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 |   Life is rough...I have to write it out. |
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I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I guess it is a good thing I didn't actually hold my breath. |
Day 22 Prompt: Funny Friday! What is your favorite funny expression or bit of slang? Lord. Funny Friday is my weekly dose of self-disgust. Clearly – if I am not funny then my slang is also not funny. Optimistic people are funny people. They are the ones who say funny shit. Pessimistic people are not funny. Sorry but we aren’t. Sarcastic, wry, divisive…those are not the same as funny. Just because someone laughs doesn’t mean something was funny. (I just noticed how many fucking times I have said funny in this post so far. ) I have tons of unfunny slang. My favorite funny sayings and slang are not funny they are dirty. In fact my entire vocabulary is made up of dirty shit. Saliing the language high seas over here. Arrrrr. Just a second ago, when I asked Husband A what slang I say most often that is funny. He answered the same as I did. “None.” Then he said, “Unless you mean odd kind of funny.” Sooooooo…..there it is. There is how I shall dominate further Funny Fridays. No longer will this day bring me to my knees in creative self-loathing. No longer will this day make me wonder if anything funny has ever even goddamn happened to me. No! Months have passed with me bitching once a week. (Yeah I know – it has been waaaaaaay more than once a week.) When the solution was staring me right in the face. I adore twisting the prompts. I hate the days where I just straightforward answer the prompt. Oh Husband A – just when I think I CAN live without you. I am an oddball by both nature AND nurture and also by choice. There is a handful of slang that I have used consistently since …..I dunno….probably 1997. I don’t find any of them odd. Husband A finds it odd that I constantly say shithole and fuckhole. I’m like…why?! Shithole…fuckhole….they are practically straight from Aesclepius. He says it is my context. For example…. People are fuckholes. I might be overheard saying (okay not MIGHT), “blah blah blah…and this stupid fuckhole stood there and blah blah blah.” Now shithole has two uses. I use it as an exclamation… in place of “Damn!” But another common use for me is to be really pissed off and say that someone can, or to tell someone to…suck a dirty shithole. These are the only three ways I use these words. I never even say shithole in terms of a place, a crappy apartment or something. This post sucks. My whole day sucks. The entire thing has been fractured and piecy. Edges butting up against each other rather than locking together. Every few sentences I feel like taking off in another direction. So I will end it here, fuck it. Having had a realization which now has me looking forward to next Friday…it is an end on a high note type of night. |
Day 21 Prompt: Opinion Thursday! Is it ever necessary to lie? Well shit – I have no idea if it is ever necessary. Probably not. There are those lovely ideas that media has buried in our minds that if a woman says, “Does this look good?” or “Do you like my hair?” or even “Does this make my ass look fat?” that men are supposed to lie to protect their precious bits…but as far as those bullshit societal pressures go – I say if you don’t want the truth don’t ask. If you need to know if you hair is awful or your ass is fat then ask me – I will guarantee the truth because who fucking cares what I think? I don’t ask these questions because I don’t give two shits if other people like my outfit, hair, or ass. Now if you are asking me if your kid is a brat or your husband is a cheater…well I might cushion the blow a bit but those are questions you are already know the answer to and my job is not to feed your delusion. Even big lies are pointless. Just tell the truth. Sparing someone’s feelings? Well you are not responsible for other people’s feelings. That annoying crap about “no one can MAKE you feel XYZ”…that shit is true. I guess I think that NO it is never necessary to lie. People are pussies now. We are lazy, fat ass pussies who think every feeling we have needs to be validated and mirrored back to us by the entire citizen body. We are not individuals and we have unDarwinized our thick skin. Grow the fuck up. You can handle the truth I promise….even Tom Cruise could have. Now, the real truth is…I lie all of the time. All. Of. The. Time. And I do it because I am so fucking good at it and because the things I am so fucking good at are the fun ones to me. I am a great bitch but an even better cunt. I am a killer liar and unfortunately quite the thief. I can rock an addiction and I can cry you an actual river. I must have known I was good at it early on because I still live in structures built on foundations of lies that I poured ten to fifteen years ago. You know that saying…”Fool me once, blah blah blah..” well it’s all the first time with me baby. The first lie I told each person that popped their cherries with me….well I am still thrusting away at that one. Everything they have been told by me since then has been based on this faulty foundation. It’s a delicate balance. It seems as if I like to hide myself from people… to make sure they never know who I actually am. That’s not exactly right. It is more of …I want to control what people know and when. There is one person that I do not lie to. Husband A. I didn’t, don’t, won’t. From second one Husband A has embraced this flawed awful erosive being I call self and he has loved it through some treacherous terrain. There was never a deep seated need inside me to wrap every bit of truth I own in lies and manipulations for Husband A. In fact, he is often party to these lies. Not an active participant but definitely a silently complicit one. He knows I rock and I don’t even need to pretend I don’t. He also knows I suck and I don’t need to hide that shit from him either. |
Day 20 Prompt: Colors can transform our moods so they say. What is your favorite color and does it affect your mood? Blue. The one and only answer is blue. Any shade. Just blue. Every room in this home, as well as my last, are blue. Ummmm….85% of my clothing is blue (with the rest being black or gray.) Anything that is available in blue …I have in blue. My tattoos are primarily blue. Blue. I routinely walk around saying blue makes me happy. There is not another thing that can fit in this sentence. Not as consistently. They say it’s calming, serene, creates an environment rich in both creativity and productivity. But to me – it just makes me happy. I am also pleased by the clichés and sayings with the word blue that are sad/bad. Blue balls, got the blues, blue funk, blue in the face… I like to have the blues…I like that the color that makes me happy is one that makes others, well, less so. My misery dresses in blue as well, and she hates to party alone. Alas…my eyes are green. |
Day 19 Prompt: Write a poem about a poem Right now my life is blindly lost in 3-4 time. Like a cute little poem that can’t find it’s rhyme. Floating around alone, aimlessly searching for my mate Yet, also forgetting its sound at an alarming rate. There is a small blank space and then a new stanza begins, But who are we kidding? Shit never really ends. There can be a new verse, a slight change in tone, But that won’t change the images you’ve sewn. Meticulously constructed lines, ending alike, But it’s like writer’s block…..a rhyming strike. My tit has no tat, my apple no orange, …. (and NO I do not count Blorenge. I could name a tree in my backyard Florenge but that doesn’t mean shit.) So I started that poem with a completely different direction in mind. However, I suppose the enveloping environment of my life right now got the poem too. I went away for awhile. Not just from WDC…..from …everything. Every. Thing. That was at the end of April. I took a quick trip to Crazy Town to check up on my summer house. Things had gone a bit awry and there was much more crazy lying about than normal. It took quite awhile to clean that fucking shit up. I even had my membership expire in that time…and not just to WDC…to…everything. Then came a day where I baked. I sold some cakes. I overbooked. I did this when I was still back home in SemiNormalville, yet beginning to fry. I overbook a lot. I do it on purpose because I work like a mother fucker under pressure. Not better…not at my best either, just….like a mother fucker. I may do well every time because that’s what I need the customer to know – that I do well. (Ha! Seriously isn’t that me though in every area of life?!) It’s just that I like it better. I enjoy it more when it is required to be in all-consuming work like a mother fucker mode. I make this mode my bitch. But this time….this was some overbooking. This was two overbooked weekends worth. Yet I broke it down...I knew the amount of time each item would take, and I even factored in my hindrance of a family. (Oh shut your rolling eyes….I’m a good mom but what fucking seven and one year olds are NOT a hindrance to baking? Let alone husbands.) And it didn’t matter. All the preparations in the world, all the calculations, all the forethought (because everything I bake gets completed in my mind the week before) none of that shit mattered. If it could go wrong it went wrong. And because nothing went right, I experienced a gamut of emotions that are only available to me in Crazy Town. My family experienced a gamut of emotions well known to some, yet new to others. My poor family. Buuuuuuuut, I baked myself out of that shit. There was forced focus. Isn’t that just like that shitty fucking advice people give to deep dark depressed people? “Maybe force yourself to do a load of laundry or cook dinner. You will feel better and do more.” Fuck you. FUCK you. Yet there I was…forced to do one thing and do it no matter what my mind, which wasn’t my own, was telling me to feel or my mouth to say. Yes! I still felt that crappy muck and I still said some horrid unloving shit, but this time was different and the only philosophy left to me was…”a means to an end.” That often sucks for those around me and even in my moments of spitting cruelty best left unsaid (despite its truth), I still know that the people who have lasted…man, do they deserve the karma of an angel. So I did this cake: ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** And then this one: ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** *Don't ask me about the rotation...I fucked with it endlessly. It's direction has been fated. And then this one: ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** And then this one: ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** And then 2 dozen of these: ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** AND THEN – THEN I baked 1000 chocolate chip cookies as a donation. Yep 1000. Maybe soon I will write a post about my new intense hatred for the number 1000, but not today. I did all of these things in 58 hours. I even slept a little and most certainly indulged my habits. I’m telling you ….work like a mother fucker mode - it is the place to go to see me excel. Admission is free – I like to show off. And I emerged different. Not a happy butterfly by any means, but I did emerge. Now things are sad in a different way. A moving forward way. A more secure way. Yet I am not naïve. I know that the duration of these…manageable sadnesses…can be long or less than a heartbeat. I am grateful right now to only be this sad and to others that may suck, but I am comfortable in slight sadness. It, unfortunately, is another mode in which I excel. It is actually where I find myself most happy. Strange but true and such is life, mine at least. I have been skulking around here for like a week, thinking I was going to respond to each day’s prompt. Sometimes even starting, yet never posting. I guess I needed a push. I needed a prompt that evoked a post in my mind whether it made it to the computer or not. And what more could I have asked for? I litter this blog with twisted lyrics, dirty rhymes, and bitchy poems all of the time. "Today is the day," said Fivesixer   , "today is the day."  Speaking of …..how fucking awesome to get first place. How fucking disappointed in myself am I that I followed it up with such a shitty few weeks? Boo! Hiss! Life just always has to pull your hair doesn’t it? I am super grateful and it was very….calming …to log on as Peeping Tom skeason and see that in my messages. You know when you hate everything and then that first time comes when you get all stoked about something again? Right on. So – I suppose that was SUPER long. Ha! Too bad. My blog - my bucket of emotional vomit. Mine. Nice to be back though.  |
Day 21 Prompt: On one of our visits, the weather turns bad/weird. Tell us where we are and what kind of weather messed with our excursion. Despite any plans I had for this post, I now have nothing. Nothing. I made the mistake of reading someone’s first. This I do not do. I make myself write mine first. Not today – nooooooo! I had to go and read ElaineElaine  ’s "raining frogs"  . Now my mind is consumed with something else. Therefore….The weather we encounter is an earthquake. An earthquake made up from the sheer turning of my stomach from her post. Okay okay, not really from her post. From the fucking Today Show. It’s a chain of skeevy events that, while I want to say is a long story, is really quite simple. Quite a while ago this false picture went around the internet: ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Some urban legend about a lady who went to Africa or somewhere and caught a worm which then laid eggs in her breast. It’s fake….it’s been debunked…..it’s a lotus pod photoshopped over a nipple. I don’t give a fuck. Something doesn’t have to be real to make me want to rip my fucking nipples off (and that’s a big deal since they are all the breasts I possess.) I think of this picture still….all of the time…..seriously – very often. And every single time – I want to rip those bitches off. I don’t know why. To prevent worm eggs from hatching. To check to be sure there aren’t any under there to begin with. Who knows. Then on the Today Show this morning they are talking about a clip from an October NatGeo show with the frog whose babies are born from the pores on her back. They do not show the clip. Instantly I think of the nipple picture, and am so fucking skeeved out that I now must seek out the video of the frog. I do so: [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] I find this skeevy as well. It’s too nipply for me. Instantly Husband A wants to know why since I, too, popped a baby out of a hole in my body. (I didn’t – they cut me open and Circle of Lifed my babies….but still) This is true. The thought of a baby person coming out of a hole in my body does not skeeve me to the core. That is one baby out of ONE HOLE. This is not thirty holes on my back with things popping in and out before expelling themselves the rest of the way. What the fuck? Now ElaineElaine has to add to my Storm of Skeeve by writing about it raining frogs. Is it raining skeevy frogs ElaineElaine ??? Is it raining frogs that have writhing entities bursting forth from their pores??? It’s raining disgust over here that’s for sure. P.S. The fact that I had to see the nipple for so long just to post it on here means you should check with me tomorrow on the location of my own. |
| Today was an interesting day. It started out fine, turned awful, recovered, and has an ending yet to be determined. It could go either way. I am being all Franzy and shit….going through some sort of metamorphosis. Deciding to merge the many me’s into the real one. It makes for strange interactions. There are things that still hinge on untruths I have told (for fun no less) and so rather than just a change….I must make this into a transition. Some old skeasons have to rapidly evolve into something different, while some can just change. Today was a day I spent with someone who must get a transition. It actually takes a fuck ton of concentration for me to tell these assholes the truth. I have finely honed my liecraft, and it is a comfortable place for me to be. The good thing about this is that I have also finely honed my bitchcraft, so making these changes is also a comfortable place for me to be. I mean what better time to utilize the whole….don’t like it then fuck off philosophy? Which is clearly, one of my favorites.
Day 19 Prompt: You’re in your bed after a long day of touristing and you hear something. After investigating, what do you find out the noise was? Because I seem to be pouring my creativity into one specific other thing right now, and since Kid A is right here in my face….no I mean like six goddamn inches from my face…. I read her the prompt and this is what you get (I am sitting here transcribing her words – just another way I am a slave to this little being): “I don’t know….like you are just sitting there on….what was it? A boat? Okay then. You are on your boat and you hear two roars and a grrrr. You know…like a growl. But bigger and louder and more echoish. You look around but you don’t see anything that seems like it would make two roars and a grrr. So you look around again. Do you have a window? Okay good. You go look out the window and one of the clouds looks weird. It seems like it is not the right color. You go up to the top of the boat. No not the deck part – you have to climb one of those long sticks – I mean the TOP of the boat. And you climb until you are at the tip and right up by the clouds. It is giant Godzilla. He is hiding in the clouds because he has a better view and can see the people he wants to kill. He says he hides up there and does 2 roars and a grrr then jumps down and stomps on someone.” Then she goes back to her video games. I say….”well then what do I do?” Then I get this exact response (and as you can imagine my heart swells with actual pride….she’s finely honing her bitchcraft as well): “Shit mom, don’t make it harder than it has to be. I answered the prompt.” |
Ahhh...today is my anniversary. The day we celebrate our mother fucking love. Its lack of bounds and conditions. Its acceptance and growth...and its lack of these things as well. We celebrate that we made it this far and that we are habitual enough to not want to fucking look for anyone else. We celebrate the spawn our love created when he planted evil seed in the devil's garden. Today we toast each other....the worst people we each know.
Day 17 Prompt: ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** He takes us to Banana, The Banana Shire, Queensland of course. We eat peanut butter and banana sandwiches while we sing Heartbreak Hotel. Everyone will laugh as I continuously slip on banana peels. Banana is really small….conflicting reports put population somewhere between 200 and 337. So our arrival will not be missed. They are a big ol’ town of beef apparently and they have two gas stations and a hotel/motel. A lower level school as well. We are going to mob up into The Banana Shire like the delinquents we are. We aren’t going to find Brother Nature  and ElaineElaine because the only way they are being held by a town of 200 is if some weirdo Wicker Man situation was going down. But it doesn’t matter….Andre is taking us there to tear the bitch down like an aging rock star. Emptying the mini-bar and all. I mean, I am certainly not leaving until I smash some shit with my guitar.I AM thinking though, that if I were to suddenly go missing on this voyage, I would certainly hope that no one looked for me. That everyone celebrated that I was finally able to get lost. I would also certainly hope that were people to look for me anyway….that they tried a lot harder than me. |
Day 16 Prompt:It’s time for art. What place do you want to see? Do you have a craft you want demo’ed? Would you like to take a class somewhere? Easy. And I need something to be easy right now. There are many pieces of art that move me, and yet my first two answers come very easily and they are not necessarily emotionally moving. They definitely come from my background. I majored in Classical Antiquities. It was so…well, I don’t know…just so fucking nerdy. Awesome on some hardcore nerd plane of existence not to mention the academic setting. I was in heaven. So….. I want to see the Colossus of Rhodes. I want to see him in all his glory and then I want to see him in ruins. Both are necessary for this to be all climaxy and shit. And while we are getting our classic on…. I want to see Botticelli paint the Birth of Venus. I won’t settle for seeing the actual painting. No. I want to see him paint it. And if I am being totally honest, it’s not that great of a painting. Nothing is strikingly beautiful about it. I don’t even really enjoy other work from Botticelli. But somewhere, in the mythology of this painting is….me. It’s the real me though, I am all up in that shit. Look at that, it’s a riddle wrapped in a painting. And if you are the one who figures that out I will leave Husband A for you. |
| Though, in my life, it feels as if nothing has more impact than dreams and other fictions of my mind, the truth is that there is something. Here I was, getting lost on my voyage, when my perfect little first creation made a wish of her own and zapped me back home. Strep fucking throat. Strep fucking throat. Let’s see….I have no idea how long ago it was….I am going to need to check now…but I do remember bitching about this in a previous post. Kid A and her illness which is now at 18 weeks and 3 days. 129 days. 4 months 2 weeks 3 days. What. The. Fuck? Six appointments, four rounds of fucking amoxicillin, at least ten choked back outpourings of rage while I allow myself to be treated like some hysterical mother, and a reversion to separation anxiety that I have come to believe is due to a constant unwell feeling. You’re sick = you’re sad = you want your mommy. I admit I am pretty fucking sick of being the one who demands medical treatment for my child…me having this shiny gold medical degree trophy and all. I would understand if I made appointments with the frequency and reasoning verging on Munchausen by Proxy and shit. But I assure you I do not have an overwhelming desire to feel your hands in my pockets that often. And even if I was one of those awful wiggy mothers, and even if it sounds arrogant and crunchy-instinctual mothery, check my track record…I believe…ummm, yes…the record is something like…..skeason 4, Dr. Dickweed 0. Sorry, but it is. So…anyway. Normally I feel incomplete unless I catch up. Watch me stand up and declare some shit – This I shall not do! Yeah I know, it was kind of weak, but declare it I did. I can do this. I can refrain. And would you care to know why? Because I am currently disgusted with this blog. I hate it. I hate every entry. I kept thinking to myself….skeason change that little box of info under the title of your blog…this time has obviously cleared the hurdle. But here it is. The point of abandonment. I hate it all and would normally just stop. Might be a week before I started a new blog – might be six months. No blog has ever made it past say ten entries, so this blog has sodomized the shit out of all the others. But the point came nevertheless. It is all so surfacy. Superficial. It is deep truth hidden behind a shield of deep anger. And though I might express emotions that are genuine and even let out some personal details that are sincere, the “personal” in this “personal blog” is seriously lacking. What have you really learned about me? And do you have enough details to prove the truth behind anything you think you have learned about me? Nope. That’s how I do life. That’s how the people who know the physical me experience me. They have enough to think they know but if they really think about it they would realize that they do not. I have friends that should NEVER EVER meet…and only for one reason. They would most certainly discover that they have vastly different and competing back stories for me. I would look like a psychopath who constructed lives for fun. Now there’s this blog. I don’t want to abandon this blog. I don’t even want to slowly fade away. I want to keep going and I want to like whatever the fuck comes out. So I suppose I have to…spill my guts, reveal my skeletons, and do the little dance… that’s shitty. It’s what I want and it’s shitty. Such is life. Whatever.
Day 15 Prompt: Several people have already mentioned a beach. Today our excursion is to a beach. Where are we going? What are you wearing? If you hate beaches, what will you be doing while the rest of us bask in the sun? Be sure to wear sunscreen! So the beach huh? Yuck. I guess. I am that person who always says she hates the beach but always has a good time. I’m not a buzz kill or anything (at least not at the beach.) I really just prefer the cold and so the beach isn’t the first place I think of when someone asks where I would want to go. The beach on my island (interesting that I chose an island for this voyage when I just said some shit about not choosing the beach) is of course a blue sand beach. The sky meets the shore meets the water meets the sky. And then there is me. In my blue bikini. String beans might as well wear bikinis because we look gross in any kind of bathing suit. And since this island is powered by wishes….whoa boy…do I have some tits. Little Miss Nipples on Ribs no longer. I am going to run – which I never ever do…not even for my life – so that my breasts’ bounce back can knock me the fuck out. It’s gonna rock. Other than that little out-of-character show of exhibition, my plans would include laying there in the sun and drinking. A doctor’s favorite combination. And I like to cook. I am pale. I have red hair. I WILL tan, no matter what people convince themselves of. However, first I must burn. The initial burn of the summer must come then go and then I am allowed to darken slightly. I like to lay there and feel myself baking. It is different than being hot. It’s different than feeling a sunburn happening. It is like you are cooking and it rocks. It’s awful for me I know. Thank the gods I am a hermit who only ventures out when it’s snowing. But hey….when at the beach one must be beachy. So just ignore that sizzling noise. |
Day 9 Prompt: We’re being good, polite tourists. (I hope!) Each of you meet someone. Tell us about the encounter. Where are you and did this person tell you a story, perhaps their life history? When I venture out of my blue cocoon, I walk alone for awhile. Or…I don’t know…there could be other people there. “Alone” is definitely on the list of prisons I self-impose. Alienation as well. This time I feel drawn toward the darker corner of the forest. For some strange reason, this time my mind’s eye can see a light deep within. So I push through. I might have a machete or the forest might be parting before me…it’s hard to tell. Then, suddenly she is there. It’s not a clearing in the forest by any means. She is…part of the forest. It is impossible to tell where the stars stop and she begins. Her hair rustles in unison with the leaves and her dress is indistinguishable from the cover of night. The branches on the trees; whose close proximity had, until now, gone unnoticed, suddenly felt embracing. And though indecipherable, there were now whispers to be heard in the forest’s rustles. I knew immediately both that she was my Fairy Godmother and that I would have no magic bestowed upon me this day. That I perhaps had not earned it. Perhaps did not deserve it. Had been found wanting and could be judged as less because that is what I had given. Yet I absolutely love her just the same. She need not shower me with whim fulfillment for me to leave the forest having gained…things. Like what you ask? Well, shoot, I just knew you were going to ask me that. Let’s see. A serene moment. A vision of fluid beauty. A point of safety in the dark forest that follows me. I already have a pair of glass slippers anyway. I abandoned my royal life long ago. |
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