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

Last month of my twenties

I realized it yesterday that tiday, March 20th marks the last calendar month of my 20s. On 4/20 I will be 30. My twenties had some very terrible and some great times, so i cant judge them all as one. I am however so glad theyre done. Theres that nagging thought i think most women get about how youll never be as hot as you were when you were young. And yes skin ages, but if you think about it we need to be prettier to get by when you’re less wise. Or something like that.

Today marks my first day of car editing during my lunch break! Yes, carrots and close reading!

~Cassie

Lets create more hours in a day

Because thats what i need.

Im thinking about it and i think i will have to start editing on my lunch breaks. I get an hour for lunch and never need that long. Right now the roughest draft (as i like to call it) is 89 printed pages (12 font, single spaced, if you are in the know). My husband is on page 17. He isnt working right now because were between seasons, and the work around the house that he gets done REALLY doesnt make a second income up. So hes not working, not occupying himself with anything important, and he still cant freaking read my draft for me. I mean he does, he tries and all, but his attention isnt the best. Also i mean editing a roughest can be difficult, sometimes theres passages of total garbage nonsense tangent. He told me hes amazed at how well i edit. Which is good to hear, but also its like dear god i should hope so….at this point.

Why dont i try for a career that would involve writing or editing? Because that would ruin my creative stamina, i know for a fact. Thats what both degreees did. And i have too much of MY work to do, im not using a limites resource where its undeserved. I knew that a LONG time ago.

See, writings always been the thing. First i was going to be a teacher and write in the summer. Then i was going to be an accountant who wrote in the off season. Then when i ended up as an english major because accounting is for the soulless, i was like okay ill get a rando job and support myself and write then.

And thats the point im at. Ive been writing every day since i saw that weird brainwashy guy at the end of feb.

So, guess its time to jam some editing in on my lunch breaks

~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

When lunch time is the only time

Deepest apologies, it dawned on me yesterday that I didn’t include the picture yesterday. I didnt mean to picture taunt, I’m always accidentally doing that to my mom, because, as you know, email is the only way I’ve spoken to her for the past three years. It’s good we have that one way to speak to one another, though when she tells me how much she misses me and how well get to see each other somehow….I just don’t have an answer. It’s not my fault the only way she gets to “see me” is if I email her a picture, but IDK I’m sure in her head it kind of is. Everyone in that family is so obsessed with blaming other people for everything , because, I mean obviously, what are they going to do, something healthy?

So that’s the picture. I would have added it last night but then I’d think about writing about one thing and write a 2500 word blog instead so. I do everything I can to spend as much time in the evening writing as I can. Writing my novel, not this blog. I can only imagine how fucked this anonablog would be if I was focusing all of my attention into it’s contents.

Come to think of it, it’s probably for the best I don’t have to time or energy to REALLY delve into my childhood, because, IDK it’s not an easy thing to pick up every day like an instrument you’re trying to learn. It’s one thing to go back to my novel, but even that even if you’re doing it every day you still lose momentum. I still have to back read a little, be like okay which “he” and “he” are going at it right now? Or whatever.

They said once that a novels sex scenes shouldn’t be gratituous and should only exist to move the plot along.

I perhaps took this too to heart. Because what i have is a novel entirely propelled about by the sexual interactions of the characters. And yeah, you do have your favorites, and it’s not necessarily the one you modeled after yourself. Not that they’re not there.

There are times when I think about how I’m just soooooo fortunate to have so much horrible human being/awful father experience from my own life.

I can’t tell if I would have rather had a happy childhood and grown up secure and stable, or if I’d rather be as I am. I think I’d keep things the same. You know that bullshit about how “the same boiling water that hardens an egg softens a potato, it’s what you’re made of not what you went through”? Well NEVER has a more perfect example of an egg and a potato come to life than my idiot brother and myself. He probably would have turned out shitty even if we had a great dad, that’s my theory on him. And it’s not sibling hate. Please. I wish we had some sort of a normal relationship. Hes so unstable he seriously couldn’t leave our Instagram friendship alone. Out of the blue he would delete me, I wouldn’t find out about it until he sent me a new follow request. Who does that? Who regularly deletes their only sibling on social media for NO reason??? I could never tell what I was going to get when I dealt with him. When he was feeling especially needy, you know because all he does is sabatoge his own life then cry about it, hed do anything for me, including “give the last drop of [his] blood” for me. Then, just as unprovoked as his weird misguided affection, would be the bouts of reviling me. One time I got a new cell phone number, I was probably 23 or so, and I texted it to him, his response was “what do I care? We never speak.” He’s too much like our father. He had no chance in life. But he’s also not worth my time.

Sounds harsh, i would guess a really good person wouldn’t abandon their brother, but never oh never did you hear me say I was that. And I mean I do resent him too. He’s my older brother and all he ever did was pick on me, order me around, contradict everything I said, invalidate anything positive I did, start fights with me out of boredom, attempt to control me in that CREEPY way our dad already was….yeah…..

In fact, every single facet of my brothers behavior was a direct mirroring of how our father treated him.

Note this is not me making his excuse for him. ITS NOT AN EXCUSE. He had the chance to lot be garbage, but consistently for the past 33 years all he’s ever done is choose to be garbage. I guess the hard work involved looks like too much, because he’s pathologocally lazy to the frightening extent our father is. Like they both have a conversion reaction if they think THEIR precious selves might be doing something that someone else could do. Combine that with the ultimate losers mentality (the “no one gives me credit for my meager amount of effort, so I refuse to put in any more”) and do you think you’ll wind up with some winners?

They’re the definition of losers – my dad and brother. The last time my dad has a job that wasn’t embarrassing was when I was 5. He was a cop, but he decided to fraudulently file an insurance report for a stolen rifle that was never stolen, when the department caught wind of it, he was told to take a six month suspension. He refused because he’s an arrogant narcissist, went to court, and lost everything because a TON of higher ups in the department despised him because he’s a horrible human being. I’d go into the rest of his pathetic work history but my lunch is almost over.

My brother and working? Well when he was 20 he got $100,000 as an accident settlement, and that’s just bound to ruin a person, especially one that was already garbage. Of course, I think you can tell who REALLY, really pushed my brother to get that money, because he knew he’d get a lot of it.

Well now I’m pissed off I guess I’ll go.

Just kidding. It’s nice writing about them but not having to deal with them. Because my brother and dad are waste of space garbage people whose faults SO outweigh their positive traits it’s not even worth knowing then.

So, if you have a shit parent, try imagining what itd be like to not ever deal them. I strongly recommend. (Disclaimer-not for the weak of heart or spirit)