Tag Archives: bi-polar personalities

Tossing the L word Around

Posted on by Standard Respond

fish tacos again?

fish tacos again?

lesbian clusters

can’t eat just one…

im falling in love with you…there i said it… i dont toss the L word around lightly! 

Response from love victim # 2:

Love?

Ambien Grace retort:

No, lesbian.  It scares the shit out of me!

So, assuming I’m not the best catch in New Hampshire.  Assuming you were fishing for wild salmon and I happened to be a can of sardines in mustard sauce purchased at the Dollar Tree, I’d be a good catch if you liked fish tacos!

Getting the homophobia, the slight over reaction to my addiction to food, oxy, booze, porn, and my mother, self-gratification and prescription drugs: I am really not a bad find!

I’d like to focus on the positive today.  After all spring has sprung and soon I will be able to prowl without my Mum or Daddy knowing about it and my lust for blood runs deep!

I am 5’3” tall.  Mother Theresa prefers that I round that off to 5’5” just in case a perspective young male comes dashing into town.

I am blonde but not really.  So, I have the intelligence level of a true blonde but my roots run as deep as my lust for blood.

I am easy and cheap.  I am currently self-employed.  Not really sure what my job entails yet, hopefully I’ll get some sort of a clue when I hit 30!

My assets are few materials wise.  I live with above mentioned parents and most likely will until they die or I die, whichever comes first.

I am an avid animal lover and can often times be seen working out with my parent’s dog, Beckett Couvillion the third at White’s park.  That would be me…sitting down on a bench patting a strange looking tall and poodle like chocolate covered dog with a large double scoop ice cream from Friendly’s in my hand.

I am not, I repeat, not nor have I ever considered myself a lesbian.  However, my mother might be okay with my choosing bi-sexuality if the right guy and his perverted ways come into the very white bread, strictly non-political and misogynistic neighborhood; take a right by the old Dewey School.   And, only if the offer to take my hand in marriage is placed upon the table.

There, enough said.  Stepping back, hitting spellcheck (which I am certain is incorrect most of the time because my spelling can’t be that bad) I don’t look so bad in text form!

Due to enforced parental regulations I am no longer permitted to send photographs; clothed or otherwise, to any admirers.  Therefore, I suppose if I were looking to sell myself short, as I always do, I’d have to put an ad on craigslist.nh.org.

Look for me there.  I’m the one with the fake smile and the insincere apologetic looking shrug to her shoulders.

 

 

Sex with a Lesbian Cougar

Posted on by Standard 34
18thcenturylesbian

18thcenturylesbian (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Religion is for persons who do not believe in sex.  I firmly believe that.  So, next time you look over at your 22 year college graduate, during church service and think:

She’s really such a sweet thing.  How lucky am I to have a young adult with so much going for her?

Think again!

I’ve never been baptized, I wonder if the Gods planned it that way.  Knew of my wicked ways years before Adopt-A-Mother, Theresa and Adopt-A-Father, Floyd, did.  Certainly my birthmother knew what was spawning inside her for it was the same sexual entity that spawned inside her mother 18 or so years before.

Needless to say, it is a Saturday afternoon, I have the afternoon off.  I always have the afternoon off.  And, well, I want to talk sex.  I want to give a lesson in how to Bag a Cougar.

The following stories are messages scattered about five months of hard work and hard sexual labor.  The following tales are not so tall in that they are truth.  Excerpts from a youngin’ bi-polar to a devil in disguise 45 year old:

I can’t remember what you said but it got me to tell you I wanted to get you in bed and fuck you.  With you being married, well it stopped me for quite some time….but it didn’t stop me completely. I always get what I want.  Ask my mother.

Two days into the relationship the trap gets set:

If we can get together can we meet at the conservation? There are pics there I want to get

And if you don’t want to straddle me then how would you like to sit down while I give you a show?

Pretty much between work, Facebook, texting and public sexual displays of affection, from Horseshoe Pond to the Hills of Durham, NH:

I had told everyone other than my mother that I had been having sex with a married woman right from the beginning.   It felt like I had finally won the trophy I had never been awarded but deserved throughout the earlier years of my young life.

The taste of Kate’s married but sexy skin still arouses me months after her departure from my life.  I ignore the thoughts that rise up between my legs and create a feeling of unabashed ecstasy in my soul.  I masturbate and think only pure thoughts of my mother or a teacher or a best friend.  It doesn’t help.  I still go back to those sweaty and rough but edgy summer days.

I discovered this Facebook message with little digging and even less research:

Um I want to fuck you and I’m also one very horny 22 year old right now.

I didn’t get an A+ for sex? Just wait till you see my full orgasm face ha-ha.  My face gets all distorted and I thrust back and forth, kind of contorted.

I have some faults with sex; the not wanting to go down, the times where you watch and I have to bring myself to orgasm, I am so completely wet over you though…someday I’ll get to taste you

If we weren’t in the truck id roll you over and ride you hard!

I don’t know. I sent the text msg.

I’ll just tell you what it said ha-ha.

I said “well maybe you should touch yourself and think it is me down there”

You should start being a little rough with me though, I like it rough.  Biting my ear, squeezing my nipples, telling me how hard you want to fuck me, spanking me hard enough to leave a mark.

And, one other thing, I don’t want my fucking buddy to ask permission, I just want to hear the tear of the flesh.

My white comforter is not so white anymore.  I wash my underwear in the tub/bathroom across from my attic room.  The third floor is a mixture of lavender, cum and sweat abashed in a sea of boredom.  Oh, how I miss sex.

Theresa had been right; I will never find someone to love me.  But then again, she had been wrong, I hadn’t been looking to make love, I had been looking to get fucked.

Censored Homophobia

Posted on by Standard Respond
Jael Phelps picketing Trinity Episcopal Church...

Jael Phelps picketing Trinity Episcopal Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How does homophobia affect a family?
Well, I only know from experience that cursed my 22 years on this earth from the get go. Mother Theresa and Father Floyd have placed me in an attic not only physically but metaphysically.
The eating habits of a child raised on homophobia; Ambien Grace eat with your mouth shut. Don’t bring up such taboo subjects as, abortion, gay rights and who you want to date outside of the male species, at the dinner table.
Reaction of child born unto homophobic parents:
I over eat. I stress eat. I do not care what toxins I put in my body. I have yet to carry on an adult conversation with anyone about subjects that concern me.
Sleeping Habits of a child born unto homophobic parents:
I sleep ten to twelve hours a day. I have no real ambition. I am sexually confused as to my place in the world, so I’ve become addicted to porn.
Social Habits of a child born unto homophobic parents:
My parents are both very well educated educators, the worse form of homophobia is the smart homophobic.
Where did that leave me?
It left me at a boarding school where I was assaulted and told via mother, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’. She didn’t want others to think less of her.
The education at UNH stunted me with the constant Big Mother is watching you. Yet, another attack, yet another, just put that behind you, Ambien Grace.
I stutter in groups. I have panic attacks when I take a wrong turn. I am frequently manipulated by self-hatred and knives. I become mute when I encounter any topic short of ‘what did you think about that rated G Disney movie you saw last night?’
Of course, I am gay, I just know it. But it is a forbidden fruit in the house on the hill. A fruit that will be buried along with my pride, homosexuality, hidden in the deepest corners of my attic room.
To the outside world, I am what is wrong with society as a whole. Twenty-something’s still learning to make their own coffee, still having the maid make the bed, still crying themselves to bed every night because at 22, almost 23, our ignorance can be deafening.
Tomorrow another blog. Tomorrow another plea for me to help myself. The ancient yet newly purchased camera may get dusted off and taken for a ride. I will lie to my mother as I have done so many times before.
Just going out for a walk with Beckett Couvillion the third be home in two hours.
Just taking care of my best friend’s cat everyone’s gone for the week.
Just trying to find the photographer in the midst of the censorship called, home.

Dumbed Down Ambien

Posted on by Standard Respond
homophobia

homophobia (Photo credit: the|G|™)

The generation I belong to seems to really understand just how shitty it is out there. The generation I have created within myself, doesn’t give a rat’s ass who gets hurt, as long as, I don’t get tainted in the process.
Let me explain a few things about Personality Disorders. I am a walking and talking example of not caring about the difference between right or wrong.
The clozapine and trazadone and anti-depressants, the melatonin and the two other pills I take are only small roadblocks in route to my destruction.
As a pretend photographer, I have attempted to find the homeless in NH. I have attempted to find out their inner workings, yet that is very difficult when standing in the womb of my parent’s checkbook. I have no clue; hence, the photos are without point and meaning.
When asked by my mother, Theresa, ‘Ambien, have you decided who you’re voting for?’
My uneducated and ignorant response was, Romney. Why? Because that is who I thought my mother wanted me to vote for.
I had found myself interviewed once for an online newspaper. Well, in all honesty, I pushed my so called girlfriend into letting me come along on the interview. I did not want her alone with my best friend Zoey! She would discover that Zoey had far more depth and originality than I. I cut that liaison off at the pass.
I had been asked three easy questions. No right or wrong answer.
Do you believe in God?
No, my parents don’t so neither do I.
Who would you want with you after doomsday has struck and there were only a handful of people alive?
Olivia Wilde!
What is global warming?
That means the seasons are going to be hotter. Wouldn’t that be cool? I hate cold weather.
So, let me put this all in perspective for my followers:
I cannot stand someone not liking me; therefore, I go out of my way to make their lives miserable.
I self-mutilate on a regular basis.
My mother and I have a weird almost sexual relationship and I somewhat enjoy that.
I live in an attic of my parent’s home, I do not pay for anything and I am the way the country is going. Dumbed down young adults.
I come from Concord NH and my bi-line is this; live-laugh-love!
Shit, I can’t even be original with my social media profile.
I am not gay! And, don’t ever accuse me of being so.
I drink like a sailor just in town from five months at sea. I, fuck, like a sailor just in town from five months at sea.
I’d rather you take a picture of me with my clothes off and I am a professional masturbator.
Ambien Grace is my name. My dog’s name is Beckett Couvilllion the third. I have tons of friends on the internet, drop me a line, I could always use one more.

Covered in Self-Love

Posted on by Standard Respond

So, let’s get down to brass knuckles, shall we? Certainly, brass taxes wouldn’t work. If I’m talking about sex; all language and metaphors have to be rough and edgy.
In my distracted, depressed and decomposed spiritual state, at the ripe old age of 22, I have fucked just under fifty people. Men, women and god know what else. Of those I felt I needed to scour with my abrassiveness; I have requested at all times,
‘Do not call what we are doing making love. Don’t call it having sex. I only want to call it what it is, fucking!’
Bet Momma Theresa didn’t know that about her little dyslexic and stuttered baby girl!
Fortunately, for all my viewing audience I have kept wonderful messages, chats, and Skype videos and have plenty of data to back up my current thesis:
Ambien Grace was born to fuck! I do not belong to the philosophy of ‘the love you give is equal to the love you take.’
As a self-fulfilled and self-proclaimed bi-polar egomaniac, my fucking was just for my perverted pleasure only!
Message number one to the girlfriend of the week:
I want your fingers back in me and your mouth on the place where we left off and then I’m going to show you a good time.  So maybe I’ll give you one more chance..
So, if you want your chance back? I want your mouth back on my clit because a little longer and I would have exploded.
I’ll try to shake Momma Bear loose tomorrow. She has a dentist apt at 3 so I could prob be free around 2!

So on and so forth.  You get the idea.  And, that was only our first date.
Currently, I am disrobed upstairs in the famous Ambien Attic and would like to interject. Over the course of five months this past summer, I had sex in the back of a truck, on a public beach, at a park n ride, in the back of my deceased grandfather’s Honda, at a muddy and infested with fleas, pond, up in my attic, on my parent’s wonderfully expensive leather couch (woops, did I get the cum off?) I’ve been approached by Canterbury PD with current girlfriend in tow. Pants down around my ankles and a shit eatin’ grin on my face. That po’ ole country cop just wanted to stick around and watch. Same goes for the time NH Fish and Game found us and once again, there I be with the pants down around the ankles.
I fucked in the grooming room at the kennel where I workd. I fucked in the training room at the kennel where I worked. I fucked in both bathrooms at work. I fucked in the kitchen and in daycamp at work.
I have over 17,000 messages about how much I like to fuck.
I had seen a commercial once about depression and how it can ruin your sex drive. It concerned me only for a moment. I popped a clozapine and a trazadone and got myself ready for some free self-love.

I only wonder what would happen if I weren’t depressed all the time. Perhaps, I’d be a sex addict. Perhaps, I already am.
Sex needs to be rough and mean and meaningless for me to get off. I am the master of my uterus and currently, the only partner I’ve ever had that has been able to give me an orgasm. Many have tried and failed out of sex and love with me.
My parents sitting downstairs; each keeping their domesticated bliss separate from one another. Each in their own hole. One parked in front of the TV. The other in the office. I enjoy the split second timing of Mother Theresa meandering upstairs to the attic. The thrill of her possibly catching me in the act of pleasuring myself.
To me that is the only drug not prescribed via the every six weeks therapist that relieves my angersticky fingers. To me fucking is what I deserve. To me I am only an extension of that primal need. The lack of depth to masturbating is the soul to my world of endless loneliness.

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