Oh Em Gee.

Stay tuned here. I've things to say but I'm not ready to say them just yet. I thought I was but, given our insane lives, I better hold off for a few more days.

Watch the skies.

Roadside America

Today we went to this crazy insane place up the way called Roadside America, where a man and his family created a 1600 square foot 'miniature village' with all kinds of madness going on. A major highlight is a ritual where the room is darkened to 'night' every half hour to show a slide show of Jesus while patriotic music plays.

The brainchild of Laurence Gieringer, he worked on it for 50+ years, and shows a sort of sanitized scatological history of America. Areas get more and more modern until Mr. Gieringer died in the 60's. So 196? is modern day in the large room.
It was awesome. Insane insane awesome. I wouldn't travel 2 hours to see it, but 40 minutes is cool. It wrecked areas of my brain while clean and sober, going there on drugs should be a right of passage or something. To make matters worse, I can get into detailed creation projects. I could be sucked into a downward spiral of miniaturized world building. My wife looked at me sideways with a 'don't even think about it' expression more than once. I too could build my own safe happy place where nobody can impose dirty dirty reality on my addled mind, then my descendants can charge folks to enter my world long after I'm dead.

It's worth those 6 bucks, all the way. The sign out front says 'Be prepared to see more than you expect', which is of course impossible - but a fun mental exercise none the less.

While there is a lot to sort of poke fun at from a jaded modern perspective - there is a lot more to truly marvel at and enjoy. It was a labor of love, and is a testament to a form of entertainment that is going extinct. It has brought joy to generations of people.

That said, oh to have been accompanied by a dwarf in a Godzilla costume!

Waterboarding for dummies

Drunken Word-Quilt Mock01

I'm soo fevered this PM... got 3/4 a bottle of Pinot Noir in me and
there will be more, but must not let the sleepy get into the mix.

Nothing like dinner of McDonald's quarter pounder, fries and wine for
supper at 10:3Opm.

Listening to The Kills - its good open windows night
driving music. The teens were teeming around the McDonalds and I know
half of them will be fucking each other tonight and its almost enough
to make me go out of my mind.

X was talking about me being alone tonight, with her coworkers
(x is having a sleepover with my parents, and X's in
Greensboro NC on business, in a ritzy motel)- they asked what I'd do -
- she said she suspected the wine rack would be diminished and as long
as I took the porn out of the VCR before she got back I could knock
myself out. Have I mentioned how much I love my wife?

six kinds of glue, won't hold you - go steal ahead
I'm getting down with the young drunk lovers, I'm getting down with it.


I'm in Mercury Hermes territory - a busy mind impeded only by waves of
fermented goodness, making all the monsters look a little more blunt
and obvious - - boosting my love and passion for stuff and making me
feel like my hands could keep working until dawn to produce pictures
and words that I would barely recognize later on...

BTW - does it get any more fucking awesome that I can put out a short
call in a couple of places and have some friends nearby... I'm goddamn
Professor Xavier - TO ME, MY X-MEN!!!


I wouldn't know what I was saying if I wasn't me, or somebody within a
70% shared interest bracket or so... greek/roman gods of information,
creativity, messagers of the gods - that the Mercury Hermes thing... I
don't remember what else I said.

A blue whale's dick is 6 feet long, I could
comfortably sleep in a female blue whale's vagina sleeping bag - and
have thought about it at some length (no pun intended, honestly).


okay - the Noir is kicked.. and now I'm looking at the frightening
option of "Rebel Red" a raped monkey ass option my dad gave to us as a
gift from a winery near Gettysburg where they sell gimmick named wines
supposed to invoke 'the tears of Gettysburg' and other such shite that
tourists should be fucked in the ear over. Its red, though - and that
color matches my last glass, so maybe it won't hurt me... its either
that or some dessert wine that isn't even an option unless I have a 6
course french dinner with fish, which I'll have in - oh, say - 12
years from now... 18? when X and I can afford to eat like the DINKs
we were for a solid 8 years before spawning our gene beings to emerge
from her womb to conquer the next generation, sporting flags of our
family line - - luck, wit, creativity, neurotic disfunction, and a
paralyzing sense that you make a difference in the world while bound
like Houdini and sinking in icy waters.
Did I mention that I'm drinking - and that I do it less that 4 times a
fucking year?

Now I'm worried about this Rebel Red stuff - for one, its totally a southern
slave owner name - second, its like eating
marachino cherries sweet (and there is no way in your mom's vagina
that I'm going to spell that correctly under the best of
circumstances) and I wanted to sleep on the porch under the stars with
dog heat in my sleeping bag... the sweet is going to attract
mosquitoes now, I think (with the head that won't shut up, because I'm
not dedicated enough to be Buddist which is where I totally belong
according to Joseph Campbell, who comes to mind because LG is here) -
they will smell the sugar in my blood and I'll have fucking bites on
my eye lids and look like John Merrick by the time the sun comes up.

where's Txxxx and Cxxxx... drunk Ron wants to talk to them.

Txxxx - I've told you that you have the distinct honor of being a
vehicle for the dead spirit of my friend, Bxxx - right? This isn't in
'real world' - it's in Ron's Ego head world... same thing to me, but
not everyone else.

Bxxx Bxxxxx. World worn magical wit of a woman - - spirit of a 7 year
old in the body of a 50-something - - she died from complications of
being a functional alcoholic for many year... so functional that NONE
of us knew it, not her best friends - - she couldn't get needed organ
transplants (liver, and something else?) due to her age (statistical
projection of the effectiveness of transplant) and continuing habit
(drink) that nobody even fucking knew about. She died without saying
goodbye - because she didn't want us all to learn about her addiction
on her death bed... she was shamed into silence, so she died alone
(with the significant exception of her husband and daughter). The
anniversary is about a week away... I'm soooo prone to memory based on
the seasons and calendar. She was the first person I called, outside
of family, when x was born. It really sucks.

So - Txxxx - you got your work cut out for you (just kidding in a
weird dark way that won't make conscious sense to me in a day or so).

I should absolutely get drunk with a cassette recorder on a regular
basis ( I mentioned gestalt therapy somewhere on the forums recently,
that's what I'm doing, my version at least... no - wait - I had posted
it, to Axxxxx's thread, then I deleted it, because most everyone on
the thread were idiots) - shitting this crap from my pores is such
fucking absolution for me, cause I'm really truly honestly good enough
a guy that I don't have a shit-load to account for, but the little I
do have makes me crazy. And when I say crazy - I mean crazy. Crazy is
NOT funny or romantic.

Rrrrrrr

abandoned while the flag is at full mast and the tank is full... will
move on to, what? more music.. can I slow down enough to read? not
bloody likely. possibly another FA bookmark, but it's too soon for
that.. got a good picture of our friend's kid at his birthday party
that I could make a kick ass portrait from - but its sooo nice and I
don't want nice at the moment. Need a way-back machine and access to
my school buddies and the international nanny school down the street
from the art school - lots of mixers between nannies with
fuck-to-the-moon accents and scraggly thin starving artists with the
light of the future in their souls waiting to be placed on paper with
graphite then ink then scanned and computer colored to languish on a
disk until some escaped into the public at large.

Slow dancing to fast music in a rented home - luau music on a snowy
January Thursday night with an overweight english girl as the
snowflakes go out of focus to become starshine circles under street
lights... move your cars, girls, they tow first and ask questions
later here in Dover, NJ.


At this point I am exactly the hairy mid-sized goblin pacing the
floorboards while everyone else engages in 15+ other real-worlds,
alone in an eddy in time - an unlikely tidal pool that forms when the
ocean moves in a way that it doesn't do under any moon but a blue one.
A mind that is scattered in the best of times is spread thin across
the cosmos trying to at least meet up in the milky way so there is
some kind of order but, the far spread stars are willow-the-wisps to
the fragmented me, each the best and the obvious choice - each far
from the other and in a world of its own.

so - how is this better, exactly? usually you just have sugar and
coffee - spunk and paranoia, tonight you have those plus the free
associated glut of archetypes as varied as the first 100 Hindu gods
that come to mind, while the others resent the neglect and sharpen
their teeth...

The pathetic moron calling for a long dead poodle (that he never
had) in the drunk tank, while the night shift play solitaire on their
screens, pausing only to write the highlights that may amuse their
wives, on post-it notes that are supposed to be for office use only.

The merits of being a chameleon:

If you had asked me in high school, I would have told you I was a misfit. I was that girl on the outskirts of everything that wanted to fit in, but just really didn't. Don't get me wrong... I had friends. Meghan and Lisa and I were inseparable pretty much from day one. As a trio, we surrounded ourselves with anyone who wanted to hang out. I can't speak for them, but I was certainly happy enough with whichever crowd of people we happened to attract that day. We were friends with the cheerleaders and jocks, the junkies, the preps and the posers. Many people would have called us the posers, I suppose.

We were also joiners. Myself, perhaps, more than the others: I was in Student Council, TREND, JAM and History Club, just to name a few. I also worked on sets and props for the Drama Club and was on the school paper (sophomore year) and yearbook staff (senior year). Senior year I was also a teacher's aide. To say I was a suck-up or a goody goody is putting it a bit mildly, if you want the truth.

I also worked while I was in high school. As soon as I turned 16 I put in an application at the movie theater that my family went to weekly. I handed the application directly to the general manager. He took me into the office for an interview and hired me on the spot. I started just a few days later behind the concession stand. After a few short months, they started training me in the box office and as an usher as well. Pretty soon, I was able to fill any spot they needed other than bartender (yeah, we had a bar... we were just that cool) or manager. Some of the managers even let me do parts of their jobs from time to time.

In college I guess you could say I mellowed out a bit. You'd be wrong, but you could say that.... I went away to school and moved into a suite-style dorm with a total of 8 other girls. Two of my suite-mates, Mindy and Jenny, were in a local sorority (Zeta Delta Tau). If you've been paying attention at all, you'll know that I wanted to become a Zeta too. Within days of being dropped off in a strange town, I had surrounded myself with a new group of friends that were both like and unlike the friends that I was used to. Zeta was the misfit group of the Greek system. We didn't fit the stereotype (either in looks or in bubbly personalities) and we didn't care. We were very active on the Campus Activities Board (the Student Council of the college set) and we had quite a social life with just about all of the fraternities on campus. We also did a lot of charity work (mostly for the American Diabetes Association).

I still visited Meg and Lisa on most weekends (they were at a school 3 hours away) which is when I met my husband (that's a story for another time).

I also still worked at the theater when I went home on breaks. Management had changed in my first year of college so I was, once more, the misfit. I did my best to blend in and was soon surrounded by a third group of friends. The theater friends were a rowdy bunch. We liked to party a lot and mostly hung out at Sean's house (Sean being one of the managers at the theater). One of our favorite party activities included getting completely wasted and watching old Muppet Show episodes.

At some point, the theater friends and some of the high school friends merged a bit. I don't remember which group initiated it but eventually we all wound up being part of the "cast" for The Rocky Horror Picture Show at the dollar show. I was prop-master, though they did occasionally have me stand in for Janet or Columbia in a couple scenes. We always went to Steak-N-Shake afterward (we tried Denny's but they were not very group friendly at the time) and generally a good time was had by all.

The point of all of this rambling, you might ask? In looking back at my life, I finally figured out that I was never a misfit at all. I was a chameleon... still am, actually. I want so badly to be included that I twist myself in order to fit into whatever group I happen to set my sights on.

Even as little as two months ago I thought that the real me was buried somewhere deep inside, never to be seen or heard from again. Now I believe that the real me is whatever you think I am, at least in part. I am a partier and a Mom... a hard-worker and an easy-going lazy sot... a conservative Catholic and free thinker... in bookworld I am a brat, a plastic pirate, a freak and a chatter.

I am all of these things.

I am me.

whats love got to do with it?

Some days I wake up and I love life. I think everything will eventually be ok. All things work out, blah blah blah. Some days I want to scream at everyone. I am talking about EVERYONE around me. I sit here and think, who do I really trust? Rely on and know that I can go to them about anything and know they will talk a good talk with me. I search my heart and sould and know that I can talk to nobody.
I am 26 years old. That is it. I am already to where I just don't want to deal with negativity because I have so much bubbling up from within I almost can't stand it. My mother is two faced beyond belief. She tells other people how much she loves her children and all this other bullshit, but she lies. She told me to my face I was never allowed to move back in. You know, like if I had trouble and I needed somewhere to go? Nope don't go to her. But since she defended my father for smacking the shit out of me for telling him to shut up, I really don't give a fuck what she has to say anyways. Yeah, and the time I threw ice (just ice, no water) on my brother and he choke slammed me and she defended him too. "Well he went to Iraq so he is going to have some issues with anger." Oh, I am sure the police would have agreed with you......what the fuck ever.
So I have always felt this calling. I am to suffer in this life. I understand that. I accept that I have to work to be happy. Ok, but now what? Which direction do I go? I am so lost and I feel like I am wasting time. Wasting a gift. I want to be at one with myself or whatever, but I feel like I have so much other crap hanging on me. Hell, I don't even allow myself to cry anymore.
I really wish I knew someone who did readings or was a psychic or something. That could give me a little guidance or some shit. Everyone is pushing me to get a job or something, and it's not feeling right. Something is wrong and I don't know what it is.
Ah, phooey.

A Buddhist's Hell

Down near my town’s sorry excuse for a rec center, we have a paved walking/biking path. It’s approximately .6 miles long. It’s nothing impressive, but it’s great for folks with young kids who need a nice place to walk. And a lot of us with dogs use it. There’s a field along side part of the path. And, as I said, it leads to the rec center where there are soccer fields, ball fields, a skating rink in the winter, and a swimming hole. On really hot days, I walk Colyn down there and let him swim. It’s better than just driving to the river, but it’s not such a long walk that it kills either of us.

I’m pretty sure that this walking trail would be a Buddhist’s Hell. Aren’t Buddhists the ones who walk around with a broom sweeping the path so they don’t accidentally step on and kill anything? I don’t know what it is about this walking trail, but it is perpetually covered in snails. Covered. Little, itty bitty snails. Hundreds of them. With each step I crunch at least 6-8. And they make the most horrible crunching noise. I feel so bad. I’ve tried avoiding them, but you can’t take a step without crunching at least one. And they’re there all the time. In the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening. Week after week after week. I would love to know why there are so many in that particular place. I just wish I didn’t crunch so many every time I went down there.

The leader of the band is tired and his eyes are growing old... ( google leader of the band dan fogelburg)

You know, You never know who you will miss and who you will understand until you can't see them or talk to them easily or (for some of you) at all. 

Dear Dad,

I miss you.  Seriously. That's all.

love,

Your daughter who probably imitates you in more ways than you could ever believe. 

Yes, he's still alive. No, I still don't get to see him very often. Yes, you can yell at me if you feel the need if your parents have passed away.

Abortion Girl

Recently, there was a thread started in CMT about a girl whose friend was thinking of having an abortion. She doesn't believe in abortion and wanted to know what she should do in regards to her friend.

I've always been pro-choice. I still am. However, ttc issues seem to creep up all the time and completely cloud my thoughts when stuff like that comes up. My brain says, be there. Support your friend no matter what she decides. My heart says, "FOR FUCKS SAKE GIVE ME THE BABY!"

I know that this is completely illogical. I know that 9 months of carrying a child only to give it away to someone else is the hardest thing for anyone to do, and I don't fault anyone for choosing abortion over adoption.

But it's like a knife in the chest every time the thought that that aborted baby could have come home with me.

So I have this struggle between my head and my heart. I know that my head is right.

Southern Summer Nights

That phrase likely brings to mind several scenes from movies. Most filled with genteel folks drinking lemonade on porch swings living simple lives. Movies don't get the whole picture right. Even in the South life is decidedly complicated. Life in the South doesn't warrant a person a free pass to life. The thing that movies to get right though is the lazy, slow moving, haze of a humid night here.

Some of my fondest memories are of sitting on the porch on a humid night like that. I developed a love for storms as a child. Not violent disastrous storms ala Twister but static charged thunder storms that move in slowly and stake claim on an area for hours at a time. My mother and brothers and I would sit on the porch and watch these storms roll in and roll out taking comfort in knowing that this storm would be wild but not dangerous.

Another fond memory of Summer nights is gathering around a big ole watermelon. There were four of us so we would each get a quarter of the melon to our self. My middle brother taught me how to spit a watermelon seed from the steps of the porch all the way to our mothers car. I could hit the bumper of the car but he could hit the back glass. I was always very jealous. We had watermelon vines growing in our front yard every year.

Southern life is not the easy carefree life that movies portray. But like life everywhere else it is full of simple, easy, carefree moments that make the complications easier to bear.

So I took the camera out and caught tiny glimpses of life in another country with another culture. I walked around and nodded at people as a simple, yet effective, way to say hi. Some nodded. Some looked afraid. One woman grabbed her purse. Another simply glared at me and said something as I passed. The interesting thing here is that you don't know what they are saying so you can make up conversations in your head. You can simply believe that they are saying "Why, what ever is a nice young lady doing out by herself right now?".

I think the thing that one has to do when in another country far from home and with only one other person to talk to is remember "Everybody poops". Yep. It's the truth. Everybody poops. Everybody eats. Everyone breathes in and out until they simply don't anymore. Some go sliding fast towards the exit and others struggle and crawl in utter agony to that final finish line.

I'm a bit tired so this might be rambling ...

Miss you freaks.

I may try to post pictures later. We shall see how they have turned out. They could all be turd shots so you may never see them.

I don't want to grow up. I'm a Toys R Us kid.

The Damned, and Fake Praise

Permuted Press is an independent publisher of zombie novels, a company that I thought would be great. If this makes you laugh - then the rest of this post is probably going to come as no surprise.
Zombies are big - the reasons for it are a little complicated, and tend toward the socio-political, but the long and short of the matter is that our culture is ripe for the genre once more (as is was in the 70's).
I was looking at lists of recommended books on Amazon, and seeing if I could find some well written zombie novels. I had found Steven King's The Cell a disappointment to the zombie purist who lives in my head (though not bad, it goes into some sci-fi elements that I don't think are SK's strong suit, and parts felt rehashed from the truly bad King book, Tommyknockers). There was lots of hype and excitement to be found over the books Plague of the Dead, by Z. A. Recht, and Dying To Live by Kim Paffenroth. By nearly all accounts - they were the greatest things since Dawn of the Dead. I bought them at 15, and 13 dollars a piece - plus shipping. I'm cheap, so this hurt - but I felt sure that I was in for a great read.
First I read Dying to Live. The author created the bastard love child of Romero (Night of the Living Dead) and LeHaye (Left Behind): Christian Horror fiction. The book was a mess - the good parts far outstripped by the quasi-prosthelytizing and every 4th page reference to God. A working class Joe discusses his uncanny understanding of the Tribulation - a guy is killed like Christ (down to nail holes, and spear in his side), a character is designed to be a zombie Jesus, a society is built on the Ten Commandments, scientists and english professors swear off their useless secular ways in order to try to figure out what God wants of them. It sounds like fun - if I had read this description, I still may have bought it to get a laugh and to satisfy my curiosity. Don't, though.
On Amazon, there are almost exclusively 5 star reviews for it (or were, at that time) - and nobody even mentioned the Christian Horror angle. It seemed suspicious.
Plague of the Dead was next - I held out high hope for it, and wanted to get the bizarre notion of zombie-novel-turned sunday-school-theme for hip youth groups (who dig blood) out of my head. Plague was even more of a disappointment - it reads like it was written during study hall time in high school. Plot, characters, pacing, and continuity were all a wreck. I have hard time believing that most readers would finish reading it. I have no doubt that the author will improve - he seems to know a little about the tools of writing, but his use of those tools is comically haphazard in PotD (to be fair, it was his first published effort).
What both of these books had in common was a loud spate of positive reviews surrounding their release - and a fair body of 5 star reviews from readers on Amazon. If Permuted Press does not have a staff of people with the job of sitting at the computer and seeding the internet with hype, I'd be very surprised. The only other possibility, to my way of thinking, is that the friends and family and fellow amateur writer peers of these guys felt it was doing the books and their authors good to post false praise and enthusiasm - down to getting on the case of anybody who posts a negative review in a public place.
The technique may have gotten them some sales - it got me to buy two books, but the dishonesty (or absolute lack of taste, experience reading other books, or fetishistic loyalty to a niche genre) has pretty much guaranteed that I won't be buying anything from Permuted again. Just that they allowed the books to be distributed with such a lack of editorial polish pretty much swears me off of the company.
My take on all of this can be dismissed - but I'm writing with sincerity (not bitterness), a love of horror (zombies, in particular), a long held habit of reading highly regarded books and popular books alike - so I ask that it not be dismissed lightly. Buyer beware - this may be a trend in independent publishing. These guys in particular seem all too eager to aim for the quick buck, when real profit is in long term sales of a good book.

5 things that could have been....

This is something that I actually wrote years ago on my LJ (edited a tiny bit as my writing style has changed some).... it was a meme in which you take 5 turning points in your life and write a brief synopsis of what might be different today if you had made a different choice. In lieu of coming up with a new topic tonight, I give you 5 of my possible lives.

1. I am an Air Force wife, and only mildly hate it. Thankfully, none of his deployments have been too terribly long. He does a lot of "top secret" stuff, but he gets to spend most of his nights at home with me and his two children. Now if only they'd station him somewhere a little closer to St. Louis. Hell, somewhere in the continental US would be nice. Don't get me wrong... it's beautiful here. The base is nice enough and my friends here are great. I do miss my family though... and JJ and little C need to know their grandparents too, yanno?

2. I never thought he was serious when he talked about living in the desert. Here we are though, and amazingly enough I love it. His job lets him work from home so we get to set our own hours. Mostly, he works during the day while I putter around online or lounge around reading. That means we have a lot of nights together under the stars. I'm thinking of going back to school, maybe to do something in journalism. I'm not sure how the logistics would work out, but I'm starting to get restless again. All I know is that I need to do something so I can at least pretend that I'm growing up.

3. The marriage was very short-lived. I knew it was a mistake, asking him to move here. Maybe things would have been different if I had moved up there, but I was really afraid of being miserable. It's hard to imagine being more miserable than I am now though, really. I guess some girls aren't meant to have the fairy tale. Some girls are supposed to just do what they're good at, and I'm good at running the movie theater. I only wish I were also good at getting the popcorn smell out of my clothes!

4. The school system here in St. Joe isn't all it's cracked up to be. The kids are great though, and it makes me really happy that I decided to switch my major instead of throwing in the towel when the Psych department wasn't cutting it. As they say, "Those who can't do, teach." I still see Tim at least once a week. We try for more often. We have more to talk about now that I'm also teaching. I guess it helps that the school-girl crush I had on him has matured along with me. These days our talks are over dinner with a glass of wine instead of across the desk at the Peer Counseling office. It never ceases to amaze me how much of an impact a single class can have on a girl's life. I only hope I can leave such an impression on some of my students. Unlike Tim though, I have no plans to marry one of them someday.

5. So this is what my life is reduced to, huh? One failed relationship after the other? Ah well. At least I'm getting to travel a lot in the deal. I'm sure one of the cities I land in will have a job that I actually want rather than the dead-end jobs that I've been settling for. Maybe then I'll have a reason to stay in town once the romance goes sour. I'm tired of running, but I also seem to have run out of places to run. My family gave up on me years ago, and my friends are few and far between. I think I'll try out New York City next. I know I don't have what it takes to be an actress or anything, but I'm sure they always need people to work in those touristy places. And who knows? Maybe I'll be able to find "me" while I'm helping everyone else hide from themselves.

A Revelation about the life of Admiral Von Lurkerhausen

No one in the freak army knows me that well. I am a fairly new member. I am also a fairly private person. My reasons for not talking about what i'm about to, well, talk about it, is that i've been judged by so many people in a bad way for this. And i don't want to keep being judged like that... I'm sure you'll see why i didn't post this on a public forum like PBS.

On March 27Th, 2008. I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Her name is Mackenzie Bree. She is now adopted by a wonderful family that i came into contact with, through an adoption agency while i was pregnant.

When i first learned i was pregnant, the father told me to get an abortion. My brother told me to get an abortion. Most of my friends at the time told me to get an abortion. I was going to. I even had an appointment set up. I knew i couldn't raise a baby by myself. I can barely take care of myself. I have crappy job and am on a quest ( have been for awhile) to find a better one. I'm always, ALWAYS, worried about rent and food. My life has always been a struggle. I've been homeless twice. I don't have anyone here to help me take care of a baby. I have no support. I couldn't bare the thought of having to leave my baby with strangers while i go back to work after a few weeks off. I couldn't bare having a baby suffer with me.

The day came for me to get up and go have an abortion. I didn't even get out of bed. I couldn't do it. I had a life growing inside me. I knew it's heart was already beating. I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill it.

I went to work the next day and my friend and partner at work, Glenn, knew something was up with me. ( Glenn is another story that will be saved for a different day!). I told him i was pregnant. He told me, i don't think on the same day, that i should find an adoption agency or lawyer. Glenn's two younger sisters were adopted. I started to think about it. How could i give up my baby after carrying for 9months though? But the more i thought about it, the more it felt right. I talked in depth about it to my mother, who agreed it was the best decision, being that she wouldn't be able to care for the baby either.

I found a wonderful agency, American Adoptions. Who set me up with a wonderful specialist, Sara. Glenn helped me pick a family from dozens and dozens of profiles. They were told about the baby, just after christmas. When i talked to them on the phone the first time we all cried. =)

We talked on the phone every week. I found out a lot of weird similarities between me and the adoptive mother, Michelle. Almost as if this was meant to be. They came to meet me, a month before the baby was due. And then they were here when i gave birth.

I had named the baby, Bree. They named her Mackenzie and asked if they could use Bree as her middle name. I was very very touched.

I was able to spend four days in the hospital with Kenzie. I kept her in my room with me the entire time. Perhaps not the best choice. But i wanted every moment possible with her. I fed her, i changed her, i burped her, i just held her and stared at her.

I signed over my rights at the hospital on the last day.

Her parents took her from the hospital. I made sure that we all left at the same time. I stood outside and handed her to her new dad, Robert. They said, " Thank You. Remember, this isn't goodbye, it's see you later." Both of them hugged me and kissed me. Then we climbed in our separate cars and i watched them drive away.

I was in agony.

I've never felt such horrible pain in my life. I thought i could die from it. I hurt so bad. I wanted her back. I truly felt like i was in hell. Sometimes i still do.

I was able to see her again, one more time a couple days later. It helped seeing her healthy and fine and her mom and dad taking such good care of her. They let me feed her and change her one more time.

We have an Open Adoption. I get pictures and letters almost once a week. On the 27th every month, Michelle sends me a milestone email update, so that i know how she's growing. Michelle and i have become somewhat close, and don't just email about Kenzie, but other things too. We email once a week.

This is really hard for me write about. In many ways. One of them is the judgement thing. People have told me to my face that i've made the wrong decision. People who have no idea about my life. The nurses at the hospital told me i was wrong to give " that beautiful baby away", and then would turn around and tell Robert and Michelle how wonderful they were adopting a baby. A girl at work actually asked me, " don't you want her?" . Another when i came back to work after being on maternity leave asked, " you kept her, right?" To which i said, "no." She burst into tears. I turned to walk away, with tears falling down my face, when she grabbed me and hugged me, and wouldn't let go for a long time. Both of us crying.

The worst thing for me is I still feel guilty. Like i could have done something more to keep her, like i couldve tried harder. Even though i know in my heart, she is in the best place she could be. She is safe, she is happy, she is loved, She wont have to worry about money, she has a mom that is now a stay at home mom ( which i looove). She has a family. And she will know that i am her BirthMom. I can write her letters and send her pictures and presents.

I see a therapist every week to get through it. I just take it, well, fuck day by day, i take it minute by minute, really. I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. I cry at least once a day. But i wouldn't say i'm depressed every second. I laugh. I'm still a silly goofball...

Sometimes i'm like a robot, just going through the motions of life. But most times, i'm trying to better myself, better job, try to get an apartment, instead of renting this little bedroom, try to make a good life. I want her to be proud of me.

This has been really hard to write. But also feels good. Good to get it out. (sigh).

Thanks for reading. Admiral Von Lurkerhausen aka VenusMist

Welcome To Our Blog!

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Welcome to the first group blog of The Freak Army.

You may be asking yourself, "Who are these people, and where can I stalk them?".

Well, dear readers, we are merely a group of extraordinary people, bent on saving ourselves from boredom and mediocrity. We have gathered here--interwebularly-- (<-- answer to the stalking question) for our own amusement, and expect our readership to grow into the tens. This is sure to be a historic event, so please; sit back, try the Kool-Aid, and enjoy.

Yours Faithfully,
Admiral Aeon Von Beaverhousen