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Blue Dolphins used to mean a good time…

March 27, 2014

I really need to be asleep right now, but I had to tell the tale of my last, and most recent hospital stay.

I’m not even going to rant about insurance, I’m going to focus on the more personal parts of the journey. There is nothing more jarring then laying down in a hospital bed and realizing that there isn’t anyone who can come for you. It’s not because you don’t have friends, I mean I have friends a plenty. They may just be a little to spread out across the nation. The ones that are local just don’t have the capabilities to rescue you.

 

Around Friday night, my coughing got a little worse. I went to work on Saturday for some make up hours, and by the time I left work, the coughing was almost unbearable. I was trying to take supplements and things to try to get better, but nothing was working. By Sunday I was a complete and utter mess. 

By Sunday I hadn’t been able to sleep in two days, there was so much pressure in my head I could feel it throbbing on the outside. I was sweating, and I couldn’t walk more than a few paces without gagging and coughing. My throat was raw. I could barely see, and I was constantly dizzy.

Because I know a lot of my acquaintances are thinking, “I should post some absurd comment about how I was sicker once, or how I have an aunt with cancer or something or other that makes your sickness look stupid.” Contrary to your belief that it will make me feel better if you one up me, I’ll probably just thinking that you’re a jerk that smells like mothballs and prides himself on getting jokes that really just go over his head. Everyone knows a person like this–and we should start sending these people to an island where they can complain to each other about who has it worse.

So yes, this is my blog and I can cry if I want to…

In order to tell this story properly, I also have to let everyone know how much I hate hospitals. I don’t think I’ve ever spent the night in one, but each time I go I start to panic like I’ll never get out. The last time I had to go was in 2005 or so, and my friend Emily took me. It seems like I had more people to call upon back then. More so than being a patient I hate going to the hospital alone.

After learning about my insurance, and how I actually don’t make a livable wage, I drove myself to the hospital around 8 am. I couldn’t find any parking, and I had such a hard time breathing and walking that by the time I got to admitting I was crying. The nurse got me checked in right away. I got this small room with a crappy dolphin painted on it. I posted a picture to facebook and sent a few texts while I was waiting on doctors and nurses to assess my condition.

The person who sent me into an existential crisis was an administrator just doing her job. She was asking some real questions. I was not happy with my answers.

“If your stay continues, who would you like us to call.”

Well my mom doesn’t have a cell phone. My brother just had his stolen. Tim is out of town, Christi is out of town, David is probably out of town. Everyone else I know either has a family, doesn’t actually care about me if they can’t bang me, or they love me but their lives are so shit wrecked that they might be drunk at 8 am and now able to make it down. So what was my answer.

Um, I can’t think of anyone right now.

Next question “Who is your emergency contact? Should we still contact your grandma?”

She’s old, and she usually doesn’t answer the phone, but let’s just stick with that.

“Do you have a living will?”

No. I have nothing to give, and apparently no one to give it to.

“What is your religious preference?”

I heard all the arguments on facebook clamor at once in my head. All the angry atheist and super religious freaks.I answered fairly quickly. You know it’s easy to answer when you have a second and think to yourself, “I could die alone, in Lewisville Medical Center, looking at this dolphin that an eight year old painted, with no one to hold my hand- If this is my last confession then I ought to be true to myself.

I made confession in that room to a stranger. I think that’s how Catholics do it in movies.

I don’t mind making pharmacy runs, taking folks to the doctor when I can, but it hurts the smallest pieces of my heart to think that certain people can make it over to your place for sex, but they aren’t able to say anything to you besides “I hope you get better.”

Did you think I needed any food? Who needs food? Maybe I needed someone to go to the pharmacy? Drive me to the ER.

Probably best that I drive dizzy and almost have an accident. I’m a tough broad, I’ll figure it out.

Don’t tell me that you love me if you can’t think about helping me when I really need help. If I can’t call you from the hospital, you can’t call me anymore.

Don’t want to go on anymore dates with you folks, either.

I guess I have to find someone to get married to, otherwise I’m doomed to be alone, staring at that fucking dolphin.

Can my family fix their phone problems?

I can’t spend any more time doing things that I don’t like with people who don’t care about me. 

That includes this terrible draining job. I need a change. I need it badly. Since I clearly don’t know how to pick men, I’m on vacation. I’m going to focus on the job part. So maybe I can buy my mom a phone so she can be my emergency contact.

Mac and Cheese is not for everyone.

March 12, 2014

When I was a kid I ate mac and cheese all the time. My brother loved it. I would try to protest, but I made a great deal of concessions being the oldest child. It was okay that our cabinets were full of this cheap imitation cheese crap, because when my brother ate it he was quiet. When I went to school, I would always eat everything but the mac and cheese, and I would offer it to the other kids. It always struck me as super odd that a child could not just take a second helping of their favorite food, they would have to make this comment right before: “What kind of person doesn’t eat mac and cheese?” I let it roll off of my shoulder, but honestly it was the tone that got me. We have a mac and cheese surplus, you are going to benefit…do you have to point out that I’m a freak. Just take these carbs and get fat silently.

This kind of person doesn’t eat mac and cheese. This kind of person. Me.

While in New Orleans, we were up on one of the balconies over Bourbon Street, and I have to admit it was pretty fucking cool.  We basically had this entire floor to ourselves with a couple of other people passing through. There was a buffet, and we had our own bartender. Our bartender was awesome and delightful, but for a couple of minutes when he had to step out, two other guys came in to watch the bar… those guys were not so cool.

Welcome to my side story about my beloved cat, may she rest in peace. Now Ebony was a beautiful cat. She had lovely thick fluffy fur that was soft and always looked perfect. In the mornings before I’d walk to school, I’d always eat breakfast in the kitchen, and she’d always sit beside me, enjoying the sunlight, and grooming herself. One spring, there was this strange, poor excuse for a bird that made a nest right outside of our apartment. This bird had like five feathers, and I think it had been using meth. It would scream and squeak constantly, and occasionally it would run into the window just to upset my poor cat. I even pointed this out to my mom. This bird was ruining my cat’s mornings. One day that cock eyed bird thing just perched on the window. I couldn’t tell what it was looking at, but I could feel it looked pleased with itself. I looked at Ebony, she looked at me. We had a moment. I grabbed my backpack and opened the door, and Ebony walked out of the door jumped up and grabbed the bird, snapped his neck, left it on the porch and went back inside. When I left she was grooming herself in the sunlight.

Now I felt just as beautiful as Ebony while we were out on that balcony. Once I was drunk I was having a fantastic time, and then out of no where a small midget type person with a lazy eye just walked up to me and started running his mouth like a crazy Cajun mascot. He was like a public service announcement for why you shouldn’t wander out into the swamps alone. He literally had to be like 5’2″ and he looked up in my general direction and said, “Yeah I see all these other girls here, but I like them BIIIIGGG women. Gurl, what you been eating?” He turned to his buddy and laughed, “She been eatin a lot.” Then he followed me around and made fun of me. Like that meth bird.

Okay, so real talk…when he saw me I was eating red beans and rice…and I’m not the thinnest lady in the world, so maybe I set myself up for it. But it hurt my feelings and I wanted to snap his neck and leave him on the porch.

He also told me once I go white, my credit gets right. Which is a lie, because I’ve been sleeping with white men for years and my credit still blows. Why couldn’t he get at me with some real advice like, “mmmm girl, if you have sex with me we’ll get a secured credit card from a bank, and make the payments on time in your name, and then gradually your credit score could improve if you pay down your debt while increasing your income.”

Then I would have said, “Meth Bird, that’s an excellent idea, but I won’t be sleeping with you.”

It feels like that bird is with me always, and I really thought I would escape in on vacation.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“The music you like is so depressing.”

“You know it’s absurd for a woman of your age to…”

“Well, it’s simple common sense…”

I think the reason why this has always upset me is because I become so offended when people pick on my preferences is that I spend so much time listening to other people and their proclivities. When I listen it’s a sign of my respect. I may not agree with you, but I commit to letting all ideas have value.

Ah ha! So here’s where everything comes together for me. I do realize that the difference between most of my older friendships and my newer ones- The difference really being 13 years versus like 8 years or so–The newer friendships have a common bond of respect. There are a couple of exceptions, but people who met me while I was working full time tend to have this mutual respect for me, and I enjoy that. I ask for advice because I respect your opinions. I curb my tongue because I respect your feelings.

I’m so bad about this. Particularly when people introduce that nit picky energy, I follow along. I also lay down and take it for the sake of peace and I know I shouldn’t.  I just keep hearing my mom say, ” You should always feel safe at home with your family. People in the world are always going to attack you. Here we need to make it safe.” I did grow up with immediate family that were chronically shitty to me, but when we moved away from them my mom did a good job of making everyone abide by those rules of safety…well when she was watching.

We just need to do a better job.

I just need to do a better job.

February 10, 2014

Most of the time I hate dancing. 

Wait. I need to clarify a couple of things.

I used to always be seriously tired. Dancing was a little too much effort for me. I hope that I can keep up with the pace that I have last night. Like I actually broke out in a sweat. I smelled bad at the end of the night.

My hair was wet.

My shirt clung to my boobs due to sweat.

And guess what?

I hugged everyone on the way out. 

It felt good. Plus, I’m not ever sure boys really care when girls smell. They just looked so damn happy to see me, and that happiness was fucking contagious…well to some extend.

I hadn’t been up to Denton in a while now, and I still stick to my guns that all Denton has for me is shame, parking tickets, and bad habits. 

Oh yeah, and my college degree…and that’s really taking me places in life. (I’m being sarcastic at the moment but I seriously deep down inside believe it, and it’s the reason why I don’t play in traffic on 635.)

I hadn’t seem some of the boys since October, right after I turned 30 and took the oath to try to stay away from truly depressing shit. Nothing, my friends, is more depressing then a bunch of folks that you you secretly think the world of tossing their lives down the drain while being disloyal to you.

Allegiance is a game to some people.  One friend asked me why I always had to pick a side while we were watching reality TV.  It’s honestly just how I roll. I’m either on fire or cold as ice. Helps with decision making–and hey even God is reported not to like folks on the fence. I believe the term is “luke warm”. I have favorites with folks and food, bars and booze–and that’s something to live by if you ask me.

Let’s get back to my allegiance to dancing to 80′s and 90′s music. I didn’t think the boys were going to show up. The trip was orchestrated by a friend of mine who is a solid player. She wanted to make a dance night happen and she saw it through til the end. She’s also really good at knowing when it’s time to go. I danced til I almost feel down and made it all the way home by 1:30. The good just outweighed the bad, and not just on dance night, but honestly for the whole weekend.

I definitely missed all the folks that I saw save one. I do realize that the only way to keep things pleasant is to make trips sparse. 

I’m also not good at dancing. I mean I loved dancing when I was a kid, but everyone but my mom will admit that I was an awkward looking child, and for some reason those weird dance moves stuck with me.

Part of the reason why I love music from the 90′s is because I wasn’t allowed to listen to it when my mom became super religious, and I wasn’t really  allowed to go anywhere where I could dance save my bathroom, homecoming and prom. I remember riding in my mom’s ’76 Maverick on the way home from school. We called it Charlie Brown because it was really sad like his christmas tree. It was peanut brown on the inside and outside, it squeaked and squealed louder than a pornstar, and it always smelled of gasoline. Now on my way home from school I specifically remember the song “I wanna sex you up” playing on the radio, and my mother was so appalled that it was on the radio before nine, even though the word sex was edited. She turned the radio off, and all we could hear was Charlie squealing all the way home.

When I heard the song during 90′s night, I moved my waist around like I was failing at hula hooping, and that one memory popped into my head. I laughed like a looney.

I’m almost 98 percent sure that anyone who thinks I’m good at dancing is either drunk, or only judges by the amount of fun the dancer is having. I’m cool with that. My favorite dance moves come after about five shots of whiskey. When I’m waiting on shot number six, I literally grab on to the bar and proceed to pop, lock, and drop it…but not like in the videos. I’m just kinda shake my butt a little bit and do like a little 50′s twist move.

It’s funny.

For one night, I didn’t hate dancing.

I’ve been feeling a little down…

February 7, 2014

For a little bit of time here, I haven’t really been motivated to write.

I haven’t really been motivated to do very much to tell the truth.

I’d gotten a little bit of financial freedom, a small break from some of my debt. I was so excited about it. When I got the paycheck that was supposed to set me free, I was liberated. I’d forgotten that even though I was going to pay off a couple of debts that I would still need to eat and drive back and forth to work. I did a couple of small things, but at the end of the day I still live in my house.

Sometimes I think this house represents a prison of sorts. I’ve only been in a holding tank twice. It wasn’t a terribly long time. I remember feeling this terrible desperation. I knew that at some point I could go home, but my frustration lied in the fact that I couldn’t understand why you would arrest someone with minor traffic violations. For the first couple of nights in jail I just cried. I don’t think the people who worked at the jail could really understand why I was so upset. I was afraid that this was a forecast for the rest of my life. I am still in some way or another afraid that I will be imprisoned in some manner because I can’t afford to pay minimum dues. Isn’t that why I life in the house where I live? It’s cramped, and dirty. No one takes responsibility for anything. I live in a shoe box with few possessions. I wonder when my mother and teachers looked at me as a child and said that I would do great things, is this what they were referring to? Did they want me to get into a position where I would allow someone to treat me as less than a person because they were able to leverage debt on me.

When I talk to people about debt, they feel so ashamed for not being able to pay. Sometimes the worse thing you can be really isn’t an evil person, it isn’t a person who doesn’t love, but it’s a person who isn’t able to take care of bills. Poor is the worst thing that you can be really. When your friends leverage debt over you, and demand you pay something that you don’t have the money for, your friendship quickly dissolves. Now you feel as if you have to do whatever they want because you took something that was theirs and couldn’t give it back. I know all of these things seem so seriously elementary. These simple thoughts weight me down and carry me off a million miles away. I wonder what new problem my good friend has made for herself that will become my responsibility because a few years ago I borrowed a couple hundred bucks and I couldn’t pay it back. Now when you drive drunk, so do I.

I’ve been in this room for two days now. I’m getting to the point where I don’t even want to watch television or eat anything that I’ve gotten for myself to tide me over these couple of days. I feel the most tired, because basically all I’ve done is sleep, and in my waking moments I wonder how I have so many friends and acquaintances, but when I’m sad I feel that I’ve no one to talk to. Everyone is so busy with their lives, who can really blame them. People can’t be responsible for your lack of ability to develop a life.

So I try to find men who I think are the same amount of broken as I am, so that I can make a connection and not be quite so lonely, but the broken ones run, and the ones who aren’t broken see that I’m a problem before they even speak to me.

I often wonder how my brother grew up in the same house with all the same issues, and ended up not broken. I’m often jealous that he always has someone to talk to, and that I’m often afraid to express myself because I think people will find me contrite and stupid.

I walk into a social atmosphere that is supposed to seem open, but I spend most of my time wondering why the people who are close to me in a social setting are so manipulative. Why do they send so many mixed signals? Why do I have to charm and prove my value every time I see you? Why would a friend set you up for failure?

For this reason, I spend my time around a few select and the rest of my time I would prefer to sit alone. In this modern mental prison that I’ve allowed myself to be shut in.

I forgot to be funny this time.

I find a strange comfort in the fact that comedians and people who seem to be jovial and outgoing are really depressed. I’m not sure what they do about it, it seems a lot of them run on drugs and alcohol. I don’t really have the money for those habits.

I need to do laundry.

Jesus, take the wheel.

December 6, 2013

If  this entry was a newspaper article the headline would read “Badass Driver discovers she actually a scared little girl”.

Driving home tonight is literally one of the top ten scariest things that I’ve ever had to do.Image

It was JUST the snow, or JUST the ice—but the road conditions at 1 am in the morning were actually a complex issue. It was a shit show. It was a cornucopia of shitty city planning issues and other driver who had no idea how ice works.

I told Ashley that there was no way I was spending my entire off day stuck in my house staring at the walls. At about five- thirty, I insisted that since my date stood me up we should make our way to the galleria. At this point it was rainy, but the roads were clear.  We spent a couple of hours at the mall looking at things we couldn’t afford and participating in mild tomfoolery.  At around seven or so, the sales clerks in the store started looking antsy, and some of the stores had already begun closing down early. One lady in Victoria’s Secret told us that the weather had already taken a turn for the worst. I scoffed at her.Image

Pansy.

Ashley then started showing signs of genuine concern about driving home. Since I didn’t want to turn in early, I decided to go down town and see what kind of delicious foods we could scrounge up during downtown’s happy hour.

The roads on the way downtown were splendid. Yes, we did pass a couple of bad wrecks, but I insisted everything would be fine.  We met some really cool downtown people, and even scored a couple of glasses of plum wine.

On the walk home, the rain was super cold, but not frozen.  Since I don’t understand what socks or comfortable shoes are, Ashley was kind enough to lend me more cold weather supplies.

When I got into my car to drive home, the temperature reading was 37.  When I pulled into my drive way one hour and ten minutes later the reading was a cool 26 degrees.

Remember how I called the sales clerk a pansy? What I meant to say what that I’m an idiot who thinks she’s way better at driving than she really is.Image

The streets in downtown on the way to 35 looked completely normal. I felt pretty confident. Somewhere between Empire Central and Northwest Highway, shit got real. Not only did shit get real, but someone turned off the lights. My hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. My eyes were the widest that they have ever been, and my back way seriously arched away from the back of my seat. Immy K (the name of my Jetta) and I were a united front, Lady and machine, and we were determined to make it home. In Dallas, even though it was dark and I realized the stuff that I thought was sand was actually ice, I was able to stick to the pathways that the 18 wheelers had created. Typically I am afraid of 18 wheelers because I know most of the drivers are wired on crank and haven’t slept in days. Today was no different but as long as these professionals were driving at a normal pace I knew that I could handle my car.

About half an hour into the drive, the 18 wheelers around me started driving about 20mph and fishtailing. This is when I began to panic.

I told myself that panicking wasn’t going to get me home safely. I took deep breaths, and I turned the radio off.

Not having the radio on was definitely going to help me, because that’s the equivalent of driving on sanded roads.

I was getting closer to the farmer’s Branch area, and 35 was darker than ever and appeared to be completely white with no tire tracks. Out of nowhere an 18 wheeler slid across four lanes of traffic, right in front of me. I just knew at this moment I was going to hang out in the afterlife with my friend Corey who recently passed, and Nelson Mandela (RIP to both).Image

(That’s right, the truck is freaking me off and because of the snow it’s throwing up, I can’t see anything. At. ALL.)

For some reason, unbeknownst to me and in defiance of the few laws of physics that I understand, the truck and I gained control of our vehicles.

Literally, Jesus took the wheel.

At the moment when I gained a little confidence, I noticed that my car has a little indicator that lets me know when I’m totally not in control of my car. It’s a little orange light with squiggly lines. It’s like the car was telling me, “there’s no traction here, driver, but I’ll be damned if I know what you should do about that. Here’s a really distracting light.”

God bless German engineering.

Lewisville was the scariest city of them all.

Lights out! Don’t’ turn on the radio.

No sand whatsoever. No tracks. Lots of cars in ditches facing the wrong direction: It was like an ice skating rink on the freeway. Because this was the coldest part of the drive, and all the roads were just sheets of ice, I mapped out of game plan of how to get to my house which happens to be in a neighborhood on a hill. I slid over a bridge, almost got hit on 121 by two cars that thought that they didn’t have to obey stop lights because the weather is bad, and passed by three cars that were stuck spinning their wheels. I was gripping the steering wheel so hard that my fingers hurt, and I clenched my teeth to such an extent that I had a headache when the drive was over.

When I got home I let out the biggest sigh of relief. I parked in our driveway, and the car started to slide backward. It was the first time that I’ve had to use the emergency break.

It is only by the grace of God that I made it home tonight. Unless God decides to drive me to work tomorrow, I’m not going in.

A new product for our generation. Is Fuquitol right for you?

November 5, 2013

Are you feeling left behind in this world? Like you just can’t get an edge up on the competition?

Historically there were fewer choices in life. The average person knew exactly what their destiny was! Life was so simple and pleasant during feudalism. Now there are so many choices and with the internet age that one is never sure what he or she should be doing. This can lead to directionlessness, chronic loitering, and the lack of ability to make decisions.

meds5

Life was way easier. You knew where you were, and you knew you weren’t going anywhere…unless the plague or something took you out.

 

Are you easily distracted? Tired? Have an alcohol problem? Are you distressed from frequently using Wikipedia for  self diagnosing?

From the makers of Nyquil comes a new product:Image

Fuquitol

Fiuqitol is different from other medications in that it will solve all of your problems by administering a heavy sleep aid. A refreshed state will allow developed thought resulting in progress.

Now you’ll have less time to fuck around on the internet.  The deep sleep also cuts down on drunken driving, STDs and unwanted pregnancy because you won’t be able to leave the house to get blasted

The first dose of fuquitol is used to saturate your gaming console or home computer so that the damage causes less time on the internet/playing video games.

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The second dose is taken internally, causing a deep sleep–when you wake up without anything to waste your time, you’ll begin to wonder why you are not at work

Fuquitol taken once daily will allow you 12 hours of sleep, which will leave you refreshed to make life’s difficult choices.

Side effects include life direction, loss of loser friends, promotions, increased work load and responsibility, happy family life, an aversion to Denton and other college towns, and general maturity–and often times a successful life

Testimonials:

“I used fuquitol, and it helped me to pull my head out of my ass.” Jane B.Image

“After I turned thirty, I just didn’t know what to do with my life besides watch sporting events from crappy bars. Since I took Fuquitol I make enough money at the job I acquired to actually watch the games in person!” Steven W.

“I often have clean dishes, and I wash myself daily now!”  Cynthia K.

“Before I was overwhelmed by life’s choices and would often cry at restaurants because there were too many choices and I had no direction. Now I can just order a steak. Not being a crybaby had made me way more attractive to women without drug dependencies.” Michael  A.

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Most patients in the study were 30+ aged males without a job, so they weren’t able to consult a doctor before using.  We suggest consulting a physician before changing your regimen. More than likely given our user base,  you will take a poll of very sophisticated facebook and reddit users.

I have a secret.

November 4, 2013

photo

I have a secret.

It’s time for me to come out to the world.

Deep in my soul, I’m a 40 year old white man.

I can’t stop listening to Paul McCartney. Sometimes when I’m in my car I literally laugh my ass off while listening to Russ Martin. Not literally. My butt is still pretty huge, which is awesome because it allows me to comprehend complex political philosophy.

http://elitedaily.com/news/world/big-butt-healthy-butt-study-says-women-big-butts-healthier/

I thought my butt was just for guys to smack and stare at, but really it’s also the reason why men find me unattractive. “You’re really snarky, where did all that sass come from.” Now I know that it actually comes from my ability to analyze situations and quickly come up with a reply. The reason you started dating me will ultimately be the reason why you’ll come to dread the sound of my voice. All of my powers, my prowess, and my digestive health stem from my bottom.

White men typically don’t have large asses though.  I’m very confused about my confession right now.

Okay, so I think older white person humor is absolutely marvelous.  But I’m also super liberal and I really enjoy the company of men…

So I’m more like a gay 40 year old white man.  I’m a gay white man who can sing like a British deceased white woman.

I’m kinda all over the map here.

Ah! I was going to write about cultivation.

When I meet someone that I really like, I typically look past them. Well, not past them–I see potential. I could meet someone and see that they are lying in a dirty gutter, but I realize that because soap exist and alcohol is not permanent, if they have a spark of intelligence then I know under the right conditions they could be awesome. It’s the woman’s mistake. This is how I’m not like a white man. I like a fixer-upper.  I don’t like buying the property as it is.  Sometimes I see the warmth in others and I want it for myself.  I’m not a gardener, and I’m not a baker, but I just know under the right conditions that people can flourish.

So I put on a pair of heels and a baker’s hat, and I pour in affection and kisses and booze, and I put these men in the oven to bake. I wait patiently as the aroma fills the figurative kitchen of my little heart. Somehow while these men are in the oven, I walk away for a second, and they decided that they would rather be with anyone but me. Literally anyone.  It always disappoints me, but I’m not sure whether it’s because these dudes don’t want me, or because I hate being wrong about people.

Let’s not kid ourselves, folks. It’s really about rejection. No one likes it, and it’s always hard to deal with. It also sucks when people just automatically decided that you’re not worth cultivating when you clearly think that they are.  I’m going to wait a little bit to get into all my issues about self esteem, but I want to let you know that rejection hits everyone who is able to process it.

While I’m thinking about cultivating relationships, because it is my ultimate fear to end up without friends and single in my old age, I realized that I should start thinking of a cultivating my legacy.  I was thinking about doing a video blog or a podcast. Why should I let other people steal my jokes and my stories? I have lived through each of my dramatic experiences, and I have to know that these moments were not in vain. The world is a different place now a days, who will tell this story if I don’t.

Oh! Speaking of telling stories, here’s one about an acquaintance of mine….I sometimes am worried that I’m losing my mind. I want to take a moment to quote someone who has already lost their mind.

“I call dibs on EVERYONE! So stop your F*$&#* each other, you dirty sluts. You, the entire human population of Earth, are my one and only neglected and abused hoe. God gave you to Abraham, he’s dead, and I’m still here. #megalomania… What you gonna do bro when Megalomania runs wild all over you?!?!?!?!??”

I did some mild editing. I am pretty sure, with the implications of this text that this man is suffering from late stage syphilis insanity. There’s a little bit of heresy in the text…and there’s the mention of a gardening tool. I just wanted people of the world to know that a person that would say this exists, and is roaming around all nilly willy without restraint.

Yup.

 

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