Not really.
I hate feeling down. I'm a "happy peppy" person. To feel misery is, well, miserable. And, for the record, I prefer sunshine. For these reasons, FUCK I DON'T WANT TO BE PREGNANT ANYMORE!!!
I'm always so sure of my thoughts and actions, but right now I'm not sure of anything.
I have no idea if my relationship is seemingly failing because we are actually terrible at communicating with one another, or if I'm just a hormonal dramatic wreck. I'm really leaning toward the 'actually terrible at communicating' thing. Probably due to lack of reassurance from the "better half." Who would definitely read that last sentence and say "Oh so this is MY fault." Blah. If it weren't for the belly, you wouldn't be able to figure out which one of us is the pregnant one.
Sometimes I really get to thinking: Damn! I should have stuck to my no-kids, no-man life where I danced around on a pole making money carefree and drama free. Strangers are far more interested, understanding and concerned than the people who should be.
Sad fact. These men at those clubs...paying me for a conversation when their wife is home sulking about the lack of communication she has with that same man. That whole "our sex life isn't the same" spiel. But you don't look at her like you look at the scantily clad females in the venue.
I used to be the emotional replacement. Now I'm the wifey, alone in bed wishing I were being touched while he finds reason not to come to bed and gets his release from image and video. Is that some sort of twisted karma? I mean, that's pretty fucked. I'm already gaining weight, feeling hideously huge and oh-so-un-sexy. These actions only confirm the feelings.
I don't condone infidelity in any way, shape or form, but as of late I understand. I HATE that I understand. But I do. I know exactly what it means when someone says they needed affection and conversation and how good it feels that someone is willing to give it to them. I really wish I weren't in a circumstance to understand.
And oh, to be a man. To say "I'm a man, men have needs." To expect to be excused because "I wasn't getting any." Well then I expect to be excused anytime I'm the slightest bit out of line, bitching, whining, crying and having emotional breakdowns. Because apparently gender can be an excuse for your actions. But, lets get real, we all know that would simply compel you to call me an unstable bitch. Yay double standards.
Will it be different after pregnancy? Why should it even be acceptable that it's different during pregancy?
It shouldn't.
31 October 2011
18 October 2011
Oh what a cold-hearted crazy bitch I am.
I've been labeled, by far too many, a cold-hearted crazy bitch based on one single circumstance in my life, as opposed to the millions of other happenings which have occurred in my 26 years. I'm left to wonder if this is one of those "society" issues. Am I horrible for not blubbering like an idiot at my own husbands funeral?
The short answer is no.
And now, the long.
I can't feel sorry that the death of my husband signified, for me, the end of the worst year of my life and a less-than-desirable life prior. That the immediate feeling was that of relief. Rest. Calm. Peace. How can anyone be labeled for feelings? They occur beyond our control. What is constantly overlooked is the fact that feelings must stem from somewhere.
Call me crazy, but multiple court visits and restraining orders paired with death threats towards myself, our children, my mother and other fun promises such as "I will tie you up in the basement and rape you if it's the only way I can be with you." don't exactly lead to a feeling of God noooo why?! Come back to me!!! Being the cause of my first-ever gun pointed at my face...also not helping.
Tons of "fun" memories, like the emotional degradation of every single potentially-positive career move being ruined by the implication that I advance in life, never based on talent and ability, but simply because, apparently, anyone who likes my work is simply trying to fuck me. "You only made that song into rotation because they want to fuck you," "He only wants to collaborate with you to get in your pants." Let us not forget, I'm still expected to spit out a Good job, baby! for him when he advances. Far more often then not, I'm quietly behind the advance.
C.E.O. Boss. Leader. Pick a synonym. Always expected to "know your place." Yes, I may have slaved away for 16 hours straight on a music video, but damn it if he's not going to write Produced and Directed by KAGE on the credits. Yes, I may have established certain connections to get us shows opening for Wu-Tang among other locally known acts, but damn if he wouldn't boast about his wonderful ability to network.
What utterly mind-fucks the shit out of me, is the expectation to immortalize and glorify someone with infidelities toward you. I guess I'm a bitch for not being comfortable attending annual events where I get to chat-it-up with just one of the females he took his ring off for. Or having no desire to attend such an event where I amchastised for running late one of 3 days of funeral services because I was busy trying to put the final touches on, render and burn his commemorative video which everyone loved so much...ridiculous.Horrible me. Ha.
I suppose the crazy title may stem from calling bullshit when he plead to a judge that "...she held me down and stomped my head in." Yup, I'm crazy. Not the 6 foot tall 245 pound man who claims his 5foot 4 inch 110 pound wife is somehow more powerful than him. My bruises, with photo, are imaginary and his imaginary-bruises are real. What a load of fuckery.
The thing that is really, REALLY sad in all of this: the people who are holding his memory so dear are the ones he hated the most.
That guy who got a commemorative tattoo? I won't tell him that the person he pays tribute to spoke regularly about how much of a pathetic, useless, piece of shit he was if he didn't give him money to fund his own dream. I believe "Pussy-bitch" was his behind-the-back name. That girl who has his sticker on her car? I won't tell her how much he spoke of her making him sick to his stomach and that she was lucky she always had weed or he wouldn't keep her around. Her behind-the-back name was "Rich bitch." I could absolutely create a list of insanely terrible things said about everyone he was "close" to; "Fat Bitch," "Dumb Bitch," "Nasty Whore," "Fat Fuck," "Clown," "Fucking Loser." Those are just a few of his friends. The worst is of his own flesh and blood. I once wrote him a very detailed letter spelling out the reasons he should stop speaking so negatively of the ones that will actually reach out and help him when he doesn't even deserve it, but I couldn't give it to him because during my attempt to ease into handing it over I got scared. I wasn't trying to have on of those pushed into a balled-up trembling and crying wreck type of nights. Not that night. I used to tell him "You're the one who's supposed to protect me from people, not the one I need protection from."
Sitting next to someone for years-on-end listening to the phony conversations, then to the real thoughts after the phone call is over, doesn't make it easy to see them as likable. It's sick
One of the sickest things about this man, was that he had a list; an actual, factual, physical list of the names of all the people which he intended to murder prior to his death. In his last 2 weeks of life he spoke on his disappointment that he didn't think he had enough time to carry the list out.
Oh, and if you haven't gathered, he knew he was dying. He didn't want to share with anyone, particularly his family, that he had a limited time left because he said he didn't want them to act "all weird and different." Fair enough. Some people may not have known outright, but they knew something was different. A lot of comments about the fact that he was being nice to them; and such events struck them as strange. A few people noticed it was strange how, the day before his death, he decided to take a family trip to Historic DC. His own 'bestie' commented on recalling the thought of it being strange, because "KAGE doesn't do that sort of stuff." Yeah, I know
If you know your time is running out and your primary thought is Oh no! I need more time to murder all of these people! You're fucking twisted. Some of these people have bought tickets to his annual Bull Roast, some just rubbed him the wrong way, some pissed him off more than a decade ago.
I would go into any amount of gruesome detail for those who really wanted to know. But ignorance is simple and most seem happy making simple assumptions and pointing ignorant fingers.
In the end, I still, with the help of my mother, lifted him from the place he had fallen, scraped the vomit from his mouth, held down his convulsing body and breathed my own breath into his lungs. Together, we resuscitated him after every bout of tachycardia for nearly half an hour straight while waiting for paramedics. I remained completely composed so that I could fill the EMT's in on his condition (Idiopathic Hypertrophic Sub-aortic Stenosis) accompanied by a Mitral-valve prolapse and proceed to break it down so they knew what it meant for his heart.
Never once did either of us complain of the physical pain and strain we had put on our bodies to make such attempts. Never thinking he had just told us a week prior he had a loaded gun and was headed over to put a bullet straight in our foreheads. Never thinking, 5 months prior, he threatened to take the life of myself and my children, her child and grandchildren, by setting our home on fire and hoping we burn to death.
I don't know why people think, or expect, everyone will feel the exact same way in the circumstance of death.
The short answer is no.
And now, the long.
I can't feel sorry that the death of my husband signified, for me, the end of the worst year of my life and a less-than-desirable life prior. That the immediate feeling was that of relief. Rest. Calm. Peace. How can anyone be labeled for feelings? They occur beyond our control. What is constantly overlooked is the fact that feelings must stem from somewhere.
Call me crazy, but multiple court visits and restraining orders paired with death threats towards myself, our children, my mother and other fun promises such as "I will tie you up in the basement and rape you if it's the only way I can be with you." don't exactly lead to a feeling of God noooo why?! Come back to me!!! Being the cause of my first-ever gun pointed at my face...also not helping.
Tons of "fun" memories, like the emotional degradation of every single potentially-positive career move being ruined by the implication that I advance in life, never based on talent and ability, but simply because, apparently, anyone who likes my work is simply trying to fuck me. "You only made that song into rotation because they want to fuck you," "He only wants to collaborate with you to get in your pants." Let us not forget, I'm still expected to spit out a Good job, baby! for him when he advances. Far more often then not, I'm quietly behind the advance.
C.E.O. Boss. Leader. Pick a synonym. Always expected to "know your place." Yes, I may have slaved away for 16 hours straight on a music video, but damn it if he's not going to write Produced and Directed by KAGE on the credits. Yes, I may have established certain connections to get us shows opening for Wu-Tang among other locally known acts, but damn if he wouldn't boast about his wonderful ability to network.
What utterly mind-fucks the shit out of me, is the expectation to immortalize and glorify someone with infidelities toward you. I guess I'm a bitch for not being comfortable attending annual events where I get to chat-it-up with just one of the females he took his ring off for. Or having no desire to attend such an event where I amchastised for running late one of 3 days of funeral services because I was busy trying to put the final touches on, render and burn his commemorative video which everyone loved so much...ridiculous.Horrible me. Ha.
I suppose the crazy title may stem from calling bullshit when he plead to a judge that "...she held me down and stomped my head in." Yup, I'm crazy. Not the 6 foot tall 245 pound man who claims his 5foot 4 inch 110 pound wife is somehow more powerful than him. My bruises, with photo, are imaginary and his imaginary-bruises are real. What a load of fuckery.
The thing that is really, REALLY sad in all of this: the people who are holding his memory so dear are the ones he hated the most.
That guy who got a commemorative tattoo? I won't tell him that the person he pays tribute to spoke regularly about how much of a pathetic, useless, piece of shit he was if he didn't give him money to fund his own dream. I believe "Pussy-bitch" was his behind-the-back name. That girl who has his sticker on her car? I won't tell her how much he spoke of her making him sick to his stomach and that she was lucky she always had weed or he wouldn't keep her around. Her behind-the-back name was "Rich bitch." I could absolutely create a list of insanely terrible things said about everyone he was "close" to; "Fat Bitch," "Dumb Bitch," "Nasty Whore," "Fat Fuck," "Clown," "Fucking Loser." Those are just a few of his friends. The worst is of his own flesh and blood. I once wrote him a very detailed letter spelling out the reasons he should stop speaking so negatively of the ones that will actually reach out and help him when he doesn't even deserve it, but I couldn't give it to him because during my attempt to ease into handing it over I got scared. I wasn't trying to have on of those pushed into a balled-up trembling and crying wreck type of nights. Not that night. I used to tell him "You're the one who's supposed to protect me from people, not the one I need protection from."
Sitting next to someone for years-on-end listening to the phony conversations, then to the real thoughts after the phone call is over, doesn't make it easy to see them as likable. It's sick
One of the sickest things about this man, was that he had a list; an actual, factual, physical list of the names of all the people which he intended to murder prior to his death. In his last 2 weeks of life he spoke on his disappointment that he didn't think he had enough time to carry the list out.
Oh, and if you haven't gathered, he knew he was dying. He didn't want to share with anyone, particularly his family, that he had a limited time left because he said he didn't want them to act "all weird and different." Fair enough. Some people may not have known outright, but they knew something was different. A lot of comments about the fact that he was being nice to them; and such events struck them as strange. A few people noticed it was strange how, the day before his death, he decided to take a family trip to Historic DC. His own 'bestie' commented on recalling the thought of it being strange, because "KAGE doesn't do that sort of stuff." Yeah, I know
If you know your time is running out and your primary thought is Oh no! I need more time to murder all of these people! You're fucking twisted. Some of these people have bought tickets to his annual Bull Roast, some just rubbed him the wrong way, some pissed him off more than a decade ago.
I would go into any amount of gruesome detail for those who really wanted to know. But ignorance is simple and most seem happy making simple assumptions and pointing ignorant fingers.
In the end, I still, with the help of my mother, lifted him from the place he had fallen, scraped the vomit from his mouth, held down his convulsing body and breathed my own breath into his lungs. Together, we resuscitated him after every bout of tachycardia for nearly half an hour straight while waiting for paramedics. I remained completely composed so that I could fill the EMT's in on his condition (Idiopathic Hypertrophic Sub-aortic Stenosis) accompanied by a Mitral-valve prolapse and proceed to break it down so they knew what it meant for his heart.
Never once did either of us complain of the physical pain and strain we had put on our bodies to make such attempts. Never thinking he had just told us a week prior he had a loaded gun and was headed over to put a bullet straight in our foreheads. Never thinking, 5 months prior, he threatened to take the life of myself and my children, her child and grandchildren, by setting our home on fire and hoping we burn to death.
Oh what a cold-hearted crazy bitch I am.
09 July 2011
Is my old record label cursed?? Cuz...
1....winter 2008, a Break-In Records artist, "B", left the studio with a handful of beats to begin on his new LP, Pain Killa, a collaboration with another artist from the label, "P". We never knew this was the last time we would see him, as he was gunned down a short while later.
2 February 2009, my baby sister, whom danced with me for Break-In Records live preformances, told me over the phone that her 3rd trimester of pregnancy made her feel like she couldn't breath and stated "I feel like I'm going to die." I reassured her that all of us women feel that way when we're pregnant. The next thing I heard about my baby sis was that she died of respiratory failure.
3 My unborn nephew couldn't be saved.
4 Fall 2009, a Break-In artist, "M", welcomed a joy into the family. He was named after the late "B". "Baby B" was taken by SIDS that fall.
5 December 2009, my husband, Break-In Records CEO,"K", passed away suddenly from a heart ailment. The label was completely shut down the same month.
Most of the artists and employees went their separate ways, tho many of us keep in touch one way or another. 2010 was our year of much needed recuperation.
6 Just a few short hours ago, I received the tragic news that a former artist "P" (who was to collab with "B" on the Pain Killa project) lost his brand new baby girl on Thursday.
Maybe I'm trippin, but everything I have that says Break-In on it will be out of my house by the end of the day.
It's too much.
2 February 2009, my baby sister, whom danced with me for Break-In Records live preformances, told me over the phone that her 3rd trimester of pregnancy made her feel like she couldn't breath and stated "I feel like I'm going to die." I reassured her that all of us women feel that way when we're pregnant. The next thing I heard about my baby sis was that she died of respiratory failure.
3 My unborn nephew couldn't be saved.
4 Fall 2009, a Break-In artist, "M", welcomed a joy into the family. He was named after the late "B". "Baby B" was taken by SIDS that fall.
5 December 2009, my husband, Break-In Records CEO,"K", passed away suddenly from a heart ailment. The label was completely shut down the same month.
Most of the artists and employees went their separate ways, tho many of us keep in touch one way or another. 2010 was our year of much needed recuperation.
6 Just a few short hours ago, I received the tragic news that a former artist "P" (who was to collab with "B" on the Pain Killa project) lost his brand new baby girl on Thursday.
Maybe I'm trippin, but everything I have that says Break-In on it will be out of my house by the end of the day.
It's too much.
04 July 2011
29 May 2011
Does this dress make my ass look big?
Rest assured, you will probably hear something more like "Nope, you look good!"
It seems most people would rather tell a little white lie then say anything unflattering.
I want to ask why, but everyone being so different, with varying morals and mindsets, there are probably infinite reasons.
Exaggerating, omitting necessary facts, or brand new phony scenarios; its all lies.
I think what disturbs me is how readily people lie. I particularly hate when people lie to spare feelings. I mean, I understand the notion, but I still dont get it.
Nobody could ever be blackmailed if it weren't for lying...
Nobody could be devastated by news they should have had years prior...
People wouldnt be whirrled into debt after bring trapped by unclear fine print...
People wouldn't spend years wondering if theyre being cheated on, if they have a brother or sister out there, if they are or are not the father ...tons of shit.
Ok thats it.
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24 May 2011
What are the f%&king odds??
I was asked today if I thought monogamy was a natural instinct. I think its hard to say. For some people, it is absolutely in their nature to ...divide and conquer. For others, I think the opposite. Some species pair up for life and some fornicate freely. Men do have a longer reproductive life than us women tho. So it really isn't surprising if a man starts acting out later in marriage and then runs off with a younger, more fertile woman. But we all act surprised. But that cant be the only culprit. I mean, women cheat too...
Fantasy
noun
♦ the faculty or activity of imagining things , especially things that are impossible or improbable.
Improbable seems to be the more likely fit.
I would think that one of the more exciting things about a fantasy is that slight possibility that you may one day turn it into a reality. The chase. Everyone loves a good chase.
“It's the thrill of the chase - the research, the excitement of finding the next thing, the better object. Often, the hunt matters more than the object itself."
Makes sense. We bore easily.
While the odds suggest that men are somewhat more likely to cheat than women, a small study published in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology (PDF) in May 2009 suggests that women might be more likely than men to commit another relationship indiscretion—mate poaching. In fact, single women might be the likeliest to pursue mates who are already in relationships.
More proof us humans like to play games.
AS A MATTER OF FACT
When you really start breaking down the statistics...it doesnt look so good.
- 22 percent of married men have strayed at least once during their married lives.
- 14 percent of married women have had affairs at least once during their married lives.
- Younger people are more likely candidates; in fact, younger women are as likely as younger men to be unfaithful.
- 22 percent of men and 14 percent of women admitted to having sexual relations outside their marriage sometime in their past.
- 90 percent of Americans believe adultery is morally wrong.
- 50 percent of Americans say President Clinton's adultery makes his moral standard "about the same as the average married man,'' according to a Time-CNN poll.
- 61 percent of Americans thought adultery should not be a crime in the United states; 35 percent thought it should; 4 percent had no opinion.
- 17 percent of divorces in the United States are caused by infidelity.
Doesnt matter, most of us will continue to walk around hoping it never happens and remain shocked and awed and possibly fly into a murderous rage when it happens.
I guess animals just dont have too much-self control...
Facts and stats aside, what does everyone else think?
12 May 2011
26 April 2011
Soooo hot. Want to touch the hiney.
This week I think its finally okay to say Summer is here! But who knows...the Universe has been fucking with us pretty hard for the past month or so. Its always unpredictable but...still, you know our species, we don't like anything that makes us feel out of control. #Bossy
That reminds me, my sis was telling me the other day how Cats speak to humans in the same voice they use when speaking to Kittens. I thought about it; wondered why. I quickly realized it's not strictly a Cat thing. I definitely put my "baby voice" on when talking to other species even in their adult years, but only use that voice for a child of my own species. It seems all animals do this. Maybe we all have superiority complexes.
Anyway.
I wish the pools would open!
That reminds me, my sis was telling me the other day how Cats speak to humans in the same voice they use when speaking to Kittens. I thought about it; wondered why. I quickly realized it's not strictly a Cat thing. I definitely put my "baby voice" on when talking to other species even in their adult years, but only use that voice for a child of my own species. It seems all animals do this. Maybe we all have superiority complexes.
Anyway.
I wish the pools would open!
...this is what I look like when I blog.
Hmm, I need to make the bed.
Its weird how one can be so bored with so many things to do. I need anti-stubborn pills. Name me 50 activities and if none of them make my eyes light up, Im not interested. Cook me 100 meals and if none of them make my mouth water, Ill eat later.
I wanna play football. Damn everyone and their day jobs.
Ah well, at least I get to work on someones car later. I always enjoy that! Im not sure why, but being under a hood, getting oil and grease all over me....its so satisfying. Maybe I should have been a mechanic. Nah, thats definitely something I need to do on hobby status.
I could never abandon Art.
Speaking of mechanics. I took my car to the shop the other day; I needed new wires for my shifter. I picked the car up the next day and my Coolant light was on. I lifted the hood to find that my hose had magically disappeared. When I went back to the shop I asked the guy if they for some reason worked through the top of the hood. "No, we went through the bottom" he told me. So then I had to ask "Oh, well how do you suppose you might have knocked a hose completely off up top?" With fake concern and suspect behavior he then suggests "Well lets go check it out!" So I popped the hood and he takes a peek. "Hmm, are you sure? This is just your return" At this point Im thinking either he knows nothing about cars, or thinks Im am idiot. I tell him "Nooooo, THIS is my return..." pointing at the correct hose. "...and THIS is where the other hose should be." He then begins to check out the radiator to see if the hose may be attached on that end, so I tell him " I drive a stick, so it definitely doesnt hook up there, it goes directly into the tranny..." He looks at me and says "Yeah, let me see if I can come up with that hose for you..." At this point he begins to insist I go inside to wait. "Nah," I sad "Im gonna stand right here and smoke." The mechanic then returns with Mr. Even-more-shady-mechanic, they both duck under the hood, and with the first mechanic attempting to block my view, (Im watching like a stalker,) Mr. Shady slips a hose out of his pocket and connects it to my transmission, then walks away. The other mechanic proceeds to shout "Hey! Here it is..." and holds the free end of the hose up. "...it was twisted backward, the clamp is spring loaded (no, its not) and must have popped off from all the pressure." I asked "14 psi would pop that off? hmmm." Not to mention, the dummies left the engine cover un-hooked in their attempt to be covert.
Assholes. Good try, but my tits arent big enough to render me dumb. I drove out of there with my hose, a new clamp and 4 liters of Coolant. (They were so ...nice... they even said they wouldnt charge me. "You can just get us next time." Ha!!)
Off I go.
20 April 2011
420 TALK
((On the phone))
Me: I should really stop smoking weed. Im tired of the daily detox until I smoke again, my fingers and legs are literally tingling, my mouth waters like Im gonna puke....I get pissed off! This is what makes me go grab a Black and try to trick my body with physical act of just smoking something. Plus, I feel like I should be more healthy and I need to take care of my voice. IDK...
...
...
Her: So, you trynna smoke?
Me:Yeah.
Chief On Read On!
Me: I should really stop smoking weed. Im tired of the daily detox until I smoke again, my fingers and legs are literally tingling, my mouth waters like Im gonna puke....I get pissed off! This is what makes me go grab a Black and try to trick my body with physical act of just smoking something. Plus, I feel like I should be more healthy and I need to take care of my voice. IDK...
...
...
Her: So, you trynna smoke?
Me:Yeah.
Chief On Read On!
10 April 2011
Loud n Clear
I have encountered sign, after sign, after sign in the past 14 days that are telling me what to do, where to do it and who to do it with. Forceful, in your face, pushy signs, in conscious and subconscious; allll over the place.
I hear you.
I feel you.
I hear you.
I feel you.
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