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Dear Mom, please stop praying for me.

rezar-pray-spanish-englishWhile I was at work this morning my mom called.  Normally she doesn’t call much at all, and especially during the middle of the day.  The last time she called me at work it was to tell me that my grandfather had died.

I answered and she said hello and then asked if my uncle had called me to get my address.  He hadn’t, but my sister did text me last night asking for it.  She didn’t know why my uncle wanted my address, so I’m hoping he’s sending me a very large belated birthday gift, or something like that.

She asked how I had been and I told her I had been sick, but I was back at work today.  Then she wanted to know what was wrong and I told her it was just a stomach bug.  In a very accusing tone that always makes me nervous, “Are you sure that’s all it was?”  “Yes, ma, that’s all it was,” I said like a fourteen year old who had just come home past curfew.

vibratorShe then proceeds to tell me, “You know we’ve been praying for you, right?  Or we were, when we thought you might be getting married.”  Wow, mom.  Thanks for that.  My response?  “Well, you need to stop.”

So when my mom thought that Teacher and I might be getting married, she started praying for me to get pregnant.  She knows we broke up, or rather, he dumped me over four months ago.  So why would she still be praying for me to get pregnant?  Does she think that’s the only way I can get a man to stay with me?  By trapping him?  I’m afraid to even ask her.

Either way it freaked me out, because that’s just what my mom does.  My eye immediately started twitching after I hung up the phone.  I was supposed to call her back tonight, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I don’t need a man, and I don’t need a baby, especially a cute dumb baby with Mr. 7am.  What I need is a raise, a car, and a really good sex toy (see photo and link on right).

When I told my friend Sheldon about this, he agreed that Mr. 7am would probably love it if I got pregnant.  I, on the other hand, would have a panic attack.  So here’s hoping that mom has stopped praying for me, finally.

Happy humping!

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Got to give it up

HK BMI know it’s been a long time, but I’m still around.  Since my last post on August 7th I’ve moved into a beautiful little house with Teacher, started a new job, made lots of new friends, and have decided I want to have a baby.  Yep.  You heard me right.  I, Preacher’s Daughter, want a little bundle of piss & shit.  To be more specific, I’m hoping for a little girl I can cover in Hello Kitty from head to tiny little toes.  If it’s a boy though, I promised Teacher that I wouldn’t make him wear Hello Kitty stuff.  Maybe Dear Daniel, or Keroppi, or Badtz Maru, but not Hello Kitty.  I swear.

Now, I know I’ve told you many times that I couldn’t have one, and I thought that was the truth.  Fortunately, I was wrong, probably.  I won’t know for sure until January 2nd, but from what my doctor told me last week, it’s highly possible that I will be able to pop one out with the help some hormone-boosting medicine.  Honestly, I’m still in a state of shock over it all.

I never planned on having one.  In fact, I had resigned myself to being content just being an aunt and a big sister.  This relationship thing that I have with Teacher has changed everything though.  I find myself wanting to settle down, for real this time, and have a long happy life, a real job again, and a family.

Speaking of my relationship with Teacher…it couldn’t be better.  This guy is the real deal.  Hell, he has even bought me jewelry and a Soda Stream.  What more could I ask for? Actually, he’s done a lot more than that.  He’s been there for me in every way possible.  He’s caring, supportive, kind, creative, talented, and loving.  It’s kind of weird being with someone so great.  I’ve been with so many assholes, dumbasses, and crazies, that it’s hard to grasp the concept of being in a healthy wonderful relationship.  I’m holding on for dear life though. 🙂

One thing that has happened over the past few weeks is that I’ve pretty much stopped drinking alcohol completely.  It’s not that I was planning to or wanting to, I just lost the taste for it.  Weird, I know.  No more drinking tequila until I dance on the tables?  What the hell?  I guess it was just time to give it up.  Next to go will be the cigarettes.  Ouch.  That one’s gonna really hurt.

So much has happened in the past four months that I couldn’t possible put it all in one post, so I guess I’ll just have to catch you up as we go along.  If I am a bad girl again and don’t post until after my appointment on January 2nd, please say a little prayer for me and my future little redhead Mozart.  🙂

Oh, and Merry Christmas!

Happy humping! (Let’s make a baby y’all!)

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The Age of Enlightenment – Part 1

The past few weeks have been hectic, stressful, fun, and enlightening in so many ways.  I guess I should start by explaining why I put my blog on lock-down a couple of weeks ago.

It was the Saturday before Memorial Day.  My sister and I were still broke from the disastrous Crawfish Boil.  Because of that we planned on staying home, grilling some dinner for us and our tenants MW and AW, and just enjoying a day of relaxation in the humid Southern heat.

That morning I sat on the porch and wrote my post “Mending Fences with the Preacher’s Daughters.”  When I was done I posted it from my phone because I still have no internet here in the woods.  Instead of posting it using the WordPress app on my phone I decided to just pull up the website on my phone and post it that way.  When I pressed the post button it asked if I wanted to connect my blog to my Facebook account.  I had it set up before to connect to my blog’s FB account, but I guess somehow it disconnected and needed to be redone.  I clicked on the option to connect it to Facebook and didn’t think anything else of it.  I was just relieved to have finally posted something on my blog again.

A couple of hours later I was sitting on the porch with MW, AW, Fallen Angel and Little Bubba.  The grill was hot, the kabobs were cooking, and I was enjoying the first of what I had hoped would be at least a few beers.  Then my phone rang, but I had it on vibrate and missed the call.  My sister’s phone rang immediately after that.  It was Horse Whisperer.  She told my sister that I had posted a link to my latest blog post on my Facebook page…my PERSONAL Facebook page.  As soon as Fallen Angel hung up her phone, I could see the panic in her eyes.  All she said was, “You need to take your blog down…NOW!”  My heart skipped a few beats, thinking maybe the Preacher had found it or something.  She told me what Horse Whisperer said about my Facebook post and then repeated in a very stern tone that I had to take my blog down immediately.  At that moment I began to freak out.  After all the precautions I had taken to remain anonymous, to keep my family in the dark was it really one stupid mistake that was going to bring it all to a crashing halt?  I couldn’t let it end like that!

I ran, literally ran, to the table and grabbed my phone.  I went to the Facebook app on my phone and tried to delete the link/post, but I couldn’t find the option to delete it.  I was in full on panic mode.  MW and AW didn’t understand what was going on, but my sister sort of explained it and they were very sympathetic to my predicament.  After repeatedly trying to delete the post on Facebook, then trying to log into WordPress on my phone and put my blog on lock-down, I couldn’t get anything to work.

I went to open the front door and go inside to get my laptop.  As soon as I got to the door it opened.  My sister was standing there with a steak knife in her hand pointing it at me saying, “Take the blog down now!  Get your laptop, go to McDonald’s, and take it all down, now!”  I know better than to mess with my sister when she’s wielding weapons so I did what she said.  I was going to do it anyway because I was panicking even more than she was, worried that someone we knew may have already seen the link and could be reading it at that very moment.  Picturing our friends, or God forbid, the Preacher, reading my blog with wide-eyes and jaws gaped open was just too much for either of us to handle.

AW offered to go with me to McDonald’s to try to get online and take everything down.  With laptop firmly tucked under my arm, we ran to the truck and sped off.  That five minute drive to town was the longest drive of my life.  The whole way there I couldn’t stop thinking what an idiot I was for making such a stupid, easily avoidable, mistake.

We got there, sat in the truck with the laptop on and I connected to their Wi-Fi.  I managed to get the Facebook post deleted, but just after I did, my battery died.  I then went inside to find an outlet to plug into, but they didn’t have any!  Not a single freaking outlet in the seating area.  How do they expect to offer free Wi-Fi and not have outlets for people to use??  Even the crappy little local burger joint in the Podunk town we used to live in had outlets in the dining room for people to use.  What else could possibly go wrong?

We ran back to the truck and I started brainstorming.  It was a holiday weekend.  Not much was open.  Hotels!  The hotels are open and there is one on the main road that offers free Wi-Fi!  Praise the Lord!  I drove across the highway to the hotel and parked right out front.  AW and I got out and headed into the lobby.  I was a woman on a mission.  I didn’t even turn to look at the person at the front desk when I walked in.  Normally I would be too timid and too worried about getting caught, seeing as how I wasn’t actually a hotel guest, but this time I didn’t give a shit.  I walked past the front desk, past the sitting area, and straight down the hallway until I saw an outlet.

I stopped right there in the hallway, plugged in my laptop, and got connected.  It took all of a minute to find the right place on my WordPress dashboard that gives the option to make a blog private.  I wasted no time in doing so either.  Even after locking it down I had to go back to Facebook to make sure that the post was actually deleted, and also that I didn’t have any messages from irate or shocked friends and/or family.  Thankfully there were no messages.  I also checked my Histats page to see if I had any hits and where they were located.  There weren’t any hits in cities that I recognized so I hoped I had caught it in time.

I kept my blog locked down for a week.  It about drove me crazy.  I have spent the past two years writing on this damn thing and to have it all go to hell in a matter of minutes was very depressing.  It’s my passion, my creative outlet, my therapist, my pride and joy, and it was all but dead and buried.

To keep myself from going completely into a state of depression and to keep my readers from thinking I had personally been wiped off the face of the planet, I sent invitations to a few of my readers who I had email addresses for and who I thought would still want access.  To those of you who did accept my private invitation, I can’t thank you enough for sticking with me during that week of hell.  You will not be forgotten.

I’m also telling you all of this because there may be other “anonymous” bloggers like myself who I want to warn about the pitfalls of connecting your blog to Facebook.  Make sure you are logged into the correct Facebook account before you hit that button!  My phone was logged into my personal FB account and it just assumed that was the account I wanted to connect to.  So consider yourselves warned.

There’s a lot more that’s been going on here on the farm lately, but I’m going to have to save it for part two.  Trust me.  You won’t be disappointed.

Whew! Crisis averted…now back to our usually scheduled “Happy humping!”

What’s going on?

You may have wondered what’s been going on with me and Art lately.  Join the club.  I haven’t seen Art since we got back Monday evening.  I have talked to him via text, but that’s all.  He said he’s been busy this week and I also think that he’s a little upset with me.

On our trip last weekend I pulled up one of my posts on my phone so that he could read it.  It had nothing incriminating in it so I figured it would be alright.  He already knew that I wrote a blog, and I had already told him a lot about my past.  While he was reading it he started clicking things.  I got nervous and asked him what he was doing, but it was too late.  So over the course of the weekend he read half of my blog.  Then by Tuesday he told me that he had read it all.  I was horrified.  There were definitely things that I had not told him about that he could have potentially gotten upset about.

He is a nice, decent, seemingly non-judgmental kind of guy though so I figured it would be OK.  He did tell me that we would definitely be chatting soon though.  Of course that worried me.  Then he said something about me misrepresenting myself.  I’m still not sure what he meant by that.  I asked if he meant to him or to my readers.  He said to him in the beginning.  Again, I’m not sure what he meant by that.  I really would like to talk to him and find out, but I have no idea when I’ll get the chance now.

He did give me some constructive criticism about how I should write more about how I feel above the waist, and about the other issues that go along with being with so many people.  Or as he put it, “Not just how much fun it is to fuck as many people as you can.”  I thought that was a little harsh and unfair considering that’s not exactly what I’m trying to do.  I am looking for someone to be with, not just to fuck.  If I just wanted to fuck everyone then I probably wouldn’t be so unhappy, have so many guilt and morality issues, and I’d get laid a lot more often.  Plus over the last few years I’ve had more long-term relationships than I ever used to have.  When I find a guy that I like I tend to stick it out with him now.  I’m not out whoring around every night of the week like some people (i.e. Manwhore).  I just want to be happy with one person.

Shit, I didn’t even really try to fuck him when we were gone last weekend.  I’ve tried so hard lately to keep my sex drive under control and have even turned Manwhore down repeatedly.  Not that I want to fuck Manwhore, but just that I’m able to say no and mean it is a miracle in my book.  I may just have to give celibacy another try.  Sex only seems to complicate everything.  Manwhore tries to entice me by saying, “it’s just sex,” but it’s not.  If I’m going to have sex with anyone now I want it to mean something.  I want a deeper connection.  If I just want to get off I can do that myself.

Considering Art admitted to having his “Sherman through Atlanta” phase then I was especially shocked by his reaction.  Since then he has been brushing me off, saying he’s been really busy, which may be true, but all I want is an hour to talk to him.  I may be completely wrong about him being upset with me, but how am I supposed to know if he won’t talk to me about it?

I’ll admit I’ve gone back on POF occasionally out of boredom, but every time, after just a few hours, I hide my profile again.  The thought of dating makes me nauseous, and the prospects out there are not appealing at all.  I like Art way too much to even want to try to meet someone else now.  At least not until I can find out what is going on with him.  I know he’s still on POF too.  I do wonder if maybe he has met someone else…someone not as colorful and neurotic as me.  If he has and he doesn’t want to see me anymore, that’s fine, just tell me.  It’s the not knowing that drives me crazy.

Growin’ up on ZZ Top and Strawberry Shortcake.

I know that’s probably not the best title for a Martin Luther King Jr. Day post, but then again maybe it explains a lot.  By the way, I know I’m technically posting this the day after MLK Jr Day.

When I was growing up in Alabama racism was not something I thought about often.  It was the South though and it was all around me.  Even then, back in the 1970s and 1980s, I knew it was there, but no one talked about it much.  It was more of how whites treated blacks.  It was usually subtle, but it was still there.  It was like the skeleton in the family closet…the secret that everyone knew about, but didn’t talk about out of shame and fear of what others might think of them.

Typical music that I would hear when riding around with my Aunt in her convertible VW Beetle in the summer.

Even dear old Dad, the Preacher, was a blatant racist for a very long time.  He was the typical good old country boy who worked from the age of thirteen in the family business.  When I was a kid he worked 12+ hour days with my Paw Paw in their welding shop.  They had about a dozen employees usually and a few were black men.

One man in particular, Bill, was young and new to the business.  My Dad was sort of hard on him and very critical.  I remember overhearing him talking to my mom about Bill one time.  Dad was complaining about how Bill was dating a white girl.  At the time it didn’t really phase me because I was used to that just being how people thought.  I didn’t really know any better.

I had black friends growing up.  My best friend in the sixth grade was a black girl.  It’s not that I disliked them, or was a racist, I just inherently knew how people felt about things like that.  I was too naïve to know I should or could ever think otherwise.

From 1971 to 1987 George Wallace was governor of the state of Alabama.  This meant that for 13 years of my life, there was a racist in the governor’s mansion.  You remember George don’t you?  He’s the one who said, “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.”

When my Dad became the Preacher in 1985 his views on things changed drastically.  This included his views on racism.  He no longer viewed himself as being better than anyone else, nor did he continue believing that segregation was the right way.

When he started preaching he would take us to different churches around our part of the state and several of them were black churches.  I know that’s not the best way to describe them, but that’s what I always heard them called.  I loved going because it was always so different from the churches that we normally went to.  The music was better, more upbeat, the people were friendly, and the sermons were fiery and interesting.

When I think back on everything I’ve heard and seen, it’s hard for me to believe that I turned out to be such an anti-racist.  Seriously.  Things could have gone completely different for me, but somehow I overcame my environment and grew up an open-minded person who believes we are all created equal.

What’s even better is that now I have an adopted little brother who is half-black half-white, I have dated just about every race there is, and I’m now in a monogamous relationship with a wonderful Creole man.  So not only did I turn out OK, my Dad managed to overcome his ignorance and came to believe as I do.  We may not agree on a lot, but this is something we definitely agree on.  We agree so much that we both have put our lives and safety on the line for our beliefs on this subject several times.  He even marched right next to Jesse Jackson once.  For the Preacher, the former racist good old boy, that was a major milestone.

Standing up for what is right and true is the most wonderful feeling in the world.  That’s the one thing that the Preacher has taught me that I will remember until the day I die.  Love knows no color, creed or race.  Thank you Daddy.

This was filmed only eight blocks from my new home. 🙂

Happy humping!