Home Sweet Home

I picked up the keys to my new place last night and spent my first, of many, nights in my new house. 

It’s been a very long time since I’ve had to sign a lease and thus, it’s been a long time since I could say a place was mine. 

Whoopy! No one can throw me and Dani out anymore. 

You don’t know how awesome of a feeling that is. 

Or… maybe you do. 

A house that’s mine and hers to make of what we want… A home… For the two of us… Our Rules. 

Well, three of us. Because we’re never leaving Harley, our orange tabby cat, behind again. He forgave me fairly quickly and he still offers up the same love and affection he always did so I’m very grateful for that. 

From now on, though, he’s with me. 

There’s a lot to do over the next three weeks so I’ll try to catch up when I can. 

Peace.

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Feminism is Equality

​Equality. 

I’m not a dogmatic angry feminist who hates men.

I want equality. 

I don’t want to be sexually harassed at work and be told I don’t have a sense of humor if I object. 

I want to be paid the same for the same work/degree/experience. 

I don’t want to have to fight the patriarchy for fair pay.

I want my abuse, and anger/sadness from such, to be taken seriously.

I do not respect any man, nor woman, who calls me crazy in a derogatory way or blames my feelings on my period.

Period.

It’s Been a Long Time…

Since I started working again 3 weeks ago I haven’t been blogging as much. 

Apologies.

Or maybe not, lol.

The reason is that I commute 4-8 hours a day, and have been working 4 ten hour days so other than sleeping, not much else has been happening. Or, maybe, I’ve been to tired to notice that the world is still going on around me. 

That last part might just be true. 

I have a whole new respect for people who have been so committed to their jobs that they drive hours to get to work every day. I’m, mostly, just committed to my kid. 

I want her to have a mostly comfortable, but not to cushy, childhood and that is difficult to do on one income.

Do you know why there are two lines for parents on a birth certificate? 

Because there’s virtually no possibility of feeding, clothing, and housing a child/children and still having time to raise them on the average salary of one person in America today.

Thankfully the right opportunity landed in my lap. I love my job and it pays well enough for me to live in a rather comfy (and safe) neighborhood where my child can go to a good school with a diverse curriculum. 

Not everyone, not even every American, has had the same opportunities and conveniences that I have, though. I was not born male, but I was born most of the other “privileged” classes which means that, although my discriminations were not null and non-existent, they were limited compared to many others in this country. 

I am not thankful for this, I’m mostly embarrassed really. I detest the racial, homophibic, sexist, and ignorant history that is associated with my race… the human one. 

So, I remember this everyday. And although I have to take care of Dani first and foremost, I do plan to teach her about giving back and paying it forward. 

Maybe it was hard work… or maybe it was luck… or… maybe it was the color of my skin and my Christian upbringing…

It doesn’t matter anymore really because that shit exists whether I experienced it or not. 

And, it’s better, living life this way. 

Giving back.

Paying it forward.

So… have a day, my friends…

Dick Pics – Part Deux

So, I have to confess…

I actually ASKED a guy to send me a dick pic yesterday.

I know… I know… the whole dick pic blog a few months ago. (Click here if you missed it.)

In my defense though, it was pierced and I’ve never seen a pierced one before… Grin.

It wasn’t half bad, definitely fuckable… too bad it was attached to the ass it was.

Come on guys, seriously? What woman wants to be called a “whore” or told that she’s “fuckable”?

Not this one. Sorry. I prefer to be respected. Carry on.

But hey, it wasn’t a total loss… I may just have to start a collection of dick pics… Grin

In Limbo

A week or so ago, I received a series of suicidal texts from an ex at 2 am.
So I called him because, as much as I dislike him right now, I still love him and I don’t wish him dead… just out of my life.

Anyway, I called him… and he was drunk. The first couple hours was him crying about how isolated and alone he is and how he thinks he is depressed.

Well… he probably is. Massive amounts of beer and alcohol over the years can do that to you. It’s one thing to have a drink or two a few nights a week… it’s a completely different thing to have a case or two a few nights a week.

I felt sorry for him. I still love him so it’s hard to not care. And I’m the type of person who would drop everything if I came across a STRANGER in the same condition, so of course I called him.

I don’t even think he realizes what he’s become… what he was even before Dani and I moved to Montana. If I’d known of this, I never would have moved. I’m not much of a drinker… a good Margarita will put me under the table… and ALL of the heavy drinkers that I’ve dated in my life have been abusive. There would have been a huge, red flag waving around in my head… “DON’T GO!!”…

Now, I’ve been under a doctor’s care for anxiety and depression for 14 years… and the first thing my doctor said to me was you need to stop drinking. Not that I was drinking much back then… a couple drinks, a couple times a month… but she wanted me to know just how negatively  a depressant, like alcohol, affected a person like me, with chronic depression and anxiety.

So I KNOW that depression and alcohol are not a good mix. I KNOW that alcohol is a depressant and thus works exactly opposite of an anti-depressent. And I KNOW that alcohol and my body don’t mix well… kind of like dairy milk and my body… only much more damaging.

I hope he gets help. I really do. He’s a great guy when he is not drinking and spending 2-3 days afterwards in bed because he’s hung over.

Guess how he spent Christmas day? :/

Sigh.

And, just so you know, I’ll keep blogging here… because no man will ever silence me.

Never.

 

#takingbackmypower

A Sleeping Person Cannot Consent

Remember that time you shot your “load” all over my back when you thought I was sleeping?

Do you even realize that was the last time I slept in your bed?

I can’t consent if I’m sleeping. Which is what you thought.

That I was sleeping.

And I can still hear your grunting in my head.

#takingbackmypower