No one should read this shit.

Why bother?

Why make blog entries? No one REALLY cares. Why get up in the morning, why go to work, why get a pay check, why pay the bills?

I think I stopped living just for me a long time ago.

oh blah.

There was this fella Paul that i was absolutely nuts about a while ago. We had one date, it was magical and in every sense he and i would have been a brilliant couple.
But unfortunately paul is just out of treatment, and apparently isnt emotionally ready for a relationship.
Theres always a case with someone good.

Anyway, thats not really that big deal. I supose in 6 months, when his treatments over and hes ready, if things work out,  they will, if not, i guess i can be consoled with the fact that paul is good guy, and a nice friend to have.
in good news, apparently people thing im interesting.

Still trying to figure that one  out.

Oh, and i got a raise at work.

$10 an hour, fuck yeah.

The day i met god.

This is the story about how i met God.

As it were, i was minding  my own business, driving home from work, it was dark, i was tired and was angrily trying to light a smoke.

Thats when it happened, a loud thud the minute my eyes were not on the road, and BAM, a body rolled over my car windsheild, over the roof, and thudded louded on the ground behind me. Brakes renched and squealed to a stop, my car skidding on the road.
I leaped from my car, heart pounding in my chest, and rushed to my  unfortunate victims side.
The man was wearing a white robe, and had a long white beard. He was choking and sputtering on blood, his body lay manged, beard soaked in his own bodily fluids.
I cradled the strange man in my arms and called for help. No one came.

It was night, and the roads were empty.

I stared at his face, our eyes met, and he looked as though he were about to say something, but his body shuddered and life left him.

I realized what had happened and began to shake uncontrollably. Oh my god, what have i done?! I am going to go to jail and be someones prison bitch!
My ass is far too tender for the bitch life.

I dragged the body to my car quickly, and threw it in the back seat, blood dripping over my arms, his bones snapping in their joints.
I could smell the offal of is spent bowels (and i just had this thing vaccumed!).

I covered the body with the pounds of garbage littering the back of my car and soon ran back to where his body  first lay. I poured my big gulp! soda on the ground, trying to rinse away the blood, but it hardly worked. I popped open the trunk and grabbed every single bottle of car fluid i had; oil, anti freeze, windshield wiper fluid and dumped it everywhere.
If i cant rinse it away, i will just cover it up.

I ran back to my car, leaping into the seat and tore off down the road.

I drove to the back roads on my familiys’ farm, tore across sod fields and into soybean and corn feilds alike.

Soon i came upon and old swamp.
Hastily, i pulled the mangled body from my car, along with bits of trash and a CD or two. I dragged the old mans body into the middle of the swamp, and pushed his body under the water, but it bobbed to the surface ever time.
I pulled the body between my legs and straddled his chest, and we started to sink under the water. I inhaled deeply and sank with him. As we hit the bottom of the murky swamp water  I frantically  pulled the muddy earth beneath his body, i dug blindly with my hands, the lack of air burning my lungs.
I started to slowly let my body rise, the dead man didnt move, rocks and silt covered his form.

For now, it would have to do.

I rose to the surface and exhaled deeply, spots before my eyes blinked away as air filled my lungs.

I swam to the beach, and waded back to dryer land, and my car. I stripped off my wet clothes and shoes, and took the cautious drive home.

Three days later, i returned, wading through the swamp till i came upon the  body again.  It had decayed, and was bitten in places. I pulled him to the surface, to the beach and lay his body out.
It was night, the moon was full, the dead man had bloated and his face looked liked a horrible painting.

Walking back to my car, i grabbed a gas can, burned the body, and bagged the smoldering remains.  They went into the swamps, rocks at the bottom.

after time passed, i forgot about the night, and life had moved on the way it should.

Several months later i was buying ciggerettes at the Super America by my house. I looked up at the cashier, his name tag said God, and he smiled chearfully at me,handing me a pack of camel lights.

And that was how i met God.

Mew mew mew mew

You know Don, i only write in this blog for you, i know youre the only person that reads them, and it seems sometimes, the only person that cares enough about what i have to say to comment.

I’m really lonely and down lately. I cant really find a lot of eloquent words to describe it, i get sort of a general malaise of bad feelings would be able to sum it up.

I always yell at people when they tell me that theyre going to be a lone forever, and at 20, who am i to think that, but im starting to think that whatever it is about me that makes me special an d   unique compared to others, is also what alienates me to the point of probably  being with out real tangible love in my life.

oh who am i kidding, i dont think i even know what that is.


War, HUH!, what is it good for?

The main intention of feminism is not actually for women to strive to be equal to men. Why would we want to do that anyway? Who says that being a man is so great that we should imitate them (no offense fellas, really, i’ll get there)?

The point of being a feminist is to be a person that wants to defy roles from sexuality and gender especially. To get rid of the cultural mindset so that one day, a woman can be a president with out it being a big deal, and a man can be a homemaker without being looked down on.

And also, that a lesbian or a gay man dont have to fit the stereotypes put in place by other gay people.

And this is the hard part to understand, we are not oppressed by other people, we are oppressed by ourselves.

Everytime a woman decides not to go to college not because she doesnt want to, but because its not a womans place, she is oppressing me. Every time a lesbian trys really hard to fit the stereotypes without thought of her own tastes and wants, she is oppressing me. Every time a gay man snubs another gay man because hes 10 pounds over weight, he is oppressing me. Everytime a group of men harrass another man for being a nurse, he is oppressing me.

We are perpetuating constantly our own oppressors, how can we blame and hate the people that run with it against us, when it only exists because we make it?

There will always be a defining difference between men and women as far as physical and emotional differnences are concerned, but it has passed the point in human evolution where we are ruled by our physical selves, we should be bigger than that.
Fuck biology, it will be meaningless in front of the huge, pressure causing void that is culture and society.

If at once, all women everywhere from now on stood up and said, we will be the bread winners, we will be the strong ones, we will protect and more commonly have the jobs men have, after a time of adjustment, that would be the norm. And theres no question. If at once, all humans want to change their world, they can.

So as Timothy Leary said “Women who strive to be equal to men lack ambition” it means that when a woman works a job like law enforcement, or when she is permiscuous, cutthroat in business, she is NOT behaving like a man, she does not have a mans job, she is a woman, behaving like a woman, that is just being herself.

I think thats an ideal worth fighting for, and i think its an ideal youre all guilty of letting slide by.
We need to really consider from now on if we actually like how things are going in our world, or if we need to finally do something about it.


Where are you?

Don? Don? Where did you go?

Hey mama

From pretty much two weeks of standing, on bad, flat feet in flip flops, my ankles have decided to go.
Some time between last night and about noon today, my feet got really really swollen, felt bruised, and i could barely walk on them.
At first i didnt say anything. I figured, if it didnt go away, i’d go to the doctor (i do that a lot) and if not, *shrug*.

But, as it were, i hobbled into my room and noticed how incredibly swollen they were, hobbled back to my mom and told her.
It was her response, really, that made me not really think about the feet. She had a concerned set to her face, and instantly snapped into home remedy mode. Soak your feet in hot water with baking soda, elevate them etc etc.

10 minutes later, im sitting in my room, towels around me, pants rolled up, and a big steaming bowl of baking soda water sloshing around my feet.  She came in with a handfull of Advil, and a glass of milk.
And really, it warmed me to be dotted on like a child again. To see the kind of warmth and concern in someones eyes that really, only a really good mother can duplicate.
I could see then, why people have kids, those that really want to, its because they had moms like her.
This woman sacraficed just about everything for my brothers and I, and even now, when im 20 years old and am totally capable of keeping care of myself, she still manages to make me feel really loved.
The swelling in my feet will fade away, but i do not think the swelling of my heart will.

Thanks Mom.

Its to early to be so grumpy.

This is not a deep and emotional blog.

You may stop reading i will understand.

I hate my co-worker Sue.  She makes snide remarks about me not being “girly enough” and since ive caught on to everything faster than she did when she started,  with  few mistakes, when i do make one, or when i drop something or trip, she points it out. Not just to me, she says it to my coworker katy “Katy, emmas throwing pens” “Katy look, emma made a COD for a 0 dollar amount.” And she giggles and then what can i do? I want to upturn her in her chair and pour my iced tea on her stupid poofy faux mullet.

And if i have to hear about her stupid fucking dog for one more minute, im going to puke.

And last night before i went to bed, i had the distinct misfortune of thinking about Josh and Annelise, which makes me so angry, i find myself wondering wheres a good place to throw a body.

Maybe I will just slash her tires someday. That would feel good in a petty sort of way.

God, what the hell is wrong with me lately ? I’m just so angry.

I must be really manic or have pms or somesuch.
At least today i can look foreward to a 10 hour work day of hard physical labor.  That will distract me. Thank god, i hope it does.

The heart of a mad woman.

To those of you who do not know me in person, and really only know me via myspace, I think it would suprise you to know that I am not a very emotional person. I do not let much out.
Naturally, my writings, my paintings, even these silly  blogs, are my outlet for that which i do not speak of, I do not cry about, I do not feel pain for. It all bundles together in  great mass of seemingly sensitive and heart felt ramblings from a clearly sensitive woman.

In real life, i do not  think that is the case.
Though I am loud, rowdy and particularly articulate, so much of what is said here, or expressed in a visual manner, whirls in continum through my head. Phrases, thoughts, mental pictures of every cadence imaginable spins and spins in my brain, and I say nothing of it.
When someone says something that touches a nerve, like when anyone talks about their father, suicide, being in love, and being overweight, my stomach clenches and twists horribly, and i feel it bubble to my chest, a deep searing pain that lances into my sensitive inner world, and I push it back down, back into my bowels where i let it fester, rot, and fall away.

As a general rule, i try very hard to not let any of this out.  There are moments when i allow myself to be publicly emotional. In dark movie theaters, in my car…

and thats about it.

The problem is, that the people who dont know my only by internet, my real life all the time friends, often wonder why i dont let them in much. They want to talk about them, i dont want to talk about me, which i can only imagine is remarkably frustrating.  What is more frustrating, however, is when they say to me “Emma, you have to let someone in” “Emma, i  cant guess when youre having a problem” “Emma, dont be so tight lipped about your life” I look around me and i see painting and stories, and blogs and sculptures and i think to myself, its all right here.
Here i am, this is the inside of me, this is my life, my world, my mind and soul and song. And then they dont see it. They dont get that this is how i communitcate, and my heart breaks. The feeling of knowing that what is the most important to you, how you show love, is not wholly understood by those you love the most. And if its not… how can they love you back?

I have tried to open up, and verbally communicate some sort of internal pain, but i cant. I just cant , and i wont. So much is wasted through speach. Writing, painting, and creating your heart is so much more fullfilling, and It heals me.

When you see a painting, or photograph or sculpture, you are not looking at a mere thing, you are looking at the healing process for a woman with a lot left to heal, and a lot more optimism than shes ever had for that.

People talk to much, they try to express things verbally that you cant possibly convey. Theres no real words for love, no real words for anger and passion and despair, its all internal, and no matter how eloquently you might speak, its the product of those feelings that say the most. Say a loving couple births a child, two lovers create heat, a man with rage pent up inside of him feels release, or, a silly little woman feels her heart healing from so many years of breaking.

That, my friends, speaks more loudly than any of you could ever know.


Why is there a picture of a racecar on the inside of the boxes of that penis enhancing Enzyte stuff? Is there some sort of symbolism from a racecar to a penis that i dont get?

The only think i can think of is fast, and if your taking something that makes your penis bigger, but also makes you come sooner, isnt that sort of defeating the purpose?

Sure, length isnt the most important, you dont want a freaking horse cock coming at you, thats terrifying, and if youre fucking for too long it just feels like youre doing push ups into a bucket of sand.

But really, theres a distinct correlation with size and time. A guy that isnt really terribly big can easily compensate with motion and length of time that youre doing it.

Of course, with a really really big guy, its certainly not something you want to go on for longer than 20 minutes i would think, because you will not be able to walk the next day.

And i dont get why men brag about having a big one, or being able to go on for two hours. Guess what fellas? You got a giant giant dong, every woman you fuck is going to refer to you as the freak show guy with the giant weiner (oh, we talk about you all). And if it takes you two hours to get a woman to state of completion that she wants to or needs to stop, youre doing something wrong.

What turned me on was when a man would take about how passionate he is in bed, or attentive, because really, most of you arent. I'm not talking about emotion, im talking about passion, when done right is the perfect fury of both physicality and emotion. If a man tries to talk himself up, i know hes full of crap, all women do, no matter what they say. I've noticed, that its the quiet humble men that are the best lovers. The ones that dont bring up the subject of their sexuality as a feat of strength, those are the good ones.

How come women dont brag about their vaginas? Like I would never say to another woman "I have the softest and wettest pussy ever". Sure, that sounds incredibly hot, but i dont think we really brag about it.

Ok, well I might, but im not exactly like a lot of women, now am i?

I just dont understand the mens fixation on penis's. Their own or others. I told a guy once about another guy he hated that i happened to have slept with, and that he happened to be a bad lay, and my friend was so proud of how much more of a man he was that said other guy.

I am personally going to start introducing this behavior into female culture. Lesbians? You all got it DOWN. You know how to be sexual in a way that is the best of both the male and female world (though i gotta tell you , im getting really sick of this habit you all have of fucking and then moving intogether. STOP IT. Youre embarrassing me in front of the heteros).

But straight women? I think that the straight and bi women of the world need to be more agressive in their sexuality, like a man is. And i think that men need to be less aggressive.


Imagine men, a world of sexually agressive women. Men fixate way too much on appearance for so generally being so poor in bed, you guys have NOTHING to be picky about, and those of you who do, normally dont stay single or sexless long, and if you do, its because youre too shy to persue pussy with the aggression men normally do.
But women, especially straight women, look for connection and comfort before appearance. Add that to a woman who is aggressively persuing a sex life like a man does, and BAM everyones getting laid all the time. And this way, women can be a little more selfish in their needs, like you morons who feel like you gotta fake to be happy… puh-lease. And men can realize that they need to be a little more supportive and nuturing to get a woman.

BAM. Everyones happy.
I'm a genius.

I think whats so inherantly genius about this, is that if all of the women were more aggressive, they'd all be like me.
Why do you think i get so much ass for not being so particularly hot?

Its because i rule.


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