30th birthday/420 weekend recap

The title says it all. It was great seeing my best friend for longer than three hours between her driving from her place on her way to her mother’s. She got here around 12pm on Thursday. But then she was gone from like 1-4, so I’ll count from then on. We went to a grocery store to stock up on the random things i needed to make Mai Thais (then, in total this weekend, we made one mai thai, I made her one at the end of the night with almost no rum in it…because we’re old now…anyway) and this fun alcoholic coffee drink I like making. Then when my husband got home from work on Thursday around 7 we went to a brewery by me that was disappointing. But then we came home and ordered astoundingly good pizza from a specialty award-winning one-location-only pizza place by me. So that saved it. Then we went to bed after a few more drinks.

Then Friday on my actual birthday we got up somewhat early, after my husband had left for work, she and I went to a breakfast place I’ve always wanted to try, but it’s always so busy I never try to get in on the weekends. That’s the first picture. What’s hilarious, what I didn’t notice happening at the restaurant but my bestie did, was that there was a couple sitting near us, and the girl got jealous/mad because either the guy said something about us/one of us being hot, or she caught him staring at us, because she said really loudly, in a voice meant for us to hear it (I didn’t hear it because we’d just gotten our food and I was like…devouring that…) she said “Oh that girl? Right over there by that waiter with the tattoos? Oh, she’s too gothy for ME.” Idk which one of us she meant, my bestie has dark hair, but I have a bunch of rando ear piercings.

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See, I told you we were real cute. We always have been! Anyway….I LOVE how, even a little hungover and unshowered, we’re still making this rudeass person in the breakfast place petty as hell. Mwaahaha bone structure.

Then part of Friday was spent running the boring errand of getting my paycheck from work and taking it to the bank, because LORD forbid we have direct deposit…..Anyway.

Then we went back to my place for a few hours. BFF got some cardio in, because God forbid she not do that for one day. Then she and I got ready. Then around 4pm we hit up a book store I’ve always been meaning to look into, but never got around to going to because they close at freaking 5pm. It was a disappointing book store, to say the least.
Then we went back to my place to wait for my husband. He gets home from work around 7pm. Then, we finally got to the Mexican place I wanted to hit up for dinner around 9. Then we’re there until almost 11pm.
I’d wanted to get all done up and hit up a gay club, like I told you guys, but then I was REALLY tired by the time we got home from the restaurant, I was like I don’t want to go pay cover just to buy expensive drinks and want to come home the whole time. So we only took only more pic:

 

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Then Saturday morning she left to go with her aunt to visit her mother in our hometown. Then I did NOTHING on Saturday. Like I did our laundry. And I SAT on Tinder. That’s right, I started a Tinder again, this time under my alter ego, Cassie. That’s right. AND, I managed to nail down a situation that i think will work out.
I won’t say the guy’s name because I don’t want to be rude about confidentiality, but he lives near enough and is the same age as me, and is very interested in being the bisexual interloper we need for a MMF threesome. I mean, that’s what I really want out of life, and my husband is also very into the idea. And he likes the guy I found. BUT, the guy said he can’t meet up until the weekend after next, sigh, so we’ll see if things hold up that long. Sometimes it’s easy to forget about Tinder convos am I right?

I’m a little embarrassed I had SO much extra time off, and I didn’t write any more than normal…but oh well. I had a good time doing nothing, swiping left, slowly wooing this one cute guy for my husband and myself….It was a good time. He sent a dick pic and that’s a good situation, so that’s awesome.

So, the last thing I did this weekend was get done up to do some photos. As you know I have an at home pole, well enjoy below, one is me on my pole, I’m not rich enough to have the video support plan…sorry y-all. Then there’s another one of me because I did my hair AND make up and wore a fancy new pole outfit.

Then the last picture is me having a mai thai by myself, in comfy clothes, as i know my bestie suffers at her mother’s house in our hometown. I feel for people who still speak to their parents. That sounds real tough.

Anyway, I had a good 30th birthday and long weekend off from work, I really do appreciate that I had my best friend and husband with me for it, as I have for so many now. I cherish them both and my relationships with them. I’m sure my 30s will be great considering how fucking bad my 20s were by comparison, right?

Hope everyone had a good weekend. My birthday gifts were my pole, and like 12 edibles, and a new bubbler that makes me feel like a wizard when I use it.

Peace

 

~Cassie

 

I should be editing, but here I am on effing WordPress

Not complaining, just kind of annoyed with how my mind works. I was all pissy last weekend because the holiday ruined my ability to get any writing done OR go to pole class, so that was a bummer. (Speaking of pole – I now have one installed in my living room! I am SURE I will post pictures later, but this is going to be a more depressing blog, because, IDK it’s been awhile, I’m not just sex stories and weird shit and selfies and pot and pole dancing and writing a weird sex novel. I mean in large part that is a bunch of my personality, but that is definitely not all. I’m also severely addicted to caffeine, but that, to me, is almost like a wholesome addiction, given what I’ve done in the past) But now instead of using my entirely free Saturday to input on-paper edits (the ones I do in my car, that I KNOW you remember from my other post WordPress is clearly for selfies)

But, instead I got like a little too high, now I’m like lost in thought and it’s hard to read TINY print. Why did I use 12 size font. I mean I know why, it’s so I can be arrogant about it. But I’m still annoyed.

Okay I thought of what my worst trait is. It’s actually not the many, sundry emotional problems, it’s my inability to manage fucking money. Like. I’m very confused as to what I’ve been doing wrong, but I clearly an see that it’s something. It’s kind of my special brand of pathetic, but sometimes I mentally console myself with the idea that it’s probably for the best I’m not pregnant yet, because we really don’t have the money. But, on the other hand, I really don’t think I should let the fear of debt stop me. I didn’t with school, and now look where I am. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I am so significantly happier now than I’ve ever been in my life. To be honest, things weren’t really all that good with my husband until we both stopped drinking…and that was only like two years ago, and we’ve been together for 9 (in July).

I just feel like if I could somehow not be in debt and actually like have my shit together enough to own a house and a car that isn’t ten years old. But whatever, my car from 2008 still runs fine, and it was a gift from my Grandma, she just paid outright for it, with a check. And, if I did get pregnant, my mother in law already offered to pay for our day care, because she didn’t want fear of not having money to stop us from having kids, because we’d be great parents.

So that’s what I actually wanted to write about. Did you catch that I just described too monumentally generous older women in my life? Like. I mean. Sometimes you have to see God where you can, right? And I’ve had two great trading-outs in my life. One was when my best friend moved from our hometown to a city about two hours away to attend state school. I knew she was leaving, and about two months before she left I met my future husband, indirectly through my best friend. Then, pretty shortly after we met, we were dating, and I met my future mother in law. My Grandma died when I was 23, I think. Right after her 93rd birthday. I’ll be honest, at this point in my life I was just finished with undergrad and had a really severe drinking and adderoll and cigarette issue. I was so damn skinny. God I miss that. But not the other parts. And, the day she died, I was really strung out and fucked up, and when my mom called to tell me what happened (we’d all been expecting it….in fact, the reason I didn’t go see my Grandma right before she died is because I didn’t believe my POS dad when he told me she was dying because he’d literally said that about 40 times before in the past three years. My mom was always so disgusted with him during any of those given times, as my Grandma’s health got worse and she went from in-home care to a nursing home to a memory care nursing home, because he would seem downright excited) she didn’t ask me to come over. And I was glad, because my car had a flat tire and my then boyfriend and I were too drunk to deal with it.
Well, as you can tell, all of those were wrong moves. i see that, but you’ve got to understand a few things, this is MY family. not a stable, normal, functional family. And, I don’t know, I can’t remember exactly, but this was either right before or right after the FIRST time I tried not speaking to my dad. I know it was during the three year stretch we lived at this white trash apartment complex behind the mall in my husband’s hometown. I am currently in the midst of my second and actual attempt at cutting all ties with him.

So  I do find it interesting when my best friend and my husband like traded out, like almost in a comically obvious fashion. Then, my whole childhood, the only reason I ever had anything extra (so, things beyond the minimal amount of clothing necessary to live and a place to live and food to eat and being sent to school) had to come from my Grandma. She paid for all for my homecoming and prom dresses. She bought me a computer when I was in high school…you know…the one my dad threatened to destroy with a hatchet, mostly out of infantile jealousy?
Then, when my Grandma was in a very expensive nursing home and all of her money was gone and she had to move to a few different shitty ones at the end of her life, I met my husband’s mom. Because he lived at home when we met, I actually met his parents like the second time I ever hung out with him. I remember quite distinctly that his dad was delighted with the idea that I’d gone to a Lutheran high school. I was like…well…guess I get some benefit out of that awful experience.

And  my mother in law has been my sole source of clothing and shoes, for the most part, since I’ve met her. She routinely takes my husband and I on a big shopping trip, usually about twice a year. Last time, there were 6 new pairs of shoes. Other times, it’s a new batch of work clothing. She’s unbelievably generous. I was raised way too white trash to be that kind of generous, with people I know, myself. I have a few charities in mind for if I ever make real money as a writer. I mean it’s possible. There’s a vacuum I can fill, I just know it. But anyway.

I’m not trying to brag, obviously. That is literally never my goal. I mean when I try and talk about things i like about myself or my life, it’s really me doing everything I can to not be negative or depressive or complain or whine. Because I seriously fucking hate it when other people do those things.

Which brings me to my favorite charities, as of right now – There’s Free the Girls. They enable women in developing nations (like I know Guatemala was one of them…then I think definitely also some in Africa? I don’t feel like fact-checking) who have been rescued from sex trafficking to run their own business. Women in this country donate bras, and the other women sell them. I cannot explain to you why, but there’s this one like info-mercial about FTG and it ALWAYS makes me cry. A lot. Thinking about it makes me cry. I literally do not understand this trigger, but I really am aware of it.

And the other is called Shakespeare Behind Bars. I get annoyed when I tell people about it, because the name makes most idiots laugh. But it’s a program that has inmates in male prisons put on productions of Shakespeare once a year. It’s open to the public, in the sense that you can apply for a ticket and undergo a background check and attend if there’s enough space. My husband and I are going this year. I got the email that enrollment was open, and they’re doing A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream this year, and I was like meeehhhhh I really want to go, to my husband, and he was like…well we can probably make it happen…. So fuck it why not.

Which I guess that ties in with my first stated issue of knowing my worst flaw is how bad I am with money. Because if I have one element to my personality, it’s a total “fuck it” vibe towards spending money. I mean that’s why we’re trying to have a kid, despite our sort-of financial dependence on his parents. Which feels insane that that even has to happen, because we make a collective $40,000 ish last year. Does that NOT sound like enough for two people to live on? But no, seriously, it’s not somehow. IDK. I’m aware you can pay for advice on this sort of thing. We have Quicken once, I did not like using it. All it did was point out where we spent all of our money. Like I know, I just feel like I can’t control it from happening.

But, anyway. We’re growing our own green now. I’d post pictures, but I don’t want to make anyone jealous. It’s a very small grow, obviously, because our rented house is tiny. Renting a 3 bedroom where we live is $910 a month. Do you realize what kind of mortgage payment that would be? BUT, what are we supposed to do, pull a down payment out of nowhere? We can’t ask his parents for THAT kind of $$, we already ask for enough, on top of the things they give us on their own, which is a lot. It’s ALWAYS been a make enough to just get  by situation. And now, it’s been years since we stopped wasting a ton on beer, and booze, and cigarettes, and I constantly drank soda, like I would stop at a convenience store a few times a day for one. So disgusting. Now I’m all about black coffee and La Croix, because I’m old and need to watch calories. But anyway.  AND we’ve gotten WAY better at not eating out, or getting fast food. We almost always eat dinner at home, with things purchased from a grocery store. I’m gotten VERY good at feeding us cheaply, but still pretty healthily. Speaking of health, I’ve FINALLY started losing weight. I’m sure I’ve mentioned a few dozen times how my old drinking habits did not mix well when I finally got a desk job. I gained at least 30 pounds that first year. It was terrible. Again, I’m lucky my mother in law buys me clothing, because I went through a huge fluctuation from my earlier years of shopping with her. But, I am finally starting to lose that weight.

TO that end, like i said at the beginning, yes, we have a stripper pole now, okay, I cannot resist a pic, especially since the living room gets good morning light. IMG_9251

Yeah, we had to put it in our living room because that’s the only spot with the most space.

And guess what. My husband was INSTANTLY really good at pole. He can climb, already. He could do every spin I could remember how to show him. It’s because he’s so obsessed with pull ups, and doing shit like climbing trees or brick walls for fun. Pole is pretty much a rope to climb, but you can have a lot more fun with it. He can’t Iron-X off the bat but he’ll get there, I’m sure. I’m so jealous. Like if he went to class, he would show me up so hard on his first day. He really likes it, which I find funny.

So, IDK, maybe we’ll move back up north and open a pole studio. He DID take eight years of dance class. If I was working full time at a regular job and insuring us, I think we could handle running the studio. If it was profitable enough, we could both work there full time. I just know this whole situation we’ve got going on right now is kind of lame. Plus my husband has always struggled so much with finding a well-paying job that he doesn’t detest.

So maybe I’ll be writing a novel and dedicating a lot of time to pole fitness. There’s enough tutorials online, and now I have a pole at home, and a really in shape spotter.

That’s one thing…his job right now is really grueling, and it involves 4 months of being laid off in the winter, but he is SO cut from it. Like it’s weird being like…wow, that’s my husband’s body. He’s getting like PERFECT ab definition. It’s not fucking shock he’s so good at pole, right away, like first time he tried. And I mean, he was just rail-skinny when we met, then he got REALLY overweight for awhile there. He trimmed down for the wedding but I remember the picture of him from the night he proposed his face looked faaaaaat. I’m not being mean, I would totally say that to him and he wouldn’t be offended. He knew how big he’d gotten. And I mean, the way he is now is obviously nicer. What can I say. But now I’m like….thank God I’m so facially attractive, or people might wonder why he and I are together when we’re out in public.

But anyway, I’ve wasted quite enough time on this.

Hope all of you are doing well.

 

~Cassie

Feeling compelled to compile positive memories

In an effort to be supportive, my husband has been reading a 61 page partial draft – it’s 61 printed pages, so that’s 153-214 book pages, depending on sizing and format and shit. He told me the first day he delved into it that he couldn’t believe how much the portions he’d already read are improved, and that he wanted me to write something for him. He said he wanted something other than “gay island sex” which…okay fine there’s a lot of that, but the entire world the book’s set in is two different island nations…but that could be the United Kingdom, right? So don’t automatically think Fire Island. Anyway.

I wanted to write about positive memories I have of two people who mean a great deal to me. It hadn’t really dawned on me to do so, that maybe this is the sort of thing that’s good for others to have, one day.

My husband cherishes me in an odd way. He told me once one of the reasons he wants to have kids soon, because he wants to have them with me specifically, and you never know what the future holds. He said the same thing in the context of my writing for him, that he wanted to have some of my writing in case I was ever gone. I guess you could be snide and say that he sounds paranoid and morbid. But, at least to someone like me, it’s really, really sweet.

Omfg, we got this Double OG and it’s got me so high I’m crying. Do you realize the last time I cried for non I’m-too-high-right-now reasons is past my conscious memory? I’m glad I’ll do it when I get too baked and think about something really emotional, like how my husband and I both being terrified by the idea of not being able to ever see or speak to one another.

And, if you can imagine, being me and all with all my weird fucked up-ed-ness, it’s never once even dawned on me to say some of these things to these people.

1st, since I knew her first, is my best friend. You could argue we were our closest the first semester of senior year, and then for the eight months I was dating one of her roommates who was also her fiance’s best friend. Those eight months happened when we were both going to college at the same university, the state school that’s in our hometown, so we had the cause and the means to hang out like four times a week. If not more.

When we were tight in high school, we would always go to taco bell. Literally never any other fast food, but that one all the damned time.

When we were in college, it was Olive Garden. I don’t even like their food, but we smoked and Olive Garden was one of the last places to allow a smoking section, back when that was a thing. Neither of us smoke anymore either. She’s a doctor now, FFS.

So my best friend and I would work out at the school gym after class, then get dinner at a restaurant neither of us could really afford afterwards. We both worked full time and went to college full time and still made the time to date fucking losers who were three years older than us.

I guess you could call it a trashy memory, but it’s a good one.

 

For my husband, I will always associate him, in some way, with the summer. We met in June, and were officially together around Bastille Day (which is July 14th). So every first memory is framed by a warm summer activity.

The town we met in may have been way up north, as they call that area down here where we live now, but it was pleasant enough. There’s a bridge downtown, we’d walk there in the middle of the night, walk to the center of it, and sit and watch the water move past. We were on it at one point during our wedding night, but lets not go there.

We’d go to one of the nature centers and walk a few miles out into the woods then get high off a joint rolled with those strawberry rolling papers (red with black seeds to look like the surface of an actual strawberry) that don’t exist anymore, because they were marketed towards children? Idk

We’d rent whole seasons of TV shows from Blockbuster (wow, I really don’t mean to keep mentioning obsolete shit, but here we are) and get takeout from a chain that’s only up north in our hometowns and watch half in one sitting.

We loved each other then. We love each other now. We’re good for each other…now. Before neither of us were good for anybody. No matter what has happened or might in the future, I know that’s all true.

 

 

Well, that’s a wrap on that.

In other news, I am proud to say that I for ONCE have plans on a day everyone else has plans – tomorrow, that is. My husband wanted to go back to his hometown for the day because his long time friend would be in town from college. I was like, I should see if my friends from back when (all three of them) want to get together. It’d been two years since I bothered to go up and see them so they all said yes right away. Plus I gave them like a week’s notice.

So it should be fun, I think, to see them. I’m hoping I can drink without getting shit canned. We’ll see.

I have pole dancing class on Sunday. I’m so excited to yet again by far be the worst one in the class. I can’t pull up my own body weight. It’s humiliating. I weigh a lot. What can I say. But, everything I’ve read online says you pretty much have to get a pole for at home to become any good because you need to practice that much. So, whenever we’re financially able, I’m going to get one. If nothing else I’m sure I’ll have one by my next birthday, which is one month and four days away, because, if I haven’t mentioned this, yes, my birthday is 4-20. Hilarious, isn’t it? Also, it’s either ironic, or the least ironic thing on the fucking planet. I can’t figure it out. ALSO by my birthday, our first crop should be ready. You have NO IDEA how long (okay it’s 11 years) I’ve been wanting to grow my own weed. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH MONEY WE’RE ABOUT TO SAVE.

So, that’s what’s up with me lately. I feel like my husband and I have been doing a lot of creating or attempted creating lately. Which is good, if you think about destruction as the alternative, which we were soooooo good at doing before.

Anyway, peace. Here’s a picture of me writing, with my trustiest, bestest kitty, Oscar. I promise I will post pictures and video of me pole dancing when I’m not a disturbing embarrassment out there. writing pic

~Cassie

Just go with it

Not anything specific, that’s just how I’ve always lived my life. It’s been going okay for me, I guess.

Let’s see, what’s new. Well, as if we’re even surprised, nothing fun or spontaneously sexual happened with my work outing. I wish, right? Well, at least with the one, but upon meeting that dude’s wife….uhh….there’s no nice way to say what I have to say about all that *eye roll eye roll eye roll* it’s just that I can’t stand anyone whose entitled, I really can’t. It’s my parents fault, I had to watch them entitle and ruin my brother.

Not much is really going on. Ive been going to that poledancing class for the past few weeks, just as I suspected it’s fun but an insane amount of work, and I am terrible. Like embarrassingly terrible. But I guess it’s important to keep going back. Its not often that I find an athletic activity that I’m actually into. Just wish I had the necessary upper body strength. Perhaps one day….

I am in the process of looking for a new job. So many things are a toss up right now. I’m kind of waiting to see if I get a new job or get pregnant first. We’ve been trying, I can tell you that much. My husband has some really specific cum fetishes so that works out (if you’re dying to know he’s got this thing with the idea of cum dripping out of someone, I’m like where have you been it always does that) I wouldn’t say I hate my current job, but there’s a lot about it that I don’t want to deal with anymore and let’s face it no one earns a masters in English to work in logistics.

Speaking of actually using my degree, I should let you know that I’ve really come a long way towards having a ful rough draft. The picture below is my story board, it’s the first book all in one place. The stuff with blue highlight is already written, so now it’s just a matter of getting the rest done and smoothing it into a cohesive rough draft good enough to hand to other people and ask for their opinions. Then, its self publishing time. I like how self publishing gives the writer all of the control. We all know how I like control….lol…..

It’s not the easiest thing to ask someone whose input would be worth while to read a full draft. I’ve been dropping hints with my best friend, but she just graduated from medical school as starts a legit doctor job in June so….IDK if I should expect her to be able to help.

Next Saturday I’m actually going to see my three friends from the job I had 2005-2012, one of them would be a good candidate. Well see where the conversation goes when I see them, mostly they just want to talk about their kids. I’m not telling them were trying, I don’t want to tell anyone. Plus it could take five years so who knows.

So yeah, this might be my most upbeat post ever, but it wasn’t meant that way. Not to say I’m feeling down either. Naturally, I fall into that laid back don’t give a fuck category, I really do. I wonder sometimes about how I would be as a person if I hadn’t been SO exposed to my parents’ mental illness as a child. I mean I know I’ve spent some time discussing how my dad is a piece of shit psychotic narcissist, but I mean I never forgot to remember that my mom was the one keeping us there, too weak to leave or even stand up for herself, or us. And I guess it was a side effect of being so miserably unhappy in her marriage, because she surely was the most depressive mother a person could ask for. She used all of her cheerfulness, all of the joy and happiness that’s naturally a part of any given person’s demeanor, impressing strangers. In being he sweet, passive one at work, she’d come home and yell at me when she really wanted to yell at my dad and her shitty coworkers. People were always telling me how nice my mom was, how she just never get mad……yeeeeeeah those types of people are the worst kind to be around when they feel secure. My mom only felt secure when it was her and I. And no matter how many times a person can be told to not speak to their child about ALL of their adult problems, someone like my mom isn’t going to listen. Because even the ones getting abused, they still just want to be able to inflict that same suffering on someone else. The only breaking of the cycle is possible, but it is not easy. I know very well how hard it is.

See, there’s that Cassie tone. Well lunch is almost over so I should peace.

~Cassie

Update time

Well, in the vein of trying to seem positive….how have things been?
Pretty decent. It’s that weird time of the year where I take advantage of all the free time winter affords us, and I get a lot of errands and old To Do List items checked off. One of which was getting an eye exam, going to the OB/GYN, going to the regular doctor for a physical because I haven’t done that in like ten years, and the that book class – that was last Tuesday.

It was called “How to Write a Book in 30 Days and Self-Publish.” I can’t tell, yet, I guess, if it was worth the collective $70 it cost me. It was a 3 hour spiel, all at once last Tuesday. The instructor was likeable and energetic enough, and he gave us each (all 3) of us a copy of his first book as a gift. It’s actually a valuable tool, because it’s an extraordinarily well done self-published book. I’ll be honest, younger me thought self-publishing was something lesser-than writers had to do. But, it’s so fitting to my personality to want to be in total control of this shit, self-publishing will probably be the way for me. When I get there. I know I will. I’ve firmly resolved to do the following, until I’m done:
1 hour of writing every weeknight (this can easily be done if I limit Netflix/Hulu watching)
3.5 hours of writing every Saturday and Sunday.
That’s 12 hours spent writing every week. I’m using a stopwatch to  not include the MANY breaks I take, like for household tasks, smoking weed, making coffee, etc, etc.
That’s making writing a part time job for myself. Which clearly I need to do since I can so obviously write a book.
I did that weird thing I do in that class, where because I slightly mishear, or simply don’t want to tell the truth, for some unknown reason, I lie. He asked us if any of us blogged. I didn’t hear the word right so I just shook my head no. HA, do I blog. Sorry, blog, I disavowed you in public, but it wasn’t out of shame. I kind of proud of this disturbing mess. Because that’s a great way to describe my real self. But, you better believe it, I don’t act like my real self all that often. I mean, have you SEEN some of these passages? I’ve tolerated some really fucking up shit, you know? And I’m not saying it’s good or healthy, in fact I really hope I’ve gotten the opposite point across. But, also, I don’t know, no one’s perfect, you know? You end up regretting some decisions you’ve made, but you’re allegedly only going to REALLY be haunted by what you left undone, in the end. That’s what they say anyway. Plus, what was I going to say, I keep an anon-a-blog about my abusive childhood? Yeah, that’ll really lighten the mood of any room.

I’ve also made the decision that when I do publish, I won’t use the name Cassie Stevens. This is something separate from what my writing career ~might~ one day be. I don’t want THIS being linked with THAT. Sorry, but as obsessive architect/control freak, I truly must insist on it being this way.

Last December, just a bit after Christmas, I legally changed my last name to my husband’s. We’ve been married three and a half years, at this point, but I just did it now. I didn’t tell him until his birthday, on January fourth, and he was very moved by it. Which was so my intention. At first I didn’t want to change my name, because I didn’t think it was fair that I, the wife, was the one who had to go through an obnoxious identity change at the middle of my twenties. But you know what won out, over that? The idea that I wouldn’t have the same last name as my dad. So, sad to say, that truly is what motivated that. So, I will publish under some combination of my first name, middle name, or their initials, and my now real very common last name. My first last name was as rare as my married name is common, I’ll give it that. It’s one of the reasons I liked it. My labs or customer accounts were never getting mixed up with anyone else’s. Now, it could definitely happen.

But, in less dark news. I bought a standing desk. Well, more like an extensive laptop stand. I’ll post a picture, since i like picture with diary/journal/blog entries. I like it, because it was worrying me that I was going to be spending 12 extra hours a week in a chair, staring at a computer. I already do that 42 hours a week at work. So now at least I’m standing or stretching one leg on a kitchen chair while I work on it. And this.

Also, in fun news, my work thing last Saturday when I really did myself up (see pic from last time) went well, though of course I got inappropriately wasted. Imagine. Me, drinking too much in a social situation….yeah…I’ll pause for the shock to wear off…..

No, nothing fun or sexual or swinger-y happened, le sigh. What can you do? There’s always dreamin’

Also in fun news, I signed up for a pole dancing class. It’s just an intro. It’s an hour, tomorrow at noon. I’m hoping I like it, I’m always looking for exercise I actually enjoy, because then I’ll actually do it. Like biking, indoors, on my stationary bike, in front of my TV, with a La Croix and a bowl….just like I like. But maybe this pole dancing class will work. MAYBE, the loser said, I’ll meet someone to hang out with there too. I’m kind of hoping. I was hoping a little for the writing class, but not as much as the pole dancing. The other two participants at the writing course (there was supposed to be a fourth who didn’t show) were both women. One was I’d guess late forties, the other was probably younger than me, but she was married. Both were nice enough, but we were all definite introverts. It’s weird when we’re around one another in public, because there’s just nothing but heavy awkward silence. The speaker seemed to think my hyper-protective stance over what I was actually working on was comical. We had him sign our books, because I think it’s cool to have an author-signed book, and he was like ” Good luck on your writing, whatever it is!” I was like oh ha ha ha ha ha, very funny, Don. I get it, I’m weird. That’s so the first time I’ve been told that.

So tomorrow pole dancing class. I also want to finish my new resume and start applying for other jobs, because I’m really sick of living in this area, and really the only thing I came down here for was to go to grad school, and that’s been over almost three years now.

BUT, I want to write more than work on the resume, so I should go do that first. And I’ unfortunately only twenty minutes in. So….quite a bit to go, I’d say. But I know I can do it. And we already go grocery shopping and picking up my car from Belle Tire out of the way.

Sidenote – when you have a standing desk, you really do feel the need to pompously think about how fucking healthy you’re being right now.

It’s fun

So can life be, even when many, many, many, many, many parts of it are an utter suckfest.

It’ll be two weeks tomorrow, it was my mom’s 60th birthday. I didn’t even get to see her. She’s two hours away. But I refuse to see or speak to my dad. There’s no being mentally healthy with someone like him in your life, so decisions have to be made, am I right?

Sorry to end on a bummer, but that’s me, right?

Hope you’re all doing well

PS  – the second picture is my husband and my bestest kitty – I was leaving for work one day and I was like, aww my favoritest boys are snoozing together….must take picture…..

 

~Cassie

By now you can probably tell what happened

I have this selective inspiration, it’s been fucking with me since high school. I get my first job, and only on the awful days I had to work 4-9 after school would I feel the genuine rush of inspiration necessary to try and write eloquent thought at 16. In college, much the same. Of course I was working much more by then, but when you spend roughly eight months out of the year in college full time, when you just have to work full time during the summer, it’s almost like you’re on vacation…and I would go entire summers without writing a fucking thing…only to be DYING to the second the fall semester started.

So as an adult, I would have to come up  with something really clever to get myself to actually write, right?

Well, maybe I did it.

Because one of the obnoxiously fucked things about me is how I’m really good at putting in whatever effort I need to to exist and provide for myself and my cats, but deep down I’m perpetually disappointed with how lazy I am. And how fruitless and pointless MOST things seem. But mainly that first thing. And I’m a special sort of fucked, from my dad’s side to be certain, where I’m always going to sabotage myself a little bit. It’s like they’re all the same sort of person who not only think of the shitty thing to say, they also ALWAYS say the shitty thing. You know the type I mean.

But, I think I figured some loophole. Remember the at-home job I got recently through my current job? Well, at first I had a very gung-ho spirit about the endeavor, but now it’s been a month and I keep finding excuses not to do it. Because, more than anything, I want to spend my spare time writing.

Let me tell you about last weekend.

I spent most of Sunday writing. I got like 14 pages. I guess that doesn’t sound like a lot. But when i say “most of Sunday” I mean the few spare hours I could have spent cleaning or some shit. I did do other things, like take out the trash and cook dinner, but I could have gotten more intense with the cleaning because it seems and feels and looks like this house always needs it. And fuck knows I won’t get assistance from anywhere else. But my husband works at least 56 hours a week now, and he leaves when I leave (which is at 6am twice a week and 7am the other days) but gets home hours after I do. So it’s a lot easier for me to be complacent about constantly looking after all aspects of life except his going to work now.

So, garbled long story short, I wrote 14 pages of fiction on Sunday. When I was done for the day I asked my husband if he wanted to read it. He said yes but then he also actually read some of it too. He seemed really positive about it, he had genuinely nice things to say it, and specific compliments are always good to know. I mean maybe it was a smoke show, but more likely not.

And I do the opposite writing of what I do with food. You start with the best parts writing. So of course by the best parts, I mean the sex scenes. So that’s what I always start with. Or some other really intense scene, but mostly the sexual ones. I can’t help it, it’s entirely a part of my nature. It was during English class in the seventh grade when I realized I could daydream sexual fantasies. Not of myself at that age with anyone, but of characters that I would carry with me mentally for years and would still be writing about here at the end of my twenties. I was 13 when I was watching a Disney movie in theater (The Princess Diaries, if you must know) when I realized the adrenaline of sexual tension was a drug of its very own. This isn’t to say I was overly indulgent in sexual excursions at a young age. I wouldn’t have sex for the first time until after I was 18. Like all other true aspects of my personality, this was almost entirely in my head. I only say almost because I was writing from time to time, but I recall tapering off by the end of high school. I’d feel inspired on work days but sometimes it seemed like that only was because I couldn’t. Don’t we all self-sabotage by yearning after that which we know we shouldn’t?

So, I spent a whole day writing, then a whole Monday thinking about a different sex scene I wanted to write about. But the time it takes to get into that mode, it’s hard to come by on a weekday. I think I’ve mentioned a few thousand times about that, by this point. And now, throw the fact that I wanted to work from home and make extra money eating even more of my time….it can make it rough to be creative. I’m trying to resolve to dedicate large blocks of time on the weekends to writing. Because honestly I’ll just spend it cleaning or watching TV or maybe making something crafty. And the house is just going to be gross again the next week anyway, so a lot of the time it’s like is this even worth it, even a little?

So, in conclusion, I spent as much time as I could after work writing, instead of working my second job. Because there’s something more practical to do, my brain is just dying to write. I guess it’s a good thing. But I also feel so compelled to work as much as I can in an attempt to save myself from future financial drowning. But then, again, that also feels REALLY pointless because, guess, JUST GUESS, what my student loan balances are as of this month? In total, I’m at $111,666.88. So, an extra $180 every two weeks in exchange for ALL creative time….do you see why that’s so depressing to think about?

But other than all that, my life has been pretty good. To get kind of dear-diary with you, here are things in my life as of now:
I stopped taking birth control. To kind of see if I get knocked up without radically trying. Because I mean the reality that one can only have biological children before a certain age is there, no matter how fucked things were so shortly ago. I mean, no one knows more than me that I might really come to rue this remark, but I think my husband is actually getting better. He’s been sober since August 2015. So that’s something. Things have been good since they got SO fucking bad. Like we really haven’t gotten into any sort of a fight since then, beyond bickering while driving. He’s really into sex a lot more lately, which is always significantly easier for me on days I’ve been writing sex scenes for hours. I mean, is that hard to deduce? I’m not saying I can’t have sex whenever, I can, to the extent that I’ve already graphically described for you all. But, truth be told, mechanically speaking, my husband and I aren’t a perfect match, you know? Do you not? Okay, in case I’m being too cryptic. There’s a certain amount of puzzle-piece-like luck as far as genitals are concerned that’s involved when one bangs another person. We can’t help it when someone with a great dick for your vagina specifically is a shitty, alcoholic suck fest of a human being. A list of the great mistakes of my twenties would start with R, to be certain. And, while I actually love and respect my husband, sometimes we can have compatibility issues, at least as far as my personal enjoyment/comfort goes. It’s not the end of the world, and it is remarkably improved if I’m, you now, good to go from writing. My husband remarked on it a few times on Sunday, if you get my drift. Which by this point, you really should.

So, there’s that detail. That’s so not the sort of thing I’d ever talk about in my regular life. I mean I have discussions of that nature with my husband, but no one else.

Speaking of things that…I don’t know I couldn’t possibly tell anyone in my actual life, I have been SO into the idea of fantasizing about my one coworker. Like, I’m a little shocked by the level of time I put into it. And I can’t even place where it’s really coming from. So who knows where that’s headed. It’s nice to have an actual person to fantasize about, though. Thinking about characters while you’re actually masturbating is annoying, because I already fucking think about them enough could I catch a break?

 

Anyway, gotta go. As I’m sure you’ve surmised by now I’m as unstable yet very stable as ever.

 

~Cassie

What the fuck answer do you think I’m about to give here?

Exactly ten days ago, right before bed, my husband asked me where my feelings stood on his pursuing an extramarital situation that has been ‘in the works’ for years now. It began after my situation with R had already begun. It never came to fruition, if you catch my drift.

The previous day, I’d sent my husband a meme conveying the sentiment “I don’t want what I have with you with anyone else.” Because it is true, despite everything. And somehow that made him think it a wise time to ask where I stood on letting him go off and fuck  her. IF she ever stops playing this weeeeeird cat and mouse back and forth head game shit that makes me want to scream. I couldn’t fucking stand it when I was single, I really don’t like seeing it happen to my husband from some thirty-something bitch who’s NEVER had to work hard a day in her fucking life and just gets handed amazing shit in life because her family is wealthy and well-connected. And, if my personal judgment has any value to it, she fucking knows I despise her and mirrors the reflection. Could this be my possible insanity talking? I guess. I could also just be totally wrong….but…..I’m usually not wrong about these things. If there’s one thing I grew up alongside, it’s hate. It was one of those the-lady-doth-protest-too-much situations with W and hate. He ALWAYS told us we were NOT allowed to say we hated anything, because hating something is “dancing in the courtyard of the devil” (god it sickens me to quote him because you still fucking hear it, all these years later). So, I might just be too warped, or I’m fucking cynical and astute. All three more like.

So, he asks me how I would feel if things progressed between them in a sexual way. IF she ever actually admits that’s what she’s looking for. IF she’s purposely been building tension all these years. He kept reminding me that he gave me “a lot of space”  – meaning he told me it was okay every time i went and spent the night at R’s but really he was letting it tear him up inside but didn’t want to tell me that because then I’d get mad at him so he let it build and build and build to the point where he literally scared me. And he hadn’t done that since our wedding night. And it’s not fair. I spent so many nights terrified as a child, I can’t have it. So, because he was giving me all of this space, that he really didn’t want to be giving at all despite his constantly saying so otherwise, I should do the same now.

NOW.

After I ended things with R on my own over a year ago because I realized I could NOT fucking stand him as  a human being and willingly keeping him in my life was like choosing to have cancer (like my mom and her shit husband, right?). I strongly suspect unresolved issues with my father caused that year long fucked up fucking fuck fest but that worries me because them issues is still unresolved…you know?

After he did the Craigs List thing.

After he lost his mind and bashed his head so many times into our coffee table I really thought he probably did permanent damage as his own emotional reaction to when I got justifiably angry over the Craigs List thing. The thing he was going to lie to me about until his own blundering revealed the truth to me. It’s like he couldn’t stand for me getting be the one freaking out, screaming, losing my mind. That’s HIS role. HE gets to be the fucking lunatic and I better shut the fuck up and deal with it and be 100% merry sunshine the second it’s fucking over because I exist to please him.

Do you hear it? Because you are very stupid if you don’t hear it by now. I do and I’m supposed to be the one in denial. I mean I like to pretend like I’m in denial. Most people don’t know me. It took me a LONG time to realize that it’s because they don’t fucking deserve too. I used to think my husband did. But then he pulls shit like what he did last June..and last July…and what he asked me about a week ago Sunday….

After all of that, after we finally started to get better for real. All of sudden this bitch needs volunteers so she’s texting my husband like crazy, constantly asking for him to come out to different shit (yes I went through his texts. oh that’s a sign I don’t trust him? well i fucking don’t, so).

It’s hard to respect someone who does things that seem so goddamn stupid.

And, what, exactly, does he think my answer would be? Go ahead and fuck her, I owe you because you WERE SO COOL the entire time I was with R….OH FUCKING WAIT NO, THAT’S NOT AT ALL WHAT HAPPENED, YOU PSYCHO. [AND EVEN IF HE WAS, which is untrue, why would he want to go back to things being like that between us? He can never shut the fuck up about how great things are, until you find out he’s wallowing in perpetual misery and sorrow and loneliness caused by my being a frigid bitch who’s only sexually interested in other men and he hates me and he wants to kill himself because he’s tried to change his mind and his body all to please me, DESPITE the fact that he also once admitted he started getting really worried about getting into shape when he thought fucking that stupid bitch was a possibility, but I guess he’s hoping I forgot that like he forgets 80% of what he hears]

Like, really, in my heart of hearts, inside, where no one will ever hurt me because I won’t fucking let them (in), I expect two things now 1) He’ll get horny and cheat again, because he was able to talk himself into it being okay once before, why would things have changed? Because he can just fling his “addict” self towards me as a justification. 2) He’ll have another freak out, another fucking scary one, and THIS TIME, THIS TIME, he might hurt someone. More than likely it’d be himself, but who knows when he’s “lost control.”

I guess you can and promise and promise, but when your actions never back your words up, when you keep getting worse despite claims otherwise….Like I always am under the impression things are better, things are getting better…but for how long?

Like that’s the cruel truth to my life, there will ALWAYS be a “But for how long?” in my head. And you know, for a very long time my relationship with my husband didn’t get that question. But now, I feel like I’m just waiting for something more to set him off. I’m not saying I live in constant fear. It wouldn’t come out of nowhere. That’s how it was with my dad. Because of the pharmaceutical cocktail he’s been on for so long, he could have DISTURBING mood swings, like wake up from a nap and just come rampaging out of his room, screaming at me to pick up the living room and turn down the TV, when on any other day neither of those things would be issues. But with my husband, say there’s a situation where I, as a human fucking being, might be getting upset and saying mean/hurtful things. But no, that’s not to be allowed. Only the men get to say hateful, horrible things, if women DARE to match them, or do better as is usually the case, nope, that’ll make the shitty ones flare up, EVERY TIME. I know because I’ve lived it my whole life.

And now, as I near the end of my twenties…my husband’s on that list.

But, I’m not all despair and gloom, after all. I’m willing to keep trying. I feel like we actually do love each other. It’s not his fault I have weird intimacy issues. Not sex issues. But it’s not just sex with him, now is it? But try telling a guy that, please, let me know how it goes for you.

But now, ten days ago, he’s asking if I would be cool with his fucking college girl, while heavily implying I SHOULD be cool about it because he was just SO COOL towards me during the horror show that was my situation with R. I guess it was kind of like a relationship, but the kind a girl with zero self respect would get into. I can’t tell if i have self respect or not, because I have these DEEPLY ingrained reflexes that behave contrarily to my true feelings. Like, if someone is making you angry and they’re a male you have any sort of a personal relationship with, tolerate EVERYTHING they do, using the tried and true method of abused women from a millennia before you: GRIN AND BEAR IT.

But, all right, if you somehow read this far into my dark, dark woods, you’re probably wondering why I don’t just tell him no, right? Well, he’s leading me into telling him no, he’s making it seem like he’s cool with my saying I’m not cool with it. And, have you followed well enough, can you see why I might suspect he doesn’t actually mean the things he assures me of? Which, all right, I guess. I guess I can internally decipher everything you say to me. If you can imagine, I’ve had practice at that.

I figured I would write today, because I know I won’t have a chance for awhile. Next week besides working 7-4 I have to take a training class every day from 7-9 for a part time at home job. It’ll be like a week of being in college again. My federal student loan payments increased by $200/month, so I wasn’t one to reject this offer when it came my way. I’d only thrown my hat into the ring for it August 2016. I have to process 600 bills every month to make my student loan payment.

I also wanted to write today because I really needed to map out my feelings about my husband asking me about this situation. He suggested I write my answer out, but somehow I don’t think this would be received well. I might still print this one post for him and give it to him. Because I mean

  1. Doesn’t he think the whole Craigs List stranger AND our wedding night might balance out my situation with R? How can he feel he’s still owed something in all this? I had group sex with strangers I wasn’t all that attracted to for him, but seeing that I’M still the wronged party is WAY beyond his willingness/capabilities
  2. He is WELL AWARE how upset/angry his continued devotion to the conceited college cunt’s cause makes me, I do nothing to hide it. Which of course means I go very far out of my way to show how I feel, and it’s rarely received warmly I might add because you guessed it I’m bad at it.
  3. Somehow bringing up a time that was horrible for us as justification for why he wants to ruin a time that’s good for us is logical to him, and frankly that just worries me.
  4. Even WITH his Craigs list endeavor, I am WAY more upset and haunted by the memory of his freak out about 8 days later. I can check the exact date, because I took the day off work. I didn’t even do that for finding out about the craigs list thing. I was just so emotionally frazzled, I was more than willingly to use a sick day to not deal with talking to other people. I wrote a freakishly long blog, if you can imagine. So that’s something to think about
  5. The ratio of fucked up behavior tolerated : dished out between the two of us is ASTRONOMICALLY different. Another thing that’s not fair that makes me resent him. These are the things that kill a sex drive. That and the whole adult-with-college-degree-unemployed-seemingly-in-no-hurry-to-be-employed thing that he had going on for a long time following unemployed college years. I’m NOT saying I have some deep desire to like have the same number of drunken freak out/storm outs but I’m saying it would be GREAT if my UNENDING patience could be acknowledged at some point. Yeah, he’s had to be patient with me, like emotionally…obviously…..but I’m SO many other functional/rational/good things, things I fucking made myself, I can make up for a lot. But HE, HE, gets to be the irrational emotional child? And if I ever dare sink to his level, he just has this next one coming for me to show me who’s in power here, and it’s all so eerily familiar.

I’m not trying to say I fear for my safety, I don’t. But part of me now wonders, and it’s a larger part than I’d like, it wonders when it’ll happen again. See,  it already knows, it just wonders when. And aren’t we all like that? Those of us living with something we shouldn’t? Something we need to fix, in one way or another? I mean, we all know what it is, we just thought of it. I would have, at least, if I’d read it. Not that I would ever tell anyone.

No one wants to be good at keeping secrets, to have it stem from a lifetime of doing so. And not because they’re interesting just because they’re terrible and you feel this unending source of judgment and shame should stem from any revelations on your part.

I don’t have a whole lot of hope to offer if you also feel this way. But, with hope, you don’t need much, really. Because, there’s at least other people out there who can truly sympathize with you. That means more than you’d realize, particularly when most of your life has been isolating. It’s part of controlling a family, spouse and kids, you isolate the nuclear family as much as possible, no adult friends for the parents, keep the kids on the outs with everyone by encouraging awful behavior, keep mother and brother in laws away…. So the loneliness was certain.

Holy shit it’s late. I’m going to be SO tired during these training classes next week….also I’m very concerned that I probably shouldn’t show up really high and that’s going to get in the way of my usual evening plans.

Well, I hope you’re all doing well. I will let you know what happens if I let him read this.

~Cassie