Gregory :: Bad Intentions

I was 14 when I first met Greg. I was friends with his girlfriend of the time. She and I used to hang out in class and make fun of our peers. She was in love with Greg. But it wasn’t until freshmen year of high school where things got messy. All the fault being my own.

When I was entering high school, my family moved to a new neighborhood. It happened to be the neighborhood where my friend lived. Little did I know, her boyfriend Greg lived two houses down from me. They argued a lot, and somehow I ended up being a mediator. I cared a lot for my friend and I wanted her to be happy. But Greg was tiring of the relationship with her and began to come over to my house when she wasn’t around. He would make it like he wanted to discuss her, but the conversations turned flirtatious until one day I was hanging at his place and we hooked up. His girlfriend found out and I became her enemy number one.

Greg and I were just friends with the occasional hooking up. He became to be my best friend, one I seriously was crushing on. One afternoon after school, I had one of my good friends over. I told her how I was seriously crushing on Greg. We went over to his place, and one thing led to another where she and Greg started dating. To say I was seeing red would be an understatement. One night we were all hanging out. We were laying in his bed with the TV being the only light. She was on his right and I was on his left. As they were making out, he was feeling me up.

So began my truly bad intent. The day after my 15th birthday, and two days after her birthday, I had sex with Greg. We fooled around to the album Candyass by Orgy. I would’ve gotten away with it had I not opened my big mouth at school to someone I had mistaken for a confidant. My friend, Greg’s girlfriend, found out and stopped talking to me. They broke up and Greg was a wee bit angry with me. Not because they broke up, but because I had a big mouth and got the school talking.

My first time was with Greg and because of me, it was not without the drama. I was in love with him in a way a 15-year-old can love a guy. Greg and I didn’t date until after high school. I was 18 and trying to figure out my life, and he was angry and depressed. He encapsulated traits that I didn’t care for, but I always thought I could be of a decent influence on him.

The day Greg really stopped talking to me was when he came back for a visit – he had moved across the state – and he told me he was in love with another girl we had known in school that he’d dated at one point. He said she laughed in his face when he told her. He told me not to mention it because at the time she was in my circle of friends. Well… if the past is any indication…

One night the girl and our girlfriends were all getting blitzed at the local bar. I was drunk, point blank. I opened my mouth saying something along the lines of how I didn’t mind he was in love with her and how I thought it was funny he wanted to tell me about it.

Greg has not talked to me since. It’s been 10 years.

Fifty Shades Flat?

Last night, after I had dinner with me, my girlfriend called me up with the need to go out for a girl’s night. And what better way to celebrate a girl’s night than going to see the third and final film, Fifty Shades Freed?

So not long ago, I wrote a blog post in response to a scathing review written by a man in his 40’s that proclaimed the film horrible to all relationships among other scathing observations. I didn’t agree with all he had to say, especially when it came with personal attacks on the novelist. Safe to say, I don’t play that way.

Now that I have seen the film, I have my own observations with some rebuttals to that man’s review.

The reviewer lamented that Christian is jealous and insecure. The reviewer demeaned the character by saying he wouldn’t allow his counterpart, Ana, to go topless on the beach. Well, the true reason for that is because Christian doesn’t want some tabloid getting a photo. Also, the reviewer mentioned how Christian calls her numerous times while she is on a drink date with a girlfriend, again hinting at Christian’s jealousy and insecurity. The purpose of those calls was concern for Ana’s safety since they’re being threatened by someone. Also, the reviewer writes how Christian states how he is not ready to share Ana (in reference to having children). To each their own opinion, but my take is I have been in relationships where I didn’t want to share my partner with kids. There’s a reason that the “traditional” relationship is touted to be dating, engagement, marriage, have kids a couple to a few years later. Not only does that time allot for being with that person without other huge responsibilities, but to build a foundation strong enough to withstand the dynamics of raising children. Does it always happen? Obviously not, but it’s the ideal.

Issues I had with the film? The plot was flat, the acting sub par, and there wasn’t a hook. The hook is what keeps you watching a film. Instead I sat there wondering why I was watching this film. There isn’t any depth to the characters. I would’ve more happily obliged in a telenovela.

I walked out of the theater feeling like I had watched a student’s final project. But this is just my opinion. My friend fucking loved it wishing it wasn’t the final chapter.

Dating Me

A good girl is better
than millions of bitches
But one bitch can leave you
with millions of stitches
And I don’t want to say I’m A bitch
but I’ll never be a Mrs

-Olivia O’brien

The other day I watched a TEDTalk on dating yourself and inevitably marrying yourself before you ever commit to anyone else. And I thought to myself, well that’s not something I have ever done. I am more like Elizabeth Gilbert in the memoir Eat Pray Love. A woman who molds to her romantic partner as if I will find who I am through them. I’ll just be what they want and become that and I will be happy. But really, I inhabit what they want until I grow tired and lose my shit and fall steadfast into the “I don’t want you. Wait! Come back.” cycle.

Then today, another TEDTalk caught my eye. It is called “How to fix a broken heart.” I’m not delusional, I know my heart is not broken by Tim. But some of the talk applies to my situation. The part that applied was how trying to find rationale behind why a relationship won’t work is an addiction. Or part of the heartbreak addiction. For me, I get bored and lonely so I turn to Tim because he’s been around the longest. He inhabits every quality I do not want in a partner, but during certain times of my life, my boredom corrupts my reasons for not being with him. I then try to find a reason to either make it work, or find a more “satisfying” and new rationale in why it won’t work — in order to get my fix. In laymen’s terms, I feed off the upheaval of making and breaking up.

Through the time of watching that TEDTalk to beginning to compose this post, I have come to a conclusion that has been spoken to me by many before, but because I have thought of it now myself – it’s groundbreaking. I am going to find other things to focus my energy on.

This is going to sound like a very busy day and it kind of was, but before the TEDTalk, I came to the conclusion about something else that has plagued me the last 3.5 years.

College is too expensive, so I am not going. I’ve looked at every degree possible to man and the cost is exponential. The local university costs 25,000 a year. IF I went just the senior level years, that’s 50,000 I don’t have for a bachelor’s degree minus the cost to attain my associate’s at state college level. No thanks.

Instead, I went to Udemy and purchased two photography classes for $20 total. I am going to hone my energy into my creative outlets – writing and picture-taking. I am going to take time, develop and improve skills and map my career.

In essence, I am going to date me. This means taking time to do and find things I like to do. This means hustling to build my future. This means finding myself so I don’t have to mirror what someone else desires of me.

I wouldn’t know what to do
with another chance
If you gave it to me
I couldn’t take the embrace
of a real romance
It’d race right through me
I’m much better off,
the way things are
Much much better off
better by far, by far

-Fiona Apple



I am going to write about something I don’t think I have written about before. I am hoping I don’t make it too depressing as it is kind of a somber topic, but I think I might gain something by facing it.

After the dreaded hotel party, I made a friend. He lived in my neighborhood and he was a troublemaker. He was a rebel without any real cause, but he was also a good listener. We began dating and my mother wasn’t having it. I can remember one night where I really wanted to go see him, but being a mom, she refused to let me.

He didn’t know about what happened to me, no one really did. But we would hang out and he would play me albums of bands he liked, like the Kottonmouth Kings, and we would hang with other scruffs from the neighborhood and do the usual teen things like smoking weed and bullshitting about life.

We lost contact when we each moved from the neighborhood. But I cared about him and would hear things on how he was doing.

One day, I was hanging out with David when my cell phone rang. It was my best friend at the time Bri and she simply said, “Chris is dead, he was shot by a police officer.” Ironically, Jumper by Third Eye Blind was playing on David’s stereo.

What I hadn’t known is Chris suffered from Bipolar Disorder. The night he was killed, he was in a manic state. He was also drunk. He had called for emergency services for help. He ended up on the roof of his house when they arrived. He was waving a pellet gun around when it aimed at the officer who responded by shooting a 12 gauge shotgun into Chris’s chest, causing him to fall off the roof and killing him. The officer claims he thought it was a real gun in Chris’s hand.

Chris was like a best friend more than a boyfriend when we dated. He was the first guy I had consensual intimacy with. He made me laugh at his ridiculousness and I would enjoy just sitting on a parking stop watching him try to do tricks on his skateboard.

Everytime I hear Jumper, I think of him. I could imagine if he had his choice, it would be some ridiculous Kottonmouth Kings song…

I hope he is happy wherever he is.

The angry boy a bit too insane
Icing over a secret pain
You know you don’t belong
You’re the first to fight
You’re way too loud
You’re the flash of light on a burial shroud
I know something’s wrong
Well everyone I know has got a reason
To say, “Put the past away.”

I got a little too good at breaking hearts

Every time I fall in love
I go and fuck it up right when it gets good
Don’t you think it’s funny
Don’t you think it’s funny

And I know I did all the shitty things to you
That I said I never ever would
But baby, that’s so like me
Yeah baby, that’s so like me

It’s time to get to the heart of the matter. Well, maybe that’s not the best cliché to use. I feel I am a compassionate person. I also feel that the compassion is biased to women, children, and the elderly. I feel a distinct disconnect when it comes to men. And I am not talking about heavy-hearted matters, I mean if something tragic or trauma inducing happens to a person of the male persuasion, I can be empathetic and genuinely so. But with anything else, I really can be an Ice Queen.

The realest, truest thing about me is every man I have been romantically involved with is a means to a motive. I fell the hardest for Jorge, but when I first met him, I wasn’t the one interested in him — my roommate was. She wanted him, he wanted me. I won. Then it would continue on that anytime he came to our apartment she’d be without pants or in some skimpy outfit and Jorge and I would glance at one another across the room – thoroughly amused. When Jorge was close to popping the question though, I destroyed us. People had me convinced that I wasn’t ready or he wasn’t the one. Jorge was the closest to the “one.” But I know, I never will be ready for marriage. It’s like children to me, they’re cute, but I don’t want them.

I dated Punk-Rock Jimmy for the drugs and the fact he had pretty eyes. I dated Jeff because I saw him as an escape plan. I dated the 2nd Jimmy for the same reason. And by escape plan I mean as a means that I could move away from home. I’ve never made a living wage — that’s a whole different issue.

Every person I have dated has simply been a means to a motive. By dating them, I got something I wanted from them. Validation, ego boosts, living away from my family, drugs, gifts, boredom fixes. Tim is no different and I fucked up. I saw him, we made up, he wants to be with me, he loves me, and now I gotta get out of it because – again – I don’t want him when I have him.

Strung out in the back of a black car
I’ve got a little too good at breaking hearts
I wonder if I’ll ever stop

David Pt. II: Unvalentine’s Day

Today marks February 13th. Unvalentine’s day. The day I made up in my bedroom one night at the age of 16 when I had black construction paper and metallic colored pens. I made David an Unvalentine’s day card. But first, I should maybe give a little backstory.

So in Part I, I mentioned I met David through my boyfriend Lu. I don’t remember the specifics, but I broke up with Lu to be with David. Not long after dating David, Karma promptly bit me in the ass.

I suspected David wasn’t being true to me and a major factor about me, I don’t like playing the fool. Maybe this is why I can relate to Kathryn in Cruel Intentions.

Also, I am pretty savvy when it comes to the internet. I was of the era of dial-up internet and if there was an opportunity to be “surfing the web” or “chatting with strangers” I was doing it. I needed hard proof of David’s game before I could lay him over the coals for it. During this time, LiveJournal was the popular forum for disgruntled teens and we were all on it.

I knew, though, with LiveJournal you could screen your audience. So what did I do? I broke into David’s LiveJournal. Back then they didn’t email you to warn you someone was fucking with your account. His security question dealt with an Anime so all I had to do was google which character he was referring to in his security question. Bing, I was in.

So he did have posts, posts about kissing girls in the halls of his school, posts about spending time with one of his brother’s friend’s sisters. Everything I was searching for and suspected came to be. I hit the lotto, if the lotto was comprised of shit and heartbreak.

I changed his password to lock him out. After having gone that deep, I regret I didn’t make mockery of him with a scathing post about his character. But maybe I did and I just forget. I wouldn’t put it completely past me.

From that moment on, I made David’s life a living hell up until the time we reached 20 and gave up on the notion of being. His brother still hates me to this day. I’m the “Ice Queen.”

So yeah, maybe David wasn’t so innocent, but he was a teen just like me. I put him through the ringer. He did desire to be with me so much that even at 18 he bought me an engagement ring because he still believed we could work. He had my mom hold it for him until I came around. A bit later, my mom told him she didn’t think I was going to come around and gave it back to him. I didn’t find out about this until Nicole (David’s girlfriend of that time) and I were drunk on her 20th birthday, which means I was 22/23 and she starts apologizing for wearing “the ring.” I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Now we are in our 30’s. David is balding. I am doing whatever it is I do. He has a live-in girlfriend. And we text about random shit.

David was the second person I had sex with, but the first time I had sex with someone I was in a relationship with. I was his first. And for me, our history reads like a Shakespearean Tragicomedy.


Everyone is a Critic

I follow a few authors on my Facebook page. I even chat with them through comments and I feel it is kind of cool since they are actually authors — something so admirable to me. And though the beginning of this post sounds vapid when typed aloud, please stick with me because what I have to say is burning a hole in my soul. Or maybe just my gut.

Fifty Shades trilogy has been through the ringer with critics and feminists and even the occasional consumer. It doesn’t have the strongest following because now to even like anything about it could lead you to the slaughterhouse. I did read the books. I read them because my friend wanted me to so she would have someone to talk about them with. I did find even though I’m a huge prude and probably would kill a person for trying to use any kind of whip or chain on me — do they use chains? — I enjoyed the books. There, I said it. There were parts that amused me. I read them like one should read chick fluff. It’s fucking fluff.

Well a few of my author ladies shared a scathing review written by a man in his 40’s who saw the latest film. Let’s all celebrate a man in his 40’s went to the movie and felt the need to lash out at it. Applaud, applaud. Some touted it was an “epic burn.”

What bothers me is that these authors who ask for accolades through amazon reviews so they can be seen and known and make money are throwing their feces at another author who wrote this chick fluff as fan fiction (Twilight) and gained ample success through movie deals.

Not everyone who attempts to write or make art has great writings or great art. Everyone has had their shit work, so to speak. Why crucify them for it? Why attack their person as much as you attack their work?

“That’s not how this works, EL James, you dumb motherfucker.”¹

And I get this guy just maybe wrote this to get his name out, follow the herd, make a buck off someone else’s success — or he genuinely feels this. Either way, his garbage should not be celebrated.

Film critics are the bane of a lot of people’s existence. They like to shit on you more often than not. And these authors. These predominantly female feminist authors… are eating it up.

I haven’t read the books since they first came out. And maybe if I attempted, I would stop 20 pages in, as I did walk out of the first movie halfway through. But I don’t think it’s necessary to spew vile at someone because you don’t like their work, you think their writing is shit, you think the plot is stale, and/or you think they’re doing BDSM wrong. Could it be you’re jealous that such work that offends your senses is a blockbuster hit?

Honestly, the review reads like a literate Trump tweet — if tweets for 1000+ words long. And that rings real hypocrisy when one can tout the truth about the US President being a bully, but celebrate a 40 something year old man attacking a woman through her work — good or bad.


I don’t mind, I don’t mind this wasted, shaded daylight

I could learn photography. That could be something to want.

So last night I wrote up a post entitled Possibilities. It was my third post yesterday. It’s odd, it seems the more solitude I collect, the more content I produce. Well, before I get too off track, I have more to share that touches the topic of that post.

For a few years now, I have struggled with what I want to do to become the stable, independent best version of myself. I have felt my only real ticket to that was to have a college degree. Well, one that I would actually put to use. I have gone from writer, teacher, neuroscientist, photographer, university professor, social worker, psychologist, cryptologist … you get the picture. I am like an astute 7-year-old planning out my dream careers.

The other day, I went to my college’s website and did what I have done a few times before – looked at the degree programs to see what sparked my interest that wasn’t like the former that I took in and shortly discarded after. I saw a program for Health Information Technology – basically a technician who keeps both paper and electronic records for doctor’s offices or hospitals.

The average pay is decent, I worked as a pharmacy technician for years so it’s something I know I would be decent at. It’s practical. And if I wanted to further my career with it, I could go into Health Administration and potentially become a director of a department or hospital. And the higher up, the steeper the pay.

My mom loves the idea. And wants me to go for it. Unlike the times when I would tell her I want to be a psychologist or neuroscientist.

Then yesterday I was texting with my best friend and this is what happened:

Me: Yeah, I think I am going to go exploring. Take some photos or something.

Lexa: Photography is something you can do. Go into business for yourself.. start small and once you get extra cash, invest in equipment or find someone who will invest in you.

Me: I have thought about it, but I am shy, insecure about my talent and I know nothing about being my boss. Lmao

Lexa: Me and you are alike. We can’t work for others. It stifles our happiness.

She then goes on to tell me to do research and look into taking out a small business loan. Love her, but no. I have 2,000 in credit card debt, unpaid hospital bills, student loan debt that I have spent more $$ into now than I originally borrowed and still have over a few thousand to go.

She had mentioned be careful who you tell your dreams to, which is correct. Negative Nellys need not know. But I am not unhappy working for someone else if I feel appreciated, empowered, and can make enough to live – not just survive.

I have always been a great employee even if I have felt unhappy. And the reason I leave a job is usually the lack of pay or the type of work. I have only really not cared for 3 bosses in my entire working career.

It’s not fear that is stopping me from being my boss, it’s the fact I don’t think I would enjoy any endeavour if I was in a CEO/CFO position on top of the services I’d offer. I truly admire small business entrepreneurs, I just know I’d flop at it.

I love taking photos. And if I could do this life over, I’d be a fashion photographer. But again, I am insecure of my talent and I doubt I’d make it to Vogue which has always been a dream of mine, more of a fantasy.

Period Post. Period.

The crimson wave has plagued me monthly for 22 years minus the two years I was on Depo – the shot – that made me blissfully happy that flow was an absentee. Until one day I forgot and had an oops which turned into a just kidding which turned into a surgery to avoid hemorrhaging at miscarriage,

My period was the bane of my existence until I was diagnosed with stage 4 endometriosis and opted to have the surgery. Since then it typically works like this: Light spotting for two days, moderate flow for a day, tapering off for a following two days. Rinse and repeat.

Not this month. I spotted for a day, and I have flowed non stop for the last 5 days. I am on day 6 and have ruined countless innocent underwear, So since this is abnormal for me, I have come up with possible reasons this is happening aptly titled:

Crimson tide’s revenge

  1. Immaculate Miscarriage: I haven’t copulated with anyone in about 3 or 4 months. I found my cross pendant the day before crimson wave began and I started wearing it to, I guess, find God. Apparently the cross brought on this immaculate miscarriage to cleanse me of my sins.
  2. Endometriosis is back. The most rational of reasons. In which case I will opt for the removal of my uterus since I don’t want to have children.
  3. My best friend caused this. We were chatting the other day and she was telling me how she thought one of her crimson waves was a miscarriage. My uterus is all like monkey hear, monkey follow suit.
  4. Karma. I was thinking how great it’s been that my crimson waves have been short and only mildly irritating. Karma is often touted for being a bitch.
  5. This is the last period of my life. It’s going to go out with a bang while I’m only 32.
  6. Cervical cancer. I had sex with a relatively large specimen back in August and I bled like I was stuck with a knife and it was rather painful. Kind of reminds me of when I gave my virginity away. Once born twice a virgin, what can I say?
  7. PCOS. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, What’s another diagnosis in the midst of my collection?
  8. Internally bleeding. Even with the absence of feeling weak and dying.
  9. Perimenopause 10 years too soon. Maybe not my last period, but the beginning of its end.
  10. Because it can. It will. And it’s doing it – what am I gonna do about it?

I would say I’d call my doctor. But that’s just talk. I hate the gyno more than I hate the dentist.