Pleasing authors

I keep this running list in my wallet (so i know where it is) but i was like why don’t I have this written down elsewhere? So, here we go, these are the greatest authors, to me, personally. Keep in mind that greatest is a tier. Also please forgive me, I’m about to look douchey and elitist, i know how many of them are the bad thing (dead white guys).

1) Thomas Hardy

2) EM Forrester

3) Oscar Wilde

4) Jean Rhys

5) Zadie Smith

6) Henry James

7) F Scott Fitzgerald

8) Ford Maddox Ford

9) Djuna Barnes

10) Truman Capote

11) Chimamanda Adichie

12) Chuck Palaniuk

13) Graham Greene

14) Mary Shelley

Everything I’ve ever read from all of them has been pleasing. In case you needed any recommendations. Lord knows I’d be all over it.

~Cassie

Every once in awhile someone’s bound to come along who isn’t total garbage. That was Paul.

Well it hit me at work today that I never told you about Paul. Of course that’s not his real name, but it does start with the same letter. I started dating my first boyfriend right around my 18th birthday, he was useful, so i had a boyfriend for prom, and my grad party, and he had a truck and was a huge help when i moved out of my parents house. But in no way was i using this guy, i really liked him, i definitely was not the one who wanted things to end when they did, which shockingly was when he left for college. But his college was only about thirty minutes from my apartment, and we never dropped off communicating, so we still got together for sex that first semester we were in college. But, during that same time, i met Paul, through the same avenue that i met my first boyfriend- myspace. Paul messages me out of the blue on myspace, claiming that he searched through myspace for anyone going to our college and my page was the only one he found interesting. Which i can kind of understand, i exhibited way more personality at 18 than most will their whole lives. So Paul and i started talking on AIM, and as it turned out we had a lot in common, especially not being over our recently ended relationships with other people.A few months pass, Paul and i talk online on occasion, then when it came out that neither of us reconciled with our exes like we’d hoped, Paul asked me to a movie. It was The Departed. Ill never not think of him when i see or hear about that movie. While we were watching it (in theatre) he asked me “would it be weird or wrong if i put my arm around you?”After months of my ex, who texted me when he was horny (like i wasn’t going to invite him over every single time) then bailed as soon as we were done, it was kind of hard not to start liking Paul, a lot. But, he was 21 and i was 18, and sometime between that first movie and anything else happening, a long time friend of his who was his age came out with feelings she had for him, so naturally he tossed me like rotted fruit. It kind of destroyed me a little bit more than the rest of my life already had, because here was the THIRD guy i’d invested my emotions in and was led on by when all the while someone from their past already had a hold on them (how does one compete with history? I mean really). And i really liked Paul, he was intelligent and kind and i could just sense this stable goodness about him because I was good at sensing that sort of thing, even back then. And, most importantly, he was the first person i met who made me think someone could like me for who I am, not how i looked. His interest in me generated from my personality. At 18 this was the first real life example i had of such a thing, at least happening to me. I remember so distinctly, when we were in the movie, it was The Departed, his heart started beating really fast during the sex scene, and i could feel it because his arm was around me and my god was that arousing, it still kind of is. It still is.Of course, 18 year old Cassie couldn’t leave herself with a speck of dignity so i tried telling him how i felt after he’d already started dating her. I got “i had no idea you felt so strongly” which…yeah….of course 18 year old me had NO idea how to express herself. I’m a fucking font of constant self aware expression now compared with then, back then i was so scrambled i couldn’t understand my own feelings. Trauma does that. The inevitable happened and Paul and i stopped communicating. It’s really not hard to see, now, why things happened as they did. But, truth be told, I was way more emotionally invested than he could have possibly known. But, I mean, what do you expect from a teenager? I was mature for my age, but I had very little experience with boys, because my pretty much a terrible human being first boyfriend. I found it especially funny that I didn’t know it when we were talking, but Paul and I would end up having the same major in college, this was when I was trying to deny my authorly intentions in life, when I was like “Oh I’ll be an accountant and write in my free time” (ha ha) this was the most hollow, pointless, vapid point in my life as well. I was also very skinny. Which I do miss, but man are my boobs way bigger now. Anyway. I guess a little bit of me will always be vapid, huh?

So, in conclusion, do I blame Paul for what he did? No. He was a good guy. That’s why I liked him so much. And, I mean, like three years later I met my future husband…so it was just three more years of crap and bullshit and guys like Doug: “You’re gonna want to strap yourself in for this next one.”

But, while I’m being perversely honest like I love to be, I would definitely put Paul on the Fucking Guest List, as I like to call it. Who else is on there? Well, that one professor I told you about (duh), and my one coworker, and my neighbor, and that one other guy from the company, and then the guy who used to work for us. Their names are Daniel, Sean, Noah, Joe and Donnie. But are you going to remember that? Those are actually real names, but like, does that matter? I mean, even IF someone in my real life found this, I would just be like “way to read my hundreds and hundreds of pages of blogs, you stalker” because we all know that’s what it takes to get to anything REALLY interesting about me. This is like my 102nd blog…which is almost an accomplishment because you cannot understand how compulsively I destroy my journals and diaries…because…IDK it’s like I didn’t want evidence of any kind of emotion or thought lying around…because somehow it felt like it was going to be used against me….yes, let’s all take the ten seconds it takes to sleuth that one out.

Also, have I admitted that I actually like hentai? Like, not the fucking weird tentacle porn, but like a LOT of hentai has an actual plot to it, and because the actors are just doing voices, they’re actually still good actors. To get people who look good and are willing to fuck on camera for money…you’re going to filter out all the talent, are you not? I guess because if I’m watching porn it can’t just be some weird amateur POV slapping sounds and nothing else BS. Like, it needs an actual story. If I ever had the $ I would totally produce a porno, just because I have a pretty kinky period (historical, not menstrual, I get why you might confuse the two given this new topic) piece I want to make. Not telling you about it here, sorry. Maybe one day I’ll get to be like hey guys guess what I did.

Also, what I did today was write less than a page (of my book) because I wanted to do this blog justice, I started it on my phone on my lunch break. I should try and get to it a little bit more done tonight. That’s moving along as steadily as ever. I’m pretty diligent about going at it as much as possible. (ha)

Anyway, hope you had a good Monday back from a holiday weekend – aka a bunch of people are sun burned and pissy.

 

To be a twat or a pushover, that is the fucking question

Because on any given day, those feel like the two options left open to me. Both are unpleasant, in vastly different ways. I feel bad when I’m forced (or tell myself I’m forced) to be a bitch. But, the memories of the times I just kept taking shit from people, when I put up with being treated like garbage because it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary from home and it’s like shit people can smell that, those memories fucking haunt me.

I think I’ve decided on a pen name that is similar to my current nom de plume, but is not it. The big issue I have with Cassie Stevens is that my husband has a close personal friend with that last name, and he’s in “the field” so to speak, and most importantly he’s an arrogant asshole and I don’t like him. I mean, I picked this author name out when a young child, so obviously I didn’t know I’d marry a guy with a jackass friend with Stevens as a last name. But that’s what happened, and I should remedy it now. Plus like..no offense dearest blog, but I don’t want THIS associating with THAT. Like…that’s my pure heart and soul…this is….uh…the silt left behind, laid to bare in the sunshine because that’s the ONLY way it won’t make me crazy. That is also perfectly tuned machinery that I’ve spent more than a decade cultivating in my mind, one that has always shown a talent for and keen grasp of the writerly arts. This…this is almost stream of consciousness…okay a lot of time it is exactly that.

So like, I can’t have my Cassie blog muddying the waters with the masterpiece I’m breaking myself to complete. Gah I know I sound like a douche, but maybe one day I’ll be able to back up my millions of outrageous claims. Like….I don’t know… in a TRULY hypothetical scenario, if I were forced to choose between getting to be a successful mother…or a successful author…I would choose the latter. RIGHT NOW, at least. I don’t think a person can say that after they have kids. Because..like…no. But since I don’t have any and am definitely not pregnant…I can be honest with you. Right like I’m not always? Ha. Anyway. But it just seems more naturally a part of me. But, I have also thought about being a mother for the vast majority of my life. For many years, up until I met my husband when I was 21, I felt that I might not have kids because I might not meet anyone to have kids with. I’d always wanted the traditional situation, married to a guy with kids, like normal  ass shit, but when your childhood is all fucked you kind of think its going to follow you into adulthood. Look at my brother. I mean. BUT – minor footnote on my brother, lately I’ve really started to think about how my dad so heartily projected his entire personality and identity onto my brother…like he didn’t get to have a single interest of his own…and he had to spend more time alone with my dad than any of us, even our mom. LOOK what it did to him. If I have the chance I want to write a book from his perspective about how he grew up without a fucking chance. Because, I can assure you, while still knowing and perhaps reviling his flaws as much as I do, that guy did not get a fair hand in life. I know he sucks, and can be so fucking manipulative and terrible and EXACTLY like our POS dad, but…no one but me understands why that is, I think. My mom might, if I talked to her about it. Since we communicate via email, we are actually more emotionally open than when we used to see each other in person, because she’s all hyper repressive, her whole family was German, so like, of course, right?

So, when you don’t think you’ll get married, you don’t think you’ll have kids — not intentionally, anyway — but you still think you’ll be a writer. But you’re young and working full time retail and living on your own and going to college full time so you’re NOT exactly full of time to write. Back then, my “breaks” were working full time through the summer, which always entailed working until 11pm, sometimes working a STUPID 7pm-3am or 12am-8am BULLSHIT stock shift, and of course always working the holidays, I have deep bitterness about my retail days. We all know this. So back then, I wasn’t writing. When you’re an English major, getting a bachelor’s then a starting your master’s a year later, you don’t have much creative juice left for writing anyway. Plus during the semester there’s never not a time when you should be reading or writing something else, so there’s no motivation or drive to write for yourself, usually. I did a little, when I’d get SO high on adderol and weed and beer and shit I couldn’t control it. But not much. Plus, I will always get distracted by other creative things. Like acrylic and watercolor painting, jewelry-making, cross-stitching, crafting holiday decorations chiefly out of dollar store items, lets not forget reading. Especially right now I’m like..oh I could go read in the pool….why am I inside then? BUT that whole time, the whole like freaking eight years I was in college,  I thought about my writing.

Then, you know the story, around the time I started this blog I also ACTUALLY started getting going with my novel. Because as soon as grad school was over I started my shit my R, and that took up all of my spare time and then some. Then when I went to that class this past February I started truly organizing and honing in and I actually got a lot of it worked into a cohesive vision. I have material for at least a sequel, if not two more books concerning these characters. From there I guess I would then write other books I sort of have ideas forming for, but not much because I way busy with what I’ve got going on.

But, I mean, it’s not SO much to ask for both things, I don’t think, not when I’m so willing to put the work in for them. I’m always willing to work. I have far too many flaws, but I’m not lazy. Everyone has their lazy moment, but the truly lazy are easy to tell. Want me to name some flaws so I seem humble? Well, I delight in the misery of other people. Not everyone, but the people I hate, the ones I’ve deemed unworthy by their actions and behaviors….yeah, those people. And that’s such an unhealthy thing to do, it’s got to be right up there with obsessing over the past and comparing yourself to others. And, um…I spit when I talk…not like a lot, but I notice it….sometimes I wonder if other people do too. Um…..I mean you guys know about the weed and drinking, so why bother? I guess I’m incapable of expressing myself correctly or healthily. So there’s that. I truly cannot figure out my relationship with sex. Like I spend a frightening amount of time thinking about it…but usually in the context of how I’m going to use sex scenes to propel my novel, because that’s how you make it work. And, to be perfectly honest, I get a noticeable reaction from partners if I start thinking about two characters in my book fucking. Like…isn’t that just a little disturbing? Like my body reacts more to that than actually having sex. I become noticeably more pleasant to fuck (not that it wasn’t nice before, haters) when my mind wanders there. It also helps writing those scenes later on, because you’ve contemplated them in the true throes of passion.

…I don’t think I’m ever going to tell anyone that, though. The blog doesn’t count. I don’t even want this domain name anymore, I might get a different one.

Anyway,  I feel like my subject conundrum is a big problem for me. I don’t like either of those roles, but other idiots who are just basely mean and pointless and rude are always drawing it out of me. Husband will be home soon, so I should jet. Have a good holiday weekend. I work Monday then am off two more days, then work Thurs-Friday, then another weekend, so I’m mildly excited about the weekend.

Lates

~Cassie

You’ll have to speak up, I’m wearing a towel

Yeah I don’t know, it’s a Simpsons quote. And the fact that no one I know, not even my husband, ever gets my sundry references depresses me.

I was thinking about it the other day, and my fantasy guy is just a male clone of myself. Someone who’s smart but pulls these major idiot moves, and like a 7.5 on the scale of attractiveness (I’d be an 8 if I were more in shape. I know this. I used to be a 7 but then I finally had the orthodontia I so desperately needed. This is all coming from me, not anyone else. I’m not even remotely sure of how attractive other people find me. I think it’s somewhat). But anyway, we all know how much I can go on about my appearance. I don’t think it’s so hard to figure out just why that might be. It’s just interesting, to me, because I truly am a fucking disturbing grab bag of traits, am I not? So, back to my fantasy guy. He’d have my facial bone structure (only a masculine one, but the same lovely cheekbones pls) but a super heavy brow, and a way thicker jaw, and really thick black hair. That’s kind of how R looked but he had a prettiness to him, that some men have, and he always had this like…brooding look…even when he was fucking. Plus R was JUST barely taller than me, and weighed less than me, and that’s already the exact parameters my husband meets, so my fantasy guy would NOT be R’s size. He’d be NOTICEABLY taller than me, like I can wear whatever heels and STILL not have to worry about towering over him. I’ve only been with one guy that met that guideline, and he was the WOW boyfriend…and….every time I think about how much shit I ate from that guy it fills me with a special kind of rage, the kind where I’m just infuriated at myself for putting up with being treated bad, like way to think well of yourself, fucking idiot. So a guy who’s just definitely bigger than me, but by NO means do I want a fatty. I mean, I like skinny guys. Duh. Especially, honestly, my husband is way ripped, in that “I’m skinny af” kind of way, and it’s nice because he doesn’t do a whole lot else for his appearance, i think in part because he works landscape and we’re broke as fuck ALL the fucking time and he drives a 16 year old Bonneville and and and and and you all the shit by now I should hope.

So, there you have it, I spent like three hours at work this week thinking about how my fantasy guy and I would interact. I’m not describing it here, because there could fucking come a day when I need to write that shit into a novel, and so, yeah. We all know how I get about the idea of someone stealing my ideas. I truly pity them, because IF they got away with it, I would pour my heart and soul, the pieces left of both of them, into destroying them in whatever way my relatively intelligent (yet impulsive) mind could think of.

SPEAKING of my writing – I am like nearing what we could almost call the completion of my first rough draft. So much work lies ahead, but I feel pretty comfortable thinking that, by January 2019, I will have a polished first draft. At that point, I have three people who had volunteered to read it for critiquing (none of these three are school friends either, so this will be more “is this a good enough/interesting enough plot to keep a normal person with kids reading?” sort of endeavor with them). Then I have a few other people I might ask. Like my best friend, hopefully she’s not too busy, she starts working as a doctor officially, for real, on her own in five days! I’m honestly excited for her, and I never feel that way for anyone but myself. And like, idk, there’s like no one else in my life that I’m actually proud of, besides her. Maybe one day I’ll tell her the many, many positive things I’ve said about her here. I’m not one to do that though. Like that one Professor from my undergrad college probably doesn’t have the faintest notion that I would like….LOVE to fuck him, like so much and a lot. But, what am I going to do? Out of the blue email him that? I don’t know how to have anything to do with people. I think there’s a reason I have ONE friend, and I see her like twice a year because she’s busy living far away (well, sort of) and being a doctor and traveling out of country all the damned time. I mean, truly, in some fucked, weird way, it’s a good thing I don’t have any friends, and I haven’t seen anyone biologically related to me in over four years, and we’re literally paycheck to paycheck af and we rent and we have a ton of credit card debt AND student loan debt (all mine, sorry babe). We own our cars, I guess. We have PLPD on them, too. But anyway I don’t want to start complaining. We started growing our own weed, so that saves us like $5000 per year, give or take minus expenses. Other than that….I really don’t live so extravagantly. I cook dinner five nights a week, the other two nights we’re definitely not going anywhere nice.  But anyway. All of this seemingly sad shit in my life is actually a strange, good thing because it means I have an inordinate amount of time to write. And I mean…aren’t writers supposed to be sad and poor and depressed and addicted to shit?

OH, have I mentioned how I’m totally back to drinking every day. Yeah. After doing so well for like…months. I’ve got it down to 2 tall cans per day. Which is way too much on a fucking 7 day a week basis, I get that, but yeah, my husband…dude…he’s doing exactly what you think someone coming off three years’ sobriety would do. Nothing’s happened. Yet. Yet. He’d be SO offended by that yet, but let me tell you, and I know I have, you know what that’s all about.

Only other interesting shit – I’m kind of into the idea of fucking my neighbor. He lives with his long time girlfriend, who’s this cute, friendly little thing, she reminds me SO much of a friend of mine from my retail days. I like, in no way want to harm their situation, but if he was like us, then yeah, that’d be so awesome. And don’t get me wrong, this guy is like a…hmm…okay 6 I guess? There’s just nothing all that remarkable about him, not that he’s bad-looking in any way. But, idk, sometimes i can sense when someone finds me attractive. And you know who REALLY likes that? Drunk me. And I’m usually plastered when I see this guy. So who knows, maybe that will pan out.

Don’t tell me about how anonymous sex won’t make me feel better. I fucking know. It’s still fun and distracting to pursue. So lay off me, I’m…..well I hate the word “horny” but that would’ve worked well there.

Okay, stopping, for real this time. This weekend is supposed to be sweltering and I’m going to spend the whole time in my white trash pop up pool, drinking coors light, reading henry james The Bostonians in an inner tube. Because summer.

~Cassie

It’s like I need to blog, so I hope you’re happy

I literally don’t have the time for you, WordPress, but I was driving home today and I couldn’t figure out why I was in such an angry fucking mood. The same thing happened to me at work today. I was like well I haven’t blog-complained in like two weeks…maybe that’s it.

To be honest my 30th birthday really sucked except for the fact that I got to hang out with my bestie, which was awesome. But like the brewery and the bookstore we went to both sucked, I didn’t have the energy for the club and she can’t smoke weed so that was an obnoxious hassle. Nothing makes you realize how deep your stoner level is than when you’re SO irritated from two days of having to smoke in the other room.
I wish I could lie and say that part of me was hoping my husband would have had something special planned…I mean I knew it was a long shot, but…I mean milestone birthdays come once every 10 years….but whatever. We were broke ALL winter because he of course had to find a job that only works eight months out of the year. It’s a step up from unemployment but…not really…

Okay, see? I’ve been so fucking bitchy today. And I know why. My husband’s sweet Grandfather passed away last Friday, so we’re going to the funeral tomorrow. I’m just psyching myself out about having to see his family. Because, let me tell you, being as I am, at his family reunion, I’ve noticed patterns to behavior:
1) My husband will act much more on his impulsive, teenager-ish, annoying, long-winded impulses. The way he put it to me was that he “feels compelled to keep talking.” It’s SO annoying because….how can you not read people who want you to shut the fuck up? Like it’s like he reverts to his younger self because he spent so many young memories with his dad’s extended family at their reunion (always held at the same inn in Indiana, a place my father in law hilariously thinks is nicer than literally any other place the family could have a reunion. His words. They’re all so fucking German when it comes to that, they have this way of presenting their opinion as fact then using underhanded ‘logic’ to support why they’re making a ‘logical’ choice and you’re not, wait did I just describe fascism kind of?).
2) His mother becomes extra EXTRA if you know what I mean. She “feels like an outsider” at the reunion, I guess because it’s not her family (gee I don’t know how that feels) and because she’s a second wife and HER kids usually aren’t there, or if they go it’s for one day not the whole annoying week. Like a few years when we haven’t been there she’s called my husband really emotional/crying over how she’s being treated by everyone at the reunion. She’s been going for the last 25 odd years. These people.
3) His extended relatives are all cold but polite. They remind me TO A T of the Lutheran church quagmire into which I was fully and unwillingly immersed throughout my first 18 years.  The people would never be openly mean or hateful or rude, but BOY believe me when I say they find their special passive aggressive ways to convey their disgust with you as a human being. I am not exaggerating at all. I have vowed a few things, one is that MY kids won’t be able to have jobs until after high school, sweet internships aside, and they will NOT be involved with any youth groups. And these people are as white, middle class, middle of the road, conservative as the Lutherans from before. The high school I went to was certainly one of the reasons my father in law liked me at the start.
4) It’s a waste of time, I’m literally miserable the entire time, everyone acts like a horrible strung-out version of themselves, I never get to do any of the fun shit, or if I do it’s NOT fun because other people ruin it – for example one of the last times I was there I said something to ONE person about how I was going to go for a walk after breakfast, silently I added “alone”…..EVERY woman in the family ended up going with me. Then later that day I was meeting my husband by the beach (it’s a lakefront inn), I text him where to find me and wait…and wait…and end up spending the ONLY time we had available for the beach alone reading East of Eden because my husband was a few hundred yards away with some relatives of his, head in the clouds as always. Like it’s just always a HUGE suckfest from beginning to end and that is NOT because I go into it pessimistically. I purposely strive for the opposite.

But, all of that coupled with my last memory of the reunion and everyone at it….and how my husband acted. Like that was and is seriously one of my worst memories of him, because the was RIGHT before I told him I’d have to divorce him if he didn’t stop drinking, because he clearly wasn’t capable of controlling himself. I think that might have been the last “big event” before I did that. Of course, he’ll blame his behavior at that particular reunion in part on my situation with R, which was happening then. But….do you get to blame your drinking on shit like that? Like REALLY horrible things can happen to a human being, that doesn’t mean they’re not the one going out and buying booze every day to cope. I never did.

That’s one of my biggest flaws I’m SUPER fucking arrogant about the things I have (in my mind) earned the right to be arrogant about. There’s not controlling it. I know they say arrogance breeds from insecurity…but insecurity, stemming from a lack of security, like while growing up, like you weren’t at all taught to value yourself, somehow? Yeah, that sounds right. So that just proves my point more.

Well, I guess I feel better. Hopefully my exposure to the asshats tomorrow is short-lived. They do this LONG, drawn-out, long, pointlessly long, group hugging/group goodbye/group send off, DID I MENTION HOW LONG IT TAKES, and it makes me want to cut myself with a butter knife because you have to hug THEM ALL. I hate it so goddamned much. My fuck how I wish my husband could feel how much I dread being around these people. Who he thinks are great. Because he’s trusting and dense like his parents. I find it endearing in my husband, though. I mean, he has a vicious cunt like me around, so I don’t think anyone’s taking advantage of him….least not when I have my way. Best example, my dysfunctional sister in law.

Wow since dysfunctional is annoying to type, from here on in my husband’s two sisters are Dys and Able. Able sums up the other one real nice. I mean she can also be a bitch, but that’s never been reason enough for me to dislike someone.

So IDK if Dys is going to be at the funeral, SHE’S not a member of that family though of course she sat in on those family pictures at the wedding….and her own (the mom’s side) it really irritated me. But, I pray she isn’t going…..she’s just fucking bad juju man, like the personification of spoiled milk. I just can’t. It’s straight disgusting how reliant and codependent Dys was when I met my husband.

And the reason why I do what I do works is because I don’t like command my husband to do anything, I don’t even tell or suggest….I point out. It took VERY little outlining for him to see how little an impact he made on Dys’s decision making….yet she still called him for his advice EVERY DAY. She HAD to call him every night when she was driving home from working a shift at the strip club, and tell him all about the horrible shit she’d done or just how horrible her life was. One time she called him because there was a can of Dr. Pepper in her fridge and she wanted to drink it and she needed my husband to talk her out of drinking it. THAT is the level of annoying I receive from Dys.

So I’m dreading tomorrow and am in a horrible mood. But i guess this helped.

 

Isn’t it funny how you could read this and be like…wow this is definitely a predator slowly isolating their spouse from family. I know that’s what bad people do, because it’s what my father constantly tried to do, with extended family and friendships, for my mother and my brother and I. It’s because it’s easier to try and control someone if no one is around to call you out on it/convince them you’re abusive/help them escape/etc.

The difference is I’m pretty self aware (see, arrogance) and also control is NOT my end game. The end game is being with someone I don’t feel like needs controlling because they’re functional on their own. Truly this is not too much to ask.

So tonight we’re driving three hours to a hotel, sleeping, going to the 10am funeral, then hopefully leaving by 2pm at the latest so we get home about like a regular work day, because it’s back to work on Thursday like nothing happened. SO pumped.

Gah I’m a bitch.

Anyway

~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

I told you about my whole open marriage thing, right?

That’s the line I’d use, in my fantasy scenario (with 1 of the 2 men on my “Free Pass to Fuck” list that I keep current with my spouse, I know his too, I think his has 2 people on it too?).
We’d be drinking in a bar, discussing some profession matter that had brought us together in this new place to begin with. I’d be feeling bold after a few drinks, probably too many knowing me, am I right guys? And I’d say something about something that gave away from hint that my husband I walked a little more on the wild side than maybe we seem, what because we’re boring lower middle class Lutherans and all. But then there’s the weed. And the occasional swinging. And the side piece I had for like a year. And then all of the drama attached to our horrible problems with alcohol, luckily long gone due to sobriety.
But in this fantasy, alcohol would play a huge role. Because I know I would need it to be uninhibited enough to go through with asking my subject/question/title.  I would ask, then judging from his reaction, go from there. Maybe, I would touch his leg under the table. Maybe the bar we’re in is across the street from a hotel. I tell him to get a room and text me the number, I’ll come prepared. When in truth, I’d packed condoms hours earlier when I was getting ready, when I was just nurturing the minor hope I’d get to spend some quality alone time with him. He texts me the number. I’m there as fast as I can be.
Need I go on?
Honestly, out of the two guys on my list, lately I’ve really only been feeling the one, and he’s been on the list WAY longer than the other so I think it’s only right for it to be that way.
The one I’m less into is the one you know about already, I’d say I’m at like 30% for this dude. In large part because I know that in reality, the chance that I would EVER actually bag this dude is like…..0.00005%. Like, I’m nearly certain that this guy has only ever had sex with his wife, which means sex is a big deal to them. Which means the likelihood that they would be down with swinging (and by they I mean her, because it’s usually the woman you have to win over, am I right?) is SLIM. It’s a possibility, I guess, but I would probably surmise that it would never happen. (This one is the Coworker, as I like to call him, and that’s all you’re getting, he’s someone from the massive company I work for)
BUT, the one I’m really into, the one I don’t think I’ve ever REALLY gotten into with you-all, lets call this one the Professor. He is one of the professors I had along the way, through maybe my Bachelors, maybe my Masters.
The Professor, I was really into him from the start.  I remember seeing him, on one of those hot first-day-of-the-semester afternoons, and feeling my heart race before it even sunk in how cute he was.  And then, OMFG, the way he taught! It’s like he was trying to be a fuckable as possible, I swear to you. He was just SO into it, and SO funny, and SO encouraging of ideas and possibilities. I was by far more vocal in his class than I was in any other, and that’s saying something because I was always notoriously silent in other classes. Sometimes, in that first class, he seemed a LITTLE more engaging with me if I wore a slutty outfit. I don’t mean that derogatorily, because I would never speak of myself in such a way, but I would wear what I call a slutty outfit. A pair of knee-length black legging type pants that REALLY made the shape of my ass noticeable (it’s nice, trust me) and a low cut (sometimes VERY low cut) dress that stopped just at my hips. Then of course my make up was always especially wild back then, when I was young and brave and in love for the first real time in my life. Oh, also, of course, I would go to EVERY class with him just blazed out of my mind. It was an afternoon class, right? Like twice a week, I think. And I would have a long break beforehand. I would eat, go home and smoke the fuck down, then drive back to campus for his class. I just had such a good fucking time going to this class completely toasted, talking with this truly delicious, brilliant professor. I’m still so fucking into him, looking at his LinkedIn profile made me wet. I’m sorry, I know that might have been a bit much for some of you, but it’s the honest fucking truth. I feel like I’m some horny gay dude on the inside. When my book is published, you’ll see what I mean. But, instead of being born a gay guy, I’m this hot chick with all these weird emotional complexes, but also way better T&A than most girls get. Plus I’m all smart and talented and ONE DAY I’ll be able to say I’m good at pole dancing. Not right now, I’m still bad. My instructors try to encourage me to do shit I know I can’t do and I’m like “No, I have doubt my leg can hold my whole boy like that,” and they’re like “oh, don’t have doubt,” and I’m like, okay but really though I don’t want to die….
SO ANYWAY. Such an enjoyable first class inspired me to seek out the Professor two more times for a class while at the school he taught at. When I did his final student review at the end of that last semester, my last one at that school as a whole, I wrote that I felt honored and privileged to have him as a professor. And fucking sappy as that made me sound, I fucking meant it. I really did. It was very lucky of me to get to have him as a teacher twice.
And, okay I’ll give something away, I had to ask the Professor for a letter of recommendation once. And when I did so, it involved meeting with him in person. Part of the conversation steered towards discussing what I would want to write about in my doctoral thesis (If I got that far). He said something along the lines of “You know, you would want to go with something along the lines of ‘I’ve always been fascinated by the strange, the exotic, the beautiful,'”
Then, when he said that, as he said it, as we were alone in his office by the important Department People, which he is one of, it kind of dawned on me that he was mentioning the things that he associated with me. I smiled at him in this, hmmm, how do I describe it, this kind of “Did you really just say that?” kind of smile, and he literally looked down and turned red.
He was known for turning red while teaching. It was just one more endearing thing, like when certain things made him tear up (you could almost hear the *sploosh* at that point…if you watch Archer, you just got my joke…if not, omg watch Archer its good and its on Netflix).
So, we had this like…moment….way back when, in 2012 when I asked him for this letter of recommendation. I would call it that.
I was his Facebook friend, back when I had Facebook. He liked two statuses of mine…if you can imagine I certainly noticed and kept track. But now all I have access to him through on social media is LinkedIn, like I already mentioned.

So I still have all of these really specific fantasies about the Professor. Lately, a lot of them have been linking up with writing my book. Because I mean, is there anything wrong with linking up goals? I want both things separately, to varying degrees, but should I not use one to instigate the other, if I can?

Sometimes I wonder if he would be into it. Or if I should not force it, just let it happen naturally.

In all honesty, men, help me out here, would you want to hear from a former student who wanted to have sex with you?

See, my husband would be aware and all right with all of it. It would be an affair only in the sense that he’d be having sex with a married woman. The lying and cheating would be out of it.

Is that the sort of thing guys want to get in on?
I think the answer is, some guys. Or is it most guys?
I’m pretty sure this guy is straight.
He thinks I’m exotic, beautiful and strange.
I’ll take all three of those, that’s cool. It’s actually very insightful of him.
Like that kid from grad school who said I “seemed like a swinger”

So….should I try and pursue having sex with this guy? I love achieving sex goals. I mean worse to comes to worst, I get rejected. It’s not like I’d ever have to see him, if I didn’t want to. Sadly, I have no reason to go to the town where he lives and works. He’s in my hometown. Where my parents are. No reason to go there.

…..Part of me is planning on reaching out to him when I have a really polished draft, and asking him to edit/read/review it for me. If he said yes….my god just the thought of talking about that with him….yeah I’ve pretty much got a play by play porno of whole thing in my head at this point.

 

See, is this the sort of thing a guy would be into? Or would this just seem obsessive and stalkery and weird? It probably depends on the guy, right?

Right?

 

Ha, well anyway, I just wanted to talk about him, because hey, you never know what the future may hold, maybe one day I’ll be like omg guys guess what I actually fucked the Professor.

What a fun day that would be.

okay, dinner time. hope everyone had a fun weekend. I wrote and ran errands and cleaned and went to pole dancing class. The usual.

 

~Cassie