Mad/Sad/Bad Part II

Today hasn’t been the best, mental-health wise.

Celebrity crushes are no good for me because I am stupid an unreasonable and super-immature about it when they have, or get a girlfriend. I try quite valiantly to avoid crushing on ones with wives. I am green with envy, I mean I hate that bitch (whoever she might be at the moment). I know how stupid and immature that is, and that I am far too old for that stupid kind of shit, but, this blog here is where I can be frank, and quite frankly, that’s how the fuck it is.

I have never had someone who was mine. I never will. I have no real-world prospects, so, celebrity crushes it is.

Joaquin Phoenix and his little mouse did the damn pig thing again – I won’t link it here, I won’t promote that – the dude and his rich bitch baby and his hippie vegan LA friends get together every Sunday night outside of a slaughterhouse in LA and when the pig trucks come in they flash bright lights at them and make a great hoo-ha of weeping and witnessing and heart-bleeding, and spray the damn things with water misters (that Joaquin bought!) (They made damn sure we knew that!) This, purportedly, because the pigs are dehydrated – a final mercy before they die.  (Is he not merciful?)

You know what, maybe that is what’s going on. But then again, as it has been suggested, maybe those poor pigs are in a daze, and right before their meaty death they get to be jolted out of that daze by people yelling and flashing bright lights at them and splashing water at them – I’m not sure how that is comforting – it seems to me like it might heighten their alarm. But I dunno.

Anyway anybody who is not a complete idiot knows that a couple of multi-millionaires could find more effective ways of helping goddamned pigs if they were of a mind to do so. I gotta be honest, I think what they are doing is stupid. I think that it’s stupid and I think that if the convenient friend with the convenient camera phone who is always there and always makes sure to get the video of the celebrities (Joaquin & Rooney) “doing good” – and gets that video posted to Facebook within minutes – well if he were not there – every single time, nor would they be. I feel intuitively that it’s a PR move. Interestingly, after deciding this, I read in some crap called the L Chat – some lesbian forum, I guess? – I wouldn’t know about that stuff – that the lesbian babies were all up in arms because some other forum had shit upon their beloved and revered baby bird, their oh-so-very delicate wee Rooney – for appearing to have put on that pig show purely for PR.

Interesting – I’m not the only one who thought that, then! Those two multi-millionaire megalomaniacs could do so much more for fucking pigs if they were really of a mind to, their whole scene smacks of a certain disingenuity, and it pisses me off. I had myself convinced that Joaquin is a fucking idiot and that I don’t like him anymore (the recent picture in the Daily Mail helped) and I tried to contemplate other crush-worthy possibilities.

Norman Reedus? (Ew, just kidding). Travis Fimmel? Charlie Hunnam? Ben Dahlhaus? Caspar Peteus? Dominic Hauser? Gwilym C. Pugh? Johnny Harrington? Maybe…. Aiden Shaw? Nah, he’s beautiful, but he’s way too old (for me).

I try to distract my mind with library books, and with Dreamscope, which has been pissing me off lately, (so badly that I wrote a blog entry about it, which I have since hid to avoid doing any damage to the site).I try distracting myself with my stupid little Sims 4 people, with Archie comics, housework, TV, WWIII Terror News, and whatever else; and yet my silly, stupid mind always seem to wander back to men and sex. I don’t know any real men – at all – for real. You people honestly don’t understand to what extent I am a recluse and a hermit. I haven’t had sex since 2010 and I haven’t had sex worth having, well, ever, really. I began to write the “sex and men” blog entry here a while back but I archived it, I need to figure out what to do with that mess… but the sad truth boils down to this: I have been with enough men that I am not sure exactly how many there were.

I know that most women count, or keep track. I had them all written in the back of a journal (which disappeared. Imagine that). I don’t know how many there were anymore. I just don’t fucking know. 30? 40? 50? Somewhere in there. I mean, it’s not in the hundreds or anything. I’ve never sold my ass nor had it taken from me, I was just… kind of a slut. From the time I was 15 on I did various drugs (mainly weed) and I fucked dudes. I was a “bad kid”. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to suss it out. I was an ugly, physically and emotionally damaged busted-faced young girl with a hot body, (aka a butterface). I was being abused at home, the serial victim of a fucked up, dysfunctional and broken family. I had little to no self-esteem, and I knew very little to nothing about having ever been loved, by family or by anybody else. Therefore I fucked a lot of dudes in order to feel desirable and worth something. Typical as hell, nothing special or cute going on there, frankly it is sad as fuck, but there it is. That’s how that went.

Some of those dudes were one night stands, and some of them were more than a flying fuck in the night. They would come back to me for months or for a couple of years – but none of them were ever pinned down as an actual official boyfriend (which, in most cases, was quite alright with me). Fleeting, fornicators, none of them ever really stuck around. I was all sorts of good for fucking but no good for loving. I allowed myself to be that way because even when I held out and tried for something more that sort of thing was never going to be for the likes of me. Just a party time fuck girl – weed and pizza and sex – woohoo – good times. Never anything real. My options were sex without love or no sex without love. Back then I opted for the sex but now I live a sexless, loveless existence.

I’ve already purported to be an absolute goddamned idiot, so there were two of those men that made me stupid – I thought I was in love but I know now it was lust. I have never been in love with anybody. Nobody has ever been in love with me. I don’t get to have that in my life. There was this one boy in high-school who had a crush on me but I think he was the only one ever and I didn’t give him a chance because I am a stupid, shallow shit and he was a bit of a nerdly type and I liked the long-haired rocker boys. Jesus Christ am I some kind of stupid.  😦 I’m friends with him on Facebook now but he has his family and his life and I leave him alone.

Real relationships never went well for me. A guy  – one of the two I liked the most – hurt me pretty bad in 1999. Not physically, not even a little bit. Instead, he smashed my idiot heart with actions and with words. We were both employed by a group that operated homeless shelters, therefore we knew a lot of the people in the homeless community. After 16 months of dating the dude, multiple mutual friends of ours from the shelters where we worked started telling me that he was fucking some homeless crack whore behind my back.

I asked him if it was true, and he admitted that it was. He said that she was “better” than me, and he called me “a harelip that is only good for fucking in the dark”. Since I had foolishly cared for the stupid son of a bitch, those words stung me quite a bit. That asshole had always left the lights on – he liked what he saw and he liked it very well. The day after he said these horrible things, he crawled to me, apologizing, saying that he had shot off his mouth because he had been drunk, and had been showing off in front of our mutual friends. He said that he didn’t mean it and that he was “sorry, baby, so sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry”. I told him that he had gotten that much right, he was sorry; he was, in fact, the sorriest son of a bitch I had ever met in my life. Then I dumped him for good and never spoke to him again. Ever. Even I have some pride. 😦 😦 😥

I only ever slept with one guy after him, and honestly, I only slept with the guy for one reason. Okay, two reasons. The main reason is so that the cruel asshole with the clever mouth with whom I had been so foolishly smitten would not be the last dude I ever slept with. The second reason was that this new guy was stupid-handsome. In every literal sense. He was stupid. He was handsome. He was so handsome that it was stupid. He looked like a cross between Christian Bale and Adam Levine. Teh first time my horrible friend Teresa met him, she told me that he was so good-looking that she was “staggered” by him. When people saw us together in public I watched them do double takes – like – “how in the fuck did she get him?!”

One of the other cruelest cleft lip-related things someone has ever said to me was,”You were almost so beautiful. Had it not been for your harelip you could have probably done some modelling.” Yeah? Thanks. When I was young I had a beautiful body and I had idiots crawling all over me from the time I was 13. Some of those idiots were really nice looking. That all pretty much stopped around the time I turned 30.

That’s right around the time everything went to hell – loss of my job, a neck tumor, an illegal eviction, loss of my inheritance due to bat shit crazy family, loss of my first and only vehicle ever, so on etc. loss everywhere…

Fuck… With the tumor came sickness, sluggishness and weight gain (and a double chin) and bye-bye went the men.

All of them.

Maybe that’s  not such a bad thing as I find people intolerable anymore and I know that in real-real reality I don’t want no damn dude climbing and slobbering on me, I just have this stupid hormonal sex shit driven into my head by the media, of a romanticized ideal (which is forever unattainable to the likes of me). Why do I think that I want it? Why?

I know why, I think?

ewIt is widely reputed, it is like a widely known thing, that women become snorting horndogs in their 40’s. “Cougers” is one phrase that has been coined for the stereotype, I believe. Horny horny horny horny horny! As much as I desperately don’t want to, I experience this and that’s why I think about celeb dudes (again, I don’t know any real ones and the very few that I do are so very much not EVER going to be viable options). I guess it has something with the ole egg supply heading towards dried up and a last ditch, almost involuntary, biologically driven effort to make a damned KID. Another horrible person.

I know the reality – it’s a biologically driven thing, it’s hormones. I don’t actually for real-real want some jerk slobbering and pawing all over me unless he’s the love of my life, and the odds of a freak like me finding that are infinitesimally slim; for starters, my requirements are way too specific. No scented personal products. No cigarettes. No alcohol. No other women. No hard drugs – but dude can smoke pot until he’s stupid with it, I don’t care – and only pot, none of that stupid spice shit! A dude who likes cats, not so much dogs. A dude who lets me be a bossy brat and have my way right away like I’m at Burger King now. bk

A dude who doesn’t mind being a hermit and a recluse – no friggin’ socialites. Yeah, I’m pretty sure a dude like that doesn’t exist and if he does he sure the fuck ain’t going to be loving up on the likes o’ my busted ass (and face). 😥

All the same, my miserable, tortured mind wanders back to men and sex and love – the things I cannot have. and since I don’t know any real men I think of the celebrities; and even though all of those pretty boys that I named earlier as alternate crush possibilities to Joaquin would be broadly considered to be “better” than Joaquin, my mind wanders back to that sweet-faced, pig-provoking jerk. There is something so adorable and endearing about him. Damn him!

You know what really pisses me off? What is so endearing about Joaquin? And why do those other, prettier men fail to distract me from him? They are fucking Ken dolls next to him! Pretty, perfect, about as close to unflawed as men get. Fucking boring! It is in fact, Joaquin’s slightly bulbous, very crooked nose, asymmetrical as fuck nostrils, wildly erratic hairline, huge eyebrows and yes, that adorable fucking MICROCLEFT HARELIP SCAR that makes him so GAD DAMNED CUTE!

Just like it is that Ville Valo’s fucked-up little teeth that contribute to his bizarre brand of attractiveness.

This infuriates me to NO FUCKING END!!!!

The same flaw that makes Joaquin so adorable to me is the same flaw I hate in myself! How the fuck does that work? And why can’t i find a dude who thinks it is as adorable on me as I think it is on Joaquin? 😦 Admittedly, that jerk got off on Easy Street. Just a little unilateral micro-cleft for him; it reportedly did not even require surgery.

Meanwhile I was (and am) a fucking mess, on the other end of this unsavory spectrum with my bilateral cleft lip and palate, aka worst case scenario, as bad as the birth defect gets. Real nice. Really, really, really fucking nice. I just love how his fucking harelip is endearing to me, and based on what I read in fan forums, it is endearing to many, many other women as well. Here’s a direct quote from one of the forums: “I want to sit on Joaquin Phoenix’s harelip scar. That is all.”  (I echo the sentiment). But mine? Because I am female, mine apparently reduces my overall value, and now what with weight gain and having reached middle age, renders me pretty much completely unfuckable.

The hypocrisy of it pisses me off!

I mean, there have been dudes in recent years that have tried to get with me, but, ew, absolutely not. Most of them were in their 60’s and/or were smokers. The other one, while young and muscular and tattooed and not unattractive, is literally known for fucking every and anything in a three county radius… and is most certainly crawling with a myriad of STDs. No thanks, I’d rather remain celibate forever than resort to that. Not that hard up. Nope.

Nope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damn near two weeks later:

I archived this for – damn! 12 days! It didn’t feel that long. The subject matter was sincerely pissing me off so I set it aside. Then I got sucked back into Dreamscope and library books for a while, but here I am, back to finish this sad mess.

What makes all of this burn so much more is this: anonymity brings a certain sense of freedom. Anonymity is why I can write this blog. Anonymity is why I can be my obnoxious and sometimes brilliant self here and on my fake Facebook page. On Facebook I have often ended up talking to lots of dudes. I am never soliciting anything sexual during these conversations, and they are the ones to initiate contact, usually due to something brilliant I have posted on my own page or in a group. I never pretend to be anything other than what I am. I’m not into that idiot cat fishing nonsense. I tell them quite frankly, “this account is a sock, and I am a middle aged woman, bitter, jaded and ugly as fuck, and I’m not interested in any sexy talk”. bpSometimes they believe me, sometimes they don’t. What several of these guys do, however, is that after a bit of conversation they purport to have become smitten with me. With my mind. My profile picture is a passive-aggressive bit of text, in case anybody wondered. There are no personal pictures to be found on the account (duh – it’s an admitted sock). These dudes practically lie in wait for me to come online, which gets annoying; so eventually I have to become firm and bitchy and ward them off, sometimes aggressively, and or/turn off the Facebook chat. I’ve had dudes harass, wheedle and annoy for days to meet me (oh hell no!). I’ve had them ask for my number so they can call me, again, a big NO. No no and no. I even had one of them send me the exact image embedded in this paragraph, along with the words “how I feel about you” and a bunch of damn kiss and heart emoji.

Like, uh, jeez, thanks? It is so fucking comforting to know that so many people are so capable of falling in love with my mind – online. These are people I have 10 and 20 thousand message conversation histories with, not just random fuckos I’ve messaged with for ten minutes, (though frankly, there have been a few of those who purported to be immediately smitten with my mind, or personality, or whatever, as well.)

The image shown above had been sent to me by the man that I talked to (by which I mean, exchanged Facebook inbox messages with) for the longest – I think I talked to this jerk on and off for a period of … fuck, I don’t even know. 6 or 7 years? A long ass time, anyway, all under the veil of sweet mutual anonymity. I’ve considered blogging about him but I probably will not. He & I go through seemingly endless cycles of excessive chatting to the point that we’re sick of each other and then there’s a big stupid fight over nothing, followed by months of absolute estrangement. He has always come back, but I think that the estrangement may be permanent this time. It has been almost half a year now. I’m alright with that, if he doesn’t come back, as that whole situation is a headfuck in itself.  Headfuck… ha! I hadn’t even meant for that to be punny.

It just adds to the mad, the sad and the bad to know that people online apparently just love talking to me (sans any profile pics or webcams, of course). My medical driver, who I also talk to more than just about anybody, due to multiple long trips, recently told me that I was one of the smartest people that she’s ever met – not that that’s exactly an accomplishment in this particular area. I have lived all over the country and the sheer volume of extra stupid around here is far more dense than it has been anywhere else I’ve ever lived. This contributes to my current state of extreme hermitdom. Also, pesticide. I fucking hate pesticide (💀) and this area is extra-happy with it, which I suspect is a huge contributing factor to the higher-than-normal volumes of stupid that permeate the region.

Most people who know what my face and body look like constantly shit on me in sly, snide and cuntly little ways, both online and off. Multiple people, largely of the male variety, who have no idea what my face and body look like and know me only as some strange and anonymous online creature, become smitten with “my mind”.

How the fuck am I supposed to feel about that?!    ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Since I posted Part I of this particular rant, I posted this meme in the comments section of the rude posts in which I was tagged:

yu

One of them – a former foster “sister” no less – ignored it but the other one, a former coworker, commented, “sheesh take a joke”.

Considering that what I had WANTED to post to them was this meme, I think I handled it rather diplomatically.
angry-samuel-l-jackson-untag-me-motherfucker

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