Mishandled and Misrepresented

if it's white collar, I've committed the crime
Some say I look quite a bit like Martha Stewart.

if it’s white collar, I’ve committed the crime 


Broads Centre Private Property warning sign
Broads Centre Private Property warning sign (Photo credit: ell brown)

Public nudity? Public intoxication? Defrauding the government? Sex on private property? Use and abuse of illegal substances? Graduated bottom of my class and now working under an alias with alien Barbie‘s for a cause?
The list is endless.
If conformity, habitual lying, crying wolf and taking on other’s personalities put me in segregation from Un-Natural people…prison or day camp for addicts…my parent’s would give a donation to a wing in my honor.
Perhaps, a bronze plague above the tub I used to find myself in whilst in college. Naked, high and on Ambien…
It is hard to know where the next unadulterated violation will occur. Perhaps, bending friendships into misshaped ideas of my rights and their wrongs.
Or, the mishandling and misrepresentation of Beckett Couvillion the third, dog wonder, while he takes a shit on someone’s lawn.
My future is so bright…I have to wear shades and assume the bend over position.
Can’t blame a dyed blonde for trying to be something she’s not…after all it’s the All American White Girl’s Wet Dream.

Lazy, Hazy, Crazy days of Summer

 The lazy workers spending their summe...

Ironically… I’ve become her. I’m miserable, openly air my concerns and criticisms to the deaf ears of staff, who didn’t seem to care how miserable I am. To their faces, I’ve said “This was the worst experience of my life. You didn’t supervise me, or give me any work to do, and to top it off, you’ve verbally abused me. Also, you’ve all treated me like garbage.” Those were my EXACT words. What was their response you ask? Nothing. They did not react or care. As I did a bit of digging, I found that two of this organization’s former VISTAs had complete mental breakdowns, one of which disappeared for a week and had to be counseled back to the office.

The road less traveled is always paved with good intentions. And, no good deed goes unpunished!
The ‘I wanted to be a Barbie doll cheerleader’ but ended up with this tent for a body; can all be found living in pretend poverty.
Most of us hide from our past. Work approximately 15 hours a week and at the end of it all we play; Volunteer to change the world trivia.
We shake the hands of town’s people and carry Handi Wipes for such an occasion. We are generally Idiot Savants in need of positive reinforcement because we received little while growing up.
Growing up you ask? Yes, sprouting from the land of misfit boys and girls. Jewish, white, adopted into wealth, forgotten by the pretty God‘s. Non-descript overly fed on someone else’s ego and awaiting the next disaster, zombies.
Our hands blister from raking for an hour because the supple skin before now had never put in a day of manual labor. We sleep on church floors and in basements of old buildings. All the while hoping that the imprisonment ends soon. Praying to have Mummy and Daddy come pick us up from Overnight Camp for the rich and oblique.
Why the uproar?
I cried every night in the attic of a cold room in a sedate section of Auburn Street, Concord New Hampshire!
Now, I cry every night in a not so quiet stagnant room called, volunteering to pay college back.

Speaking of Barbie Dolls

Barbie's BBQ

Choice is all we have
Choice is all we have

Woof, who let the dogs out!  Wow, some of these self-portraits really, really, really, explain the need for one piece bathing suits!

Honestly, I’m surprised that Mother Theresa didn’t put a stop to that nastiness.  Fat poking out here.  extra breast flaps slapping out in the wind and me with a ‘look Ma I’m having fun’ grin on my face.  Just like a small child visiting Disneyland for the first time.

Too bad, the photo was taken when I attempting adulthood.  But you get the picture.  I actually know why Mum never stopped me from showing the camel toe to Martha’s Vineyard.  She wants herself an authentic and life like Barbie Doll.

And, given that my eating habits have not regressed she’s made due with the Over Abundant NH idealism of a Barbie Doll.

So, Mother Theresa and all the toddlers in tiaras with the southern comfort baby momma’s, this one’s for you:

It’s alright forty days of rain my skin stretched our from the growing pain
I’d be nice to have an explanation, but it’s alright
And it’s alright if you hate that way, hate me cause I’m different, hate me cause I’m gay
Truth of the matter come around one day so it’s alright
I look at this lifeline stretched way all across my hand
I look at the burned out empty like a plague across the land
And for everything I learn there are two I don’t understand
That’s why I’m still on a search through the weather strewn church I’m doing the best
I can and it’s alright
And it’s alright though we worry and fuss, we can’t get over the hump or get over us
It seems easier to push than to let go and trust but it’s alright
When we get a little distance some things get clearer
Give em the space our hearts grow nearer I ran as hard as I could and still ended up here
but it’s alright I look at this lifeline stretched way all across my hand
I look at the fires of hatred burning up the bounty of this beautiful land
I know I’m small in a way but I know I’m strong
And it’s my thirst that brought me to the water when I give it all up then she carries me on and it’s alright
Yeah it’s alright
And it’s alright though I feel afraid my plans in pieces my plans mislaid
It’s the will of the way the will of the way the will of the only way
that could have brought me here today and it’s alright. 

I never understood gay, anyway-

Ambien Grace, Concord NH

Mama I’m Strange

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To Mother Theresa from Ambien Grace, Concord NH

“Mama I’m Strange”

What’s this little lie They keep on telling me It’s just another high They keep on selling me I was only five They fed me so much jive They said just have a ball Just be a Barbie doll They churned and burned me out Until they turned me out Over and over again
Mama I’m strange The thoughts and the wants are the locks On the back of my brain I’m descending pretending I’m blending I’m going insane And they want me to change Mama I’m strange
I’m on a shaky wall I’m tripping down the hall And all the king’s men can’t Can’t sew me up again I’ve got a leaky head Don’t know the full extent I’m drowning in my bed I’m just an accident They chewed and blew me out Until they threw me out Over and over again
If I could tranquilize I might just vaporize They couldn’t supervise They couldn’t criticize I have no evidence I have no reverence It makes no difference I have no innocence
Help me mama help me now