Category Archives: UNH Blog

Dirty Thoughts & Clean Pills

Posted on by Standard 1

The Twilight series is not everyone’s cup of distortion but I find the absolute break from reality a relief.  As the movie theater clears itself of denizens of make believe.  As the seats empty and the matinee masturbator’s club descends on the parking lot.  I, Ambien Grace, am left alone with my unusual perception of the facts.

I had planned on joining AmeriCorps; make something right about this wrong world.  However, the uniforms are ugly, I’d have to pass periodic drug tests and I am unstable with and without medication.  So, check that idea off the self-improvement list.

I had hoped to do something in the sexual deviation part of the entertainment industry.  I even planned out the scenes on my computer along with some not so flattering photos of myself naked.

The scene would open dirty, dusty and downright derelict.  The spoken word between the two main characters would come from my own trunk of torrid thoughts:

So I get you a little excited with my hands on the inside of your thighs with a little bit of pressure. You’re gripping onto the railing as I put my hands up your shirt feeling your breast, squeezing them just a little bit.

I force you to get up and I pull your pants down. I get you to straddle me again only this time I feel how wet you are. I play with your clit for a bit, getting you more and more excited. I stop for a while to get you to beg for more. I start kissing down your neck to your chest. After a while I surprise you and put my fingers deep in you. . You start grinding into my fingers until you get to a breaking point and you slump over my shoulder!

You; my leading lady, tell me, Ambien, stop!

I in turn, don’t!  More anger and more pride arise from my barren soul until, visions of my mother float through my head!

Happens every time!

Like Viagra, my pills get me pumped.  Without them I am not whole.

So, the unfortunate scene only worsens until I have achieved my pill erection.  The scene of sex is now a scene of dismay between the two main characters:

“I’m a recovering lesbian alcoholic…”

Then I pause for thought.

“Sometimes I just want to give up and drink again. But I know in the back of my mind I don’t want to end up like my birth father” I cry to the leading lady of Ambien dreams.

Yet, another, dramatic awkward moment for poetry sake and I take a breath and whine:

“Let me see how many pills I have.

Fuck I only have 4!

I don’t want to put it off though…the fucking!  But, I took a ton last night

And I don’t know when my order comes in.

It’s just not a good time because I’m not even close to my reg dose of anxiety/depression pills…it’s why I’ve been dizzy, shaking, and moody for the past week.

i wish i had more of my anxiety pills.”

Quote, unquote.  My movie career ends as quickly as it starts.  No, ‘Ambien Grace Does New Hampshire Hard.’

I beg the Leading Lady,A Faceless Mask hold that thought and I’ll get back to you, I just need the pills to kick in!

As I get up to leave the movie theater of present and ‘real’ time, again, a tear floats from the corner of my eye and graces my cheek.  The parking lot is vacant other than for my Honda.  What I am?  Am I a pill with lips?  Am I my mother’s weakest link?  A kink in the chain of depression amongst drunken college graduates!

I’m not OK with Gay!

Posted on by Standard 13

Identity on CrackIf I were to die tomorrow, found by an unknown and the parents were called in for questioning, if Mother Theresa and Father Floyd needed to identify the body; they would not know want to look for!
Up at the Cinema on the heights I currently sit, awaiting the fantasy film of the week. I am invisible, I am alone and I am no one to anyone around me.
What worries me is this;
My mother picks out my clothes. She won’t let me wear men’s jeans. We have matching shoes. She makes my appointments for spray tanning during the winter months because as she puts it,
“Ambien, you just look so pasty and unhealthy!”
Theresa does not allow me to wear hats for hats remind her of gay people. She gives me my chore list in the morning and I receive no ‘Atta girl’ until the list is done.
When I volunteer somewhere to make this world a better place, Theresa has already told me that I am not allowed to touch the paperwork.
My mother dictates where I go, who I see and my sexual identity.
My father. Well he just balances my checkbook?
For all outward appearances in the tiny theater awaiting Bella my heroine, no one would know I was a college graduate. My life is planned; therefore, I need not worry.
Yet, worry I do. I know it is unusual for anyone to tell another adult who they can and cannot love. It is just that I don’t think I care that much.
I live for the Bella’s of this world, the Pocahontas’s, the Twilight’s last gleaming and eternal love affair.
Do I have a need to ride off into the sunset with a woman? No!
Women and I don’t mix because my mother tells me so. They are too controlling, too wanting of my attention and too much a female and not accepted by the moral majority.
But, Mother, the sex is good with women!
When I sit alone in the dusty theater watching an actress on the big screen, I hold my breath and think, I could do that! I could nail her!
Are women attractive to me? Certainly not! Older women, younger women, women friends should never be allowed to enter the forbidden zone, sex devientcy!
So, I make the most of it with toys and the occasional, masturbating in the back of the movie theater. I am quiet in my rhymic responses to myself. I arch and ache at the ‘once upon a time’ scenario.
I’ve been told by many that I don’t stand a chance with a ‘real’ relationship. A ‘real’ relationship would require giving of one’s self and understanding that identity is part of the process.
As the Twilight begins to open, I wonder about my mother and me. Our sordid relationship. She is just out of reach, just one Clonapin short of stealing my identity.

the Dialogue

Posted on by Standard 1

How does the dialogue between a very juvenile, ill-repressented young adult and a married woman start?

That will be coming to a message near you very shortly.

Jumping into the thick of it now, however, right before the disowning of my Adopt-A-Family, shortly after the cutting with a dull knife, the uncovering of the Stone Church that surrounds my mood goes something like this:

Me:

At least I didn’t fuck someone and tell you.

I just can’t believe you did that and told me.

After telling me you love me non the less.

I need to go. I have to be up early.

Gnight..

God I just can’t believe you.

Re-read everything tomorrow and tell me not to be upset. How the sex was good with her, now know and telling me was good for me.

FUCK!

Kate:

I’ve tried for a month to let you go.  Your moods aren’t paved with good intentions!

Me:

Like I understand what the means!

A month ago, I understood what it was coming down to and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Me

I’m not angry.

I just don’t know how many more night’s I can go by crying myself to sleep.

I don’t want to loose you.

Kate:

I told you I’d do my best to get down on Sunday to see you!

Me:

I know but you said yesterday we could see each other tomorrow!!

Its ok though. I can wait.

Kate:

When did you want to get together?  I’m going shopping with Kristen in the morning.

Me:

Are you in the same bed with her again?

I hate it when you rub it in my face.

Kate:

What are you talking about?  Did you take your meds yet?

Me:

I just can’t get enough of you.  You know what your being with her does to me.

That it will always be Kris and not me.

Kate:

Sigh.

Me:

Remember in my sleeping med daze I was talking about recording your voice so I could just play it at night and fall asleep.  I just want you out of her bed.  And,.  I just want to kill myself when I know it will never be me that gets you in her bed.Trash Talk

That’s it end of conversation.  Bad dialogue, right?  I have more where that came from.  Miles upon miles of sexually transmitted messages with a little adult conversation sprinkled in from time to time.

Skype dates where I bared it all for Kate.  Video chats where all she wanted to do was set up a website.  And, all I did was feel myself up!

Had I known the end was near?  Yes, I always do.  There is always an end with me.  Never middle or a happy ever after.

I’ve come to realize the only true dialogue I will ever have is in the car with Mother Theresa warning me of the pitfalls of homosexuality and my rhythmic and patented, ‘true dat.’