This and That

Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I can’t stop thinking about Aj’s friend Matt.  Aj was the guy I went on the Petit ‘Ride for Justice’ with – Matt was his friend that came along and road with us.

Matt is 57 years old and dating a girl 33 years younger than he is which makes her 24.  That’s a large age gap, but the thing that really got to me was that he said he been with her for 8 years.  What!??  So that made her 16 when they started dating, and he was 49. 

Then he started telling me about his friend who’s into really young girls;

Matt – “We would be sitting in dunkin’ donuts and these young girls would come in and walk by, and he would say ‘oh damn, if I was their age…..’

Me – “How old were these girls?”

Matt- “He likes the teenagers, you know, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve-teen, eleven-teen.”

Judging from the type of company Aj keeps, it made me think that he had ulterior motives for inviting me on the charity ride.  He was treating me like I was his date.  He has to be in his 60’s – at least.  The thought never even crossed my mind that he liked me like that.  I went to school with his daughter!  It’s just not going to happen Aj.

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My parents are leaving Friday to go somewhere for my moms birthday.  They are leaving on the day Robert takes his 16 hour shower.  I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it aint gonna be pretty.  It’s the smell that sets me off (from Robert doing god-knows-what with his crap).  I’m going to completely freak out – absolutely positively 100% freak – da – fuck – out. 

So you have that entry to look forward to.  This is all going down tomorrow night when I get home from work. 

Last week when I came home, my house smelled like an adult dirty diaper dump on a hot day.  It smelled like a mexican port-o-potty on cinco de mayo.  Even the birds won’t fly near that shit. 

                           ********************************************

I want to make an amendment to my Annoying Woman at Work entry.  She’s not that bad as long as I don’t have to do a couple’s massage with her.  I actually kind of like her otherwise.  I feel like I can be myself around her and she won’t judge me for my many quirks because she has so many herself.  And she can make me smile.  People that make me smile automatically have a place in my heart.

I should get back to work.  I have three more clients to rub down.

My elementary school boyfriend

He wasn’t very good at it.

Petit foundation ride for justice

Petit foundation ride for justice

I went for a bike ride on sunday with 2,000 other motorcyclists to help raise money for the Petit foundation.  

  

I ran into my buddy AJ a few weeks ago and he invited me to go with him.  It started at the Harley Davidson dealer in Bristol, and ended at Bozzuto’s in Cheshire.   

Aj and I arrived at the dealership, positioned ourselves amongst the line of motorcycles, and guess who idles up next to us?  Out of all those people, Dave and his girlfriend were our closest neighbors.  What are the chances?  You can get an idea of who Dave’s girlfriend is by reading this.  

Dave – “I’m tired.”  

Me – “Why?”  

Dave – “We went over to her friends house for a birthday party last night.”  He motions over to Heather who starts giggling.  

Heather – “We drank a lot, didn’t get home till 2:30 and didn’t go to sleep until 4.”  This made her laugh a lot.   

Heather – “And Dave was all over me in bed sound asleep.  I couldn’t even push him off me.”  

I roll my eyes and go back to talk with Aj and his friends.  

  

The ride was starting, so I saddled up behind Aj and we oozed our way out the parking lot.  We were at the tail end – the caboose of 2,000 bikes.  I brought my Ipod to listen to for the ride.  

We went through all the back woody roads to get to Cheshire.  It was absolutely amazing!  We passed so many people who sat outside their houses on lawn chairs, holding up the American flag, waving to us, shouting ‘God bless you’.  Every time I seen a person wave, give a thumbs up or hold out a peace sign, I would start crying like a baby.  It reminded me of why we were there in the first place;  The Petit family murders in my hometown of Cheshire.  

I’m a baby – truly a big baby.  I’m starting to cry again just thinking about it.   

The peace sign affected me more than a wave or thumbs up.  I’m not sure why.  Even the people stuck in their cars, most of them smiled and waved at us, while some others were a little pissed they had to sit and wait for us to pass.  

It was an open drive – police escorted.  They blocked off roads and intersections so we could ignore red lights.  It was a parade basically.  I listened to French songs, Italian songs, black-eyed peas – every song on my Ipod seemed to go along with the scenery. 

Listening to Adele while on the back of a Harley, driving through a tree-lined road with the changing leaves, some drifting softly to the ground – it was poetry.  It was living inside a music video.  Then seeing the contrast of natural beauty uninterrupted by the passing of big tattooed men and women on motorcycles, well, I don’t know.  You just had to be there.  It was spectacular. 
  

When we arrived at Bozzuto’s, they fed us steak and chicken from the Outback streak house.  I was waiting in line, talking to Aj’s friend when this big tall man came up to me with teary eyes and shook my hand.  He completely took me off guard.  

Dr. Petit – “Are you a driver or a passenger.”  

Me – “Oh I’m a passenger.  Definitely a passenger.”  

He couldn’t stop shaking my hand.  He was there, but not there.  It took all my strength not to burst out crying.  We chatted with him for 5 minutes.  He said he gets his strength from people like us.  

It was a very emotional day for me.  After I ate, I went to Black Bear in New Haven to hang out with a bunch of English and History teachers from my old high school.  I drank 5 Octoberfest’s in 2 hours because they were only $2.  I wasn’t able to drive.  I was so exhausted by the time I got home that I went to sleep at 10 pm.  I’m still exhausted, as always. 

This video is a little re-cap of the ride.

Using my new set of balls

I was quietly making breakfast today when my mom came up behind me and asked me for a hug.

“You didn’t apologize yet.”

“I’m not sorry.  What do I need to apologize for?”

“For coming into my bedroom when I was sleeping and yelling at me for things I didn’t do.  I don’t deserve that.”

“Well you shouldn’t have called me at 1:30 in the morning.”

“You shouldn’t have left your sister after she had a stroke.”

“I had things to do up there (at the cottage in Rhode island).”

“You had nothing to do up there.  You left because you didn’t want to be here when Robert takes his 16 hour showers.”

Thats when my aunt chimed in.

My aunt – “What about that boy you had over at 3 in the morning.  Me and Robert heard him.”

“There was never any boy.  You’re telling lies to get mom on your side.”

My mom was telling everyone to calm down.  She runs out of things to say when she realizes how wrong she sounds.  Then she shuts up.

My aunt – “Oh my god, Sandra that is not to.  NOT TRUE!  I HEARD HIM.”

Instead of me telling her that it’s none of her business even if I did have a boy over, I said, “I swear on Nana’s grave.  I swear on my Grandmothers grave I didn’t have a boy over.”

Swearing on people’s graves in my house is a big deal.  You just don’t mess around with swearing on a grave if you’re lying.

I can’t remember what was said after that.  My dad was there listening to the whole thing.  My mom was listening, she knew I was right about everything.

One thing you need to know about me is that I don’t scream, I may cry profusely, but I never scream, never lose my temper or swear.  I don’t call anyone dirty names because I think it’s an unclassy low-blow that only makes me look like the jerk.  I keep things civilized and make decent logical arguments.  This tends to shut people up, or make them get violent.

My aunt was losing her temper.  I wish, I WISH I knew what she said next.  It was something about Robert.  I said, “He’s not getting any better.  All this time and he has not gotten better.”

Then my aunt really lost it.  She started screaming and calling me a fucking asshole.

“OH SHE’S A FUCKING ASSHOLE!  A FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

My mother got upset at that.  She’s the only one that can call her daughter a fucking asshole, nobody else.

Dad actually spoke up and said, “That’s enough.”

I took my breakfast downstairs with me and immediately started typing about it.  I just stuck up for myself.  I just made a statement!

My mom started it.  Our relationship is about my mom yelling at me for something, then kissing my ass like it never happened.  She eventually comes around and know’s she’s been bad.  But she never says she’s sorry about anything.  This time I wasn’t letting her off so easy.

My dad just popped his head in my room with a goofy smile on his face.

“I stuck up for myself dad.”

“Good for you.  You should always stick up for yourself.”

The new me, possibly?

My guilt has been absolved.  Abolished from my conscience.  The place in my heart that held back my tongue has been severed.  I now have no guilt, no connection between what comes out of my mouth and my once heavily built-in censor.

I let Robert go on living with us unfettered without my interference partly out of guilt.  My mother told me that this is what family is all about.  To be there when they need help.  I felt guilty for the longest time because I didn’t want to help them.  I didn’t want to help them because they didn’t want to help themselves.

And what my mother is doing is not helping.  She’s being paid off to turn the other cheek.  My aunt pays her every month and my mother uses that money to go gamble at the casino while I have to live in a house that smells like Roberts dissected shit (my new theory is that he picks it apart – hence the smell).

Some people are naturally built without this guilt apparatus that connects to their mouth (ass to mouth).  My brother for instance is a great example of someone who is free to say as he pleases.  He can speak the truth, formulate his words unencumbered by the ensuing outcome that follows.

I, on the other hand always struggled with that.  I would rather see the argument come to an end than feed into it.  I would rather take a verbal bashing than being tethered to the whole situation.  I was never good at getting emotionally involved in anything.

But now I am painfully emotionally involved.  This blog is giving me strength to creep out of the shadows – it stirs up all these feelings I been keeping at bay and everyone, all my friends, and even my brother is backing me up!  I feel powerful.  I feel like I shouldn’t feel guilty for speaking the truth and letting everyone know how dysfunctional they are.

Another reason for my liberation from guilt is that I’m not making excuses for my aunt anymore.  I always felt sorry for her, and therefore never wanted to hurt her.  But last week she told my mother that I sneak boys into the house when she’s away.  There are so many things wrong with that statement that it’s pointless to go into.  One thing being that I’m 30 years old and stopped ‘sneaking’ boys in the house a long time ago.  If I want them over, I have them over.  End of story.

She made me sound like a promiscuous slut.  Me!  Of all people.  Basically she flat-out lied to my mother to discredit me.  She wants my mom on her side and would do anything to keep it that way.

That lie cost her my respect.  That lie is her one-way ticket to bitch-ville.  Without that ticket I would have never asked her what that smell was last night (she called my mother directly after and told her that I yelled at her – completely untrue), I would never have posted Robert’s real name, I wouldn’t have banged on the ceiling last night at 4 in the morning for Robert to stop running the water (it was his 16 hour shower day).

It’s to the point where there is nothing she can say or do that would hurt me.  Same goes for my mother.  I went through enough pain and depression that my inner glow is kicking in and telling me that I don’t need them.  I don’t need their approval, I don’t need for them to love me.  It would be nice, but I don’t need it.

I’m in survival mode now.  Trying to preserve my sanity and ridding myself of corrupt people who bring me down.  I’m not going to sit downstairs and mind my own while they talk shit about me upstairs in ear-shot.  No, screw that.  That was the hurt sensitive little girl that took that abuse.

This in no way means that I’m incapable of forgiveness.  I’m all about forgiveness and compassion.  I can’t escape compassion – I hate it sometimes.  But I like God’s idea of granting forgiveness to those who ask for it.  That’s what I’ll do.

I feel like I’m becoming a woman.  I’m getting in touch with my feelings and actually sharing them.  I found a venue that lets me vent without interruption. 

My co-worker told to me today as she was leaving and giving me a hug, “May the tips fly and the assholes die.”  That has nothing to do with any of this, I just like it.

Searchin for my blog google style

According to Google’s Webmaster tools, these are the most common search queries to get to my blog:

Search queries  //

Query	Impressions	Clicks
silly band rings	390	<10
korean backpack	320	12
silly band	210	<10
ipod silly band	170	<10
korean backpacks	110	<10
lilith immaculate	91	<10
angelina joli sexy	73	<10
silly band ipod	73	<10
15034032674	58	<10
ass to mouth	46	<10

//  

Aug 21, 2010 to Sep 20, 2010

 

Umm, did you see that last one?  Is my blog really about ass to mouth?  Come on google, I have a hard enough time as it is without you telling me I write so many ass to mouth stories that my blog pops up in the ass to mouth search results.

The more I write ‘ass to mouth’ the more likely my blog will show up in the search results. 

I’m going to post this and see if it goes up in rank.  Mwaa haaa haaa. Ass to mouth ass to mouth ass to mouth.

One more for good measure.

Ass to mouth.

OCDC’s new habit?

Everytime I come home from work and my parents are away, my house smells like a sewer.  It’s not coming from outside, it’s coming from inside the house.

Me – “Why does it stink in here?”

My aunt – “What smell?  I don’t smell anything.”

“It smells like crap!”

“It’s the sewer outside.  I shut all the windows.”

I opened the sliding door in the kitchen to breathe in some fresh air.  It did not stink outside.

“It doesn’t smell outside.”

“It smelled earlier because it was so hot.”

I kept the sliding door open to help air out the house.  My aunt shut it as soon as I went downstairs.

“Why doesn’t it smell like this when mom and dad are home?”

“It does, you’re just not here when it does.”

This stench happens every time my parents are away.  My mother gets sick to her stomach – literally sick to her stomach at smells this bad.  She wouldn’t be able to handle it.

So my theory is that OCDC waits until my parents are gone so he can take a huge shit on the bathroom floor tile for him to dissect.  I can picture him hunched over with a magnifying glass and tweezers hovering over his steaming pile of feculence.

OCDC’s real name is Robert.  Originally he was named Troy, but he changed it when he was in his 20’s.  He chose to be called Robert.  Why couldn’t he pick something cool like Viper?  Or Afroman?  If I could name him, I would call him Stink Finger.

I wonder if he saves his excrement?  Howard Hughs saved his urine – my cousin one-ups him by saving his own fecal matter.  It’s not septic tank I smell outside, it’s left-over cow pies from Robert.  Meadow muffins for our backyard.

Maybe he molds them into works of fart, I mean art.  Perhaps he has a collection of them outside on the picnic table?  His own personal mini shit louvre.

Maybe he only saves the droppings that look like something. 

‘Mom come here quick, it looks like a cigar!  We have to save this one, we just HAVE to.’

‘Okay, where do you want me to put it?’

‘With the others.  Next to the one that looks like a submarine.’

‘But they all look like submarines.’

‘Okay, then put it next to the one that looks like Santa Clause.’

Wow, I’m losing my mind.  Must be the fumes.

Home from work

I just got home from work to find out my parents left again for Rhode Island.  My mom left her sister who just had a stroke five days ago.  Who does that?  I’m supposedly the bad guy, but even I wouldn’t do that.

I watched Free Willy when I was there at the cottage and cried through the whole movie.  How terrible of a person can I be if I cry during Free Willy?  After that movie I watched Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince while eating Chef Boyardee ravioli.  I’m a big kid.  A big sensitive little girl.

I fell asleep watching Hancock.  I always watch Hancock when I’m there.

I have strange dreams when I’m there.  This morning I woke up to a dream where I was back in kindergarten and had to live my life all over again to fix my mistakes.  Then I almost fell off the bed (I was not drunk).

I have 14 new voicemails I’m scared to listen to.  14 of them sitting in my phone to fester.  I’ll listen to them eventually.  I wish I can play them to my blog so you guys can tell me how bad they are.  Most of them are from my mom telling me how horrible I am.  I really don’t want to listen to how horrible I am.

All my clients loved me tonight.  Uma Thurman requested me again, and I massaged a woman with Chrones disease who wanted me to rub her stomach – she said she’s going to request me for next time.

I’m watching the first episode of Xena warrior princess on netflix.  I’m not really paying attention to it.  It’s not as good as I remember it being when I was 15, but I’ll still watch the next episode.  Why not.  It cheers me up.

I’ll be back to my normal self in no time.  For now just bear with me as I go through this rough patch.  It won’t last, they never do. 

As I learned from the movie My Best Friends Wedding; This too shall pass.

I have to go back in my blog and delete all my references to my job.  I was told by a co-worker today that they fire people for writing about their jobs even if there’s nothing negative written.

Back from Rhode Island

I’m back in CT.  I’m back to my quaint little Starbucks table drinking my latte and eating coffee cake. 

I went to Rhode Island to stay at my family’s cottage.  I needed it.  REALLY needed it.  Thursday was that long double shift, plus learning about my family’s hatred toward me, Friday was work and feeling unwelcomed when I got home, Saturday I worked in the morning taking 6 clients, then went out to dinner with Holly and Kristina, then went to the Groggy Frog where I tried to drink myself into oblivion.  It didn’t work.  I was too tired to drink a lot.

The next day I gave a massage at 11 am, then drove to the cottage in Rhode Island.  I arrived in Charleston at 12:30.  I was still in my uniform, exhausted and starved – I decided to go to walmart and stock up on food, lots of food.

I bought Chef boyardee ravioli (99.9% fat free), salmon, tilapia, capers, a bag of lemons, a can of soup, lobster cakes, fresh green beans, rice and a box of mashed potato’s.

“That should last me.”

When I arrived at the cottage, I unpacked my things and made the can of soup.  Then watched tv. 

My three main reasons to go to the cottage was to eat a lot, sleep a lot and watch tv.  I sat on the couch, ate my soup and when I got hungry again, I made myself tilapia with a piccatta sauce, a side of green beans and rice. 

I watched the sunset, watched the birds and the boats on the water and enjoyed my dinner.  It was really good for someone who never made tilapia piccatta before.  I didn’t even have a recipe.

My dad hates me now, too.  I texted my brother when I first arrived at the cottage to ‘tell dad I’m here so he doesn’t worry, I don’t want to call the house.’  Then I shut off my phone.

Well, when I got home today, my dad was upset because he didn’t know where I was.  My brother must not have gotten my message to give to my dad.  So now he’s pissed.  My entire household is pissed at me – no, not just pissed, livid.  No one says one word to me when I come home or leave the house.  It’s like I’m not even alive.  It’s pretty much the worst feeling in the world.  I want to cry right now, but I have one more client.  Then I can cry all I want.

It’s like once you start spiraling, all this stuff happens that’s out of your control to make life even more painful and dreadful.  I still don’t know what I did.  Oh yeah, emailed my cousin.

I have to get back to work.  It’s hard writing everything down in less than an hour, but a little something is better than nothing.

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The absolute truth about me is – believe it or not, I’m a private person.  I don’t talk about my family to anyone.  I don’t talk about them for a few reasons; One being embarrassment, two being it’s nobody’s problem except my own, and three – it’s depressing to talk about it.

I would write everything down in my journal and leave the house with my baggage far behind.  I was a new person every time.  Nobody knew the crap that goes on in my house, and if nobody know’s, than it doesn’t really happen, right?

Plus I’m not a drama queen.  I don’t create drama in my life – I HATE drama in my life (but I love hearing about others).

Basically this blog is opposite of who I am.  It represents everything I don’t tell my friends, well, some things I don’t tell them.

It’s like going on a talk show and telling the world all my personal stuff.  Why do people do that?  Why am I doing this? 

I just like to write. 

I went without dinner last night.  I was so hungry, but I couldn’t go upstairs.  Nobody knew exactly what my message to my cousin said, so they started making up stuff to fill in the blanks.  Everything was blown out of proportion – they insisted that I wrote hateful things about OCDC, and that he was yelling at my dad and yelling at everyone.  I had to print out a copy of the messages to give to them.

I’m holding back a lot of things that were said.  My mother hates me, and doesn’t trust me.  The way she talks to me sounds like she’s talking to a dirty rotten pig.  I’m not embellishing.  And I just stand there and take it.  I don’t do a damn thing.

Three more clients and I get to go home, or more like, have to go home.