But last night, I was reading an article on CNN, and I got flipping ANGRY. Like Hulk Smash angry. Like I grew and started to turn green and was about to smash people but then I realized the people I was mad at weren’t anywhere near me and, damn, I’d better write about it.
Every once in awhile I pull out one of those old school, C battery taking, traditional plastic vibes that cost less than $15. Or a $10 pocket rocket. I take them out and I use them and I get off like lightening and I grin, remembering the days when they were all I had and I
You know what? I am tired, tired up to my fucking eyebrows, of people who do not know how to apologize. When you have done something that insults someone, hurts someone, angers someone, bothers someone, when you have fucked up and been called on it and you need to apologize, you fucking apologize. You do
n the real world, you can have a good reason – or even a flimsy excuse – once in awhile. But if you do it every day, eventually people roll their eyes and think you’re full of shit and lazy.
I am just a girl, in love with her man, addicted to coffee, blogging and all things pink, wrapped up in her own little world, her own little family. I like to type. I like to write. I am not a writer.
Yanno what I hate? I mean really fucking HATE? When people try to tell me I’m saying something I’m not. When they refuse to hear what I’ve actually said and, instead, decide what they think I said and then try to tell me they’re right and I’m wrong. Dude. Shut the fuck up. *I’m* the
And that, I think, is why I have so little sympathy for those who let the shit in their lives make them into someone they don’t want to be. I can empathize, to a point, with the horrors and bad shit people go thru but I have no sympathy for letting it turn you into a nut.
I was kinda pissed off.
I kinda yelled at her.
Kinda a lot.
And then I went and told her boss.
BET SHE NEVER TOUCHES MY SHIT AGAIN!
You’ll feel a hell of a lot better if you stop trying to be better and just… be yourself.
And there you have it. The cure for I’mbetterthanyouitis.
From “wow, what a good day it’s been” to “fuck you” to “holy 80′s brows” in fifteen minutes
Why do we get so full of ourselves we think we’re owed by these places?
If anything, we owe them.
I’m ready to toss the book in the toilet, only I have this issue with not finishing books and so I have to finish it or I’d end up losing my mind, digging in the toilet for it, whatever. I can’t not finish a book.
But, back to the bitching…
It’s stupid to keep aggravation in my life, especially online aggravation from someone who I will never actually meet, never want to actually meet and who has, really, NO redeeming qualities.
And so I sit here, so much to say, afraid to say it. Continually sanitizing my life, my thoughts and my opinions in the interest of being… nice. Professional.
It sucks ass. It’s sapping the spirit and personality right out of me. I? Am boring.
So I’m cruisin’ around Fetlife, right? (And, whoa, I just realized like most of my ranty posts start that way. I wonder if Fetlife ever feels used?)
I came to the place where all this works for me by doing a lot of soul searching and introspection, by trial and error and, in the end, by making a conscious and deliberate choice.
Can I bitch about people again today? Please? I’m still sick — sicker, actually — and everyone is aggravating me.
So life around here is normal. It’s been normal and good with few bumps other than the normal ones caused by a submissive housemouse picking up a job for a good, long time. It’s been, what? A year? Since I had angst? Ack. I need angst! Actually, I do have stuff I angst over. It’s
So I’m cruising around FetLife this morning and I’m all blinking at my monitor, making gaping fish faces and pretty much sitting here slack jawed. Holy hell. There are a whole lot of people I like on Fet but, for the most part, it’s become a cesspit of retardation. I read no less than ten
Headspace. Remembering your place. Blah blah blah. Yet another topic I’ve grown weary of. (So, yes, I talk about it more. How much sense does that make?) I think I used to put a lot of importance on the little things, the direct dominance type stuff that would put me in the proper headspace to
So, if you follow kaya around on Fetlife you’re bound to come across some of the funniest and snarkiest and gobsmacking-ist topics. Which, of course, make the best blog fodder. Today I came across one dealing with rules; Masters rules vs community/group rules and which rules take precedence. And I’m all… Duh. Why the fuck
So. FetLife. Again, it has me pondering. I may not participate there much but, I swear to gods, whenever I visit I end up with a blog post. Lately there have been some discussions about who comes first; child, master or self. And I’m kind of floored at the responses. I mean, first of all,
I did a post not so long ago about attention seeking behavior. I have issues with attention seeking behavior. Serious issues. Like… it makes me want to drive a fondue fork into my eye, run shrieking thru the streets and bleed all over the person doing it; cover them in eyeball juice then smack them