Random thoughts

Edit

Edit again.

Another ice coffee or ice tea or Gatorade? Shit I’m almost out.

There’s a sale at Victoria’s Secret, again. Really bad for my wallet but I need a new bag, shirt, pants, perfume, etc because I want it.

I haven’t planned my story app in days too busy on other websites. There’s still NOTHING new.

I’m cold I want ice cream.

Protests? Meh. I don’t care. Don’t throw rocks at my car again asshole. I’ll slap you with a lawsuit.

I sued my employer, what makes you think I won’t sue you?

I have nothing to fear the inside of my mouth. I broke my tooth and it’s decayed.

Why can’t people leave me the fuck alone and let me write in peace!?

Don’t look at me like that. Don’t look at me at all.

Face masks are stupid. This entire thing is stupid.

You remember the times it was a big deal when you went to public places with your face covered? Those days are over.

If people asked, ‘hey, did you test positive for an STD?’ every time you went in public as mush as they did COVID, well…

I’m not looking forward to going back to work.

I’m looking forward to the day I get another job.

The guy in my writing I obviously slept with. Do you need concrete details about that too?

Relationships are stupid. Marriage is stupid too. It’s a contract.

I don’t need to date assholes anymore, I live with one.

I’m emotionally unavailable because I don’t have emotions.

The only person I care about is my daughter.

Hmmm, let me think… No.

He’s hot, I’d sleep with him. Expect for the fact he’s too straight edge.

I don’t have issues in that department. I have issues in the giving a fuck department.

I think the answer is I need new sunglasses.

I need to rethink this selling on Amazon bullshit.

I don’t know what I’m planning to do with my characters in this story. I’m just writing a crime novel.

I’m not drunk. I wish I was.

I really think that much about him. I write about him sometimes. Maybe I need a therapist. Fuck that shit. I’d rather waste money other places.

Completing drafts

I don’t
give a fuck

 

If I write a poem for my boyfriend
it’d be a simple “I love you” note
on a plate of brownies
’cause I know my man
he don’t want no poem
and won’t read it

 

Why my writing
sucks?
I spit it out

 

The love of my life
is Starbucks
coffee frappuccino
with coconut milk

 

Drive by agent
drives by my house
to see if I’m there
passes by me
on my way to town
makes it look like
he’s doing his job
not stalking me
but he is
he wouldn’t say a word
to me, hasn’t in years
he watches and follows me
when I drive

 

What I learned from 90s shows
It’s okay to kiss other people if you’re in a relationship, you’re going to marry your boyfriend/girlfriend anyway. -Boy meets world. Television sucks, it gives you dreams and situations that will never happen.

 

Signs your girlfriend hates you
she ignores you
your nickname is asshole, douchebag, jackass, moron, dumbass, etc
she texts other guys
she is sleeping with other guys or thinking about it
you get pity and drunk sex
she’s bored

Why I’m letting this expire

It’s time to move on.
I don’t see the point in writing randomly like I have been. Besides a small audience and some likes, I don’t gain that much of it. None of you know who I am (though you’ve read about it), I get zero profit for it and little recognition. I went in knowing all this and not expecting anything in return. Now I have to think more about how I manage my free time, spend my money, and what other goals I have in life that don’t involve survival or money. I would like to sell some of my work and write the novel I told my mother I was going to write when she was nearly dying of cancer last year (she’s no longer in remission so it’s possible the nightmare will start over). It forces me to think about everything in my life. I go on the defense and survival mode (if you don’t know what that means don’t read this nor talk to me — I think you’re an idiot and don’t care if you think I’m a bitch).

 

What will become of this?

I could pay for it to be renewed but I’m not going too. I could give it a new name but I don’t want too. I could create a new one with a specific/tighter focus but I don’t have the time for it. This is not a good time for me to manage a website. Anything you would get from me in writing would be more nonsense or things you don’t follow or relate too.

 

I’m sorry but not so sorry that this isn’t a funny or positive post. The truth is, I’m just done. It’s nothing you or anyone did. I can’t stay with this website or blog forever. I’ve outgrown it. Thank you all for watching the madness.

 

Note: The first category on this website was called, “C’est la vie” 

Whatever

They say

Slow down
and tell an actual story
stop running your mouth
there’s not enough details
and you’re too weird or vague
nobody can relate

 

They say

You eat too much
you don’t eat enough
why can’t you be more ___
what is wrong with you
why don’t you care
why don’t you post anything on Facebook

 
 
Whatever

‘Make it or break it’ questions

I feel like the next time someone asks me about myself, I’m going to give them this link so I can stop explaining and answering the same questions.

 

Is that really you in your photo?
Yes.

 

What body type do you prefer?
Thin, athletic, or average.

 

Would you date someone taller?
I have in the past, so maybe.

 

Would you date someone shorter?
Men? No. Women? Maybe.

 

How often do you masturbate?
Why? This shouldn’t be public knowledge. If you’re worried about me being a porn addict or sex addict, I’m not.

 

How often do you have sex?
Not as often as you like to think.

 

Do politics interest you?
Hell no.

 

Do you believe in God?
No.

 

Do you have a religion?
No.

 

Are you spiritual?
Yes.

 

Do you eat meat?
The only meat I eat is chicken but I’m thinking about being a vegetarian.

 

Are a single parent?
No.

 

Are you looking for someone to have kids with?
No?

 

Are you monogamous?
Yes until I find out you’re cheating on me.

 

Have you ever cheated?
Years ago.

 

Will you cheat on me?
No, I’d dump you.

 

What is important to you?
Fitness and my work.

 

What is your sexual orientation?
Bisexual.

 

Does that mean you’re going to leave me for a man/woman?
No.

 

Do you have threesomes?
No.

 

Do you have an STD?
No.

 

Do you go to orgies?
No and I’ve never been to one.

 

Would you like to join my partner and I?
No.

 

Do you date a man and woman at the same time?
No, do you date two guys or two girls at the same time?

 

Why does your profile say you’re only looking for women?
Because I don’t want a man.

 

Are you gay?
No.

 

Are you experimenting?
No.
 

Is this a phase?
No.

 

How old are you?
26 years old.

 

What the fuck are you doing?
Fuck off.

How not to talk to a girl

“Hey, want to have a threesome?”
No, but is your friend single?

 

“We should hookup sometime.”
Maybe if we were at a bar but we are not…

 

“Do you spit or swallow?”
Neither.

 

“Are you a Lesbian? If you are, can I watch?”
Are you gay? If you are, can I watch? Just kidding. Why on Earth would I want to watch anyone have sex.

 

“Send me nude pics.”
Of what? I can send you pictures of a dog, cat, cow, or chicken. They’re naked…

 

“I want you, do you want me? I’m way better for you.”
What?

Psychoanalyzing Literature

I found this on the desktop. Old essay I wrote for a class, I was psychoanalyzing someone. I had some fun with this… commentary trash talk. Don’t shoot me. 

 

The Vanishing Lady (A story about a lady with an eating disorder?)

In “Never Marry a Mexican,” the narrator, Clemincia, struggles with relationships with her mother, father, and love interest. (She wants to have sex with everyone?) She masks her feelings well as she goes about her secret plan to vanish and deceive. Like her mother, she becomes a “Vanishing lady,” due to “The Name of the Father,” a man. (She wants to have sex with her father?) Clemencia demonstrates her feelings of guilt and anger in symbolic order with metaphors. (What the fuck does that mean? She’s crazy.)

According to Zizek (Who the fuck is Zizek?) we effectively become something by pretending that we are. (Zizek) (Why am I writing names in parentheses, it’s dumb.) The mask we wear in public symbolizes who we really are behind closed door. (What mask? I just don’t want everyone to know who I am fucking.) In “Never Marry a Mexican,” Clemencia’s mother told her that she imagines her father in his fanfarron clothes because that’s what he was. (Don’t marry a Mexican because he likes to fap off? How is that different than any other man on this planet? Fanfarron,” is a metaphor to describe how Clemencia’s father really was. (A drag queen?) He was a fanfarron (flame-thrower?) with his flashy shark-blue suits, tweed topcoat with big shoulders, and heavy British wing tips with a pin-hole design on the heel and toes. (Cisneros) (I get it, he dresses in drag.)“Fanfarron,” is a metaphor to describe how Clemencia’s father really was. (A drag queen?) He was self-conceited, arrogant, and materialistic. (Was? You mean IS?) It wasn’t possible that the mother was happy. The mother ignored his behavior and did nothing about it, she ceased to exist. (I would too if I was his mother.) She became one of those vanishing ladies Zizek would refer too. Vanishing ladies seem to have control over us as they tap into our psyche somehow. They are convincing, irresistible, and ladylike in nature. (Zizek 79) (Zizek wants to have sex with his mother.) 

Clemencia does not think of her mother as ladylike in nature, however. She uses the metaphor “little finch,” (little dick) to transfer her guilt to intend something to be other than what it really is. (Cisneros) She compares her mother to a little finish because she once had one for a pet. She twisted one of its legs off in the bars of the cage. It was still able to live for a long time without it with its little red stump as a leg. (very small dick) After her fathers death, Clemencia’s mother got remarried to a white man with children. (a common boring guy) Clemencia’s mother lived paralyzed for a long time to the extent it affected her mentality. Her memory of her father’s presence is gone and dried up like the bird that lost its leg and lived a long time without it. The reference to the “little finich,” and “red stump,” is also a metaphor to her own life. (She sees a lot of little dicks and very small dicks in her life.) (Cisneros) Clemencia feels small and wounded. (I would too if I was surrounded by dicks with small dicks.) She tries not to miss or feel anything as she remembers not to marry a Mexican man. (She doesn’t want to marry a Mexican man because she fears they have small dicks like white men?) Clemencia’s attitude suggests that the “white man,” is the one to blame for her affair with a married man, Drew. (No she is the one to blame. She doesn’t like small dicks, why does she keep fucking them?) (Cisneros) When really what is to blame is her mother, father, and self.

According to Lacan it is the lack of the, “Name of the Father,” or father in Clemencia’s case, that allows there to be signified, delusional metaphors. (She still wants to fuck her father.) It involves an imaginary couple from the imaginary disaster until the level is reached at the signifier and stabilize. (She fanasties about a man like her father.) (Lacan) The imaginary couple involves a ego-object or ideal-reality where the subject field is from the aggression it carries out. In this case, Clemencia’s ego-object becomes Drew. The ideal-reality becomes her memories of him when he is gone. The subject field in the end is Drew and Megan’s son. How can Clemencia live with herself when she is reminded that she slept with Drew when Megan was pregnant for him? (She has more issues than me. Finally I found someone that does.)

Clemincia tells us about the time Drew called her his Malinalli. (Cisneros) Although it was a joke, it served as a private unconscious game between them. Drew played the role as the “Name of the Father,” while Cleminica played as the “Vanishing lady.” (Now she is pregnant and doesn’t know who the father is.) Drew was the “white man,” Clemincia’s step-father. (She is racist against white people because she calls Drew a white man.) The perfect, idealistic looking man with potential. Cleminica was now the ladylike women in nature. This time she played the role as a phantomlike figure while appearing as a woman he can admire. (Zizek)

Clemincia appeared to be beautiful and ladylike with her coursean and dark skin. Drew, on the other hand, was pale and looked like a Corte with his black beard. As he kissed her he would call her “Mi doradita,” and “Malinche.” (Cisneros) (She wanted to have sex with him because he can say things in a different language.) Clemincia then started to play the role of her mother and Drew played the role of her father. (Foreplay.) In this case, the role of the father is redoubled in the place of the signifier which allows the symbolic order of things to continue. (Lacan 207) Like her mother, Cleminica was not satisfied because the amount of care he showed towards her was not enough. (She wanted more sex.) She wanted the ideal partner and he wasn’t making her feel loved and worthy of living. Cleminica and Drew were a imaginary couple, all in her head. Drew was married to another woman, and they were going to have a baby. (Everyone is whore in this story.) Have he cared it wouldn’t have been that way. He was like her father who cheated on her mother. The relationship between Cleminica’s mother and father was also imaginary. Her mother had no memory of him. He was showing-off in his expensive clothes somewhere distant from her.

Clemincia transfers her anger out on Megan’s son. She believes that her child is nothing without her, created from red spit and red dust. “Red spit,” and “red dust,” is a metaphor for blood. (Cisneros) (No, it’s a metaphor for you’re dead.) They both suggest the symbolic order of thing. Spit is a natural substance from your body. Dust is dirt that can be blown any direction. (She wants to blow Megan’s son.) Clemincia is telling us that she is mad and planning to deceive the boy. She made him by sleeping with his father behind his mother’s back. So he is a “smudge of paint,” that can be revised and tossed aside just as relationships and people. (She wants to change him.) (Cisneros) When it is all done and over she will disappear like her mother and father has in the beginning. (She is extremely fucked up, I still don’t know what she is trying to say.)

In the end, it is clear that Clemincia is a victim. (No, it’s clear she is psycho.) She was cheated on many times by men. Left hurt, bitter, and lonely she learned how to play the game. In order to break the symbolic order of things she has to strike back. That’s not easy when everything is masked in a world that enlists masks, metaphors, and delusions as part of human nature. The way to break nature is to go along with it. (Why because she don’t really care about life or herself?)

Names for Drinks

Beer

Rear

 

Vodka

Okay

 

Mountain Dew

Do me

 

Pepsi

See me

 

Coke

Stroke

 

Sprite

Right

 

Coffee

Feed me

 

Water

Thunder

 

Powerade

Run and rage

 

Gatorade

Gator

 

Monster

Lobster

 

Lemonade

Lie my age

 

Kool-aid

Kill me

 

Jack Daniels

Jerk me off

 

Wine

Wiener

 

Tea

Pee

 

Red Bull

Me dull