Saturday, July 29, 2017

Stripper Brownies

When you begin a project to work on your mental health by shouting into the vastness of the internet as a whole, and somewhere in the middle find yourself sending that same internet baked goods and naked photos, you have hit full momentum.

Where do you go from there?

I ran away. I got a different life. I came back. I embraced myself and started using my real name. So hi. I'm not Jessica,or Kitty. I still make brownies. I no longer get naked on the internet. I can be found naked on the internet if you are very savvy and know some secrets. Some of you here know those secrets. Some of you here have been sent brownies. Some of you here know me from both lives. How's the ride been for you?

Resurrecting a blog is so much harder than it seems, I have a sneaky suspicion zombies might be an easier trick. I've always had a way with the creepy. I'm here, I'm goth, get used to it. (I think as I've gotten older I have turned into a mix between Satan's perkiest cheerleader and the girl who will elbow your throat in a mosh pit, and then give you a cookie.) Finding a balance is more difficult now than it was when I was dealing with my full blown anxiety and raising my kids and watching my world fall apart from self destruction. Now it's just the anxiety and my mirror. God that is one hell of a full length mirror. Who made those legal?

I never expected to have blog family. Blog love. Blog, I will travel across the world and cut someone down if they hurt my friend,type of feelings for people I have met but haven't met. I never expected to have blog funerals. All of that has happened, and it has been wonderful and painful and enriched my life deeply.

Screaming into the internet was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life, and I am still one loud bitch.

I can't wait to yell at everyone again.

Saturday, October 29, 2016

Nimble fingers

When I had my nimble fingers they swooped across the keys the way my feet danced across the stage, no backspace, no typos, no second guessing. I told stories, the internet tried to ban me, we danced a round a bout that was like a tango of words. I was a branded woman and I loved every second of it. I came here sometimes two or three times a day to post whatever had popped into my head, was happening in my day, or some tale I had made up for thrills. There were projects that the internet, as a whole, participated in with me (you filthy people know who you are and I love every one of you) and a list of links that I suggested to GO and READ because you would be enriched, entertained, and they had nimble fingers too.

Pictures and music were ingrained into this space, it breathed with it. I had a post that if you pressed play and read along in time the song and pictures and words were timed to link up. (FIGHT!) That one took less time than you would have expected and more laughing than required. It's all backed up on discs going back to 2004. When I started this space as an idea given to me by a therapist as a way to journal out what was happening to me. My breakdown. So I could read back what was going on and learn from it. She really had no idea what she was suggesting to someone like me. Most people don't really know what they are getting into with someone like me, so I don't blame her. She couldn't know I would take "journal out your thoughts" and turn that into a photo shoot of paper cut out people and play-doh reenacting my ex-husbands horrible Christmas party where a drunk woman yelled "I fucked the drummer from Dokken!" I just did.

Now these nimble fingers feel so tame. I don't want to re-post that old material, merge those old files back into this space. I enjoy seeing those old stories of my kids growing up, but I am a completely different person in so many ways. The fundamentals of evil are still there, I have stories to tell that are all new, and I know girls who have yelled entirely different things. (Don't think I won't break out some sock puppets and glitter.) However I don't post nude photos anymore of myself, or anyone else. Of course I am still bisexual but I am monogamous and happy about that fact. (YES IT'S TRUE) Does this mean I can't be Too Dirty For Google anymore? Am I going through a re-branding? Do my guilty feet got no rhythm? Ok no. That went too far. Girls got rhythm.

I wonder if it's just going to take me a little time to get back into my groove of posting instead of fast and flying fingers and done, or will I work my way slowly through a post until I hit publish for that big O. Let's find out together.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Where is that guy keeping his ice cream?

Moving is hard. Moving across country is a cluster fuck. Generally people have some kind of laid out plan and go visit the area and set up a new place to rent and blah blah blah. That wasn't the option we had. We had a, it's time to go right now, oh and hey the area you were going to move to is a shit idea so change your idea to something better and guess what the time frame you had of a month just went to a week and you can't be in your house to pack except for certain hours and pick what you would like to try to save from your life because most of it has got to go AND only one of you has ever been to the area before. NOW RUN!

Yet we did it. We were technically homeless for a little while, but not, because we have amazing friends who took us in with warm hearts and homes and loved us and our bunny and gave us places to rest when we could while we ran and helped us with connections and we got a place really fast and things slid together in a time frame we never could have expected.

Then comes the problem of proving that we actually live here to the State, which has been harder then we expected, but we're working it out. Everything is in this holding pattern of working it out, and over the next few months will be completed but MONTHS feel LONG AS FUCK.

It feels like we have been here a long time, tho we haven't. It feels like at any moment we are going to wake up and be told that this is just a dream and we have to go back to the place that neither one of us want to refer to as home anymore, because it isn't. We might of lived there a long time, or one of us was born there, but it didn't FEEL like home. It felt like a war zone. And we fought, the stress of the things there and now is stress here. What if money doesn't come? What if it's all just a sham and we don't get to belong here because good things don't get to happen to people who try to escape where we came from? What if we're just going to have one too many fights over some stupid dinner plan or where we should park the car and everything falls apart?

Nearly everyone we know when we started our relationship has ended their long term relationships. That is scary as fuck. You never really know why those things happen. Maybe it was one fight too many about taking out the trash and that was just THE DAY it was ENOUGH. Moving and starting a whole life over, with your best friend, is FUCKING SCARY. Friends fight, married people fight. If you don't marry your best friend, why the hell did you marry them?

So you stay up too late, and you talk about the guy with the magic pocket full of ice cream sandwiches that should be melted thirty minutes into his shift, but aren't and HOW THE FUCK DID HE DO THAT? You laugh together, and know that this is why you got married in the first place. This good space,where you have this warm happy pocket of each others smell and skin and that feeling no one else has ever given you of safety and being complete and understood. Is that where his ice cream is kept? Is it like a magic pocket that would keep our marriage safe from stupid fights that are just stress related and will pass? Or does he just have a trick that he has to do before time runs out and if we don't learn that trick and we have one fight too many will our time run out too?

I believe in magic, I've tasted ice cream. I want the time.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Clicking your heels can find your hearts home

My dear space, my home and my heart. I have abandoned you for so long and left a piece of myself behind. Once cherished you have become my neglected self. Tattered bits that need to be touched up and polished, oh my blog you are my chipped nails. I still treat you like the middle child, using a pseudonym which once made me feel good but now makes me feel like I am hiding behind another layer. Kitty, Jessica, those are people of the past. How can I embrace you again and let go and be me if I still hide who I am to tell my stories?

Candy needs to take her space, make it comfy again and not be afraid who might find it, what they would think, or purge all my stories ever again.

This is the time for everything old to become new again, covered in glitter and not safe for the internet as a whole.

Short and sweet and just getting started, fall cleaning is underway and baby you are going to be beautiful.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Trick question, Lemmy is God

Long ago and far away in the land of cheese a magical night began that was like no other.. what? Yes I am telling this story like a fairytale. When this blog was overflowing with stories of my life and adventures I wrote about this night and now that it is a mistier memory it has a beautiful snow globe effect covering it; instead of just the freezing snow that was covering the ground making me shiver my ass off as I walked uphill to the venue in Wisconsin that night.

The Rave, my trusted friend for music, shenanigans, mosh pits, underage girls (don't look at anyone just assume they are 16 and move along) and EPIC tales of adventure. On this night it was not just a simple show, it was Motorhead. Lemmy. My first time with the one and only and I was so ready to have my eardrums blasted out and be deaf for days, not speak for a week from screaming, and elbow anyone that got in my way. All while wearing my 6 inch platforms, a corset with metal rings and a skirt that had the same rings going up the sides and back that you had to be locked into and weighed about 30 pounds.The perfect little black dress for your first Motorhead Prom.

Giggling and shivering and running on snow in heels, with long blue and black wild hair I was breathless when bursting into the venue, security passed me through with no pat down, there simply wasn't any place for me to be hiding anything, the corset only cinched my waist, my top was fishnet, no one was about to search my bra even Rave security isn't that brave. People were clearing out of the main room on the first floor and I knew the opening band had finished and everything was getting ready for the main show. I don't know if I ever stopped or if I was just a black and blue bruise blur flying out onto the floor to take it all in and find my place to wait for God to grace us with his gravely voice.

Lights shined down and music played (more like dunraaarrraaarrrrbammbabamamazzrrrraarrrr than ahhhhh ooooo ahhhhhhh) and I saw my perfect spot near the base of a spiraling staircase. It was blocked off from people going up or down, and I could see so clearly because I AM FUCKING TALL IN SIX INCH HEELS MOTHERFUCKERS. It happened so fast, like going down a hill in a car and you feel a whoosh in your stomach that makes it flip and part of you wants to turn around and drive over that hill again because it's worth it to be 5 minutes late to feel that again, Motorhead was there.. the music was all around me and LEMMY was standing, feet planted, mic stand taller than him and pointed down at his face while he shouted up at it as hard and loud as he fucking can.

When I woke up.... no no no kidding. I rocked, I danced, I screamed and sang every word, and then around halfway through the night I saw them. The....cheerleaders. That's what I called them.. I supposed it could of been a lot of things, the Batman to my Joker, the Herpes to my Valtrex, the Poop in my Soup. They were there. Line dancing, beers in hand, making up little cheer dances, clueless to the songs that were being sung, these were clearly someones girlfriends set to "free range roam" so they could enjoy the show in peace. Drunk minivan moms gone wild cheering Lemmy, Get The Fuck Out Of My Way.

They stayed. The cheering and whooping and progressive bumping into me increased, as did my elbow to their backs. This was before cellphones at concerts was a thing (WHICH MEANT IT WAS A FUCKING AWESOME SHOW) and my annoyance grew. Little did I know I had an unlikely savior headed my way, Mr. Drunk Pregnant Man. Oh yeah. A Wisconsin staple. He was rocking and rolling with his not quite a mullet, not quite a comb over, definitely at risk of his water breaking, and he had a beer in each hand. He LOVED the ladies!!! He also was full of whoooooos, and cheers and swaying, OH HOLY FUCK was he swaying. I don't know what was keeping that man on his feet as he wobbled into those girls and back again as they first joked and pushed at him and then got annoyed and I was very amused watching this play out while still rocking and hoping they ALL would go away.

THIS was the moment I realized that LEMMY IS GOD. It was the last song of the night, the encore, and I hear my favorite song start to play "Killed by Death". I said to myself, please get these fuckers out of here so I can enjoy this... please...and I will TRY to be good sometimes...kind know...

That was Mr. Drunk Pregnant Man's moment to shine. His wobbling had all been practice for this, I saw it coming..the beers slip from his hands, the slack look on his face, GO YOU BEAUTIFUL BASTARD GO, and he went full flop face plant into all three cheerleaders, taking the four to the floor right as I hear, KILLED BY DEATH.. KILLED BY DEATH!!!!

I screamed so hard, so high, so loud, I lost my voice right then. I clapped so hard my hands went numb. Security came by and shuffled them all out because they couldn't get themselves off the floor, while I jumped and shouted KILLED BY DEATH, over and over, with the biggest fuck you smile on my face. It was GLORIOUS. It was magic. It was an act of Lemmy.

Let us bow our heads.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Pack Lite

Some things you just need to survive, the ESSENTIALS. We all have needs, and everyone's needs differ. I mean sure we all need water,food, but not everyone needs shelter, I have met people who travel all over with packs and just sleep in tents or with tarps and move with the weather and make their own shelters from what they have around them and that is their essential.

Yeah, fuck that? Mmmkay. That isn't my essential list. I need a roof, for ME, essential.

When the end of the world comes, I'll be someplace with a roof. In heels. If it comes on a Wednesday, I'll be wearing pink. Honestly tho when I am packing I can get my essentials for a long weekend into one medium suitcase, a makeup travel case, and my purse. This includes at least 3 shoe changes and two corsets, which are totally fucking necessary. Also several colors of glitter, all my personal care items, makeup, hair styling tools, medicine for me and traveling companions (just take a Zantac honey, you always feel better when you do) and few extra "just in case" items.

I've been missing something really important for years and I never knew it. I've been lacking an essential. It took a drive home from work and my Iheartradio station to point it out to me, and then it became so clear, I have no idea how I missed it all this time and I am thankful, now if something happens and I am about to go NOT quietly into that good night, swallowed up by Cthulhu, finally taken out by zombies, or much more likely, tripping over my fat rabbit on the stairs and falling to my inevitable.. I'll have my essentials.

My epiphany came the way all of them usually do I suppose, with zero thought. I wasn't searching for meaning. I had meaning. I had jessies girl . My new station to train, based on the song that has been posted back and forth between me and one very Tricky lady for eons now and I think always will be, the point will never be moot. What I did NOT know is that there was another gem waiting for me until it moved forward a song, and told me there was an album REQUIRED TO SURVIVE. The Essential Rick Springfield. This isn't packing lite, oh no, this is just fucking packing. It nearly blasted me to life (because I had the volume way too fucking loud from Jessie's Girl) as this came roaring at me and let me know things were forever changed from that moment on. I listened to his wise words, the heart... yes. I hear you Rick. It's much deeper than that, it's .. Essential.

Affair of the Heart

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

About a boy

Everything has changed in my life, as things often do when you neglect a blog for years and let it become a wasteland. My life however has been so full of love, I've made everyone around me sick. Internet, I'm sorry for all that Ebola I caused by falling in love. I have become the cliche you all want to hate, so go ahead and do it, I can take it and gladly will because I won't even notice.

All the relationships I have ever went through, girls, boys, my ex husband, the former fiance, people I longed over as the girl who got was all warm up so I could appreciate this and know I had really found my person.

I spent a year falling in love, talking, laughing, smiling constantly with someone that we both just kept insisting was "a friend" and nothing more, we rarely even saw each other in person. And then we were single, and we were there, in person, and he touched my arm, my hand. That was it, nothing could be the same, he wasn't just my friend. We both knew. There was no reason to wait so we just started to date on April 20, 2014 and on May 7, 2014 we were engaged and on July 11 2014 we were married. Out of every kiss I have ever had in my life, the first one as his wife was the best one I have ever experienced and it will linger on my lips until the day I die; forever grateful to have known such bliss.