Is anyone else noticing that you are no longer following people, although you have not physically hit the “Unfollow” button?

I’m running across blogs of people I have followed for a long time and seeing that I am not a follower and I don’t understand what occurred.


Has this happened to anyone else?

Okay, okay, I get it…I’m effing fat.

“You should eat more salads…”

I have a new person to hate. Yesterday, someone at work said that to me and all I can think was, “Duh, I fucking know it already…!” I didn’t say it, because the prick is a customer and I’m in the kind of business that brown-nosing our customers is a priority.

But it reminded me, yet again, how unhealthy I am.  Honestly, I have been trying.  If any of you follow Run Wright, you already know we have been virtual running buddies for over a month now – okay, she runs and I walk, but it’s more than I have done in recent years. Plus, I started attending a kickboxing class hoping to get into better shape.  I’ve mentioned before that I used to be in outstanding shape and I have allowed my mental health to deteriorate and you know what else happened?  Apparently, I have become a major fat ass…

Although, solely based on other people’s observation of me, I’m also not blind. I see myself in a mirror every day. I look at myself naked and can’t imagine why anyone would want me. It doesn’t help that I’m not even attracted to myself, so why would anyone else be attracted to me.  I’m trying, but if I sit and think about it, I probably could stand to eat a few more salads.

I have been living my life in a panicked rush for many years now and it has all taken a toll on me – physically, mentally, sexually, etc.  I am not good for my own well being and I can’t seem to direct myself.  I’m not losing the weight I had hoped and I’m no where near having a fit figure.

And all a comment like this does is make me feel like there is no point in trying.  I can’t do it anymore…I can’t seem to accomplish one fucking goal in my life right now and now I feel a major Hilda rant coming on. I really, fucking hate that bitch!

…or is it me I hate?

Having a Little Fun Today: Things I’ve Never Learned to Do.

So, I follow a blog that’s pretty humorous and fun to read.  Today, Hot Mess Memoir posted about Things She’s Never Learned To Do and I thought it would be fun to post one of my own lists – but it’s going to be shortened a LOT, because there are a lot of things I’ve never learned to do.  Of course, as I come up with the list and think about certain aspects of my life, I can’t help but wonder if some of these make perfect since. Without Further adieu, here are a few Things I Have Never Learned To Do:


Change the Oil in my Car

I’ve never learned to change the oil in my car. I always take it to a service shop, not for convenience, but because I don’t know how to do it.  I understand you can save a little money doing it yourself, but I never learned how to do this.  Granted, it’s not like my dad didn’t try teaching me, because he did. I remember when I first got my learner’s permit to drive, my dad took me outside and drove the family car onto these little ramps and proceeded to explain to me how to change the oil in the car.  He explained it was important or something and all I could think at the time is, “Pfffftttt! Dad, that’s what service shops are for. There is no way I’m getting dirty like this, and besides, what if the car falls on me?  That would ruin my day!” But there are certain “manly” things I never picked up very well and this is one of them.

Swing a Hammer

Yeah, this is pretty much the same as above. I’ve not had much involvement with manual labor. I went to college to avoid this kind of thing; but let me tell you, I respect those men that do hard work with their bodies (and it makes some of them some really good eye-candy). Granted, it makes it difficult when you need to make repairs on your house, but I know I look so inept swinging a hammer. I’ve tried, don’t get me wrong, but there is a distinct danger zone around me when I’m doing it – think flying hammers.

Apply Make-Up

Okay, so it’s no big secret that I have questioned my sexuality, my gender and my mental health – as some of you point out, way more than I should.  With that being said, times I have felt girlie and wanting to be my feminine self, I have only dressed in feminine clothing.  I’ve tried doing my own make-up, after I had an ex-girlfriend do it to me once, but I looked like a cheap hooker that had a rough night or on a four day bender.  Nothing looked right about it.  (Actually, now that I mention this, it looks more pathetic than the satirical humor I thought it might be.)

Have a Meaningful Relationship with a Guy

Okay, in all fairness, my luck with women completely stinks – especially as my marriage is going donw the tubes at this moment.  But since being bisexual, wasn’t a thing in my teenaged and young adult years, I never really learned any kind of courtship with guys. With girls, I learned some things, solely because that was the accepted norm and it was easy to get advice and pointers from different sources. But if I tried asking anyone, back in the late 80s and early 90s, “How do I get a guy to ask me out?”, I might have gotten laughed at, ridiculed or even punched.  So, I never really learned how to be with a guy, other than sexually.  (Wow!  This item and the one above is really making me sound pathetic now and not the humor I meant to portray).


Okay, so I kind of kept to Hot Mess Memoir’s theme and only listed four items that I have never learned to do, because there is so many more things I never learned to do…trust me on that!!!

Anyways, although I was kind of critical of myself (I can’t seem to help it, it just happens), I also had a little fun posting this and I hope you all enjoyed reading it.


Low Energy: Anxiety is exhausting.

Today I am tired.

Yesterday, I was busy.

Tomorrow, I might be exhausted.

But it’s not from physical exertion. No, it’s from that ever so present thing I do on a regular basis:


I think, my mind never stops pondering, never stops planning, never stops trying to figure things out. I’m so used to it. My mind has been in a state of fight or flight for 15 or more years, I think.

Maybe that’s not true.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration.

Why must I have answers to everything?

Is it even possible to know everything that comes across my brain?

What if I looked for joy, instead of figuring things out?  What might be different? I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to give myself a break. I’ve always worked hard and a lot. I have always felt like I can’t climb out of my own financial problems. I always feel like I can’t climb out of my own relationship problems. I always feel like I can’t understand myself fully and keep trying.

What if I just quit?

What if I let everything and anything just fall our of order? What if I let everything come crashing in?  What would my life be at that point? What if I became undependable? I don’t want to be counted on anymore. I don’t want responsibility anymore.

I’m tired.

So, so, so tired.

What if I just laid my head here and slept forever?

But there is so much to do. I can’t give up. It’s a compulsion. I suffer so many areas to make sure I achieve the things I set out to do. I can’t stop. I cannot stop caring.

But for what? What does it really matter?  I can see the finish line getting further and further away the more I try. And what happens if I reach that line? I know I’ll find another line I need to cross. My dreams have not come to fruition. But time tells me I may not reach them anyways.

Maybe I have already given up.

I’m just going to lay down…

Let the world leave me…

Even if it is just for a slight moment…

SARD: Part 19 – Unable to Tell (Warning: NSFW 21+)

********Warning: This post is highly sexual in nature. It has a homoerotic theme and sexual assault connected to it. I am going to use sexual and vulgar language, simply because that is the only way I know how to tell this story. Some of you may be shocked at the brutal vulgarity, others may not. Some of you may find this hard to accept, some of you may not. Some of you might be aroused by this and some of you might be disgusted. Some of you might pity me, and some of you may find sorrow. Some of you may never understand why I wrote it and some of you might understand better than I do. I have always tried to be honest, but sometimes honesty is raw and not very nice.*******

I don’t know why this memory came to me, but it happened when I was a teenager, with a friend that I had…hmmm…”experimented” on a previous occasion. I’m not going to mention his name…mostly because I don’t want to. But, I had this memory occur today…

“Put your mouth on it…” his words sounded void of emotion other than lust raging in his eyes and escaping on the heat of his breath. I grabbed a hold of his penis, doing what I was ordered to do and put my mouth on it.

“Now suck it..”  Slowly, like he told me to do before, I moved my mouth up and down the shaft of his penis, taking his swelling member into my mouth and touching the back of my throat. I knew he liked what I was doing. I didn’t like this feeling I had. It felt different than the last time I was with him.  The last time, he seemed to care about my enjoyment in our sexual encounter, but this seemed forced – by whom, I couldn’t tell. I began to gag a little as he put his hands on the back of my head and thrusted upward forcing me to take him as far down my throat as he would go. His balls smashed against my chin as he let out a guttural sound.

Tears formed in my eyes as I tried to take him over and over, fighting back the urge to gag. I felt like vomiting. ‘This is nothing like before’, I thought to myself, as he continued to fuck my face with my on my knees and he stood in front of his chair. So many thoughts came rushing in as I tried to concentrate on breathing and trying not to gag.

“I’m going to fuck your ass just like I’m fucking your face, you little bitch!” came the words that oddly aroused me and disgusted me at the same time. It felt different than the first time he and I made love. I thought I mattered, but this was making me feel like I didn’t matter.  His forcefulness said all he wanted from me was sex. There was a loss of emotion in today, like loving me wasn’t going to be involved like he led me to believe the first time we did it.  Maybe I am nothing more than a whore? A faggot whore, I thought to myself.

Then, in a sudden motion, he yanked himself clear of my mouth and I looked up at him with tears in my eyes, gasping for a little breath and thankful I was no longer choking.  He looked down at me with a grin and I gave him my hand to assist me in getting up. I rose to my feet and he pulled me over and slightly shoved me past him. He put one hand on my upper back and pushed me over the chair. I knew what he wanted and I didn’t feel like it today, because he felt so rough, but I wanted the feeling of being wanted. And he wanted me, he wanted me for his own use.

“Bend over, so I can fuck you…” he whispered in me ear and I could feel his hot breath on my neck and upper back. He pulled my shorts down and I heard him spit on his hand.  I always thought this form of lubrication was disgusting and I’m not a huge fan of anyone’s spit outside of kissing.  He kicked my legs apart, unlike how he caressed me into submission the last time we were together. I knew what was coming, as I began to breath and try to relax. I spread my feet, giving him access to what he wanted. I leaned against the soft back of his chair.

“I hope you’re ready for my dick, baby”, he said, half giggling. I felt horrified this time.

I raised my head and turned to look at him and whimpered, “Can we do this another time?”

“Don’t be a pussy. You know you love my dick!” and he began to shove himself inside of me. I cringed, as the pressure of his penis pushed inside of me. I bit the back of the chair and tried to bear down to take it.  My knees buckled and he pushed me to a kneeling position on the arms of the chair.  This forced my ass apart even further and it allowed him to burrow right into me. The little bit of saliva on his dick helped, but it still hurt and I can feel the heat of friction.

I began to whimper a little as I bit the back of the chair. My forceful lover seemed to muster some sensitivity and spit on the entrance some more, providing a little more ease in getting himself into me. I knew it wasn’t for me, however, because he was pushing himself in further. Eventually, my rectum took him and he pushed in and out of me, slowly. I was thankful for it, because I was in pain.

His cock was huge and I could barely take it the last time we made love. This time, he felt monstrous and I began to cry as he began to pound into me. He grunted which each thrust as he held my hips into place, making sure he was not obstructed entering me.  I continued to bite the back of the chair, wishing it was over, in spite of my own arousal.  I didn’t understand why I was excited and wishing it would end at the same time.

I pulled my mouth off the back of the chair and became remotely aware that I was weak all over. He was holding me up as he fucked me. I was moaning, but holding still, worried about the pain and how to handle it.  He kept fucking me harder and harder. IT went on for so long, I couldn’t stand it and began to have an orgasm.  He noticed and leaned over slightly slowing his pace and bellowed, “I knew you loved this. You love it when I fuck you, bitch!”

I practically collapsed at this point and thankful he was so strong and could hold me up as he continued his assault on my tight hole.  Eventually, he began to slow and I could feel his penis start to pulsate, recognizing he was in the throes of his own orgasm.

“Take it out, take it out…!” I pleaded, and he finally did something I had hoped. He pulled himself out and it felt like my ass was on fire. He plopped his thick cock on me, between my butt cheeks and I could feel the heat of his spurt on my lower back as he rocked back and forth ejecting all of his cum onto me.

He began caressing my back, as I recovered strength in my legs to hold myself into position. I was still panting and began to turn to look at him.  A couple of weeks ago, I thought I might have loved him as he made love to me; but today?  Today, I felt disgusted. I couldn’t even fake a smile.

He backed away from me, and pulled up his underwear and jeans, saying, “Thanks. I really needed that.”  He finished dressing as I stood up and asked, “I need to shower, do you want to shower with me?”

I asked it, half hoping there was some sort of romantic notion salvageable in his being.  He simply shook his head and said, “I got to go, so you got to leave…”

I figured one of his parents were on their way home or something, so I put my clothes back on. Not even cleaning myself off. I felt completely used and disgusted with myself. I didn’t like anything that happened this time.

I drove myself home, feeling the sticky ooze he left on my backside. I was thankful to get home to an empty house. None of my family was home, which made it easier to get in and showered before anyone knew anything.

Although, I had seen him again, I still to this day can’t distinguish between knowing if this was a sexual assault or simply engaging in my own temptations.


AJ: Apparently I write well…

I received one of the sweetest compliments today. My friend Meg (check her out at Meghan Tregellis, Author) mentioned it in a comment to me.  She has offered, previously, to critique some writing for me, if I ever decided to do something….um…novel (please pardon the pun).  I have toyed with the idea quite a bit, actually, but I am a horrible critic of my own being – I can only imagine the monster I would be towards my own writing.

Actually, I think I might have mentioned, before, that I am very self-conscious about my writing. In fact, I am quite sure I have mentioned it, but I’m not sure if I mentioned it on this blog or my last and I am too lazy today to bother researching to find out if I did and link the post that I mentioned it. When I was a junior in college I took a writing class that the professor commented to me that I wrote at a 9th grade level.  Of course, I was insulted, and at the time I didn’t like writing anyways – in fact, I hated writing all throughout school.  I despised it…it felt icky to me.   I never considered writing anything that mattered. In fact, during my college years, I wrote a poem to a girl after we had our first kiss – it was titled “Our Kiss”. And since she decided to run off with someone else, it made me despise poetry too. I truly, hated writing.  But something about that professor saying that made me want to at least improve myself to a level of acceptability. Granted, since I went to an engineering school, most of the writing required was boring and drab, so it was (probably) easier to meet the standards required to do that, than to write anything that would draw people in to read. (And as I proofread this last paragraph, I can easily see the thoughts are not singular – i.e. should be more than one paragraph).

But to draw people in to read, you have to connect to them, personally. You have to draw on their emotions, somehow, I suppose. I’ve never considered myself capable of doing that. I never felt like I could extract the kinds of emotions from myself that would make people interested in me, so how could I possibly do it in the written word?  It was a conundrum for me to even consider. So, I felt I couldn’t write.

And then there is the idea of creativity. I enjoy using my imagination, but never felt like my imagination was original. I liked science fiction and fantasy, because those were the kinds of stories that were highly imaginative. But there is imagination involve, I believe, in telling a historical fiction, but that would involve the kind of research that I’m not sure I have the time nor energy to do.  Truthfully, it brings me back to feeling drab about my own ability to be descriptive in my writing. I question if I would embellish things too much. I ponder not having the correct words to use to connect people to the imaginative scenario – I mean, we’re all unique, so how would anyone be able to understand my thoughts?

But, you know what I have decided?

I am NOT the best judge of myself. Really, I am not.  I can’t even tell if I feel right having male gonads, so how could I possibly be able to assess my own ability to connect to people through writing. I’m a conflicted and confused person that does a GREAT job hiding him(her)self from the world in plain view.

I guess, without too much more rambling, I should say that I feel better about my writing. As many of you have witnessed, I have spent the past few years whipping out a multitude of poems in expression of my own feelings, I have spent the past few years detailing my own struggles in life, and I write in complete (for the most part) sentences and somewhat coherent thoughts. I have even taken graduate level classes that have required writing and the professors have given me high scores on my papers, so maybe I am more capable than I credit myself. Maybe Meg is correct on this matter. Maybe it is time for me to explore this aspect of myself a little more.

So, for entertainment purposes, only, here are some of the things I have considered writing about:

  1. A book on the exploration of God versus Science – Yes, the age old question of this topic seems to be overdone, but as a fan of science and a person who questions God, what if I had something more to offer to the discussion?
  2. A novel with a fantasy with kings, queens, elves, druids, etc. – This shows my true inner nerd.
  3. A romance novel about a bisexual man looking for love – ya know, loosely based on my own life, but much more interesting 😛
  4. A horror novel about a twisted spirit causing people to go against their own nature and committing heinous acts – what?  I do have a dark side?
  5. etc.

I’m not really sure about most of these ideas, but I ponder actually starting something, but never really get around to it.


Anyways, I am just rambling and I appreciate you for following along, but I wanted to share the compliment I received today and I am tucking this away into my Appreciation Jar.