I Knew It!! We All Start Life As Assholes!

The basics of making babies seem simple. You need sperm, an egg, and a womb to incubate in. Combine those, and a baby starts to grow. However, most people don’t know what develops first in the womb as far as the baby’s growth. Does it start with a brain? A heart? What organs come …
— Read on m.ranker.com/list/order-body-parts-grow-in-fetuses/laura-allan

There it is. In black and white. We all start our lives as assholes. I just never personally evolved past this stage of development.

Don’t feel bad for me though, I have a plethora of company. As a matter of fact, as far as I can tell, the last two generations have been filled with a LOT of assholes that never developed past this stage.

Just remember kids, you can stick a flower up your asshole but you still can’t call it a vase😊

Advertisements

I ♥️ My 500 Followers

I started my blog eighteen months ago to try to deal with my Borderline Personality Disorder diagnosis. I was at the time only hoping to connect with others with my condition so I could possibly get insight and advice on how to cope with the dramatic highs and lows of BPD. Little did I know what a life altering journey my blog would take me on.

I have made so many dear lifelong friends from all over the globe. I have found unconditional love and support from the unlikeliest of places. I have laughed, cried, ranted and raved with all of you and I wouldn’t change one single second of it!

You all have become my giant loving supportive family and I am so very grateful to have each and every one of you in my WP family. Thank you for 500 Follows. Here’s to many more years of our profanity laden (me), happy, sad, exciting, crazy journey♥️♥️

🙏🏼Namaste Y’all🙏🏼

Here Comes Peter Cottontail

I’m not going to lie. We as parents can sometimes be cruel mother fuckers when it comes to our own selfish wants (a stupid picture) and our comedic entertainment (because y’all know good and damn well the harder and louder your kiddo screamed the funnier it got).

That’s not even mentioning that every one of our childhoods was predicated on a lie (trust issues much?). Yet we keep this bullshit up generation after generation. I’m sure once the millennials start having families, all of this aspect of familial trauma will stop dead in it’s tracks. Perhaps they can provide a kiddy safe space for snowflake children, that just can’t sit there and scream bloody murder for the 30 seconds it takes to snap the damn picture. Back in the day we did get a coloring book and a four pack of crayons (small consultation for literally having the shit scared out of us), but we survived it. My parents didn’t have baby proof outlet plug ins, cabinet latches, or leashes to keep up with the three of us at the mall. All we needed to stay close to mom was the threat of an imminent ass beating from dad. We were like ducklings in a row.

We rode our bikes without helmets, played until the street lights came on and drank piss hot water straight out of the garden hose and it appears all of us have made it through all of that “trauma” into adulthood.

The only thing I’m super pissed about is the big LIE. Santa, The Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy. Really?? Parents probably get the smallest amount of credit for anything in a child’s life. Looking back I should’ve told my kiddos, mommy and daddy worked our asses off to buy you ungrateful little shits all of this stuff. If you don’t get your act together, no more shit for you!!

“Santa is watching you.” No you little booger factory, ankle biting assholes, MOMMY is watching you and mommy is like the deep state, I watch you on your monitors, I listen in on your phone calls, I check your computer history AND have your text logs printed out through the cell phone company. Mommy IS Big Brother. That should scare you more than some drunk homeless dude or perv dressed up in a Santa or Bunny suit for twelve hour shifts so he can have enough money for his own Easter Basket filled with Booze, mind altering substances and some naked Whores wearing bunny ears, a tail stuck to their ass, platform shoes (try hopping in those bitches) and nothing else.

What can I say, I’m a realist.

Happy Easter, Y’all♥️

Keep Your Day Job Singing For Tweens, Biebs

Justin Bieber is lashing out at Laura Ingraham after the Fox News host mocked slain rapper Nipsey Hussle on her show.
— Read on hollywoodlife.com/2019/04/18/justin-bieber-laura-ingraham-nipsey-hussle-diss-fox-news/

Politically speaking, Justin Bieber couldn’t find his asshole with a flashlight. Nobody gives a shit what you or Mrs. John Legend think, Biebs!!

Everyone is ENTITLED to their own opinion, that’s why crybaby’s such as yourself are given airtime. Someone please tell me when did our once great, proud nation turn into a bunch of poontangs?? I agree what Laura said to some could be viewed as inappropriate or insensitive, but the song Fuck, Donald Trump isn’t?? It’s also a fucking OPINION!! Jesus Christ!! If I got fired, kicked off of WP or whatever for voicing my opinions, I’d be an extremely fired mother fucker.

Dear All Crybaby’s,

Go find a “safe space” together. Cry it out, talk it out or circle jerk one another for all I give a shit but please for the love of all that’s good and right, shut the fuck up!!!!

Teenagers: Living In The Wild

I used to think that animals eating their young soon after birth was icky and awful. In recent months I’ve totally reversed my opinion on such matters. As my husband and I went from happily peaceful empty nesters to having our 21 year old son, his pregnant fiancé and his sixteen year old daughter plopping down roots in our nest. Please don’t mistake what I’m saying, I adore ALL of our combined six children and their significant others but Jesus Christ on a Segway, these have got to be the 3 messiest people on the god damn planet. My being EXTREMELY OCD when it comes to order, cleanliness and germs does not help matters as I am currently hovering on the cusp of a complete nervous breakdown at any given moment. Some days they make such a mess as I run myself ragged constantly cleaning up after 3 grown ass kids, every once in a while I just wish we would have just eaten them at birth!!!

Oh and the noise, having Borderline Personality Disorder and being hypersensitive to the noise, activity and chaos keeps me in a nervous frenzy. Half the time I’m shaking so hard I look like I have a palsy of some sort.

Big brother yells at teenage sister (he’s 6’4, wears a size 13 shoe, is like having a bull in a china shop) with a big giant voice to match. Sixteen year old sister gets pissed off and ding, ding, ding Round 1!! Within no more than 45 seconds she’s shrieking like a cacophony of fucking tea kettles in Buckingham Palace at tea time and I’m headed for the Xanax. Good Times!!

Some may call this fucked up or cruel. Those same people have never raised teenagers😂

I love my bigs and littles more than a fat kid loves cake and they KNOW it♥️

Just Saying❣️

April 7, 1972: The Day Awesome Was Born

Obviously if you read my posts, you know that I’ve had a distressed, depressed past couple of days. I don’t know if it just worked out that way because of my BPD, or because since I turned forty I tend to get a bit melancholy around my birthday and I knew mine was imminent. Today is the big day and I’ve wrestled with how I should be feeling all morning.

Perhaps it’s because I never achieved the success I dreamed of when I was younger, or the fact my littles have grown into bigs that have had littles themselves, or any number of vain, vapid things….I have finally decided that this year I choose to be grateful. Although I’m not rich and/or famous, I have a rather large blended family that loves me for me despite my craziness. My littles have grown into amazing bigs that are already and also in the near future making a difference in this world. I have four happy, healthy, gorgeous grandsons and another sweet little on the way that are my heart and soul. My husband is not perfect and sometimes I feel like he doesn’t treat me like I should be treated but guess what?? The same thing could be said for me. He fucked up early in our relationship. So did I, perhaps not in the same way but equally as seriously. When it comes right down to it, he puts up with me and my tumultuous, unpredictable illness like a pro, he works his ass off to make sure that I don’t have to because the Borderline Personality Disorder makes that damn near impossible. All in all I’d have to say I’m truly very blessed in all of the ways that matter. Today was a good day to be born forty seven years ago♥️

The BPD Monster

Those who fight ANY kind of mental illness deserve a medal. My particular form of mental illness is Borderline Personality Disorder. It is up there with the mother of all CRAZIES! It has destroyed friendships, relationships; with my children, my family and essentially my whole life.

If it were not for this wretched beast that lies coiled up inside of me where my soul is supposed to be, I could have been so much more. Done so much more. Saved so much more. I listen to my doctor. I take my correct meds. Read everything I can get my hands on in regards to it, but NOTHING, helps.

Are there truly such things as lost causes? If so I AM ONE. As I type this blog post, my vision keeps blurring at the notion of how calm and peaceful my life could have been if I were not one of the Chosen ones to spend a lifetime of suffering grievous wounds that no one can even see.

Deb, The Long Goodbye

This is a photo of myself and my BFF, Deb, taken a little over five years ago.

That night as we sat sipping our beers, listening to some great music and shaking our tail feathers and laughing until we cried because we are both people watchers and HUGE smart asses and boy did we have a plethora of drunk assholes and desperate whores to make fun of that particular evening.

Who would have EVER fathomed just a few short years later, I would be watching her die.

As Deb becomes sicker and sicker with her terminal cancer, I always pull out this picture to remind myself how quickly your entire life can change. Practically in the blink of an eye.

My dearest Debbie,

I’ll be by your side until we kick this cancers ass, or I will gently hold you as you transition into another journey, but make no mistake, I’ll be there until the sweet bitter end if it comes to that. I’ll never let go!! I love you Deb♥️

Fuck You Cancer!!

My oldest, dearest friend, Debbie is fighting Stage IV Urothelial Cancer. I’m so fucking angry. Like DEFCON-5 enraged that someone as amazing, gentle, sweet, hilarious, generous and beautiful could be struck down with this God awful piece of shit disease. I have lost family members to the big C, and it was excruciating to watch Cancer sucks the very soul out of their pain ravaged, frail bodies. By the time that they were mercifully called HOME to much deserved Glory, I was literally on my knees praying and begging for their for suffering to end. My bestie and I are the same age, both with precious brand new grandbabies whom I naively assumed that we’d watch grow up as we grew older. Fucking TOGETHER. I think part of the reason I’m so angry is because her illness is making me face my own immortality and that scares the fuck out of me and makes me want to put my psychiatrist on speed dial because the mere notion of watching someone I’ve loved as a sister since we were thirteen years old suffer so unrelentingly has my BPD on red alert as it endlessly screeches “DISASSOCIATE,” in my mind, but I will not. No matter what. I will have her back exactly as I have had it for the past 29 years.

The worthless, self serving, dog and pony show of a god damn government and literal American hating Congress needs to stop worrying about what Melania wears, what President Cheeto Tan says or what AOC and her nutjob “posse” thinks and fund the FDA with an enormous budget so that diseases like cancer, cystic fibrosis, ALS, Alzheimers, Autism, MS, Lupus, Diabetes, Heart Disease, COPD, Fibro, PTSD, Schizophrenia, Bi-Polar and Manic Depression can be eradicated. I wish this with every fiber of my being. It won’t EVER happen though because Big Pharma has Washington in its very wealthy, very deep pockets.

FDA Person #1: Hey I know tens of millions of people are dying of above mentioned diseases every single day. That’s so tragic.

FDA Person #2: Yes, it really is sad. Hey, how far along are you on that new medicine that gives 95 year old men powerful erections?!?!

What in the fucking fuck?

The following is a text conversation between my heart, Debbie, and myself.

FUCK YOU CANCER!!

A Growing American Crisis: Who Will Care for the Baby Boomers?


amp.timeinc.net/time/5529152/elderly-caregiving-baby-boomers-unpaid-caregivers-crisis

If you are currently middle aged and still lucky enough to have your now elderly parents and loved ones and are watching them reluctantly wander into their golden years but aren’t a hundred percent sure what they are so concerned about, read this article that explains exactly why.

Not only are the statistics in this article spot on, they are also terrifying. I’ve been teasing my parents for years because although they are upper middle class, they are two of the most frugal, tight fisted people I’ve ever seen. Perhaps they have been concerned about this looming crisis for years and I’m only just seeing it on the horizon. When I read this article, I was absolutely flabbergasted at the turnover rate of low wage caregivers. I shouldn’t be surprised. My husband works at a long term care facility and he reinforced what I read about the turnover rate of minimum wage caretakers.

As for the government kicking the can down the road. What a fucking shocker!! Everyone in Washington sits idly by finger popping their assholes on Capitol Hill until things that could have been planned for and handled turn into a crisis of such proportions that there is very little that can be done.

Well Senators and Congresspeople here’s an idea: all of that money you want to spend on Medicaid for all, free tuition, free cell phones, free housing, etc., take three quarters of it and dedicate half to Veterans, law enforcement and teachers and the other half to providing for our new senior population that always took care of us.

You assholes would rather give EVERYTHING away for free. Stop giving food stamps and welfare to young able bodied younger people who can work but just won’t. Put some restrictions on that shit. Random drug tests for recipients would be a nice start. Also after ones 8th child with no income, no employment and no desire to be employed, benefits should be slashed if not stopped. So many people are allowed to abuse the system that the ones that truly need the help fall through the cracks and get fucked, fucked, fucked.

Unlike what the dipshits in Washington may think and want to convince Americans is a wonderful idea, uber taxing high incomes, or even taxing the middle class at the current tax rate would not be necessary if the hundreds of thousands of lazy, good for nothing, shiftless fucks would actually go to work and could also be taxed, the problem would almost fix itself within a generation or two.

I’m 47 years old and for the most part, except for that one assault charge in my twenties (but he deserved it) have been a tax paying, law abiding citizen. I’m sick and so tired of getting the short end of the stick because I try to do what’s right and the people that NEVER do what’s right are rewarded for it. It makes me so angry I want to go bitch slap a random millennial, with their give me, give me, give me, shitty attitudes and expectations.

It seems like society is headed for an everyone for themselves crisis to me.

Go ahead sheeple. Trust the government.

Vietnam Veterans: America’s Unappreciated Heroes

I’ve recently been advised by a couple of my dearest followers in my blogging family to write more things that are controversial or things that I’m passionate about. Mainly because I have strong opinions and because of that I write with raw, genuine emotion. One controversial thing that I am passionate about is the Vietnam War and it’s impact on veterans like my father. Who has by Gods grace reached what should be his golden years. My father is a disabled veteran with severe undiagnosed PTSD. Men of that generation tended to be macho men who seldom went to a doctor for anything much less something of a psychological nature.

The first time I realized that my Dad “wasn’t right” I was eleven years old and was awoke by my fathers bloodcurdling screams of “Get down, get down goddamn it!” As I sat up in my bed terrified and half awake I was unsure of whether I was still sleeping and having a nightmare or if this particular nightmare was one of a more literal sense. I soon realized that this nightmare was all too real as I heard my mother say, “Wade, get off of me honey, it was just a bad dream. We are at home in our bedroom. Safe,” then her voice faded off to just soft soothing words and sounds. Many years later as an adult my mother confided in me that Daddy had thrown her on the floor and covered her body with his many times in his first decade home from Vietnam. She said the first year or two were the worst when this same scenario happened at least every couple of days due to my fathers night terrors of still being in combat under enemy fire.

The United States government failed to make good on its promises to those who served in this War. It failed them in every way imaginable. Available GI benefits for those returning home from Vietnam were nearly nonexistent. As if having your government send you off to a war that wasn’t ours then cruelly turn it’s back on the lucky ones who came home outside of a body bag was not enough of a slap in the face to the soldiers who fought and died for our country. More insult was heaped onto injury by prospective employers, as the time came for said veterans to integrate back into society by obtaining civilian employment and were met with thinly veiled disgust.

These young returning soldiers were not looking for a ticker tape parade or a hand out. They were only looking for basic human support and help in readjusting to civilian life after this extremely brutal and long war.

The Vietnam War claimed the lives of more than 58,000 American service members and wounded more than 150,000 more.

My dad upon his return was spit on, jumped by a mob of angry anti-war protesters and was the object of ridicule and disdain. Why? Because he loved his country unconditionally and would have done anything to keep her safe and free. That included taking extra classes in high school so that he could graduate a year early. At barely seventeen years old and having to have his mothers consent enlisted to go to a foreign land to fight the good fight for a cause that wasn’t America’s fight to begin with.

It is now almost fifty years later. My once strapping, strong manly father is a shell of his former self. He is VA determined 100% disabled because he has gone blind. There are thousands more veterans of this particular war with the exact same issues as my father. The government is finally, just recently admitting that his blindness and a multitude of other health related problems of he and his fellow veterans were due to American forces spraying the dense jungles of Cambodia with Agent Orange to kill the vegetation with no thought to all of the troops on the ground being covered with it. If you don’t know what Agent Orange is, look it up. Today’s equivalent would be spraying yourself from head to toe with Round-Up weed killer on a regular basis for an extended period of time.

I can not even imagine in my worst nightmares, and I’ve had some doozies, what these soldiers endured, not only abroad but also the atrocities that they suffered at the actions and the hateful words of ungrateful, ignorant, piece of shit human beings upon their return.

Today I see far too many parallels between the anti-war hippies of that era and the far left, radical millennials of today. We have raised yet another generation of violent, ungrateful, self centered assholes. I say we, because it is mainly my generation that raised them. Although my two children are of millennial age, neither of them have a millennial bone in their bodies. I’d like to think it was because they were raised with discipline, integrity and being able to realize when they were wrong or perhaps wronged another in any way to take accountability for their actions. Children like mine, through fate who were born into this shitty generation are the exception. I am extremely lucky and certainly blessed that I was able to raise such empathetic, loving, independent thinking, young adults as my beautiful daughter and son are.

To all of our remaining Vietnam Veterans and their families, although words seem completely insignificant in relation to what each of you endured, from the bottom of my heart thank you.

I’d also like to apologize on behalf of a nation that did not give a shit about you. I’m so very sorry for your treatment by the same fucked up government that sent you there and the citizens who did not appreciate your many sacrifices. Ones that the United States Federal Government wrote the check out for and made all of you pay for it with your sanity, limbs and 58,000 service members who paid the ultimate price with their lives. Lady Liberty weeps for you, and so do I.

My Son: Future Dr. Superstar M.D.

Student leaders at Louisiana Tech are making sure no-hazing policies and attitudes are enforced.

During my sons undergraduate studies, hazing became a national problem seen on University campuses across the nation. It seemed for a while that every time we turned on the news at night we would hear about another fraternity hazing event that would ultimately cost a young person their life, before it had ever begun.

My son, Payton, during his time at Louisiana Tech University was President of his fraternity, Delta Chi, and during that same time frame was also elected President of the entire Greek Council which oversaw all fraternity and sorority activities on campus.

This is a local news report dedicated to the ongoing hazing crisis and what local campus Greek leaders are saying and doing about it.

This mamma considers her baby boy an absolute celebrity due to his appearance and opinions.

www.knoe.com/content/news/Louisiana-Tech-is-cracking-down-on-hazing-447826083.html

The following is my brilliant sons (no I’m not biased😊) acceptance letter into medical school at Louisiana State University Shreveport. He has wanted to be a cardiac surgeon since he could utter that phrase. He maintained a 4.2 or above throughout elementary, middle and high school then went on to college on a full academic scholarship. There he was on the Presidents list all four years, was Mr. Louisiana Tech, a member of the Homecoming Court, volunteered every summer for four weeks with MedCamps (a special camp for children and adolescents with severe disabilities), held down not one, not two but three jobs and stayed on top of his many extracurricular activities all while keeping his grades up. He graduated with his degree in Pre-Med, Summa Cum Laude, in May 2018. Since then he has been working as a medical intern at TIRR Memorial Hermann hospital in Houston. Needless to say, I am one blessed Mom!

My son will only be twenty three years old on Valentines Day of this year. He has accomplished so very much in those 23 short years that I am absolutely in awe of his dedication, determination and work ethic.

I could not be any prouder if I tried!

Congratulations, my handsome son! Keep your feet on the ground but never keep reaching for the stars!

Misfits

Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. We’re not fond of rules and we have no respect for the status quo. You can quote us, disagree with us, glorify or vilify us. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore us, because we change things. We push the human race forward, while some may see us as the crazy ones, we see genius. The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do!!!

I love my tribe of misfits to the moon and stars!

The Glory Hole Cafe

My amazing brother-in-law and I are quite the cooks in the family. He’s a commercial supervisor for a Heating and Cooling Company, I am a disabled housewife…..but long ago we decided that our collective retirement dream would be to open a restaurant called The Glory Hole Cafe.

Now as we all know, success in business comes with hard work, being good at what you do AND a catchy name for marketing strategies. Who wouldn’t want to eat at the Glory Hole?!?! I’d check it out just because the name makes me laugh. Glory Hole is not necessarily porno……a fisherman’s sweet spot is also called a Glory/Honey Hole, so I decided it would be a seafood restaurant to take off the porno innuendo, but sick fucks like myself would still consider the porno aspect of it. So tell me, my dear blogging family…..would you or would you not stop by and check out the Glory Hole Cafe & Gift Shop?!?

Finally!! A Light at The End of The Tunnel

These are pics of our new home after we have unpacked (not every single thing) and have a little bit of order to everything. Have I mentioned moving sucks donkey ass?!?

I’d rather be drawn and quartered or burned at the stake or waterboarded than to do this shit EVER again. I’m delighted about the house but aside from that I’ve been a roller coaster of emotions. My OCD is in a frenzy and I’m traumatized because it took us two solid weeks to move from the rain. I suppose I’ll look on the bright side for a change and just think about all of the happy new memories we’ll make here♥️

Happy Weekend, my pretties 💕💕💕

My extremely handsome hubby watching me craft in the garage♥️♥️

MiMi’s Angel Is Getting Christened

It’s 3:30am here and I can’t sleep a wink. I’m thinking that it’s because MiMi’s precious angel baby, grandson, Louis, is getting christened in less than six hours. Although I am personally not Catholic (my daughter converted the year prior to marrying my amazing son-in-law, who is a devout Catholic) I am wide awake with excitement of this momentous day for my sweetest cutie patootie!!

MiMi loves you big big my handsome little chunky monkey!!

Too my soft spoken, kind, compassionate, gentle souled baby girl……you were born to be a mother. As I watch my baby with her own baby, it makes my heart burst with pride and joy. You are so absolutely beautiful inside and out and are the most amazing first time mommy I’ve ever seen. I adore you and your sweet little family❣️