im falling in love with you…there i said it… i dont toss the L word around lightly!
Response from love victim # 2:
Ambien Grace retort:
No, lesbian. It scares the shit out of me!
So, assuming I’m not the best catch in New Hampshire. Assuming you were fishing for wild salmon and I happened to be a can of sardines in mustard sauce purchased at the Dollar Tree, I’d be a good catch if you liked fish tacos!
Getting the homophobia, the slight over reaction to my addiction to food, oxy, booze, porn, and my mother, self-gratification and prescription drugs: I am really not a bad find!
I’d like to focus on the positive today. After all spring has sprung and soon I will be able to prowl without my Mum or Daddy knowing about it and my lust for blood runs deep!
I am 5’3” tall. Mother Theresa prefers that I round that off to 5’5” just in case a perspective young male comes dashing into town.
I am blonde but not really. So, I have the intelligence level of a true blonde but my roots run as deep as my lust for blood.
I am easy and cheap. I am currently self-employed. Not really sure what my job entails yet, hopefully I’ll get some sort of a clue when I hit 30!
My assets are few materials wise. I live with above mentioned parents and most likely will until they die or I die, whichever comes first.
I am an avid animal lover and can often times be seen working out with my parent’s dog, Beckett Couvillion the third at White’s park. That would be me…sitting down on a bench patting a strange looking tall and poodle like chocolate covered dog with a large double scoop ice cream from Friendly’s in my hand.
I am not, I repeat, not nor have I ever considered myself a lesbian. However, my mother might be okay with my choosing bi-sexuality if the right guy and his perverted ways come into the very white bread, strictly non-political and misogynistic neighborhood; take a right by the old Dewey School. And, only if the offer to take my hand in marriage is placed upon the table.
There, enough said. Stepping back, hitting spellcheck (which I am certain is incorrect most of the time because my spelling can’t be that bad) I don’t look so bad in text form!
Due to enforced parental regulations I am no longer permitted to send photographs; clothed or otherwise, to any admirers. Therefore, I suppose if I were looking to sell myself short, as I always do, I’d have to put an ad on craigslist.nh.org.
Look for me there. I’m the one with the fake smile and the insincere apologetic looking shrug to her shoulders.
How does homophobia affect a family?
Well, I only know from experience that cursed my 22 years on this earth from the get go. Mother Theresa and Father Floyd have placed me in an attic not only physically but metaphysically.
The eating habits of a child raised on homophobia; Ambien Grace eat with your mouth shut. Don’t bring up such taboo subjects as, abortion, gay rights and who you want to date outside of the male species, at the dinner table.
Reaction of child born unto homophobic parents:
I over eat. I stress eat. I do not care what toxins I put in my body. I have yet to carry on an adult conversation with anyone about subjects that concern me.
Sleeping Habits of a child born unto homophobic parents:
I sleep ten to twelve hours a day. I have no real ambition. I am sexually confused as to my place in the world, so I’ve become addicted to porn.
Social Habits of a child born unto homophobic parents:
My parents are both very well educated educators, the worse form of homophobia is the smart homophobic.
Where did that leave me?
It left me at a boarding school where I was assaulted and told via mother, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’. She didn’t want others to think less of her.
The education at UNH stunted me with the constant Big Mother is watching you. Yet, another attack, yet another, just put that behind you, Ambien Grace.
I stutter in groups. I have panic attacks when I take a wrong turn. I am frequently manipulated by self-hatred and knives. I become mute when I encounter any topic short of ‘what did you think about that rated G Disney movie you saw last night?’
Of course, I am gay, I just know it. But it is a forbidden fruit in the house on the hill. A fruit that will be buried along with my pride, homosexuality, hidden in the deepest corners of my attic room.
To the outside world, I am what is wrong with society as a whole. Twenty-something’s still learning to make their own coffee, still having the maid make the bed, still crying themselves to bed every night because at 22, almost 23, our ignorance can be deafening.
Tomorrow another blog. Tomorrow another plea for me to help myself. The ancient yet newly purchased camera may get dusted off and taken for a ride. I will lie to my mother as I have done so many times before.
Just going out for a walk with Beckett Couvillion the third be home in two hours.
Just taking care of my best friend’s cat everyone’s gone for the week.
Just trying to find the photographer in the midst of the censorship called, home.
The generation I belong to seems to really understand just how shitty it is out there. The generation I have created within myself, doesn’t give a rat’s ass who gets hurt, as long as, I don’t get tainted in the process.
Let me explain a few things about Personality Disorders. I am a walking and talking example of not caring about the difference between right or wrong.
The clozapine and trazadone and anti-depressants, the melatonin and the two other pills I take are only small roadblocks in route to my destruction.
As a pretend photographer, I have attempted to find the homeless in NH. I have attempted to find out their inner workings, yet that is very difficult when standing in the womb of my parent’s checkbook. I have no clue; hence, the photos are without point and meaning.
When asked by my mother, Theresa, ‘Ambien, have you decided who you’re voting for?’
My uneducated and ignorant response was, Romney. Why? Because that is who I thought my mother wanted me to vote for.
I had found myself interviewed once for an online newspaper. Well, in all honesty, I pushed my so called girlfriend into letting me come along on the interview. I did not want her alone with my best friend Zoey! She would discover that Zoey had far more depth and originality than I. I cut that liaison off at the pass.
I had been asked three easy questions. No right or wrong answer.
Do you believe in God?
No, my parents don’t so neither do I.
Who would you want with you after doomsday has struck and there were only a handful of people alive?
What is global warming?
That means the seasons are going to be hotter. Wouldn’t that be cool? I hate cold weather.
So, let me put this all in perspective for my followers:
I cannot stand someone not liking me; therefore, I go out of my way to make their lives miserable.
I self-mutilate on a regular basis.
My mother and I have a weird almost sexual relationship and I somewhat enjoy that.
I live in an attic of my parent’s home, I do not pay for anything and I am the way the country is going. Dumbed down young adults.
I come from Concord NH and my bi-line is this; live-laugh-love!
Shit, I can’t even be original with my social media profile.
I am not gay! And, don’t ever accuse me of being so.
I drink like a sailor just in town from five months at sea. I, fuck, like a sailor just in town from five months at sea.
I’d rather you take a picture of me with my clothes off and I am a professional masturbator.
Ambien Grace is my name. My dog’s name is Beckett Couvilllion the third. I have tons of friends on the internet, drop me a line, I could always use one more.
If I were to die tomorrow, found by an unknown and the parents were called in for questioning, if Mother Theresa and Father Floyd needed to identify the body; they would not know want to look for!
Up at the Cinema on the heights I currently sit, awaiting the fantasy film of the week. I am invisible, I am alone and I am no one to anyone around me.
What worries me is this;
My mother picks out my clothes. She won’t let me wear men’s jeans. We have matching shoes. She makes my appointments for spray tanning during the winter months because as she puts it,
“Ambien, you just look so pasty and unhealthy!”
Theresa does not allow me to wear hats for hats remind her of gay people. She gives me my chore list in the morning and I receive no ‘Atta girl’ until the list is done.
When I volunteer somewhere to make this world a better place, Theresa has already told me that I am not allowed to touch the paperwork.
My mother dictates where I go, who I see and my sexual identity.
My father. Well he just balances my checkbook?
For all outward appearances in the tiny theater awaiting Bella my heroine, no one would know I was a college graduate. My life is planned; therefore, I need not worry.
Yet, worry I do. I know it is unusual for anyone to tell another adult who they can and cannot love. It is just that I don’t think I care that much.
I live for the Bella’s of this world, the Pocahontas’s, the Twilight’s last gleaming and eternal love affair.
Do I have a need to ride off into the sunset with a woman? No!
Women and I don’t mix because my mother tells me so. They are too controlling, too wanting of my attention and too much a female and not accepted by the moral majority.
But, Mother, the sex is good with women!
When I sit alone in the dusty theater watching an actress on the big screen, I hold my breath and think, I could do that! I could nail her!
Are women attractive to me? Certainly not! Older women, younger women, women friends should never be allowed to enter the forbidden zone, sex devientcy!
So, I make the most of it with toys and the occasional, masturbating in the back of the movie theater. I am quiet in my rhymic responses to myself. I arch and ache at the ‘once upon a time’ scenario.
I’ve been told by many that I don’t stand a chance with a ‘real’ relationship. A ‘real’ relationship would require giving of one’s self and understanding that identity is part of the process.
As the Twilight begins to open, I wonder about my mother and me. Our sordid relationship. She is just out of reach, just one Clonapin short of stealing my identity.