Family Reunion
It’s a tradition in our family, as it is in many to hold a reunion every couple of years. New marriages, babies, little girls becoming young ladies, little boys becoming young men. And in our family it is all centered around my Great-Grandmother. My hero, my idol and my biggest supporter, I just love her so much. It so happens that this year’s family reunion falls on her 95th birthday this coming Saturday.
I’ve been to every reunion our family has held. It’s full of water games for the kids and a very competitive horseshoe game between the adults. Plenty to eat and even more to drink, we spend the entire day catching up on what’s been happening our lives. Our family is a big one and we have always been very close. I take my kids to my Grandmother’s to visit with her and my Great-Grandmother as often as possible and we are always spoiled with homemade cakes, pies and cookies washed down with a cold glass of milk.
My Great-Nana will spend hours telling stories about what is going on in the family. Her mind is healthier than the rest of our younger brood. She knows who is marrying who, the name of our third cousins new born, the towns in which each of our extended families have moved to. The mail that is delivered each day is full of cards and letters from friends whom she used to live next to when in Arizona 50+ years ago. She writes a letter every day, sometimes I am the lucky one to hear from her.
I named my baby after her and although the name means “Uncertain, bitter” it certainly does not hold true for either. I named my daughter after her because of everything my Great-Nana stands for in my life. She takes life in stride and rolls with the punches. She has been through the good and the bad in her lifetime but has never let the pitfalls bring her down. She gives that unconditional love we all yearn for. Truly an amazing woman, I am so blessed to have my children grow to know her and have her in their lives. So this reunion is extra special for me and my kids. It is another year to be thankful for the wonderful family that all began with my Great-Nana.
So why am I dreading it? Because our family just isn’t what it used to be. I could blame it on Belle but I refuse to. Because I think no matter how others perceive my life to have been as Belle, their judgment of me…who I am, should not be clouded by Belle’s activities. Something some people in my family cannot accept. My mother and sister became aware of Belle’s lifestyle just before Christmas last year. They made their disapproval quite apparent when they called the government agency to check on my kids. I haven’t spoken to them since. It gets a little more complicated than that and maybe someday I can explain it better but suffice to say that they considered me a bad mother because I chose to provide escort services for money. I won’t say I chose to be an escort because really, I don’t think that defines who someone is but something someone does. Looking at it from that perspective I don’t see how I have changed entirely as a person, that escorting had suddenly made me an unfit parent when for 14 years both my mother and my sister prided me for how well I have always taken care of my kids. I despise ignorance.
I haven’t discussed this issue with my Nana or my Great-Nana because even though I know they are aware of Belle…..they don’t care. They may be concerned for me and not fully understand, but they would never turn their backs on me. It’s that unconditional love we all yearn for. We don’t need to talk about it because it would never affect our relationship with each other. I still love them and they still love me.
But being at this upcoming family reunion I know there will be tension. I spent an hour on the phone last week with a cousin of mine. We seldom talk until family events like these and we need to work out the details. Why is it there is always someone who loves to gossip in every family? You know the ones. They are the first to spread the news that so and so have split up, Uncle Jimmy got fired cause of his drinking, Aunt Janet’s boy is in rehab……there is always one and my family is no exception. Well, I finally got the scoop. Of course, without surprise it was all about me. Yes, my entire family knows about Belle. I was the talk of the family at the Christmas dinner I missed out on last year, and the conversation still seems to flow as freshly now as it did then. And this is what I have to face when I show up on Saturday with a gift for my Great-Nana and 4 kids in tow.
It’s not supposed to be like this, you know? It is so frustrating because I want to scream to the world about just how good I feel about my life and all of the good things Belle has brought to my life but I know I would never be understood. To “them” I am just another street walker lowering myself to the sexual demands of a lower class society to make a quick buck. “It’s not like that” I want to say but I know it would fall on deaf ears.
The funny thing is, I still don’t regret it….even with everything I have lost, I have still gained so much more. I know you say “family is everything” and it is, I am with you on that thought. But family should be above this sort of thing. My brother is a drunk and a drug addict. I love him and will support him when he needs me. I don’t have to approve of his lifestyle. That is what family is about.
So I thought about Saturday and just how I should play it all out. I could show up with my head held high, smile and pretend that everything is okay. I could swim with the kids and sit next to my Great-Nana listening to her tell stories of who is who. Maybe even play a game or two of horse shoes….or I could…..
Show up with the 6inch thigh high heeled boots, leather mini skirt and leopard print tank top and bright red lipstick. I have even contemplated how the conversation would go with my cousin when I first arrive. Talk about phoney people looking for good gossip, she is one of them. Just which personality I should play is the question:
Cousin: Why are you late? Kids slowing you down lately or what?
Belle: Sorry, I had a 3 hr at the KW and had to run home and wash the dribble off my face. Then I had to take the condoms and PR out of my purse to make room for the birthday card. Got here as quick as I could.
Me: Yeah, little Johhny had a scrape and couldn’t find a band-aid. What a great set-up, looks like you’ve been busy!
Cousin: Yeah, well anything for Great-Nana. Wait till you see the beautiful gift I made for her, she’ll love it!
Belle: I’ve been so busy with John’s the past week I didn’t have time to make anything but I stopped in at the liquidation place on the corner where I stand every night and picked her up a foot massager. Only cost me a BJ, and you know me, love a bargain!
Me: How thoughtful of you, Nana loves gifts from the heart. With work and kids I wished I had the time for that but the kids did make her a beautiful card and we picked some flowers for her out in the yard this morning. So, how has the Hubby been?
Cousin: Never see him, he’s been working so hard to pay off the new car but as long as he’s bringing home the money I won’t complain! How about you and…..oh, sorry. How are the kids with all of that anyways?
Belle: I dunno, they seem ok but I never ask them. Hard enough dealing with feeding them let alone dealing with their feelings and shit. FACS says they are ok so I guess they must be. I still have em, for now anyways. Wow, look at Jenny’s new beau. He looks rich, excuse me while I go introduce my services……
Me: They are doing great thanks. Getting big, enjoying the summer and dreading going back to school. Is that Jenny’s new husband? She looks so happy with him! Excuse me while I go introduce my serv…….myself.
Oh the fun I could have! But alas, for the sake of my kids and the family that I do respect I will behave…but boy do I miss Belle! Wish me luck, I’ll let you know how it goes
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Don't put off the dentist!
If you are anything like me, you get a reminder call from the dentist's office and cancel the appointment stating some business meeting that has you out of town or your dog goes in for surgery that day or some other crazy damned excuse to stop them from calling for the next month or so. After putting it off for almost a year I gathered up my nerve to finally go in for my cleaning. Don't get me wrong, my dentist is the most wonderful dentist any nervous patient could ask for but my teeth are so sensitive that just a simple cleaning requires me to have my mouth frozen. Now between visiting with clients (just imagine an SP walking in your room with her mouth frozen) and work, going 4 hours with a frozen mouth just doesn't fit well in my schedule. Ok, it's a poor excuse but it proved a costly lesson recently.
In March I finally made it into the hygenist's chair. It was a complete work up with x-rays and that thing where they prod your gums and call out numbers. Just what do they call that anyways? I have known for some time now that I have a problem with bone loss and this is always an issue when I go for these visits. Numbers of 10 and 11 when healthy numbers for the gums are 2's and 3's. I know, this may sound silly...I wished I knew how to explain it better. Anyways, the hygenist finished her cleaning and told me the Dr. would be in in just a minute to talk with me. Nothing seemed outside of the norm until he walked in and as he started to take a look around my mouth the hygenist commented to him something about the "buccal mucosa". He said he had noticed that and spent the next few minutes quietly scraping around the insides of my cheeks and gum line.
After doing so he sat up and asked if I have any odd habits. Cheek biting? Chewing on objects?. No to both. Chronic gum chewing? Yes. He explained that I had a "small white patch" on the inside of my left cheek. Likely it was nothing but he wanted to send me to an oral surgeon to have it looked at. He didn't seem too concerned so I wasn't either, although the weeks of waiting to get into the doctor was a little frustrating. Finally the day came and I found myself sitting in the office of the oral surgeon having a biopsy taken of what he referred to as a "rather large lesion". Now I was nervous. A white patch I could handle. A lesion I dould not although he assured me it was just clinical talk.
One week later and I am called into his office to discuss the results of my biopsy. "What you have is termed squamous cell carcinoma". I had no idea what squamous cell meant but I knew carcinoma meant cancer. That's all I heard that day really. He talked a bit about my smoking and gum chewing habits and then tried to explain how carcinoma works within the body. I just focused on what to do next. You would think it would be immediate treatment but no, it was a matter of doing some testing before treatment would be given. First he explained that I would need an exploratory done to see just how far, if at all the cancer has spread, This would involve an endoscopy. A very simple procedure placing a camera down my throat. This could be done while I was awake but the chicken shit I am, I opted to have it done while I was asleep. Some of you may know me to be calm and relaxed by nature but when it comes to these things I say knock me out because I become a nervous wreck.
So, 2 weeks later I was put out and the camera was rolling. From there I only remember waking up and feeling ill to my stomach. I was given some gravol and was a little groggy still when the doctor came in. He asked what my plans were for the rest of the evening. I was scared then, knowing that I was supposed to be released by 1pm and at home to meet my kids when they got home from school. Then he asked me about work and my schedule for the next few days. When I asked him why he asked my permission to put me out again as he had found a few lesions on the back of my throat he wanted to biopsy and at the same time remove the lesion on my cheek. I cried. Then I asked for my purse so I could call my kids father and be sure he would take care of the kids until I got home and help out through the weekend. That settled and I was back in having the lesion removed.
Everything went very well and once I was awake and steady I was told to go home and wait for the new biopsy results to come in, likely about 10 days. It was hard for me after I was at home. It's the wait that was the hardest. And me......I keep to myself when I am upset. I can't talk about it, but I had no problem crying myself through it. I don't want mean for that to sound sad because it really wasn't that sad. It was healthy for me to cry as it is not something I do often and it showed that I was dealing with something for once instead of just brushing it under the carpet pretending it wasn't happening as I do most things in my life. But I still had to deal with it on my own. I only had to wait 7 days.
Surprisingly when the biopsy results came in they were more promising than the first. I have a condition called Lichenoid Mucositis. It's causes are many including gum chewing and smoking. It produces lesions of varying description but the good news is that seldom do these lesions evolve into squamous cell carcinomas. More good news was that it appears the lesion he removed from my cheek was complete and surrounded by healthy cells. This condition is incurable but may come and go over the years. It will involve another surgery to remove and biopsy a few more lesions that have spread to my right cheek as well as the 2 on my throat. It will also require me to make continuous visits to be aware of any new lesions but it was very promising to learn that my primary condition is not oral cancer as originally thought. For that I am very thankful. I have been doing my best to stick to my doctors recomendations. Cut down on the smoking, chew fruit flavored gum as cinnamon and spearmint can cause somewhat of an allergic reaction to this condition and keep myself as stress free as possible. Lighten my schedule and keep smiling. That part is not a problem for me. I will always find a reason to smile.
So, the moral of this very long story? Don't put off the dentist! He may have some scary sounding tools in that room of his that can put you off, but cavities may not be the only thing he notices that you wouldn't otherwise. Thee lesions, they are small and they are under the skin. They don't hurt, I can't feel them at all. If it wasn't for my regular cleaning, I would have had no idea. The odd thing is that this condition is very common so when your dentist office calls to reminding you of your upcoming appointment, tell them you will be there...work can afford to wait, you cannot.
In March I finally made it into the hygenist's chair. It was a complete work up with x-rays and that thing where they prod your gums and call out numbers. Just what do they call that anyways? I have known for some time now that I have a problem with bone loss and this is always an issue when I go for these visits. Numbers of 10 and 11 when healthy numbers for the gums are 2's and 3's. I know, this may sound silly...I wished I knew how to explain it better. Anyways, the hygenist finished her cleaning and told me the Dr. would be in in just a minute to talk with me. Nothing seemed outside of the norm until he walked in and as he started to take a look around my mouth the hygenist commented to him something about the "buccal mucosa". He said he had noticed that and spent the next few minutes quietly scraping around the insides of my cheeks and gum line.
After doing so he sat up and asked if I have any odd habits. Cheek biting? Chewing on objects?. No to both. Chronic gum chewing? Yes. He explained that I had a "small white patch" on the inside of my left cheek. Likely it was nothing but he wanted to send me to an oral surgeon to have it looked at. He didn't seem too concerned so I wasn't either, although the weeks of waiting to get into the doctor was a little frustrating. Finally the day came and I found myself sitting in the office of the oral surgeon having a biopsy taken of what he referred to as a "rather large lesion". Now I was nervous. A white patch I could handle. A lesion I dould not although he assured me it was just clinical talk.
One week later and I am called into his office to discuss the results of my biopsy. "What you have is termed squamous cell carcinoma". I had no idea what squamous cell meant but I knew carcinoma meant cancer. That's all I heard that day really. He talked a bit about my smoking and gum chewing habits and then tried to explain how carcinoma works within the body. I just focused on what to do next. You would think it would be immediate treatment but no, it was a matter of doing some testing before treatment would be given. First he explained that I would need an exploratory done to see just how far, if at all the cancer has spread, This would involve an endoscopy. A very simple procedure placing a camera down my throat. This could be done while I was awake but the chicken shit I am, I opted to have it done while I was asleep. Some of you may know me to be calm and relaxed by nature but when it comes to these things I say knock me out because I become a nervous wreck.
So, 2 weeks later I was put out and the camera was rolling. From there I only remember waking up and feeling ill to my stomach. I was given some gravol and was a little groggy still when the doctor came in. He asked what my plans were for the rest of the evening. I was scared then, knowing that I was supposed to be released by 1pm and at home to meet my kids when they got home from school. Then he asked me about work and my schedule for the next few days. When I asked him why he asked my permission to put me out again as he had found a few lesions on the back of my throat he wanted to biopsy and at the same time remove the lesion on my cheek. I cried. Then I asked for my purse so I could call my kids father and be sure he would take care of the kids until I got home and help out through the weekend. That settled and I was back in having the lesion removed.
Everything went very well and once I was awake and steady I was told to go home and wait for the new biopsy results to come in, likely about 10 days. It was hard for me after I was at home. It's the wait that was the hardest. And me......I keep to myself when I am upset. I can't talk about it, but I had no problem crying myself through it. I don't want mean for that to sound sad because it really wasn't that sad. It was healthy for me to cry as it is not something I do often and it showed that I was dealing with something for once instead of just brushing it under the carpet pretending it wasn't happening as I do most things in my life. But I still had to deal with it on my own. I only had to wait 7 days.
Surprisingly when the biopsy results came in they were more promising than the first. I have a condition called Lichenoid Mucositis. It's causes are many including gum chewing and smoking. It produces lesions of varying description but the good news is that seldom do these lesions evolve into squamous cell carcinomas. More good news was that it appears the lesion he removed from my cheek was complete and surrounded by healthy cells. This condition is incurable but may come and go over the years. It will involve another surgery to remove and biopsy a few more lesions that have spread to my right cheek as well as the 2 on my throat. It will also require me to make continuous visits to be aware of any new lesions but it was very promising to learn that my primary condition is not oral cancer as originally thought. For that I am very thankful. I have been doing my best to stick to my doctors recomendations. Cut down on the smoking, chew fruit flavored gum as cinnamon and spearmint can cause somewhat of an allergic reaction to this condition and keep myself as stress free as possible. Lighten my schedule and keep smiling. That part is not a problem for me. I will always find a reason to smile.
So, the moral of this very long story? Don't put off the dentist! He may have some scary sounding tools in that room of his that can put you off, but cavities may not be the only thing he notices that you wouldn't otherwise. Thee lesions, they are small and they are under the skin. They don't hurt, I can't feel them at all. If it wasn't for my regular cleaning, I would have had no idea. The odd thing is that this condition is very common so when your dentist office calls to reminding you of your upcoming appointment, tell them you will be there...work can afford to wait, you cannot.
What happened to my house?
I have been quite busy since announcing my retirement as Belle and just this weekend have finally had the chance to sit and relax. Sounds like a good thing right? No, definately not! My question is....what the hell happened to my house while Belle was off doing her thing? I don't mean just basic housekeeping issues....I mean everything is falling apart! Paint on the outside brick is in need of a new coat not to mention all of my basebards inside could use one too. My rails on my kingsized bed have collapsed (how I wish it was from being to rough), my carpet in my room is in desperate need of replacing. My kitchen is still half done which didn't really bother me till now since I have no choice but to sit at home and look at it.
My chimney is missing the animal guard at the top and my flue needs to be repaired. I have a leak in my basement....coming from the ceiling. When the f*&% did that happen? The contractors that started to work on my house forgot they removed a duct where they made a cutout in my wall so I have no heat/air being sent to my upstairs. My shut off valve on the bathroom sink is leaking...which may explain the water in the basement. I don't have any flowers in my garden...how did I forget to plant flowers? The kids trampoline is missing half the springs, I found 2 when I cut the grass. The pool was green, wasn't it just 2 days ago I put chlorine in it? How did I not notice everything falling apart around me?
I never realized just how busy I kept myself until I stopped being so busy. I think I prefer being busy! Now I have to keep busy because being busy kept me from seeing things I should have been doing if I wasn't so busy. The countdown to Disney officially begins today, I need a vacation! 48 days to go. I am giving myself 48 days to get my house back in order because the last thing I want to do when coming home from the house of mouse is be busy or even think about the things I should be doing to keep busy. But for right now.....I think I'll just go to bed.:rolleyes:
My chimney is missing the animal guard at the top and my flue needs to be repaired. I have a leak in my basement....coming from the ceiling. When the f*&% did that happen? The contractors that started to work on my house forgot they removed a duct where they made a cutout in my wall so I have no heat/air being sent to my upstairs. My shut off valve on the bathroom sink is leaking...which may explain the water in the basement. I don't have any flowers in my garden...how did I forget to plant flowers? The kids trampoline is missing half the springs, I found 2 when I cut the grass. The pool was green, wasn't it just 2 days ago I put chlorine in it? How did I not notice everything falling apart around me?
I never realized just how busy I kept myself until I stopped being so busy. I think I prefer being busy! Now I have to keep busy because being busy kept me from seeing things I should have been doing if I wasn't so busy. The countdown to Disney officially begins today, I need a vacation! 48 days to go. I am giving myself 48 days to get my house back in order because the last thing I want to do when coming home from the house of mouse is be busy or even think about the things I should be doing to keep busy. But for right now.....I think I'll just go to bed.:rolleyes:
The Beauty of Rain
The beauty of rain. I do love to hear the rain coming down against the windows, watching the droplets make their indirect paths down to the pane and out of sight. Or the sound of a car being driven past my home as I listen to the thrust of the water being splashed up the side walls and getting hurled to the sidewalk. I love to listen as the wind picks up and I can hear the trees swaying outside, the rain landing on the leaves oftentimes with a force strong enough to send them free falling to the ground. The rain is so peaceful and beautiful but not only for what it looks or sounds like outside but for the moments it creates in my home.
The rain starts outside and my life stops inside. It is as though the rain stops time to allow for precious moments to be had. I grab a blanket, a soft cuddly one and round up my kids in the living room. The summer weather tends to send everyone in their opposite ways. One child may visit a friend’s house down the street, another in the pool in the back yard, one riding a bike around the neighborhood while another takes a time out to watch Much Music videos in the cool air conditioning. It is seldom we have those bonding moments that we are able to share in the winter. It is a wonderful thing, to see my kids spread out in the summer; developing friendships with kids and gaining a bit of independence. But I still look forward to rainy days like today.
We put on a movie and do nothing at all. It is times like these that I want to hold on to as my kids grow. They talk about life, their lives through their eyes and it opens me up to just how simple things really are for them. “Can’t you just tell work that your kids want you to stay home Mommy?”, my five year old asked. “Ah, if life we like that sweetheart”. Yes, life is very simple to them. “Mom, can we have breakfast for supper tonight?”. “Well, breakfast is for the morning honey, don’t ya think”. “Well, why do we have to eat Mickey waffles only in the morning?”. “Good question, why do we? Mickey waffles for supper it is!”. I live for days like today.
We are so quick to moan when it rains. The plans that get cancelled, the errands we had to run but it’s just too wet out. We want to weed the garden, swim in the pool, go for a walk….many things, and they are good things…..but isn’t it nice when mother nature just turns around and says to us “Today is a time out day”? I love being outside alone with my thoughts working about the yard or watching the kids play but I love these moments too. We get too busy sometimes and it’s nice to just lay under that cozy blanket watching a movie about some fantasy land you can only see by using your imagination and having the tiniest arms and baby hands wrapped around you. Thinking about nothing except the fact that you are having breakfast for dinner and wondering if you have marshmallows to toss in their hot chocolate just to see the smiles of surprise on their faces. I hope it rains tomorrow.
The rain starts outside and my life stops inside. It is as though the rain stops time to allow for precious moments to be had. I grab a blanket, a soft cuddly one and round up my kids in the living room. The summer weather tends to send everyone in their opposite ways. One child may visit a friend’s house down the street, another in the pool in the back yard, one riding a bike around the neighborhood while another takes a time out to watch Much Music videos in the cool air conditioning. It is seldom we have those bonding moments that we are able to share in the winter. It is a wonderful thing, to see my kids spread out in the summer; developing friendships with kids and gaining a bit of independence. But I still look forward to rainy days like today.
We put on a movie and do nothing at all. It is times like these that I want to hold on to as my kids grow. They talk about life, their lives through their eyes and it opens me up to just how simple things really are for them. “Can’t you just tell work that your kids want you to stay home Mommy?”, my five year old asked. “Ah, if life we like that sweetheart”. Yes, life is very simple to them. “Mom, can we have breakfast for supper tonight?”. “Well, breakfast is for the morning honey, don’t ya think”. “Well, why do we have to eat Mickey waffles only in the morning?”. “Good question, why do we? Mickey waffles for supper it is!”. I live for days like today.
We are so quick to moan when it rains. The plans that get cancelled, the errands we had to run but it’s just too wet out. We want to weed the garden, swim in the pool, go for a walk….many things, and they are good things…..but isn’t it nice when mother nature just turns around and says to us “Today is a time out day”? I love being outside alone with my thoughts working about the yard or watching the kids play but I love these moments too. We get too busy sometimes and it’s nice to just lay under that cozy blanket watching a movie about some fantasy land you can only see by using your imagination and having the tiniest arms and baby hands wrapped around you. Thinking about nothing except the fact that you are having breakfast for dinner and wondering if you have marshmallows to toss in their hot chocolate just to see the smiles of surprise on their faces. I hope it rains tomorrow.
Parents of teens: Please read!
Teens today are no smarter than the teens of yesterday. And protecting them isn’t any easier. I’m learning this as I attempt to successfully raise a teenage daughter. The wonderful age of the internet. I love it not only for its ease of use in this business but for keeping in contact with friends, school projects when time to get to a library is limited and searching out a business website or product I may be interested in. It has its uses, if one, it’s one thousand of them. The world wide web keeps our world connected but the other day it could have torn me apart.
I am writing this to all parents of teenage children. I thought I was doing everything right. My daughter’s computer next to mine in the dining room. In passing I would always peer over her shoulder to see who she is talking to. I have talked at great length with her the danger of internet predators. We have watched T.V. programmes about the issue and just how serious it is. I have preached, prodded and thankfully prayed that she be safe. Someone was listening to my prayer.
I saw her chatting on a Sunday afternoon and walked over to see who she was chatting with. There was a conversation screen on the monitor, someone complaining about a baby cousin’s birthday party he had to go to. He had asked my daughter if she wanted to help him out, she thought he was joking and replied “No Thanks LOL”. I asked who it was she was talking to as these kids all use silly handles and there was no display picture to view. She said it was her “EX”. Assuming it was the boy she had “dated” recently whom had been to our house for a few dinners and played some fooseball I suggested she go along and help him out. They agreed to meet outside a Tim Horton’s and I had arranged to have her father drive her as I was on my way out.
After dropping her off he was headed to the park with our other children when he realized the name she gave in the car did not ring a bell so he turned around to question her about it. As he was pulling in he noticed a guy get out of his car in the parking lot, light a smoke and walk around the building. Her dad walked up to her and questioned about who she was meeting. Knowing she was caught she admitted she had never met him before but had talked a lot to him online. Naturally her dad flipped out giving her a lecture about meeting someone this way and what she could have possibly been getting herself into. He made a scene which embarrassed her but justifiably so.
When I came home later that evening her father told me what happened. I have a chat program installed on her computer where I can view her chat conversations so I checked it out. Even after the lecture her father gave her she still sent this person an email apologizing for leaving and gave a false description of what she was wearing so that if he had in fact been there he would not think it was her that was being taken away by her raging father. He replied saying he had left before she arrived but that they would get together soon.
Now, it could very well have been a 13 year old kid….but it could well have been the 40 yr old man having a smoke who drove away without even gong into the store. What a scary thought to think that you have done all the right things and put that trust in your children to make the right decisions then they go off and do something so foolish. It was a reality check that teens are no different now than when we were there. They still know it all, can take care of themselves and have parents that just don’t know what it’s like to be 13. In fact…..I am so out of touch with what it’s like to be 13 that I now have my 13 year old doing laundry, yard work, painting…any work I can find for her to do the entire summer. I have made her replace her computer for a book she must have read by the time school let’s in and the phone replaced by a pen and paper for her to journal her wonderful summer spent at home with mom. I sense some great bonding time up and coming. :rolleyes:
Parents…..please be nosey. Read their emails, know who they are talking to, question where they are going when they leave the house. It’s not an invasion of their privacy, it’s our job as parents. I would rather have my daughter around to hate me than not have her around at all.
I am writing this to all parents of teenage children. I thought I was doing everything right. My daughter’s computer next to mine in the dining room. In passing I would always peer over her shoulder to see who she is talking to. I have talked at great length with her the danger of internet predators. We have watched T.V. programmes about the issue and just how serious it is. I have preached, prodded and thankfully prayed that she be safe. Someone was listening to my prayer.
I saw her chatting on a Sunday afternoon and walked over to see who she was chatting with. There was a conversation screen on the monitor, someone complaining about a baby cousin’s birthday party he had to go to. He had asked my daughter if she wanted to help him out, she thought he was joking and replied “No Thanks LOL”. I asked who it was she was talking to as these kids all use silly handles and there was no display picture to view. She said it was her “EX”. Assuming it was the boy she had “dated” recently whom had been to our house for a few dinners and played some fooseball I suggested she go along and help him out. They agreed to meet outside a Tim Horton’s and I had arranged to have her father drive her as I was on my way out.
After dropping her off he was headed to the park with our other children when he realized the name she gave in the car did not ring a bell so he turned around to question her about it. As he was pulling in he noticed a guy get out of his car in the parking lot, light a smoke and walk around the building. Her dad walked up to her and questioned about who she was meeting. Knowing she was caught she admitted she had never met him before but had talked a lot to him online. Naturally her dad flipped out giving her a lecture about meeting someone this way and what she could have possibly been getting herself into. He made a scene which embarrassed her but justifiably so.
When I came home later that evening her father told me what happened. I have a chat program installed on her computer where I can view her chat conversations so I checked it out. Even after the lecture her father gave her she still sent this person an email apologizing for leaving and gave a false description of what she was wearing so that if he had in fact been there he would not think it was her that was being taken away by her raging father. He replied saying he had left before she arrived but that they would get together soon.
Now, it could very well have been a 13 year old kid….but it could well have been the 40 yr old man having a smoke who drove away without even gong into the store. What a scary thought to think that you have done all the right things and put that trust in your children to make the right decisions then they go off and do something so foolish. It was a reality check that teens are no different now than when we were there. They still know it all, can take care of themselves and have parents that just don’t know what it’s like to be 13. In fact…..I am so out of touch with what it’s like to be 13 that I now have my 13 year old doing laundry, yard work, painting…any work I can find for her to do the entire summer. I have made her replace her computer for a book she must have read by the time school let’s in and the phone replaced by a pen and paper for her to journal her wonderful summer spent at home with mom. I sense some great bonding time up and coming. :rolleyes:
Parents…..please be nosey. Read their emails, know who they are talking to, question where they are going when they leave the house. It’s not an invasion of their privacy, it’s our job as parents. I would rather have my daughter around to hate me than not have her around at all.
My Life Series: Divorce
I grew up, like hundreds of thousands of other kids in a broken home. I don’t remember much of life before the divorce. I don’t remember family vacations, Christmases, birthday parties or any event that a child growing up in a stable home would have memories of. I feel robbed of so much and am still, even as an adult very bitter for what I lost.
I was 13 when my parents split. I knew things were not good but I never remember things being bad save for coming down stairs several years prior and seeing my father’s belongings packed and stacked in a hallway. There was no fighting, but I knew things were not right. My parents did not hug nor kiss. They didn’t exchange “I love you’s” when they left the house or hung up the phone. I was lucky to not have had to witness violence or abuse in my childhood home but it was what I did not witness that has made moving on in my life a difficult thing to do.
I didn’t see love.
I am sure my parents loved each other, but they never showed it. My father is a quiet man. He accepts things as they are and keeps his thoughts and emotions to himself as most men do. I know he loves me, but I cannot recall him ever saying it. My mom….well she had her moments. I am sure with the divorce she was lost, something I can relate to now being a divorcee myself. She drank a lot, or should I say a lot more than she did prior to my father leaving. But I cannot fault her for that. Not the best way to handle things but perhaps her defense mechanism to protect her from the pain of having her world being turned upside down.
At 13, I saw her as a drunk. A self absorbed woman who spent too much time waddling in her own self pity to notice that her three children were suffering her pain too. At 32, I see a woman who felt abandoned, alone and likely scared to death having to raise 3 children who were now from a broken home. She had become a statistic. No one likes to be reduced to a number.
I chose to live with my father. At 14 my dad went to court and was granted custody of me. I always felt, and still do to this day a special bond with my dad. He never said much, yet in his silence he said everything. He worried for me yet never pressured me. He let me screw up and accepted the hell I put him through to allow me to learn from my mistakes…..and I made many from them. But because the sacrifices he made for me, I am who I am today.
Now, I look at my four children and I hurt for them. I know kids are resilient, I know they will learn to adjust and I know that this has become the norm for many children. My anger comes from the fact that it shouldn’t be so. My kids shouldn’t have to learn to adjust. They shouldn’t have to be resilient. They shouldn’t be reduced to a number. I don’t know what my parents went through prior to their divorce but I do know that their marriage was not given up on easily. And I know my marriage is much the same. I tried, Lord knows I tried to keep a happy healthy home for my children. But I had to break that cycle.
I realized just how much my marriage was that of my parents. No hugs, no kisses. No “I love you’s”, no sleeping in the same bed. There may have been love there on some level but to my children it must have seemed loveless. I did not want my three girls to think this is what a marriage was about. I didn’t want them to settle for less but to have belief in the dream.
What I wonder now is if I will ever stop mourning that loss. Will I ever be okay with the fact that my marriage failed? I know I did all I could and I also know that no matter how much I loved him or he loved me it just simply wasn’t enough and that walking away was the best thing I could have done. I don’t regret the decision but will I ever stop wishing it could have been different?
I was 13 when my parents split. I knew things were not good but I never remember things being bad save for coming down stairs several years prior and seeing my father’s belongings packed and stacked in a hallway. There was no fighting, but I knew things were not right. My parents did not hug nor kiss. They didn’t exchange “I love you’s” when they left the house or hung up the phone. I was lucky to not have had to witness violence or abuse in my childhood home but it was what I did not witness that has made moving on in my life a difficult thing to do.
I didn’t see love.
I am sure my parents loved each other, but they never showed it. My father is a quiet man. He accepts things as they are and keeps his thoughts and emotions to himself as most men do. I know he loves me, but I cannot recall him ever saying it. My mom….well she had her moments. I am sure with the divorce she was lost, something I can relate to now being a divorcee myself. She drank a lot, or should I say a lot more than she did prior to my father leaving. But I cannot fault her for that. Not the best way to handle things but perhaps her defense mechanism to protect her from the pain of having her world being turned upside down.
At 13, I saw her as a drunk. A self absorbed woman who spent too much time waddling in her own self pity to notice that her three children were suffering her pain too. At 32, I see a woman who felt abandoned, alone and likely scared to death having to raise 3 children who were now from a broken home. She had become a statistic. No one likes to be reduced to a number.
I chose to live with my father. At 14 my dad went to court and was granted custody of me. I always felt, and still do to this day a special bond with my dad. He never said much, yet in his silence he said everything. He worried for me yet never pressured me. He let me screw up and accepted the hell I put him through to allow me to learn from my mistakes…..and I made many from them. But because the sacrifices he made for me, I am who I am today.
Now, I look at my four children and I hurt for them. I know kids are resilient, I know they will learn to adjust and I know that this has become the norm for many children. My anger comes from the fact that it shouldn’t be so. My kids shouldn’t have to learn to adjust. They shouldn’t have to be resilient. They shouldn’t be reduced to a number. I don’t know what my parents went through prior to their divorce but I do know that their marriage was not given up on easily. And I know my marriage is much the same. I tried, Lord knows I tried to keep a happy healthy home for my children. But I had to break that cycle.
I realized just how much my marriage was that of my parents. No hugs, no kisses. No “I love you’s”, no sleeping in the same bed. There may have been love there on some level but to my children it must have seemed loveless. I did not want my three girls to think this is what a marriage was about. I didn’t want them to settle for less but to have belief in the dream.
What I wonder now is if I will ever stop mourning that loss. Will I ever be okay with the fact that my marriage failed? I know I did all I could and I also know that no matter how much I loved him or he loved me it just simply wasn’t enough and that walking away was the best thing I could have done. I don’t regret the decision but will I ever stop wishing it could have been different?
John235....
A few reflections since announcing my departure from the business. This first one was an odd irony I encountered at an industry party a few days ago. I was excited to be there to see the many faces I have met if only briefly, through escorting. I wanted the chance to say thanks, share a laugh or two and part ways knowing all was said that I wanted to be said. And for the most part, it was a most pleasant day.
Typically at these events it starts off with one drink and ends up with me likely being naked. It is me, my carefree Belle self. It is business, advertising of who I am and what I stand for as Belle. It is a time to give my appreciation for those that have trusted me as an independent escort, a time for me to lose my inhibitions and let my hair down. This party was a little different. There was no advertising, in fact there was no drinking and no getting naked….on my part anyways. While I wasn’t feeling that well the day of, I wanted to just sit back and reflect on the positive changes this business has brought to my life.
All faces were welcoming to see until one prior client approached me to give me his door fee for the party as I had volunteered to do the collecting. I looked up to see the face of the man who just so happened to be my very first client as an escort. Perhaps you remember the blog entry I made dedicated to that very experience. It was not a pleasant one, in fact it was just the opposite. Let me tell you the history of this guy, a brief recap of my first appointment to now.
My first call with the agency I joined and I was warned by the owner that he can be aggressive and to hold my ground. I was scared. Scared to be doing this for the first time, scared to possibly encounter a situation I have feared all my life….having to stand up for myself. I walked in and quickly realized the type of experience he was looking for I was not willing to be a part of. He demanded that I ask permission to touch him and to not do anything until he told me so.
He told me to stand in front of him and let him undress me with my hands behind my back. I was nervous, I didn’t know what to do so at first I went along with his little game. He talked about this being my first call, the agency told him prior to booking me. He made me beg to kiss him, then to take his lead and move from his lips down his body. I was going along with this until he asked to call me his “submissive bitch” and requested he use nipple clamps on me. I flatly refused and a conversation ensued about how I need to please the client. I left that room with a small victory. I said no, something I had never done before….but I also allowed things to happen that I was not comfortable with and for that I was disappointed in myself. My first week held a few of these encounters, moments that I walked out being disappointed in myself.
A few days later I was sent to see him again. I did not realize it until he answered the door. To my amazement, I took the call and I walked in there with a much stronger “don’t f*** with me” attitude. He tried the same things again, the submissive role play, the name calling, the nipple clamps and I denied him all of the above. I left early and told my driver I refuse to see him again. He did not like taking no for an answer, told me to never smoke within hours of seeing him and so on. I decided then, that I am who I am. I will have my boundaries and I will not step outside of them for anyone no matter the money being offered. I am proud to say that the conviction I made that night stayed with me for the remaining 20 months in the business.
A few months after being independent of an agency, I get a voice mail. The voice I will never forget. It was him and he had the nerve to give me a different name and request to see me. I was so mad that he would have the nerve to be so ignorant. He knew I would refuse to see him and I did, of course. Next was an industry party where he showed up. He just sat there, the table behind mine and stared. We never spoke but I was unnerved by his presence. One year later, due to driver issues for a month or so I joined an agency part time until I settled the issues. My first night I get 3 calls as soon as I book on. As I finish the second call I hop in with the driver and light a cigarette. The driver asks that I put it out and tells me I have another call and the guy asked I do not smoke prior. My guard went up and I just knew it was him.
The guy goes by the name John235 on the review boards but he also introduces himself as “John from ****” referring to another review board. I asked the driver to call the dispatcher and ask what name he gave when he booked. Sure enough it was him! I explained to the driver my experience with him and once she realized who he was she knew he was also banned from 2 agencies for his aggressiveness with women. He was denied my call and told he was banned from the agency. Lo and behold, I get a private message from him. For the first time ever, I am going to share those messages publicly. The final messages went as follows:
Originally Posted by John235 Bell I was your first call with (agency name edited) I have seen you maybe 4 times or so We have always had a good call and i am not aware of ever having any problem I tried to book you Saturday through (agency name edited) and when time was getting late they told me you said you had a problem with me and that you would not see me and that i am now band from (them) What is that all about? I am very respected and have many ladies you can check for reference ***** and **** did a call with me @ (agency and ladies names edited) as well as many others. I have always respected you and regard my reputation with the agencies. I have never had a problem with any ladies ever and I always treat everyone with respect. I had a problem with (agency owner name edited) many years ago at (agency name edited) that was going back maybe 8 or more years and it was a (agency owner) issue not a lady issue. Please talk to me so I can resolve this.You can email me at (email edited)[/color]
My response:
On the contrary, I am aware of many problems you have had with the agencies. (Agency name edited) had you banned, most of the girls refused to see you there. My first call with you I was very uncomfortable with you and I made you aware of that. You asked to call me "Your submissive little bitch" and then requested we used nipple clamps. I said no to both. You then proceeded to tell me I had to ask your permission to do anything to you. You then complained of my smoking...first visit...fair enough as you didn't know any better.
I saw you the next week through (agency name edited) and was terrified but being new with the business I stayed. You complained of my smoking...knowing I am a smoker. No reason to complain this time! When I got out of that call I asked (agency owners names edited) to not send me to you again. You called me as an indy and used a different name to see you as you knew I would turn you away. That was very disrespectful and ignorant!
I am at a point in this business that I do not have to put myself in situations that I am uncomfortable in. You feel the need to be powerful and in control of a woman. I find that demeaning and will not put myself in that environment again. I would apologize if I felt I did something wrong but standing up for myself does not constitute an apology.
Belle
He was not happy. His response:
BDSM ________________________________________Belle
I am quite surprised at your response. You are in a profession that most people do not understand. When a person with out knowledge is asked about your profession they say that women are forced into it or are drug users they are degraded ect. Having been with you and having read what you have written on your site and on blogs you understand this industries and the men who see women better then most anyone. I have been involved in this for a very long time. So I speak from experience that you are unique and among the best in the industry.
When it comes to BDSM there is a whole culture and a industry of it’s own. It is not degrading to women those women who are involved in roles weather submissive, dominate or switch do so with respect and are proud of how they feel about there role. When a sub be it a man or a women partakes in this culture they do so with an understanding of them self and it is not degrading. Those in dominate roles as master get the power of master from the sub in fact it is the sub who is in control as they give the power in an exchange to the master. In this practice this is how the safty is maintained and those of us go to great lengths to insure safe words and an understanding of this.
In our meetings I have expressed that I respect your comfort and I have never asked you to do anything you feel uncomfortable with. I am sorry that you might not have experience or knowledge of BDSM and that just by my asking you got scared or misunderstood my intentions. But I believe that if you think about the times we meet you will recall that I did express that I explained this concept and that I never ask you to do this if you are not comfortable. In fact you expressed that you are not comfortable with this and I did not press it.
I have learned that it is best to do this with women who understand this culture and when I desire this I will do it with women like (escort name edited) who are very comfortable with this. Or I will go to places in Toronto the specialize in this.
To have me banned do to your misunderstanding I feel is not correct I would ask that you speak to (escorts names edited) and the owners of (agency name edited) and have my name cleared. I have never asked anyone to do anything they are not comfortable with and respect the women I am with. BDSM is not a control over women thing it is a culture of it’s own and women who partake do so of there own desire the power they allow the masters they are with comes form them and the masters respect this. Safe guide lines are always followed. I am sorry for any misunderstanding
Please think about this and consider clearing my name.
Ummm, excuse me? My misunderstanding? No misunderstanding. I have nothing against BDSM, I simply choose not to be part of it. And the point is, that is my decision. To repeatedly ask to see me (I am assuming because he sensed my insecurity and that he felt he could wear me down) knowing I was not comfortable with what he was in to shows his lack of respect for women in this industry. What I have a problem with is guys like this that take advantage of new girls trying to spring upon them requests for services that are certainly not par for the course. It is wrong. These things should be discussed and mutually agreed upon prior to meeting with someone. Of course with my big mouth I could not let this one go. Unfortunately I do not have a copy of the pm I sent him responding to the above but I know I told him everything as I have written here.
It disgusted me that he considers himself an expert in BDSM yet does not seek those services from escorts that specialize in that that service….even worse that he seeks out unassuming ladies in hopes that his control over them is not a “role play” but that he truly does have that control over her. It simply makes me sick. His final message to me was a half-hearted apology.
So, back to the party. This to me was his final stage of the game. In his twisted mind I think it is part of his fantasy. To be my first call and intimidate me the way he knew he could. To call for me again, and yet again to remind me of who he is, it was like his attempt of keeping that fear of him in me. To call for me at the second agency on my first night with them, to play out in his head the irony of my first call with him being my very first appointment. To show up at the party, the final party I will be attending when no one even knows who this guy is, to walk up to me and hand me his door fee with a big grin on his face….it seemed all part of a game. He just paced the parking lot, not talking to anyone, just paced and paced. Only, I didn’t fear him. In fact, I looked at him as a sick pathetic soul. A loser. A low life.
I told others at the party who he was. I wanted him alienated but unfortunately I didn’t get the word out fast enough. He ended up seeing a girl but thankfully she had more confidence in herself than I did when I saw him. She walked out after 20 minutes refusing to have anything to do with him and expressed her concern for his aggressiveness. I later find out he used another name to get into the party. He knew he was not welcome, he knew he was banned. He showed up anyways. Because of that, because of his lack of respect for women and the industry I have no problem exposing him here. Behaviour like this may be harmless to some but to a woman in the industry it is creepy and creepy is not what it should be about.
I won this game, but I don’t want to play it ever again. It is one of few things I will not miss about this business. The weeding out, the nervousness when meeting someone, the being asked to do things I am uncomfortable with doing. Yes, it may be part of the business and I understand that. But like any business, there is a down side. John235 is the downside.
Typically at these events it starts off with one drink and ends up with me likely being naked. It is me, my carefree Belle self. It is business, advertising of who I am and what I stand for as Belle. It is a time to give my appreciation for those that have trusted me as an independent escort, a time for me to lose my inhibitions and let my hair down. This party was a little different. There was no advertising, in fact there was no drinking and no getting naked….on my part anyways. While I wasn’t feeling that well the day of, I wanted to just sit back and reflect on the positive changes this business has brought to my life.
All faces were welcoming to see until one prior client approached me to give me his door fee for the party as I had volunteered to do the collecting. I looked up to see the face of the man who just so happened to be my very first client as an escort. Perhaps you remember the blog entry I made dedicated to that very experience. It was not a pleasant one, in fact it was just the opposite. Let me tell you the history of this guy, a brief recap of my first appointment to now.
My first call with the agency I joined and I was warned by the owner that he can be aggressive and to hold my ground. I was scared. Scared to be doing this for the first time, scared to possibly encounter a situation I have feared all my life….having to stand up for myself. I walked in and quickly realized the type of experience he was looking for I was not willing to be a part of. He demanded that I ask permission to touch him and to not do anything until he told me so.
He told me to stand in front of him and let him undress me with my hands behind my back. I was nervous, I didn’t know what to do so at first I went along with his little game. He talked about this being my first call, the agency told him prior to booking me. He made me beg to kiss him, then to take his lead and move from his lips down his body. I was going along with this until he asked to call me his “submissive bitch” and requested he use nipple clamps on me. I flatly refused and a conversation ensued about how I need to please the client. I left that room with a small victory. I said no, something I had never done before….but I also allowed things to happen that I was not comfortable with and for that I was disappointed in myself. My first week held a few of these encounters, moments that I walked out being disappointed in myself.
A few days later I was sent to see him again. I did not realize it until he answered the door. To my amazement, I took the call and I walked in there with a much stronger “don’t f*** with me” attitude. He tried the same things again, the submissive role play, the name calling, the nipple clamps and I denied him all of the above. I left early and told my driver I refuse to see him again. He did not like taking no for an answer, told me to never smoke within hours of seeing him and so on. I decided then, that I am who I am. I will have my boundaries and I will not step outside of them for anyone no matter the money being offered. I am proud to say that the conviction I made that night stayed with me for the remaining 20 months in the business.
A few months after being independent of an agency, I get a voice mail. The voice I will never forget. It was him and he had the nerve to give me a different name and request to see me. I was so mad that he would have the nerve to be so ignorant. He knew I would refuse to see him and I did, of course. Next was an industry party where he showed up. He just sat there, the table behind mine and stared. We never spoke but I was unnerved by his presence. One year later, due to driver issues for a month or so I joined an agency part time until I settled the issues. My first night I get 3 calls as soon as I book on. As I finish the second call I hop in with the driver and light a cigarette. The driver asks that I put it out and tells me I have another call and the guy asked I do not smoke prior. My guard went up and I just knew it was him.
The guy goes by the name John235 on the review boards but he also introduces himself as “John from ****” referring to another review board. I asked the driver to call the dispatcher and ask what name he gave when he booked. Sure enough it was him! I explained to the driver my experience with him and once she realized who he was she knew he was also banned from 2 agencies for his aggressiveness with women. He was denied my call and told he was banned from the agency. Lo and behold, I get a private message from him. For the first time ever, I am going to share those messages publicly. The final messages went as follows:
Originally Posted by John235 Bell I was your first call with (agency name edited) I have seen you maybe 4 times or so We have always had a good call and i am not aware of ever having any problem I tried to book you Saturday through (agency name edited) and when time was getting late they told me you said you had a problem with me and that you would not see me and that i am now band from (them) What is that all about? I am very respected and have many ladies you can check for reference ***** and **** did a call with me @ (agency and ladies names edited) as well as many others. I have always respected you and regard my reputation with the agencies. I have never had a problem with any ladies ever and I always treat everyone with respect. I had a problem with (agency owner name edited) many years ago at (agency name edited) that was going back maybe 8 or more years and it was a (agency owner) issue not a lady issue. Please talk to me so I can resolve this.You can email me at (email edited)[/color]
My response:
On the contrary, I am aware of many problems you have had with the agencies. (Agency name edited) had you banned, most of the girls refused to see you there. My first call with you I was very uncomfortable with you and I made you aware of that. You asked to call me "Your submissive little bitch" and then requested we used nipple clamps. I said no to both. You then proceeded to tell me I had to ask your permission to do anything to you. You then complained of my smoking...first visit...fair enough as you didn't know any better.
I saw you the next week through (agency name edited) and was terrified but being new with the business I stayed. You complained of my smoking...knowing I am a smoker. No reason to complain this time! When I got out of that call I asked (agency owners names edited) to not send me to you again. You called me as an indy and used a different name to see you as you knew I would turn you away. That was very disrespectful and ignorant!
I am at a point in this business that I do not have to put myself in situations that I am uncomfortable in. You feel the need to be powerful and in control of a woman. I find that demeaning and will not put myself in that environment again. I would apologize if I felt I did something wrong but standing up for myself does not constitute an apology.
Belle
He was not happy. His response:
BDSM ________________________________________Belle
I am quite surprised at your response. You are in a profession that most people do not understand. When a person with out knowledge is asked about your profession they say that women are forced into it or are drug users they are degraded ect. Having been with you and having read what you have written on your site and on blogs you understand this industries and the men who see women better then most anyone. I have been involved in this for a very long time. So I speak from experience that you are unique and among the best in the industry.
When it comes to BDSM there is a whole culture and a industry of it’s own. It is not degrading to women those women who are involved in roles weather submissive, dominate or switch do so with respect and are proud of how they feel about there role. When a sub be it a man or a women partakes in this culture they do so with an understanding of them self and it is not degrading. Those in dominate roles as master get the power of master from the sub in fact it is the sub who is in control as they give the power in an exchange to the master. In this practice this is how the safty is maintained and those of us go to great lengths to insure safe words and an understanding of this.
In our meetings I have expressed that I respect your comfort and I have never asked you to do anything you feel uncomfortable with. I am sorry that you might not have experience or knowledge of BDSM and that just by my asking you got scared or misunderstood my intentions. But I believe that if you think about the times we meet you will recall that I did express that I explained this concept and that I never ask you to do this if you are not comfortable. In fact you expressed that you are not comfortable with this and I did not press it.
I have learned that it is best to do this with women who understand this culture and when I desire this I will do it with women like (escort name edited) who are very comfortable with this. Or I will go to places in Toronto the specialize in this.
To have me banned do to your misunderstanding I feel is not correct I would ask that you speak to (escorts names edited) and the owners of (agency name edited) and have my name cleared. I have never asked anyone to do anything they are not comfortable with and respect the women I am with. BDSM is not a control over women thing it is a culture of it’s own and women who partake do so of there own desire the power they allow the masters they are with comes form them and the masters respect this. Safe guide lines are always followed. I am sorry for any misunderstanding
Please think about this and consider clearing my name.
Ummm, excuse me? My misunderstanding? No misunderstanding. I have nothing against BDSM, I simply choose not to be part of it. And the point is, that is my decision. To repeatedly ask to see me (I am assuming because he sensed my insecurity and that he felt he could wear me down) knowing I was not comfortable with what he was in to shows his lack of respect for women in this industry. What I have a problem with is guys like this that take advantage of new girls trying to spring upon them requests for services that are certainly not par for the course. It is wrong. These things should be discussed and mutually agreed upon prior to meeting with someone. Of course with my big mouth I could not let this one go. Unfortunately I do not have a copy of the pm I sent him responding to the above but I know I told him everything as I have written here.
It disgusted me that he considers himself an expert in BDSM yet does not seek those services from escorts that specialize in that that service….even worse that he seeks out unassuming ladies in hopes that his control over them is not a “role play” but that he truly does have that control over her. It simply makes me sick. His final message to me was a half-hearted apology.
So, back to the party. This to me was his final stage of the game. In his twisted mind I think it is part of his fantasy. To be my first call and intimidate me the way he knew he could. To call for me again, and yet again to remind me of who he is, it was like his attempt of keeping that fear of him in me. To call for me at the second agency on my first night with them, to play out in his head the irony of my first call with him being my very first appointment. To show up at the party, the final party I will be attending when no one even knows who this guy is, to walk up to me and hand me his door fee with a big grin on his face….it seemed all part of a game. He just paced the parking lot, not talking to anyone, just paced and paced. Only, I didn’t fear him. In fact, I looked at him as a sick pathetic soul. A loser. A low life.
I told others at the party who he was. I wanted him alienated but unfortunately I didn’t get the word out fast enough. He ended up seeing a girl but thankfully she had more confidence in herself than I did when I saw him. She walked out after 20 minutes refusing to have anything to do with him and expressed her concern for his aggressiveness. I later find out he used another name to get into the party. He knew he was not welcome, he knew he was banned. He showed up anyways. Because of that, because of his lack of respect for women and the industry I have no problem exposing him here. Behaviour like this may be harmless to some but to a woman in the industry it is creepy and creepy is not what it should be about.
I won this game, but I don’t want to play it ever again. It is one of few things I will not miss about this business. The weeding out, the nervousness when meeting someone, the being asked to do things I am uncomfortable with doing. Yes, it may be part of the business and I understand that. But like any business, there is a down side. John235 is the downside.
The time has come
Well, as I have said before…”Here for a good time, not a long time”. Good times were had and now it is time for me to move on. I think we should name this week the week of the dearly departed. Seeing such wonderful ladies announce their departure from this business, I realize that my time too has come. But I am leaving with no regrets, lessons learned, friends gained and a renewed sense of who I am and where I am headed in life. For that I will be forever grateful to all of you.
I created Belle in August 2005. She became someone I had always wanted to be. Confident, sexual, carefree, spontaneous and adventurous. I wanted her to take me places I have never seen, allow me to do things I have never done. I wanted her to take me away from reality and give me the fantasy all women dream of. I wanted to feel desired, cared for, wanted as a woman. I wanted to feel passion, be a part of that passion, give into that passion. I wanted an escape, a glimpse into the world beyond my own.
While Belle gave me everything I was looking for, she also gave me so much more. Things that not only did I not expect, but did not know I was looking for. She opened my eyes to what the world has to offer me. I now have an inner strength to face the world instead of cowering to its wrath. All in all, I found me. Now it’s time to see just what I can do out there.
I’m not one for long goodbyes so just let me say thanks for the ones that took the time to get to know me and open your lives up to me. I won’t mention any names, you all know who you are. I will often look back and smile at the memories you have given me. No regrets, just smiles and lots of them.
For those of you that have followed my rambling blog, thank you for listening. In the next few days my website will be no longer of use other than the main page being my blog which I hope I will still be writing years from now. My contact info, schedule, pictures and all forums will become a thing of my past, a very memorable one. I can’t tell you how much fun it has been to banter back and forth about the business, life and love. I hope some of you stick around to see where this next phase takes me.
I posted a contest of sorts a couple of months ago on my website. I asked for anyone reading to submit a perfect date scenario. My intent was to experience something I am not ready for in my personal life yet so desperately need to be a part of. Just one evening, no money exchange. The kind of date you would plan the night you propose to your loved one. I am excited to live out that “date” and have decided that that evening will be my last experience as Belle. What a perfect way to end this leg of my journey.
So, that being said, while an official date has not been set I can be sure in saying that Friday, July 13th will be my final day. Thanks again, kisses to all of you!
xoxo Belle
I created Belle in August 2005. She became someone I had always wanted to be. Confident, sexual, carefree, spontaneous and adventurous. I wanted her to take me places I have never seen, allow me to do things I have never done. I wanted her to take me away from reality and give me the fantasy all women dream of. I wanted to feel desired, cared for, wanted as a woman. I wanted to feel passion, be a part of that passion, give into that passion. I wanted an escape, a glimpse into the world beyond my own.
While Belle gave me everything I was looking for, she also gave me so much more. Things that not only did I not expect, but did not know I was looking for. She opened my eyes to what the world has to offer me. I now have an inner strength to face the world instead of cowering to its wrath. All in all, I found me. Now it’s time to see just what I can do out there.
I’m not one for long goodbyes so just let me say thanks for the ones that took the time to get to know me and open your lives up to me. I won’t mention any names, you all know who you are. I will often look back and smile at the memories you have given me. No regrets, just smiles and lots of them.
For those of you that have followed my rambling blog, thank you for listening. In the next few days my website will be no longer of use other than the main page being my blog which I hope I will still be writing years from now. My contact info, schedule, pictures and all forums will become a thing of my past, a very memorable one. I can’t tell you how much fun it has been to banter back and forth about the business, life and love. I hope some of you stick around to see where this next phase takes me.
I posted a contest of sorts a couple of months ago on my website. I asked for anyone reading to submit a perfect date scenario. My intent was to experience something I am not ready for in my personal life yet so desperately need to be a part of. Just one evening, no money exchange. The kind of date you would plan the night you propose to your loved one. I am excited to live out that “date” and have decided that that evening will be my last experience as Belle. What a perfect way to end this leg of my journey.
So, that being said, while an official date has not been set I can be sure in saying that Friday, July 13th will be my final day. Thanks again, kisses to all of you!
xoxo Belle
Wanted......
Wanted.
An attractive man but one who does not spend 10 minutes grooming himself to look better than me after hours of grooming. Must be manly but with a sensitive side. Meaning, he can cry during “City of Angels” but not when he stubbs his toe. He must tell me the things I want to hear if he really means it and never tell me when he doesn’t. I don’t expect him to promise me the world but a planet or two would be nice. He must love to drive and put up with me in the passenger seat while I yell at him to slow down…with a smile the entire time. He must keep country playing on the car radio and only listen to his favorite music in the garage where I will send him when he gets on my nerves. Likely twice daily.
He must love to cook and BBQ in the summer and never expect me to do either. He must be self sufficient and have a job that works around my schedule. He must know when to say nice comforting things yet also know when to shut the fuck up. He must not require a lot of effort to make happy and be confident enough to know I want him yet not over confident where he becomes an arrogant prick. Combs in the back pocket are a no-no. He must not snore, unless I fall asleep before he does. In fact, he must massage me to sleep every night before he even thinks of resting his weary eyes. Hey, this IS my ad you know!
He must enjoy long walks. Not at the beach necessarily but hikes through forests looking for Tupperware containers filled with other people’s junk. He must not fear anything but my wrath. Spiders and snakes must be his friends, friends that he never brings home. Heck even human friends he must never bring home unless I really like them and he plans on sharing our bed with them. He MUST love the Habs. He can have a hobby or two of his own, including escorts as long as he invites me and I approve of his pick of the litter.
He must never come home in a drunken stupor unless I have been with him the entire evening. If there is a night he doesn’t come home he must pick up his belongings at the curbside prior to 8am. He must not beg to have a dog, or any pet for that matter. If he wants to take care of something…..hell….that’s what I am here for! He must never be upset when I spend money and understand that he is not allowed to spend any because I spent it all. He must never come home without a Timmy’s for me. On hot summer days a Mint Chocolate Iced Cappuccino will suffice. He must give me sex when I want it and not ask for it when I don’t. He must not look at another woman unless I comment on how hot she is first. And lastly, he must be able to read my mind.
Apply within.
An attractive man but one who does not spend 10 minutes grooming himself to look better than me after hours of grooming. Must be manly but with a sensitive side. Meaning, he can cry during “City of Angels” but not when he stubbs his toe. He must tell me the things I want to hear if he really means it and never tell me when he doesn’t. I don’t expect him to promise me the world but a planet or two would be nice. He must love to drive and put up with me in the passenger seat while I yell at him to slow down…with a smile the entire time. He must keep country playing on the car radio and only listen to his favorite music in the garage where I will send him when he gets on my nerves. Likely twice daily.
He must love to cook and BBQ in the summer and never expect me to do either. He must be self sufficient and have a job that works around my schedule. He must know when to say nice comforting things yet also know when to shut the fuck up. He must not require a lot of effort to make happy and be confident enough to know I want him yet not over confident where he becomes an arrogant prick. Combs in the back pocket are a no-no. He must not snore, unless I fall asleep before he does. In fact, he must massage me to sleep every night before he even thinks of resting his weary eyes. Hey, this IS my ad you know!
He must enjoy long walks. Not at the beach necessarily but hikes through forests looking for Tupperware containers filled with other people’s junk. He must not fear anything but my wrath. Spiders and snakes must be his friends, friends that he never brings home. Heck even human friends he must never bring home unless I really like them and he plans on sharing our bed with them. He MUST love the Habs. He can have a hobby or two of his own, including escorts as long as he invites me and I approve of his pick of the litter.
He must never come home in a drunken stupor unless I have been with him the entire evening. If there is a night he doesn’t come home he must pick up his belongings at the curbside prior to 8am. He must not beg to have a dog, or any pet for that matter. If he wants to take care of something…..hell….that’s what I am here for! He must never be upset when I spend money and understand that he is not allowed to spend any because I spent it all. He must never come home without a Timmy’s for me. On hot summer days a Mint Chocolate Iced Cappuccino will suffice. He must give me sex when I want it and not ask for it when I don’t. He must not look at another woman unless I comment on how hot she is first. And lastly, he must be able to read my mind.
Apply within.
Did I do that?
I am going to write this blog knowing full well that I will lose all dignity but I am at a stage in the game where I feel comfortable enough to laugh and say “Ah well”. So here goes. Last night…..I peed the bed! Yes, I woke in the night, in the middle of a nightmare to realize the toilet I dreamt I was sitting on was really my bed. Although I woke just a moment later than I would have rathered, it was late enough to officially count myself as a bed wetter. I am hoping at least some of you can relate to this or I am going to be really embarrassed.
This is where I realized that I take my role as an escort too seriously. That, and the fact that I am aging and this is what I have to look forward to down the road. The nightmare. I was at an industry party. It wasn’t a public place kind of meet and greet, more like a house party for us few that hang out. There were no scheduled appointments, it was just to be a night of simply drinking and chatting it up. Surprisingly, I got a little intoxicated and felt the need to remove some clothing. Things were getting heated, the guys and the ladies feeling frisky and lacking any inhibitions. Piece by piece the clothes were coming off. I was so horny, going back to my previous blog about just wanting to get laid. I was being a tease, working up the room. Hands were exploring and just as the guy I was drooling over was about to place his hand between my thighs I realized I didn’t shave before leaving the house!
Total horror took over. OMG, this guy is going to feel stubble! I was so embarrassed and quickly closed my legs together and ran to the washroom. I tore apart the medicine cabinet, the vanity, the linen closet…every nook and cranny of this lavatory in hopes of finding a razor. He was knocking on the door asking if I was okay. I was so humiliated I told him I had drank too much and was feeling ill. But I was horny and I wasn’t about to leave without being satisfied. Talk about being all about me!
I asked him to bring me my purse and when he did, I shut the door and opened up my purse to find my tweezers. One by one I sat there, wincing in pain until I was smooth as a baby’s bottom. Barely able to move I made my way to the toilet prior to leaving the washroom. This is when I woke up. Now the timing was good…and very bad! I only dribbled and had I waited any longer, well….no need to go any further with that. BUT…I went through the pain of tweezing my most intimate areas and I didn’t get to reap my reward! I woke up wet, for more reasons than I care to think about and horny as hell at 3am. Of course I did what any horny woman would do. I ran the tub and masturbated. The first time took no effort as I was practically there. It was the second one that satisfied me before heading back to bed.
Lesson learned? Hair dye before bed is a no-no. From now on I will dye my hair in the morning so I can be horny as hell and not have to take care of it myself! Don’t be scared the next time you see me if I have green hair and a pocket rocket in hand. Just keep me busy cause if I fall asleep you will see just how wet I can really get! Omg, what has my blog come to?
This is where I realized that I take my role as an escort too seriously. That, and the fact that I am aging and this is what I have to look forward to down the road. The nightmare. I was at an industry party. It wasn’t a public place kind of meet and greet, more like a house party for us few that hang out. There were no scheduled appointments, it was just to be a night of simply drinking and chatting it up. Surprisingly, I got a little intoxicated and felt the need to remove some clothing. Things were getting heated, the guys and the ladies feeling frisky and lacking any inhibitions. Piece by piece the clothes were coming off. I was so horny, going back to my previous blog about just wanting to get laid. I was being a tease, working up the room. Hands were exploring and just as the guy I was drooling over was about to place his hand between my thighs I realized I didn’t shave before leaving the house!
Total horror took over. OMG, this guy is going to feel stubble! I was so embarrassed and quickly closed my legs together and ran to the washroom. I tore apart the medicine cabinet, the vanity, the linen closet…every nook and cranny of this lavatory in hopes of finding a razor. He was knocking on the door asking if I was okay. I was so humiliated I told him I had drank too much and was feeling ill. But I was horny and I wasn’t about to leave without being satisfied. Talk about being all about me!
I asked him to bring me my purse and when he did, I shut the door and opened up my purse to find my tweezers. One by one I sat there, wincing in pain until I was smooth as a baby’s bottom. Barely able to move I made my way to the toilet prior to leaving the washroom. This is when I woke up. Now the timing was good…and very bad! I only dribbled and had I waited any longer, well….no need to go any further with that. BUT…I went through the pain of tweezing my most intimate areas and I didn’t get to reap my reward! I woke up wet, for more reasons than I care to think about and horny as hell at 3am. Of course I did what any horny woman would do. I ran the tub and masturbated. The first time took no effort as I was practically there. It was the second one that satisfied me before heading back to bed.
Lesson learned? Hair dye before bed is a no-no. From now on I will dye my hair in the morning so I can be horny as hell and not have to take care of it myself! Don’t be scared the next time you see me if I have green hair and a pocket rocket in hand. Just keep me busy cause if I fall asleep you will see just how wet I can really get! Omg, what has my blog come to?
Ever just want to F***?
Have you ever wanted sex so bad that it physically hurt? I mean that torturous “I have to have it now” feeling? I know I talk so much about me being all about passion and sensuality only because as an SP, that is the only clientele I wish to spend time with. But I AM human, I AM a woman and lately…..I just want to get f****d. It sounds so crude I can’t even type it but I really do just want to have it all about sex and how many times I can get off, how many times he can get off and how many ways we can figure how to get there. God am I ever going to regret this post after I’ve had some sleep!
I worked tonight not only putting in my eight hours but did two hours of overtime….and I spent the entire time thinking about sex. It may sound normal for some of you but it’s not the norm for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex…..but I don’t normally fantasize about it like I have all night. I imagined one of my customers naked, not even giving up his first name. He just pushed me down to the floor, ripped my clothes off and gave it to me like I really wanted him to. I’m sure he knew I was thinking something, I could tell the look in my eyes made him nervous. Poor guy, if he only knew!
I imagined cornering one of my coworkers who seems so sweet and innocent up against a wall. I grabbed her hands, pinned them above her head and just started kissing her in the break room. I could feel her resist me, a feeble attempt to convince herself she did not like it. But as the kiss lingered I could feel her hands go limp under mine, her lips loosened up and she gave in to her curiosity of what it would feel like to kiss a woman. This thought kept me wet most of the evening.
I imagined the men who have given me my fantasies since I have been escorting. The men that have tried new things with me, who I have tried new things with. And then I relived them while my customers bitched at me all night. I don’t think they appreciated my smile back to them. It took everything I had to not touch myself.
My breaks came and I rushed to the ladies room. I was soaked each time and could not wait to taste myself. I never got myself off, just sat there and played for a minute or two before joining my fellow associates. Sex was everywhere I looked. Men, women, couples….I pictured myself having sex with them all. Well, maybe not all as there were a few that just did not do it for me. But I was so damn horny that almost everyone was a target of my desire. I was having sex on the staircase, outside on the picnic tables where I would have my cigarette, in the ladies room on the huge countertop with the mirror reflecting all things I could not see. I was so horny, it hurt.
Now it’s not like I haven’t been getting any, I have. And it’s been good. I have left feeling satisfied only to have that ache return moments later. It’s fun, but it’s frustrating. I wished I could just grab a man that I want badly and just do it. No questions, no rationalizing, no objections. We just F***. Just because we felt like it. Hell, even if he doesn’t feel like it, we do it cause I feel like it! Damn that sounds so selfish but hey, it’s my blog and I can be selfish when I want to be!
Ok, I’m going to bed with my pocket rocket now to see what else I can fantasize about. And hopefully I fall asleep right after. I know I’ll only have about ten minutes before that sex freak overcomes me again. And when I wake up, the first thing I am going to do is delete this post!
I worked tonight not only putting in my eight hours but did two hours of overtime….and I spent the entire time thinking about sex. It may sound normal for some of you but it’s not the norm for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex…..but I don’t normally fantasize about it like I have all night. I imagined one of my customers naked, not even giving up his first name. He just pushed me down to the floor, ripped my clothes off and gave it to me like I really wanted him to. I’m sure he knew I was thinking something, I could tell the look in my eyes made him nervous. Poor guy, if he only knew!
I imagined cornering one of my coworkers who seems so sweet and innocent up against a wall. I grabbed her hands, pinned them above her head and just started kissing her in the break room. I could feel her resist me, a feeble attempt to convince herself she did not like it. But as the kiss lingered I could feel her hands go limp under mine, her lips loosened up and she gave in to her curiosity of what it would feel like to kiss a woman. This thought kept me wet most of the evening.
I imagined the men who have given me my fantasies since I have been escorting. The men that have tried new things with me, who I have tried new things with. And then I relived them while my customers bitched at me all night. I don’t think they appreciated my smile back to them. It took everything I had to not touch myself.
My breaks came and I rushed to the ladies room. I was soaked each time and could not wait to taste myself. I never got myself off, just sat there and played for a minute or two before joining my fellow associates. Sex was everywhere I looked. Men, women, couples….I pictured myself having sex with them all. Well, maybe not all as there were a few that just did not do it for me. But I was so damn horny that almost everyone was a target of my desire. I was having sex on the staircase, outside on the picnic tables where I would have my cigarette, in the ladies room on the huge countertop with the mirror reflecting all things I could not see. I was so horny, it hurt.
Now it’s not like I haven’t been getting any, I have. And it’s been good. I have left feeling satisfied only to have that ache return moments later. It’s fun, but it’s frustrating. I wished I could just grab a man that I want badly and just do it. No questions, no rationalizing, no objections. We just F***. Just because we felt like it. Hell, even if he doesn’t feel like it, we do it cause I feel like it! Damn that sounds so selfish but hey, it’s my blog and I can be selfish when I want to be!
Ok, I’m going to bed with my pocket rocket now to see what else I can fantasize about. And hopefully I fall asleep right after. I know I’ll only have about ten minutes before that sex freak overcomes me again. And when I wake up, the first thing I am going to do is delete this post!
The Voice in the Woods
Today was the first time in a long time that I actually felt like I wanted someone in my life. It should have been a great feeling I would have thought; to not want to be alone. I found a peaceful place to read a book while I was geocaching last week so I went back to revisit today, just for a casual stroll. I was a little too antsy to bring a book as my mind has been racing with all that has been going on in my life as of late. A mindset not ideal for delving into a complicated plot. So I just walked.
This is my happy place, the great outdoors. I feel connected and a sense of well-being overcomes me as I take in the sunlight that creeps through the tree cover above. It has always been my place to be alone, to clear my mind, to connect with who I am. I have never an intrusion here, so I was left feeling a little betrayed by my thoughts today. I felt solemn as I walked alone. I appreciated the silence but wished I had someone to share that same appreciation for the silence. This is my place dammit, my feel good place. My place where my life is not to be intruded upon. Yes, I felt betrayed by those thoughts.
We live in a world where society dictates who we should be, how we should act, what we should think. Society tells us we need love in our lives, that we cannot be happy alone. Society dictates what constitutes the norm and God forbid we live our lives outside of its expectations. Society says we should cry when times are tough, we should reach out when we feel alone. I say “Fuck society” and I venture outdoors. I like taking time out alone when I am feeling overwhelmed. When I am grumpy or angry or those days that I hate the world and feel lost, I need to be alone. I need to walk, to connect myself with the basics, with the roots of where we all come from. I find my happy place alone in nature, needing to surround myself with trees, water and silence. What I don’t need here is some nagging voice telling me there should be someone walking alongside me.
If I want to take the path to the right, I take it. I don’t want to compromise with anyone. I don’t want to justify why I want to veer to the right. I just do it because I feel like doing it. If I see a nice spot to just sit and think, I sit and think. I don’t want to explain what I am thinking about nor do I care to have my thoughts interrupted by someone else’s breathing beside me. I just want to think, by myself, about nothing or maybe about everything. Who cares? It’s my happy place and I can do here what I want to! So why the hell am I being interrupted by this annoying squeaky voice telling me I should be sharing this moment with someone? Who the fuck let society in here dammit?
There is nothing sane in here. Nothing makes sense. I don’t think like society expects me to, I don’t act like society expects me to, I am not who society expects me to be. But that is the beauty of my happy place. I don’t have to be! So why the hell did society follow me in here? I am not a conformist (in case any of you have not noticed). I refuse to accept that I need someone in my life to hold my hand. And most times I believe it, most times. But today really bothered me none the less. I feel strong for the first time in my life. I feel confident and in control. I own myself, nobody else has title on me. And no one, including that damn nagging voice, has any right to tell me I should live my life otherwise.
You likely know of the saying “That which does not destroy us makes us stronger”. It was a quote by Friedrich Nietzsche. What you may not know is that he wrote another aphorism. "The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself". I love that quote and can relate to what he is saying. Of course, he was mentally ill and institutionalized at the time of his death.:rolleyes:
This is my happy place, the great outdoors. I feel connected and a sense of well-being overcomes me as I take in the sunlight that creeps through the tree cover above. It has always been my place to be alone, to clear my mind, to connect with who I am. I have never an intrusion here, so I was left feeling a little betrayed by my thoughts today. I felt solemn as I walked alone. I appreciated the silence but wished I had someone to share that same appreciation for the silence. This is my place dammit, my feel good place. My place where my life is not to be intruded upon. Yes, I felt betrayed by those thoughts.
We live in a world where society dictates who we should be, how we should act, what we should think. Society tells us we need love in our lives, that we cannot be happy alone. Society dictates what constitutes the norm and God forbid we live our lives outside of its expectations. Society says we should cry when times are tough, we should reach out when we feel alone. I say “Fuck society” and I venture outdoors. I like taking time out alone when I am feeling overwhelmed. When I am grumpy or angry or those days that I hate the world and feel lost, I need to be alone. I need to walk, to connect myself with the basics, with the roots of where we all come from. I find my happy place alone in nature, needing to surround myself with trees, water and silence. What I don’t need here is some nagging voice telling me there should be someone walking alongside me.
If I want to take the path to the right, I take it. I don’t want to compromise with anyone. I don’t want to justify why I want to veer to the right. I just do it because I feel like doing it. If I see a nice spot to just sit and think, I sit and think. I don’t want to explain what I am thinking about nor do I care to have my thoughts interrupted by someone else’s breathing beside me. I just want to think, by myself, about nothing or maybe about everything. Who cares? It’s my happy place and I can do here what I want to! So why the hell am I being interrupted by this annoying squeaky voice telling me I should be sharing this moment with someone? Who the fuck let society in here dammit?
There is nothing sane in here. Nothing makes sense. I don’t think like society expects me to, I don’t act like society expects me to, I am not who society expects me to be. But that is the beauty of my happy place. I don’t have to be! So why the hell did society follow me in here? I am not a conformist (in case any of you have not noticed). I refuse to accept that I need someone in my life to hold my hand. And most times I believe it, most times. But today really bothered me none the less. I feel strong for the first time in my life. I feel confident and in control. I own myself, nobody else has title on me. And no one, including that damn nagging voice, has any right to tell me I should live my life otherwise.
You likely know of the saying “That which does not destroy us makes us stronger”. It was a quote by Friedrich Nietzsche. What you may not know is that he wrote another aphorism. "The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself". I love that quote and can relate to what he is saying. Of course, he was mentally ill and institutionalized at the time of his death.:rolleyes:
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Masturbation
I have to say that I think masturbation is under rated and does not get the respect that the act deserves. We joke about having to please ourselves when there is no other option available but to be honest, some of my most pleasurable sexual moments have been when I have pleased myself. This is all about the greatness of masturbation:
I can make love with any man I so choose. I can hear Nicholas cage whisper in my ear, telling me he lusts for my body to be pressed against his. I can throw a coworker on the lunch room table in the middle of the day and engage in wild passionate sex all the while knowing this would never be a reality.
I can say what I want to who I want and not risk a damn thing by doing it. There is no rejection while masturbating. I am the screenwriter, the producer, the director and the actor. It’s my show, anything goes. If I want to be the star, I’m the star. If I want to be the supporting actress, then I am it. If I want to be the one who gets seduced by the sexiest man of my dreams then I let him seduce me.
Masturbation is my chance to explore sexual fantasies, things I do not find myself wanting to do in reality but just to close my eyes and experience how I imagine them to be. To be touched in just the right way, to be kissed like I have never been kissed before. There is nothing that can go wrong when it is just me, my body and my imagination. I let my imagination take me to places I would never go with another. It’s that chance to be uninhibited, to have an audience watch you perform, to be the desire of another that you know would never be.
But then, I can recreate my most erotic encounters through masturbation. Those times when I never wanted that moment to end. You know the way you feel just prior to orgasm where you don’t want it to end? I can keep myself there in that moment, hold it there in my mind and focus on just how wonderful it feels. I am in control, keeping myself from going over the edge.
Dangling there, I keep myself in that moment. Yes, masturbation is a wonderful thing.
My place of preference for masturbation is the bath. I love to lay there immersed in hot water, bubbles covering my body. I close my eyes and clear my mind of everything weighing me down. I can sometimes relax myself so well that I have fallen asleep. It’s just prior to that sleep state that I find I most able to enjoy a moment of self arousal. It’s hot and sweaty, I am relaxed and find that here, my mind is more open to sexual stimulation.
Sometimes I just like to get myself off to help me sleep. Then it’s not a matter of being relaxed and sensual but quick and to the point. It’s imagining a stranger coming out of no where, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling them to the floor. There is no foreplay, no whispering in my ear. He wants me, I want him. Straight to the points he lays me on the floor next to my jeans and gives it to me. We are both rushed, our lives awaiting our return. It’s all about the destination. Who cares how we get there, as long as we do. It’s intense and it’s quick. Those times can be just as sweet as any other.
Another bonus to masturbation….I get what I want, how I want it. There is no tending to another’s needs, catering to the mood they are in. It’s perfect each and every time. I do exactly what I want to do, he does exactly what I want him to do. I can imagine him being in a state no other woman has brought him to. I am his one, his only, his best. He has never had it as good as I am giving it to him. Yes, I am the star. C’mon now, we have all gotten ourselves off to this one at one time or another!
Masturbation truly is a wonderful thing. Don’t cheapen its significance by getting off just because there isn’t another heartbeat in the room. Make it an experience to remember. Live out your fantasies. Have sex with your neighbor, your boss, the hottie at the gym. Have sex any where you want, any way you want it and with whom ever you want to. Keep those most amazing sexual experiences alive by reliving them over and over again. Feel again the kiss, the moment your bodies connect, the aching pulse as you prepare to release. Yes, sex with another is great but masturbation should not be left in its wake. And the bet part is that when you drift off to sleep after masturbation….you’re not fighting anyone for the covers!
I can make love with any man I so choose. I can hear Nicholas cage whisper in my ear, telling me he lusts for my body to be pressed against his. I can throw a coworker on the lunch room table in the middle of the day and engage in wild passionate sex all the while knowing this would never be a reality.
I can say what I want to who I want and not risk a damn thing by doing it. There is no rejection while masturbating. I am the screenwriter, the producer, the director and the actor. It’s my show, anything goes. If I want to be the star, I’m the star. If I want to be the supporting actress, then I am it. If I want to be the one who gets seduced by the sexiest man of my dreams then I let him seduce me.
Masturbation is my chance to explore sexual fantasies, things I do not find myself wanting to do in reality but just to close my eyes and experience how I imagine them to be. To be touched in just the right way, to be kissed like I have never been kissed before. There is nothing that can go wrong when it is just me, my body and my imagination. I let my imagination take me to places I would never go with another. It’s that chance to be uninhibited, to have an audience watch you perform, to be the desire of another that you know would never be.
But then, I can recreate my most erotic encounters through masturbation. Those times when I never wanted that moment to end. You know the way you feel just prior to orgasm where you don’t want it to end? I can keep myself there in that moment, hold it there in my mind and focus on just how wonderful it feels. I am in control, keeping myself from going over the edge.
Dangling there, I keep myself in that moment. Yes, masturbation is a wonderful thing.
My place of preference for masturbation is the bath. I love to lay there immersed in hot water, bubbles covering my body. I close my eyes and clear my mind of everything weighing me down. I can sometimes relax myself so well that I have fallen asleep. It’s just prior to that sleep state that I find I most able to enjoy a moment of self arousal. It’s hot and sweaty, I am relaxed and find that here, my mind is more open to sexual stimulation.
Sometimes I just like to get myself off to help me sleep. Then it’s not a matter of being relaxed and sensual but quick and to the point. It’s imagining a stranger coming out of no where, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling them to the floor. There is no foreplay, no whispering in my ear. He wants me, I want him. Straight to the points he lays me on the floor next to my jeans and gives it to me. We are both rushed, our lives awaiting our return. It’s all about the destination. Who cares how we get there, as long as we do. It’s intense and it’s quick. Those times can be just as sweet as any other.
Another bonus to masturbation….I get what I want, how I want it. There is no tending to another’s needs, catering to the mood they are in. It’s perfect each and every time. I do exactly what I want to do, he does exactly what I want him to do. I can imagine him being in a state no other woman has brought him to. I am his one, his only, his best. He has never had it as good as I am giving it to him. Yes, I am the star. C’mon now, we have all gotten ourselves off to this one at one time or another!
Masturbation truly is a wonderful thing. Don’t cheapen its significance by getting off just because there isn’t another heartbeat in the room. Make it an experience to remember. Live out your fantasies. Have sex with your neighbor, your boss, the hottie at the gym. Have sex any where you want, any way you want it and with whom ever you want to. Keep those most amazing sexual experiences alive by reliving them over and over again. Feel again the kiss, the moment your bodies connect, the aching pulse as you prepare to release. Yes, sex with another is great but masturbation should not be left in its wake. And the bet part is that when you drift off to sleep after masturbation….you’re not fighting anyone for the covers!
My Life Series: Drugs
I can still taste the drip. Slowly from the back of my nose it makes its way down my throat. It has such a sour taste yet its feel is so sweet. It is the assurance that the ultimate high is to come. This is the moment I live for. The moment when I feel reality drift away. I find myself in a place where I am untouchable. No one can hurt me here. For the next hour, two if it’s a good line, I am ruler of my world. Those things people say about me, they don’t hurt. Those hurtful things I say about myself, they don’t hurt me here.
No, this is my place. Here, I can talk to anyone without fearing I will say something wrong. I am alive here and more importantly, I feel worthy to be alive here. When that drip begins its travel, I begin to dream of all I want to be and believe it may happen one day. I imagine being a stewardess for a large airline. I picture myself giving the emergency preparedness speech. I have always wanted to do that. “Please note the exits at the rear (point) mid (point) and front (point) sections of the aircraft….” Yes, I would dream that was me.
Sometimes I am a teacher. 30 little faces looking up at me, soaking up every word I speak to them. I would imagine field trips, showing them the world. Teaching them how to make friends, not to bully and try to explain why there are three ways to spell “two, to and too”. Other times I am just somebody. I could never figure out who that somebody was but I just wanted to make my mark, change someone’s life, make a difference in the world even if in some small way.
But as I come down I realize I am not a stewardess nor a teacher but a coke head. I’m not changing any lives, just ruining my own. No field trips, just the field I sleep in. Bullies are everywhere, it’s a dog eat dog world out here. And the worst part is, the only exit I have is that line, the sour drip, the burning in my nose.
The above was my life for thankfully, a very short time. I knew it wasn’t me. I knew it wasn’t who I wanted to be. My friends were all addicts. I'd look around me and see parents stoned in front of their children. I would see people living off the food bank because their last bill had to be used for snorting. I knew that would have been me had I continued down that path. But I don’t regret that time in my life as it drove me to feel the way I did stoned….sober. I got that glimpse of being carefree. I could feel what it was like to be confident. I had the sense to know I could get that feeling from living life. I didn't know how, but I knew it was out there. And I am there now, without the cocaine. I think I knew one day I could do it. I wouldn’t have fought so hard for a better life otherwise.
I think we are so quick to say that life is out of our control but I know as I look back on my life I realize that most of my ups and downs were a result of choices I made. I controlled my life, even when I thought I had none. I chose to snort. I chose to stop. We chose to live the lives we live.
I hope I am not naive in thinking that drugs are not as prevalent with teens as they were back then. Wow, I talk like back then was so long ago but really just a short 15 years ago. But it seems kids dabble in drugs a little later in their teens as opposed to us kids who were smoking pot at 12. For my sanity’s sake, raising a teenage daughter, I really hope that’s the case.
No, this is my place. Here, I can talk to anyone without fearing I will say something wrong. I am alive here and more importantly, I feel worthy to be alive here. When that drip begins its travel, I begin to dream of all I want to be and believe it may happen one day. I imagine being a stewardess for a large airline. I picture myself giving the emergency preparedness speech. I have always wanted to do that. “Please note the exits at the rear (point) mid (point) and front (point) sections of the aircraft….” Yes, I would dream that was me.
Sometimes I am a teacher. 30 little faces looking up at me, soaking up every word I speak to them. I would imagine field trips, showing them the world. Teaching them how to make friends, not to bully and try to explain why there are three ways to spell “two, to and too”. Other times I am just somebody. I could never figure out who that somebody was but I just wanted to make my mark, change someone’s life, make a difference in the world even if in some small way.
But as I come down I realize I am not a stewardess nor a teacher but a coke head. I’m not changing any lives, just ruining my own. No field trips, just the field I sleep in. Bullies are everywhere, it’s a dog eat dog world out here. And the worst part is, the only exit I have is that line, the sour drip, the burning in my nose.
The above was my life for thankfully, a very short time. I knew it wasn’t me. I knew it wasn’t who I wanted to be. My friends were all addicts. I'd look around me and see parents stoned in front of their children. I would see people living off the food bank because their last bill had to be used for snorting. I knew that would have been me had I continued down that path. But I don’t regret that time in my life as it drove me to feel the way I did stoned….sober. I got that glimpse of being carefree. I could feel what it was like to be confident. I had the sense to know I could get that feeling from living life. I didn't know how, but I knew it was out there. And I am there now, without the cocaine. I think I knew one day I could do it. I wouldn’t have fought so hard for a better life otherwise.
I think we are so quick to say that life is out of our control but I know as I look back on my life I realize that most of my ups and downs were a result of choices I made. I controlled my life, even when I thought I had none. I chose to snort. I chose to stop. We chose to live the lives we live.
I hope I am not naive in thinking that drugs are not as prevalent with teens as they were back then. Wow, I talk like back then was so long ago but really just a short 15 years ago. But it seems kids dabble in drugs a little later in their teens as opposed to us kids who were smoking pot at 12. For my sanity’s sake, raising a teenage daughter, I really hope that’s the case.
My Life Series: Depression, The End
I wont go into great detail here but it is something I must talk about it. I don't believe my intention was to end it all, or I am sure I would have done it. I just wanted to sleep, a very long time. After being released I kept refilling my prescriptions even though I was not taking them. Then one night I took them all. I remember being in a police cruiser, the back of it, kicking and screaming. My landlord had called them. This was different, this visit to the hospital. I wasn't admitted to Pshychiatry but to ICU. I woke up to my family in the room and wondered what was going on. What scared me was I could not feel my legs. I had lost feeling from my mid section down. This led to 13 months of therapy before I could stand on my own two feet again. But that was my road to recovery. Quite frankly it scared the shit out of me.
I never went back to the Morris wing. I wanted a better life. I took the scenic route, but I got there. I learned what I could handle and what I could not. I learned my triggers and most importantly, I learned what depression was. I don't think depression ever goes away. I know that I do not handle stress like most do because of my experience with depression. My fear of living that life again is so great that now, I can't feel. My mind doesn't let me go there. If something hurts, I turn it off. No, I don't deal with things that way but I am surviving...and doing so happily so it works for me.
Then I met my husband and I quickly learned to respect my father for all that I put him through. My husband was a victim of circumstance and a shitty childhood that he could not let go. The depression he suffered not only ruined his life but our marriage. No, I will not shun my part in the marriage breakdown but ultimately it was my inability to cater to his depression that did it. One thing we must learn as a society dealing with those suffering from depression is that we cannot enable them. It's either shit, or get off the pot. My husband would do neither so I got off the pot. Or is it, I shit? Either or, I had to leave. He would not help himself, no motivation to live a better life. Because of that he held me back from my life. I had to live his disability and I could do it no longer. I'm still here for him and I still press him to get help but I don't live his life anymore. He gets suicidal, I tell him to do it. Cold? No, not at all. He is looking for attention as I was all those years. I now tell him to get help or don't come crying to me....literally.
Depression is a horrible disease. It's not like a broken bone that is guaranteed to heal in six weeks. We need to talk about it and help those who suffer from it. But we also need to force them to deal with life. Not with hospitals, not with drugs but with a motivation for a better life. It may not kill them in the literal sense but it WILL kill their spirit, and who wants to live without a spirit? It can be beat and there is so much to life after depression. But I also know it will always be a part of me. Depression was my first introduction to myself. It made me aware of who I am and I think was the start of the journey I am on today. It is a marker in my life of a place I never want to go again. It keeps things in perspective for me and I need that.
If you know of someone suffering with depression, befriend them. Be there for them, hug them and lend your ear to them. But don’t be afraid to tell them to shit or get off the pot. Sometimes it’s the push they need to get on with life. As a side note, I have no qualification to professionally give that advice. I just know that I could have been spared a lot of BS many years ago had I had someone there to give me a dose of my own medicine. But then again, I never would have learned how to do a wheelie in a wheel chair either. :P
I never went back to the Morris wing. I wanted a better life. I took the scenic route, but I got there. I learned what I could handle and what I could not. I learned my triggers and most importantly, I learned what depression was. I don't think depression ever goes away. I know that I do not handle stress like most do because of my experience with depression. My fear of living that life again is so great that now, I can't feel. My mind doesn't let me go there. If something hurts, I turn it off. No, I don't deal with things that way but I am surviving...and doing so happily so it works for me.
Then I met my husband and I quickly learned to respect my father for all that I put him through. My husband was a victim of circumstance and a shitty childhood that he could not let go. The depression he suffered not only ruined his life but our marriage. No, I will not shun my part in the marriage breakdown but ultimately it was my inability to cater to his depression that did it. One thing we must learn as a society dealing with those suffering from depression is that we cannot enable them. It's either shit, or get off the pot. My husband would do neither so I got off the pot. Or is it, I shit? Either or, I had to leave. He would not help himself, no motivation to live a better life. Because of that he held me back from my life. I had to live his disability and I could do it no longer. I'm still here for him and I still press him to get help but I don't live his life anymore. He gets suicidal, I tell him to do it. Cold? No, not at all. He is looking for attention as I was all those years. I now tell him to get help or don't come crying to me....literally.
Depression is a horrible disease. It's not like a broken bone that is guaranteed to heal in six weeks. We need to talk about it and help those who suffer from it. But we also need to force them to deal with life. Not with hospitals, not with drugs but with a motivation for a better life. It may not kill them in the literal sense but it WILL kill their spirit, and who wants to live without a spirit? It can be beat and there is so much to life after depression. But I also know it will always be a part of me. Depression was my first introduction to myself. It made me aware of who I am and I think was the start of the journey I am on today. It is a marker in my life of a place I never want to go again. It keeps things in perspective for me and I need that.
If you know of someone suffering with depression, befriend them. Be there for them, hug them and lend your ear to them. But don’t be afraid to tell them to shit or get off the pot. Sometimes it’s the push they need to get on with life. As a side note, I have no qualification to professionally give that advice. I just know that I could have been spared a lot of BS many years ago had I had someone there to give me a dose of my own medicine. But then again, I never would have learned how to do a wheelie in a wheel chair either. :P
My life series: Depression Part 2
It was pretty routine, breakfast, meds, lunch, meds, dinner, meds. Day in, day out for 8 months. I opened up a little in that time but not to the staff. It was the patients I was most drawn to…surprisingly many of them just slightly older than myself. They understood what a bad day meant. They didn’t push me to talk. If I wanted to sleep, they let me sleep. But we did talk and I know now just how much I needed their companionship.
There was an older guy in there. His name was Charlie and he was very musically inclined. He’d sing and strum his guitar in the evenings as we all sat in the smoke room. I taped him one day just before I was released. I still have that tape to this day. I will never forget his voice. Then there was the married couple, both of them drug addicts. They came and went throughout my eight months stay. It was them who taught me how to play euchre, a game that became a daily routine…again in the smoke room. They both overdosed together about 10 years later. It could not have been a more perfect ending for them though, they lived and breathed one another in life and I’m sure they are together in death.
Then there was a guy I eventually fell in lust with. I’ve never spoken of him before but he was my crutch for a very long time. His name was Kipp and he lived for red socks. Yes, it was his way of keeping sane. Apparently his social worker once told him, “Go to your room and find something there to live for and think of that item on the days you feel unbearably suicidal”. He chose red socks.
There was a divorced woman whom I grew quite close to. Alcohol and depression were her sentence. I went to school with her youngest daughter. Long story short….she later married my father. There was a young messed up teen Amy. Her sentence was a life sentence. Bad hit of acid and she never came out of the “trip”. Didn’t know her name and always stole my toothbrush. Sad story, hers was. That was and will be her life for ever. Thankfully mine has a happy ending.
It was a different life in there, being isolated from the world. It was safe, no one could hurt me there. If I was feeling things I didn’t want to feel I would tell my doctor and he’d double up my meds. I had control, even when I really didn’t have any. Atleast, I felt like I had control. Months passed me by, months of white walls, waking up in the night to the screams of a new admission. Then I met Crystal. Don’t let the name fool you. On the birth certificate the name really read : “Daniel”. The biggest issue there? Which washroom should it use. Staff agreed that either/or was appropriate. Crystal was the “freak” of the group. You’d think Bob was but no, he was harmless entertainment. Crystal was just plain…..ok, not fair for me to judge.
Crystal would do my nails, fix my hair and tell me wild crazy stories of life on the streets. Crystal was known for “cutting”. Overdosing on Secanol and using a razor blade to slice his/her body. I’ll never forget walking into the washroom to see blood all over the tiled floor, Crystal slumped over the toilet. Scheduled for a sex change, he/she was in the midst of gender transformation. Very confused, very lost but somehow made me feel so much better about myself.
Then there was Jennifer, who is still my best (and only) true friend from my early years. She and I shared very much a similar childhood so we could relate to one another. Our paths have crossed several times over the years and we still talk atleast monthly. She saved me from myself. I’m not too sure how, but I know she did and I will be forever grateful to her for that. Ok, a little off topic.
I don’t think, even after eight months of being institutionalized I fully understood depression. I knew I hated life, I knew I hated myself but I also knew I’d never have the balls to end it. I was finally released and thought I could put the experience behind me. What I did not think about was what I had to deal with when I went home. Now I was the freak. Of course, the only one in my circle of friends who was certifiably crazy. The gossip of the neighbour hood, the gossip of school and now I found myself totally alienated. I had never thought about what I was missing while I was on the inside. The reality hit me that my life was about to change, and not for the better.
I tried going back to school. Aside from my boyfriend who still held my hand in public, no one would speak to me. I heard them whisper when I walked past them. Friends I had known for years totally alienated me. I never felt so alone. So, it was back to the cemetery. Day, night, next day, next night. I would nap there in the sun. I would eat my lunch there. I was obsessed and quite obviously out of control. My father had me re-admitted after three months of dealing with his rebellious teenager.
Same people, give or take a few. But this stay was not a vacation like the last one. What scared me most was I was comfortable being there. It had become my comfort zone. Again, no one could hurt me there and I didn’t have to feel. Feeling sorry for myself, I spiraled down….way down. Now I was depressed. I cried all day and became quite physically ill. I did become educated though in pharmaceuticals. It was a drug store, a live in drug store. This time there was no therapy. It was all about meds, but they worked. I was numb.
I was eventually allowed day passes. I could walk around the hospital grounds, visit the coffe shop and slowly integrate myself into society. I had a tutor from school who would visit me twice a week to keep me abreast on my studies. Although, I really didn’t care. Long story short….for the next 2.5 years I spent about 6 months in total out of hospital. I was dependant. I needed those white walls to survive. Each time I left, I returned more messed up. Then I tried to end it all.
There was an older guy in there. His name was Charlie and he was very musically inclined. He’d sing and strum his guitar in the evenings as we all sat in the smoke room. I taped him one day just before I was released. I still have that tape to this day. I will never forget his voice. Then there was the married couple, both of them drug addicts. They came and went throughout my eight months stay. It was them who taught me how to play euchre, a game that became a daily routine…again in the smoke room. They both overdosed together about 10 years later. It could not have been a more perfect ending for them though, they lived and breathed one another in life and I’m sure they are together in death.
Then there was a guy I eventually fell in lust with. I’ve never spoken of him before but he was my crutch for a very long time. His name was Kipp and he lived for red socks. Yes, it was his way of keeping sane. Apparently his social worker once told him, “Go to your room and find something there to live for and think of that item on the days you feel unbearably suicidal”. He chose red socks.
There was a divorced woman whom I grew quite close to. Alcohol and depression were her sentence. I went to school with her youngest daughter. Long story short….she later married my father. There was a young messed up teen Amy. Her sentence was a life sentence. Bad hit of acid and she never came out of the “trip”. Didn’t know her name and always stole my toothbrush. Sad story, hers was. That was and will be her life for ever. Thankfully mine has a happy ending.
It was a different life in there, being isolated from the world. It was safe, no one could hurt me there. If I was feeling things I didn’t want to feel I would tell my doctor and he’d double up my meds. I had control, even when I really didn’t have any. Atleast, I felt like I had control. Months passed me by, months of white walls, waking up in the night to the screams of a new admission. Then I met Crystal. Don’t let the name fool you. On the birth certificate the name really read : “Daniel”. The biggest issue there? Which washroom should it use. Staff agreed that either/or was appropriate. Crystal was the “freak” of the group. You’d think Bob was but no, he was harmless entertainment. Crystal was just plain…..ok, not fair for me to judge.
Crystal would do my nails, fix my hair and tell me wild crazy stories of life on the streets. Crystal was known for “cutting”. Overdosing on Secanol and using a razor blade to slice his/her body. I’ll never forget walking into the washroom to see blood all over the tiled floor, Crystal slumped over the toilet. Scheduled for a sex change, he/she was in the midst of gender transformation. Very confused, very lost but somehow made me feel so much better about myself.
Then there was Jennifer, who is still my best (and only) true friend from my early years. She and I shared very much a similar childhood so we could relate to one another. Our paths have crossed several times over the years and we still talk atleast monthly. She saved me from myself. I’m not too sure how, but I know she did and I will be forever grateful to her for that. Ok, a little off topic.
I don’t think, even after eight months of being institutionalized I fully understood depression. I knew I hated life, I knew I hated myself but I also knew I’d never have the balls to end it. I was finally released and thought I could put the experience behind me. What I did not think about was what I had to deal with when I went home. Now I was the freak. Of course, the only one in my circle of friends who was certifiably crazy. The gossip of the neighbour hood, the gossip of school and now I found myself totally alienated. I had never thought about what I was missing while I was on the inside. The reality hit me that my life was about to change, and not for the better.
I tried going back to school. Aside from my boyfriend who still held my hand in public, no one would speak to me. I heard them whisper when I walked past them. Friends I had known for years totally alienated me. I never felt so alone. So, it was back to the cemetery. Day, night, next day, next night. I would nap there in the sun. I would eat my lunch there. I was obsessed and quite obviously out of control. My father had me re-admitted after three months of dealing with his rebellious teenager.
Same people, give or take a few. But this stay was not a vacation like the last one. What scared me most was I was comfortable being there. It had become my comfort zone. Again, no one could hurt me there and I didn’t have to feel. Feeling sorry for myself, I spiraled down….way down. Now I was depressed. I cried all day and became quite physically ill. I did become educated though in pharmaceuticals. It was a drug store, a live in drug store. This time there was no therapy. It was all about meds, but they worked. I was numb.
I was eventually allowed day passes. I could walk around the hospital grounds, visit the coffe shop and slowly integrate myself into society. I had a tutor from school who would visit me twice a week to keep me abreast on my studies. Although, I really didn’t care. Long story short….for the next 2.5 years I spent about 6 months in total out of hospital. I was dependant. I needed those white walls to survive. Each time I left, I returned more messed up. Then I tried to end it all.
My life series: Intro
My life series. I am going to venture out a little with my blog. A big part of my writing is for you to get to know me as something more than just an escort. For me to hopefully shed some positive light on escorting by opening up my life for you to see through my eyes. To better understand why I do what I do and how important these experiences are for me. As I reflect on where I was, where I am now and where I hope to be in life I realize that this journey for me started long before escorting. I am just now starting to correlate life events, moments in my time and how they have directly or indirectly paved this road I am traveling. I have given you a bit of insight into the friends and the loves in my life that have profoundly influenced me but have never really painted the whole picture.
Life. We all must deal with general issues in life. These things are not specific to you or I, there is no one that is exempt from these things. Life throws at us issues that we, as a society must face all of the time. I have made a pact with myself to not let these events take over my life. I am learning to own my life, accept my faults in life and in return I find I am gaining control of my life. I have never felt in control before. I have always played the victim, the one that cries “Oh poor me”. The one to always make the claim that no matter where I seem to be, that imaginary black cloud follows.
I have looked real deep lately to see what I do not like about myself. Things that I know I need to change if I am to better my place in life. Things that limit me from going after my dreams or that have impacted my life in a negative way to where it has hindered me from moving forward. Things that can be fixed without surgery of course. And I found that everything I want to change, from the way I think to the way I feel and act, I can relate to a life event or life issue that has made me that way. So I figure, if I can work through or at least better understand my part in those events, perhaps I can move past them and become a better, happier and more grounded person for it.
I will title each blog entry relating to these issues, “Life Series.....(topic)” so that if you are not interested in reading these entries you can skip over the posts. They certainly won’t have the sexual erotica that has come to be expected of my usual writings. Please don’t feel the need to read them, discuss them or give them a second thought. It’s simply a “me” process, moving forward one baby step at a time. If anything, I hope it inspires some of you to do something of the same. If you’re unhappy, don’t accept it….change it. Make a conscious effort to give yourself a better life. Take control, we all deserve that much.
These entries certainly will not replace my usual writing by any means. I need to reflect on Belle’s experiences just as much as I need to reflect on my personal experiences. I hope in my writing, you will find a way to relate at times to the things I am trying to say and if anything, simply continue to respect that there is no right or wrong. I write about my life through my eyes and as most of you have already become aware…..my eyes tend to be a little clouded over at times.
Belle
Life. We all must deal with general issues in life. These things are not specific to you or I, there is no one that is exempt from these things. Life throws at us issues that we, as a society must face all of the time. I have made a pact with myself to not let these events take over my life. I am learning to own my life, accept my faults in life and in return I find I am gaining control of my life. I have never felt in control before. I have always played the victim, the one that cries “Oh poor me”. The one to always make the claim that no matter where I seem to be, that imaginary black cloud follows.
I have looked real deep lately to see what I do not like about myself. Things that I know I need to change if I am to better my place in life. Things that limit me from going after my dreams or that have impacted my life in a negative way to where it has hindered me from moving forward. Things that can be fixed without surgery of course. And I found that everything I want to change, from the way I think to the way I feel and act, I can relate to a life event or life issue that has made me that way. So I figure, if I can work through or at least better understand my part in those events, perhaps I can move past them and become a better, happier and more grounded person for it.
I will title each blog entry relating to these issues, “Life Series.....(topic)” so that if you are not interested in reading these entries you can skip over the posts. They certainly won’t have the sexual erotica that has come to be expected of my usual writings. Please don’t feel the need to read them, discuss them or give them a second thought. It’s simply a “me” process, moving forward one baby step at a time. If anything, I hope it inspires some of you to do something of the same. If you’re unhappy, don’t accept it….change it. Make a conscious effort to give yourself a better life. Take control, we all deserve that much.
These entries certainly will not replace my usual writing by any means. I need to reflect on Belle’s experiences just as much as I need to reflect on my personal experiences. I hope in my writing, you will find a way to relate at times to the things I am trying to say and if anything, simply continue to respect that there is no right or wrong. I write about my life through my eyes and as most of you have already become aware…..my eyes tend to be a little clouded over at times.
Belle
My Life Series: Depression Part 1
My life series: Depression Part 1
Have you ever been treated for depression? Have you ever had a loved one who has been treated for depression? I think most of you can answer yes to either/or. Depression is finally being talked about. It is being recognized for what it is….a disability. It disables your thinking, your ability to function at times. It damn near killed me as a teen and played a very large part in the breakdown of my marriage. Because it has played a major role in my life, it is something I feel worthy to dedicate a blog entry to.
I was sound asleep in my bed. No, it wasn’t even my bed but it was the bed I slept in for about a year. My father had custody of me, we lived in a motel. It sounds horrible but really, it was alright. We had a kitchenette, it was close to where my younger siblings lived and very near to my friends and school. So I was sleeping, when I heard my father come in fairly late. I was 14 at the time, my first year of high school.
My father was a fire truck chaser. Some of you may have had Dads like this, or are those kind of dads. The ones who listen faithfully to that police radio (although I don’t think this is as easy as it was back then). He’d listen to police chases and when he happened to catch an address for a fire near-by we’d hop in the car and go. It must have been not too long after I drifted off when he came into my room. He mumbled something about a shooting, a 14 year old in our town. I went back to sleep without computing much of what he said.
The next day I caught the bus to school. I skipped first class as I always did and walked to the coffee shop around the corner. I waited for my boyfriend who had a second period spare. There were a group of kids mingling around the doors, some crying and others just looking devastated. The story was that a very good friend of ours and his buddy were playing with a BB gun that our friend was given that night as a birthday gift from his father. The gun accidentally discharged and shot him in the chest. He died instantly. His life ended that night and at that moment I wished mine had too.
I didn’t know what was happening to me. I spent weeks visiting his grave site. I’d read to him, we always wrote poetry together. Times were much different then. From morning to night I would visit with him, I just couldn’t let him go. I had never dealt with death before. I certainly wasn’t doing it now. I’d go to school once or twice a week but I wasn’t really there. Then I lost it. I was in the girl’s washroom. I started to cry and I could not stop. I don’t remember this moment but was told I just began screaming.
The school nurse came in, an ambulance was called and when I arrived at the hospital my father was there. I was admitted to the psychiatric unit for depression. My dad stayed with me for a few hours. I really didn’t know why I was there, but at the time I really didn’t know what had happened at the school. I had totally blacked out. I chalk it up to a mental overload. My mind just shut down, I could not take any more. It sounds crazy, I mean what kind of stress can a 14yr old have? No bills, no car, no pressure. All I know is at the time life didn’t feel so black and white.
So that night I found myself sleeping (a drugged sleep this time) in yet again, a bed that wasn’t mine but became my place of rest for the next eight months. This is when I learned what depression was all about. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. A doctor visited me every day to order a new set of medications that were to make life more bearable. But the reality was that I was in some horrible place with people much worse off than I have ever been, even at my lowest point. I was surrounded by alcoholics, drug addicts and even a guy named Bob who swore he was Christ. I did have some fun with him. No, not that kind of fun…. sex with God? I could never!
The next eight months was a lot of group therapy and one on one counseling with a social worker. She was so phony, I saw right through her. It was pointless for me to be there but I did learn a lot about life in a short amount of time. I was a phase three which meant I was not allowed my own clothing. Nor was I allowed a razor or any electrical item with a cord. They called it the “suicide watch”. My fun was limited to hiding in closets and under beds when it was time for my 15 minute check-ins by the nursing staff. The rest of my time was spent in the smoking room. Yes, a smoking room dedicated to us on the Morris wing only. Could you imagine 30 psychotics going through nicotine withdrawls? I’m sure it was in their best interests.
My father would visit me every day, as did my boyfriend. What a dating experience that was! Bet noone could ever top that one. But, he stuck by me.
We never talked about why I was in there really. He was just there and it was comforting that he was. Most times I was stoned. It was easier to keep me drugged then to actually work through the issues that brought me there I suppose. I was stubborn. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to get better. I just wanted to wallow in my own self pity just a while longer. So that I did.
Have you ever been treated for depression? Have you ever had a loved one who has been treated for depression? I think most of you can answer yes to either/or. Depression is finally being talked about. It is being recognized for what it is….a disability. It disables your thinking, your ability to function at times. It damn near killed me as a teen and played a very large part in the breakdown of my marriage. Because it has played a major role in my life, it is something I feel worthy to dedicate a blog entry to.
I was sound asleep in my bed. No, it wasn’t even my bed but it was the bed I slept in for about a year. My father had custody of me, we lived in a motel. It sounds horrible but really, it was alright. We had a kitchenette, it was close to where my younger siblings lived and very near to my friends and school. So I was sleeping, when I heard my father come in fairly late. I was 14 at the time, my first year of high school.
My father was a fire truck chaser. Some of you may have had Dads like this, or are those kind of dads. The ones who listen faithfully to that police radio (although I don’t think this is as easy as it was back then). He’d listen to police chases and when he happened to catch an address for a fire near-by we’d hop in the car and go. It must have been not too long after I drifted off when he came into my room. He mumbled something about a shooting, a 14 year old in our town. I went back to sleep without computing much of what he said.
The next day I caught the bus to school. I skipped first class as I always did and walked to the coffee shop around the corner. I waited for my boyfriend who had a second period spare. There were a group of kids mingling around the doors, some crying and others just looking devastated. The story was that a very good friend of ours and his buddy were playing with a BB gun that our friend was given that night as a birthday gift from his father. The gun accidentally discharged and shot him in the chest. He died instantly. His life ended that night and at that moment I wished mine had too.
I didn’t know what was happening to me. I spent weeks visiting his grave site. I’d read to him, we always wrote poetry together. Times were much different then. From morning to night I would visit with him, I just couldn’t let him go. I had never dealt with death before. I certainly wasn’t doing it now. I’d go to school once or twice a week but I wasn’t really there. Then I lost it. I was in the girl’s washroom. I started to cry and I could not stop. I don’t remember this moment but was told I just began screaming.
The school nurse came in, an ambulance was called and when I arrived at the hospital my father was there. I was admitted to the psychiatric unit for depression. My dad stayed with me for a few hours. I really didn’t know why I was there, but at the time I really didn’t know what had happened at the school. I had totally blacked out. I chalk it up to a mental overload. My mind just shut down, I could not take any more. It sounds crazy, I mean what kind of stress can a 14yr old have? No bills, no car, no pressure. All I know is at the time life didn’t feel so black and white.
So that night I found myself sleeping (a drugged sleep this time) in yet again, a bed that wasn’t mine but became my place of rest for the next eight months. This is when I learned what depression was all about. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. A doctor visited me every day to order a new set of medications that were to make life more bearable. But the reality was that I was in some horrible place with people much worse off than I have ever been, even at my lowest point. I was surrounded by alcoholics, drug addicts and even a guy named Bob who swore he was Christ. I did have some fun with him. No, not that kind of fun…. sex with God? I could never!
The next eight months was a lot of group therapy and one on one counseling with a social worker. She was so phony, I saw right through her. It was pointless for me to be there but I did learn a lot about life in a short amount of time. I was a phase three which meant I was not allowed my own clothing. Nor was I allowed a razor or any electrical item with a cord. They called it the “suicide watch”. My fun was limited to hiding in closets and under beds when it was time for my 15 minute check-ins by the nursing staff. The rest of my time was spent in the smoking room. Yes, a smoking room dedicated to us on the Morris wing only. Could you imagine 30 psychotics going through nicotine withdrawls? I’m sure it was in their best interests.
My father would visit me every day, as did my boyfriend. What a dating experience that was! Bet noone could ever top that one. But, he stuck by me.
We never talked about why I was in there really. He was just there and it was comforting that he was. Most times I was stoned. It was easier to keep me drugged then to actually work through the issues that brought me there I suppose. I was stubborn. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to get better. I just wanted to wallow in my own self pity just a while longer. So that I did.
Documentary Filming
I have to say that filming this documentary was a bit intimidating as I had no idea what to expect. I was excited to share my story yet feared the consequences of doing so. I will explain in a little more detail why I let the excitement override the fear. Many of you have asked how I could risk everything in my life for the sake of 15 minutes of fame. I don’t see it that way, perhaps I should.
I decided last minute not to film in my home. I know, many thought it was a bad idea to start with but that is not why I opted against. A few things were sprung at me the day or two prior to filming that made using my home impossible, my kitchen renovations being part of that. So, I booked a room for two nights at my favorite hotel and called Carolyn, the co-producer and asked that we move locations. Not a problem she assured me, and we were set.
I was heading out of the room, about to grab a quick cigarette to calm my nerves when I ran into the co-producer Carolyn Schmidt walking towards our hotel room door. She greeted me with a smile and a friendly hug as we walked into the room to await the crew with their equipment. Not being comfortable with idle chit chat until I took in some nicotine, I excused myself for some fresh air while Carolyn scanned the room for an idea of how to set things up. That’s when the butterflies hit. I had felt pretty calm up to this point. I suppose keeping myself so busy prior to filming didn’t leave much time for freaking out. I was making up for it now.
I stood outside the back door entrance to the hotel while I watched the crew unload their van, chuckling somewhat at the fact that I knew who they were yet to them I was just some woman out in the rain giving way to her filthy habit. I mistook the audio controller for the producer, apologized, then introduced myself to the real producer Mr. Duncan. We chatted for the next few minutes while I puffed the last of my butt and we headed for the room.
Inside, the crew were taking apart beds, positioning lights and adjusting the cameras. It was an awkward feeling to know this work was being done for me and the story I was about to tell. Don’t get me wrong, it was exciting to be a part of, just a little intimidating. I am used to giving what is expected of me but for once I found myself unsure of what was expected.
Mr. Duncan invited me to the lounge for a coffee while the team finished up so we spent that time talking about his experience in the business, his travels and his work. It was quite amazing to learn of his life and his view of the film business. The crew was ready so we headed up to the room. A table area was set up with flowers that I had brought with me, a gift from a good friend. Tropical “Birds of Paradise” in bright orange blooms contrasted with the most beautiful pink roses. A perfect touch that complimented the background quite nicely I thought.
I sat in the hot seat and was fitted with the Mardi Gras mask I had brought with me. Anonymity was key but I preferred to do it in a playful way as we felt that shadowing or pixelling would appear seedy and untrustworthy; an image I did not want to portray. I was explained the process, prepped on where to keep my eyes and to just talk as though there were no cameras, no lights and no film crew tuning in on my every word. I thought it would be easier said than done but once the conversation got flowing it really did seem quite natural. Eventually the camera disappeared, the lights dimmed and it felt like I was talking to an old friend.
As for the questions that were directed at me, they weren’t things I had to think about. They were all about my blogs, my views on the industry and the way I choose to run my business. There were a few challenging questions that I hadn’t ever given much thought to but I think I was true to myself in my answers. That is all I wanted to do. Be honest, be real and tell society that we’re really not bad people. Escorting is not dirty. It is not seedy and in my opinion it is not immoral. I am proud of what I do and I think I made that point quite clear.
We discussed how I made the decision to escort as well as my first date. That one was difficult for me as I did not want to talk about the negative side to what I do but I suppose it’s not a true picture if we did not address both sides of the coin. I was asked about my clients, who are they and what their story is. Not anyone in particular but simply as a whole, the type of clients that choose to see me.
Next we moved on to a few blog entries, making it obvious that they had done their homework. The blogs they were most interested in was “Choice, not circumstance”, “GFE/Emotion”, “What am I worth?”, “Exploiting to succeed”, “Society and sex” and “Why escorting?”. I won’t go into where these discussions led as I’m sure if you have read my blog you know the opinions I have about these aspects of the business.
We spent some time elaborating on other issues that actually gave me some great blog ideas. The friendships I have made, how I would handle my daughter expressing her decision to escort and what I plan to do with my life when Belle decides to retire. I had expected to leave the filming crew having answered all of their questions but I did not expect to leave with questions I didn’t have the answer to. It just proved to me that I still have a lot of things to learn yet. Not about escorting, but about me and my life. Questions are good, without them I would have all the answers. Having all the answers would make my journey complete and I’m not so sure I’m ready for that quite yet.
When I walked out of that interview I felt proud. I hope I do not sound arrogant in saying so. Aside from knowing I am a wonderful mother to my children, I have not felt that sense of pride in myself. I have come along way since I first posted to the review boards introducing myself 20 months ago. I have opened my eyes to what the world has to offer me. I am learning to understand the need to let people in and I am giving myself the ok to be selfish at times, to do what I need to do for me to be happy.
It doesn’t matter to me what happens from here as far as the documentary goes. They may air it, they may not. They may edit 99% of the rambling I did. I may be outted and lose my job. I may be recognized from time to time when I am out and about. Again, I don’t fear that. I am trusting my inner sense that there is something out there waiting for me. Something bigger and better than I had ever imagined. I hope it is to realize my dream to write but whatever it is I early anticipate it.
Or…my life will fall apart and I will find myself living in my van down by the river humming the song “I’ve had my moments”. If that is to be the case then I hope I don’t run into someone as cold as me who refuses to reach into their pockets for spare change. Either way, I know I’ll be smiling, that’s more than what most can say about their lives.
The documentary will be airing on CTV primetime in about six months. I will leave the link to DocTV below for anyone interested in their previous work or to learn more about Co-Producer Carolyn Schmidt and Producer Robert (Bob) Duncan.
[url]www.doctv.com[/url]
I decided last minute not to film in my home. I know, many thought it was a bad idea to start with but that is not why I opted against. A few things were sprung at me the day or two prior to filming that made using my home impossible, my kitchen renovations being part of that. So, I booked a room for two nights at my favorite hotel and called Carolyn, the co-producer and asked that we move locations. Not a problem she assured me, and we were set.
I was heading out of the room, about to grab a quick cigarette to calm my nerves when I ran into the co-producer Carolyn Schmidt walking towards our hotel room door. She greeted me with a smile and a friendly hug as we walked into the room to await the crew with their equipment. Not being comfortable with idle chit chat until I took in some nicotine, I excused myself for some fresh air while Carolyn scanned the room for an idea of how to set things up. That’s when the butterflies hit. I had felt pretty calm up to this point. I suppose keeping myself so busy prior to filming didn’t leave much time for freaking out. I was making up for it now.
I stood outside the back door entrance to the hotel while I watched the crew unload their van, chuckling somewhat at the fact that I knew who they were yet to them I was just some woman out in the rain giving way to her filthy habit. I mistook the audio controller for the producer, apologized, then introduced myself to the real producer Mr. Duncan. We chatted for the next few minutes while I puffed the last of my butt and we headed for the room.
Inside, the crew were taking apart beds, positioning lights and adjusting the cameras. It was an awkward feeling to know this work was being done for me and the story I was about to tell. Don’t get me wrong, it was exciting to be a part of, just a little intimidating. I am used to giving what is expected of me but for once I found myself unsure of what was expected.
Mr. Duncan invited me to the lounge for a coffee while the team finished up so we spent that time talking about his experience in the business, his travels and his work. It was quite amazing to learn of his life and his view of the film business. The crew was ready so we headed up to the room. A table area was set up with flowers that I had brought with me, a gift from a good friend. Tropical “Birds of Paradise” in bright orange blooms contrasted with the most beautiful pink roses. A perfect touch that complimented the background quite nicely I thought.
I sat in the hot seat and was fitted with the Mardi Gras mask I had brought with me. Anonymity was key but I preferred to do it in a playful way as we felt that shadowing or pixelling would appear seedy and untrustworthy; an image I did not want to portray. I was explained the process, prepped on where to keep my eyes and to just talk as though there were no cameras, no lights and no film crew tuning in on my every word. I thought it would be easier said than done but once the conversation got flowing it really did seem quite natural. Eventually the camera disappeared, the lights dimmed and it felt like I was talking to an old friend.
As for the questions that were directed at me, they weren’t things I had to think about. They were all about my blogs, my views on the industry and the way I choose to run my business. There were a few challenging questions that I hadn’t ever given much thought to but I think I was true to myself in my answers. That is all I wanted to do. Be honest, be real and tell society that we’re really not bad people. Escorting is not dirty. It is not seedy and in my opinion it is not immoral. I am proud of what I do and I think I made that point quite clear.
We discussed how I made the decision to escort as well as my first date. That one was difficult for me as I did not want to talk about the negative side to what I do but I suppose it’s not a true picture if we did not address both sides of the coin. I was asked about my clients, who are they and what their story is. Not anyone in particular but simply as a whole, the type of clients that choose to see me.
Next we moved on to a few blog entries, making it obvious that they had done their homework. The blogs they were most interested in was “Choice, not circumstance”, “GFE/Emotion”, “What am I worth?”, “Exploiting to succeed”, “Society and sex” and “Why escorting?”. I won’t go into where these discussions led as I’m sure if you have read my blog you know the opinions I have about these aspects of the business.
We spent some time elaborating on other issues that actually gave me some great blog ideas. The friendships I have made, how I would handle my daughter expressing her decision to escort and what I plan to do with my life when Belle decides to retire. I had expected to leave the filming crew having answered all of their questions but I did not expect to leave with questions I didn’t have the answer to. It just proved to me that I still have a lot of things to learn yet. Not about escorting, but about me and my life. Questions are good, without them I would have all the answers. Having all the answers would make my journey complete and I’m not so sure I’m ready for that quite yet.
When I walked out of that interview I felt proud. I hope I do not sound arrogant in saying so. Aside from knowing I am a wonderful mother to my children, I have not felt that sense of pride in myself. I have come along way since I first posted to the review boards introducing myself 20 months ago. I have opened my eyes to what the world has to offer me. I am learning to understand the need to let people in and I am giving myself the ok to be selfish at times, to do what I need to do for me to be happy.
It doesn’t matter to me what happens from here as far as the documentary goes. They may air it, they may not. They may edit 99% of the rambling I did. I may be outted and lose my job. I may be recognized from time to time when I am out and about. Again, I don’t fear that. I am trusting my inner sense that there is something out there waiting for me. Something bigger and better than I had ever imagined. I hope it is to realize my dream to write but whatever it is I early anticipate it.
Or…my life will fall apart and I will find myself living in my van down by the river humming the song “I’ve had my moments”. If that is to be the case then I hope I don’t run into someone as cold as me who refuses to reach into their pockets for spare change. Either way, I know I’ll be smiling, that’s more than what most can say about their lives.
The documentary will be airing on CTV primetime in about six months. I will leave the link to DocTV below for anyone interested in their previous work or to learn more about Co-Producer Carolyn Schmidt and Producer Robert (Bob) Duncan.
[url]www.doctv.com[/url]
I am Da Man...again
I am Da Man! Now the last time I wrote with this title it was about a very erotic experience for me. Unfortunately, this time has nothing to do with being naked but the experience itself gave me quite a laugh.
Ever watch a man while he is working around the house? All us women know how it starts off. Typically it’s weeks of pleading and begging to get the project done. He keeps putting it off until the week prior to that big event you are hosting in your home when he finally decides to pick up the hammer. That was me. Begging and pleading with myself to put all things on hold to get my kitchen done. Finally, just over a week to work with before I have the documentary crew coming to my home I decide to gut my kitchen. I am Da Man.
I pick up the hammer and start with my kitchen cabinets. My home is of older contsruction, my cabinets made of a tin and wood combination. The hammer wasn’t working so it was a short trip to the basement work bench and I returned with a crow bar. It was a great start and I managed to loosen the cabinets from the wall but could not get them damn things free! I went back to the basement and returned with a second crow bar. I am Da Man.
2 crowbars in hand, I use one as the lever, one as the destructor. When neither/nor worked I reached for the hammer. Board after board my cabinets came crashing to the floor. It wasn’t without a glitch here and there though. One of the base cabinets tore apart my wall, the curse to having plaster walls. A few times I swung the hammer a little too hard to add to the holes in the wall. A few times I may have uttered a few foul words. I finally decided that the walls must come down too. I am Da Man.
Cabinets down, dust in the air, it was time to remove my tin drawers. This is where I learned to appreciate the profoundness of foul language! Yes, I swore like a trucker. I also found myself talking to the damn things. “C’mon you sonnabitch, you’re coming down whether you like it or not!” Whether you like it or not? Did I really think the cabinets had a preference? Then I started to get personal with them. While prying them apart with the crowbar and swinging aimlessly with the hammer I was screaming at them! “Listen you b*****, you’re not going to get the best of me. I WILL get you off my frigging floor and before you know it you will be sitting at the curb side with the rest of ‘em. NOW-STOP PISSING-ME-OFF!” Yes, apparently they have a stubborn side and were chuckling at the sight of me. I took offense to this. I am Da Man.
Four hours in and finally my walls had nothing attached to them. It took me another two to take down the walls themselves. That’s when I stepped on the nail. Read the above paragraph, multiply by ten, add ex’s steel toed work boots to my feet. Now the floor. I know the tile guy said to use a skill saw and cut 6inch sections through the 2 layers of vinyl flooring then lift it up but no, I must do things the hard way. Peel away the vinyl, use the crowbar for the plywood, peel away the vinyl…and of course that last damn layer of plywood just didn’t want to lift. I was kicking, pounding, cursing. Took a break to turn my music up then cursed some more. 3/4 of the way through I had had enough. 2 cuts on my hand, a hole through my heel and a splitting headache I reached in the fridge for something to drink before I plopped myself on the couch. A beer. I have never had beer in my house. Can you believe that? I have never sat down and had a beer in my own home! But since there was a few cans left from the last house tour, I brought them home and put them in my fridge. I must have known I’d have a moment like this. I opened up the can, put my feet up on the coffee table and as I was looking at the oversized, well worn steel-toed work boots on my feet I thought to myself, “I am Da Man!”
If you will excuse me now, I am about to have a shower and head to the nail salon to get a well deserved manicure and pedicure. I need to wash “Da Man” in me away and reclaim my womanhood. :rolleyes:
Ever watch a man while he is working around the house? All us women know how it starts off. Typically it’s weeks of pleading and begging to get the project done. He keeps putting it off until the week prior to that big event you are hosting in your home when he finally decides to pick up the hammer. That was me. Begging and pleading with myself to put all things on hold to get my kitchen done. Finally, just over a week to work with before I have the documentary crew coming to my home I decide to gut my kitchen. I am Da Man.
I pick up the hammer and start with my kitchen cabinets. My home is of older contsruction, my cabinets made of a tin and wood combination. The hammer wasn’t working so it was a short trip to the basement work bench and I returned with a crow bar. It was a great start and I managed to loosen the cabinets from the wall but could not get them damn things free! I went back to the basement and returned with a second crow bar. I am Da Man.
2 crowbars in hand, I use one as the lever, one as the destructor. When neither/nor worked I reached for the hammer. Board after board my cabinets came crashing to the floor. It wasn’t without a glitch here and there though. One of the base cabinets tore apart my wall, the curse to having plaster walls. A few times I swung the hammer a little too hard to add to the holes in the wall. A few times I may have uttered a few foul words. I finally decided that the walls must come down too. I am Da Man.
Cabinets down, dust in the air, it was time to remove my tin drawers. This is where I learned to appreciate the profoundness of foul language! Yes, I swore like a trucker. I also found myself talking to the damn things. “C’mon you sonnabitch, you’re coming down whether you like it or not!” Whether you like it or not? Did I really think the cabinets had a preference? Then I started to get personal with them. While prying them apart with the crowbar and swinging aimlessly with the hammer I was screaming at them! “Listen you b*****, you’re not going to get the best of me. I WILL get you off my frigging floor and before you know it you will be sitting at the curb side with the rest of ‘em. NOW-STOP PISSING-ME-OFF!” Yes, apparently they have a stubborn side and were chuckling at the sight of me. I took offense to this. I am Da Man.
Four hours in and finally my walls had nothing attached to them. It took me another two to take down the walls themselves. That’s when I stepped on the nail. Read the above paragraph, multiply by ten, add ex’s steel toed work boots to my feet. Now the floor. I know the tile guy said to use a skill saw and cut 6inch sections through the 2 layers of vinyl flooring then lift it up but no, I must do things the hard way. Peel away the vinyl, use the crowbar for the plywood, peel away the vinyl…and of course that last damn layer of plywood just didn’t want to lift. I was kicking, pounding, cursing. Took a break to turn my music up then cursed some more. 3/4 of the way through I had had enough. 2 cuts on my hand, a hole through my heel and a splitting headache I reached in the fridge for something to drink before I plopped myself on the couch. A beer. I have never had beer in my house. Can you believe that? I have never sat down and had a beer in my own home! But since there was a few cans left from the last house tour, I brought them home and put them in my fridge. I must have known I’d have a moment like this. I opened up the can, put my feet up on the coffee table and as I was looking at the oversized, well worn steel-toed work boots on my feet I thought to myself, “I am Da Man!”
If you will excuse me now, I am about to have a shower and head to the nail salon to get a well deserved manicure and pedicure. I need to wash “Da Man” in me away and reclaim my womanhood. :rolleyes:
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