Tag Archives: Durham NH

Where did the Love go?

Posted on by Standard Respond

Working it OutYou have got me eternally by the short hairs…

I toss that vain and vulgar thought around in my head.

I am ambling into the Racquetball Club for another attempt at cutting down on the spare tire attached to my thigh, hips and breasts.

I explained to Beckett Couvillion the third that the gym was not in the cards for him today.  I just wasn’t feeling it.  I did tell him the short hairs revelation.  He cocked his head and seemed dismayed at the insult.  I patted his curls, gave him a kiss on the head and whispered in his ear…

Not, you silly, Mum!

Recently, I had found the need to come down from the attic where the daybed and broken fancy French bed and computer and iPod and big screen TV and pills galore and dirty soiled gray sweat items litter the floor.

Recently I put my life on hold…

Give me a sec. my mom is being a bitch because I left the TV.  What a douche bag!

Ok I’m back

No I was watching the women’s tennis final and I got yelled at because I stopped watching and got up for food, too much food from what she’s bitching about!

Don’t remember who I had been texting.  Probably Zoey.  Complaining to her about how life on the internet for Ambien Grace has turned into a three ring circus.  How I have soiled myself once again.  However, this time, more than Concord NH is in the audience.

“Do I wish I could announce to the world on Facebook that I’m in love with you? Yes. “

That had been a vacant thought about 4 months ago.

Facebook is no longer my domain; Mum put an end to that.  The family name is being tossed about like trash being left behind in an old abandoned trailer park.

On Facebook alone I wrote, spoke and alluded to loving my ex-girlfriend the psycho bitch: 1,961 times.  Stuff like,

Not seeing you for a couple days kill me…it’s like I’m not whole…

Seeing you was the best part of my day. The only good thing. I got to be in your arms and feel your hands all over my body. So I am going to keep thinking about the hour we spent together.  I will keep you and my heart forever.  You are my only love!

Good stuff, huh?  I have the same grungy sweatpants on, the ones that I have cut the pocket out of; ease access if you know what I mean.   And, even they are no longer hiding my full figure form. For added measure a little fashion had been complemented to my workout ensemble I have worn the ‘stained with chocolate but still very usable gray UNH wildcats t-shirt. My bra feels like a straight jacket and my two sizes too small pair of thongs could be used to floss someone’s teeth. Sweat pours off me as I push myself to walk the treadmill at least five more minutes.  My mantra; I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, so on and so forth.

You know what gets me?  Love.  I have given that word out so many times and it still doesn’t work.  Now, no Facebook, no Twitter, no MySpace, no blogs, no nudity!  I have been banned from exposing the underbelly of my genetic make-up.  Yet, all the pleas of love and forever-ness were nothing but vacant childish attempts at immediate gratification.

So, now, with dimmed down self-analysis in hand,  I am really pissed!  What if more gets out about my sordid thinking?  The kinky backdoor sex?  The pleas for more and more rough behavior.

What of the time sex got so out our hands in the cab of Kate’s truck her horn kept going off.  Legs thrusting against the steering wheel, honk, honk, honk.  It had been akin to an announcement to the patrons of Horseshoe Pond Conservation area:

Hey, fishermen, parents with their children and dog walkers, we have arrived, do not disturb!

I’ve found peace somewhat in knowing that I had been used.  I found some understanding in the idea that Kate knew all along I had no idea what love is.

Kate most likely was and is a firm believer in What’s love got to do with it?

Oh, well, clues are for people who can follow direction.  Love isn’t for those of us who can’t follow the clues.  We are the clueless unloved!

Ambien Speech & It’s Pathology

Posted on by Standard 1

Untitled

Ice cream and cookies.  I’m being a fatty tonight.  Eating a ton of sugar in one sitting.  I am self-destructive and I wallow in every minute of it.

I wonder if knitting burns calories, I should Google that!  I know that sex burns calories.  After I dusted the vibrator off and charged it up, the calories felt like they were melting away.  I’ve always kept it pretty clean.  Remember me, the one who claimed to avoid two fingers…I am a practicing homophobic lesbian after all.  Well, that was sort of a lie.  The two fingers part, not the practicing homophobe scenario!  Currently I am drowning my blues in food and clonazepam so I don’t think about it, the homophobia.

Hopefully I can convince my Mum and Daddy tonight that since I’ve sworn off married women, not been notified by the NHCLU, had charges in court dropped, that maybe I can go out and play with one of my straight friends.

Perhaps, Josie!  Mother Theresa believes her to below ‘our status’ but I enjoy her sexually deviant ways.  Even if the chatter revolves around her and her boyfriend and different positions they’ve tried.  Positions and visuals I prefer not to have grace my empty mind but they do anyway.

While I await the commander and chief’s decision I find myself dicking around with papers and notes.  Love letters.  Love messages.  Shit that don’t mean a thing.

“I love you so much. I dream about the day I get to marry you, live with you and spend the rest of my life with you every day I wake up thinking about you. Hoping I get to see you”

Useless little hook, line and sinker message that I had sent my married Kate.  The psycho-bitch girlfriend.  Gee, as I scratch the dander out of my hair; I wonder how badly I ruined that marriage.  Could I possible woo another unsuspecting woman with that on my romantic resume?

Something like, hey, you’re pretty cute for a girl.  I’m not gay but I did do a cougar last summer.  Did her marriage in pretty good while I was at it too!   Two strikes for Ambien, one strike for Kate.  Tru dat’.

Shit, there goes the Sainted Mother Theresa.  One thing about the two of the parental bookends being professors, their free weekends fill my family life with dysfunction and they are always up in my business.

Heading down the wooden stairs and passing by the off white painted doorway, I enter into the dreaded kitchen area.

“Ambien Grace, we, your father and I, don’t mind you going out but can you at least find some different kids to play with?  Knives, sluts and white trash seem to be all you’re interested in.  What if I introduced you to some of the boys in my speech pathology class?  The one’s on dean’s list.  UNH wasn’t that bad.  Maybe you could just come and sit in my office and we can pick some boys from the yearbook.”

Shit, fuck, twenty-something and now I am being groomed for heterosexuality.  I wonder if any of Mum’s boys would be interested in the nude self-portraits I have.

 

Playboy and the Mall

Posted on by Standard Respond
Time to Feed My Fat Ass

Time to Feed My Fat Ass (Photo credit: neighborhoods.org)

I managed to get to the Mall of New Hampshire today.  Used to be the crowds of onlookers, the groups of socially acceptable almost adults and myself and my friends, had been all I needed to get me by.  Hangin’ with Josie or Bianca or Zoey!  Laughing at everyone for being so run of the mill, so in touch with their fashion, disregarding all inner feelings of: I’m an outcast who am I to ridicule.  But I did and do non-the-less.

Victoria Secret always placed me with my well propelled potion next to my straight, dyed blonde and very much into self, friends.  The picture of me now in the purple Playboy bunny bra and panties makes me wonder why I didn’t pop Oxy way before the Super-Sized body in tacky purple satin!

I would and always will get the shit end of the stick when arriving home via Mother Theresa:

She would be like “I thought you said 8.” nooooo I said 8-830…

She would be like “You’re disrespecting your grandpa by smoking in his car.”

Me, well, grandpa is dead and it’s my car now.

Sucking on my Shamrock leftover shake, I think, wow, she scares me!  My mother actually scares me to death.  I only really introduce her to my straight friends.  Yeah, in all honesty those are the only friends I have.

“No offense but I don’t want you to meet her she’s a huge bitch about lesbians!”  I begged of every not-really-girlfriend I owned.

Someday when the moon is right and Mother Theresa finds her High Priestess card sitting on her desk of pathological bigotry via UNH: I will get the nerve to tell her-

“You’re a heartless bitch you know that?”

What a shame there aren’t any good sales going on?  I had just wanted to pass the time with some Mall rat in a maze exercise.  Bright lights, big breasted women and nothing but sex and time on my mind.

Sex with a Lesbian Cougar

Posted on by Standard 36
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.

Dyed to be Blonde

Posted on by Standard 25
The dumbing down of higher education

The dumbing down of higher education (Photo credit: E Wayne)

Thinking that Romeo and Juliet should be a cartoon? I’m thinking i saw it in 3-D rated X! I enjoyed the backdrop, loved the love conquers all idea and believed my life was a tragic comedy. Seemed nothing like the Monarch Notes I read in boarding school.
I’ll have to ask Beckett Couvillion the third if he’d like to join in next time, do some role playing.
UNH never did me no good. Drugs, sex, more drugs, more sex, assaults and my mother doing my homework for me.
Well, there is always today. Any thoughts on how I can start learning?  Def need to work on the edukation end of my portfolio.

Tru Dat-

Ambien Grace, Life Time Scholar of Living off the Parentals!