The Triabolical Villainy of a 9th Blogaversary

I went from being homeless in 2012, to having to provide sexual favors for a dude I would have fucked anyway after picking me up from a drunken collision with a median on the 15 in Vegas instead of letting me go to jail since the reason I nearly flipped my car in the first place was because I was bailing on a date with him where he was letting all sorts of strange dudes in the casino grab me inappropriately, to accepting that I was no longer Christian, to finally getting a real job in 2013, to volunteering to be some Nick Jonas looking motherfucker’s “first” when he turned 21, to trying to be vegan, to moving my son to a private community in the midwest so he could go to a good high school in 2014, to treating myself to a 10-day vacation in Italy in 2015 to finally spend time with Michelangelo’s David in person, to really discovering my taste for whiskey, to getting high and singing on the beach in the Bahamas with my sister and our shapeshifting sidekick in 2016, to having a sexcapade with my boyfriend and his best friend because I wanted my boyfriend to break up with me but he refused even more vehemently after that, to walking the mountain to Alhambra in Granada, Spain and stopping to touch the statue of Washington Irving in 2017, to locking a Abercrombie & Fitch looking dude in my closet hogtied for a weekend only letting him out to fuck him or feed him or urinate on him, to moving back to Cali by myself after my son graduated and turned 18, in 2018, to taking therapy seriously, to switching to a job that would have me traveling to a new locale 5 days a week for 40-42 weeks a year in 2019, to dressing like Wonder Woman during quarantine when I turned 45 in 2020, to sitting here alone, on my sofa, braless, wearing a Darth Vader tee-shirt and drinking coffee and smoking a joint and wearing a citrus scrub face mask and listening to slenderbodies sing homestead and cramping because it’s period week and I’m extremely shitty that I still have to have a fucking period week when my only child is 21 now so clearly I’m not trying to continue breeding with a powder blue and hot pink lace and ribbon fascinator in my tangled and matted dirty hair bun struggling with not adding some Glenlivet to this coffee and downloading a dating app where all the Nick Jonas looking motherfuckers hang out so I can do what adult cougars are designed to do, prey on pretty ass deer, but resisting those thoughts by admitting them and writing them down and thinking back to all I’ve done and seen and overcome and survived in the past 9 years of my life and nervously wondering what the big memories of the year will be


for 2021… scared as shit already about 2030…

2 thoughts on “The Triabolical Villainy of a 9th Blogaversary

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