Keeping The Wheels Turning.

Lately, I have been a sad puppy, if puppies could eat chocolate without dying- amirightladies?!

I have been hesitant to write on "momwantsmedead", because my mother and I have been on good terms lately, but I figure I could write here again because the last time we talked she seemed to be in a manic phase that had me on an axis of compassion and fear. I dealt with that as a child and that shaped me amongst other awful things. I probably wont talk to her for 7 months or so.

So far, a sad start to the humor blog- I know. It's amazing how little you know when you're younger- how unaware of the world you are or your own meager place in it. I look at forty year old women and wonder how infantile I must sound based on how twenty year olds can sound to me. I know a lot of older women are threatened by younger women, because a lot of men would rather be with younger women and where is a woman's right to exist if we aren't being happily filled by a man?! However, I believe they want younger women because they don't want to be with someone who intimidates them- they want to be adored also they are so tight. I will end up with a man who LOVES a challenge and will be celibate before that, so that by the time I find him, I'll be tighter than a virgin. I will challenge him in ways he doesn't expect, (irreverence alert!) like when I violently try to eat my ear before he cums. If a man can't hang with the fact that I spit when I say the word 'fart', well he's not the man for me. He might also be put off that I fart when I spit.

Part of being constantly creative is creating. There are times, like now, I am deep in the misery of unresolved insecurities and the burdens of an unkind past. I see the world though an out-dated prescription and I'm paralyzed by the vision. The jokes come very sporadically, the effort to write anything is tedious and the snooze bar is worn under my palm. However, I have lived long enough to know perspective, that this will pass and I will be my friend through it. I feel a mix of gratitude and hopelessness that I don't have someone to care for or who I can expect to care for me.

I am at a coffee shop, across from a long, lean man. His brow is furrowed in a philosophy book. It's about "God" and whether or not science buried it. I am not sure what God he is interested in, but I am starting to think that if science is under scrutiny, he only knows one God and I am not a child of that fella. Either way, this guy has the sniffles and maybe I could give it another go, taking care of someone other than myself with the insidious entitlement that they meet my emotional needs when they've recovered. Ah, a pull from the past, presently plaguing my joy. No, I will just look at his exposed legs and imagine them flexing into the cunt of a more accommodating young woman while I sit in the corner cross-eyed, attacking the side of my own face with my own, outspoken mouth.

Buy Sir Richard's Spermicide and Condoms

I recently was a part of a commercial campaign for Sir Richard's condoms. I was filmed saying that I wouldn't let bowlers into my vagina... which isn't true, but neither is democracy, so here I am- a political comedian. I am writing on this blog for the first time in a year to share the following comment left on Youtube regarding the commercial I was in and my thoughts on it:

most of these women are in their 30's and therefore men dont want to be in their vagina lets face it the only men who want to hook up with women over 30 are emotionally co-dependent mammas boys looking for their mommy replacement. normal men dont want women over 30. not even normal men over 30 want women over 30.

At first I felt terrified that he was right. My last boyfriend quickly moved on with a 20 year old, who writes things that seem as useless a contribution to the world as damp kindle to a campfire. Meanwhile, I am 30, single and hire a male massage therapist when I need to be touched... which is about now. After the terror subsided, there was anger... probably because I am still afraid of any truth in it. I could get into a whole thing about being angry because I'm a feminist, but I will save that losing battle for 20 year olds who think they're feminists because they've had one boyfriend and own wool.

I was just walking down the street today, feeling so fucking confident in who I was, only to question it against the daft ramblings of a 41 year old male who goes by the moniker "signboyy"... "signboyy", ey? What is that for? Like astrology or do you hold them up for work? I like to think that this guy does see himself as the authority of manhood based on all his experience on youtube. Maybe you can be just as prolific if you start here, by watching this 55 second promo for Sir Richard's:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrhgJBpUa3Q

The Woodwork

I have been writing on my travelbolognie.blogspot.com website, but here and there, I come across something that just makes me write about something other than travel.

You might think that Arnold Schwarzenegger only had one illegitimate child, Austria, but reports are out and turns our he's back- in the news.

You work for a wealthy celebrity family for 20 years. You give birth to a child made up of the filthy rich Father’s filthy sperm and over ten years later, you are sitting on the floor with a tiny tv on top of a box around Christmas time. This is your legacy.

When I masturbate about breaking up the homes of powerful men, I almost always get some furniture out of the deal before I cum. What is wrong with this woman that this is where she is in life? I am not saying that the man has no role in this, but what the fuck is wrong with women? Why don’t we respect ourselves and each other enough to honor something as sacred as a political marriage, or if we don't, advance our own place in life ass a result?! (see what I did there, with "ass"?) This woman lives in Bakersfield for Christ's sake!

Also, the photos of her and her son are all over her Myspace page. That’s news also, Myspace still exists and this is it’s demographic: desperate home-wreckers. I think that Myspace should sue this woman for tarnishing their image... they might get a box or a 10 year old out of the deal.

Clearly money was not the motive, or she spent it all on a sugar tooth, but why? WHY WHY WHY WHYWHY exploit yourself and your son to this publicity on MYSPACE?! The thing is, she looks awful in her behavior, but Arnold looks like a regular guy and will go on to make movies again, because this is just an image blip for him. Reminds me of when Hugh Grant cheated on Elizabeth Hurley with a Beverly Hills prostitute in the back of a car and was arrested in 1995:

Hugh went on to have a successful career, just like Arnold will and these women will barely get by until they die. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is wrong.

I like My Horse Like I Like Tits: Bare Back

I am generally writing on my travel blog these days and that is called travelbolognie.blogpot.com

However, every once in awhile something crosses my path that extends past cultural bounds and brings me back to nature... where we all come from.

So, travel with me on this life journey- we shall roll through the meadows and dance in the wind. The sky will dress us and our love can trot/ gallop.

In the present we are free, just like a horse or a child without discipline. The sun bathes us like the water- so far from one another, but so close- like politics.

I found the inspiration from today's blog from a thumbnail to an invite called "Equine Vision Journey"... yes, I was invited. I will not be attending because I left my horse in the 1920's, but it's nice to know I can still return to a simpler time. The picture from this event was too small to see clearly, so I got on google and searched "woman on horse meditating". I don't want to say what I found is better than Europe, but really- it's better than God, so it's at least better than Rome.

Oh, Too Much Chocolate?!

I just ordered my friend a mocha from a coffee shop, where I asked about the amount of chocolate they put in their mocha, she told me about 3 pumps in a 16 oz... and she said it in such a way to suggest she didn’t even use full pumps. I said “oh, so not too much, then?” She shook her head and I turned around grimacing at the stupidest question ever posed at a coffee shop. I say that knowing some pretty stupid ones, I worked at coffee shops for years- hip establishments, at that... Oh, I didn’t work their long, due to my deficient proclivity to be chic.
“You’re my BEST FRIEND!” I would declare with indiscernible authenticity to the “coolest”, bitchiest co-worker/ manager... She would tell me something about working and I would tell her how we are like sisters.

So here I am posing a hypothetical question to a barista that can only be the evidence of a sheltered life and repeated head injuries: “So not too much chocolate then?” Like she was going to lean in with a slow wink, real slow- questionably slow, and after looking around to make sure no one was watching smirk at me and whisper “no, too much.” Her mouth didn’t move when she said that and come to think of it, she could have thrown her voice in case someone was listening. I turn around with the heavy burden of knowing the weight of the world.. BOOM, the back of the shop explodes and I am knocked to the floor. I am laying in a pool of someone else’s blood, it’s the barista’s- they killed her and now large black boots are running past my face, splashing DNA in the form of waste and brains. My eyes fill with the parts of other people before I go completely unconscious.

When I wake up, I feel like I am made of cement and would like nothing more than to lay back down, but I am chained to a chair in a 200 watt sterile room, when I see myself in a two way mirror. I have been shaved completely and am dressed in a hospital gown, everything is blurry and slow to advance with my gaze. I’ve been drugged- heavily. A voice comes over the intercom in a muffled metallic “Abbey?” “what do you want?!” I say with the effort of a scream, but the result of a whisper. “How did you know about the chocolate?”

You get the gist. I am very important and my questions reflect that. The mocha wasn’t even for me and now I am probably dead- if I continued writing, but I wont because this is a ridiculous topic.

This Is Today, But Also It's Life

Oh boy, I am so lucky because my boyfriend is going to drive me to get coffee! I mean, he has to because he chose to live somewhere that has nothing around it and he’s not exactly my boyfriend. He is my ex boyfriend who I sleep with when we are in the same town. So he tolerates driving me around in exchange of fluids and affection. I also buy lunches and stuff. YAY! He also loves me and I love him. I love coffee. I love my lap top and hula hoop!

He said he wouldn’t be grumpy about having to drive me somewhere. YAY. He said he’s resigned to his fate because he knows I can’t stay put and need to go places. I’M A PRINCESS!
He’s making jokes right now while I type and I just want to say, you could be driving right now- instead of making wise-cracks. We’re on the couch watching a documentary.

CORRECTION: We’re sitting on the couch, he’s watching a documentary and I am making fun of funny things I hear, as I hear them.

I want coffee now. He said we could go when the “movie” was over. He’s only saying that because he has had cowboy coffee (the cold stuff in the coffee pot from the day before) and thinks I will literally drive into the coffee shop if given a set of car keys, so he has to make me wait until he is ready to take me. I have given him two blow jobs since I’ve been here- with my mouth. I do that for his satisfaction and leverage.

The documentary is over and now he is running into things, doing his best retard impression, no doubt trying to get a blow job. Be right back!

Oh, I almost forgot about you- no offense, but I was shopping! Ordered a dirty chai and got my eyebrows waxed (eee gad!). I also bought a Diva Cup, which is like a reusable tampon. Environmentally sound and ultimately cost effective- BF commented that it will be nice not to have to deal with those “red mice”. I think the purchase was a success to have inspired that rodent blip.

I am going to make soup/ teach BF how to make soup. I want to go for a run, but have to make this soup... we’ll see. Also, I am hanging out, waiting for boy wonder to get whiskey, so we can continue our demise in Beaverton, OR.

You might read this and think something about me, but don’t judge a book by what is typed in bold, declarative print. Trust God and just kick back, life is happening to you soldier, so you just have to wait for the pay check.... or you have to create your own destiny- it’s really about balance. Namaste.

Light Rail: A New Age Train

You ever see an elderly person or someone with unfortunate circumstances and feel an urge of good will, but realize that every thing is hopeless, so you write a sardonic blog about the needy, in front of the needy?

Yeah, me too.

I am on the Max train, in Portland, OR, which is public transit for “train” or “light rail” (new age terminology). I am sitting across from a “blind guy”. I type that in a condescending fashion because I really feel like he’s embellishing his situation and trying to make ME feel bad. He has a dog, he’s old and his eyes are rolling in the back of his head. It’s like sitting across from a HAM SANDWICH.

Give me a break, “blind guy”, I am a woman so things have been hard for me for like three and a half years. Two years is like twelve years in dog time, so you can only imagine the pain three has brought me!

Speaking of dogs... I thought that someone might have brought a box of Popeye’s fried chicken on this train, but realized that “blind guy’s” dog just farted. Not only am I having to look at this guy every once and awhile, his dog is possessed by Asian shit ghosts right under me. Why me? WHY ME!?

I feel like I can’t go anywhere anymore without being harassed by the handi-capped or homeless. Where do these guys get off?

He’s been pretending to be sleeping... he just opened his eyes. Like that is adorable, or something. This guy’s been coasting by on his Anthony Hopkin-esk good looks for too long and it’s about time I said something. Blind people; cripples just coast through life and my boyfriend* has to get a job?! It’s just not fair... he has plantar fasciitis, where’s his dog?

This is what it’s come down to. This man got on the train and my first instinct was “how can I assist him?”. I saw him feel around for his seat and realized he didn’t need me. Well, nobody is going to take my power/ worth... not even *, because I am an independent woman who buys my own fucking latte (unless someone else offers to treat me- I am a princess).

In other news, I am liquidating my self-esteem all week in hopes that relieving that weight will make me skinny.