Killing Two Truths With One Stone, Mother

Truth 1: Not feeling the love for mother on this 2018 Mother’s Day

Thursday, May 10, 2018: I had made up my mind that I was going to change Uber charges from mom’s Discover Charge to my own MasterCard Debit. This move is so I can justify my indignation over the co-dependent relationship between my mother and my brother. Of course, I immediately encountered internet interruptions…grr!

Waiting till after 10:00 to avoid surges and incentives, I ventured to the dispensary; from there I went to the market. The independence countered my depressive state.

The Truth: a bit of rationalization including the market with the dispensary.
The Fear: How long will money last for these excursions; must limit to one a month at first.

Anyway, feeling pretty groovy when I got home – especially after smoking a blunt that I had treated myself to for completing my customer loyalty punch card – I made the call to the prostitute I had selected and fascinated on for over a week. The phone was disconnected. Go figure. Had I been more spiritually aware, I’d have realized this was God putting the kibosh on a very expensive lesson confirmation.

I selected another – all this despite my favorite/selected site experiencing an internet interruption of their own, leading me to think about the end of net neutrality and the government shutting down Craig’s List Personals and other prostitute-advertising websites down as part of an enforcement action by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the U.S. Postal…blah, blah, blah. Personally, I think prostitution should be legalized for therapeutic reasons…not all humans are confident, beautiful; and we all get horny!

Sans crack…the guy arrive. I was nervous as hell.

Allow me to preface my experience: I used to take a hit of crack, alone, as soon as I got delivery and the hot, straight dealer had left. After a brief moment of euphoria, the sex glands started pumping. The next thing you knew, I was out the door in search of some willing male participant – my body shakes at the thought of anticipation as I write this. Having found a playmate, my next hit would have me dropping to my knees to perform greedy deep-throat blow-job service.

My sex glands had not kicked in yet when the guy arrived. He was hot. It was awkward, him claiming I was his first – can you see my eyes rolling back in my head? I tried to explain what I wanted and how I wanted it, but that got old fast. I actually found myself laughing at the false-misconceptions crack had created over sex. Even the requested domination was a joke.

I wonder if crack would affect me the same today?
I’ve heard tell that I would pick up right where I left off.

Anyway, I had paid $500.00 for two hours because I had anticipated something entirely different. What a waste of money, but a lesson finally well learned and many myths dispelled with minimal wreckage.

So, was I two different people? Did I do the drugs to allow myself to be mistreated as a means of self punishment or am I really that perverted and twisted? The sick part is that is what I desire…permanently, forever. The sick part is that when I hear stories of other humans having experienced abuse by their captors, I am jealous, envious, covetous. Do I grieve?

Truth 2: The quiver of anticipation is crack calling me back through my sex vulnerabilities.


It’s A Conspiracy!

Reported by ABC7 Eyewitness News:

ABC& Eyewitness News Tweet

The Tweet link above, when followed, reveals the following:

ABC & Eyewitness News

ABC & Eyewitness News

  1. where is there any mention of race?
  2. I seem to remember hearing somewhere that there was active anti-loitering law.

The Inquirer – reports:

The Inquirer DAILY NEWS screenshot

The Inquirer DAILY NEWS

  1. And makes no mention of race either. Hell! One of the policemen was of Negroid influence.
  2. The previous also reports that the woman was within her rights, which to me wihout further research, infers that there was an anti-loitering law.

You can see my reaction to this whole mess above in the Tweet screenshot.

Shun Race; Embrace Humanity

In my humble opinion, THIS needs to be the next evolution of the “HUMAN RACE.”

Sadly, I have ever only encountered one other person online, that seemed to grasp this concept. I learned from her to laugh at the hardline extermists on either side and let them be whom they want to be…

a racist  or anti-racist

by definition:



“a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race”

To me, this seems a vicious cycle, indeed. That’s why I now try to live as a human and view all of you guys and gals as humans too. Sadly, I’ve only encountered one other human that shares my perspective. Humanity extends far beyond race, gender, religion, etc., therefore,

Shun Race; Embrace Humanity

Which Spanish Accent Is Sexiest Part 2

Hard Truth

I am a hater.

I am a hater because I feel like I got the shit end of life. I know it’s my own fault.

One thing I have really come to hate is handsome, hot, physically fit, men; gays in particular. My reasoning is unsound and childish: I hate them because they do not accept me based on my own physicality: morbidly obese, according to my primary care physician and because of that, no penis, which doesn’t even get hard anymore due to my diabetes.

Anyway, I happened across this video Which Spanish Accent Is Sexiest? The competition is between Puerto Rican, Spanish, Venezuelan and Honduran. I watched it and laughed at the Negro girl’s reactions. At 6:40, she says:

“All these hot mens around me; I’m so blessed.”

I feel that is the perspective I should be walking around with. With that perspective I might “attract” more men. I know this to be inherently true. My problem is how to achieve that perspective. I know that I have tried numerous times and each time, I have wandered from the path due to lack of patience waiting for the gifts, the wildest dream. Maybe if I stopped focusing on my lack of having a man, I might find happiness in the blessing.

OMG! I just remembered…my cousin and a television reference have labeled me as a blessing block due to my high self-sufficiency insistence. Unfortunately, neiither God nor I have been unable to change my outlook permanently. Gosh! The more I write about this, the more I realize I am creating a crisis-of-faith drama. 😀


I agree with the Negroid girl: Puerto Rican men have the sexiest accent and in my experience, they have ALWAYS been the bestest, nasties, most satisfying sex I have ever had.

California Poppy Festival

Truth: Flowers Are Proof Of A God’s Existence

Growing up Catholic, I had a hard time reconciling God’s negative views regarding homosexuality “love” with plain ol’ love. I understand the sex and lust aspects of homosexuality being unforgiven, but even that is personal and private and should not be susceptible to public law.

My whole spiritual argument went something like this: Why would a God – a supposed generous figment – create me only to have me shunned for being a homosexual?

I did have a gay friend – younger than I, who’s attempt to seduce me ended with me laughing – who taught me. I explained to him my argument and that because of the argument I had a hard time believing in a God at all. My friend told me:

I had only to ask God to reveal himself to me and he would.

My friend went on to tell me that he had proof of his God’s existence: flowers. He went on to explain that no one, but a God, could make something as beautiful as a flower. This is what Alcoholics Anonymous expounds in Step Three: “God as we understood Him.

On the way home from visiting my friend, I asked God while driving on Interstate 10 West, at night, in the rain to reveal himself to me so that I might know that he was actually there watching over me and prove he existed. All of a sudden a loving warmness feeling began from my inside out and my eyes began to water as if I was going to cry. This worried me because I was driving, but at the same time I felt safe in know that a God does exist.

My proof continues to be the flowers to which I have grown so much more familiar with, learning their binomial names. Eschscholzia californica is named for my home state of California. At the reasonable cost of USD $10.00, I would love to go to the California Poppy Festival, and I am currently planning arrangements.

Shangri-La Hotel Fort Manila

Hotel Lobby & Nostalgia

why I do associate nostalgia with hotel lobbies?

my cousin posted this. i immediately recognize that he is in the Phillippines again by the interior of the hotel lobby and my family knowledge of his life.

seeing the picture i recognized that i always feel nostalgia when i see a hotel lobby. jokingly – the direction my brain goes first all the time – i answer because I am adventurous. at the same time, the true answer pops into my head: the mysterious chance of love. and finally the lurid, miserable truth: i’ve been in many and, let me tell you, missy, NONE of them had a lobby like that, much less, a walk-in office! i think when i see a REAL lobby, the romantic in me wakes up at the thought of a REAL romantic getaway with a husband, lover, fuck-buddy, prostitute, crackhead…

Ha! I never noticed that the more desperate I get, the more skinny my taste in men is.

…that was MY short-term goal/obsession/delusion/desire while I was out there.

if i ponder this more, i realize, also, that a lobby represents a sense of security to me because i am no one – anyone i want to be. there is security in annonymity and wonder in the fantasy of the places from which people have traveled.


mojo’s hungy.

Pictured: Shangri-La, Fort Manila, courtesy my unknowing cousin…heh heh heh.

Effin' Doctor!

Third World Healthcare In A (supposed) First World Country

I managed to get an appointment (11:00 a.m.) with my primary care physician for today. I had some pain I wanted to talk to the doctor about and straighten out some administrative issues.

I arrived on time, as always. I did not check what time I was called in, but at 11:39 a.m. – explanation of precision to be explained in a minute – I had had not seen my doctor. Prior to that I had disclosed that I had my echocardiogram done. The PA was supposed to checking on the report. Another person – cute, skinny, geek – came in and explained that the doctor had to go the hospital for a procedure and the he would be with me in a couple of minutes. LIES!

Having just hung up with my endocrinologist, I was admittedly saddened to learn that I have not one nodule on my thyroid, I have TWO, and one is big at three centimeters. I still don’t get understand the transition from sadness to anger, but I found the doctors absence highly unacceptable and said I was leaving, not waiting as my appointment was for 11:00 a.m.  – now I asked what time it was.

At this point, I rescheduled the appointment, requesting the next available, first appointment of the day. I was given April 16, 2018 at 10:30 a.m. How far out the appointment is of no relevance to me, but having dismissed me once, I am decreasing the risk that happening again.

The final reason for my visit: I wanted to ensure that my prescriptions were called in to the pharmacy because the pharmacist had informed me that my prescriptions had expired. Some other office bitch tells jumps in to my Koolaid and says the prescriptions cannot be called in until I see the doctor. BULLSHIT! I’ve seen him before and nothing has changed. WHY WEREN’T THEY CALLED IN AFTER MY FRIST VISIT?


How the fuck is an American Citizen supposed to pursue any happiness or liberty when we are all diseased and disabled and unable to get to our doctors. The United States of America has not lived up to my childhood expectations.