Who We Are

My vintage Tigress by Fabergé from the 1960’s reminds me of my fairly new bottle of Kai by Gaye Straza. I’ve worn both recently.

I had a G&T on vacation with half the Hendrick’s. Hendrick’s is the only gin I really like all that much. I like gin…but nothing tastes like Hendrick’s. Truly.

If my father was born in 1894 he was a huge bootlegger in the 1920’s. But he was known for multiple (legal) liquor stores, night clubs, a hotel, etc.…and he may have been an alcoholic.

I’ve known since childhood that I have to watch myself with alcohol. In the absence of a husband who loves me enough to let me cry…it’s tempting to drink. But I restrain myself. I hadn’t drank since last October to allow my concussion to fully heal…

I don’t like drugs. At all. I tried pot once and hated it. I mean…I loathed it. And during illnesses and delivery the drugs they gave me were semi-necessary but unpleasant.

Truly, alcohol let’s me cry. Safely. Say what’s really on my mind. …It may have made my father belligerent. Probably hilariously so…*smile* And he did stop drinking before he aged too much. Before he may have brought me into the world, even. But…it is called “truth serum” for a reason. And I love trying to get at the truth.

God isn’t boring…kiddos. He’s not a dirty, idiotic old fool. And He is far from boring.

…I was a virgin until I was 26. I was trying to wait for a loving Christian marriage. …Not because I was a simpleton. Because I wasn’t one.

But there wasn’t a man to marry. And I started dying inside. Nothing was as it should have been.

So when I fell in love with my ex-husband I asked him out. Cleverly. And he accepted. And yet we didn’t sleep together because he didn’t want to ruin me… He also wanted to keep sleeping around with other women. …And so I waited to see if he’d ever love me.

He’d ask me on dates. I’d accept. But he denied feeling almost anything for me. It was very perplexing. Heartbreaking and perplexing.

“How shrewd!” says a jaded straight man somewhere?

Except it wasn’t.

…And so when Alex asked me out. I accepted. Alex was the captain of his college soccer team. He was assertive. And feeling defeated I gave-up and lost my virginity to him. One depressing Saturday morning.

“Should we do it?” he asked.

“I’ll let you decide.” I said with living-suicide in my heart.

“Then we’re doing it!” he decided, oafishly.

“Okay. But I don’t want this to turn into just hooking-up.” I pleaded.

“Who said that that’s where this is going?!” he said, acting offended and reassuring both.

It was boring as Hell. …If not for the sacredness of what we were doing…and our souls (and hearts) it’d be laughable. …I’d probably fall asleep before it started or never spend more than three seconds talking with him before literally feeling my head hurt today. And no, I don’t hate him. It was just that vile and bad.

He was a short man and he seemingly lacked any awareness of anyone but himself. He was terrible in bed. He knew I was a virgin but it was a fetish to him, not a thing to truly kindly consider. …In our broken society he had less love and empathy for me than one would have for a person running their first marathon. …I was nothing to him but a blob of feminine beauty to get him hard, get off on and then he must have decided that I’d happily cease to exist.

“We lack chemistry.” he wrote me.


Except I didn’t cease to exist. And I’d bet he also secretly regrets ever sleeping with me wherever he is. You can try desperately to shirk God’s design…but it haunts you. Satan lies…

That one time with him is one of my biggest regrets in life. I betrayed myself to myself through trusting my peers for guidance when I knew far better than them.

But what choice did society really give? Psychotic celibacy or soul-sucking “nothing.” …And really, there is a whole world outside of society. Life exists. …But we all still “follow the leader” into that idiotic dichotomy. It’s human nature in organized cultures. Right? And we’re so controlled by lies that people don’t know how to question things or properly level label them.

Ou non?

Then I got married.

…You know…you’d think they’d realize how detached they’ve made us all from wanting to live. You can’t tell people God doesn’t exist repeatedly without making Him angry and ruining everything. When kids feel pain they want their real parents…if those parents actually care. And God is everyone’s real parent if we accept Him as such.

…He’s not a phoney.

I hope I’m not either.