Admit It, Your Asshole Puckered!!

Oh, my, GEEZE-Us!!

Okay give me a sec so I can unpucker my asshole enough to have a seat to type the rest of this blog..

There now.

I don’t give a fuck if you are a man or a woman, if you are gay or straight, black or white or miscellaneous, this HEAPING pile of man meat at the pinnacle of his hotness was one fine, sexy ass (and I do mean that literally as I’ve watched him in Troy and stopped the DVD player on his ass scene so many times it finally just only shows that one frame. YESSSSSS🔥🔥🔥🔥) mother fucker. Whoooo whee, if I had a cannibalistic nature, I would crawl up that beautiful ass of his and eat my way out.

They sure don’t make ’em like that anymore!!

*cue the Jonas Bros and the Biebs*

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I’m Not Afraid of Going To Hell. I Already Live There

I have somewhat of a conundrum. I realize that by blogging my personal opinions, day to day life problems and sharing so much of myself that I’m potentially inviting debate and/or criticism.

Debate me all day long, just come at me with your own opinion the right way and I’ll respectfully listen and eventually we might just agree to disagree. Politely.

I have neither the temperament nor the restraint to be “told about myself” in what I deem as an aggressive manner. As a matter of fact it is one of my MAIN BPD triggers.

I know many of you that follow me know that I’m quirky, self deprecating and can find some sort of obscene humor in just about any given situation. Many of you know the funny, tough, cursing, genuine, giant hearted traits that make me…well me. You laugh with me and give me words of support and encouragement when I need them the most.

I know EXACTLY who I am….I don’t need to be “told” who I am or how I should feel. I battle the rage, insecurity and worthlessness of Borderline Personality Disorder every second of every day. The BPD also brings a much darker, much more cruel aspect of my personality front and center when I’m going through a rough patch, or when I feel overwhelmed by life as I currently do.

To those of you who love me and/or read my blog because I’m sincere, raw and absolutely real, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your comments, advice and encouragement keep me grinding. Even on the days I can barely drag myself into an upright position. Y’all are my family. Perhaps not by blood, but more importantly by choice.

For those who read a blog post or two and think they KNOW me and have the the audacity to tell me why and how I should change, to you I say the biggest and most heartfelt FUCK YOU and the horse you rode in on.

One doesn’t KNOW me by reading a couple of posts or even by comments on other bloggers posts whom I follow. My advice to you fucking fuckfaces that do not like what I have to say or how I say it and just can not help but direct a snide shitty comment my way, is quite simple. Keep scrolling and keep your dicksucker shut. When you get done scrolling, judging and commenting about me or my life, might I suggest taking your keyboard and shoving it straight up your ass. Sideways (just in case you decide to be a cowardly keyboard warrior to someone else) at least it will be in the correct position to type.

If one continues to want to verbally spar with me in an assholey way, I’m sorry. I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an UNARMED person. That just leaves me with one option. Violence. Something I’m VERY familiar with.

You see if I’m backed into a corner to the point of having to respond with violence, rest assured I’ll bury my foot so far up your ass, you’ll need a root canal to have it removed.

To the rest of my beloved blogging family, happy Monday, Y’all♥️

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😊

This Bitch Here

Ocasio-Cortez allegedly screamed at border agents during recent trip to southern border: report

https://www.foxnews.com/politics/alexandria-ocasio-cortez-border-agents-southern-border

Explore the Fox News apps that are right for you at http://www.foxnews.com/apps-products/index.html.

I don’t care what end of the political spectrum you are on, unless you’re a pussified, snowflake, baby back bee-yotch, this asshole is a drama full, lying, hysterical, shit stirring she-devil!! Someone needs to choke slam this cunt! Even the other three shit starters, Congresspersons Booker, Omar and Tlaib have even slowed their assy rolls just the tiniest bit. Not AOC though. She’s not happy unless she’s making a god damn mockery of her elected office. I sometimes wonder what in the fuck kind of sheeple voted for this twat waffle?!?!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, probably many more times….what in the fucking fuck?!?

It’s the Sheeple Apocalypse!!

Jesus Christ, Jack Sprat and Jason Bourne

I was flat on my back after my spinal tap. The arrogant young doctor insisted I stay in that same position for the next five hours so I did not develop a colossal headache. Right about that time I realized I had to use the restroom and it was going to be a deuce.

So of course when the doctor asked if I had any questions, noticing he was at least 15 years younger than me, HAD to have been straight out of med school, and my puckered asshole had to have a better bedside manner than this douche, I decided wickedly to rattle his chain a bit.

I replied with what do I do if I have to drop the “Browns” off at the “Super Bowl, homie”? His fucking eyes almost popped out of his head, he sneered at me and said, “I beg your pardon? Also the name is Dr. Browning and I am NOT your homie, I’m your doctor!”

Oh hell to the NAW!!! I, by this point was so pissed off I responded scathingly with, “I don’t care if you are Jesus Christ, Jack Sprat or Jason Bourne, mother fucker, NO one is talking to me like that, so unless you want me to take an enormous shit right here on these super luxurious sheets that the fuckers up in the Accounting department charge me $300 a night for, someone best help me upright and get me to a toilet. Fucking STAT!”

I got help to the toilet in time, Dr. Browning passed my case off to a colleague, because he refused to step back in my room because I had also previously told him if he even thought about trying to come back in that I would crap in my hand and fling my own shit at him.

Moral of this story?

Don’t fuck with The Bella when she’s got a deuce prairie dogging her asshole😂😂😂😂😂

50 Shades of Cray In BR

Baton Rouge bridge traffic problems ranked 19th worst in U.S., research institute survey says | State Politics | theadvocate.com
— Read on www.google.com/amp/s/www.theadvocate.com/baton_rouge/news/politics/article_60c9c674-2f0d-11e9-b791-2b73ae48cab7.amp.html

Due to my severe social anxieties I’m pretty much an agoraphobic by nature. I only leave when I absolutely must (doctors appointments, food for the kiddos, etc). I don’t like getting out one fucking bit, but especially as a parent one sometimes MUST.

Yesterday was one of those days. I had an appointment with my Neurosurgeon at 10:30am. The ride from my little rural town right outside of Baton Rouge was mostly interstate and mercifully uneventful at that time of day. As I pulled into the parking lot of the medical complex where all of my specialists are located I noticed hundreds of people. Outside. “What in the fucking fuck,” I muttered to myself as I got parked, grabbed my purse and headed for the building. As I got closer I asked a super sweet, chatty, older African American lady what was going on. She replied with “Lord, child some stupid ass young ‘un done called in a bomb threat.” “To a medical facility?” I asked incredulously. This sent Miss Gladys (as I later learned her name was) into the most hilarious rant about the chirren these days didn’t get dat ass beat nearly enough. That’s why they ALL acted like assholes. I was so caught up in her story and doubled over in fits of giggles, I didn’t even notice or mind the medical complex officials herding us back into the building. I of course sat by Miss Gladys as she was there for Neurology as well. By this time it was 11:20am and those fuckchops at reception told me that I was late for my appointment. You fucking think?!? Perhaps it was because you had 300 of us sick and hurting patients milling about in the hundred degree scorching heat with ninety percent humidity. Want to know what that feels like. Go wet a wool blanket soaking wet, lay it over your entire body including your face and try to breath. I was so enraged I threw a full fledged, stiff armed bug stomping fit. Right there in the check in line. I was sweating, swearing and ranting to such a degree they had to call security to calm me down. I think the two twenty something rent-a-cop’s were a bit intimidated by me because all they did was bring me a glass of cold water, a cool rag for my livid, feverish brow and gave me a few soothing words and hand pats. I shit you not, I got a standing ovation led by my new BFF, Miss Gladys, cheering loudly, ” You tell ’em, baby!”

Good thing she and I were having such a grand ole time because it made the hours pass much more quickly. It was nearly 2:00pm before either of us was seen.

The real fun didn’t start until I finally got on the interstate to head back home.

This is what I drove into. Remember I’m a shithouse rat CRAZY BITCH who had already had an unsettling fucked up day (except for meeting Miss Gladys, with whom I exchanged numbers so we could keep in touch) and as MY luck would have it drove into one of the biggest traffic cluster fucks of all time. People with BPD don’t do well with aggressiveness. In any form, and Baton Rouge drivers are the biggest road assholes on the whole god damn planet and I am their Queen. Queen of the Motor Assholes. The more aggressive other drivers became with me, the more I lost my shit! I mean seriously, I was going fucking beserk. I tried to run a semi-trucker AND two little old ladies off the road in less than half a mile. After two hours of inching along at a snails pace (I could have literally parked my car in the middle of the interstate and walked briskly home and I would’ve gotten home far more quickly than from sitting in that shit). By the time I made it home I was beside myself with rage. When I saw the house (remember I’m an OCD neat freak as well) and saw my fucking house in shambles from teenagers being home for the summer, I briefly contemplated murder but quickly realized that horizontal stripes make my fat ass like doubly wide AND neither black or white is on my color wheel.

Soooooo I did the only thing a raging mother fucker can do without being arrested……I went at my heavy bag in the garage (with my ex-husbands picture secured in a clear pocket I had so thoughtfully attached to it) until I puked. Just another day of 50 shades of CRAY in BR!!!

The Art of Swearing

I remember being a young girl. Probably eleven or twelve years old when I urgently had to use the facilities at K-Mart as soon as mom had herded my brother, sister and I through the front doors. Back then there was no unisex bathroom where my mom, my sister, little brother and I could pile up into as I did my business because everyone knew what gender their fluid was back in those days. Being the eldest, mom decided to send me in alone as she and my sibs waited for me outside. As I hovered over the seat (no touching for me as I was a germophobe for as far back as I can remember) I noticed a word I had yet to read before. FUCK. It said other stuff too, it actually said for a GOOD FUCK call Lisa and there was a phone number. I hurriedly finished my business, got a fresh dry paper towel after washing my hands and copied what was written on the bathroom stall wall verbatim with my trusty red, blue and black clicker ink pen. I was on to something. This girl Lisa had a bunch of GOOD fucks, and since they were good and I didn’t think I owned any FUCKS AND we were at K-Mart, I decided to loudly proclaim my desire to have a GOOD FUCK from what I assumed was the toy department. All of the good stuff was in the toy department. Right?!? So I was convinced that was exactly where I could find the GOOD FUCKS at.

As I was not so quietly begging my mom for a whole bunch of GOOD FUCKS, she went white as freshly fallen snow, snatched her purse and my toddler sister out of the buggy and said “Let’s go. NOW!”

Neither my little brother nor eye could understand what the hell was going on as we sat in the back seat of mom’s station wagon staring at each other with wide eyes.

Once we got home mom sent my siblings into the backyard to play and tried to calmly explain to me that not only was that an ugly word…..it was the ugliest of words in the English language. Defensively I said “but those FUCKS were GOOD!!” So I got my mouth washed out with soap and grounded from going out to play with my neighborhood friends. In my tweenage rebellious mind I knew I had hit fucking paydirt. As soon as dad got home I got another lecture and a minor ass whipping (by minor I mean no belt was involved). By the time my punishment was up I was positively brimming with questions for my friends, two of which happened to be a couple of years older and boys. They told me ALL about those fucks and why I got my ass beat over giving one. From that day forward I have consciously incorporated that and a plethora of other equally shocking words into my vocabulary.

So that is the way my profanity story began, the rest is history, and I’m still wondering what poor ole Lisa did with all of those GOOD FUCKS she gave😂

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🙏🏼

Sweet Dreams

Insomnia. It’s such an awful bitch. Nights are the absolute worst. Dark and endless. I’ve always hated nights. Bad things happen in the dark. I am saying so from personal experience. I crave sleep like someone who is lost in the desert craves water. They eventually hallucinate and see beautiful mirages consisting of glistening pools of water. I hallucinate deep, dreamless sleep. It’s bad enough that during the daylight hours my mind is in constant turmoil. The night only increases the battle within to a fever pitch. Occasionally I doze fitfully only to have vivid, violent nightmares of other dark nights long past. The abominations perpetrated upon my person flicker rapidly across the back of my eyelids like a horror movie on fast forward. Although I am at the cusp of the shadow lands, I can feel my body writhe and my breathe quicken as the shadow serpent starts coiling itself around my body as I look into its cold dead eyes and watch its forked tongue touching my skin like an evil whisper I suddenly realize I can hear it. Over and over again it names every sin I’ve ever committed. I shudder as I feel the BPD Monster come out to join the macabre party and wrestle with the Serpent of sins past.

As the serpent continually repeats each sin it’s voice gets louder. Not to be outdone, the BPD Monster starts a litany of all of the sins committed against me. It has to scream to be heard over the Serpent who in turn gets louder to be heard over the Monster until it becomes a shrieking cacophony that eventually turns into a silent scream that my dozing body can’t lend a voice to. I’m frozen in terror. I gasp as I feel the Monster start to rage and the Serpent tighten its coils. Mercifully the gasp startles me awake. I bolt upright in my bed drenched in sweat and my heart galloping in my chest. “Another fucking nightmare”, I whisper to myself for reassurance. Truth be told I did it to make sure I was really awake. Really alive.

Waging this internal battle day and night is exhausting. Most days it manifests itself into excruciating physical pain. What a loathsome life to NEVER have a moments peace. One can not say that I have not tried to do something about this internal conflict. I religiously go to therapy and take my psychiatric medications, I paint, write, continuously clean and organize. I’ve tried acupuncture. I do guided meditations several times a day. Absolutely nothing has worked to block the horrific memories. At this point I don’t think anything short of a lobotomy, a psychiatric ward or death will stop them. They have become as much a part of me as my own body and the organs that keep me in the land of the living. If I thought amputating a limb would work I would saw that fucking limb off with a dull handsaw myself. Alas this is only wishful thinking. My eyes are red and gritty. My jaw has been clenched all night which has given me colossal headache. I toss back four Tylenol’s like they are Tic Tac candies. I listlessly flip through the channels and realize that not even the news is on anymore. Only endless infomercials hawking their shitty wares. Everyone is so happy and energetic. I realize that I envy these anonymous people. In my mind they all sleep just fine. No nightmares for these exultant people. I don’t wish to trade places with them though. Not even for a second. I wouldn’t wish my walking wounded crazy mind on my worst enemy much less some gleeful strangers. So as usual, I will fight the good fight for another short day and another long night. I tell myself, “I am Sparta”, like an encouraging mantra.

At last the sun is slowly ascending the sky. I am finally able to unclench my jaw and reach for the eye drops that have taken up permanent residence on my night stand. Tonight was by far not my first rodeo. As I stand I hear every joint in my body screech in protest as they crackle and pop. I have a moment of vertigo that insists that I sit back down. I know exactly how this day is going to go by the way it has started.

Moral of this story?

The early bird does not get “the worm”. The early bird does not get shit except a lot less sleep than everyone else.

Sweet Dreams.

Anastasia’s Revenge: Veritas & Aequitas

Veritas and Aequitas Is Latin For:

Truth and Justice. It is a motto that stands for personal honor and truth in actions and in justice, regardless of the circumstances.

Various people have told me that I am an attractive forty seven year old woman that looks much younger than my years. To be honest when people associate me with the word attractive it literally makes me squirm because when I look in the mirror, that is NOT what I see. As far as my “attractiveness” goes if that is in fact what one might think the only thing I can think of to say is that I was just blessed with really good genes.

If you really want to know someone, look at their hands. That’s where their story lies.

My hands absolutely do not look like an “attractive woman” (my BPD refuses to let me agree with this word) in fact I’m cringing as I type it.

In truth I am Anastasia and her story is not fiction. It’s my story. There was a time that I was ashamed of it….but now I OWN it. Love her or hate her, she is I, although I was a victim for so very long, I never labeled myself as that. The thought never crossed my mind. Anastasia was, is and will always be a fighter. I will ALWAYS fight the good fight. I will ALWAYS err on the side of righteousness. I will always root and fight for the underdogs, the downtrodden and the victims for I was all of these things at some point in my life.

Look at my hands, I did not lie down and cower and take it. I fought back. I fought until I couldn’t physically rise up again to fight some more. I fought with all of the anger, hurt, betrayal, humiliation and sadness bottled up inside me. I could always hear dear old “Mickey” urging me on from my corner. I have fought back from drug addiction, homelessness and hunger. I have fought back from psychological, emotional and physical abuse. I have fought this monster inside of me (Borderline Personality Disorder) and for the most part have won that battle too. This mental illness is incurable, it is wildly erratic and one of the hardest mental illnesses to get control of short of a psyche ward. The suicide rates of Borderlines compared to all of the other mental illnesses in the Psychiatrists “little” Merck Manual combined are off the charts. I fight that bitch with every ounce of willpower and intestinal fortitude I have, every single hour of every single day. That being said, in my own way that gives me the W, one day at a time.

I don’t make excuses for it.

I don’t blame others for it.

I don’t lie, manipulate or connive to toy with peoples emotions “because my disorder made me do it.”

I fight this ugly beast and the horror of my past because although I may be little, I am mighty. I am fierce. I am fucking Sparta.

I fight because I love too much sometimes. I fight FOR the ones I love, even when they refuse to fight for themselves. All my heart knows how to do is fight for what and whom I love and love what and whom I’m fighting for.

Anastasia will never break. She’s got far too much fight in her because she KNOWS, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog that gets you through this Borderline life.

Trigger. Not Just The Lone Rangers Horse

Well I knew that it was going to happen sooner rather than later. I just didn’t know when. Living with Borderline Personality Disorder, one is ALWAYS waiting for the other shoe to drop. Right on our fucking heads. The good times are amazing, the bad times I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy (well maybe that bitch that fucked my husband six weeks before we were married), I wish that shit squared on that whore. Along with Ebola, SARS, Malaria, Meningitis, Equine Encephalitis, Mad Cow Disease, Chronic Wasting Disease, Swine Flu, Bubonic Plague, HPV, HIV, Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, Syphilis, UTI, Renal Failure, blindness, deafness, muteness, Leprosy, Legionnaires Disease and the absolute worst case of dysentery there ever was. I pray for this vile creature to come down with EVERY single one of them EVERY night. I’m already going to hell for my own shitty past so at this point praying for someone like this slut to suffer so greatly will not impact my immortal soul any more than it’s already impacted. Go big or go home is my motto.

Obviously I’ve triggered. No matter what I trigger over this horrific part of my life ALWAYS gets thrown in for good measure by myself.

I’m not sure if my trigger was the upcoming holidays, having two extra “guests” in our 800 square foot condo, or if it was the fact that my husband was exhausted from work, in a shitty mood and said some (in my opinion) awful shit that Daddy Dearest used to say to me. I completely fucking lost it though. Every single time, I think I’m making progress, that giant shoe drops and shows me who’s boss…..and my boss is BPD.

FML😏😏😏

The Sheeple Apocalypse

As I was channel surfing through what seemed like an obscene amount of cable TV channels (I’m a reader, TV blows), I could not help but notice the horrific number of IQ lowering reality shows. In my opinion, the absolute worst of the worst celebrates some slut who’s only original claim to fame was fucking a semi-celebrity’s wannabe singers brother and videotaping it for posterity and having…….wait for it……her money and fame hungry whore of a mother leak it to the press for publicity. Eeeeeeewwwww much?!? No wonder your husband had his dick chopped off and started wearing your panties, Kris.
As stomach churning as this is, it’s not even the thing that makes the vomit creep up to the tip top of the back of my throat. The thing that makes the vomit come so perilously close to projectiling like pea soup as my head spins ALL 360 degrees around atop my shoulders is that enough mindless, soulless, impressionable minions and brainwashed keyboard soldiers have bought into this shit to keep this family of fancy gutter sluts on television for 15 seasons. Yes, you read that correctly. Now excuse me while I go eat a Tide Pod, smoke some fucking potpourri, snort some bath salt and wait for the Sheeple Apocalypse.

Love Through the Eyes of Borderline Personality Disorder

I’ve only been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) for a couple of years now, but I’ve known that the way I see love is very different than most for quite a while. Love and feelings are something I’ve struggled with since childhood. I feel everything strongly, give completely, love extremely. When I say I love someone, I have strong feelings. I often admire them, respect them, enjoy spending time with them and see them as so much more than I see myself. I’d risk and even sacrifice myself for the people I love and their happiness. I’d do anything, move Heaven and Earth if needed, to help out the people I love. To me, that’s what love is: unconditional companionship, care and admiration. It’s that feeling of uncontrollable smiles when you see those people happy, or indescribable pain and sadness when you see them cry. It isn’t physical attraction or sexual interest: that’s lust and completely different to me. It isn’t just blood — love knows no boundaries.
I am learning these are common struggles for people with my history and diagnosis. I think these difficulties are why I struggle with boundaries and often do or say things that don’t make sense to most people in relation to my friendships and relationships. These struggles also lead to negative responses like jealousy, rage, disappointment, rejection and heartache. I wanted to share what love looks like for me.

I love extremely

People may say I got to extreme lengths to show my love. I crave physical touch, so I hug often. I desire validation and dedication, so I frequently say, “I love you” when talking to those I love. I give gifts for anything and nothing. I will message or call my friends almost daily just to let them know I care or to check on them. Some might say I smother, and some get uncomfortable when they mistake my version of love for something else (like romantic interest). I just feel with such intensity that I sometimes cannot control my feelings or keep them inside. I also don’t understand boundaries or ambiguity, so sometimes I mistake the gestures or actions of others for love and end up caring much more for someone than they care about me.

I love unconditionally

Another part of my love deals with being ignorant of flaws. I fear abandonment and failure, so often I am willing to look past what others may consider to be unhealthy or undesirable behaviors or habits. I find myself willingly accepting giving more than I get, taking mistreatment or abuse and just letting others walk all over me. The benefit of this is that I always feel empathy and can forgive, but the negative is I have low self-worth and sometimes don’t even see there is an issue with the friendship.

I love through jealousy

Because I love with such intensity, I often find myself getting jealous. I become upset or angry when I see a picture of some of my friends on social media hanging out without even asking me or I question when I see my husband has a text message from a female co-worker. I may express this jealousy outwardly to the people I love with aggression or sadness. Usually this outward expression of jealousy serves two main purposes: to try to “prove my love” to the person and to try to manipulate the person into giving me attention.

I love through heartache

Unfortunately, a common problem for me is that I find myself in a position where relationships and/or friendships become broken and end quite frequently. I struggle to let go, I try to live in the past and I spend lots of time being heartbroken over the loss of a friendship. I’ll continue to listen to songs that remind me of the person, look at pictures of them and even sometimes try to contact them even after the friendship has ended. Even through the pain, I still love the person and can’t stop. Some may say this helps in some way, but often it leaves me hurt as I watch people move on in life without me, sometimes it leads to damaging things even further because I don’t understand boundaries or confusing signals.

I am learning through my therapy that there are flaws in my view and understanding of love. I am not saying this rationalizes or justifies my actions, but it does help me make sense of my feelings. I’m learning how to regulate my emotions, maintain healthier relationships with defined boundaries and live in the present moment. I’m hoping with time that I can continue to be passionate and love, but avoid undesirable traits that cause the instability and heartache. Isn’t that what everyone wants? To love and be loved without pain or suffering?

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❣️

Peeing, Vagina Costumes and My Right To Bear Arms

I know I’m waaayyy out of line in my A-Z Challenge. I tried and I failed miserably at keeping up. Doing things on a “schedule” has never been a very strong personality trait of mine. On the other hand I’ve realized and accepted that I’m a flawed human being and I’m cool with that.

Aaahhh, P, not the letter. The urine variety. I recently noticed when some of you have me doubled over in fits of giggles with your posts and/or comments, I tell you I think I pee’d a little, I AM NOT speaking metaphorically.

I realized just how many times a day I say this and what normally causes it (for the record I change clothes in the event something like this happens. I don’t walk around pissy all day). The main causes seem to be laughing, sneezing, coughing, straining to hard when I yell FUUUCCCCKKK at the top of my lungs, hiccuping and God Forbid, I have Poot Wars: Legion of Doom with my teenagers (yes I’m the coolest mom EVER, although my kiddos would surely debate that) I might as well put on fucking Stage 47 Pampers Waddlers. If I’m straining that hard there’s DEFINITELY going to be pee involved.

This morning as I was mulling this over in my crazy mind, I had a revelation of sorts. That we woman, as a gender have so many more indignities (natural and otherwise) inflicted on our persons during the course of our lifetimes than our male counterparts.

There is menstruation, the blossoming of bosoms, Pap smears, annual gynecological visits, childbirth (hence the peeing).

Men try pushing something the same weight as a small bowling ball out of anywhere south of your belly button. Unmedicated. Then we can compare war stories.

After child bearing and rearing years comes the annual mammograms (bro’s stick your twig and berries between two flat plates and squeeze just a little to have a tiny inkling of what that’s like), because these people are not just putting a ladies breast in between those plates, those cruel fuckers are pulling back fat around front and everything.

Then comes the peeing every time you make a move and then the mother of ALL indignities, Menopause. Just because women of a certain age normally speak of this in hushed tones amongst ourselves does not mean it is to be taken lightly. Actually we huddle together and speak of it quietly because menopause is Lucifer, Māra or Iblis depending on ones beliefs. We do not want to bring this evil thing up from the fiery depths by speaking its name too loudly.

Hot flashes?!?! If you ever want to know what being roasted alive on a funeral pyre or spending at least 10-60 minutes in actual hell feels like, have one of these. Simply put, hot flashes are the devil. So by my age us women are having annual intrusions in our lady bits, boob squashings and hot flashes. If that is not enough indignities, around this time in life most women have to start having colonoscopies as well and if you are a gentleman that’s 40ish or older you are probably at least familiar with this one. So next time one of you guys is feeling icky about some “medical” procedure, just reread this blog post.

I should think that having another man softly cradling your balls and telling you to cough every so often for a physical or an after 40 occasional lubed, gloved finger gently inserted into your butthole qualifies you guys to bitch about ANYTHING ever again.

Disclaimer:

This excludes any of you fellows with legitimate medical complications or chronic health issues. I’m speaking in generalities about Mr. Everyday Joe (the ones that generally do the MOST bitching about anything medically related).

I’m not some raving, lunatic feminist as I’ve never marched in Washington, DC dressed as a giant vagina. As a matter of fact I thought that was the most idiotic shit I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Just think of the outcry if men wore hats with balls and a penis sticking off the top of them to protest something. Jesus Christ, it would be complete and utter anarchy.

Before any raving, lunatic feminists or anyone else that does not like my opinion try to attack me or mine by surrounding my home and trying to scare me by acting like a bunch of assholes let me warn you, if you are in my yard I will drop every one of you like a sack of of shit with my LTL “beanbag ammo” (don’t let the cute name fool you, anything coming out of a 12 gauge shotgun at 205 mph will make you rethink your position, quick, fast and in a hurry). For any slow learners that actually have the audacity and ignorance to break in and actually make it inside my home, it’s open season on you fuckers. My newest baby is a Smith & Wesson Model 500 X-frame revolver. For those of you that are unfamiliar with firearms this is one badass MoFo for one badass bitch that got knocked asshole over elbows the first few times at the range but has become quite accurate since. This gun is not for the faint of heart. I’m a southern girl from a long, long line of military and Law Enforcement Officers. I’ve been familiar with and shooting firearms since I was 10 years old. I’m an expert marksman and a FIRM believer in my 2nd Amendment rights as a US Citizen. So in closing for any nutjobs out there….PLEASE, PLEASE Come at me, bro!!

I apologize for straying so far from my original blog topic, but as I was voicing my opinion about the vagina costumes, I started thinking about all of the elected officials being run out of public establishments or having their homes surrounded (Tucker Carlson, with his wife and children inside) by ignorant assholes that think that there can be only one opinion. Theirs.

Hence the anger and tirade. I can assure you that no one is running my ass out of anywhere for having a fucking opinion. Corner me and my fight or flight instinct kicks in and since I weigh entirely too much to take flight, that’s ass if anyone actually makes an unauthorized entry INTO my dwelling intent on harming my family or myself.

*rant over*

Happy Thursday Y’all♥️

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♥️♥️