Thoughts on Ambien not so Full of Grace:
So, languidly and apologetically, I must say something. Not all twenty-somethings are the missing link to Neanderthal woman and Attack of the Fifty foot Dumbed Down Dyed Blonde.
Not all attempt to defraud the government and profess a yearning to better the world in one false swoop of ignorant bliss.
Some pay their way through college on their dime and on their time and raise a family, sometimes with Baby Daddy, most often not.
Most do not claim indecent exposure of the plus side of life; they managed to work, volunteer, balance good with bad and cry at night once the kids are a sleep.
The handfuls of upper middle class ‘I want to be an adult…I really do!’ that live with Mum and Daddy. Rake sawdust to better the environment and pray to no higher power. These children dressed in Trazodone/Ambien disguise prey off the idea that ‘someone somewhere owes them something.’
Today there had been a beautiful woman to the likes I had never seen. She was balancing a child on one hip, scolding another child and handing out commands as though she had been running the tightest ship in the shipping business.
She gives to the local community via their needs and wants. She is proud and strong and versatile in what is given…for she and many like her know all too well what is needed.
She is a daughter to the next generation. No mother or father to pave a path of bad intentions and spoiled sexual ideation topped with gender bender idealism. AmeriCorps VISTA, FEMA, spoilers of the spoiled brats have handed down karaoke machines, sweet drinks and open mic nights to these Romney descendants. The 1% of America that her majesty should disown. There are no nude portraits. No fingers held behind the back to which the Annie/Ambien’s speak promises with forked tongue. There is a generation out there willing to pay their fair share. Pick up the mess and gluttony of my group of wanton hippies and attempt to make the grass green again.
Why is it the privilege few are marking every leg with the scent of oblivious inadequacy? The papered in money few are soiling the lot of the working class.
Again, there are your tax dollars at work.
I suppose there is nothing we can do but POP another Ambien and hop it all goes away.
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 AmericanWhite Girl’s Wet Dream.
So, as summer progressed, not quite a year ago. A following and routine had transpired my dull and mundane job of reviewing bed breakfast items for a poorly run newspaper…
My once un-chaotic and patented life became transfixed on the HOMOPHOBIC lesbian undercover as my real life boss.
What was a gal to do? After all and pay attention to the details, this is how I saw things without rose-colored glasses on:
-Book about to be published, no real genre or plot for next middle of the road offering from my unpolished mind.
-Constant disdain for those who turn the worlds of others into their playground with their vain attempts of being ‘cool’.
-Never a follower, I had always stayed to the thicket and managed to veer off the road when it came to life.
-Un-politically correct in a liberal politically correct sort of way, forty years of trying to make Bless the Freaks a common household term and disavowing those with silver Ben n Jerry Ice Cream Scoops up their mindless souls had led my intentions and conflictions.
Yup, I had been ready for the plight of the flight of the anti-hero and non avenger Ambien/Annie Grace.
Hard as it was…it really was not all that difficult to set the ball of bias formed into a twenty-two year old stout frame, rolling. The ‘edgy writer’ caught the fray of the apron string Ambien/Annie could not let go. And, well, as the saying goes, I sat back and enjoyed the ride.
The sex? Well, it was no surprize the young lass had turned other admirer’s to stone. She had no rhythm and certainly, her romantic side seemed like a bad nursery rhyme.
First time, the boss’s desk at work. Had there been any concern for ‘getting caught in the act’? Nope, I was with the boss.
Obstacle? Just one and I suffered with that particular ‘pre pubescent pain’ for five months…Our young and fearless leader had only known one form of sexual position…masturbating herself into a frenzy.
One sided fuckin’ is really and quite naturally for the birds. But for the sake of the storyline I endured a lasting and constant lump in the middle of the throat. Akin to wanting to throw up but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.
The first session with the dog whisperer Ambien/Annie Grace and her companion Beckett Couvillion the third-overbred rich dog, just about knocked the wind out of my salient sails.
“Can I do this…I wondered to myself…this will be nothing but pure taunting sexual torture and not the fun kind, mind you.”
However, after the hour-long session on the desk slowly faded into my not lover’s response of ‘I’ll try better next time.’
She stigmatized me with her family history of bigotry, bias, badly behaved state professors and unnatural affection toward family members.
On second thought, I think I can hang on for a bit longer and so I did. With a bad taste in my mouth and the scent of an unclean woman on my hands, I awaited my next assignment.
So much of the fresh mowed earth, bouquets of charcoals burning, all steeped and stamped into the magic which is New Hampshire on a beautiful spring day.
I had chance to get Aunt Gladys trustee steed and moped extraordinaire out. Popped the clutch and took a ride on my not even close to a Harley Knock Off.Up the pastures that dot Gile road. Down the country dirty paved roads that mark Canterbury’s Center and down to the Farm I went.The memories hit me like the open fields of manure that crossed my path. Had it been almost a year ago? I knew the memory was evil. It sent chills up and down my leathered skin.Yup, a year ago it was. Pulled aside by Canterbury’s finest. Deputy Jerk Off and his donuts.Ambien Grace spread eagle in the back of Grandpa Ed’s Malibu. Can’t blame me she wanted to drive.In spite of myself I chuckled at the thought of her twenty two years quickly regressing back to infancy and a child’s inability to master the English language.”You two alright?” droopy draws with a badge inquired.By now I had lost the numb nut naked ass fake photographer who had been infatuated with my edginess. She could only mutter and nod her head and with failed attempts…cover her larger than life cleavage.”Yes sir, we were out taking pictures. Show the nice officer your camera Ambien/Annie.” I had urged the debutante of wasted education.All I received was a hand off of a highly over priced camera and a cough from the backseat of the Malibu.”You girls have some people curious up at the farm. Now I know what’s going on and whatever floats your boat. Who’s car is this?” Dime Store Deputy spouted.Again, nothing from the Malibu but, “I don’t think I have my license on me…I’m naked.” whispers Ambien/Annie.”Oh, it’s her car sir. The young girl in the back. Wave at the officer Ambien/Annie!” I coaxed strongly.One thing led to another. A wave and a license was handed out. A nod and a perverted smile grace Deputy Fife‘s stupid cousin. He hiked up his pants. Pulled his erection to the side and road off down the dirty and tainted farm road.
Needless to say, the moment had come and gone. Sex was sex. But big Momma Theresa will have a bird if she ever finds out about this one. And, Beckett Couvillion the third, I had been told, had a nose for sex. With all these revelations the younger by the minute twenty-two year old looked like a deer stuck in headlights.We hoped in the Malibu. Ambien/Annie popping a Clozapine or some kind of white pill with calming effects.She begged for me to calm her down. She whimpered her hopelessness in times of struggle. And, she asked for my hands between her legs as we drove back to reality.Looking at the farm now, I think only three thoughts:What a beautiful land I live in!What a stupid cow…glad she’s left the state.They just don’t make Malibu’s like they used to.I couldn’t take it any longer Lord I was crazed
And when the feeling came upon me
Like a tidal wave
I started swearing to my god and on my mother’s grave
That I would love you to the end of time
I swore that I would love you to the end of time!
So now I’m praying for the end of time
To hurry up and arrive
‘Cause if I gotta spend another minute with you
I don’t think that I can really survive
I’ll never break my promise or forget my vow
But God only knows what I can do right now
I’m praying for the end of time
It’s all that I can do
Praying for the end of time,
So I can end my time with you!!
Ask a forty-five year old that you happen to be having daily, sometimes hourly, sex with…have you been in the same bed with your wife?
When you get…no, I haven’t!
Do not, I say, do not, just leave it at that.
Inquiring minds should want to know and ask the falling more in-depth and less dyed to be blonde trivial questions.
Are you sleeping in the same bed at all?
Do you still kiss? At all?
Are you having sex with her now that we are having sex?
Have you had affairs before?
And, the number one question that every nimble minded laced up on Trazodone and Melatonin cocktails wanna be like everyone else debutant of waste, should be referring to:
How can you marry me when you are still married?
Honestly now, and this is a little out of the ordinary because an exhaustive study was being conducted on Just How Ignorantly Obtuse Twenty-Something’s are.
But even I back in the day. Mind you, I am a true blonde. No dyes, just naturally missing on some cylinders. Yet, on acid and higher than a kite on a windy day, something would have led me to thinking: something is missing from these basics of being schooled 101!
My research rat is down in Virginia trying to make this world a better place for you and me. Probably singing, ‘somewhere over the rainbow…dreams come true.’
However, my rap sheet has always been womanizer, womanizer, and womanizer…How do you know an addict is lying…their lips are moving.
So I digress and say to the Ambien Graces with Beckett Couvillion the third stunt dog doubles; no I didn’t always sleep in the same bed as my wife…sometimes we fucked on the futon and fell asleep there.
You’re a heartless bitch you know that!?
I love you and you tell me this
Because you know I still care about you. I told you my fear was you leaving me for Kris and you tell me you had sex with her!
Didn’t take you fucking long!
I don’t want anything now. I was hoping that maybe when I’m ready to be the right person for you when I get back we can start over but now I don’t.
Shit, if I were really honest, I would have said, yes, when asked, are you more interested in my skinny friend.
EARL'S PLACE: "AN OPEN & RESPECTFUL ONLINE SPACE TO DEBATE OPPORTUNITIES & CHALLENGES FACING THE GLOBE," CURATED BY AWARD-WINNING COLUMNIST, EARL PLANTE, AN UNFLINCHING ADVOCATE FOR SOCIAL & ECONOMIC JUSTICE