Here it is my story. I have at least seven special readers
who I feel can handle the truth of my life and still love me for who I am. I
hope there are more. I mean nobody harm or offense. I only want to be myself,
who I feel is special and deserving of attention [note: It has taken 50 years
to love myself this much, and I still have a long, long way to go]. And yet, I
realize that I am just a girl – just a girl in the world (eventually I will
link to that song). I came from ordinary American born heritage. I hold tightly
to the interwoven genes on both sides that bring my Native American soul to me.
Choctaw and Cherokee. That’s me. Along with a splash of British, Scottish,
Polish, Italian and Oaklahoman Dust Bowl refugee. I am a mutt, and can honestly
say I am raceless in my discrimination of heart. Though for security sake, I do
take note of such circumstances as packs of four black men (see future story
of the mugging and almost raping of my best girfriend Andrea in Berkeley on a
rare time we set out into the world, wearing my baby sister’s stylish costume
jewelry. They took all my waitress wages from Hungry Hunter over Christmas
break, as well as my double winnings from the Super Bowl from both halftime and
the game end numbers, a big pile of hard earned money that I intended to deposit
in the bank before we headed out, but obviously did not. And, Tiffany’s jewelry
We had two cute boys from Chabot City College in the back seat. One was a body
builder,but sadly with a gun to his head, he was of no use as our protector. My
lovely BFF was taken to a nearby park to be raped, but was rescued by a lesbian
couple who passed by. To be continued, if anyone is interested, let me know.)
So, for any of my MILF admirers, I was born in 1962 during
Kennedy’s reign and the year Marilyn died. I was the first of three girls. I
was the accident, a product of ‘messing around’ of my bobby soxer mom with her
beauty pageant smile and her older James Dean-attired man. My mom’s fate may
have been sealed before I ever came along. Her brothers had hit her on the head
with one of those old-style black rotary phones in her youth. I think that is
why she seems to have more loose marbles than the rest of the six children of
the late Grandma Minnie, but she has a big heart though she doesn’t know how to
operate it. More on my mom later (always volumes to talk about one’s mom. I
already worry about what my ward will say about me as his “mama”)
I can only promise my dear readers that I will tell it like
it was for me. I am most comfortable in the reality of things and don’t
understand why we spend our entire human lives playing roles that don’t suit
us. I hope my latest job in advertising is closer to who I am than agency high
tech public relations was, but whatever job I have will always disappoint. I
thought I was specia -- that my existence would change the world for the
better, but all I have done is fail. Nothing I do is good enough, if I can’t
save mankind and the world. Sadly, I am barely saving myself.
So you don’t abandon me, let me tell you a bit about what I hope
to share. It includes drug addiction, man addiction, mistakes, more mistakes, sexual
freedom, bi-sexuality, taboos embraced, too young lovers, Hollywood, a nod to
the porn industry, Mormonism, Polygamy, celebrity midgets, Prozac, Bi-Polarity,
mental illness and manic episodes, being cheated on and cheating, bastard child
that became my own from a man I had been dating nearly five years, but had a 13
year long Philipina fiancé, marrying one’s cousin in California and then
sleeping with his baby brother after he cheats on me. There is more, but if
that is not enough to catch your interest, then find another blog to follow.
This is me.
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