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The Whole Chicken Gay thing.


As a good many of you know, it is extremely difficult to hide behind yourself, lie to yourself and let the world see the front that is what you want people to see. It is difficult to pretend to be a Christian, a Jew, a thug, a ratfink, a gambler or toad sucking wormbag, if that is not what you really are. For the past, oh…year or so a company has been saying they are passionately against homosexual relationships. I won’t say their name, mainly because I’m too lazy to google how to spell it. I’ve known about it for at least that long, and this week it became this huge uproar.

Here is the absolutely shitty thing. I am bisexual, I live an alternative lifestyle, not just within that community but within another. I have spoken blatantly about women’s rights, about women’s equality as well as anything that has to do with making another person have less rights than you do. As much as it sticks me in the craw to say this, Dan whats his face has the right to chose what he feels is right. If he is against gay marriage, or gay chicken or what ever that is his right. The freedom of speech gives him that. The same as I have the right to blog about anything I wish. He has the right to believe as he wishes. Where his rights, and mine, end however is when we try to force our opinions on others who do not wish to change their beliefs. It is no different than a Christian shoving their religion down your throat, as it is us, who are different, shoving our ways of existence down theirs.

Do I believe he’s right? No. Not at all not even in the slightest way. Do I believe he should be able to speak about what he believes? yes. Oh hell yes, mother of gods yes. I believe that he should have the right to speak what he believes. I also believe that I have the right to not darken the door of his establishment. He has that right, the same as I have the right to act upon my own beliefs.

The thing is people, we spout about how we should be allowed to marry whomever we want (and we should) we should be allowed to obey the laws of the land, not the biblical laws, yet we are all up in arms about someone speaking about their own beliefs. I don’t think he’s right. I do however think they have the absolute right to speak about them as he wishes. I cannot fathom a world where he wouldn’t be able to speak about them. To have the right to his own religion, to have his right to bear arms. I don’t think there is any reason in the world why he should not be allowed these things. We yell angrily about wanting tolerance, yet when it is in opposition to our own beliefs it is “wrong”. Death threats are placed on this man and his family. This is above and beyond wrong. Wrong. Wrong. WRONG.

I am no legal expert so I won’t go into if that breaks any laws, I will however say it is wrong. WRONG WRONG. A-moral, wrong. I don’t know about any one else, but I was raised a fuck load better than to tell someone they should die because of what they think is right. Would you tell your mother that if it was her saying this? Probably not. Remember that.

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What it means to be a “cutter”


I started writing a blog the beginning of December, on a consistent basis. At this point it has become hugely inconsistent, for a few reasons. The first being I really didn’t know what to write about. I had written about self harm, about depression, about losing a kitten.

I have written book reviews, I have talked about how honored I was at being asked to go to a blogging convention. I have written about being diagnosed with RA.

A few days ago, I decided it was time for me to get a tattoo. I had many times thought about it, about actually doing it. Friday I finally did. I was so afraid, one, because…I was afraid I would chicken out. Another, because yes I get aroused by pain. ***motherfucker*** wouldn’t that be embarrassing as hell? I was prepared for that. But…what I was not ready for was that I laughed.

It tickled?
Like to the point I was giggling in my chair and he had to stop. I do realize that the tickle reflex is the same as the pain reflex. I realize though that I have thought about this. There was a few spots that felt…I won’t lie, stupidly good and I wish he could have stayed there with the gun for longer.

There is the other side…that some spots made me clench my teeth and hope he would hurry up and move on, cause holy mother of god that spot hurt. I am pretty amazed in general at how little it hurt.

A few have asked, so I’ll explain.

The teal ribbon, is for PCOS awareness, basically I am hairy as a man and can’t really explain it, but it feels like my ovaries go nuclear each month and explode.e

The white ribbon, or silver. Is for Self Harm awareness. I’ve been pretty open about it, but yes….I cut. I self harm. Oddly enough when I am in a “real” ds relationship I don’t. I get the “pain” from that. So I don’t need it there.

When I’m not…I find ways off getting the pain, or bruises I feel like I need.

THEN

comes the phrase.

My dad was a navy man, the “harbour” is spelt that way for two very special men.

The phrase though comes from Lydia. A friend. who told me that to remind myself that being “safe” isn’t always best.

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Toy Boxes


First off, an apology. I haven’t written in almost a month. Holy Fuck. I know.

There have been a few things going on in my life. The first being I finally got my diagnosis for RA. Fuck. Now I want my monkey butler, and to change the name to “impending vampirism” Yes. I am ripping off The Bloggess. I don’t care. I want them. Today has been one of the “very bad” days. The days when my daughter wants to go swimming and I am so bloated and in pain that I feel like Josey the Outlaw Whale.

And then. So now that I am coming to terms with this. I feel like I could write again, I applied for a job at Edens Fantasies. I could -so- review dildos. Or…sex swings or what ever it is. It would be a hoot.

Well not a “job” more ….I want to review dildos okay? It would be great at dinner parties.

“So Lori, what do you do?”

“well this week I sold HBO to countless strangers, and wrote about a hot pink vibrator that glows in the dark and is water proof”.

I WANT TO SEE THE MOTHER FUCKING FACES.

I want to do this at Thanksgiving dinner at my Aunts. (pronounced AUNT not ANT in this case).

I wrote over at my -other- blog in the mean time, about toy boxes.

I don’t know how to link to it, or I would. But essentially it deals with the sexual aspect of life, and depression.

I just reread it. Mother of Zeus…I must have either been in a very dark place, or thinking about 50 shades of grey. Which I have not read, nor will I. (I am SO not going there) I do need to sleep some times.

oh! speaking of that. (The update side of things).

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chill…the fuck out. I just cured cancer.


 

It is randomly crazy as hell what happens in my life. I tend to go from having bizarre fucking conversations at work, (aside, did you realize that eating avocados can stave off prostate cancer? Good to know right?) to randomly being bought lunch by someone. It was amazing btw.

 

So anyway here it goes, Eating lunch with said person goes as follows.

 

Him :Why are you laughing at your salad?

me: So at work, we were talking about how a month ago I had my blood work done, and I had a slightly elevated white blood cell count.

Him: Um…so that makes you smile at salad? (He should have known I was off my fucking rocker then right?)

me: No! So I went home, and was reading Web MD as to what that meant. It went as follows.

 

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Leukemia (I know its a type of cancer)

Cancer

Cancer

Cold

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Allergies

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Cancer

Rheumatoid Arthritis.

 

Him :???? Again so -that- made you smile at your salad?

me YES! isn’t it obvious? Avocados stave off prostate cancer!

Him “You are a woman right?”

me “Um so the beard didn’t tell you I was raging hot chick here?”

(alright I didn’t say that but I TOTALLY THOUGHT IT)

me: Um..yeah? So anyway, I was telling Christ at work about this conversation, and he says “Its okay I eat avocados”. To which I replied “Congratulations?” not realizing that he meant so HE wouldn’t get prostate cancer, not me. I am not sure why I have to clarify this?

Him ??!??!?

me “So he then clears it up” “So I won’t get prostate cancer.” Oh

me being the self centered cow that I am, said “Well that doesn’t do me any good, I don’t even HAVE a prostate”. I was glared at. But anyway THAT is why I was smiling at my salad.

 

And I just cured cancer your welcome.

 

 
read to be read at yeahwrite.me

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Wants, Interests, and Needs


This I don’t really know how to start, finish or even write.

 

Ever since Richard left me for Sarah, although they both say I left because I was the one to move out, I have tried to figure out what I looked for in a partner. Male, or female? White, Black, Orange? Age range? All of this was vastly confusing to me. I am realizing that I want to find someone who makes me laugh at myself. That I am able to have an open conversation with, without feeling like  I am worthless. That I can spout off my insane ideas with, and not have them mock me.

 

That happens so often.

 

Anyway.

 

From there, I want someone who will watch stupid shows with me, not make me feel stupid when I don’t get something. Won’t mock me when I am not as smart as they are. I want someone who when I am sick understands that lemons, with salt usually make me feel better.

I want the package. I don’t so much care I’ve decided race, sex, or anything. I want someone who understands I may just dye my hair bright red, for the hell of it. I want someone who might dye THEIR hair bright red, just for the hell of it. who spontaneously says “fuck it we are going to learn to make sushi tonight” .  I want them to make as much or more than I do. Not because I want to be supported, but because I don’t want to end up arguing over finances because I bought a pair of pants, or something along those lines.

 

I wouldn’t mind someone who has hobbies, fuck I want them to have hobbies out side me. I would like to be able to enjoy their hobbies as well though. I want to share with them my own hobbies, I want that.

 

I am beginning to think I am selfish though, or too insecure to be able to find this. What do you think? What is the best way to find this?

 

 
read to be read at yeahwrite.me

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0 calorie breakfast.


me :Hello?

him: this is bobby

me Bobby how can i help you today?

him :i had a zero calorie breakfast today

me: Oh?

him: yes, I ate my sister

me (who really wasn’t paying attention) “Oh that’s nice)

him. do you know how long it took me?

me, No sir?

him 10, or 20 minutes

me 20 minutes

him Your right

 

at this point i realize what he is saying I freaked and hung up.

 

Note to self, maybe going to work on sunday is not a good idea

 

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Zombina, a short story


Go, Save yourself

Brains, that was my first thought. Well no not really. My first real thought was something different. It went along the lines of “I thought I’d died…wasn’t I bitten? Didn’t I lay on the ground and watch my blood and my life seep through my veins into that puddle on the pavement? “ I was pretty sure that was what had happened. If that wasn’t what happened, then what did? I was aware, and if this was Heaven, Valhalla, or what ever afterlife you might believe in, it sure resembled Colorado. It didn’t look any different from where I died, in fact I was in the same fucking place.

Well, this is disappointing.

The thought for brains came pretty much next. I was starving, brutally so and for a vegetarian in my former life, or my life now congruent with the one I am in now where Valhalla is Colorado, I was craving flesh. I wanted rotten flesh that stank and tasted of old dirt. This was the food I was wanting. Propelling myself forward was not the easiest thing, it felt like my legs just would not move. In fact my left one just drug. Great, I’m dead, there is no heaven and now I move like I was paralyzed only on my left side.

Wait. Did I have a stroke and hallucinate that I was watching my blood drain out? Fuck maybe. Well that was  jacked up of people to just watch me have a stroke and not come help me. Further more why are people pointing at me and screaming now? Mother fuckers. Hmmm the one on the right, looks tasty.

Now things are starting to not make even more sense. I had a stroke. I cannot walk properly. I want rotten flesh. Now I am starting to want living flesh too? Oh hell who cares, brains. That is what I’m going after. Right now. With very little analyzing I turned the corner away from the screaming mob with pitchforks. By the way, really? Pitchforks? Who carries pitchforks in Pueblo? Down town fucking Pueblo?

Holy-shit. Wanting brains and living flesh has made me totally be unable to think in a linear way, having what I’ve always called squirrel moments seem to happen much more often now. It was about this time that I realized I was most likely a zombie, and if I was a zombie who was controlling me? Was any one? If so it might be the new folks from New Orléans who just moved into town. After all weren’t they all voodoo and shit down there?

Where was I? Oh yeah. Brains. For someone with little use of my legs, motherfucker kept dragging, I was making decent time. It wasn’t long before I came across one of the unfortunates under one of the bridges. Damn I totally just took him out with my hands. Nice. Super human strength, and no control over my left leg. Fan-fucking-tastic.

On a related note, did you know brains on drugs taste just like fried eggs? Turns out the after-school specials? Totally right on.

So now that I had food in my belly, I began to wander aimlessly. If I was controlled by some voodoo touting shaman-witchdoctor-messed up kid with a ouija board, why weren’t they sending me signals   what to do? Further more, could I be like the vampires from the Twilight movies? Did I have to eat human brains? Wait if I was a zombie why was I thinking? Huh.

There was a lot of this I didn’t understand. Now I was hungry again so found myself searching for another brain to eat. Time I really don’t know how long it had been since I had woken up but I found myself hungry again. This time for some reason I found myself compelled to go down town. Joined by others walking just as jacked up as I was, I had to wonder if I was controlled. Walking just the same as the others, each time muttering under our breaths as if we didn’t have a way of thinking outside. -holymotherfucker- We were  controlled. Only I didn’t have a clue where we headed what we were doing none of this. It was only when I realized we were in the middle of a packed square and eating everyone in sight that made me realize I didn’t need a zombie apocalypse plan. I was the problem, not the solution.

Maybe the others weren’t coherent, but I was. Still I could not stop myself from eating the flesh that was laid out in front of me. Not just the brains, that often caused knock down drag out fights. Flesh of any kind. The heart, the lungs, the kidneys. Any internal body part had me salivating. I ate the flesh in front of me like someone possessed. I was sure I was. Strange realization that you have no real control over yourself that makes you want to fight against it.

The thoughts that went through my mind suddenly stopped when I stood up and saw people shooting at us. Aiming weapons at us. It made me wonder if the bullets that just tore into my flesh would kill me. Again? Or just tear into my body. No blood oozed out just the skin tearing from my bones. I wanted to shout at them that I wasn’t wanting to eat those people, that someone was controlling me. All that came out was “Brains,” over and over again. A deranged mental patient was all I was.

That is when the bullet hit my brain. My own brain.

I woke up with my heart pounding. Laughing a bit as it was all just a dream. Safe in my bed. In my apartment. Rolling over snuggling into my pillow I had to laugh at myself. That is until I saw the blood stains on my hands.