Vienna in Your Sausage

I come from a very sophisticated background, can you tell?! DEM commented on my yesterday's post. I'd link it but I'm too lazy at the moment and that's what the archives are for. She mentioned red hot dogs which reminded me of one of the delicacies that we as children were forced allowed to eat.

If you live below the Mason Dixie line, then you've eaten this at least once in your life whether you know admit it or not. This wonderful afternoon snack was often served along side saltine crackers and on special occasions there was Kraft Individually wrapped cheese slices and some French's yellow mustard served along with this mouthwatering concoction of every meat known to man. 

Ya'll might be laughing at me but I know every single one of you mutherfuckers out there is adding this to your grocery list as we speak. I mean seriously who could resist the temptation. Unless you're already having some redneck pate then I totally understand.

it has chicken AND beef! yum!!

Irritant Bananas

I have pet peeves. I know, shocking, right?! But I do. A major pet peeve of mine is wasting food. I attribute this to my lack of said food growing up or well my lack of store bought said food. A little background so this story makes sense. I grew up pretty much white trash. We didn't buy meat, we shot it, skinned it, gutted it, and butchered it before putting its ass in the freezer to pull out a few times during the week. Fresh veggies? Only those we grew in the little garden out back. 

Rules of the table consisted of:

1. Do not put on your plate what you do NOT intend to eat. If it goes on your plate, then your happy ass will sit at the table until you eat every last bite even if it means til 1 am. Your happy ass will eat every last bite on that damn plate. 

2. If you don't like what is cooked for dinner, then you don't eat dinner. Rare exceptions are made but mostly included examples such as cauliflower. I do not eat, touch, sniff anything that remotely came near cauliflower. Therefore on those days I was allowed to eat only the meat which was cooked with no veggies or the bread that was cooked in place of meat and no veggies. On those days I mostly just waited til lunch at school to eat the next day. 

3. Leftovers are the unmentioned food group from which goulash, stews, and patties (example salmon patties) shall be made from.

There were other rules but these are the ones I remember the most. 

Now that you know a few of the rules I was raised with you can fully understand why my head spins around like Linda Blair when I look in our fridge and find food that was left over from days ago. Food that most likely will end up in the trash simply because my inlaws do not eat "leftovers". WTF?! Then why did you cook so fucking much then?! This pisses me off to no end. While our financial situation has improved, it is not at the point where perfectly good food gets thrown out because "you don't like left overs". 

I want to stuff the shit down their throats and say "you'll eat it and love every fucking bite of it". But instead I just try my best to use up the left overs so as little as possible gets wasted. Food wasting is a major pet peeve/trigger for me. Jigger has already been informed if we ever get our own place, he shall and will eat left overs if there are any and he shall and will love the fuck out of them. I do not waste food. 

So I'm basically in a pissy mood that doesn't have any real cause and therefore every little thing is grating on my nerves like the four pots of food sitting in the fridge.

Elusive Masks

Anonymity is great. I could be Charles Manson for all you know. I'm not but I could be. Have come close on a few occasions but that's neither here nor there. Anonymity allows me a sort of freedom that I don't get in real life. In the last week I've done things most people only dream of. Or don't dream of because they consider it so far out of their reach that it is an impossibility. I'm feeling slightly proud of myself. Before this week, I hadn't really left a mark on the world. There was nothing I could point to and say "I did that." "That's all mine." Now I have something. No one will ever know it's me. No one well except for two people, but beyond those two, no one will ever know. 

And I kinda like that. It makes it more mine. It keeps the rot and decay that is associated with me far from it and I like its purity. I like how it sparkles. I like how people think it's special because I can then pretend that I'm special vicariously through the things I do. There is a narcissist inside of me that does want to lay claim to it. To stomp and shout and let people know that something of value can come out decay, but that part is quickly silenced. 

So I keep doing what I do and watch others put their name on it. And I'm ok with that. For now. But there's a part of me that I think some day will step forth and lay claim to what is mine. But I'm also certain when that day comes very few would believe a psycho gori ummati slut could ever be associated with such things as that. But at least I know.

Blow

I turned and she was gone. Like the wind blowing through the trees. She was the love of my life and I crushed her like the soft rose petal. I press my lips together and blow. Giving her the freedom she never had within my grasp. I watch as she floats away. Carried by the gentle breeze to a  new life and into the arms of a new love that will cherish her for the perfect beauty that she is. While I, the thorn, remain behind, tossed aside, and forgotten. A decrepit being unwanted for the cruelty its existence brings.

100 words velvet verbosity

It Won't Last Forever

I HATE when people say this. It pisses me off to no ends. Because you know what? I'm fucking BIPOLAR. Not just normal catherine zeta jones take a weekend off and everything's all fine again bipolar. I'm more of the Sybil boil your bunny on the stove bipolar. And you know what this will LAST FOREVER. Bipolar is not curable. It is managable to a certain extent if the person WANTS to manage it and I do want to manage it and I manage it and my life actually quite a lot better than most fucking sane people do. 

I work my ass off. I support my family. I put up with shit that most normal sane people would not be able to put up with, but I deal with it. And fuck you  and everyone like you for saying such  idiotic comments when you don't know jack shit about me and I never asked you for your opinions. 

When you live inside of a bipolar mind, one of the best things to do to get the shit out of your brain is to vomit it out and I do that here on my blog. I vomit out the shit so that I can function and manage. I put all of the shit here instead of in my life. I say here the things I can't/shouldn't say because I"m in a moment of no control so I say them here and get it out so that I can think clearly and act with a clear mind. So that I can make reasonable clear headed decisions instead of fucked up decisions that are totally NOT in my best interest. I don't come here to hear your pathetic attempts at "advice" because obviously you know jack shit about what it's like to live with a brain that makes no fucking sense half of the time.

I Want To

Scream and Rage and HATE and Yell and Hit and Cuss and Beat and Destroy and Rip and Tear and Demolish and ERASE and Deny and Annihilate 

But instead I am 

Silent and Invisible and Resentful and Hurt and Angry and Still 

I want to rip the pounding from my chest, to tear it from my body and throw it on the ground. I want to stomp on it and make it feel pain the way I feel pain but instead 

I type these few letters and syllables as silent tears no one will ever see slide down and make the floor wet and slowly stuff the pounding back down from whence it came to hide it from the world and from myself...

Yep I Said It Outloud so the Universe Can Hear

I wish I'd never had kids. I love my kids. I would cut myself to pieces for them, but I wish I'd never had them. I wasn't strong enough or good enough to fight the rot in my brain and I failed them in so many ways. They have no idea what today is. No fucking clue and that is my fault. I didn't fight. I gave in. I surrender to the decay and the rot and fell into the abyss and now they're left to swim through reality totally unaware of the truth. Totally blind to reality and it's all my fault.

I wish I could turn back time and know that birth control pills do NOT work on me. I wish I could go back and say no when he asked "will you marry me". I wish so many things. None of which will come true and today of all days I hurt the most because they have no idea what today is. They're off enjoying life and the world and they have no idea what they're missing. And it's my fault for not being there to show them.

It's my fault.