Where did the Love go?

Working it OutYou have got me eternally by the short hairs…

I toss that vain and vulgar thought around in my head.

I am ambling into the Racquetball Club for another attempt at cutting down on the spare tire attached to my thigh, hips and breasts.

I explained to Beckett Couvillion the third that the gym was not in the cards for him today.  I just wasn’t feeling it.  I did tell him the short hairs revelation.  He cocked his head and seemed dismayed at the insult.  I patted his curls, gave him a kiss on the head and whispered in his ear…

Not, you silly, Mum!

Recently, I had found the need to come down from the attic where the daybed and broken fancy French bed and computer and iPod and big screen TV and pills galore and dirty soiled gray sweat items litter the floor.

Recently I put my life on hold…

Give me a sec. my mom is being a bitch because I left the TV.  What a douche bag!

Ok I’m back

No I was watching the women’s tennis final and I got yelled at because I stopped watching and got up for food, too much food from what she’s bitching about!

Don’t remember who I had been texting.  Probably Zoey.  Complaining to her about how life on the internet for Ambien Grace has turned into a three ring circus.  How I have soiled myself once again.  However, this time, more than Concord NH is in the audience.

Do I wish I could announce to the world on Facebook that I’m in love with you? Yes.

That had been a vacant thought about 4 months ago.

Facebook is no longer my domain; Mum put an end to that.  The family name is being tossed about like trash being left behind in an old abandoned trailer park.

On Facebook alone I wrote, spoke and alluded to loving my ex-girlfriend the psycho bitch: 1,961 times.  Stuff like,

Not seeing you for a couple days kill me…it’s like I’m not whole…

Seeing you was the best part of my day. The only good thing. I got to be in your arms and feel your hands all over my body. So I am going to keep thinking about the hour we spent together.  I will keep you and my heart forever.  You are my only love!

Good stuff, huh?  I have the same grungy sweatpants on, the ones that I have cut the pocket out of; ease access if you know what I mean.   And, even they are no longer hiding my full figure form. For added measure a little fashion had been complemented to my workout ensemble I have worn the ‘stained with chocolate but still very usable gray UNH wildcats t-shirt. My bra feels like a straight jacket and my two sizes too small pair of thongs could be used to floss someone’s teeth. Sweat pours off me as I push myself to walk the treadmill at least five more minutes.  My mantra; I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, so on and so forth.

You know what gets me?  Love.  I have given that word out so many times and it still doesn’t work.  Now, no Facebook, no Twitter, no MySpace, no blogs, no nudity!  I have been banned from exposing the underbelly of my genetic make-up.  Yet, all the pleas of love and forever-ness were nothing but vacant childish attempts at immediate gratification.

So, now, with dimmed down self-analysis in hand,  I am really pissed!  What if more gets out about my sordid thinking?  The kinky backdoor sex?  The pleas for more and more rough behavior.

What of the time sex got so out our hands in the cab of Kate’s truck her horn kept going off.  Legs thrusting against the steering wheel, honk, honk, honk.  It had been akin to an announcement to the patrons of Horseshoe Pond Conservation area:

Hey, fishermen, parents with their children and dog walkers, we have arrived, do not disturb!

I’ve found peace somewhat in knowing that I had been used.  I found some understanding in the idea that Kate knew all along I had no idea what love is.

Kate most likely was and is a firm believer in What’s love got to do with it?

Oh, well, clues are for people who can follow direction.  Love isn’t for those of us who can’t follow the clues.  We are the clueless unloved!

Ambien Speech & It’s Pathology


Ice cream and cookies.  I’m being a fatty tonight.  Eating a ton of sugar in one sitting.  I am self-destructive and I wallow in every minute of it.

I wonder if knitting burns calories, I should Google that!  I know that sex burns calories.  After I dusted the vibrator off and charged it up, the calories felt like they were melting away.  I’ve always kept it pretty clean.  Remember me, the one who claimed to avoid two fingers…I am a practicing homophobic lesbian after all.  Well, that was sort of a lie.  The two fingers part, not the practicing homophobe scenario!  Currently I am drowning my blues in food and clonazepam so I don’t think about it, the homophobia.

Hopefully I can convince my Mum and Daddy tonight that since I’ve sworn off married women, not been notified by the NHCLU, had charges in court dropped, that maybe I can go out and play with one of my straight friends.

Perhaps, Josie!  Mother Theresa believes her to below ‘our status’ but I enjoy her sexually deviant ways.  Even if the chatter revolves around her and her boyfriend and different positions they’ve tried.  Positions and visuals I prefer not to have grace my empty mind but they do anyway.

While I await the commander and chief’s decision I find myself dicking around with papers and notes.  Love letters.  Love messages.  Shit that don’t mean a thing.

“I love you so much. I dream about the day I get to marry you, live with you and spend the rest of my life with you every day I wake up thinking about you. Hoping I get to see you”

Useless little hook, line and sinker message that I had sent my married Kate.  The psycho-bitch girlfriend.  Gee, as I scratch the dander out of my hair; I wonder how badly I ruined that marriage.  Could I possible woo another unsuspecting woman with that on my romantic resume?

Something like, hey, you’re pretty cute for a girl.  I’m not gay but I did do a cougar last summer.  Did her marriage in pretty good while I was at it too!   Two strikes for Ambien, one strike for Kate.  Tru dat’.

Shit, there goes the Sainted Mother Theresa.  One thing about the two of the parental bookends being professors, their free weekends fill my family life with dysfunction and they are always up in my business.

Heading down the wooden stairs and passing by the off white painted doorway, I enter into the dreaded kitchen area.

“Ambien Grace, we, your father and I, don’t mind you going out but can you at least find some different kids to play with?  Knives, sluts and white trash seem to be all you’re interested in.  What if I introduced you to some of the boys in my speech pathology class?  The one’s on dean’s list.  UNH wasn’t that bad.  Maybe you could just come and sit in my office and we can pick some boys from the yearbook.”

Shit, fuck, twenty-something and now I am being groomed for heterosexuality.  I wonder if any of Mum’s boys would be interested in the nude self-portraits I have.


Dyed to be Blonde

The dumbing down of higher education
The dumbing down of higher education (Photo credit: E Wayne)

Thinking that Romeo and Juliet should be a cartoon? I’m thinking i saw it in 3-D rated X! I enjoyed the backdrop, loved the love conquers all idea and believed my life was a tragic comedy. Seemed nothing like the Monarch Notes I read in boarding school.
I’ll have to ask Beckett Couvillion the third if he’d like to join in next time, do some role playing.
UNH never did me no good. Drugs, sex, more drugs, more sex, assaults and my mother doing my homework for me.
Well, there is always today. Any thoughts on how I can start learning?  Def need to work on the edukation end of my portfolio.

Tru Dat-

Ambien Grace, Life Time Scholar of Living off the Parentals!


Yes I am

Your Little Secret
Your Little Secret (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In a moment’s haste…Ambien Grace discovers that not only is Melissa Etheridge gay but so are a whole bunch of others!

When the darkness and answers are thin
Lovers come and check out in a hurry
Shallow and hollow again
Come lay your body beside me
To dream to sleep with the lamb
To the question your eyes seem to send

Yes, I am, Mother or at least, I want to be,

Volunteer to be a Lesbian

English: AmeriCorps logo
English: AmeriCorps logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This pass Christmas I had gently suggested to Mother Theresa and Father Floyd that I wanted to help those less fortunate. That I sincerely felt the need to make an amends to the world and in return I could remain ignorant to the plight of things. In other words, I knew and know I’m not bright but at least I can slop food on a plate! Shit, I even give the poor guy down at Hannaford’s at quarter. You know the type, homeless, male, veteran of some conflict, carrying a sign: Homeless, Hungry, and Please Help!
Mother suggests that I shouldn’t encourage ‘those people to not get a job’ by offering pocket change. Her reaction to the whole Ambien on Soup Kitchen duty?
“You’re just trying to avoid us as a family! Why do you want to do something now? You never cared before. I know exactly what it is, it’s those friends of yours. Degenerates that are below you! Don’t you love me anymore?”
We all know that the love statement isn’t true. My mother is my longest still standing girlfriend with benefits. We have an unnatural, natural kind of love.
Joining the Peace Corp had been out of the question for some time, they don’t take on volunteers that have more emotional issues than those that are being helped.
AmeriCorps might have been something and so this was my thinking:
I’m on a waitlist for a fucking email to accept or decline and if I accept I go to the next process and I can still be declined.
I probably won’t even get in now because nobody can get jobs so they apply to Peace Corps and AmeriCorps. And, I know that finding someone to fill my prescriptions no matter where I’m placed, won’t happen. I’ll just have to stop taking them!
AmeriCorps was my way out, I had been slated to leave in February, that month is gone and I’m still in my fucking parent’s attic. Almost 23 and I can’t get out of the closet.
Concord, New Hampshire is the worse place to be if you’re in the depth of confusion over your sexual identity. No clubs, no lesbians to choose from, other than plaid flannel lumberjack dykes.
Graduate school still might be the answer but how far does one want to go with a Fine Arts degree? Particularly if there is no acknowledged suffering shining through in my photography.
Oh yeah, there is that loser Master’s Degree incentive and this fact:
‘ and I shouldnt have broughten it up’: this was my English before college. And, this was my English after: ‘i dont want to ruin the perfection of my vagina.’