I'm pretending to be everything the gossips in my life say I am in the hopes that I can create some kind of believable fictional character. The things I write about are based on the gossip and some of my life experiences. After five years, the only thing I've learned from this experience is that I can be quite the Trickster....thus the name of the blog. Love ya!
the man in the basement threatened to kill himself via obesity should I leave.
It's no secret.
He's been saying that for awhile.
He's gained nearly 180 pounds since he lost his job at the city. He was morbidly obese then.
I believe him when he says he's going to kill himself with food.
I've been trying to gain control over my life for the past fifteen years. Every time I get away, something stupid happens that pulls me back in.
If this doesn't put to rest the gossip about me being a powerful black magick witch, I don't know what would...if I could turn a man into a newt or a frog into a man....
There wouldn't be a frog living in my basement.
Wish he'd find his princess and let her kiss him so we could both move on.
Now, when I'm angry and he threatens me with food suicide, I don't know whether to laugh at him, bake a batch of brownies with hydrogenated margarine, or crush up little Prozac pills and stick them in the meatloaf.
This time...I did the worst and most unethical thing I could do.
I played shrink.
One does not do that with their spouse....never....ever....ever....but...I couldn't understand where in the world the death by food idea spawned.
I mean...
every suicidal person I've ever met has come from an environment where someone promoted suicide.
Myself....well...I grew up in a home headed by a Cherokee who believed that people should die with dignity should they become a burden on their families. One year I became suicidal after being told (erroneously) that my father and mother killed themselves, my grandmother and beloved aunt died, and my step-father killed himself playing Russian Roulette with my baby sister. This was within the span of eight months.
I was raised on suicide ideation. My high school sweetheart, sick of hearing my cry, ran off to the school shrink. Upon meeting with the shrink I came to the idea to get suicide promoting, sick, disturbing individuals out of my life.
My point is that those type of threats are taught in early childhood. They come from somewhere.
People who kill themselves with alcoholism, tend to have an alcoholic in the family. People who do illegal drugs learned it somewhere. Addictions and psychiatric illness tend to run in families.
I wanted to know where Mr. Frog's threat came from.
It took several hours.
I'll be as brief as I can.
If one grows up in a family where diabetes is common, one learns quite quickly that food can kill.
Granted, he does not have diabetes (yet) but knowing what I know about this family, there is a history of death by blood sugar. That is how one of the other in-laws died, he didn't refill his prescription for insulin when the family tore his wife from him.
Yes, this is common in his family. They get married. The in-law gets stalked and harassed. The in-law is lied about, their money stolen, and their credit destroyed. Then the couple gets divorced.
Most marriages last less than three years. The three marriages that lasted longer than fifteen years had one feature in common: the couple became estranged from the family after they began harassing the in-law. The thing that happens, though, is when there is a death in the family the spouse gets sucked back into the fold and the marriage ends.
One marriage ended after twenty years when the in-law committed suicide.
The second one hasn't ended but the in-law (after twelve years) decided to take a job as an over the road truck driver. His companions are what he lovingly calls 'lot lizards'. He doesn't get what he needs at home and was smart enough to find it elsewhere.
I'm trying to leave the third marriage.
My father-in-law has terminal cancer. I don't think it'll be long before I'm sent packing now.
I should have known this would happen. I mean, his cousin and I were close in high school. She'd talk about how women should be spoiled, taken care of and only have intimacies for procreation. She was Catholic. I was a Mormon raised by a Pagan: sex is a gift from God that shouldn't be wasted. I was taught we need to earn our keep in a relationship, we must give as good as we get.
If you can't flirt with your spouse, if you can't have fun, it is time to move on. If you can't earn your own money, it's time to go.
I should have known better than to marry into it. I have known this family since I was a child.
I bought into the stories that the in-laws were the problem.
My estranged husband's uncle lived three houses away from the house where I grew up. His uncle divorced his wife due to gossip that she was caught cheating when his mother stopped in for an impromptu visit in the middle of the day.
I was too young to ever question how this man's mother (Mike's grandma) was able to get into her son's house when his wife brought over a male friend. How did she know? She lived forty miles away! Her grandson worked. Why was she at their house in the middle of the day?
Stories like that abound where one relative witnessed something bizarre and just happened to have keys to the house.
Stalking?
I've had my share of stalking since I've met these people. The first incident was in '92, when they'd call me when men visited me and somehow they knew I had company as they'd ask to talk to the poor guy. Here is the deal; they lived 45 minutes away.
In '97, they'd call me telling me that they drove by my house and were keeping an eye on me.
The last incident was in '11. They mentioned that they knew where I worked. I was having lunch with my friend and one of them called me. I ignored the phone. When I left the restaurant, I was approached by someone I never met who called me El Diablo. Later, I found out that this guy was hassling the other people in the office building. I moved my office to another city.
There are numerous other incidents; stalking on campus, relatives having keys to my houses, stalking at work....this appears to be a way of life for this family. I wish I had seen this before but love and friendship can be blind.
I've got to go. He's waking up and walking up the stairs.
Emotional abuse is often best described as Vendetta By Proxy; someone has issues in his or her past and works it out by attacking the person closest to him or her.
I'm tired of being ignored, having to change the course of my career without notice, being yelled at, being denied medical care and not being told about where our assets are going....
because I'm a woman
and women are stupid because the man in the basement considers his mother and sister stupid.
I'm tired of being seen as a lying skank because some chick at the city building lies.
I'm tired of being told that I have to stay here because he's 500 pounds and is trying to kill himself with food.
I couldn't sleep after hearing that last one.
He thinks he'll be dead within five years.
So..
I asked for a one year separation. One of us moves out and a judge figures out who pays what. We'll both get therapy. He needs to figure out why he's so mad at women, I'm tired of being the target of his vendetta against his mother, his sister, and his former boss. If he can fix it within himself, then he can date me again.
He said no.
I asked for a divorce.
He said no.
So....in the middle of the night, I schemed and figured out what I'm going to do...
The kiddos are going to have to get to know his family. They've got to get close to his sister, his brother, his auntie, his uncle, his mother and his father. They've got to know his cousin, my former best friend from high school....that way, if he dies, they will know that side of their heritage.
I was an orphan. I don't want them to suffer the same fate.
He is quiet now.
He hates his parents more than he loves me.
I can't stand the loneliness. I remember crying in the middle of the night way back in '04. Now, after years of sleeping alone, I will get about two hours of sleep before I wake up wailing.
There is an emptiness that I can't cope with very well.
Every night it gets worse.
Last night it made me sick. I haven't been able to hold my food down today.
This is certainly going to be a growth experience.
I'm praying.
Maybe I can find a job that allows me to travel, that would be the perfect solution. I can support these guys but not cry so much here.
I had another psychic explain the dreaming of men before I met them thing....I usually don't talk to psychics much because I'm usually more accurate than they are..... but this person seems to have dealt successfully with the same problem I'm having with disturbing dreams.
So, I'll share what she said.
She said that people tend to do that when they are not grounded.
In her view, people who don't get connected to nature or stay busy in the real world (not in the electronic world) tend to meet up with similar ungrounded souls on the astral plane and eventually manifest these people into their reality.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon what you want...the things we see in our dreams rarely occur in real life because we are ungrounded in reality and out of sorts.
I tend to have very..... uh....interesting astral dreams. I originally thought it was my subconscious mind's way of b!tching about my celibacy. Maybe the truth of the matter is that my astral self is a bit of a whore.
Anyway...
busy social and professional lives end that kind of astral plane stuff.
That explains a lot.
Every man I've met that way was an introverted software programmer or an internet entrepreneur.
I dream of him. I wake up freaked out because it feels so darn real. I'll run into him in real life and try to run away. Sometimes I can't run away because we're at a party, or I have committed to doing something right then and there, so we end up flirting. Then we both run away only to continue the crap in the theta state one those nights that I forget to doze into a drunken slumber.
I thought alcohol cured me of the dreams.
Wow...
This could be the answer.
When I was a full time student, who worked a full time job and volunteered at the homeless shelter - these things did not happen to me.
When I was on the campaign trail, it stopped for a bit.
But when I spent days in the recording studio and promoting my work online, the dreams got crazy.
So....if she's right...
I don't need valerian infused vodka to sleep without dreaming of men that I later end up running from at the supermarket.
Nope...
I just need to take up hiking again and keep the computer off.
I'll give it a whirl.
I'm excited!! It IS possible to turn off the psychic stuff. How nice is that?
I'd love to be able to meet someone without knowing too much about him. It's always annoying to ask a man I've just met how he liked growing up by a lake, what it was like answering his cell phone while mountain climbing, if he'll ever fix the brown T-bird sitting in his garage, or if he enjoyed watching the dancing pandas on his recent trip.
Sometimes....it just slips out. Nine times out of ten, the guy's jaw will just drop. For some reason, only men who believe in this kind of thing are drawn to me. If it were any other type of guy....he'd just think I'm nuts..... or a stalker..... or something scary.
It is freakin' awkward!!
The most awkward meeting was with a guy I dreamt of driving drunk. I almost ordered a beer for him until I remembered his face from a dream. Ooooh...I felt so horrid. Turns out...I was right. He lost his license due to alcohol issues. It happens and it takes a real man to abstain from the wicked drink.
I'd want to be able to do that....I want to stop drinking completely! My blood glucose levels would be low and I'd be so darn skinny!! This is what I want.
I am truly excited.
Do you know why?
The hard part about being psychic is that it robs you of anticipating the ending. Why go to a movie if you know how it ends? I can't go certain places without dressing up.
If if meet the love of my life, I want to look like I just woke up. Well, that is almost true. I hope to be wearing clothes but I don't want to be wearing make-up or have my hair done up....I want the poor sap to know what he's getting.
If I anticipate meeting him, I'll dress up, put on age defying make-up, wear a puff up bra, maybe some fake eyelashes, blue contact lenses, and let him see the fake me.
No one likes fake Siegfred.
No one likes unpainted Siegfred either...they actually put a picture of me sans make-up in the newspaper. It is still on the internet. Ick!!! Just think, I can actually crack your computer screen with my gross, angry, b!tch face. Part of me regrets going out like that! I looked like a pasty white and bloated angry old lady.
Part of me likes my courage and my who gives a crap attitude. I'm an activist, not a model. Why do I have to wear make-up?
Okay, I have to wear make-up so I don't scare little children.
I guess that photographer was a surprise that I didn't anticipate.
The truth of the matter is that those miracles in life are held within the surprises.
They can be quite fun.
Love,
S.
P.S. Now, if I find one of these guys on the hiking trail....I'll probably die laughing.
Mine came back with 'lil puppy eyes and started talking about the good ol' days we had together 18 years ago....
Will I stay with him?
Maybe....
if he has a lobotomy....
and signs a post-nuptual agreement....
and loses 350 pounds...
Let me tell you girls, if your abusive ex comes back with the puppy eyes,
wanting to buy you a new bass,
or sing back up on your single,
trust me.....he's only trying to worm his way back into your heart.
But...
you're older,
you're wiser,
you're hella lot hotter than anything else he can screw,
(that's why he's back to bother you).
Let me give you a 'lil secret: wear 5" high heel leather boots.
I own several pair.
I want a pair with little guns for heels....
Domanatrix outfits...leather....chains....whips, too.
I was once a horse enthusiast. I lived in the country....spurs, whips, chains, leather, thigh high boots....those are a part of our life out here...or at least they were before the sprawl.
Wear your leather.
If he says anything, tell him you've learned something new....
and ask what neck size he is.
My exes are afraid of me.
Because they now think I'm freaky and crazy.
Here's the deal....
abusive men can dish it out so long as they think they have control. At the very hint, they are losing control, they do stupid crap like try to murder you, or blow themselves up, or gain 50 pounds in a month. . Now, if they lost control over you don't let them ever get it back. In other words, never let them tie you up, no matter how much fluff is on those cuffs. I doubt they'll let you tie them up. They're afraid to let a woman have control...
Love ya,
S.
Bad Fashion Advice:
Oh, I always smell like pepper, too. I have a pepper spray pen, and a pepper spray key fob. I've never used them, though. I prefer hypnotism or a nice kick to the....boys.
And if you cut yourself shaving drunk....wear a mini-skirt and show off your scab. That happened to me once with a guy who wanted something he wasn't entitled to have.
He got a little rough....
grabbed my skirt....
saw my leg....
and freaked out.
well..
I haven't heard a peep out of him since '89 and he's a close friend of the family.
I had the last laugh...
he couldn't handle a real woman.
O.K. Here is my real advice for Ms. Rhianna and anyone dealing with a @#$#@$ .....don't go there girl.
Any man who has hit you and then claimed you deserved it has no penis.
He may have a penis
but it will always be overshadowed by the big dick that owns it.
Brown lost his reputation. He's one of those bad boy rap stars that is so bad...so bad...that he has to hit woman to get attention because he's boring.
He's so bad...so bad....that the only ride he deserves costs 25 cents and is parked in the lobby of a wal-mart.
He's so bad...so bad....that the only hit he can make is when he smacks someone that weighs 120 pounds and we all know she can kick his @$$ but she's a lady.
Men don't do that. Little bebe boys do.
Stay away girl....
unless you want to do a video like Man Down...but this time....make a Chris Brown look-a-like be the star ....dress up like Yosemite Sam, shoot 'em up and have tons of angry women trample his limp, lifeless body.
Don't use Chris Brown, he'll think you owe him something.
They always want to earn favors as an excuse to bug you again.
One more thing....
Slime like Brown have no empathy.
Nope....nada....none...
Men like that just want an arm ornament. They want to impress other people. They don't care about you.
The can't love. Don't fool yourself. They cry because it gets them what they want.
I tried to run away from mine by gaining 17 pounds. It worked. He promised a divorce. I stayed a size 12 for two years. Then I couldn't breathe and after passing out constantly, I decided that I couldn't afford to stay fat and started losing the weight....
now...now...now
he wants to work things out.
Don't trust these narcissistic morons.....they'll screw up your life.
I'm off to sell my stuff on Ebay to raise money for legal fees. It can be done.
I may try to sell the bigger items on Craigslist. I haven't decided yet.
I'll miss my Peavey T-40 the most. It's just a copy of the one my daddy gave me as a teen, so it'll be easier to get rid of than losing the one he gave to me. I can't believe a man would smash it against a wall on Christmas morning because he was jealous his wife spent more time with the guitar than him.
I've got to shake that memory out of my head before I want to take a bat to his [censored]....he needs his favorite item smashed.......
but men can torment women and get away with it. If I look at him cross-eyed holding a Louisville Slugger, I'd get arrested.
Sigh...
I found a soup kitchen that will let me help on Mondays, so I can get away from this horrible place for a few hours. Cleaning is something I enjoy, being OCD and all. So it is something for me to look forward to doing. When I ran for mayor, I spend a day distributing clothing to poor families....that was one of the most fun days of my life. Children light up when they get new toys and shoes - if I were a millionaire, I would set up a charity to distribute new toys and clothing to children.
But.....
I'm not a millionaire. I'm just a chick with a disease that makes her like to clean, so I'll go with that gift to give to the needy.
The creator gives us what we need when we need it.
