The feels, all the feels

Nope, I’m still not replying to emails/comments/questions yet.  I’m sorry, I really am not trying to ignore you all.  And I did warn everyone that my internet access would be spotty, anyway.

This is actually being written on my phone, scheduled to upload tonight.

And I’m already fucking exhausted.

It’s not a bad day.  It’s just a very emotionally charged day.  And I did not turn in my permission slip for this feels trip, y’all.

My dad smoked, and my sister had a pack of his brand of cigarettes.  I’m a relatively recent nonsmoker, but when she handed me one, asking me to smoke it with her, to honor him (nothing like honoring a man who died of emphysema than to give ourselves emphysema, amirite?), I shrugged and said, “Sure, why not.”

So we left my mom sitting in the kitchen and went outside.  And for a minute, I stood a bit apart, just watching the people standing around my sister, talking to her.

But then she came up to me and asked if we could talk.  And you all will be proud of me.  I managed to suppress the eye roll as I followed her around the porch, to an area that was more secluded-ish.

“So I’ve been thinking,” she said, in a halting tone that immediately made every nerve in my body stand on end.  I think I took a long enough drag off my cigarette to burn almost half the thing, waiting for whatever bullshit she was going to say.

“And I think it’s time for me to let go of a lot of the issues we had growing up.”

I still suppressed the eye roll.

What, the rampant favoritism?  The constant praise our parents heaped on you while telling me I wasn’t good enough at literally anything I did?  The way they’d talk about you to anyone in earshot, conveniently forgetting that they have a second daughter?  Yeah, that’s got to be rough.

She’s not an observant person, and didn’t notice my expression.  One of her friends, a very kind man, maybe a few years older than I am, that I’d spoken with at great length yesterday, walked by and glanced our way, then did a double-take when he saw me.  I figured I should probably do a better job of masking my emotions, and made my expression blank as I waited for her to continue.

“Because really, I’ve resented you for long enough.  We’re adults now, and it’s time to get over it.”

My eyes shot open.  “You resented me?” I asked, incredulous.  “Jesus Christ, why?”

What could she possibly have resented me for?  What could she possibly have had to be jealous of?

She gave me this pained look and said, “You know, what happened.”

Oh.  Yeah, I’d completely forgotten that she resented and hated me for that.  It wasn’t something I’d really thought about all that much, to be honest.  She was hardly the only one to feel that way.

“But I think I also resented you because you could tell your truth, and I couldn’t.  And I was scared of you.”

Scared of me?”

“You protected me.  You kept him from hurting me more than he did.  And you came forward.  You spoke up.  Even when they called you a liar.  Even when Mom and Dad thought you were lying.  You stood your ground.  When the family fell apart, everyone was so cruel to you.  Everyone turned on you.  They hated you.  They still do hate you.”

This time, I couldn’t suppress the eye roll.  “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Sorry.  I meant that coming forward destroyed our family and made them all turn on you.  But you didn’t break.  It was like it didn’t even matter.  You just shut all of that down.  I was so sure you’d bring me into it, and tell them he hurt me, too.  But you didn’t.  You took all of it on yourself.  Even then, you were protecting me.  Fuck, Jen.  You were only 11.  I was scared of you because it was like none of the bullshit even mattered.  I mean, what kind of kid can go through that?  What kind of kid can just shut it down and make it not matter?”

I’m pretty sure I said something at that point, but honestly, I don’t remember what.  I was stunned.

She started crying.  “I remember being so scared, that they would find out he hurt me, too, and then they’d turn on my the same way they turned on you.  That’s something I’ve sat with every day.  It’s something I still sit with today.”

“They still don’t know?”

“Mom knows.  And Dad knew.  But no one else.  I can’t bring myself to tell them.  I almost did, when Uncle —– (one of our other uncles, one of the ones that didn’t explicitly turn his back on me) died, and Aunt —– was worried about you coming to the funeral.  I almost asked them, ‘what would you say if you knew every word she said was true?  And that she wasn’t the only one he fucked with?’  But I didn’t, and I hated that.”

“It ended up not making a difference,” I told her, suddenly feeling like I should put my arm around her or something.  It was awkward as fuck.  “Nothing happened at the funeral.  It was fine.”

“But they still hate you.  They still think you’re lying.”

“Uncle —– knows I’m not lying.  Dad knows now.  The others will know eventually, too.”

“But that doesn’t do anything now.  It doesn’t make them believe you now.”

“I don’t really care.”

“You wouldn’t have had to deal with it alone if I’d been able to tell them.  They wouldn’t still hate you if I told them.”

I waved her off.  “There’s no point.  He’s dead now.  It’s 20 years old.  There’s no reason for you to risk their affection to ‘defend my honor.’  I don’t need it.  I don’t want it.  It doesn’t make sense for you to do that.”

“You’d still have a family if I’d told them.”

I laughed.  “They’re not my family.  They never were.  Kazander and the spawn are my family.  The people that I love, who devote themselves to me, are my family.”

“I mean your blood family.”

“Blood means nothing.  I don’t owe anyone a damn thing just because I share similar DNA.”

She stared at me for a minute, still crying.  “How can you not care?”

I shrugged.  I didn’t really have an answer for that.  “There’s nothing they can take from me.  There’s nothing they can do to hurt me.”

She shook her head.  “If it had been switched,” she said, not crying anymore.  “You know, if he’d gone after you instead of me… I wouldn’t have protected you.”

“I know.”

“And I wouldn’t have kept your secret after, either.”

“I know.”

I’ve known this for a long time, but that was the first time it really sunk in:  She’s weak.

She’s weak, and she always will be.  And the same fragile beauty I’ve seen in the weak men I’ve loved, I saw in this woman I hated when I woke up this morning.

Maybe it’s time to start the process of letting go of the bitterness I feel for her.

My Father

My sister is a hippy.  A full-on one (albeit the most confrontational hippy I’ve ever met). She is as hippy as hippy gets.

She’s also been on a Native American spirituality kick since about 6 months before my father died  (so about 2, 2 1/2 years).  And every year for… I don’t remember, 3 years? 5? 6? She holds an all-night memorial service for my dad.

This August will mark the second year, and she has asked me and my mom to join her.  My mom immediately thought it was the best idea ever and bought a plane ticket for me and the spawn.

Here’s the thing.  The ceremony requires the use of peyote.  Since it’s held in a Native American church, for a Native American religious ceremony, it is completely legal.

However, it is a hallucinogenic drug, and I have a kid.  She was obviously my first concern, so I called my sister up and told her how uncomfortable I was with her, my mom, and me all being high, hallucinating off our asses, with no one to watch my kid.

She said, “Most people set up a sleeping bag behind them and that’s where the kids sleep. But if you’re more comfortable, the guy who runs the church has a wife who will take care of her.”


That is so not happening.

I’m not well versed in the drug world.  I’ve never been interested in drugs.  And I’ve never taken a hallucinogenic before.  I have no idea how I would react to something like that. And even if I were to consider doing it, my 4-year-old would damn sure not be there to see it, and I would damn sure not leave her with someone I don’t know.

But the kid is not the biggest or the main reason why I don’t want to do it.

So I’m a bit cynical as to the validity of this ceremony, and the claims my sister made as to last year’s ceremony.  She claims she saw my dad and talked to him.

Here’s the thing about my sister.  While yes, she is a yeast-infected mutated cuntbag, who I hope dies slowly and painfully, she is not an unintelligent person.

Closed-minded and intolerant to a degree that would make her get along well with the psycho Republicans if they weren’t on opposite sides of the spectrum, yes.

But she’s not stupid.  And she usually doesn’t believe something just because someone tells her it’s true.  She makes her own judgments and thinks for herself.

So given that, plus the way I’ve made my living (I was a professional Tarot card reader), I have this nagging little thought: “What if this shit is real?”

Or even take that out of the equation, and change it to “What if I hallucinate a conversation with my father, when my judgment is extremely impaired, in front of my mother and sister?”

Either way, that cannot happen.

It cannot happen.  There are things I’ve kept buried that cannot come out.  There’s no way to save the situation if it comes out.  Because, while I am angry and bitter toward my sister and my mother, it’s my father I hate with every fiber of my being.

Because it was my father I loved.

It was my father I felt like I understood, and who understood me.  Of all my blood relatives, he was the one who I really thought “got” me.  And that’s why I turned to him whenever I needed help.  That’s why he was the one I allowed to see me at my most vulnerable, even when I couldn’t let Kazander see me.

When I was pregnant, and everything was going wrong, I finally reached my breaking point at about 28 weeks, after yet another ultrasound appointment, where they discovered a hole in her heart.  After placenta previa, an incompetent cervix, going into labor at 26 weeks, and terrifying amounts of blood randomly showing up for no reason, I hit my limit. Driving home, I was shaking.

So I did something I’d only ever done once before.  I called my dad at his work.

He worked a high-security job, and cell phones were not permitted on the premises.  And because the security clearance was such a bitch, he had to go to a special room to take a personal phone call.

Thankfully he was at the office in town that day and had not flown out to the test site further north.  If that had been the case, I would not have been able to reach him at all unless his superiors decided it was a legitimate emergency (and no, an upset pregnant daughter does not qualify as an emergency in the eyes of the US government).

I didn’t call my mother.  I was losing my control and couldn’t handle her starting to cry over the phone.

I didn’t call Kazander.  I didn’t know why at the time, but now I realize he would’ve been emotionally supportive, assured me that everything would be okay, and all that.

Which would’ve been very sweet.  But I didn’t want that.  I didn’t want Kazander.  Because Kazander didn’t (and doesn’t) know me as well as my father did.

My dad’s secretary put me on hold while he went to a place where he could talk to me.  He picked up the phone and I couldn’t stop crying as I told him what the doctor said.  He listened patiently until I was done.

Then he said, “Is there anything you can do to change it?”


“Is there anything you can do to control it?”


“Then what good is worrying about it?  And stressing yourself out will only hurt the baby more.  Just get yourself back under control.”

That was ver batim.  I’ll never forget that conversation and what he said to me.

That was what I needed.  And that’s why I called my dad.  I felt like he had reached into my mind and told me exactly what I needed to hear.  Like he was just echoing what my own subconscious was trying to tell me.

I’d never felt closer to him than in that moment.  I don’t think I’ve hugged my father once in the last decade of his life, but I would’ve hugged him if I’d been there with him that day.

He was also the first one I told when I found out I could no longer breastfeed, and my doctor referred me to an oncologist.  And again, he told me I can’t do shit about it, so what’s the point of worrying about it?

My dad was nothing if not efficient and productive.  Born on Christmas day, he was the personification of the stereotypical Capricorn.

I loved him.  Despite the fact that I never quite knew if I hated him, or if he hated me.  We understood each other.  Because we were each other.  No one else will ever know me the way he did, because he was me.

And he taught me what I’m capable of if I don’t keep my control.  He was a violent, explosive man.  He was a sick, depraved man.

He wasn’t a good man.  I don’t know if I could say he was even a decent man.  He looked like a Mexican Harrison Ford, but inside, he was ugly.

And so am I.  We were two monsters trying to find some kind of redemption.  He taught me what happens when the monster rules you.  He taught me what I will turn into if I am not aware.

He was every bit the monster my sister loved calling him.

But he knew me.  And I knew him.

Or, I thought I did.

The issues I dealt with growing are many, but one that still bothers me is the rampant favoritism that my mom showed my little sister.  That is why I refuse to have another child. I will never put my first-born through that.  She will never know what that feels like.

And I know what it sounds like.  The rich, entitled brat is sad because she didn’t get that second pony.

That’s why, instead of being upset, it felt good when I found out that they admitted it to Kazander’s parents. Their words were, “Don’t get us wrong. We love Jenny (that name still makes me cringe), too. She’s our first born. But there’s just something about M.”

I can’t remember the exact words after that, but they went on to praise my sister and all her “accomplishments,” and justify their reasons for loving her more than they loved me.

Like getting kicked out of Canada (I’m not joking, she was literally escorted out of Canada and asked not to return).

I wasn’t mad, though.  This was not news to me.  I was stoked they’d said it out loud.  To someone else.

Now no one can say I imagined it, or was just looking for attention, or whatever.  It felt good to be validated like that.  I wanted to hug them for admitting it.

Until about a month after my dad died.  I found out that he was the one who had said it, when I assumed it had been my mom.

And that was a brutal betrayal.

I thought we were two of a kind.  I thought he was the one I could trust.  The one I could turn to.

I thought he was the one who saw me for who I am and accepted me for it.

And of course, I discovered he’d said that after I had a tattoo done on my arm, lyrics to the song that would’ve been our father-daughter dance, had he not died 2 months before my wedding.  The words are in German, his first language, and say, “You’re a part of me for eternity.”

So that’s going to be covered up.  I hate having that reminder there.  I hate looking down and seeing it there, every day, that constant reminder that the one person I thought I was close to ended up choosing the homeless, jobless, high-school dropout, drug-addicted, unshowered (literally), raging fuck bitch of a spoiled, entitled cunt of a sister who still depends on my psychotic fucking mother financially at 28 years old.

He chose her over me.  The one person I thought I could count on, and he chose her over me.  And every time I see the tattoo, it just reminds me one more time that my blood family hates me.  And really, I can’t help but laugh.  That’s my dad, for you.  That tattoo, and the relationship, the memories it represents, and the way he manipulated me, the way he tricked me into thinking he was there for me, was perfect.  One last “fuck you” from the man I thought understood me.

And I harbor a lot of bitterness, resentment, and rage.  If I do that ceremony thing, and believe that I’m talking to him, a lot of pretty dark shit is going to surface, that my mom and sister know nothing about.

Hell, my mom doesn’t even know that I know about their confession.  She has no idea I know about the favoritism.  And I never plan on telling her.  My kid adores her, and really, she’s just not capable of handling that emotionally.  She’s a fragiile woman.

And besides, it won’t solve anything.  It won’t make my childhood go away.  All it will do is hurt her, and I’m not spiteful.  I’m not going to do that to her.  No matter how satisfying it would be to destroy her.

So the ceremony cannot happen.  I can’t be a part of it.  But both my sister and my mom will be pissed beyond belief if I refuse, and I’ll get to go through yet another round of “Well, you’re just a bad daughter.”

And one of these days, I’m afraid I’ll snap and lose control, and then my daughter will lose her grandmother.  So I’m keen to avoid that.

So there’s a loophole that I plan to take advantage of.  Menstruating women are not permitted in the church.  So fuck it, I’ll dump a bottle of dark red nail polish on a pair of white pants if I have to.  And if they keep trying to pressure me into doing it anyway (since it’s a private ceremony, supposedly the rules are a bit more lax) then I’ll say that I just had a miscarriage.

My mom’s been bitching about me having another kid for the last few years (since I won’t tell her why I refuse to give the spawn a younger sibling).  That would shut her up for awhile.

I don’t lie, but in this case I will make an exception.  I will heap lie after lie on top of another.  But I will not risk that shit coming out.  Even a negligible risk is too big a risk.

I’m not doing it.

Oral sex for stress relief

So I have my quirks.

But it’s alright.  I’ve embraced my neuroses, and the people in my life either keep up or fade away.  Or they get violently booted out of my life and I set their car on fire.

(metaphorically, people)

Red looks like he’s going to be one of the latter.  I woke up to a 6-text-long tirade about Texas being controlling and abusive, and (and this is what set off my burn-it-all-to-the-ground-o-meter) implying that I was going to get her killed by allowing him to stay with her.

I organized my thoughts, wrote a reply, but hesitated before sending it.  It’s one of those point-of-no-return things.  I mean every damn word I wrote, and will say it to his face (and a good deal of it, I have said to his face), but I send that, and I’ll most likely lose Red as a friend.  More than that, my whole family and Kazander’s family will lose him as a friend.

It’ll be a pretty complete bridge burning.

So instead, I talked to Sounder.  I showed him the texts and the reply I had cocked and ready, and vented to him a bit.  He listened patiently, offered some advice and wisdom, and helped me get centered again.  I decided not to send it, hoping that Red would calm down and cool off.

Now I don’t think I have a choice.  A conversation after dinner with Kazander’s sister and her husband let me know that there was no way to fix this situation if Red doesn’t back off, and it’ll just continue to escalate.

The problem is that there is only one man somewhat capable of physically restraining Red, should the shit hit the fan and he decide to go after Texas.  That man is Kazander, and despite Kazander being a great deal taller than Red, he’ll still have trouble.  My brother in law has been sick for years and is not in shape to restrain him.

More than that, BIL is going out of town for work, and will be gone for weeks.  Kazander works during the day.  That leaves his sister and me.

I am no delicate fucking flower.  I’m 5’9,” I’ve taught martial arts, and I can take care of myself.  But I’m not in the shape I was in when I taught martial arts, and I don’t lift weights every day, like he does.  SIL and I won’t be able to hold him if he decides to go after Texas.  And it’s just us and the kids during the day.

SIL is not the most emotionally stable person to begin with, and the stress and tension is getting to her.  She feels uncomfortable in her own house, the kids feel uncomfortable, and even I’m uncomfortable as fuck with this whole thing.

Red’s getting worse.  He blew up my phone, Kazander’s phone, SIL’s phone, and my mother in law’s phones today.  He’s being threatening, crossing limits, and bullying the people not strong enough to tell him to fuck off.

Fine.  So he’s worried about people being “controlling?”  Oh, he’ll get “controlling.”

You’ve never seen “controlling” until you’ve pissed off a Dominant.  It took him weeks, but today he finally managed to piss me off.

The first thing I did after reading his text in the morning was to tell Lia to block his number again, and she is not to unblock it, for any reason, without my permission.  I spoke with SIL after dinner and asked if she’d be alright if I took point on the whole thing, and her response was an immediate “Yes, please.”

“Great.  So change the locks.  This weekend.  He’s not sneaking up on us again and showing up unexpectedly like he did last time.”

“It’ll be done.”

“Good.  I’ll tell him that I blocked his number from Lia’s phone, that I changed the locks, and that I will not allow him around her without another adult present.  If he calls or texts you or your mom, tell him he can talk to me if he has a problem.”


He’s never seen “controlling.”  Oh, but he will.  And I can out-bully any bully.

I never once claimed to be a good person, people.

So this whole thing is going to explode spectacularly.  It’s great.  Everything is great.

It’s great.

So there’s been a bit of stress.  And I needed to relieve some of it.

Enter my husband.

He’s been a bit tense with this whole thing, and the regular work nonsense, and with my tension and stress, not much kinky fun has been going on.

That needed to change.  So last night, he fell asleep on the couch, and I decided I wanted to cum.

What is one to do when one wants oral and one’s submissive is sleeping on the couch?

Wake him up by straddling him and shoving one’s pussy in his face.


It was so cute.  For the first few seconds, he was all confused.  But then, when he realized what was being shoved in his mouth, he suddenly became quite eager and wrapped his arms around my waist as I rode his face.

But I can’t cum while sitting up, and wanted to lie down and relax and make him do all the work, anyway.  We went to the bedroom, where I grabbed him by his hair and shoved him back between my legs.  He obediently licked like the good little bitch he is, and I decided to reward him by letting him cum.

One of my favorite ways to make him cum is by letting him hump my leg.  Like a cute little dog.  So he laid his head on my hip, wrapped his body around my leg, and humped enthusiastically while I reminded him why he can’t fuck me like a real man.

It was fun.

Oh, and in other news, I’m going to visit my psychotic mother in a couple of months.  Spending twelve days with her is not something I’m looking forward to.  And even Sounder expressed sympathy for whatever poor North Carolinian idiot happens to say the wrong thing when I’m already on edge from being with my mother, and ends up getting his hair/clothes/car/house/whatever set on fire.

The boy knows me too well.

So it’s going to be interesting.


There is one bright spot to that visit, and that’s Steel.  I haven’t seen him since December, and the distance is really weighing heavy on both of us.

I hate when he crashes, or feels lost and lonely, and I can’t be there to help him.  I don’t do “helpless” well, and knowing someone I love is suffering because I’m not there, and knowing that I can’t make it stop, bothers the hell out of me.  There is no combination of words in any language to describe my eagerness in seeing him again.

I arranged for my flight to get in to the city he lives in, rather than the city closest to where my mom lives.  He’s going to pick me up from the airport, we’ll get some dinner, and then he’ll drive me to my mom’s house.

I’ll have the spawn with me, so there won’t be able to be any super amazing fun, but we’re both at a point where we just need some time together, regardless of the setting and what we can or cannot do.  That and he really needs to feel my collar again.  I keep his collar with me (it’s with me 24/7) and it bothers him when he can’t wear it.  He asked if I’d be willing to lock it around his neck as soon as I see him at the airport.

Of course that was already my plan.  He’s not the only one who dislikes the absence of the collar.  He’s mine.  He’s collared and owned, and I’m proud as fuck to own him.  Of course I want him to wear it all the time.

And he will, when he’s with me, where he belongs.  I’ll lock it on him and it won’t come off.  For now, separated by a country, we do what we can.

He’ll get a few hours of wearing it that first night.  It’s a bit of a drive from his city to the little town where my mom lives.  And then we’ll work on arranging a second, more private visit, in which he can spend some time naked, plugged, collared, and curled up in my lap.

Having that time with him will go a long way toward not setting the state on fire.

Some fucking bullshit

So just when it looks like things finally calm down around here, I got a call from my sister in law.  She’d asked if the spawn could spend the night with her, and called me saying that I needed to come take a look at her.

Kazander and I went next door and saw the spawn covered in a huge rash, all over her torso and neck.

Yay, so it’s the emergency room for us.

Luckily, she’s alright.  Tons of antihistamines and popsicles are in her future.

And luckily, the drama from last night is over.  I think.

Lia, her boyfriend (we’ll call him Texas), and the grown ass man (we’ll call him Red) have been at each other’s throats since the kids got here.  Red had been up Lia’s ass for months about Texas, about how he’s a pussy, she can do better, she’s wasting her life, she’ll never be a strong independent woman if she can’t detach herself from a man, blah blah blah.

What a shock that she didn’t respond well to that.  And the more he harped on her, the more she shut down.  And the more she shut down, the angrier he got.  Add an arrogant 18-year-old boy, and it’s an explosive situation.

Texas wasn’t helping, for awhile.  But I put him in his place quick.  He made the comment, “I’m just not going to let anyone disrespect me like that.”

Oh, little boy….

“You’re not entitled to respect,” I said.  “You have to earn it.  And you haven’t.  You spent the last year in a tent.  No job, no diploma.  Red spent 20 years fighting for your right to be an arrogant little prick.  And then he spent another two and a half years fighting because he said it didn’t feel right to throw a retirement party right before everyone got deployed again.  Regardless of the fact that he’s acting like an asshat, he’s earned respect.  Do something I find worthy of respect, and then we’ll discuss how I feel about him disrespecting you.  But say anything other than, ‘Yes, Sir,’ or, ‘No, Sir,’ or ‘Thank you, Sir,’ and deliberately set him off, and you’ll be shocked at how quickly I’ll step aside, let him at you, and let you see for yourself how little you really are.”

That wasn’t easy for Texas to hear, but he impressed me at how quickly he humbled up and changed his tune.  So at least I didn’t have to worry about him making things worse anymore.

But Red has just been stirring shit up nonstop.  He just can’t let it go.  But while he was out of town on work, it was more or less manageable.  I told Lia to block his number and block him on Facebook, and told them they needed separation to let him cool off, and we’d sit down and talk when he got home (he sort of lives with us).

Then, he showed up three days early.  Thankfully, Lia (who can be fucking dumb sometimes) had the sense to barricade herself and Texas in their room next door and lock the door, then called Kazander to let him know Red was here and trying to break down their door.

I ran over and got him outside and away from them, and worked on getting him calmed down.

It worked for a day.  Then he went off again, when she shut down when he started getting on her ass again, and set him off once more.  He and I had words (tactful words), and I thought it was taken care of.

Until last night.  She was over at my house and he followed her over, cussing at her and telling her she was pathetic.  I had been in the kitchen, getting the spawn ready for bed, and immediately went to the living room and called Lia over to me.  She stayed with me until the kid was in bed, then I went back out in the living room.

“First thing,” I told Red.  “That is not going to happen around my kid.  Tell me you understand that.”

He nodded and apologized, and immediately went back to yelling at her.  And for a minute, I held my tongue, thinking that maybe he just needed to feel like he was being heard.  Lia can be more obnoxious than your average teenage girl, and it can be frustrating as hell.  Maybe he just needed to feel like what he was saying was being acknowledged.

But he kept using the word “pathetic,” which I wasn’t comfortable with.  The first two times I told him to stop using it, he ignored me.  The third time, I was fucking pissed.  He knows me better than that.  I sent Lia home, and when he came at me with, “I’m just in PTSD kill mode.  I’m going to beat that little fucker’s ass,” he saw a side of me he’d never seen before.

“This is my fucking house, you arrogant dipshit, and if you touch him, you’re no longer welcome here.”

“You’re not helping her!”

“And you are?  You can’t let this shit go.  You say she’s pathetic, but who is the 48-year-old Marine who keeps starting fights with a fucking teenage boy?  She’s a stupid teenager, acting like a stupid teenager.  You’re a grown ass man, acting like a stupid teenager.  You’ve done nothing but stir this shit up every chance you get, and I’m done with it.  You’re going to grow the fuck up and leave her the fuck alone, and you’re not going to touch him.”

“Well fine, I’ll just pack my shit and leave.”

“Right, because that’s not something a stupid teenager would do, either.”

“Well what do you want, then?”

“I want you to let it the fuck alone.  She’s not you.  She doesn’t want the kind of lifestyle you lead.  Wanting to be monogamous, instead of spending these years partying does not make her weak or pathetic.  It makes her different.  But you can’t accept that.  You think she’s pathetic because she’s had a stable relationship for over a year?  At that age, that’s practically unheard of.”

“She needs to know that there’s more out there than just this one guy.  But I keep inviting her out, and she won’t even go with me.  She’s too worried about him.”

“You’ve done nothing but nag her since you got here!  She’s fucking defensive and uncomfortable, and waiting for the nagging to start.  I wouldn’t want to be around you either, if I was her.  Leave it the fuck alone.  The more you try to drive a wedge between them, the more you’ll push her to him.  Let it go, and if you’re right, and he fucks up, then he won’t need your help, and you’ll be the hero who was right all along.  What you’re doing isn’t working, and you need to knock it the fuck off.”

And holy shit, man, after weeks and weeks of dealing with this bullshit, it felt so damn good to yell at him like that.

I really didn’t want to have to do the whole “if you touch him, you won’t be welcome in my house” thing, because I love the man to death, and I’m not a fan of ultimatums, anyway.  But tactful, polite, and calm just weren’t working.  He needed direct, assertive, and pissed.

And I wouldn’t have wanted to kick him out, anyway.  He’s got his faults, but everyone does, and he’s got a huge heart.  He’s a good man, and I consider him one of my closest friends.  I didn’t want to have to cut ties with him over some bullshit.

Especially since I agree with him.  Lia knows how I feel about her inability to be single (which she inherited from her cunt of a mother), and the fact that her self-worth is so deeply tied into what a man thinks of her.  Lia needs to spend some time alone, to find out who she is as an individual.

But that’s not going to happen while Texas is here.  And really, I think Texas is good for her.  He treats her well, he’s a good kid.  He’s ignorant and has a very small perception of the world, but that’ll change now that he’s here, and his world is bigger than the small town in South Carolina he grew up in.

They function well together.  If they break up, then we’ll talk about Lia’s independence.  But she just doesn’t have the personality to foster that trait while he’s around, and as long as they both take care of their responsibilities, and are both happy, I’m not going to protest them being together.

So Red and I agree.  And we even agree that she may regret not “sowing her oats” when she’s older.

But people are different.  Red and I share the same birthday (18 years apart).  We’re both Aquarius.  Somewhat known for the whole oat-sowing thing.  Lia is a Cancer.  The polar opposite.  The kind of lifestyle that appeals to Red and to me holds no interest for her.  Her idea of a fun night is staying home, curled up on the couch, cuddling with Texas and watching a movie.

Fucking great.  That’s what makes her happy, then that’s what makes her happy.  Going to a club or going dancing or going out partying and getting obnoxiously drunk doesn’t make her happy.  Nothing Red says will change that.

So today was peaceful, the three of them went out together to buy dinner, and built a fort with the spawn together.  And when we got home from the hospital, the three of them were outside together, talking (Lia and Texas smoke, and smoking is only allowed outside).  Hopefully it stays peaceful.  Because I swear to hell, if I have to have this conversation again, I’m going to set some shit on fire.

Not that worried

So the majority of today was spent playing mediator between a stupid 18-year-old girl and a grown ass man 18 years older than I am. It was a pain in the ass, and I’ve about reached the limit of my patience on it, and you all will get to read the full rant on it soon enough (lucky you).

Luckily, I have Kazander, who certainly has moments where he shines. We had our own tense moment earlier today regarding my dipshit mother and psychotic sister (which you all will get to read about soon enough, you’re so lucky), but the drama here went down and he immediately let go of his anger at me and became the very epitome of the supportive husband.

When the situation first became a situation, he had asked me if I could run point because I’m the more level-headed of us, because I can shut my emotions off and keep people from getting angrier, because I’m the only one we’re 100% sure he won’t hit, and because I can take a hit if we happen to be wrong.

So he had my back and helped me calm down the grown ass man, I explained to said man (again), using very small words, that I’m not putting up with this shit, and made it clear that, while I love and adore him, the moment he puts hands on either of the stupid fucking teenagers living in my house, he will no longer be welcome in my house.

It was fun. It was great. And I swear, one of these days, I’m going to throw the tantrum and act like a child, and someone else is going to have to play the responsible grownup. I’m 11 years younger than the youngest of them. I should not have to be the grownup in every damn situation.

I think I’ve earned the right to lose my shit and act like a child.

So once everything got calmed down, I was still annoyed and irritated. And Kazander is great at helping me relax and not think about it. This little gem happened tonight, that finally got me laughing.

Kazander: My stomach hurts. I think I’m constipated.

Me: You might be. I can pick you up some fiber supplements tomorrow and tweak your diet a bit. That’ll help.

K: That’s why I drank the tequila.

Me: That is not the same thing.

K: It always works for me. It should work tomorrow. I’ll even take a picture of it and send it to you so you know I’m okay.

Me: No. No, that’s not necessary. Like, at all.

K: What? I know you worry. I’m just trying to be helpful.

Me: I’m not that worried.

Computers are evil

Aren’t computers grand?

I found out that Kazander’s guy is able to get everything off my old computer.  It’s only taking him ten goddamn years to do it, and I’m antsy and restless waiting for it, but at least I’ll get it at some point.

But then I got to spend the better part of the evening dealing with the fun problems with my new one.  All of a sudden, it decided to test how frustrated I can get without slamming it against the wall.

I hate those damn software updates.  One “harmless” little update, and my computer had a goddamn seizure, and I spent the better part of three hours trying to solve one problem after another.  And then, when I finally thought I’d gotten it all fixed, my WiFi suddenly disconnected, and I couldn’t get it to reconnect again.  The WiFi protocols on my computer were all fucked.


So after an hour and a half, and a million Google searches, and doing everything I could think of, I only had one choice.  I had to reset my computer.  But luckily I didn’t have to do a factory reset, so I kept all my files and stuff.  I just needed to reinstall Skype and Microsoft Office.

Problem solved.  Yay……

But in other news, I found out that my kid is a massive Terminator fan today.  And seriously, she’s some special kind of fucked up.

Kazander was watching the movie, and when the spawn and I walked into the room, she was fascinated by the naked man on the screen, and “Why is he naked?  How did he travel in time?  Why didn’t he take his clothes with him?  What’s he doing?  Why does he look so grumpy?  Why was he mean to those people?”

And when the second naked man showed up, she was transfixed.  She and I were looking at her books, and not really paying attention to the TV (or so I thought), until that scene where the Terminator is beaten to hell and repairing his arm, then standing in front of the mirror looking at his fucked-up face.

She glanced up at the gross arm shot and said, “Daddy, what’s he doing?”

Kazander told her that he was fixing his arm, and that she shouldn’t watch it, because it’s scary, and to pay attention to the book instead.  And I pulled her attention back, and life went on.

Until she saw the gross missing-eye scene, and asked about it again.  And again, Kazander told her not to watch it.  She said, “Why, Daddy?  I like it.”

Which immediately made me start laughing, because that’s pretty funny, and my kid is literally the weirdest person I’ve ever met.

So the scene ended, and I figured, what the hell?  We’ll let her watch the movie.

And she seriously sat there, on the couch, curled up with her stuffed dog, sucking her thumb (in those rare moments that she wasn’t asking what was going on, and why the robot was chasing the lady, and every damn thing that was going on), completely engrossed in this movie.

I had to run out for a minute, and was going to take her with me, and she asked me if we could pause the movie so she could finish watching it when we got back.

When we got back, she finished watching it, and I realized that Terminator 2 was coming on immediately after, and asked if she wanted to watch that, too.  Of course, she was stoked, and just as engrossed.

And her reaction when she found out that the Terminator was actually the good guy was fucking priceless, y’all.

I’d forgotten just how violent those movies get, though, so when she started dozing off and asked me to pause the movie again, I paused it, then “accidentally” deleted it once she fell asleep.  She may have been fine with it, and she fully grasps the concept that things on TV aren’t real, and are not the way real people act, and all that stuff, but that was just a little to much for my comfort level.

She’s still four years old, after all, and while she’s smart as fuck, she still has the brain of a four-year-old.  A four-year-old doesn’t need to see all that stuff.  There are enough other movies out there that she can get behind.

But she wants to watch all the Terminator movies now, which is amazingly fucking awesome.  I haven’t seen them in years, so I’ll definitely learn from my mistake and screen them before letting her watch them, but I was proud as fuck to find out that my daughter is a Terminator fan.

Back to Normal

So the family is gone, and life shifts back to our normal routine.

My mom flew home on New Year’s Eve, and she says she won’t be back.  I’m praying to God that she’s telling the truth.  All of Kazander’s family is joining me in that prayer.

But no, there wasn’t an argument or anything.  She’s not in the best of health, and traveling is just getting too hard on her (if she wasn’t a complete idiot living in denial, it would be a lot easier, and wouldn’t exhaust her, but I hate having her here, so I’m not about to point that out to her).

And the alternative is much better, anyway.  I’ll fly out with the spawn to visit her (I can do that easily, since the spawn seems to have inherited my love of flying).  I can do it on my own terms, for an amount of time I agree to, and (the best part) she only lives a couple of hours away from Steel, so I can go see him.

And then, on the offchance that I have the extra time and cash available, I can swing down to Alabama and see some of my old friends, and Southern.  It’s just better all the way around.

So I need to do what I can to keep her to that.  I’ve already talked to her about flying out sometime in the spring, but we don’t have any set dates yet.  I’ve got to get on that before she forgets how much she doesn’t want to travel.

One nice/terribly awful thing about the family being in town is that they kidnap the spawn for pretty much the entire time they’re in town.  It’s awful because they spoil the hell out of her, so she always has bad habits when she comes back home.  And while her smart-assery is funny as fuck in small doses, that’s really not a habit I want to encourage.

But it’s nice because it gives Kazander and me time to spend together, without having to worry about making too much noise, or being caught in the middle of something we don’t want to be caught in the middle of.

So we’ve taken advantage of that quite a bit.  He’s been feeling a bit more experimental lately, particularly in regards to pain, so we’ve been playing with that.  I’ve been using spankings to both put him in a more submissive mindset, as well as discipline when he needs it.

For the most part, he’s been pretty well-behaved.  I haven’t had to punish him since the post about taking my commands seriously.  The occasional reminder of his place is expected, but that’s all he’s needed.

We’re moving the relationship forward in a few fun ways, as well.  We’ve already established that the switching isn’t the “great idea” we once thought it was.  So we’re still working on figuring out how he’s going to scratch that Domly itch, when it surfaces.  My thought was for him to get a sub of his own, but he was less than enthused about the idea.

So we’ll have to figure that out.  But in the meantime, I’m more than happy having him at my feet, where he belongs.