Hmm. Well I’ve been feeling pretty rejected lately.
I guess it didn’t help that last night as I got out todays outfit, the rotation brought up the fancy undies I wore the night i thoooooought I was getting laid. It just makes one sad. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, young Cassie would be appalled at my underwear game at 30. But I don’t have a Victoria’s Secret charge anymore so….
But, they like set me up. Because they’re like ha, REMEMBER when you got these out of storage and were all excited about having a good time then fucking someone you ACTUALLY liked? Ahahahahahahahahaha of course you do you desperate bitch.
And this morning was kind of sad enough, because I was waiting on a text I still haven’t gotten. I don’t know what’s up with that whole situation. I thought that things were okay…..but I’ve been wrong before. And she likes to just not tell me shit and act like it’s not the sort of thing best friends would tell each other. I’m not trying to make her stuff about me I’m just saying that if the roles were reversed I would tell her you know? I guess there’s some shit she doesn’t know but that’s stemming from her withdrawal not a cause of it.
That’s my issue
However I act with someone is how I want them to treat me
And so many people are shitty to me
I’m not saying I didn’t think I was the problem I just don’t know what to do about it or myself or anything
I wish I had friends, like people to talk to who I could see in real life and spend time with and know and like be a part of each other’s lives. If I’m not mistaken that’s how it works. But fuck I have one friend and I suggested getting together in a city equidistant between us for a night and she just didn’t respond. Okay cool. Guess I’ll wait that one out. Fuck knows I’m not saying anything more until she does.
Then I mean I guess I could’ve tried being actual friends with N, but I don’t think that’s the sort of thing that you can go back on, now. I mean we still converse on a fairly regular basis. I’ll admit, it’s still that usual fun/disappointment roulette of “diiid they respond yet….” of my adolescence, and it’s a fun conversation. But I know what my heads doing, I start wanting attention from someone, then I just wait. My husband thinks he’s just biding his time so he can try and fuck me later on, best friend said the same thing one added that he jerked me around at first so he could protest to his wife that he tried to not have it happen. But that’s just how she thinks.
What I’m actually very torn on is how I feel about that.
And no time to go on, don’t feel like being late again. I won’t lie and say I’ll pick this back up on lunch because I’m way busy with CF right now.
First, two picture, one is of us together, you’re doing your trademark thing and hiding as much of your face as possible in the picture. I’m maybe a year old? The other is the cover of the Betty comic you bought me one of the times I was staying at your apartment and I waited there while you went to the grocery store to buy things to please me. I didn’t know what Betty was, but it seemed okay so I acted like I knew it and acted excited when she said “I got you a Betty.” She got my brother Mad Magazine so we were both happy.
Well, just like last year on November21st, I was going to write this huge long sentimental blogabout my Grandma, since that’s her birthday. But you know what I failed miserably at that in 2017 and 2018 so I’m going to do it todayto make up for it.
I saw a meme the other day, one of
those long ass ones that tells a story, about how when someone dies,
they go into spectator mode, like in a video game. So your deceased
relatives can watch whatever they want, either POV or from above. At
the end of the meme, it showed a Pilgrim-esque looking guy standing
behind the meme’s main character with the thought bubble “Holy shit
he figured it out.”
IF I could find this meme, I’d fucking
show you rather than describing it. But it’s one of those ones I
thought I saved, but instead, I didn’t, and it has no relevant
keywords. So here we are.
BUT, the spirit of this meme is what
interest me. Because. What is that IS true? That’s how it in The
Lovely Bones, the dead
immediately go into full omniscience.
that is true….
you know what, if the dead do watch us, Lord knows my Grandma has
truly been enjoying herself judging me all this time. That’s what she
liked to do anyway. I grew up thinking talking shit/criticizing was a
completely normal mode of expression.
also, yeah, I could see why she would choose to watch me and not her
daughter, or her grandson. Maybe she spends a lot of time with my
cousin’s out west. Both of them married and had children and are
normal, successful people with Ph.Ds and houses and etc. etc. They
lost their mom young, really unexpectedly, to cancer. I’m related to
their dad (Grandma’s other son whose still living, there was a third
one, another Uncle, and his death when I was 12 marked the exact end
to any semblance of security, stability or happiness in my life. I
had 6 more years to get through and my fuck they weren’t easy) and it
came as a shock to us all when the drinker/smoker of many decades
outlived his wife. He was the only person at my wedding who was
related to me who wasn’t my W, my mom or my brother. At our 300
person wedding, FOUR of the guests were my relatives. But I digress.
you’re watching this, well, first of all, things are different now,
Grandma. You were born in 1918, you’re not going to understand the
world of 2018. And if you don’t want to see a foursome don’t watch a
foursome. It’s better than observing mom though, isn’t it? I guess
the dead can’t do anything to harm the living…because….if they
could, I’d frankly be really angry with my Grandma for not
car-accidenting that guy out of our lives.
That’s it. It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m pretty preoccupied by the
notion that my dead Grandma can see me and is judging me. I mean I
don’t care, I’m just saying if SHE could do that, that’s how she
would use that ability. But that’s just how she was. I’ve said before
how I find it a little hard to criticize even the times she was being
horrible, because like, should I find fault with the only reason I’m
even a little bit normal? Like whatever part of me wants to fit in
and for people to like me…that didn’t come out of nothing. LOOK at
my brother. HE’S what happens if someone is over-exposed to W and has
no other adult influence. But I spent a ton of time with my mom and
Grandma, and my Grandma alone. My brother was taught that W the great
I Am and that to even think
of listening to someone else, doubting W in the slightest, was a sin
on par with damnation.
THINK I’M JOKING?
need to fast forward to the Easter when I was mmmmmm 16. This was
when, now that we were teenagers it was 0 hassle to get us up and
into church (my mother did this job solo ages 0-15, you know, when
there’s work involved in doing so) and suddenly it was life
and death importance that we
attend his church as well. 1) He started attending a church in a city
nearby because his trashy skank coworkers he definitely wanted to
fuck and might have at some point (I mean he cosigned on a car with
one of them….what does THAT tell you, friends???)
went to a Lutheran high school, so naturally I had Good Friday off
from school. W insisted
my brother and I go a Good Friday service at his church. His
penecostal church. Do you REALIZE what those
people are like on Good Friday? AGH, such uncomfortable weirdness.
course, when I protested, when I said I didn’t want to go to his
church because it made no sense to me that suddenly at 16, despite
being a regular attendant of my own church, going to a Lutheran high
school, and being an active member of my youth group, I just HAD to
start going to HIS church too. Of course his religious bent just
works into his narcissism too perfectly, and it was one of the many
things he used to put down my mom and I (to a lesser extent). He
loved talking shit about that church and how it was (remember this
term? I know I’ve told you before) a dead
this GF when I’m 16, he outright asks me, “What’s telling
you that you don’t like going to that church?”
thinks I was being told, spiritually, by a demon, that I didn’t like
that church, because this demon that was allegedly inside me was
frightened by the true spiritual power of his superior Pentecostal
church. YES. REALLY. That was W’s favorite
go-to when you didn’t want to have anything to do with his church.
him, to his tiny, narrow, tiny, NARROW mind, there could be NO other
reason for my not wanting to suddenly be dragged to ANOTHER church.
Especially one where I know NO ONE and my dad’s dragging my brother
and I along to put on a show for coworkers he’s having shit with or
wants to have shit with? LIKE SERIOUSLY. This was my life at 16.
Being accused of demon possession because I didn’t want to help my
dad nail some skank. Like Jesus fuck. IS IT SURPRISING I have such
issues with religion? I mean it feels like I’m going against
everything I was ever taught but…JEEZ. Sometimes it feels like you
need to? Other times you’re like well there’s no accounting for human
error/flaws, and you KNOW W didn’t just come into being one day, that
someone whose THAT fucked obviously went through deep trauma himself.
Not that that’s enough to like, ever speak to him again, but I’m
capable of thinking the thought, at least.
would always hide as much as she could during these exchanges while W
had me cornered somewhere, typically my room or the corner of the
room he was in if he was awake and not on the toilet, rocking in
front of a TV super fucked up and chewing tobacco. Yep. That’s my
mental image of my dad. That and him yelling. ANYWAY. My mom would
also always just tell me to go along with what W wanted because it
made her life easier.
you may be thinking, wow, Cassie, way to go, you turned this tribute
post about your Grandma into talking mad shit about W on a different
national holiday. Well let me tell you that’s precisely the sort of
thing Grandma and I would be talking about if she WERE here, so
*tongue sticking out emoji* I’m going to write and smoke weed all
day. At some point we’ll make like bacon and eggs to tide us over.
Who the fuck knows when my husband will get up, he went to bed at 5am
reeking like vodka. He shaved his pubes in the bathroom sink. I
didn’t see him do it, but I can assure you it happened. Oh well.
That’s really not that bad it’s just like…okay THIS is why the
house can never be up to my personal standards of clean, set by none
other than, you guessed it, my Grandma.
guess my memory palace is mostly just her apartment, then the
playground at my grade school in the spring. Then my room when it was
filled wall to wall with stuffed animals and Barbies and my Lite
Brite and my enormous Fischer Price dollhouse. And I think about her
apartment the most. It was like…eerily spotless. The carpet was
always perfect. The bathroom was always perfect. I guess I run
through the whole place A LOT.
salmon pink candy dish on the glass and wood end table with the
seasonally alternating candies. Root beer barrels. Anise squares.
Chocolate peanut clusters. Those squishy pastel after dinner mints.
Spice drops. Tiny Reese’s peanut butter cups. Individual Andes mints.
It’s strange, for being NOT fat (she was about 5’7” and 140#, so
like not a tiny old woman by any means, but she talked about herself
like she was 340#, it drove everyone crazy) herself, my Grandma was
surely talented at making other people emotionally connect with food.
But I also never eat candy. Because it’s bad for your teeth. My teeth
need all the help they can get, I can’t control myself from grinding
them. I mean I do, but I fucking catch
myself doing it all the time. So I can’t be so good then. But, it
definitely wore off on my mom. To be certain. When I was a kid, she
described overeating after dinner as a “release” I would, years
later, realize just
how fucked that was of a thing to say. Like. EGH my parents were way
too like “Let’s be friends and confidants” with me, and that KIND
of fucks up your perception of propriety and boundaries and makes you
really grating to some
of the other adults in your life, because to them you seem like a
petulant, spoiled, arrogant little shit who thinks they can say and
do whatever they want as their doormat mother and absent father do
nothing. That was a little
true, but I don’t think anyone would stop to wonder why
my mother and I had that sort of relationship. Plus I was a good kid.
I wasn’t fool enough to try and get away with anything under W’s
watch, in that tiny house. Besides, I knew I was getting out soon.
it hilarious that I
didn’t even like start getting fucked up until I was 21? Like I’d
been drunk on rare occasion before then, and I started smoking when I
was 19 (weed and cigarettes) but I didn’t start drinking on the reg
until I met my husband. I’m not blaming him, at all.
I don’t blame anyone for my actions. Because, that’s stupid. I’m just
pointing out these things coincided.
wasn’t until I started getting fucked up that I realized I could get
away from them.
the sweet fuck does that even mean though?
does growing up in a fucked situation make your brain want that
feeling, even though it knows it’s bad? Because I fucking promise
you, I’m the last person to cause drama. Like. That’s just NOT an
activity I participate in. I do everything I can to avoid it, BUT,
I’m not great at backing down if I get challenged. I feel a little
bit like a proverbial bulldog with something in its jaw in those
moments. But anyway.
think I might just be trying to blame my drinking on my childhood.
What shocking, new behavior, for an addict.
figure out if I’m a sex addict. Probably not? I feel like I’d be
getting laid more if I were, right? Pfft.
like I tried blaming the fact that I was married and had my side
relationship with R happening right at the same time as my final
break with my parents. Like I wanted a distraction from thinking
about shit, and boy spending three nights a week at his dad’s house
was definitely that. And to me the whole time my husband said it was
okay, to him the whole time he was begging me to stay and I was doing
what I wanted anyway.
this does not have a Thanksgiving theme to it at all. Sorry, anyone
in the festive spirit who reads this. I honestly don’t like this
holiday. It’s about “giving thanks” but also overeating and
consumerism? Bleh. We’re going to my sister-in-laws. I am not pumped
about the email I’ll probably get from my mom on Monday. But that’s
awhile from now so whatever.
shopping online for Christmas gifts and kind of drunkenly bought
myself three pairs of black boots……………whoops. I kind of
remembered it this morning and was like…wow Cassie, maybe a bit
excessive. But also, they were on hella sale because Black Friday
started like a week ago, sale wise. So whatever. I went on innocently
enough to get a scarf to match my new coat with rewards I’d earned
from buying the coat. But, alcohol. So three pairs of boots, a
hat/glove set, a velour/sherpa scarf and moisturizer later….i was
done. But I also finished my best friend’s birthday and Christmas
shopping too, so, actual gift buying also happening.
I sound like I have a shopping problem. Well going shopping and
eating were the two joys in life, so my Grandma taught me. So maybe
I’m more like her than I realize. Plus I don’t do this often. Of
course I earned another reward..so….we’ll see….I WISH I had a
fucking reason to need sexy lingerie. Younger Cassie would be
distraught over how far my undie situation has fallen. I mean for
one, I weigh a great deal more than I did when I was 21, so the all
Victoria’s Secret collection I had going pretty much all had to go, a
loooong time ago. I used to always
be wearing matching underwear/bra. Now, the only time that happens is
when they’re both black, which is likely, because black is practical
when you’re me and pretty much only wear black clothing. The
underwear I brought out of special hiding to wear that one Saturday
back in October worked their way into the normal rotation but now
when I wear them I’m like….well some luck you were. Not that I
really believe in having “lucky” objects, I’m really not
superstitious. I own a book entitled The Encyclopedia of
Superstition, but never mind all
that. That was a Barnes and Noble find when I was a child, that had a
spooky dust jacket that I threw out because it scared me more than
once at night. I’m actually proud I kept it all this time. My copy of
Homeless Bird, my
SIGNED copy, was water damaged from my transporting it to and from
work for Halloween. That made me sad.
This has been a WEIRD blog post. Enjoy your holidays, and your
families, if you are so inclined. Just because I seem to sneer at
“normal” people doesn’t mean I don’t get why it’s fun to be
normal. I just…hate football, and the Pilgrims were murderers, and
turkey tastes like napkins. That last part is a Brooklyn 99 quote,
before I get sued.
enjoy your long weekends. Fuck knows I am. Yesterday I got the
hashtags of death with my book. I corrupted the file of it I had on
my laptop beyond repair. BUT, I had it on a flash drive, so all was
not lost. I need to buy Microsoft Word. Yeah I get I know I bought
all the boots, but that was with a store charge (duh). I need cold
hard cash for Word. I refuse to use “real” credit cards. Store
charges make it worth your while, and honestly buying small
increments of make up and work clothing isn’t SO bad, now is it?
to get back to my real writing, that I now back up A LOT more
frequently. I spent 1pm-4pm yesterday BARELY holding my shit
together. Like just barely. But it’s all good now. Yet again, my
worst freak out recently has been over nothing. Which is funny,
because I DON’T freak out over the shit I should. Soooo funny how
this new insurance from my husband’s new job kicks in, we’re both
looking into therapy, don’t worry.
OKAY this is getting weird. I literally am awake and drunk and can’t concentrate on CF enough to work on editing draft #2. I want to talk about myself too much. It’s an astounding problem I have. I get I’m self absorbed. I promise that I have to be. I still feel incredible amounts of compassion for others, I’m just certain that I’m terrible at showing it. Like. I fucking wish I was a sociopath like W. Do you realize how convenient it must be to not feel feelings? OMF they’re what’s been holding me back all this time. But, then, if it’s the last part of yourself that still feels human (that is, unviolated) should you really fight it so? The same goes for how jealous I am of atheists. Must be nice to be sure of yourself. I hope for your sake that you’re right, but I don’t really think so. Like. Think about how vast and profound and infinite and pointless and small and all-encompassing and affirming and destroying and EVERY other combination of contradictions you can muster, think of the true awe-inducing beauty we have access to, even in our everyday lives. You’re telling me we’ve evolved as we have all on our own? I feel like life is WAY too complex for all of that.
And I mean. I get it. I get the notion that, like, okay if there is a God, where were they when [X]? Yeah. I don’t know. I fucking wonder myself. But. I don’t know how to say it other than this: there’s an answer, and I don’t know it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’ve been really confused on the specifics of religion for a long time, myself.
TO digress onto a weird ass topic. I was raised Lutheran. I went a Lutheran grade school and high school, ages 3-18. I was confirmed in a Lutheran church and was active in my church youth group for the first two years of high school. BUT, in keeping with W’s typical narcissistic egomania, he was REALLY into “born-again” Pentecostal Christianity. The people who “speak in tongues” and generally act a fool in church. He watched (and probably still does) televangelists. I mean, of course, right? Why wouldn’t he have this weird, horrible, weird, embarrassing habit/trait? Why wouldn’t he somehow manage to ruin religion for his family? He didn’t give a fuck about going to church with his kids until they were teenagers, then all of a sudden it was a matter of life and death that they attended his church as well as my still being very active in the Lutheran church I went to with my mother. But you know what W’s constant comment about that church was? “Well that’s a dead church.” He had this BELOVED analogy about church’s being like meals, spiritual sustenance (just talking about this is giving me a tension headache, btw) He was OBSESSED with calling it that, every chance he got.
And you know what? You know that car accident that ruined my brother’s life? Like moreso than W did?
It happened because my brother was driving to a nearby city separately from W to attend W’s church with him. The teenager who caused the accident was speeding on the highway in the rain because it was Sunday, the first day of summer camp where she and her two friends who were in the car with her were going to be counselors. They were all fine. My brother who was the only one who was hurt. Then you know, the Vicodin problem that naturally progressed into a heroin problem. He’s on methadone to this day, if you want perspective here. And the getting $100,000 in an insurance settlement and pissing it all away in like…two years. And having nothing to show for it. W pushed/worked/connived for my brother to get that money because he’s a greedy worthless lazy fuck and he knew he’d be able to get his hands on some of it. According to what my brother at one point told me, he gave W about $10,000. My brother claims he never would have agreed to this much if he hadn’t been high on Vicodin when W asked.
That’s my family all right.
But no, be weird and judgmental that I have nothing to do with them, everyone I tell about the situation. It’s fine.
Like whatever. I honestly and literally do not care what people think. But sometimes I’m like…HA if only people knew the real truth.
That’s what CF is. It’s someone writing an expose on what REALLY happened with all these rich/powerful/famous people in these two small countries. The rest is just fucking backdrop, my dears. Not that it isn’t excellently and fearfully made. Jeeeeez I’m drunk. I’m not used to alcohol. I’m really not.
So things I’m excited about: I’m sure I’ll see best friend for holiday season. Three day work week next week
New glasses are dope and fit well (I have a VERY shallow bridge to my nose, not that I’m complaining, but it makes glasses hard).
Writing process is going well, getting chipped away at every day.
New coat is also dope, makes me feel mildly like a drug dealer/pimp, which is an aesthetic I’m into so it’s tight
If CF seems good enough to N, then maybe it’ll be good enough for Professor I. And just having even a slight chance of seeing him again fills me with a euphoria ecstasy cannot match. Or acid. Or shrooms. What can I say, I’m pretty cool, I’ve done some drugs. Not like my brother though. He got the opiod gene, I got the booze gene, these are just fucking goddamn facts. Opiates me sick. I got a Vicodin prescription for my wisdom teeth, just like 20 or so, I think I took three, and they made me feel worse than the surgery. I took too Vicodin for fun the day I went to an Eminem concert in Detroit (the one with Jay Z) and I puked all over the parking lot at Comerica. Someone walking by shouted, “Bring it up, girl!” I waved at him but kept puking. Fucking Vicodin. That night ended up getting ruined by my husband’s near psychotic behavior whilst wasted on expensive ballpark beer, but I digress.
So these are the things I look forward to, or at least am curious about. With CF it’s not so much blind hopefulness, as I’m thinking all of my hard work will pay off one day. It’s not about money, in the slightest, it’s about people reading it and liking it. It’s about being a good fucking writer. Which is all I’ve ever wanted or cared about. It’s always what’s mattered most. It’s always been the biggest part of my identity, since I fucking learned to read. I’ve always felt like a writer, since I was a child, it’s not something I grew into or chose to become. It’s just been there. I guess I knew I needed an outlet, and naturally I would have to find a silent one that I could keep hidden.
Holy shit, is that what we all have in common? It’s something. It’s got to be something. Again, I know there’s an answer but I can’t help you with specifics.
I don’t like Thanksgiving, family holidays make me sad. But we only have to drive to my husband’s sister’s about 40 minutes away, so that’s nice. And they’re doing Thanksgiving at actual dinner time, so we don’t have to leave our place until like 4 or 5pm that day. Then I’m off the following day. It’s a rare long weekend for me, so naturally I have huge writing goals. And I need to put out Christmas decorations, because I like decorating. And crafting. I’m a little like my mother, what can I say. So the long weekend is a thing to look forward too at any rate. Also of course any and all progression on writing one’s first novel is also exciting.
Other than that, not much is happening. I’m back in the swing of things (ha) at pole. One of these days I’m going to take the time to get done up at home and record some new pole videos. Maybe I’ll wait until I’m in slightly better shape. But don’t I always say that? Anyway, I guess I’ll be off.
So I know I told y’all I bought glasses. Well guess what, they look great. Dude if you need glasses, go to Zenni. Two pairs with clip on sunglasses (I KNOW how lame those are but dammit they’re practical) and priority shipping for $78. They took exactly one week to get to me. So amazing. So enjoy I guess.
Have a good weekend.
OH news. So I finished transcribing, which means I finished the second draft. In keeping with doing new things, I am editing this new draft on my laptop. Holy fuck is it going by faster than transcribing. I’m already on page 26, and I started this week. I’ll probably be done by the end of the month, then I’ll probably get that draft to N. Then I’ll work on editing that one so I have an even more advanced one to give my best friend. Yes hopefully this timing is going to pan out.
Then, my husband gave me this idea, if I get the right feedback from husband and n and best friend then I’m going to ask professor I to read, just for personal opinion/enjoyability of the read. I have every intention of hiring an editor. BUT, can you imagine if he did it? Ahhhhhhhhh. I literally cannot explain how that makes me feel, it’s such an unprecedented level of excitement. Even if he said no, it miiiiight open up avenues of communication between us.
You know the adrenaline of checking to see if someone electronically contacted you? It’s a new one, a special fucking gift for my generation, but it’s so god damn real. Remember all of these?:
The AIM ding of someone contacting you
All of these different guys have used to elate me and break my heart, respectively. It must be my fault for letting them that close in the first place.
So keep on with the keeping on, so on and so forth