I pray a lot about these bad feelings inside but I can’t pray my way through or around it
“…obstacles do not exist to be surrendered to, but only to be broken.” by Adolf Hitler, the artist.
How hard is life really?
On a timidly tainted with humidity summer’s July day in New Hampshire…One can enter into an entirely different realm then had been their life’s destination not seconds before.
Working with canines it is nothing short than learning from the masters of loving life. I had acquired such an emotionally lucrative job on a particularly tossed with dampness July’s day.
I had been spotted and fawned over way before the entrance of my lanky blonde frame and I suppose some would call it, creeped, by a vixen tossed about by varied biased emotions on homosexuality.
Her frame slouched by an unusual attachment to her mother, outward ego covered in confusion and then painted over with gray on gray apparel. Typically, not what I am in the mood for.
Preferably I would like someone to dress up the rest of the ‘possible’ relationship not drag it down into a cellulite jungle of ‘ice cream puddles and chocolate chip wet dreams.’
The hair upon this saddened by life creature not quite dyed and not quite ready for success.
The line sprouting from my soon to be supervisor and sexually frustrated admirer?
“My love life is like this… beautiful ladies typically walk on by me and I never know what to say.”
WTF? Where on earth did this sexually confused and obviously misread dysfunctional come from?
I sat and not listened and learned quickly I would receive no training. My other training in the wants of a twenty-something, however, were akin to Harold and Maude.
She did her best patting the trunk of her dead Grandpa Ed’s Malibu to entice me into taking a seat with stories on homophobia, sexual harassments, physical harassments, the Adopt-A-Mother from Highway to Hell and the birth mother with a list of boyfriends longer than a NYC phonebook.
The poor me I’m rich. The wah, wah, wah, Daddy takes care of the bounced checks. And, the I haven’t had a good lay since I’ve been out of the closet…guess what, I’m not even out of the closet. Were the indexes pages to a bad romance paperback book.
The drinking, the drugging, the unprotected sex with any swinging dick and Harry.
Had me choked up on resentment and lighted my way to writing a novel on deprivation and dumbing down.
Plot Line: This chic was ready, willing and able to take out anything politically correct and pull it all the way down into sex on the job with subordinates.
I wanted to be there to watch the carnage.
So, when the ‘not’ training subsided and the story began to unfold for the summer…the only thought that came to mind when she asked me to have sex with her because everyone else turned her down?
What was once your pain will be your home
“you know me and Jesus we’re of the same heart The only thing that keeps us distant is that I keep fuckin up!”
So, I say, let the hunger games begin!
adopt a trailer baby today…
Food for vacant thoughts while pretending to look busy and volunteering and chewing gum at the same time.
Mind you, I am adopted and know a bit about my heritage but I felt that being as shallow as the sex life of a one cell ameba…I needed to still do some research.
White Trash with Money, Mummy and Daddy’s bank account…cold hard cash nonetheless.-
These persons are usually ignorant, slovenly, slutty, and ill-behaved; some are also inbred. What distinguishes them from their RV-park brethren is their money. Somehow they have inherited a large sum of money or gotten a respectable job, but they still behave like redneck white trash.
*Proof that you can take the person out of the trailer park, but can’t take the trailer park out of the person.
**Untrue in my case, I do believe in hygiene I have skin issues so Mummy Theresa says, the harder you scrub down there the better. I work… I have several alias, I volunteer for VISTA and I’ve been known to work under the table, minus clothing, if the price is right but it is work nonetheless.
Real life birth mother Josie, sista Gabbie and I can’t remember the other twelve children’s names…are what would be considered the following:
Derogatory description for person who seems well-suited to residential life in a mobile home park and is distinguished by poor hygiene, foul language, slovenly or slutty clothing, and general ignorance. Recreations include drinking malt liquor in lawn chairs under tattered R.V. awning and teenage pregnancy. Close synonym for poor white trash. Can also be used as literal term for personal effects strewn by tornado when ripping though mobile home park.
That what fit the Brast’s family décor to the tie.
Personally, being on Ambien and being Ambien Grace, I feel at home wearing the same pair of underwear found on the floor board of my Dead Grandpa Ed’s Malibu…the stiffer the better.
Ambien Grace Saves Face
It had once been said of me. To which I felt I had received the highest compliment:
That Ambien/Annie/Gracie Grace…she doesn’t just settle for porn trailers she take the time to search for free high quality porn or subscribing (with a membership) to a paying website.
One thumb up for me. Two thumbs up for those losers sitting at home watching porn trailers and never seeing the end of the movie.
…my gift unto thee…
Ever since I can remember…my Adopt-A-Mom; Mother Theresa has been, well, how does one say it nicely? She has been the hair across my ass to which no salon will remove.
Trust me, I’ve tried. Of all the areas I which to leave blank, other than my mind and soul, my pubic arena and my since of timing, the area in most need of cleansing, Mother Theresa.
She has out and out disowned me for all the stupid mistakes I’ve made. Well, guess what Mum, I’ll probably make a shit load more.
In an attempt to be in sync with Mum, physically and sexually, I’ve asked myself the following question:
What is the greatest self sacrifice I can do for humankind?
Mother Teresa, the true martyr, accomplished many things; a self-less dedicated women in pursuit of the betterment of society. In total disregard of self, she became a beacon to many discarded and poverty stricken societal mishaps and human miscreation’s.
Mandated by mania and driven into martyrdom via trailer and it’s trash.
So, I’ve thrown away my pointless education? I tossed down the shitter any attempt at originality in my folly for photo’s of dead trees. My sexual treasure map reads like Teddy Bundy’s diary and, well, I’ve just about given up on any pride from inner beauty.
Yet, I rake and I study to be a liaison to those poor unfortunates. An agent with no governing agency.
How is it then that my self sacrifice pays off my poorly directed Bachelor’s of Not so Fine Art? How is it that tax payers, poor and not quite so poor, are willing to pay for my relocation?
What the fuck? I’m confused enough about this selflessness crap!
Isn’t a society, small or large, better off, choosing it’s own particular needs? Does it not behoove Winchester Virginia, the Bronx or Anywhere, Impoverished, USA; to make those decisions for themselves?
And, didn’t I read in my sloppy way somewhere that FEMA on a whole is an over fed canker sore wrapped around US debt? Didn’t we really make a mess of things in the last two disasters?
I sit at a desk on occasion and listen to old and young hippies wanting to make me a seedling from their blooming righteous flower. I sit and don’t comprehend half of what I read. I have a learning disorder for Christ‘s sake. I meander and study over righteous thoughts and think, I have no single minded purpose and I am an addict who is unwilling to let go.
I don’t pay taxes. Or, at least, I don’t think I do. Father Floyd takes care of that for me. But if I did, I’d be pissed that martyrdom isn’t taxed!
Ambien, not by the Grace of God, Grace!
Though marketed to heterosexual men, lesbian pulp fiction provided an identity to isolated women in the 1950s. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
‘does not play well with others..’
The bully up in the classroom? The rapist lurking ’round the crevices of Whitamore Stadium? The brick and mortar that made up the fine privileges of the privileged few at UNH?
Did Beckett Couvillion know I was a lesbian? Probably, he’s always been the smarter of the two of us.
My birth mother Josie, she knew. She said these exact words to me. Well, honestly, she messaged me but you get the idea.
“Ambien, if your other mother finds out you’re getting around with a married woman, she’ll kill her or throw her in jail.”
My best friend knew. Not sure which best friend it was at the time, I’ve had so many, but I told the whole friend community on Facebook. Worked like a charm once I used Friend Finder.
Friends, true and blue until the end. Or, until I decide to quit drinking!
Everyone knew but po’ ole Mother Theresa. I can see her sitting behind her speechless with the pathology of unwarranted hatred, desk, right now. Wanting to go for a jog! Wanting to find me a suitor, boned in! Chomping at the bit and hoping that this whole sordid affair didn’t get publicized via UNH trash talk.
I wish I could have told her sooner. As it was, I was called disgusting, unlovable and despicable. Nevermind Kate. Theresa was ready to get the Father Floyd Calvary out!
Fuck, that would have been a sight. Father Floyd embodied by over the top beer and fattening foods and in this corner, Kate. Middle aged lesbian with an attitude and a ‘does not play well with others’ way of dealing with the world.
Hands down, Kate would kick some might white and tighty whitey’s butt. If Floyd didn’t have that whole missing testes thing going on Kate probably would have served those up to her ruthless but proud Heinz 57 mutt.
No matter, I’m not really gay. I just play a lesbian on the short-circuit TV that runs through my stout and not out frame.
May is coming up soon. So long Virginia. Along comes a break from volunteering to clean up water fountains at the local park and I’m right smack dab in the ‘when are you going to grow up’ land once again.
Fuck Kate. The whole thing was a set up. I know she wanted Zoey first. I just happened to be more desperate looking. More worthy of her ‘set the phobia’s not straight’ writer’s quest she’d been on.
So, the book will come out. The nudity will leave many readers in awe and asking themselves, ‘I’m not so obese after all, am I?’
The sexual depravity in the woods, up the butt, tied up, spanked and yanked will be on the cover of the Concord Monitor.
‘Your Hometown Hero, Ambien Grace’
Shit, ‘ya, bring it on.
Choice is all we have
Woof, who let the dogs out! Wow, some of these self-portraits really, really, really, explain the need for one piece bathing suits!
Honestly, I’m surprised that Mother Theresa didn’t put a stop to that nastiness. Fat poking out here. extra breast flaps slapping out in the wind and me with a ‘look Ma I’m having fun’ grin on my face. Just like a small child visiting Disneyland for the first time.
Too bad, the photo was taken when I attempting adulthood. But you get the picture. I actually know why Mum never stopped me from showing the camel toe to Martha’s Vineyard. She wants herself an authentic and life like Barbie Doll.
And, given that my eating habits have not regressed she’s made due with the Over Abundant NH idealism of a Barbie Doll.
So, Mother Theresa and all the toddlers in tiaras with the southern comfort baby momma’s, this one’s for you:
It’s alright forty days of rain my skin stretched our from the growing pain
I’d be nice to have an explanation, but it’s alright
And it’s alright if you hate that way, hate me cause I’m different, hate me cause I’m gay
Truth of the matter come around one day so it’s alright
I look at this lifeline stretched way all across my hand
I look at the burned out empty like a plague across the land
And for everything I learn there are two I don’t understand
That’s why I’m still on a search through the weather strewn church I’m doing the best
I can and it’s alright
And it’s alright though we worry and fuss, we can’t get over the hump or get over us
It seems easier to push than to let go and trust but it’s alright
When we get a little distance some things get clearer
Give em the space our hearts grow nearer I ran as hard as I could and still ended up here
but it’s alright I look at this lifeline stretched way all across my hand
I look at the fires of hatred burning up the bounty of this beautiful land
I know I’m small in a way but I know I’m strong
And it’s my thirst that brought me to the water when I give it all up then she carries me on and it’s alright
Yeah it’s alright
And it’s alright though I feel afraid my plans in pieces my plans mislaid
It’s the will of the way the will of the way the will of the only way
that could have brought me here today and it’s alright.
I never understood gay, anyway-
Ambien Grace, Concord NH