesses online, my having fibromyalgia and such). They canned him, slandered both of us and blackballed him.

The co-worker got the promotion; her former boss was fired. 

It's interesting what one learns when she runs for office. 
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I was blamed for the whole thing...

the city blamed my degree and my disability while the family gossips blamed my libido for him being tired and not getting enough sleep. 
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You know, if I can't get a man to fall into a deep asleep afterwards...

I am not doing it right.

And I'm a stage hypnotist known for snapping her fingers and getting people to 'SLEEP NOW!'

What the heck?

We don't share hobbies. We don't get along. That was the only thing we had in common but it obviously was a problem.

Yep, my pride has been bruised. I am embarassed about sucking so badly, so it's been years since...

you know...

I'm embarrassed to say how long its been...

I'm not sure I'll ever trust anyone in that capacity again. So, I'm trying to throw myself into my work.

I am getting so much done! Twelve websites, hundreds of recordings, lots of articles, lots of speeches and publications.  

I just need to find that thing that makes me want to wake up in the morning and my productivity will skyrocket.

I'm still looking for it!

Now that I've given you nightmares due to my sharing TMI, I'm going to get back to recording some stuff and continuing to enjoy my vacation from TMI!

Love ya,

S.

P.S.  Now to really make you throw up,

I guess I can be a vegan again as there is nothing I desire to....

you know...

;)

An Update...

Well...

I think the man in the basement has a job.  From what he tells me, he got his old job back making $40 - $50,000 or so (not sure) per year working for his former company. 

That's nice.  His old boss liked me and is telling him to stop making things so complicated at home because I'm a pretty lady. 

How cute is that?

He and his office mates went out for his first guys' night out in fifteen or so years.  He spent the night holding some one's hair back and trying not to lose it at the smell of vomit.  He spent hours recounting the experience to me: it must have traumatized him.  I'm so glad he never became a musician, he'd see that crap all the time!

His hours are perfect, they'll allow me to do the job I was doing when he asked me to stop to care for the kids.  Now, all I have to do is find the money to try to get my old office back. 

Something seems a little fishy about this whole thing but I'm not going to complain. 

He did say something about being motivated by the demand the county made of me.  He didn't like how the food stamp office was going to force me to take an unpaid 30 hour per week job that would cost the family money (e.g. transportation, daycare) while not improving my ability to find a job for a net gain of less than minimum wage (< $400 food stamps). I guess that could force a man to get serious about getting a job; he will lose the free labor he's getting at home; he'd have to wash his own socks and make his own bread. 

Part of me wonders if he had this job all along and was hiding the money; it's bizarre that he magically got his old job back when I declared war on the county. I still don't have access to the savings account.  There are times when I realize that I don't know who this person is, only that he wants me to stay at help with the kids. I seriously don't know what to do.   

Here is the deal.  He signed up with the county, not I.  I have never seen any benefit from his signing up for food stamps and I've made damn sure that nothing he brings home from them is utlized.  The county says it doesn't matter who signed up, the fact that I live in this house with him here makes me responsible for meeting their criteria.  Bullshit, just cut the household off from food stamps; he's not cooperating with me.  I'm not cooperating with you.  Cut him off!!!  Besides, I am no one's indentured servant.  They want me to work for the community...alrighty then...sure thing...I know where I'm going to start. 

I told the supervisor what I do for fun.  I am an activist who once had a mayoral candidate declare in front of 100 our so onlookers that I want to destroy the government, fire all the government employees, and force people to fend for themselves because I hate taxes so much.  Yep, I'm scary and I want to talk to the person in charge.  Think I'm full of shit?  Google my name!!

What the politician said about me is not true.  I want our money to be used in a fair and honest fashion.  I want the best use of our tax dollars!  Spending hundreds of dollars on paperwork and social services due to neglected kids whose mommies went off to unpaid 'workfare' to earn $1 worth of food stamps per hour really is not in the best interests of the taxpayer. 

Now, if workfare consisted of allowing moms to work in daycare centers while teaching them new skills (that's important) so they can get real work while allowing the kids to use the services for free, I'd bitch a little less.  That would be more like a co-op.  Or, better yet, we can cut taxes on the first $20,000 or so in income: there have been studies that show that people working under the table get of welfare quicker than those who take legitimate jobs. 

Workfare is a way to force the poor into indentured servitude, and to lower wages for working men and women who compete with these free workers.  In some states, professional city jobs are being replaced with workfare workers.  These people aren't thinking.
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Yes, I admit it.  I do get all up in arms when I visit Craigslist or get emails from other counselors asking for food for clients who cannot get food stamps.  I got such an email today.  I really can't afford to feed my household yet people are asking me to fund the turkey dinners of poor people who qualify for food stamps but cannot jump through the damned hoops set up to make them give up and starve. 

I shouldn't have given up my business...that is what put me in this mess.  I have started to re list my recordings online to sell and am giving a portion of the funds to the local interfaith food bank.  It is really the only thing I can think of doing that makes sense. 

We'll see where I stand in a week.  One week can change my outlook. 

I'm so damn pissed that our tax dollars are not being used to help the needy, only to fund the paper pushers in the office who exploit and undermine the labor of poor women.  I think people gladly pay into the system thinking the system will be there when loved ones need it.  It's not. Politicians whine and cry that they need to raise taxes to help the poor, help the downtrodden, help the children but then they give that dough to corporations or use it to provide free labor to them!!  I'm sickened ....

I'm not going to let my tax dollars go to harming people who need the safety net.  People who pay taxes their entire lives can't get access without destroying their ability to find work or neglecting their children.  This is wrong. 

It is, sadly, time to gut the program and make it easier for people like me to start food charities. 

I'm getting ready to be called a teabagger again.  I hate that.  There is nothing worse than having to explain to an older man why that is such an offensive term.  I think these dirty old men know what it means but they get a kick out of me describing the act to them.

Some people are such damn pervs.

Hope things are going better for you.  Thanks for your prayers.

Love ya,

S.

Another Sappy Song

 

Getting Soft In My Old Age

I'm listening to a bunch of stupid sappy songs!

Quick!!!

Someone play me some Heavy Metal!!!

But not that creepy New Zealand band that claims I'm stealing their stuff...

What are they called again? 

Oh, crap...

I don't remember. 

You know why? 

No one would know who they are except that they like to abuse vocal artists with false DMCA take downs!

and if you knew what kind of stuff I recorded, you'd wonder why the heck they'd want to take credit for it. 

Sigh....they'll get smacked down in the end! 

Love ya,

S.

The Gov't Considers Foster Parents to be Freeloaders?

Whoa...

The government is assigning foster parents to Workfare!

It's time to get nasty. 

When I was fourteen, my parents died and my younger sister and I were sent to live with our uncle. My sister ran away and I spent five years of my life trying to find her. 

At nineteen, I found her.  Shortly afterwards my boyfriend took me on a trip to Washington and I arrived to our destination and met his mother holding a wedding dress.  I ran from the minister.  Eventually, they pried me from the bathroom with the promise of dinner and an annulment.  Upon arriving home, he promised to take my sister in. 

We went to court and became foster parents. 

Because I was related to the sixteen year old child, we did not qualify for help from the government.  On the bright side, we were adopted by a local congregation. 

My sister aspired to be a model.  One member owned the premier modeling agency in the state and promised to help.  Another person was a dentist (who I refer to people to this very day).  Another person promised a scholarship to a private school. 

Then social services stepped in.  I was only nineteen and my husband was twenty-five, we were too young to take in my sister.  They gave her to a local pimp, despite our pleas.  The man tried to extort me for $400 a month (what his gov't subsidy for her would have been).  At one point, he tried raping me and when I smacked him down, he called the county on me. 

Due to the stupidity of an old social worker, who is undoubtedly stewing in hell right now my sister never finished high school.  She never became a legit model.  She never held a real job.  She's been beaten by other pimps.  She never lived her dream. 

She is now a well known local escort.  She is more plastic than woman now.  She's been arrested.  Her nickname is Roxanne and it is really freakin' hard not to break out in song upon seeing her. 

Why am I ranting? 

The government is screwing everything up. 

They did for my sister.

Workfare is really getting on my nerves.  I got a call from the county today and confused the heck out of the poor girl who returned my call.  I learned that if anyone applies for services of any sort, they are immediately entered into a twenty hour volunteer program to do unpaid labor for the community.  They must start work whether or not they are approved. 

Now, if one signs up for benefits (such as food stamps) because they are looking for work the last thing they can afford to do is take 20 hours out of their week to do menial service for the government that will lead nowhere.  If they have kids, it becomes another expense; how does one pay $10 an hour for daycare to earn $1 worth of food stamps? 

By volunteer, I mean it is mandatory unpaid services to the community.  They choose the days you work.  They choose your hours.  They choose what you do without regard to your physical capacity to do the job. 

There is no childcare, no transportation, no help.  There are no excuses, you either show up or you get kicked out of the system and have a black mark in a government database somewhere.   You also get verbally abused by government employees who never studied social science or psychology and do not have the faintest understanding of the realities of life. 

The thing about the childcare pisses me off.  If parents are workfaring due to a government mandate and kids are home alone, they can find themselves a heck of a lot of things to do, like drugs, getting pregnant, petty theft, anything except homework.  It is not a positive thing to have a latch key kid, especially if they are under fourteen. 

These social policies are penny wise and pound foolish!   Do they know that gov't policies are creating a cycle of dependency?  Boy gets addicted, boy depends on gov't assistance to survive.  Girls gets pregnant, it's workfare for her. 

Damn....

Besides, if the county welfare office says that kids under fourteen can't stay home alone how in the hell can the same county welfare office tell you that you have to work hours that the kids aren't in school for free with no childcare help? 

Why haven't people pitched a fit yet?   Our local government's right arm doesn't know what it's right thumb is doing!!!  

Let me be the first to tell you...

Foster care is a never-ending, thankless, community service job!  It is difficult to open up one's home to a child you do not know, one who could be troubled, one would could have connections with criminals and other scary people.  Like any parent, you're always on call...day, night, holidays and weekends.  There is little respite for a foster parent.

Why in the heck is the government trying to keep us from helping each other?  No wonder there is a foster care provider shortage!!! 

What are they up to? 

What 'cha want to bet they're trying to set up poorhouses again.  Workfare is the first step. 

It's got to go...

Either we are paying high taxes to help the poor or we are not.  It seems to me that we are paying for a burgeoning bureaucracy rather than help for the poor. 

Maybe I should take some of my liberal political buddies out for some tea. 

If they can't help the poor, then they ought to give us a tax cut. 

I'd hate to think God put me in this crappy situation so I would take up the cause.  

I did not even find it satisfying to know that should lawyers and accountants find themselves on food stamps, they could be required to take the jobs of the very morons who harassed me for nearly three years.  The rallying cry needs to be workplace protections for municipal (and all gov't) employees, including workfare recipients failing an end to the funding of this program.  I hope I don't have Stockholm's...it kinda looks like I do, doesn't it? 

Nope..I'm just a b!tch.  It needs taken care of.  If workplace protections existed, the woman who started this entire mess would not have felt compelled to do so.  It must end. 

Let me scheme a bit...I'll find a way. 

Love ya,

It's Kiss A Government Official Day

I used to eat little girls I knew
For breakfast
I used to fly high up in the sky
I used to chew up rocks and
Spit out gravel
I had a heart as cold as ice. 

- Gratitude, Oingo Boingo

(some 80's song I'm prone to singing to myself when a condescending government official asks what I can possibly do about their illegal, unethical, and/or immoral behavior)

Maybe it was the nasty lady at the welfare office who called me to tell me that my ex committed a Libertarian sin by signing up....

Or maybe it was my b!tching that the chicky at the welfare office claimed my job wasn't a job because the income wasn't guaranteed...

then she called me lazy....that made me want to go for his short hairs (and not in a way he'd approve).

Or maybe it was the threat from me that followed my witnessing the county officials nasty behavior towards the poor and the fact I promised to go public with my disgust (which would embarrass him because he signed up)...

Or maybe it was the fact that the HR department at the city did not give a nasty reference this time a job prospect called under threat of their having their bums sued off for the slander....

but Mr. Ex was offered a decent job today.  It is salaried, so I'll never see him.  I finally get to get some work done at home! 

We can finally plan a way to solve the mess.  If he wants to keep the house, he can afford it now.  We won't lose that $60,000 we put down on it! 
 
Thank goodness. 
I could kiss those bureaucratic morons for inspiring him to do something after three and a half years of driving me insane....

but maybe I'll do them a favor and not share my germs because I really am grateful to them for motivating him. 

Thank you. 

In my gratitude, I'll take the holidays off from my pissing and moaning about the government, unless they pass some stupid law in the middle of the night that costs us a heck of a lot of money


I'll call a truce for now.  

Man, I miss those days when I trusted the government...sigh...

Actually, maybe I never trusted the government.  I was raised by a Cherokee Disabled Veteran.  He hated the government.  That's probably why I don't trust welfare/workfare. 

Seriously,

if you can't take a blanket given to you by the government, how can you trust a below minimum wage job? 

I recently promised a reporter that I would never run for office again.  He told me that I probably mean that now but it will only be a matter of time before I throw my hat in a wider ring because someone did something to piss me off.  He's probably right. 

Reporters...isn't there anything they don't know? 

Sigh....let's pray he's wrong. 



Love,

S.

Progress and Pain

The Facebook Status that I want to post but cannot because it's true:

Siegfried has been tempted by the dark side because they promised her cookies. 

Yep....

I may take them up on that.  If I want to get things done, I've got to quit fighting the big boys and start playin' their game with my pendulum. 

Well....

today was interesting.  Eight of my websites got hacked (again) because I neglected to update the firewall.   My computer got infected when I took my sites offline and I was down most of the day. 

That gave me time to catch up on phone calls. 

I called the county told the welfare lady where to stick her indentured servitude; they promised to have someone call me in the next 24 hours...we'll see.

Allowing a man to sign his ex up for such a program without her consent really makes it hard to make a living; how in the hell can I earn $$ if I'm working for the government for free?

They gave my ex a heck of a lot of control.  I told them to remove our household from the program. 
I thought I was being a brat, then I learned he may have found a job, so may not qualify anyway. 


If he did get a job, then that means, we can  talk about finally selling this house and ending this hellish life.   He bought me lotion from Mexico and chocolate - I think that means he still wants the relationship.  My physical being needs a heck of a lot more that lotion and chocolate.....sorry, dude!

Well...getting back to the original topic, that phone call to the county, led to others.  Those calls led to some interesting intel. 

Okay, you know how I really want workplace protections extended to all government and quasi-governmental employees? 

Guess what??!! 

I found out why our local leaders won't do that!  They are replacing their workforce with unpaid welfare recipients who, in some cases, make as little as $1 worth of food stamps per hour of work!  The employer doesn't pay those wages...we do!!  We pay it through the county government. 

Ah..ha!! 

If they extend workplace protections to these entities, they'd have to pay everyone minimum wage!

Oh...and then they would lose the marketplace advantage they have when competing with private enterprise.  Ah, I'm a little "l" libertarian, I can play with that. 

Let's end welfare as we know it. 

Okay, the liberals won't do that but they'll end up agreeing to pay them minimum wage...watch me. 

First, the real Libertarians can rally about the problems of allowing government to get into the water business, the recreation business and any other type of things in which getting a $1 an hour workforce gives them an unfair advantage.  Then, we can get the unions to decry the lack of protections and get the Dems involved.   I'm not sure what I can do to get the conservatives involved, I'll give it some thought; maybe if I focus on how the welfare moms are taking jobs that well educated professionals do thus driving down wages for the professionals in the public arena that have to compete with former public employees for those jobs.  

Don't get me started on the fact that the county does not pay for daycare; think about it.  Since we became a workfare county, the number of children dying in informal child care networks (friends, family, or sitting in the crib alone while mommy does workfare) has drastically risen.  I think I see a connection!

It might be best to do away with the whole food stamp notion and get rid of regulations that make it hard for people like my friends and I to start food and clothing banks. 

I'm going to make some calls to DC tomorrow and see how to go about getting the county's funding cut!  They're in violation of federal law and I can prove it because they played with me!!! 

I'm a psych researcher.  I can easily put together another qualitative research website collecting stories of people screwed by the system. 

And the social worker said I was lazy because I didn't hold a job they approved of... apparently she neglected to Google my name.  

Ha!

For the first time in over a year, I couldn't go online to work so I did the only other thing I like to do. 

I cleaned. 

I used the only cleaner we had in the house. 

Bleach. 

I'm in severe pain. 

My hands are bleeding. 

My face is bleeding (from rubbing it with bleach covered hands). 

My nostrils are flaring. 

I think its time to either move to live with people are aren't piggies or get some time of anti-anxiety medication to tide me over until I move. 

This is too damn painful. 

Love ya,

S.

B!tchin' in the Kitchen

The house has little money for food and other things.  Fortunately, I used to be one of those bulk food shoppers. 

I was raised by a Mormon mother.  I always been well stocked up on staples.  Usually they sit in the basement until someone else needs them.  I forgot they were there.  The basement has become my ex's domain.  I only go down there to do the laundry or use the weight set.  He has my well loved Epson art printer down there.  I miss that thing.  Maybe I'll buy him something to replace my beloved art supplies.

Venturing in the basement, I discovered huge bags of flour (rice,wheat,flour), baking soda, salt, several pounds of soy protein powder, herbs, dried soy chunks (e.g. fake meat), sugar, fake butter flavoring, shortening, veggie oil and all sorts of stuff in the basement.  There were several boxes of energy bars. 

I bought those things when I was a practicing vegan, so no one is this household is going to get meat...but...here is my question...

Who the hell needs food stamps?

We just need to freakin' work together. 

I spent the weekend teaching the kids how to make homemade bread, cinnamon rolls, and pasta.  The kitchen was a floury mess and the ex seems happy to be eating real food.   I'm wondering if that's why he married me in the first place. He could eat well when we had no dough.

I'm going to show them how to make soap and laundry detergent in the next few days. 

That Mormon upbringing is paying off now.  My Step-dad's Pagan stuff comes in handy.  I always have herbs around and, you know, they do have some of the best remedies for all sorts of stuff. 

It's weird what sticks in your memory after you grow up. 

I hate eating so much bread but this having no junk food thing is really looking good on me.  I get to donate most of my suits now.  I have to.  The other day, an older woman ran to rescue me as I walked out of the municipal center.  Little did I realize that my skirt literally slid down my legs exposing my whitey tighties.  I'm just walking around like a young rapper with his pants slung down a little too low when my bottom gets tackled by someone trying to pull my skirt up. 

Now, that's a real hero!  She could have just laughed while I told everyone that business suits and crack are the new style... yeah, yeah that's the ticket!

Okay, not really.  That's the stuff of nightmares.

Today, I'm building two web stores and working on my resume.  I plan on getting the heck out of dodge.  I'll let you know when things settle down.

Love ya,

S.

P.S.  Of all the things I miss the most is the ability to buy really good toilet bowl cleaner.  OCD is such a horrid disease. 

Cheers!

The Psychopath Parade

I'm okay.

It struck me that I've had a twenty-plus  year psychopath parade which started the day this guy and his family came into my life.  I was fourteen and all these people have brought me is pain.  A good chunk of the crazies I've met are connected to them in some fashion.
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His family has been nothing less than crazy stalkish.  Over the past five years, their antics have been well documented on this blog.  They'd visit my places that I worked or volunteered, harass my academic advisers, lie to my landlords, wave guns in the faces of my neighbors, and spread gossip about me.  I'm actually impressed that they left me alone during my political campaign.  They probably have found a new target. 

The people at the city knew him and he and his boss had something freaky going on.  I've done a lot in this city my entire life and never had a problem until he pissed off his former boss; never been fined, never been harassed, never been threatened, nothing.   The lawyers that were harassing me worked for his former boss.  They were nice to me during my political campaign, even though I wasn't very demure about asserting that they were abusing the populace.  I'll settle down in my attempts to educate them about dealing with social issues.

It has dawned on me that I'm probably not their target.    Maybe if I leave this guy I can go back to living in peace and quiet. 
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I still can't place the stalker in Arvada but that guy showed up a couple of weeks after his family figured out where I worked.  I have no clue who he is.  The stalker got very brazen the day I met my high school sweetheart for lunch.  In fact, it was two minutes after we said our good-byes that the guy approached me with a bizarre "Hi Satan!".  I thought it was some kid playing a joke on me, so I smiled and ignored him.   He was impossibly tall, with brown hair and a black leather jacket. 

Things would go missing out of my office.  I found pictures of myself strewn about the courtyard in the center of the community plaza.  I realized it was him when other people in the office district were complaining about a tall man with a leather jacket going into private offices and asking personal questions about me.  He wanted to know what I was doing, who I was with, what my religion was and so on.  I didn't mind him too much until he started harassing the elderly woman who rented the office next to mine. 

In retrospect, I wonder...could my ex have had something to do with that?  He didn't like me working.  He is incredibly jealous of my high school sweetheart.  If it started within moments of visiting with him, maybe it was someone connected to my ex. 

He did call me numerous times while I was at lunch that day.  I never gave it too much thought until now. 

I need to get the hell out of dodge.  Having so many bizarre things happen without explanation is driving me crazy.  I can't talk to him.  I don't know what is going on.    This is not an equal relationship and I'm terrified to leave the house without all hell breaking out. 

If I leave it is going to have to be quick, like tearing off a band-aid.  He freaks out when I talk about leaving in an orderly fashion. 

Luckily, I have a plan. 

I'm looking for a job as a live-in counselor for abused children....there are two group homes in the rural areas of my state.  I am willing to move out of this state. 

Wow..."move out of this state"...is that a hypnotic phrase or what?     

Failing that, I need to find a job that expects me to travel constantly. 

That really is the best solution.  I can move, get away from the craziness, not be tempted to slap him, and earn money to support the family so they won't qualify for foodstamps anymore.   

This morning I did learn to never to leave my computer with him after an argument.  It won't boot up beyond a blue screen of death.  Thankfully I have an older computer in my recording studio that I can use. 

Maybe I should put together a resource for other woman stuck with emotionally abusive guys...someday.

Life is weird, especially when the blinders get ripped off of your skull. 

Thanks for the prayers. I think they're working.

Love ya,

S.

Things Are Getting Scary

A woman strikes a man to be heard - a man strikes a woman to quiet her.

-Pastor John Hagee

I don't know what to do. 

I'll never understand why a man would want a woman to share a house with him if there is no intimate relationship or if they can't talk.

When I try to resolve the issue with him and find out what he needs, or try to arrange a date to leave the house, he makes violent gestures towards me. 

I'm getting to the point of severe anger.  I really need to leave before someone gets hurt.  I get the sense that this is going to end very badly with violence.  

I wish I had someone to talk to. 

I don't want to leave him with all of the responsibility and no means to get things done but he isn't cooperating with me enough to make the transition smooth. 

I don't know what to believe.  All I know is that I'm scared.  I don't trust him.  I'm afraid I'm going to hurt him.  I've never been this angry at another human being before. 

I need to move....now!

We have options to make things easier but he has to work with me. 

I'm terrified to talk to him. 

Please pray for me. 

Love ya,

S.

I want to make sure this is documented somewhere just in case something happens.  I did hide most of the posts on this blog again.

I am confused.   I don't know if he's lying to me or if he's the victim of a conspiracy.  I don't know if his former boss was targeting me or targeting him.   I don't know why the things he says never pan out to be true.  It seems like he's telling the truth but...in the end I find out he's lying. 

Could he have a brain tumor or other issue?  Do I have to stick around to find out?

I don't know what is going on with the money.  I don't know what I need to do if I stay or if I leave.

I'm trying to piece the past fifteen years together.  There are so many lies and now I'm finding myself completely confused and scared.  It hit me that things are not what they seem and I don't know who to trust. 

I'll try to get some sleep.  It's been lacking as of late. 

Something is wrong.  I can sense it. 

I want to leave but there has to be a way to do this in a way that doesn't harm a soul...right?

Right? 

Damn....

Disempowerment by Mattel

Barbie is a useful social engineering tool as teaches little girls unrealistic expectations.  It never bothered me too much before.  Many young women want a 28H bust line, not so in my family.  I come from a line of curvy women with impossible measurements and we all know that Barbie's back hurts!!

Now, Mattel is pushing girls into programming men to say what they want to hear.

Yep, there is this little Ken doll that has a recording device in it.  Little girls are supposed to record what they want Ken to say and he repeats it.   Now, if I got one for Christmas it would have to be censored by the time I got done playing with the tiny microphone. 

This doll teaches young women and young men a horrible lesson!  Isn't creating a doll in the form of a little boy that repeats what little girls want to hear a tad bit dis-empowering for people of both genders? 

Sure, for women in my age group, it is often sadly true that men will only do that if it leads to sex.  To me this seems like a waste of time and energy.  If he's busy telling you want you want, you're going to miss out on the opportunity to learn something new and do something fun!

Besires, if I wanted a zombie for a lover, I'd turn to black magick or voodoo and make some rich hunk fall for me but I don't want that.  It seems incredibly boring.  I want someone real. 

I'm going to bet that most real women want someone real, too. 

I also want someone who will actually talk to me.  I don't care to know what he's thinking about at all times (there has to be some mystery) but there are times when he probably should pipe up. 

I want a man who will tell me that he spent our last dollar before heading out to take a prominent politician out for coffee. 

I want a man who will tell me that he is interested when I hem and haw about the possibility of buying a leather swing that anchors in the ceiling.  Furthermore, if said man has concerns about the integrity of the hardware in the ceiling, I would hope that he says something before his butt crashes down and becomes embedded in the ceramic tile on the floor below. 

Ditto for my desire to indoctrinate him into the mile high club if he's got aviatophobia.  

And, let it be known that if I want to sing loud praises regarding his lovemaking ability on the top of a fourteener, I would highly prefer that he tells me his gout is flaring up before making the trek. 

There are times when men must talk and say what is on their mind rather than what they think the women nearby wants to hear. 

As much as I would have wanted to hear that we were swarming in money and that I could take a bunch of people out for caviar, that was not the reality.  The fact I had to dig through seat cushions to pay my coffee shop check was embarrassing. 

I'd rather know the truth; it is easier to deal with than fiction.  

Men, don't let a woman tell you what to say.  Don't pretend to be someone that you're not lest you will both get bored fairly quickly. 

If she doesn't like what you have to say, she's not the one. 

If she's not comfortable with silence, she's probably not for you either. 

Me, I fantasize about a man who will give me many wonderful moments of pure silence rather than crazy drama that I have to sort through now. 

Be yourself.  Let other people be themselves.  That is the best way to live. 

Love ya,

S.     

One Bored Good Girl

It's hard to be funny when you have to be clean. -Mae West

It's hard to be fun when you have to be clean or play nice with aholes.  On the bright side, I am happy to report that I'm still being good.  I made it 24 hours. 

I haven't hypnotized a soul today. 

I haven't played a trick on anyone. 

I did catch myself thinking about something kinda filthy.  I realized I was grinning when a guy was grinning back at me at the sporting goods store.  I don't remember what it was now.  What was it?  Let's see...I was looking at the camping gear. 

Oh!  I remember!!  It had to do with hiking and sex etiquette.   I recently read an article that cautioned everyone to make sure the area is left like no one ever came. 

I think I finally got the joke.  Don't ask me how many days ago I read that article. 

How embarrassing...

Anyway, I spent my day speaking to several small business owners and came up with a concept for a city-wide website to help promote the vendors in our city.   I think its a go. 

Because most of my clients are artists, I am actually thinking about renting a studio and office in the arts district.  That's a tough one.  The arts district is a mess and they could use support but the tax auditors in this city have threatened me.  Maybe if I had a better CPA they'd leave me alone and I wouldn't have to hypnotize them to forget the number five.

That thought made me realize that I attract artists as therapy clients because that's what I do in my spare time.  I'm an artist.  Like attracts like. 

This blog is almost five years old, most of the 1,000+ posts are hidden due to my tiny stint in politics.  Over the past three and a half years, one can see my descent into angry madness.   The more a couple of city employees harassed me and the more I learned about the weird crap between one of them and my husband, the angrier I became. 

At some point, I stopped attracting artists to me and started bringing angry activists and politicians into my life.  As I spent time with them and became more of a trickster, I became more involved in politics.  It took over my life.

Look what I attracted to myself!!  I brought a bunch of lying lunatics into my life.   Not all of them are bad, but the ones that were closest to me were not honorable at all.  It took an ethical politician to point that out to me. 

So...I'm going to try to get back to what I like to do.  Tonight I'm going to try to digitally draw an abstract portrait of motivation.  This ought to be interesting as I hate computers! 

I missed my favorite bass player's show tonight.  I'll check in with him next week.  Tomorrow I'm hanging out at a relatives art show.  Maybe I'll write to my singing coach and see if I can see her again.

I'll minimize my political involvement to five hours per week...maybe then I can get back to being myself.  This is important for an empath.  I tend to take on the behavior of the people around me. 

I've been hanging out with dysfunctional people.  I gained 17 freakin' pounds from drinking.  I have a closet full of size 8 clothes that I miss wearing.  I also have to do something about my newly protruding 'angry wrinkle'; the one that comes out when I'm constantly b!tching.  Trust me, politics makes people old and gray. 

I'd rather be pretty than b!tchy.

Being good was enlightening.  I must have better self-control than I realized.  So, I'll try to contain my filthy self to my art until I find a better outlet (like hiking).  

But that doesn't mean you can screw me over because you'll never know when that coyote is going to present herself.

Love ya,

S.