So it Wasn’t Cocaine it Was Salt.

When i was 14 years old i moved to Florida to live with my Aunt and Uncle. Things just weren’t very good at my house with my mother, because shes nuts, so my aunt took me in.

We are inherently very different people, with our basic beliefs on life and love and just some pretty basic other shit.

I tried to be perfect for them. I enrolled in a super competitive program, maintained super high grades, took college courses at the same time, and didn’t really have a social life.

I woke up at 5am every morning to work out, went to school at 7:30, then went to school until 4pm, came home and did homework all night.

I as just trying to be perfect for them. I am not a religious person. And if i were to stand next to a religion, it would not be one based a Monotheistic value. So pretty much not Christian, Jewish, or Islam. They themselves, were very dedicated Catholics. They didn’t understand me, or approve of me. They would try to make me go to Church for holidays, always with a fight from me. Because in my opinion, it just an injustice to those in the Church who are there for their beliefs, and im just there because i was forced.

Towards the end of my Sophomore year i started to just not care as much about making them happy, and more about making me happy. I started rebelling, secretly, a little more.

I gave myself a tattoo of a heart on my ankle. I started smoking cigarettes. I went to a party. I had started seeing this older gentleman from my college, no sex obviously, but some serious emotions involved.

What really got me kicked out of the house was when i went to get my bellybutton pierced.

So i got it done, and i loved it. They give you a little bag of salt to mix in with water to clean the hole. Apparently my aunt went through my bag, and found the empty plastic bag. I mean, i understand, it totally looks like a coke bag. But i was 15… seriously?

Anyways, the next day she makes me take a pee test. It come back positive for Methadone… Which is a synthetic heroin.

I was freaking out… It was later to be revealed as a false positive. But it didn’t stop her from sending me back home.

Like come on bitch. I called you mom for over a year, and trusted you. And she couldn’t even trust me. Whatever. Like if i say that bag was filled with salt, take my fucking word for it.

So the second i got back to California, i decided to start living for me, not anyone else.

I was smoking a shit ton of weed, drinking, having sex and actually did start to do coke. But i got my shit together, and now im pretty fucking awesome.

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Just Because I Bought a Pregnancy Test Doesn’t Mean You Can Judge Me, Good Sir.

So, first some background. I have an IUD- and for those not familiar with Female Birth control… its a birth control. Boom. Simple shit.

It effects everyone differently. For me, it means my ‘monthly guest’ only comes around like 4 times a year. And as recommended by my doctor, i take 2 pregnancy tests a year. One in June, and one in December. Because i can go months, like up to 5 months, without my little red visitor.

And i never know when they are going to come! It’s absolutely terrifying. Like, how do you women put up with this on a regular basis? Maybe its just a shock to me, because im just not used to it.

But this past year, in addition to the one i already took back in June, i took one after that. Now if you haven’t realized it yet, periods not happening are usually the first sign for a girl to be like, ‘oh shit, i have a baby in my stomach.’ I don’t get that glorious luxury. Because like i said, it can be months between each, so each month without one is not a big deal.

But, and this is kind of embarrassing, i confused my PMS symptoms with pregnancy symptoms. I was freaking out. My boobs were sore, my stomach hurt, i was eating all the time, i was emotional. Jesus Christ it was fucking awful.

So i went to the store near my house, picked out the most reliable brand, and went to the counter. And this little shit of a cashier had the fucking nerve to judge me.

“We also have condoms on the same shelf, if your interested in any.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just look too young to have a kid. You need to invest in your future. You need to worry about a child every time you don’t use one.”

I almost leaned forward and punched that fucker in his face. like, at least im being fucking diligent! And of course i would want to know if i was pregnant! I mean, if i think im pregnant im gonna make fucking sure.

“I’m pretty positive that whether or not i use condoms, is really none of your business, and if that’s how you up sell, then i think your going to be jobless pretty soon.”

I took my little box of terror and walked back home.

I wasn’t pregnant, because i started my period like a day later (of course). But the nerve that jackass had. I hope he gets like ten girls pregnant at the same time.

You Just Had to Pick a Crazy One.

About three and a half years ago I met a Mr. S. He was older than me, but that’s nothing new with the men I like.

We became really good friends, and both were equally attracted to each other. He was this long-haired hippy, with the most beautiful eyes ever. swoon. 

However, my age was kind of a problem. He was in his late twenties, and though I was adult I had the unfortunate ‘teen’ still at the end of my age. But we still spent a lot of time together. Some nights when I was bored at home, he would ride his bike over to my house. Which was an impressive 4 miles uphill mind you. We would smoke cigarettes and just talk. For hours. Like the sun would come up and we wouldn’t even realize it. It was fucking awesome.

Then one magical alcohol infused night we slept together. It kind of freaked us both out. I didn’t know what this would do to our friendship, and he was still hung up on my age… So, sadly, I lost my best friend for a while. But a little while later we patched things up, and decided we actually liked sleeping together… and being friends.

I soon realized that I was pretty much head over heels for this man.

Everything was going pretty awesome. Then my dad asked me to move to texas, because he wanted me to figure my life out. So, being as my father is my absolute favorite person in the world, I agreed. Me and Mr.S were going pretty good, up until i took a trip to San Francisco. Because when I came back we were done. Like, he told me we couldn’t even be friends again.

Anywhoozers, he began dating this girl E, and she absolutely despised me… Like ive never felt such hatred from a person ive never met before. Apparently she had liked him for a while, but she slept with his friend. yadah yadah yadah I don’t give a fuck.

But me and him barely spoke before I left. Broke my fucking heart.

So I moved. And I didn’t hear from him in over a year then out of the blue he send me a message on Facebook. apologizing for not talking to me and ignoring me. I try to forgive him, but it didn’t really work out. I got mad and told him he sucked (but with a lit more cuss words).

But she found out about it. So she decided to send me this message, from her account, telling me how i was just this big joke and how i need to get over him. And im just fucking laughing. Like, firstly, im across the country. Second, she sounds like she needs to see a councilor. Like, that message was probably the meanest thing ive ever heard. Ever. (which is saying something since in my childhood i had no friends because i would hiss at people like a cat).

So i respond. Its pretty much a really descriptive message about how she can kindly, and gently, go fuck herself.

Later i found out she ended up going to jail because she showed up at his job and flipped a bitch switch about him talking to me.

But the whole point of this, is in about 6 months im moving back to that town, and they are still together (I have no fucking clue why. I think her vagina is magical or something). But im worried im gonna see them out one night, and she’s going to either:

a. punch me in the face.

or

b. Throw acid in my eyes.

Come on Mr.S, Why’d you have to choose a crazy one?

So You’re Not Dead Afterall

A couple days ago i put up a post about the guy im seeing, and how he is just a flaky little bastard.

Anywhoozers, I finally heard from him this morning. Praise the almighty he is alive. No horrible accident has befallen him, he lives on another day.

He had been working a lot apparently- Good for him. Because any working man can’t carve out an hour for sex. No wonder married people don’t sleep together, if this is any indication.

He promised to come over this afternoon, bringing my highly expensive jacket with him. Happy, i did all the feminine preparations. Shaving, washing my hair, all that nonsense i wouldn’t deal with if i was celibate (which is never going to happen).

Also, my sleeping schedule is totally backwards. I go to bed around 3pm and wake up between 9pm and midnight. Just call me a vampire (like, seriously, please call me a vampire).

So around 3pm my eyes are getting heavy, and i hadn’t heard another word about when he would be showing up. So i fell asleep, and woke up around 11:30. There were no texts, so i figured he just wasn’t going to show.

I go to the local bar for some water, since im trying to drop a few El-Bees (pounds). I stay about 10 minutes before shooting my head seems more enjoyable than making small chat with the other 5 patrons.

I go to see my friend who works at the gas station near both Mr.M and I’s houses.

As im leaving, im rounding the block to turn to go down the road, and who other than Mr.M himself comes riding his bike.

I stop him and just give him a stare that says, ‘Go fuck yourself.’

He offers up the explanation that it was his friends birthday so he wasn’t able to come by today, then he asks me to wait there and goes back to his house to get the jacket. Mind you its like 36 degrees outside, and im fucking freezing.

But i wait, and he returns with my jacket, and he make our ‘see ya laters’ and im struck with the thought that if we stopped seeing each other i wouldn’t completely mind. Though our intimate relations are completely amazing and out of this world, im not sure this annoyance is worth it.

I demand a certain amount of respect from those i am intimate with, and though typically he shows that to me, i don’t think i can admire his complete disregard for manners and punctuality.

So i wonder how this story will end.

My Boobs Keep Calling the Police

About a week and a half ago i got a call while i was out at a bar with some friends and i got a call from some random number. It was the police. Now mind you i am heavily intoxicated.

“Uh, hello?”

“Yes mam, this is the police. We received a call from someone at this number. Is everything okay?”

“Oh. Yea. Im fine. Sorry!”

They then took my information and i was definitely beyond confused.

Then tonight, there’s a voice coming from my boob! “HELLO! HELLO MAM?”

And again the same process.

Its like my boobs think im in danger or something. This time the police showed up just to make sure i was okay.

Now it’s not like i dont like the cops, but they definitely kinda freak me out.

I just wish my boobs could trust me more. I mean calling the police on me? I need to have a talk with the girls.

Bruised Legs, and a Messed Up Back

So im going to go on about something a little more serious. Over a year and a half ago i met C. We worked together at a hotel back in Texas. I was the bartender, and he was the front office manager. The first time i saw him i thought he was just drop dead gorgeous. He was aloof, and seemed unattainable.

Then one night i ran into him while i was out drinking with some friends, and unbeknownst to me, he was hitting on me. I was still in shock that he was even talking to me.

A week later we started seeing each other. It went on for another three or so months, before i moved to Tennessee. We kept in contact for about two months, then we got in some huge fight and didn’t speak to each other for three months. When we did start talking to again, he asked me to move back to Texas to live with him. I was so overjoyed and my heart grew so much, i didn’t know i could be so happy.

Then he changed his mind.

Then he changed it back I wasn’t ready to believe him, so i asked for sometime to think about it. And four months later i decided it was a good idea. We had been talking everyday. We would text from the moment he woke up to the second i fell asleep. We skyped twice a week, and called each other two times a day. I was so in love. I always had been.

Then he told me he wanted to marry me. We even picked out our first sons name. Connor.

I was just through the moon.

Finally the day came. I got on the plane and when i arrived, his back was to me, and i just jumped. We were laughing and smiling. It was the best day of my life. We kissed for the first time in almost nine months.

The drive back to our house was a little over an hour, and the second we were through the door, our clothes were on the ground.

Everything was going great. I got a job my second day back in town as head bartender at a fancy pants restaurant. We were spending our free time together. Making food for each other… being domestic and happy.

Then after about a week, i felt him pulling away. It was the weirdest feeling. It’s not like i can give you an exact moment where i can be like ‘this is when it all fell apart.’

After about a twelve-hour shift at work, he came to pick me up and we went back home. He asked to talk to me, and i was so confused.

“You know all that love you have for me?” he asked. I just smiled and nodded. “Well i don’t have that for you.”

My world fell apart.

I began crying. And he went on to explain he would pay for me to go back to Tennessee if i wanted. But i couldnt go back. It hadn’t even been two weeks!

I asked him if he still loved his ex (who i later found out he was dating and took her virginity when we were first together). HE nodded, so i reeled back and slapped him as hard as i could. You do not ask me to fly across the country to be with you when you have feelings for someone else.

Anyways, about a week later im still at his house because i havent found a new apartment yet. He comes home and comes into the bedroom, which is weird because he was staying in the living room. He climbs into the bed and starts to fucking cry. cry. I don’t know what to do. I still loved him.

He then begged me for another chance. Telling me he was just confused. So much was just happening.

So we decided to start over.

I moved out to an apartment he helped me find about five blocks away, and we went out together at night, and he would come over to my place for sexy time.

After about two weeks of that, we were at my place and he told me he loved me and how he still wants to marry me, and wants me to be the mother of his children. It was everything i needed to hear.

Then it all fell apart two days later.

I ran into him while i was out with some friends and he was out with his. I ran up to him to give him a hug, and his friend gave me the weirdest look (i found out later he hadn’t told them we were back together). He smiled awkwardly and then left. Shrugging it off because i was drunk, i figured he was going to Houston like he usually did.

I left that bar and went down to a different one by the beach. He was there. I laughed and asked him how his night was going He just walked away.

And every time i would try to talk to him, he just walked away.

At the end of the night he sent me a text breaking up with me because i was being to pushy.

Overcome with anger and confusion, i asked my friend to drop me off at his house, and she said she would wait downstairs for me.

Im about to knock on the door, but i hear the familiar sound of Call of Duty on the TV, so i turn the door handle and open the door.

i step in and ask if we can talk about things.

And this is when things get real fucking shitty.

He freaks out, tells me to leave, so being stubborn, i say no and sit on the couch and asks him to explain what the fuck happens. He grabs my arm, and throws me down on the ground.

He had done MMA for a while and decided to practice those moves on me. Such as choke holds, dragging me, and something that just really fucked up my back for a while.

My friend heard what was apparently my body being thrown around and came the rescue.

We got out of there, and i was just in fucking shock.

But alas, it was not over. Because i was an idiot, he begged forgiveness, and i gave it to him. Many more times. He never touched me again like that, but he definitely fucked with my head emotionally. It was the worst four, that’s right four, months of my life.

And after i moved away, to where i am now, we talked. He said he freaked out because i ‘loved him to much.’ the fuck?

But anyways, what i guess the whole point of this is, what that douche bag did to me, said to me, and made me feel, was terrible. But im still willing to love again. I know every single one of us has the potential to do bad things, but i hope one day i find the one who chooses not to.

So thats the end of my mildly depressing story of good ole Mr.C.