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31st May 2017
My Lesbian Crush and the Pool...
I am not a Lesbian. I have a Lesbian crush on a possible Transgender person. What do I do? I found her interesting to observe...yellow blond hair...blue eyes...pixie features mark her six foot stature as Scandinavian. All the other Mom's love "Thor" with his over six foot muscle bound physique blond hair and dashing looks. I admit he is a beautiful man, then we chatted one day. His personality is just like my Ex-husband's! How is this possible? He's "Thor." Then his sister shows up. She's interesting to observe, sporty & boyish, I like her instantly. I never see anyone else when she's around. She mentions her husband. I forgot to notice him. When I finally do his face puzzles me. She's married one of my cousins! My next younger "little" cousin who shot up to 6 foot 5 unexpectedly. I smile politely hoping he'll go away soon. The conversation was just getting interesting. I don't find people I enjoy chatting with very often. That was the day I decided she was my Lesbian crush...we chatted until we both lost track of time. I'm not a Lesbian. Is it possible we're friends? I don't know. She reminds me of someone? :
I ponder this for a few weeks...huh...she looks a touch like my current spouse but pretty with a nice complexion and different face. He's a bit taller but there eyes both tilt up and twinkle blue with humor. She disappears for weeks at a time but she's back for now. I feel happier.
The pool is opening. Is it open yet? Oh yes, we met at the pool! I had forgotten that. It was after I tore a ligament in my knee and could not keep the weight off. I could not run, so I swam. I hate swimming. It is always super tough in the first 10 minutes then something happens. You look up and an hour has passed. The first time this happened to me, I took a single step out of the pool and almost collapsed. I treated swimming like running mostly just using my legs. It's easier than running because it's cool and there is no gravity. My record is an hour and 45 min two summers ago. I swam long enough to think I could swim across our vacation lake. But the water is dark and cold and I got scared even with the Husband willing to canoe beside me. We went back last summer. I decided to swim across the lake with a life vest on 1st. We got there and the lake was being drained. I was like "that explains why the vacation rentals are so cheap!" It's to the beach after that...I watch a couple of young marines dive into a tough high cold wave break. "I can do that" I think. But memory of being caught in a surfers wave and knocked off my feet keep me cautious. Small lungs were the bane of my track career. I could sprint as fast as the boys sometimes but could not breathe. The sprint was as long as I could hold my breathe. I'll stick with the pool and the calm lake for now. In my memory a Bald Eagle rests on a branch just a simple swim across the lake...
15th April 2017
Tangible proof of harassment...
The good news is that I now have suck tangible proof of harassment that even the skeptical Hubby believes me... :
The bad news is that it pisses me off and I feel like Nuking everyone...
The good news is that this is harassment Swandog is incapable of producing proving the real woman INNOCENT of the Real Life harassment...
The bad news is that this is coming from a group of men associated with Abilene Christian University who are responsible for victimizing multiple females on March 31, 1990. These men invited the most beautiful freshman students in campus to a Formal fraternity party then spiked there drinks with Rohybtnal. 5 women were gang-raped, many others raped by male students. The school administration covered for these men about like the Yale Rapist and are still covering for these men. My guess has been that one of the administrators, the one that's NOT my Cousin, was trying to start a Brothel in Las Vegas using beautiful sweet "deflowered" Christian girls. That's the only explanation that makes sense to me when you look at multiple male student suicides, multiple gang rapes of male and female students...all in 1990! I have a vague memory of being offered Witness Protection because the Fraternity involved was acting like a organized crime group. I did not take Witness Protection and have been slandered by identifieable members of this Fraternity. Since this Fraternity managed to snag the membership of a Self-proclaimed Norwegian Prince....they seem to think themselves not bound by US law. To that self-proclaimed Norwegian Prince: I suggest you get your frat boys under control or have every single action you ever took in the USA reported. Fuck you asshole!
8th April 2017
The Dowger Hump...
I sat under her Wisteria tree looking up at the purple flowers in the sunshine. It smelled sweet compared to her house. My young friend was no where near today and neither was her Great-Granddaughter... :
They had brought her to visit after Church one Sunday. Her Mother and she had gone into the house. She was my same age dressed in a pink frilly dress with a white hat and white socks all the way to her knees. It looked like one my Aunt had made ME. I wondered why she was wearing MY dress. I wondered if they had given her MY missing red puppy purse too! I glared at her from the seat of my bicycle...
I was thinking about how much I hated her for owning the Wisteria tree. My cheek rested on the ground and I breathed in the smell of dry dirt. I watched an ant walking on a blade of grass then saw a doodle bug. I giggled...
My Grandmother had been very offended at the criticism of me. MY Grandmother didn't MARRY into Money! She got her's properly from her Daddy! One of the Church Lady's told the group of them sitting around Grandmother's coffee table drinking coffee;
"The Little Girl EATS Doodle BUGS outside under the Wisteria Tree! Your Granddaughter doesn't eat BUGS does she?"
"Oh my Goodness NO! How mortifying! My Daughter feeds her proper meals at the dinner table!" Grandmother replied.
"She looks a bit thin?"
"Karen? What did Amy eat for Lunch yesterday? Did she eat all of it?" Grandmother asked.
"Yes, Momma. I made her Chicken Salad Sandiches on Homemade bread and a Fruit Salad. I brought a loaf of the Bread if you'd like to try some, Momma?"
One of the Church Lady's piped up "I made Lemon Pound Cake with Lemon icing for everyone to try!"
Another Church Lady proclaimed "I MADE, RED Velvet Cake with Dark Chocolate Icing and added a NIP of GIN!"
"Ohhh! Let's try it!" They all exclaimed happily.
"Karen, can you bring some plates with Red Velvet Cake?"
My Aunt scowled and said "I'll help, Karen! I'd rather have homemade bread and butter after that scorching sermon on Alcoholism!"
"Yes! Bring me homemade bread too, Karen."
"What! What are you doing with your face pressed into the dirt under my Mother's Wisteria Tree? That is so unsanitary!" My thoughts were interrupted by the loud surprised voice. I looked up at The Dowger's Daughter big eyed. HER daughter stood next to her holding her hand wearing school clothes not my pink dress.
"Well? What are you doing under there?" She repeated.
I remembered The Dowger and looked hard at The Dowger's Daughter's back before replying;
"I was thinking about eating a Doodle Bug. I heard they tasted good under this tree."
The other little girl looked at her feet.
The Dowger's Daughter looked scadalized and said sharply, "Go home to your Grandmother this instant! And tell her you were playing in the dirt and need to wash your face!"
I looked back at them as I walked away. The other little girl had turned to watch me leave. A shy smile crept onto her face and she waved at me behind her Mother's back!
I skipped the rest of the way home thinking of all the fun eating Doodle Bug Day's we would have as new friends. I told my Grandmother what had happened. She told me to wash my face. Then she put on her jacket and gloves, picking up her small square powder blue handbag. I followed her outside, Wisteria petals caught in my golden brown hair. I picked wet strands from my face. We walked to my Grandmother's new big powder blue car that matched her dress and shoes and hat and handbag and got in. We drove next door. My Grandmother left the car running and told me to accompany her. I could tell she was irritated. She walked past the big black car in the driveway ignored the black clad husband waiting for his wife. He tipped his hat and winked at me. She walked to the front door. She rang the doorbell and smiled her public elevator picture smile, mouth slightly open with teeth showing. When the daughter came to the door they spoke briefly. My Grandmother informed her that I was no longer allowed to visit her dear sweet aged lonely Mother and that she had best bring her own dear sweet child to visit every week. She was asked "Why?" My Grandmother smiled and said that it was time for me to learn better manners. I was to attend her Charity meetings with her when I visited. She then kindly invited The Dowger's Daughter to visit for there Sunday brunch in two months and donate to there Orphan Children's Fund. Grandmother smiled when she was asked if she had help with the planning. Shy replied with the same smile, "No. But the Board is looking for someone to plan a Christmas Cookbook if you would like to volunteer?" The Dowger's Daughter did not ask another question and mimicked my Grandmother's public smile, tightly. "No. I must tend to my Mother."
My Grandmother smiled kindly, "Please give her a hug from me and ask her to call me when she's feeling better. The Church Lady's Group would like her to come to a Church potluck sometime! Perhaps all of you would come?"
"No, my husband is very busy."
"Oh. That's a shame. He was always such a sweet boy in Sunday School."
"He was in your Sunday School Class?" She asked suddenly.
"Oh no! He grew up next door to my Sister Pauline and her Dear Husband Ed. Amy is Pauline's favorite Great-Niece. Perhaps your daughter would like to come over to my home and visit Amy in the future? We have a new swing set."
The little girl and I looked at each other happily.
"I'll ask her Father."
"Please Do. Have a lovely afternoon!"
It was too weeks before my Grandmother changed her mind...
The Dowger's daughter had gone back to some far away place the next day. The Dowger called and they chatted several times. I had spent the entire next Saturday at Aunt Pauline's and Uncle Ed's house playing with fancy fans to Aunt Polly's amusement and her daughter's horror. Uncle Ed snuck me chocolates from a large golden box when Aunt Polly's back was turned. "These are a bit better than Doodle Bugs!" He twinkled.
"Not Choclate truffles?! She won't eat a bite of her dinner!" Aunt Polly exclaimed.
He just kept sneaking them to me with a smile at her.
My Grandmother picked me up in her new powder blue car and invited them to a Restaurant Dinner with the whole family. Aunt Polly smiled but declined. I hugged everyone and ran to the car thinking about a Restaurant Dinner. At Dinner I practiced "better manners" with my pinky straight up holding my glass. My Mother looked at me frowning. So, I pointed my pinkies straighter. As Desert was served, I decided to get me a Dowger. I slouched over my Desert then looked around for The Dowger and Hump. No Hump. No Dowger. I needed to go back to the Old Lady's and stare The Dowger off her back and onto mine if I was going to get better manners!
After dinner I started asking Grandmother when I could go back and visit the Old Lady with The Dowger. My Grandpa grinned. My Uncle laughed. My Mother frowned. And My Grandmother wondered out loud if I meant to say "the Dog." "The Old Lady with The Dog."
I twinkled thinking about catching a Dowger!
She reeked of old. Some combination of strange unfamiliar smells filled her entire home. Today she lay covered in blankets on a couch in her Den. I didn't wanna visit. I wanted to play outside under her blooming Wisteria tree. My Grandmother insisted I go see her for she had been ill. Her daughter had left the door to her home unlock and told me to go sit with her. There was no special introductions, I had been introduced to her possibly at birth. I was required to visit her every time I came to visit my Grandmother. She was ancient,104. 100 years older than me. She was a rumor, a story my Grandmother whispered to a visiting Church Lady. The story changed depending on whether she was well or ill. But it always had the same theme. Her daughter hid her there, bought the house, bought the big old car, paid for the maid & the nurse with her husband's money. He never came to visit his mother-in-law. His wife had met him at a dance. All the town had been lit with the news. His Father owned a Fortune 100 company and a poor girl from there town was engaged to marry him. The Wedding was held in the nicest Church in town and everyone begged the Parents for an invitation. The Bride's silk dress was donated by a dressmaker given invitations. The Lady's Church Group donated the extravagant flowers that included orchids and giggled at the grooms swagger. His Bride was clearly a Princess! But there was some scandal they whispered about. I could never get close enough to hear. Even when I pretended to play with my dolls at there feet I could not here what they whispered. :
Her voice came in a dry smelly whisper. "Refill my glass with water, I'm thirsty! The pitcher is on the coffee table." I carefully poured the water from a sparkly cut glass pitcher that twinkled light & shadow. I watched the water fill up the glass. "Don't spill it! That's enough!" I handed her the small glass. "You may pour yourself some water if you are thirsty. There are plastic glasses in the cupboard, or you may use the other crystal glass if you are careful." I poured water into the other crystal glass and picked it up gingerly. I sat on a small short stool next to the couch quietly. She expected me to talk but I was more than a bit scared of her. The silence lengthed. She finally asked me a few questions. I stared at the strange bulging bedsheets on her back forgetting to answer. "What are you staring at?" My eyes wide I pointed at the bulge holding my breath. "That the sheets? You're scared of my bedsheets?" I managed a breathless whisper "Don't move...The Monster under the Bed....is...under....THEM!" Her face changed to what I did not know. "I'm UNDER THEM!" I was immediately relieved. But I recognized that voice, she sounded like my Mother when I made my Grandmother a Mother's Day Gift instead of my Mother. I looked at my feet clad in my black patent Sunday shoes. I focused on the pinch trying to think what to say next. I had hurt her feelings trying to rescue her from the Monster under the Bed. Then she started laughing and coughing. "YOU SAW my Dowager Hump!" My eyes widened in surprise staring at her, "What's a Dowger Hump?" "THIS IS!" She pulled back the bedsheets revealing the back of her white lace gown. My eyes grew even bigger! "Don't stare so hard, it might decide to leave me and nestle on your back! Go play in the back garden the Wisteria is blooming." I jumped up and ran for the back door! "Don't run in my house! Walk slowly like a Lady from now on or I won't let you play in my Garden!" I stopped. Stood as straight as possible pointed my chin to the ceiling and marched straight leg toward the backdoor. "Your Grandmother doesn't walk like that! Walk like your Grandmother or Mother." I tip-toed on imaginary high heels. She laughed "You're going to end up in the movies like a little rascal! I'm going to talk to your Grandmother about improving your manners! Go play!"
7th April 2017
The Cop figured the Intruder out. I understand that now. "Adults" aren't all tied to some massive conspiracy to destroy Lovers and invoke some 1950's Stepford Hell on anyone under 25. I understand that now. :
Some adults can be told the truth, can be reasoned with, can be made to understand the FACTS of a situation...or can they? I was a shy teenager. I never had to explain myself. Most Adults looked me over and quickly decided I was good, honest, trustworthy, sweet & innocent. I didn't talk much. My thoughts back then mostly echoed those things good, honest, trustworthy, sweet & innocent.
He was about the same but with the addition of all those football locker room teenage fantasy talks. Pictures of half-naked Farah Fawcett pinned to a bedroom wall is innocent teenage boy stuff.
He fled. He believed the same thing I did. Everyone was conspiring to END our Lives, Freedom, Love. Why us?
I stopped talking even when I could. I sat and stared at fish swimming in a water garden barrel for weeks. I stopped wearing contacts and hid behind huge ugly glasses. I borrowed my Mother's "fat" clothes and disappeared into a huge floral dress with a white collar. I stopped brushing my hair. I stopped wearing make-up. I stopped brushing my teeth. I stopped shaving my legs. I stopped bathing regularly. I was hiding every single remarkable thing about myself. Adults who just met me still noticed my perfect complexion and worked at kind makeovers.
I was silent, knowing there makeover would gain me approval among them. And I knew there makeover would get me snubbed by my school peers. I was hiding. I did not want to destroy what was left of me with small compromises. I wasn't rude enough to say that. I packed up those "Slytherin" habits like I packed up the black & gold dress.
When I started speaking again. I packed up my innocent "Slytherin" arrogance and started asking every sort of person questions about themselves. I grew up believing "diverse" means having a Methodist attend your school.
At school "diverse" meant allowing an off-brand logo-mark on a single izod because the "Slytherin" student claimed
"Yes, my Tailor custom made it! I wasn't sure about the Unicorn she hand-embroidered on. Do you think it's too young? My jeans are suppose to have only two seams not three?! I may have to fire her!"
That evening "MOM! STOP ironing on those little Unicorns! You find alligators or polo players! NO Unicorns! And STOP making me track suits!"
I stopped going to Church completely. I didn't lose God. I believed every adult over 25 that I knew was in on the conspiracy to create Hell on Earth; a Hell that makes slaves of youth who are talented, intelligent, or beautiful.
He plotted how to beat there blockade on life. He won. He won everything he ever wanted at that age and he was waiting on the porch for the door to open and the pink clad Princess to greet him smiling, like a video game. They could not stop him running there blockade. He won. He grabbed my hand and dragged me past the blockade. We were grinning. We ALL WON. They couldn't beat him. There control was an illusion. Our lives were our own. They could not keep us under there cultish thumb.
They had to CHEAT and LIE and STEAL from US and RAPE and MURDER and THREATEN to stop either of us from winning at LIFE! The ONLY control either of us had was LOVE. They don't want people self-controlled by Love. They want people enslaved by FEAR of THEM. The horror of it was that they perched in a Church using our words and phrasing.
The Intruder wasn't a random stranger stalking me. I didn't know him. He wasn't stalking me, he was stalking him.
"Who was the boy leaving tucking his shirt in?"
"A friend from university visiting me."
"You had sex with him."
"I got married to him he wants me to go back to him."
"You're an Adulteress!"
"No, I am not. I'm married to him."
"What's his name?"
"You aren't married to him, you're married to the Artist."
"I got married to both of them."
"You're an adulterous!"
"No. I forgot I got married to him."
"You're not married to him."
"Yes I am. Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm doing this because you cheated."
"No I didn't."
"You're not married to him!"
"Yes, I am."
"Now, I'm your husband."
"No you're not. You look nothing like him!"
"You're right! I'm the boy who just left!"
"No your not!"
"Call me by his name!"
"Call me by his name and I'll stop!"
"No! This is rape! You don't have the right to rape me!"
"Yes I do. You committed Adultery!"
"No you don't! You're going to go to Hell for doing this to me!"
"You're going to Hell for Adultery!"
"I didn't commit Adultery! Rape is worse anyway! You're going to Hell!"
"Call me by his name and I'll stop!"
"No. You aren't him!"
"I am him!"
"No you aren't! You're a tiny man!"
"Stop laughing! I'm your Husband! You're going to pay for laughing!"
"No you are not my husband! You look nothing like him! You don't have the right to do this to me! You are going to go to Hell! Stop! Please stop!"
"I'll give you half of anything I have if you don't shoot him!"
"I don't want what you have, I want what He's got!"
"I'll do whatever you want, don't shoot him!"
"I'm going to murder you and frame him. He is going to go to prison for life for YOUR Death!"
"I'll tell everybody about you!"
"No one will believe you even if I let you live!"
"Don't shoot him and I won't tell anyone!"
"I have his clothes in my trunk, to leave around your dead body."
"I'll tell everyone what you've done!"
"You're an adulteress, you deserve this."
"No I am not! That's a lie."
"If you never speak to him again I won't kill him."
"I will never speak to him again."
"Stop crossing your fingers! You are going to Hell for lying!"
"No, I am not! Nothing sworn under duress is binding in any way on me! But I won't tell. Please don't shoot him!"
"You are going to regret him."
"I already do"
"You are going to pay for him."
"For what? You're doing this. You don't have the right to do this to me or him!"
"He is going to Marry my daughter."
"He's already married and knows it."
"You aren't married to him."
"Yes, I am."
"Consider this a Divorce."
"You can't Divorce us. You don't have the right! This is rape! You are going to go to Hell! You had better repent before you burn in Hell!"
"I'm going to kill you!"
"Maybe, but you're still going to Hell!"
He rang the doorbell a 2nd time. :
Inside between the chimes the small world rotated.
He stood on the porch waiting his back to the door looking at that car motionless except for the touch of the doorbell. Some people cause ripples by pushing a tiny button.
(I've already written this bit in depth. I can't write the worst bits.)
The intruder was in his 40's. He was not an ugly man. To a 20 year old 40 is ancient. Men don't hide aging like women. His hair had that 40 year old "look" despite being mostly there. His face had creases. His blondish coloring fading. His blue eyes at 40 were handsome, at 20 he undoubtedly had an easy time of romance. His tan & figure were 1970's approved inspired by Travolta. The single detail tgat did not stand out to me then but does now is his figure. Every man I went out with at University was trim, slim and lightly muscled. The one or two obese men didn't ask women out. A "class-trip" to the nearest beach was a competition in who had the best abs or arms or ass...which woman looked the best in her bikini. "Fat" was a size 10 or a jelly belly 8. Women worked on there thigh gap or they avoided beach excursions. Returning from the class trip, women slipped back into t-length floral dresses with white colars at the local rest stop and wandered into Sunday Evening Church holding hands. The Evening Preacher smiled approvingly at the dresses and frowned at the jelly belly 8's wearing sloppy jeans and t-shirts. I just skipped Church. I didn't wear floral.
The intruder was a 40 year old lightly muscled man with a slightly discernible 4 pack. He didn't have the typical belly you see on most 40 year old men. I was at an age where a belly would have made me puke. It's odd. The young man on the porch didn't even have excess skin and was still eating huge amounts to keep his muscles on. The Artist was as trim. When a Cop finally showed up he was the fattest one there.
The Intruder talked to the Cop claimed to be my Daddy or Husband.
My Daddy had coal black hair, ice white skin, ice & saphire blue eyes and a huge pop belly by that age. My Daddy looked more like the Cop than anyone else...a fat faded Steven Segal..."Kung Fu Panda" with Elvis sideburns and a Harley addiction. He spent most of his life exploring the orient and oriental women loved his Panda looks. He was in the orient looking for an Asian Midget to walk on his back regularly. Apparently, Asian Midgets get trained from birth to pop your back into place. He was lookin for one that worked with a six foot tall frauline that miraculously fixed any back problem you had. I don't think he ever found them cause he never came back. My Daddy wrestled a Bear on vacation sent me it's severed claw...then went back to looking for the Midget and the Frauline. My Daddy's legendary like a Blue Velvet Elvis!
My heart stopped beating when the Cop standing on my porch started scolding my tall skinny 20 year old Husband standing next to him.
"Get out a here! Stop messin her! She doesn't want you here! I don't know what you think she said but they don't want you here!"
I could here the shock in his reply, "Sir, she is MY wife!"
His clean cut preppy looks and polite respect earned him a puzzled frown from the Cop. The Intruder jumped into the paused conversation with complaints about stalking. I started praying that the Cop believed the Man on the porch.
The Cop questioned the Intruder further then asked a single question. "Come out here and let me see you. Where is she? Let me see her. Both of you come out here and we'll discuss this outside."
The Intruder agreed.
What I remember next may or may not be lucid. I was going in and out of conciousnes from the point of being stabbed.
Instead of going outside he shot the pistol out the window, laughed "I'm gonna kill that Boy" and ran for the back door. I heard the Cop shouting. I started crawling toward the bathroom. I needed to take a shower. He had followed the Cop around the side of my house. I heard the Cop shout "You check on her! I'm going after him!" He came in the backdoor undoubtedly with fear & trembling. I could hear it in his voice. He whispered "Shhhh. You're alive. I am going to call an ambulance. You need to stay still."
"No, I need to take a shower."
I kept crawling. He came back to me and helped me stand and walk to the bathroom.
"You need to remove that stake in your eye."
"You can wait for the paramedics but it has to come out!"
"No! YOU take it out!"
"No. You will never forgive me if I take it out and you lose your eye."
"The paramedics can cut it out."
"You'll lose your eye if they cut it out."
"I can't feel my eye. It's already gone."
"There's a bump under your eyelid, it's still there. You can wait for the paramedics but they will just pull it out. It's your choice."
"You pull it out."
"No. I can't."
"I'll pull it out now."
He would not enter the bathroom.
Metallic gold leaves fluttered on white tree trunks as I stared st the wallpaper. I thought, 'One eye is better than no eyes. He missed my other eye. I can still draw with one eye. I can do this. Oh God, Dear God don't let me lose my eyeball! I can do this!'
"You can do this."
"Should I pull it out gradually or quick like a band-aid?"
"I don't know. You want to pull it out the same angle it went in. If you do it gradually you may shake it and pop your eyeball. Pull it out like a band-aid. No, pull it out like a pin in a balloon. Your eyelid is acting tape on a balloon. Pull it in one motion but not too fast."
"Ok. You do it."
"Ok. Here goes."
I turned toward the mirror, grabbed it gently, prayed again, and pulled.
It clanged on the white ceramic tile as I dropped it.
"Oh my God?! Oh my God?! Is my eye still there?!"
I leaned into the mirror and very slowly opened my eyelid.
"Oh my God! Thank you God! Thank you Jesus! It's bloody and looks terrible and it's oozing eyeball but it's still there! Thank you God!"
"Keep you eyelid closed!"
"I need to take a shower!"
I just fell right then in a dead faint.
I woke up partially to him whispering in my ear "Someone's at the door unlocking it. I can hear sirens. You're going to be ok now. It sounds like your Mother. I don't want to be here. Don't tell her I was here."
Then he disappeared.
In bed with a heating pad taking more pain pills. Being stabbed with a "stake" has longterm consequences. :
What's my take on the intruder/perp and who was he?
I think he had to be psychotic to do that stuff. I contacted the Cops looking for old police reports & trying to discover how I go about researching what happened afterwards. I have a lot of memory gaps afterwards and trouble speaking. He tried to stab me with the tip of the knife in the head a few times and hit my skull. The only place that I remember entered soft tissue was apparently the brain area that controls muscle movement to your mouth. My immediate memories a month to a year later are of having intermittent difficulty speaking. Everyone talks around you and about you like you can't hear them. My eyes are closed in those memories. Was I in a coma? Was I dead?
My public content on Live Journal has been altered since around 2010. The private stuff stays unaltered or did. I've had the same trouble on another blog site. Lost an experiential personal story on that site completely. It was pretty well written. :
Not sure why anyone would alter what I write. I've been writing non-stop since about 2000. It's mostly unedited. It irritates me to get a "high school" editor that eats the good bits. I usually write when I'm emotional because I can't draw through intense emotion.
I tend to think all of these things are connected by a single group of assholes. The 3rd Husband thinks they're mostly separate unrelated events. The 1990's Drama being mostly separate from the stuff I dealt with when he and I were dating in 2006.
In the mirror my face has fine lines...
In the mirror my face has fine lines around the eyes, I didn't moisturize today. Today my eyes look like mine, sometimes they look like his to me. I see so many brown eyes I have to double check that mine are still blue-green. Army green and sapphire blue usually. A brown dot in one eye is the solitary daily reminder of that day. I can tell my eyes have not changed to brown with that tiny color swatch... :
His face is at a moment of happiness and calm triumph. A moment of boyish innocence, the storms are over. We did what they wanted. We did what they expected. His plot won our Freedom from them! I was about to answer that door and laughingly hug him, "I was in the shower" or "Sorry, I was in the back packing." I wondered how either of us got tangled up with any of them? Kids that lay Golden Eggs get noticed. It feels good to get noticed. Kids fight for that notice. Adults fight for that notice. I was shy, uncomfortable with attention. The attention from everyone was not what I wanted. I didn't hate it but I did not crave it either. That fit his own plans. It had been about "us" at some point, the point I walked away from the best Sorority recruitment offers any University Freshman could get. Sorority's plan Homecoming years in advance. They work at recruiting any woman likely to win Homecoming Queen. If you win University Homecoming Queen, you casually stroll into all sorts of jobs...News Anchor, Reporter, Weather girl, Business Exec. At least back then it meant that. I was surprised when someone mentioned that.
It's old fashioned for spouses not to have a competing career. I painted and drew and Art doesn't compete. The man I was leaving was in Art School. I loved him. It's a lie to say otherwise. He got swamped with class projects, I'd finish a few for him. The Professor figured us out for sure, his drawing style was Michaelangelo mine was Caravaggio. What didn't work between us was the chaos. I can't work in chaos. He wouldn't keep anything orderly. We slept all day and stayed up all night playing video games. My family donated the house, the car, his Art school tuition, paid the bills, took us out to eat. I was punished in one major way...my clothing allowance was cut off & they stopped sending me amazing hand-me-downs.
Why'd I even love a methodical man who got up in the morning whether he wanted to or not? Women adapt. Men rarely do. He stood there on the porch growing annoyed? Frustrated? Angry? Did he say afterward that he had a premonition? He rang the doorbell again.
Inside the house...
He asked me about the man that drove up as he was leaving for his appointment. He was suspicious of him. He was like that whenever things were good between us. A touch possesive, a touch over-protective, anticipating any possible glitch in his intended course. Maybe that's why they wanted me out of his life. He hadn't intended to be running late for that appointment. But he saw the man getting out of his car. I didn't know, I assumed a workman or visitor for the neighbor. He was gone maybe ten minutes when the door opened seemingly pushed by the wind. I thought he had already come back or left something behind. I raced to the partially opened door flung it open expecting him on the other side. And was greeted by the face of an unexpected intruder. I backed up "What are you doing in my house?!"
Short of owning a handgun, there was not much I could have done differently to change the outcome. I ran naked for the back door. He grabbed me by the waist steps out the door and dragged me back in the house. He was done with me when the doorbell rang. He had his pistol pressed against my temple. He had tried to kill me with a stake and a dull knife. I don't remember it sticking out of my eye. But I removed it later. The stake would have killed me but it lodged into my orbital bone sticking there. Adrenaline kicked in and I held my hand around the stake keeping him from pulling it out and stabbing me again.
I was scared when the pistol touched my temple but I didn't really want to be alive after everything he did to me. I figured the eye was lost. I had big sapphire blue-green limpid almond eyes nobody had seen the like of in my town. Women got angry at me for wearing too much eye-make-up when I'd put a touch of eyeshadow & mascara on. It's a more common eye-shape & size in the British Isles. Nobody else in my family has them. I could not imagine him even wanting to look at me after that. It's just how you think in moments like that. I did due diligence trying to save my own life, nobody could accuse me of seeking suicide. But the stake through the eye ended my easy happy loved life. He tried to saw off my hand with the dull knife. Everything he did was an attempt to remove the LIFE I was born with. I didn't have many bad lives with those eyes & those hands. I got asked out by phenomenal men without trying that much, marriage proposals followed. People open doors. Old women smile. Whether I was rich or poor people smiled at me. The Artist adored me. You don't really worry about love. If you feel shy, you pop out a sketch pad and draw someone. Death started looking like an improvement.
Then the doorbell rang. It was his life at stake then with mine to follow.
Anyway, I think I made it up just now...
Anyway, I think...I made it up just now. But, It sounds like something that one goth friend of his would say. Goth did not actually exist back then. But he always came up with Goth excursions to distract our friends from tedious sameness... :
"I don't want to go to an old abandoned grave yard at midnight and repeat 'Bloody Marie.'" One of us piped up.
Lap Dance cheerfully exclaimed "I DO!"
Goth smiled wickedly "OK. Let's dig up some Graves!"
"He won't come with us if he thinks we're Grave Diggers!"
"Yeah he will. Leave that to me." Goth smiled confidently.
"I don't really want to dig up graves and Lap Dance you are NOT allowed to say 'Bloody Marie' at anytime at ANY Graveyard and NEVER EVER at Midnight! But I'm in!"
"Me too. I want a skull for a still life I'm drawing."
"Yeah, I'm an artist."
"Really? I thought I was the only artist out here."
"Nope, I need a naked model will you pose for me?"
"That's insulting! You don't ask other artists to pose naked for you. Ask Lap Dance!"
"OK we all meet back here tomorrow night at ten. It's a long drive."
He stands there on that porch in 1993 waiting for me to hear the doorbell ring and answer. Some moments I'm in the shower washing blood and shit and semen off of me when he rings the doorbell. I can see him there, his back to the door staring at the car that drove up as he left. His expression untroubled except for a slight puzzled frown. He just won everything he ever wanted in his life at that moment.
We plotted excursion to distract him from schoolwork, he plotted later. He plotted how to win without being in there debt. Debt is a new concept to teenagers. The old men around Universities understand debt and they understand obligation. They understand guilt and they understand a carrot in front of a pony's face. They understand marriage. They understand sex. They understand the Bible or think they do. They understand youth. They understand power. They understand friendship. They understand Gay.
But they didn't understand LOVE. We were already married when someone threw out the word "Puppy Love" to describe what we felt. "Infatuation" was the more usual response. It's just "Eros" it will go away. "You'll get over him!" "It will be a fond memory when you're my age nothing more." "There are billions of 'fish' in the sea."
He said something different. He remembered stuff I didn't remember. When we met at his brother's 1st Birthday. He remembered the day he was twelve, I punched him in the nose for announcing quite arrogantly "I am going to rape you!" Horrid terrible awful boy! He remembered every single day I did not. Those old men knew of some of those days. The young men did not. I never understood then what they wanted from him from every one of us. Sincere Religious peity and Christian belief is what I believed they wanted from all of us. But I'm the key that unlocks that lie of there's. Every single one of us at school then rebelled throwing up "IF they want this much Religion from us that we are in Hell on Earth then we will have no Religion." I wasn't there the year we all rebelled. I obeyed my Mother and stayed home. I went to Church, I prayed everyday, I sang religious songs in the shower, I danced with spiritual Joy. I didn't talk the talk much. I just walked the walk when I was not drugged into senselessness. "Perfection is not a thing to be grasped by man...All have sinned and fallen Short of the Glory of God." I had sex with a man. I enjoyed it at some point and wanted to keep having sex with that man. He insisted we Marry. I didn't much care either way. I had no Vows of Celibacy, no Nuns habit. My Parents weren't even particularly upset by me having sex with a man. And I have no desire to have sex with every man I meet. Where do men get that idea? I married him. I wasn't sure it was Love. I did not even know what Love was then. He enjoyed it and wanted to do it again. What's the problem?
What makes this entire group want to punish every single teenager that has sex & marries young? You're punished with poverty and endless social chastisement. You're expected to drop out of College and "be married" and take your pill of life long destitution. While you take your pill of poverty, your Love is suppose to wither and die from hardship and bitterness. Or you become impoverished Church mice kissing up to mildewing old men for bread crumbs. You have one single chance to admit you were wrong, beg forgiveness of the old men and old women, and forsake whom you Love. THAT is the WORLD they created for teenagers who married young. For women caught simply having sex with a boyfriend or fiancé the WORLD they created was even WORSE. Rape victims were often considered "Fornicators." Teenage marriages were considered "Fornicators." Our Parents permission to Marry was ignored because we did not have the permission of the Group. A handful of geriatric Old men we barely knew who had NO POWER over any member of our families except us. A handful of young men & women with even less power over us and our families. It's a Cult characteristic. I have never really understood what they wanted from
Him that they were willing to do what they did to us, to him. Everyone knew what they wanted from me... a beautiful stupid whore out of a Religious innocent. I flirted with the geriatric old men like every other woman raised among them. Innocently. I didn't insult. I didn't argue. I didn't embarrass any of them. The interactions were friendly and respectful on my part. I was not having geriatric old men propose marriage among the pews. I got called a "Lolita" and had to ask what that meant. Things boys occasionally fantacized about and said was like watching a stupid bad porn movie, pretty absurd to a teenager. So what exactly is the big deal with a couple of teenagers having sex and getting married?
A cousin or maybe my Grandmother believed it was about an old man's grudge against my Family. My Grandpa was the Hero. Teenagers don't know about old men's grudges. I don't know, it's just something that was said.
I don't know what I want from this.
I see his face looking at that car while he stands on my porch waiting for me to answer the door.
Size 4...yikes...my bathing suit is not a bikini. A strategic sarong hides less than perfect thighs. More importantly it hides an odd bruise on one thigh that never goes away. I don't know where it came from. It looks like fingerprints. :
He came back for me that day. He didn't have to. He stood on my front porch dressed in the same clothes. He rang the doorbell and stood confident and straight waiting. He was there to help me pack. There were no dark shadows around his eyes back then, that 1993 day.
He was a touch moody and iritable in school. I tip-toed around him on those days or he went off alone. Then we all snuck up on his isolation and jumped him! My co-plotters were his best guy friends. He was a blur of brown compared to there contrast. He tanned. He worked out. He kept his light brown hair military clean. His clothes always looked about the same, boring and starched. Something about him transcended the dull clothing. The schoolgirls fought over him. The frat boys watched incredulous. A group of us conscripted him to a "hotel excursion." We'd wait till no one was looking and sneak into a hotel pool. He noticed me that day with all the "schoolgirls" vying for the "hot" guy's attention. I was the size 4 in an out of style one piece black bathing suit trying to swim. He was swimming trying to avoid looking at all the women sunbathing. The other men glared slightly at him. He worked out and lived on the beach. Where else do you get such a great perfect tan?
I'm not sure why we plotted so much to get him out and about. We should have been studying. His best friends became my best friends at some point. My best friends became his best friends. It was an odd mix of people. I kept "skaters & goths" and a vogue male model in my "blue" book for impromptu outings. A couple of guitar players with "wanna be" rock bands and most of the theater majors. I got invited to the theater parties and guitar play offs. We shared a small group of shy introverted science geeks. He usually got invited to Religious devotionals or debate competitions. His friends were the Fulbright scholars, the Lawyers, the Preps expected to take over "Daddy's" company, and a few military men. Most tended to look at me a bit like an odd bug. Women in that group are always very smart and usually very sarcastic and a bit boyish. He got in a few fist fights with one or two of them after we got married. I felt like that moment in "Splendor in the Grass,"
did I watch that with him at the old
Movie theater? That moment when Bud's Daddy takes him to the speakeasy in New York with the dancing girls, "Look Bud! They're all the same! Pick one!" "Pick any of those beautiful girls except the one you already love!" Every woman he loved got that from those friends. It's sick. It's perverse. Mom said half of them are gay. Most of them have empty fake marriages. A few pine after the one they "gave up" for the team. That IS there RULES.
I grew up with them and there rules. One of them made those rules up on an elementrary school playground before they even knew girls existed. You play along until you fall in love. Everyone knows that. You fall in love and school RULES END. You marry or you don't. Your Fraternity does not get to pick your wife. We had already gotten married when his Frat brothers decided "Love" was in control of him. I'm not sure who they actually wanted him with, anyone except me. They did the same thing with the beautiful girl who followed him there from high school. I was told she was his high school sweetheart.
The Sororities were about the same way. I decided not to join any of them when I understood. MY likely choice of Sororities did not date his Fraternity. There "approved" Fraternity was filled with men I'd known since elementary school and men they "let into" there group. He had been invited and joined "Gryffindor." I just decided to not choose, rather than choose "Slytherin" and be "forced" to marry another. I confided in a "Gryffindor" girl trying to recruit me. It was a painful but easy choice. That is what being raised in a House of Hearts is like.
Come Rain or shine, death or miserable life, come an eternity of poverty, come Hell's fire and man's ire you choose by LOVE whom you Love. YOU CHOOSE.
That's pretty good huh. I made that up just now.
6th April 2017
My legs are not shaved but my manicure looks nice...
My Legs are not shaved but my manicure looks nice. Mom used to tell me my hands were like my Daddy's, long thin smooth with deep nail beds. I gave up trying to play the Harp. I could never cut my nails short enough to keep from breaking strings without hurting. Mom wanted me to do hand modeling. My nails are long today, simply painted skintone. At my age they look like my friends hands did in College...no longer mannakin smoothly perfect. I just smirked about that. They look young unless you saw my hands at 16. Apparently, Daddy's are the same. I wonder if my biological Daddy would like the horrid awful rotten boy I fell in love with 1st? :
He came back that day expecting to be greeted with a hug & kiss & grinning shy smile. He came back having just won EVERY SINGLE THING HE WANTED at that age in Life. He wasn't cocky about it, but the beginnings of extreme self-confidence altered his walk & stance slightly. I did not understand him much back then. That walk, that talk, that posture, those little body movements or even the calm stillness that signals an uncertain boy transitioning into a confident successful man.
I had not made the transition into "confident woman" yet. Everything was know-it-all youth or doing what I'd been told to DO or dreams. We clicked at some point beyond attraction because we both had that in common. Everything either of us DID turned out "Gold." We both got the jealous attacks from peers, ignored them and spun Gold. Our University erected a monumental sculpture statue right exactly in the spot of my first understanding of jealous attacks. Maybe he erected it? He was there in that moment. Jacob's Ladder. Four or Five Angels clawing theee way up Jacob's Ladder trying to LEAVE this World. That's how I see it anyway. They're fighting each other for a place on the Ladder. I tripped and fell back then walking across what used to be an empty grassy field. It was the first time I decided to leave him for good, were we already married at that point? There is a stone where I tripped marked with the letter A. The day was the Anniversary of my Christian Baptism. He had rescued me & several people from the Gang-rape Formal Frat Party. I had managed to get to the exit before the Rohybtnal took full effect. He found me and tried to leave right then. I insisted he & our friend go back & rescue more people. That's one of the "heroic" things innocent teenagers DO! They try to rescue everyone. They imagine everyone actually wants to BE rescued! I was in love with him, no one else. I didn't want to make a rape porn movie with ten Frat boys. He went back into the Conference Room and rescued a girl he believed innocent and my date that night. The third girl trailed along after them rescuing herself. One of the girls fainted on the fire escape stairway. His arm shot out like he knew she was about to fall. He grabbed her and picked her up stopping her head first plunge over the thin railing. I hated her in that moment. He was MY husband. We all made it out alive. The drugs started wearing thin. She flirted with him sitting in his car in her underwear. He was enjoying it in his drugged state. The only one of us who had arrived late and missed the drugged drinks bullied him out of the bucket seat and toward the Campus Cop station. He insisted all of us half naked women remain in the car. I was angry and wished I hadn't worn a full slip under my cocktail dress. I hated it's black lacy edge tickling my thigh. I hated her perfectly pretty bra and panty set. Then I was glad I kept that slip on hiding my Mom's hand-me-down tidy whities. I made up stories about the clothes & the slip. I had an elderly benefactress who sent me her carefully stored 1930's & 1940's dresses. I was told my Grandmother had pulled them out of storage for me. I have tried to find there like in today's World. Mom last showed up with "magic wardrobes" filled with some of the most stunning immaculate vintage dresses I've seen since Grandmother's things. Hiding in the bottom of one wardrobe was an original 1930's program from "Gone with the Wind." Nestled inside was an old photograph I assumed was my benafactress. A young woman clad in furs with a small group of older men dressed the same. A waitress serving all of them drinks "Gone with the Wind" programs at hand. For the Formal Frat Party I'd been invited to Mom arrived with a 2nd hand cocktail dress made of black & gold lace. I had never seen a cocktail dress so ornate in an age when "black" was the only approved gown color. It was the most beautiful dress at the Party. Another woman wanted to see if she could fit into it's size 4. It was snug on me.
It was my dress. I was angry to have greedy girls fighting over my hand-me-down dress.
As the drugs wore off I decided to go back into the party venue and get My dress back! Something happened back then the first time Rohybtnal hit my brain. I "became" my brother. Shy & nervous got replaced with wild dare Devil. Police and an ambulance had arrived to rescue rape victims. We all watched from the parking lot.
I walked into the front door of the event hall. Dresses hung on portable clothes racks someone had put together at the event. I searched among them and found my lovely black and gold dress, wiggles into it. One of my black opera length gloves had been hung with it. I pulled it on. The other woman had followed me inside and out her dress on as well. She was worried about returning to the all girl dormitory naked. I had not even thought about going back to the dorm. I wanted my dress and I wanted my husband. Two voices rang out in argument. A rape victim was struggling with a rapist who had hidden from the Police. We chased him away from her, two angry women. He started taunting me from a distance to "come and get him!" I had not yet returned to my shy self. I picked up a pole left beside the clothing racks, a part from one not made. I chased him intending to beat him senseless. He got to the exit door laughed and threw himself outside. Like a brawny German Olympian I flung that pole at him. It hit the door and stuck there, quivering. I looked at my black haired twin and said "Did you do that or did I?"
"I'm not sure."
"I've got to see that up close!"
We walked to the door. "Cool!"
"You mean totally awesome!" One of the other girls exclaimed. I grabbed my half empty glass from my seat at the dinner table and drank the rest of it. We were smiling as we walked back outside, wearing the dresses we arrived in.
Outside he had returned and was asking where I had gone. In that moment the rescued friends we had left behind showed there ugly drug lossened sides. Pricks is usually the word used for the behavior they displayed. Lap dance woman started saying how terrible it was that I had gone back inside for "more."
"I just wanted my dress!"
"That's SO SHALLOW!"
"OMG Look at her, she is so shallow & self-involved! Going back for a DRESS while THOSE girls are being taken to the Hospital!" She started crying.
My mouth dropped open. I thought 'I'm suppose to feel sad & guilty? You don't understand we just rescued somebody! We're Amazon Hero's!' I got out "You don't..." when one of the men started scolding me in front of him. He wasn't quite the Leader everyone thought of him at times. He listened and gave me that judgemental scolding LOOK...then took up the chorus of judgement over my "shallow" personality problem. Jennifer looked at me and looked at them and started crying too. I couldn't speak clearly. I started walking away from them. I don't remember that clearly. One of them shouted at me something mean. It sounded like him. "I'm leaving him! It's over! Who cares if he fucks every girl on Campus! I am not putting up with this anymore! He wasn't there when we rescued her! They weren't there! They were flirting & touching each other. Womderin if sex at that point would count as "bad" or not. I'm a HERO! I Hate Them! I'm leaving him forever! I'm leaving him ------!" "Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!" My foot hit something in the grass hard. I dropped like a rock. I fainted. He ran across the parking lot through the grass. The horrible rotten no good man. I woke up to him staring at me searching for a pulse. He picked me up and carried me back to group. Jennifer has found her voice and bitched all of them out. Lap dancer squirmed in the heat of everyone's glares. She left with my date. My three best friends were staring at me. The ambulance had already left. Going back to the Dorm meant bright lights and lots of questions. I was apparently most affected by whatever we'd been spiked with. Jennifer decided to go back to the Dorm before the stroke of curfew. Being dressed kept her from being questioned too heavily. My husband didn't want me alone. They talked about driving me to the hospital. Showing up at the hospital with me seemingly intoxicated meant ALL of us being identified and opened to public censure. The two of them had been the only ones to talk to the Campus Cops. Nobody even knew for sure if any of us had been at the Party..
My legs are not shaved.,,
I'm midol hyper & still cramping. I have dark brown stubble all over my ice white lower leg from not shaving for a week. If it gets any longer my leg is going to start resembling my nephew's. Our feet look a lot alike! I have a red pump on my calf that has been annoying me constantly...I picked at the scab until it's now a slight red mark on smooth hair skin. I got angry at the Hubby ignoring me & had a tantrum...insisting he paint my toenails for me. He did not do a bad job...they're pearl colored...so when the paint chips they look like seashells. They need to be trimmed. :
I think he got mad at his Mistress or bored. Why hasn't he left me? He doesn't want to be a failed marriage statistic...and the Mistress made a mistake. I knew she would. He has ONE LOVE our kid. He's Rhett Butler except for that kid. The Mistress thinks he loves Children & that having his kid will get him to leave. He hates Children. He doesn't want a Boy because he got this little girl just like him with MY looks. She "bonded" with Daddy just like I "bonded" with my Daddy. It's a normal little girl thing. He's not a Creep. My Mom used to be so jealous of me giving that kid love to anyone besides her. A few years before her tragic death, she finally realized what I understand about my daughter. Children LOVE there Parents more than anyone else on the planet if they are non-abussive & mostly kind. Parents don't LOVE there Children as much as those children LOVE them. Is God like that? An absentee Daddy who doesn't Love us as much as his Career being God?
His Mistress came from a family like that. That's where she messed up. She doesn't get that he's the kid who LOVES his Parents despite how awful they are! They don't try to be awful...they just are...it's there nature. I play the awful Parent but I sorta understand my child. I work at keeping her heart alive & uneaten. He gets mad at me for not raising her absolutely innocently. I got raised like that. Like an Amish kid. You get hurt in the ways the World hurts you, and you DIE inside if you are a "Lover."
I tried to kill myself in 1995. The shotgun ricochetted & missed. What precipitated it?
I was assaulted in 1993 violently. Read my Bio. I base the date on timelining my memories, it may have been 1992. You meet people in life when you are very young that you LOVE like your Parents. Half the time your Parents hate them. You get in sexual relationships with them. If you are super religiously raised you marry them. Everything you do at that age is a product of Parents, culture & your personality. Your confidence comes later after those first sexual relationahsips. Those first sexual relationships generally form the basis of what type of sex you prefer. I did not want to marry or have sex through high school because my absolutely 1st sexual experience was that bad. I hated the boy. He was the child prodigy of family friends about my same age. Terrible horrible awful rotten Boy! It was apparently much better for him and seems to have defined his tastes in women. Long story. I fell in Love with him later, that rotten General's Little Brother!
He came back that day in 1992 or 1993 after his appointment...
When you become a Christian or grow up as one you get told you must turn over a new leaf. To make that new leaf "stick" you get told you must abandon your old life & your old friends :
& sometimes your family. It is expected that you will revert to your old ways & bad habits if you do not make a big dramatic change. Growing up strictly religious, reverting to your old ways means going to Church 2 times a week instead of 3 and nipping a sip of wine at Olive Garden.
Being a Creative in Yesterday's World is like this! When you become a working Creative you get a choice. Turn over a new leaf & abandon your roots or hide them. You make up a new name & dump people you loved as a child unless they can "Convert" to the new Creative life. The new life is a fantasy life if you make it big...homes, cars, vacations around the World, new friends, new opinions, new you!
Christians either paint THIS Creative life as the ultimate evil or try to use it for "good" or "profit."
In terms of actors, some are "Christian approved" and some are not. Reese & Anniston & the 7th Heaven Cast are "Christian" approved like the Hallmark channel. If you get that little cross tattoo & never mess up...you end up a fashion-style-beauty icon for preteen to adult Christian women. Angie, Scarlet, & any woman who has ever played a Villian or dark Character or sex idol is NOT "Christian" approved. But are they Christians? Who knows. The "Christian" approved Creatives swing Liberal & naughty everytime the extremely conservative Christians start tanking there careers by insisting on "Statements of Faith" or absolutely perfect behaviors or Church endorsements. I am NOT an Actress because it pisses me off that all those Christians IDOl WORSHIP flawed human beings but attempt to regulate which flaws are "Christian" approved and which are NOT. My Drama friends sought Hollywood Fame & Fortume and I am happy for the ones that made it. I sought Marital Love & Hapiness & a Career in hard Science before being assaulted. I get pretty pissed off when Christian's try to "sanitize" my EMOTIONAL CREATIVE WRITING with Reese style diplomacy or Anniston's hard Knox divorce from Brad! I get pretty pissed off when some mean Gay man attempts to compare my current looks with Angie.
Yeah...Duh...professional make-up, skincare...injections...personal trainer...stylist...& pro photographer VERSUS bored writer staying at home with kid forgetting to shave my legs. If you've got to pull out Angie or a 16 year old Super model to make me look fat & ugly...my Soap & water/sunscreen routine ain't so bad. Stop photo-editing bad skin & weird noses or double chins on my pictures! And the picture of me in the Silver Suit sitting on a staircase is ME at 19 & Newly in Love NOT just another picture of Kate Middleton. Granted we have very similar eyebrows. My eyes are bigger. Fuck you! I did not sell those pictures, they're stolen off my Aunt's hard drive. She's 60+ & more beautiful than a fair number of same age Celebrities. Why can't Celebrities BE themselves? Because they're either too boring or they're too trashy or they can't handle constant invasion into there Private lives like the old 1950's Diva's handle that! Live like a 1950's Diva & stop stealing what is probably somebodies most treasured selfie or story!
The other side of the Creatives Choice is to keep your life small and your success minimum and keep your original friends, family & roots....and keep the people you love!
It is a new World with new rules because of the Internet & Donald Trump is teaching us that you can be the dark horse honest asshole online, keep your exceedingly religious Christian friends, make even your 3rd wife & child public...and maybe have a big life that is YOU & about your skills & talents. It's a new Era folks!
Invite to read me on Facebook..,
I am having trouble juggling all my social media accounts & experiential blogs & keep dropping accounts I don't really want to drop...like Live Journal which was purchased by a Russian Company & is now heavily Russian. I LIKE having a journal that the USA Federal Government does not have immediate easy access to! This journal IS the Intelectusl Property of :
Amy Lynn McGuyer Fox
That's my Facebook name. Your welcome to read my mostly public entries. Get over attacking people for politics, that's stupid. My "Cause" is not your "Cause." I will not friend you back unless I know you in real life.
Both my Live Journal & Facebook are about Creative Expression. I was told Ridley Scott killed himself in your World...you are so fucking mean! Anybody want to replace Tom Clancy with Mr. Rodgers? Cause that is about what everybody trying to be Creative is DOING. I'm not Ridley Scott nor Tom Clancy...yet. And may never be. But I am also not Mr. Rodgers either. I am also half there age. Understand that? I am not 65 to 75!
I am a Creative Director by training & aptitude & last job. My "mentor" is so much better at Creative Directing he's an Omnicom Creative Director or something. When I SAY Creative Director I am not bragging nor claiming to BE this brilliant old man nor any of the younger phenomenally talented men & women. I have trouble in there World because I am more Religious than the bulk of them but not willing to BE a "sanitized Liar." I am blazing or maybe chipping away at my own path that defies everybodies expectations! I am not a Production Creative.
Creative Directors are multi-talented humans with a unique and RARE combination of Talents. If you make it professionally as a Creative Director, YOU ARE A CREATIVE GENIUS. What Talents? Art Director level Visual Art Talent. Copywriter level Writing Talent. Business Acumen. And superior Project Management skills. This is NOT usually fantasy & unicorn drawings & stories. That is a niche with people far better at drawing & writing those stories than ME! This is NOT about Pornography or Satanism. I Object to BOTH, please go back to your own Hell & keep out of mine! IF you think I am not a Christian because I swear like a sailor occasionally...you do not know what being a Christian is about. I swear to keep from punching people in the nose! It is called "Venting" and Human Beings NEED a venting outlet when they are dealing with psycho religious & political control freaks of any Religion! Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish, Baha'i, Satanists, Wicans, Druids, Agnostics, & Aitheists! Argh!
Stop rewriting my IP!
I keep multiple copies of my IP. Stop rewriting it to "clean up" my intellect! I'm not living in a castle even if my love child is. Fuck you! October to March we were struggling to pay our Mortgage because of crooks. I have not sold my IP, it's copyrighted. Stop editing it without permission! :
I sit down & write about what I know with passion & tears & a voice that's true. It's 1st draft. Raw. I'm not trying to impress a bunch of religious nuts by having teenage tea parties while hosting porn parties after hours. That's hypocrisy.
I AM A WRITER. I WRITE MY HEART NOT YOUR HYPOCRISY!
I would like to turn MY personal story into a Raw "Gia" style Movie...or MAYBE a "Sleepless in Seattle." NOT another stupid emotionless Hallmark special! I don't want to do that before getting the General's Little Brother's informed CONSENT. He's likely to shoot me with an outer space laser without that consent. Since he's already seems to have paid most of you back by sleeping with your wives & daughters in perverted ways...I suggest you stop...and think...before continuing on your path of story theft.
4th August 2015
Short term memory going fast...
Thanks to the Hubby for fixing my e-mail address. Password reset...forgotten...reset again five minutes later...did I capitalize? Reset again...ouch.
18th February 2014
I have had other sexual assault nightmares over the past year since beginning therapy, getting in touch with former friends, and starting a therapy journal. :
They all seem to be frighteningly horrific NIGHTMARES.
I ran into an acquaintance from my first year of University. I recognized him but was not sure from where. I have been getting back in touch with a lot of these friends and acquaintances after not seeing or speaking to most of them in over twenty years. That year was an incredibly happy time in my life...and ranks as the happiest year of my life. I have never quite understood why I decided not to go back the following year. I intended to marry a young man at University after a year or two and was pretty 'hot and heavy' with him. I had mounds of friends at the University, had made a lot of friends among the Professors and Administration as well as among the students. I was a very popular student and had actually started wondering if I might have a chance at Homecoming Queen when we got to senior year. I was heavily involved in a lot of major University events and that got my face and name out there. I recognized hundreds of people from my University when trolling through Facebook pictures. Everyone I recognized was at my University that year. I had mostly friends and a few 'frenemies.' The frenemies were a small enough group to be ignored mostly successfully. Several of them seem to be "single" older females jealous of my popularity with the older highly eligible single men. All of these older women I did not know and they did not know me beyond a passing acquaintance with hostility toward me on there part. The others seem to be a younger group told a bunch of lies by a jealous high school close friend. The younger group seemed to become friends by the end of that year. I worked pretty hard to make friends out of my frenemies. That's some of what I REMEMBER.
The initial nightmare seems to have sparked either my imagination or some real honestly repressed memories. I am not sure. What I have realized as I've dug through my existing memories is that I have and had several large blocks of lost memories. One of the most significant "blocked" memories from THAT year seems to be the most likely reason for my failure to return. Basically, an extremely happy moment between me and my boyfriend was turned into an extremely embarrassing hurtful moment by frenemies...aka a 'Carrie' moment. I remember so many details now of this blocked memory that I am fairly sure I blocked it to avoid feeling trauma over it. Things I am not so sure about being real is getting secretly married to him toward the end of the year. I told my current husband about that one cause I do not remember getting divorced! IF I were a man then perhaps i'd not be so weirded out...I'd just become Mormon! But being married to someone else might be WHY my second marriage did not work out!
What's weird about the "Carrie" moment is that I can remember forgetting about it.
I have about two to three years AFTER that year of almost no recollection of my life...
Then I had the weird dream...
After this horrid family drama, I had a bizarre extremely weird dream... :
The dream was first person and I was the woman in the dream...a beautiful dark-haired woman with pale skin. My vision flashed in and out in the dream as if from pain although I did not FEEL anything. Three people were in front of me and I was somehow in there control although I did not have any restraints on me...my vision seemed drugged or in pain. I could only see two of the people the third was a blur. The older woman was identical to my Aunt and had her voice. The younger woman looked similar to my cousin but younger, about twelve, and different. They were standing behind a third person. I THINK the third person was dark-haired but could not see them clearly. The third person was assaulting me in an extremely gruesome harmful way that I will not detail here. The woman identical to my Aunt and the young girl were cheering on the third person and encouraging them to assault me a second time. They were laughing about it and demonic in demeanor and expression. The dream was so horrible I woke myself up from it.
It is a second dream I have had of this Aunt. A previous dream had her loving and caring about an infant in a hospital with three heads and major deformities while ignoring two beautiful perfectly formed babies. The beautiful babies cried and cried and cried and were ignored.
I've been thinking a lot about the dream and wonder if it is a subconscious vision of how I feel about my families behavior.
Life update on Live Journal...
I keep forgetting about Live Journal...got suckered into Facebook...then addicted to Facebook. You go along for years thinking nice things about your friends and family members...then they invent online social media...and you discover People SUCK! :
I grew up with a Mom and family that encouraged FAIRNESS. Mom strictly enforced fairness in the family...I was not allowed to invade my brother's space and he was not allowed to invade mine without consequences! If I was gifted with something; he was gifted with something of equal value. When she bought him a car...she gave me the cash equivalent. When dinner was served one of us got to slice the cake...the other got to choose the first piece. Mom was really good at being FAIR! We were told not to expect fairness in the real world. We were told to practice fairness toward everyone.
I was thirty something when I realized Mom was unusual.
Right now, I am dealing with some family that SEE EVERYTHING from one perspective, there own. They are not being the least bit fair. Don't care one bit that there perspective is EXTREMELY BIASED and one-sided. They don't care that they tell lies then call the person telling the truth the liar. And above all they will NOT take a look at there flawed perspective and see someone else's perspective even when ASKED nicely. If they do not LIKE what you said, then you must have some sort of illness! I made a silly mildly-negative comment on Facebook about gay people and got pounced by a lynch mob made up of friends and family. I have so many gay friends it's unbelievable. And I am so ANGRY right now that "Politically Correct" attitudes on a Controversial "Tolerance" subject are policed by a group of INTOLERANT BIGOTS! I went to my gay cousins Weddings and get LYNCHED by a bunch of people that EXPECT EVERY WORD to TOW the PARTY LINE. They barely look at my Facebook blog or "like" or "comment" on anything GOOD, HAPPY or NICE that I post. But They sit like a group of RABID LIONS WAITING for me to SAY any thing they DISLIKE and use it as an excuse to attempt to destroy me.
I have been sitting on the fence about the subject because the fence is the ONLY safe place to sit in my Family without losing people. I did not want to lose ANY of my family...not the Gay ones...not the anti-Gay ones.
They unfriended me. One of my former favorites Blocked me even though my silly mild comment was on MY blog. Then this same favorite trolls my blog after blocking me looking for something to pick a fight over. Then she sends me an incredibly ugly hurtful e-mail about another nicely-said comment on my blog. The comment was the TRUTH and had nothing to do with gay people but had to do with my feeling jealousy over her driving around in a Limo.
If I do not put on a FAKE mask of FAKE happiness over everything I write on Facebook they get angry at me. I am seeing a Therapist weekly to keep from blowing my brains out and my idiot relatives want me to FAKE my feelings in ALL FORUMS. I got the e-mail right after I left the Therapist's session. For once in my life FURY burned away EVERY TINY OUNCE of depression. I WANTED to KILL EVERY ONE OF THEM! That was new too. I went and worked out for a while to think about the situation. WHY did I FEEL THAT? Basically, I am working to improve my life and get past sadness that started with unhappy life circumstances, some deaths, and intensified with a Vitamin Deficiency and Lyme's Disease. What I have been doing...seeing the Therapist, exercising, changing the things in my life that make me sad, and starting new habits and going down new paths IS WORKING. Repeated courses of Antibiotics for several weeks got rid of the Lyme's Disease symptoms. I am starting to LOOK and FEEL like my old self...my self at Nineteen.
So WHAT is there problem? What I felt on receiving that e-mail after my Therapist session...was THESE RELATIVES ARE TRYING TO GET ME TO KILL MYSELF! I suppose they have reason. If I'm dead they are left in near complete control of the Family Business and all the Business assets. I do not think my Husband will fight them on that stuff even though I told him to. What they seem to WANT is to liquidate all assets and waste the money driving around in Limos and going Snow Skiing. That's cool if they want to do that with there part...but mine and my brother's does not go to them without major cheating on there part...mine goes to a small child. Uneasy is the country ruled by a child...How many orphaned children receive what there parents put aside for them?
That's my perspective and how I feel right now about this. Fair? Probably not!
20th December 2013
My Rainbow Lorikeet was murdered...continued...
My Mom's favorite dog was drowned in her goldfish pond about a month before Mom's murder on Christmas Day in Texas. Her best friend and confidant died in surgery at a hospital a week or two before Mom's murder. The drunk driver who hit her was sentenced to 10 years in prison after he voluntarily took the maximum sentence for driving while intoxicated..I believe some one told me he was likely paroled after about 2 years. I have not kept up with it because I never believed him the murder. The DA did not pursue higher charges because they said he was not speeding...and FRANKLY, ALL OF US including other members of the family believed someone at the Hospital murdered her. We were told that she was sore, had no internal damage, and was expected to recover slowly. During the course of her few days stay, the hospital kept sending someone to do "Breathing treatments" on her. My Mother refused the breathing treatments but they insisted. I backed her up after becoming alarmed and videotaping one of the "treatments." The man refused to remove the mask forcibly covering her mouth and nose even when she began struggling with him. I MADE him stop! I questioned several of the hospital staff regarding the treatments and got extremely weird answers. I was told that the "treatments" were for patients who had been bed-ridden for a long time. I said "She's only been here a couple of days, THAT makes NO SENSE!" :
My Mom was very scared, but lucid and coherent all of Christmas Day. She begged me not to leave several times so we stayed until nighttime. I REGRET not allowing her to hold the Baby a final time before we left to get dinner. We got a call toward the end of dinner that she had taken a turn for the worse. We raced to the hospital and attempted to enter quickly. We were delayed at the entrance by a man who looked and acted like The Comedian "Black." I can't remember his name right now because I HATE him so much for participating in this even through a look-a-like. I had adored him before.
When we arrived at the room, they were in the process of attempting CPR on her. I video-taped as much as possible from the hallway until a nurse called the police on me. I told her point of fact "I hold the 'Medical Power of Attorney' for my Mother...I can video tape, photograph anything I want about her treatment." The Police Officer backed me up and got me a chair to sit in.
They were unable to resuscitate her. I am not a trained medical professional and do not know what are the proper procedures are for resuscitation. She had an adult ventilator shaft sticking out of her mouth and green bile coming out of the side of her mouth. I thought this WEIRD and recognized the ventilator because it was a larger version of what the Baby was on when she zeroed out at the NICU and had to be resuscitated. I took photographs because I thought it WEIRD. She also had some other tubes sticking out of her that were weirdly placed. I will not discuss this publicly because of the nature of the tubes. I did not photograph these to maintain some of my Mother's dignity. The tubes did NOT make sense to me, but then I am not a trained medical professional either.
I sat with my Mother's corpse for some time holding her hand. A nurse wearing a sports team lanyard came in shortly after she died and demanded I give her my camera and video-tape. I refused and gave the MC to a family member to hide, after the woman threatened to call the police if I did not turn it over. The woman LOOKED similar to a nurse in Maryland when I went to the ER and was diagnosed with the Stroke two years later. ( I got up and walked out of the ER refusing to be treated after seeing this nurse. The ER Doctor wanted to put me in the hospital, and basically said they weren't liable if I died at home after the stroke. The ER Doctor was ok...but NO WAY was I going to sleep in the hospital with anyone that looked so similar to a nurse in the Texas hospital walking about.)
An autopsy was performed on my Mother's corpse and the findings were different than what we were told by hospital staff.
I sat with my Mother for what seemed like an hour? but may have only been 30 minutes or so. I watched the medical staff and cleaning staff clean up the room of all the medical equipment and the bathroom trash. One cleaning staff person kept smirking at me like he thought it funny me sitting holding my dead Mom's hand. I mentioned the bathroom trash because my Mom kept wanting me to go into the restroom, when we were visiting her earlier. I wondered after the fact if she had put a note in the trash. She was VERY scared and kept trying to speak to me alone. Every time she started speaking to me alone, someone came in the room and she completely clammed up. She also wanted me to rub her back and LOOK at her back which hurt her a lot. I did not look at her back, expecting to take her home from the hospital shortly. My Mom was lucid and coherent after refusing to take the offered morphene after the first day.
I was the first person to enter her home after her accident as far as I know. I took photographs of a few locations in her home...the entryway into her business office. We had been there 24 hours prior on a flight stopover, flying home from DC. She had a pile of Christmas presents there and they seemed oddly trampled to me. The lock on her bedroom door was also broken if I remember correctly. Overall, the house struck me as ODD so I took a lot of pictures. I was convinced that someone had entered her home and dragged her out in her nightgown, and disbelieved that she was actually in an accident. I can not pin point everything that made me think this...but some things were odd about the house and some things were odd about her car. Things odd about her car...a pair of glasses showed up that were not hers. Her glasses were distinctive one of kind antiques that looked like John Lennon's glasses. We searched every where for them. I kept complaining about not being able to find them or her shoes which were NOT at the hospital with her. They "miraculously" appeared on a second search of her car along with a necklace she would have been wearing if driving. The necklace was odd because the chain was broken...possibly removed by paramedics....but the interior placement of the shoes and necklace struck me as odd.
We were initially told that the damage to the car was indicative of a high speed crash, but then later told the drunk driver was not speeding from everything they could tell of the crash site and other vehicle. There was one witness who I was told about who does not seem to have been interviewed...who claimed to have arrived on the scene FIRST. I was TOLD the drunk driver was an OB/GYN. This also struck me as odd because this happened 3 months AFTER we got the Baby out of the NICU safely. I recognized ONE nurse at the hospital where my Mother was from the Baby's hospital. This nurse did not attend the Baby but seemed to be a popular revolving nurse traveling from hospital to hospital. Most of these nurses were very competent and did there job at the Baby hospital. This nurse also seemed to recognized me and scowled at me. This nurse did NOT attend my Mother again after we arrived.
I recognized one of the young police officers or assistant police officers at the entry into the hospital as one of the young men from my Aunt's Church group in Houston. He was polite and not on the floor of her room.
My Mother was sent a letter of "disfellowship" from her Church because she began attending an associated Church closer to the Baby's hospital. This was during the four months prior to her death when she was going to see the Baby at the hospital daily. She told me about the letter, but I also found it after her death. It cited her lack of attendance for the "disfellowshipping." Half her Church was Airline employees and a few employees of some of the other nearby big businesses. I do not think they bothered to investigated WHY she was attending another Church of the same denomination. I had asked my Mom not to gossip about the Baby to her Church, and she had respected that. A LOT of Church people were IRATE with me about this...but my Mom respected my reasons...I did not want the Baby stigmatized by gossip about her then undiagnosed condition for the rest of her life...which is the HABIT of many Church members. We were still waiting to see if she had Downs Syndrome and some other bad news genetic diseases...she had NONE of these! Mom had a lot of friends at the Church who had split off and started a new congregation because the Church management sucked. Mom stayed with the original Church but maintained the friendships with the new congregation.
I was contacted during the three months prior to her death by Security from my previous employer the Airline everybody works at. They arbitrarily froze my "severence" flight benefits during the ThanksGiving holidays forcing us to drive to ThanksGiving destination. I got in contact with them asking WHY they froze my benefits. They said that they did this because they wanted to get in contact with me. They asked me who lived at my Mother's address that was on file with them...I told them "My Mother." I was TOLD that they had put me under investigation with the FBI because someone was sending packages around the country using there FedEx account number and putting MY NAME as the sender. I told them "I've not worked for ya'll in 8 years, but a lot of people knew my name and it was certainly on a lot of the company mail!" They asked me to come in to answer questions over the Holidays...I told them "I don't mind helping ya'll out...but I'm busy over the Holidays!" I told them my previous and last boss, the BEST boss I had up there and a dual American-Irish citizen, had gone to work for FedEx and maybe they should ASK him too! I contacted the VP's office at the Airline because I had friends there and asked them what this was about. I was TOLD by someone THEY sent me to talk to to contact employee HARASSAMENT services. I believe a complaint was filed. I never heard from the Airline Security again. However, I became LIVID when agents at my Maryland FedEx started acting suspiciously toward me. I said VERY loudly inside the store during one of these ODD trips to FedEx to people I believed FBI or FedEx security "This is an ILLEGAL INVESTIGATION!"
Every time, I notice that I am being followed by Police cars in Maryland...I see FedEx trucks right behind them. I went to pick up my Husband from a secure government facility one day when feeling particularly harassed. A Police car attempted to enter the facility and was turned away. He parked right next to me. I was OUTRAGED, so I rolled down my window and shouted at him "WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME???" He was very polite and responded that someone had called and REPORTED a car accident at this location. There was NO CAR ACCIDENT. The Police Officer went and spoke to the other person parked in the parking lot, a woman (I believe I took pictures) who promptly drove away. I have a lot of pictures of Police cars and Policeman who show up and park next to me or drive by the store while I am out shopping. A WEIRDER incident of this nature was a Police car that parked next to me when I was going to a Hallmark store. I entered the store and was shopping. A uniformed armed Police Officer entered the store after me. It was weird. I went about my business...UNTIL a FedEx truck showed up...BLOCKED the entrance and street view of the Hallmark store and two loud large FedEx men entered the store. THEY FRIGHTENED ALL the WOMEN in the store with there very loud ODD behavior. Even the female Police Officer gave body language of surprise and being uncomfortable. A similar incident happened on another occasion at the Mall, where two uniformed FedEx men started to following me into an Anne Taylor store, but then did not enter.
Let me REPEAT, this sort of harassment by private companies is absolutely illegal in the United States of America, it is ALSO an ILLEGAL method of investigation.
I am putting this publically because my Rainbow Lorikeet died today.
I hold an expired Security Clearance with the United States Postal Service gotten for me by the United States Postal Inspectors.
Forgetting about accounts...
I seem to have capacity to keep up and remember only a certain number of online accounts...Facebook, despite my dislike of it, seems to have taken over my attention leaving Live Journal a temporarily forgotten account. I need to rectify this by finding an app for my iPad.
8th November 2013
Still Angry about my knee.
Having said that I greatly enjoyed "Ender's Game." I read the book twenty years ago so I do not remember it precisely enough to say how closely the movie followed the book... but it seemed pretty close. :
I noticed the interesting take over of the planet's government by his bother Peter and sister by way of online media was not featured in the movie. Was that the 2nd book where you find out about that? Love several other of Orson Scott Card's novels...his '7th son' series is rather interesting....based on early American legend and Mormon legend. It is one of the few Scifi/Fantasy that makes use of uniquely American folklore to tell the story...most are outer space or Welsh/English folklore based.
This has happened about THREE times at the same Red Robin Restaurant... I like Red Robin. I don't like being messed with. :
We go in sit at a table get served, eat, drink and be merry.
During the course of the dinner I get a bunch of weird looks from various random people in the restaurant...figure it is because I wore make-up, did my hair and dressed up for a hubby "date." Recognized a couple of people but can't place them. One man looked a lot like an old college friend whose face I have been having trouble remembering...sounds like a cousins husband...but also looks like a former friend's husband. Not sure where I know him from. Other people the same but slightly more vague facial recognition on my part. Crowd is youngish 25 to 45 with kids....mostly attractive crowd...That's unusual for this part of DC...the men are usually attractive in a militaristic way and the women are not.
I get up and my KNEE feels like someone whacked me on the inside part of it. The problem is it's the WRONG KNEE to be my KNEE INJURY. Like I said this is third or forth time this has happened at Red Robin. Does not happen ANYWHERE ELSE. Did not walk enough on either knee to cause knee pain. I've been working out my upper legs and calves for months swimming... with the end result that my injured knee rarely causes me problems.
My GOOD KNEE is swollen on the inside side. So, what happened??? AND WHY ONLY AT THIS RESTAURANT??? I felt myself zone out once after eating... so YEAH...I am suspicious of food additives. ASSHOLES!
I hate Apple right now!!! They utterly and completely SUCK! The new operating system upgrade is terrible... it's like someone consulted Bill Gates on how to design it! One step forward TWO steps back! And they can't seem to get the annoying disappearing scroll bar fixed from the 2011 OS operating system. GET some people paying attention to what they are doing!!!!! And my tool bar is UGLY GREY OPAQUE! I have not had an Ugly grey opaque tool bar since CLASSIC! WHAT the hell is wrong with these guys?