RIP Whitney Houston

I'm kinda sad. 

In 1986, the year I decided to give up modeling and work to become a music teacher, I would get caught singing Whitney Houston songs up in my bedroom. 

My auntie would complain that I didn't take myself seriously enough.  She said I'd be great if I'd work harder at it. 

I was also advised to stop trying to be a one man band but if you're going to teach music, you've got to know how to play everything. 
I didn't care.  I was focused on getting out of high school and getting into college. 

This auntie was racist as heck.  She would argue with me day and night. 

This old lady claimed that Whitney Houston was white because no black person could sing like that. 

No she's not.  She's black.

And, obviously, my auntie had never been to Grandma's Pentecostal church. 

She was related by marriage.  My family is descended from Ulysses S. Grant.  We don't tolerate racism.  He won a war while inebriated and worked to free those in bondage.  We all struggle with the wicked drink.  There is nothing like sucking down whiskey while threatening idiotic politicians that makes my DNA happy.  Grant also hired the first police officers who were people of color and insisted that they ticket him for carriage racing (which is funny because my cousin owns a well known race track). 

Our heritage won't allow racism. 

Well...it took ten years but she finally looked at the album cover and darn it, Whitney Houston was a person of color.  She was beautiful.  She could sing. 

My auntie stopped picking on me. 

Thank goodness.  This realization came in the nick of time. 

My auntie's grand baby was pregnant.  The father was in jail. 

Do you want to guess his ethnic background? 

Yep...

And, do you know what, that little boy with the brown eyes, curly hair and golden skin is my auntie's their pride and joy.

He could drive at two years old.  I'm not joking.  It scared the heck out of me. 

He could do advanced math by ten. 

He's tall.  He's gorgeous.  He's in college and he has changed a the racist tendencies of his great-grandmother. 

His father gave him a gift (other than being a sperm donor, that is).  He had one request for his son. 

He wanted him named after an angel. 

His name is Gabriel. 

He could get a message through to my aunt quicker than I could. 

I love that kid. 

For every woman who achieves greatness, ten women aspire to surpass her.  For ever person who has been tread upon for being what God made them to be, the sight of another escaping the prison of social stigma is a gift. 

Whitney Houston inspired legions of girls to embrace their natural beauty. 

May she be remembered for that.   

Love,

S.

(I bought a copy of her silver dress in the 80's.  I wonder if I still have it.  I love this video and always wanted walls like this in my house until a man accused me of trying to build a glory wall.  Could you imagine the cleaning I'd have to do?  Oooohh....)

The VD Gift

I'm cleaning out the house and found a piece of jewelry. 

I don't know if I should laugh about it or throw up. 

There is a story behind it....

It starts with a dead marriage, Valentine's Day, and a psych grad student procrastinating on EBay. 

There was a day a little over ten years ago, when I sat at a computer in his bed room putting up a website pertaining to the use of a hypnotic story to get older immigrant children to visit the dentist without stressing out. 

The story didn't work.  I'll tell you why, if you want to know.  In some cultures, especially those in which it is hard to access medical services, kids don't often see professionals prior to having severe issues.  The issues are causing them pain and the pain is stressing them out. 

The trick is to get little ones to the dentist before they develop painful issues.  That was a fun project that lead to an offer of a PhD from a university wanting to develop a hypnotic movie for patients but....my ex freaked out and I turned it down. 

I'm an idiot.  I've given up too much for this relationship.

But that's not the story. 

I was tired of writing.  I was tired of doing the photo shop artwork for the story.  I was looking for a break. 

So, I went to EBay. 

I went to the adult section of EBay. 

After a few hours of wondering why in the world a woman would want to buy stuff that causes nerve damage, I stumbled on a listing. 

Yes...I said nerve damage.  If you use stuff like that...you're messing yourself up.

But that's not the point. 

This listing was from a professed jewelry maker. 

He said he would create a piece of jewelry for one's beloved for $30.  I could select any item I wanted.  I could choose the color.  I could choose the beads, stones or materials. 

It seemed interesting.

I had a fun idea.  I ordered a leather item.  How does one describe this item politely?  Uh...we'll call it a ..rooster ring....with blue cat's eye stones. 

Now, many ingenious tribes believe that cat's eyes stones repel the evil eye.

So, I thought it would be funny to give it to my then hubby on Valentine's Day and tell him it would repel the jealousy of all those lesser endowed men who caught his trousers tenting on our trips up into the mountains. 

Three weeks later I received the package. 

It was surprisingly heavy. 

I rushed up to my room and tore open the package to find

several printed out photographs of a man modeling this custom made piece of wang jewelry. 

There were lots and lots of pictures. 

I screamed. 

Then I laughed. 

I didn't even know if I should touch the penis ornament that fell out of the package.

Mr. ex ran up from the basement, saw the pictures and started laughing, too! 

This led to a long conversation and years of getting picked on. 

He doesn't understand why I was grossed out. 

Look...the man in the pictures was a hairy mess.  I wasn't expecting illustrations. 

How does one leave Ebay feedback for that?  Oh, thanks for letting my hubby know he's huge in comparison...better than a shrink.   Or...next time, photoshop out the gray hair and I'll buy two.

My feedback was one word....interesting.  That's all I could say. 

What does one say? 

Here's the deal boys. 

Male members are not necessarily the prettiest things on the planet.  If I'm going to look at yours, it means that I love you enough to accept that as a part of you. 

If I didn't agree to love you, I don't want to see it. 

If I like you, I'll do things to make you happy, to give you pleasure, to make you feel like a king. 


If you're a stranger....uh...it isn't going to happen. 

Sorry....


To finish the story. 


My ex went out to a filthy shop and bought a couple of real ones to show me what they are.  When done right, those are awfully fun things.  The custom one stayed in a drawer in my room of all places. 

Hey...like any other gift, it is the thought that counts. 

And the most amazing part of this story, to me, is that we have an individual with a mental illness that could have hurt his ability to earn a living.  This man found a way to satisfy his disgusting urge for exhibitionism and earn a living by custom crafting jewelry.  That is what I call creative thinking. 

If only I could find a way to make money living in a white room, with white carpet, white walls and bleach and could satisfy my OCD....then I'd be all set. 

Oh...I guess I could easily find a white padded room....they are easily found in mental institutions. 

This is a story that won't die for me. 
To this very day, I get picked on about that. 

My ex says that he knows I haven't cheated on him because he knows I'll react negatively to seeing new weenies.

He doesn't understand me.  If I love, I'll play.  If I don't, I won't. 

He'd best pray I don't have time alone with a man I love.  

Better yet, he'd best work on clearing up the crap between us so I can learn to love him without several feel between us. The longer this goes on, the less likely it looks like it'll get better. 

Okay...that threat about hanging out with the guy I love is going too far. The guy I love has known about it for over twenty-five years.  Been there...done that...and learned that I'm not his type.  Thankfully, he knows enough to only meet in crowded public places with no alcohol.  

And with that...I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes.

We've got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant. You can't just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it's going to get on by itself. You've got to keep watering it. You've got to really look after it and nurture it. - John Lennon

This is what happened to the relationship.  One person can't keep a love alive all by herself.  I thought that fun, faithfulness, and honesty would be enough.  It isn't.  It's a tough lesson to learn. 

Love ya,

S.

P.S.  You know what I realized typing this....

it's a little sick. 

I'm always saying that all I truly wanted is one man to love for my entire life. 

I got that, didn't I? 

It just didn't isn't what I wanted it to be.  I just want the guy to be happy...near or far...with me or without...I just want him to be happy.  Healthy is nice, too but it does kill me when he plays the role of Debbie Downer....please...just...be...happy. 

I'd even hypnotize a model to jump him if I could.....

I guess that IS love. 

Kinda sick and twisted but it's still love. 

There is one guy I've loved my entire adult life, even if I've run away from him for his own good. 

Weird? 

We DO get exactly what we wish for! 

Whoa...

Freaky...

Compared to a Cartoon

I'm like one of those bald eagles you see on the Discovery Channel. Beautiful to look at, but mess with one of my chicks and I'll claw your **** eyes out. Now who wants a cookie?

-Lois Griffin

Someone compared me to Lois Griffin the other day...

I don't know if I should be insulted

-or-

if I should take that as a sign and a signal that it's high time to
take a good hard look at my life and see where I went wrong. 

I guess it could be worse,

My life could be contrasted with a toad or worse..  





Gotta go now...

I'm baking chocolate chip cookies. 

They're bribes. 

Never discount the value of a homemade cookie. 

Mua Ha Ha Ha Ha

Love ya,

S.

Looking for a New Love

I had that conversation with the man in the basement...yeah...that conversation....the I'm going crazy so I need a new hobby or I'm going to be a bad, bad girl conversation. 

It's either going to be psych medication and therapy, or a new love. 


So...after nearly four years of bawling my eyes out because I have nothing to sleep beside at night, I decided that I'm going to go looking for a bad boy tomorrow. 

I've decided that they are the only things I can deal with right now. 

I'm hitting all the guitar and pawn shops I can. 

That's my best shot at getting lucky. 

One can usually find a bad boy there. 


You always know the one when you see him. 


He will have very strong wood.  Wood is very important to me. 

I'm not sure if I want one I can plug in or not.


I was always partial to the those that seemed to be happier standing up than lying on their sides but alas, I'm so darn short it's hard to do have the most fun that way.


Fortunately, I'm creative and have been known to use a stool once in a while to reach those fun places.   Thankfully, though, that's not usually necessary. There are always alternate means of getting the results I want.


In reality, all I really want is one that will make me sound good. 

And, I think I'll wear one of my S & M outfits; I'll be donning a leather hat, leather thigh high boots, leather coat with chains and a black dress. 

That outfit with my red hair will scare the men away.   It always does. Maybe I'll paste little band-aids on my skin above my boots.  Men are afraid of that.  The bigger the bandage the faster they run. 

It cracks me up. 

Let's hope the salesman doesn't run before I pay for the instrument. 

I'll let you know what I find. 

Love ya,

S.

Edit 2/8/12 - I had no luck.  My car stalled so I didn't make it to any guitar shops... bummer :(

His God is one Saucy Dude

So, I became an activist and ran for office because, as it was put so eloquently by a local politician, I have an axe to grind. 

Yes...dears...I had an axe to grind.  It was a five-string Steinberger, but in one of the only truly selfless moments in my life I donated it to a school along with a $5,000 alto sax.  It wasn't really selfless, per se, I'm sensing my mortality and want to have something good about myself that I can say to St. Peter.     

The problem, my friends, is that in my attempt to work off outlandish amounts of energy, I come across troubling things that I actually have to fix.

Like arresting rape victims for saying a word meaning crotch while describing their assault to female police officers. 

-or-

Playing with the timing of yellow lights in order to increase revenue.

-or-

Harassing the wives of former employees so you can freak them out and keep them from suing you...(Hint: next time Google the wife's name to make sure she isn't a red-head prone to political activism).

Now...

as I've been writing what one of my friend's described as a "secret" crap-filled blog based on gossip and some truthful events in my life.

 I can't believe a friend found it.  Darn....Some secret, eh? 

Anyway, I was writing about my ex being pagan and I was corrected.  My ex isn't pagan at all.

Nope...

He's a Pastafarian. 

I kid you not. 

I did not know he bought into that little piece of school system activism. 

And he left his holy scripture in his work cubicle. 

His boss made mention of that right before she fired him. 

She wrote to a mayoral candidate, who just so happens to be her former employee's estranged wife, and told her that she fired him for being obese (which, by the way, is a violation of the ADA).  She and the city attorneys claimed that she fired him because I have an auto-immune disorder (another violation), that I had a master's degree (which just makes me want to publish studies to condemn this crap) and something else I can't recall. 

I've been wondering, though, in all seriousness

DID SHE FIRE HIM FOR WORSHIPPING PASTA? 

His former boss was highly concerned with what he ate and his weight.  At first, I thought it was due to a potential eating disorder on her part.  Her lies about me betray that she's a victim of domestic violence.  Many victims have eating disorders...but maybe...she could have gone after him due to her connections with Focus on the Family.  This woman, the city employed gossip, often promotes her affiliation with Focus on the Family and brags about the role her mother has within this spiteful organization.  Focus on the Family has been known to go publicly berate people who do not agree with their world view.   

That changes things.


Now we get to the troubling question....is this religious persecution? 

And the bigger question...

Do I need to get out there and see if there have been other incidents of religious discrimination out in this unfair town? 

Pastafarianism IS an actual religion (albeit atheism). 

These are army dog tags...note the FSM for Flying Spaghetti Monster.  Other people in various countries have won the legal right to wear headgear (pasta strainers) and list this religion in government documents and other legal forms.

I'm just putting the city on notice.  Your lawyers said they followed my blog so take note.  This is not a farce.  You may want to let the head of your raunchy HR department now that I have had to add religious persecution to my list of things to investigate. 

Stop it. 

People will laugh at Pastafarianism.  They won't laugh if you fire a Rastafarian, or a Mormon, or a Muslim, or a Wiccan.  Please tell me that you're not allowing your people to fire others based on faith. 

I'm laughing today.  If people answer my survey question in the affirmative.  I will cease laughing. 

Now, I've got to scrap my study and start other, gosh darn it! 
Don't make me resurrect my former plan.  Until I find another outlet for my energy, I can always hone it in on destroying those that destroyed my life. 

It is up to the city HR manager.   Don't let another soul tell me anything about that again or I'll put the focus back on the city. 

I always thought that the best way to refute the slander that Tax Auditor Supervisor spread will be

"you know, those things Ms. P. said are not true.  I was so worried that this would happen to another family, so that's why I got the union in there and the published the study that got the HR director and a couple of loony, lawbreaking lawyers fired."

Or, I can draw filthy art and sing filthy songs about a liar with that name. 

At my age and with my experience, I'll just stick to research.  There is more money and fame with that. 

She has no idea what lying about Mike cost me.  He refuses to go back into therapy now thanks to her running around telling people that he was in a small group for beating me and so she was going to do what it takes to can him because he scared her.  He was in group because his parents and his boss drank.  I nearly threw up hearing that little tidbit late last summer while interviewing a group of former city employees.  That gossip is still circulating.....and I had to hear it over breakfast of all places.

Ick!!  

Seriously...the half-life on gossip must be similar to that of uranium. 

The effects don't seem to ever die.

I'm putting the jerks on notice.  Take care of it or I will.....and it won't be with fiction. 

Be nice. 

Love ya,

S.

Playing House

Every man is born with a guardian angel and a shaitan demon: One will guide you to heaven and the other will tempt you into hell. 

- Siegfred's Great-Grandmother

(a Pentecostal Minister)

When we are young adults and we want to play house, we get a lot of cuddling and exercise in. 


I learned today that playing house for the man in the basement means playing maid.  

I told the ex about my dream of my death.  I told him that it made me realize that I could very well be possibly spending the last years of my life living in severe psychic pain.

I also tried to get him to consider getting a life insurance policy on me. 

He ignored me! 

He didn't really ignore me per se.  He started to play the Detour Downer game. 

It's easy for married people to play Detour Downer.  You bring up anything you can imagine and attack your spouse with it.  It's a good way to avoid solving the original problem. 

He'd charge with complaints about how women were stupid and that's why he won't talk to them.  So, we talked about his mother and sister. 

That turned into a conversation about how he has an internal voice that is causing him to say things that ruined our relationship.

Somehow that got into him admitting being sneaky with assets.

And then something about my being unable to live with him as a roommate if we cannot talk.

That got into the promise to help me leave.

And then there was a demand that I write a resume and as he put it "litter it all over town"; like my experience and education are garbage. 


He doesn't know that I've been doing that.  I was offered a commission only job the very day he switched hours on me and told me to stop what I was doing and cater to the kids.  The next day he took my car. 

I gave up the job.  The lady called me this morning, maybe she's going to offer me a second chance.
Now, if only I can get a dial tone to call her back...ugh!!
He said he knew nothing about it.  Well, that's because he's not listening to me. 

He reiterated his expectation that I stay. 

It seems like an impossible situation. 


I told him that I understand that so long as I live under this roof, he expects my fidelity.  This means that he expects me to be celibate as we cannot speak or do anything even remotely intimate together. 

I feel incredibly lonely.  I am in severe pain that eats at my soul. 

There are no words that can describe the dark aching that fills my chest and leaves my entire body cold.

For twelve years, I've put up with this situation.  I've stopped accepting invitations to parties.  I've hid in my room on holidays and weekends.  I've put on a happy face for friends and family. 

After I learned what his boss said about me at the city, I've begun to realize that he must bad-mouth me.  I can't trust him.  So, for almost four years, I've done my best to avoid him at all costs. 

When I get to a point of doing something great, he makes funky demands on my time and puts me in a no-win situation.  He'll switch his work hours, so I'll have to be here with the kids.  He'll take my car.  There is always something that gets in the way. 

The pain...I can't handle the pain. 

I told him that I wanted to get a job and an apartment so I could find some moments of solitude outside of the pain of living in this house. 


I can't handle this.  If I were to find myself dying tomorrow, I'd regret how I'm spending my life. 

He looked confused.

I told him that it meant that I needed to leave the marriage in a bid to ease the pain in my heart. 

He yelled at me! 

I yelled back. 

For seven freakin' hours, it went on and on and on and on.  I have to stay.  I have to play maid.  I have to do daycare.  He doesn't want to do it himself.


What on God's green earth makes him think I'm his property?

I tried to explain to him that even if we divorced, I could help him with the kids but he'd have to pay for daycare.  He'd have to clean his own house. 

I tried to explain why people get married.  I tried to explain that marriage is supposed to be a relationship between two people who can talk to each other and work together.  They are supposed to intertwine parts of their lives; Not to expect one person to give up who she is to put up with stupidity.

 Women marry for intimacy, not to relieve their OCD by cleaning up after gross men.  Playing house means having sex in addition to scrubbing the floors. 

I thought everyone understood that.  I must be insane. 


Maybe he doesn't know I'm a...woman.  Maybe he thinks I'm a robot or something. 

I'm not sure he gets it.  I'm beginning to suspect he's a Narcissist like his mother.  It's about how things appear to other people.  It looks like we have a good marriage.  He'll flirt with me in public only to ignore me at home.  When we go places without each other, it just looks like we are busy. 

I'll give $50 to someone who has seen him kiss me without me pushing him away. 

It's that bad. 

I think the dream was trying to tell me that the pain of staying here will kill me and I need to do something now. 

So, after hours of stupidity and frustrated communication, I asked him what he wanted.  He went into his basement and said he was typing up a list of demands. 

Demands....


Like I'm a djinn in a lamp. 

Yeah, I've got Djinn on the brain.  He also insulted the Djinn, threw an object said to be a vampire on the floor, and disrespected a Greek God.  He basically messed with stuff he probably should have left well enough alone. 

Now, I'm a little insulted here. The message is clear. He obviously does not approve of my hobby or my religion.

He told me to wish that I could get what I wanted. 

I've blogged about wishes....one must be careful with such things.  It doesn't work like that, unless one wants trouble. 

I'm glad he never found the Shaitan.  She's scary.  She's the one that will teach him lessons when he hurts me.  I've blogged about that before.  Whatever he does to me, tends to happen to him immediately. 

I had to keep her vessel from being in the moonlight lest she regain her power.  She's beautiful.  Meditating on her vessel brings me lots of beauty secrets.  Did you know that the women in Iraq used to rub Jasmine flowers on their finger nails to make them stronger? 

It came to me in a dream and I had to stop doing that as my tallons were damaging my computer keyboard. 

I am the only person who can touch her iron necklace because anyone else will get shocked.  I did not believe in the metaphysical until I was given that necklace.  I bought it because I thought I was helping a soldier make money.  I had no idea what was contained within it.  I bought it because it was a beautiful necklace. 

It was only after I saw it glowing one night that it became clear to me that it was unique.  I had to talk to the person who sold it to me and the story he gave was insane.  Allegedly it helped him find his lost granddaughter but hearing its voice freaked him out so he got rid of it.   It was only after a heck of a lot of prayer, and grief, that I realized what she was. 

If my ex dies some gross death, I'm going to say it is because he insulted the Djinn. 

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever throw things around that you misunderstand. 

The Djinn he insulted are said to be believer Djinn...during meditation they cause me to dream of God and Mohammad.  They talk about honoring the sons of God (in other words, honoring Jesus).  They care not what name we give the Lord, so long as we honor the teachings and not let evil run our lives. 

So, if these Djinn are sufficiently irritated at him, I could see my ex running off, converting to Islam and being sent to Gitmo.  He could also end up a monk, too. 

That would be fitting....

Love,

Shaky S.

Next Day Edit:  It took nearly twelve hours of defending myself against every freakin' thing imaginable but he finally promised to look into life insurance for the family's benefit in the case of my death. 

I'm not doing well today. 

I couldn't sleep.

My throat hurts. 

My eyes are swollen. 

I think I may have a sinus infection from all the crying. 

My joints hurt. 

I can barely move today. 

Talking to him about anything is really not worth it. 

I wish I could find the money to move out and file for a divorce. 

That's what he taught me yesterday.  I can never speak to him about anything without it becoming a pain.  God is telling me to go.


Love,

S.

Premonitions of My Death

I have a ghastly reputation among my family for being able to predict death. 

I see other people's funerals. 

I dream of people as they are dying. 

I like to go to graveyards because I believe I am speaking to the dead.  I used to believe that I had one hell of an imagination until the things the ghosts told me started coming true. 

I don't know how this happens.

 It just does.

 I've written about it before and don't know if I'll have time to write about it today. 

For the past four days, I've seen my own funeral. 

It's a Catholic service.  That makes me giggle a little bit.  I was a pentecostal minister who turned to paganism.  I guess that is my family's way of finding middle ground. 

I made the mistake of asking how I will die. 

Last night I had a dream. 

In the dream, I'm having problems breathing, so I go to the doctor. 

The doctor tells me it's cancer and that I need to start Chemo right away. 

I go home and talk to my family.  They are in denial, so I forgo treatment. 

Three weeks later, I faint. 

I'm rushed to the doctor and given a choice:  Go back to the house or go to hospice. 

Because my house is such a painful place for me to be, I choose to die alone at the hospice. 

Recounting this dream led to a seven hour painful talk with the man in the basement. 

I'm shaking from it. 

Maybe, I'll share....maybe I won't. 

Death may not be nearly as painful as living in this house. 

Sick realization, isn't it?

Love ya,

S.