Thursday, July 30, 2009

I Hate Fetuses and Children

I haven't been spending much time reading or writing blogs the past few weeks. It's not because I don't love you guys - you know I do. I would tongue kiss all of you, such is the depth of my enduring love. I've been absent and a few of my blog friends even noticed I was missing. I can't even express how special that made me feel. I've been immersed in this personal crisis of pregnancy because while not wholly unexpected it still managed to shock me. I pledge in all seriousness that I will not turn this joint into a pregnancy blog (excepting this post). Mmmm...a joint would be so good right now. For the nausea. Don't worry, I'm not going to smoke one. I can want one, can't I?

I've noticed in recent years that people get so up in arms about pregnant ladies doing pretty much anything. And people assume they can get all up in your business about shit when you're pregnant. I remember when I was pregnant with Liv, I would have a cup of coffee in the morning. People would always say, "Is that decaf?" And I'd say, "No. I actually got shots of espresso in this bitch. Pregnancy makes me really tired." People were completely horrified when I said that. It felt good. Now, I didn't actually put extra shots of espresso in there, but that's really not the point. A little caffeine during pregnancy is not going to hurt your baby.

I watch that show Hell's Kitchen. One of the girls on there was serving tableside shrimp scampi to the guests. One of the shrimp she served was a little under-cooked and the woman at the table said, "I have to be careful because I'm pregnant." Ok. That's fine. There is a tiny bit of danger in eating raw seafood while pregnant. Does it mean automatic death of a fetus if you consume something raw while you are pregnant? Ummm no. But this girl's competitors seemed to think so. Some of them were actually saying, "She tried to kill a pregnant woman and her baby." I was screaming at my TV, "Shut the fuck up. Pregnant women and their fetuses are not that fragile!"

Remember that episode of Weeds where Nancy wasn't sure if her drug kingpin boyfriend was going to kill her for ratting his people out? And she was pregnant with his baby so she went to a sushi place and ate raw fish and had a shot of sake and smoked a cigarette? And then afterward she went to the guy's house and tried to make him shoot her with a gun but instead he kind of raped her but not really because she was all smiling afterwards? That was hot. Anyway, I was reading the forums after the episode aired (because I'm a total TV nerd like that) and people were actually saying shit like, "Maybe she was trying to kill the baby!" And the same thing happened after that episode of Breaking Bad, when Walt's wife smoked a cigarette in the car after a stressful day dealing with a cancer-afflicted husband and a teenager who has cerebral palsy and all the crap that comes from just being pregnant. She just wanted a cigarette to relax and everyone on the forum was like, "Skyler is trying to kill the baby! She's a terrible person and mother!" Like people actually believe that there is a high chance that a baby will die in utero if the mother smokes a single cigarette, drinks one shot of liquor, and has a sushi lunch. Retards.

Anyway, I'm not advocating that people smoke, or drink, or overdose on raw shellfish whilst pregnant. I'm just asking, "Can we put things in perspective a little bit here?" I'm sure eating McDonald's food every day of your pregnancy isn't good for your baby either but people wouldn't crucify me in their minds if they saw me eating an Egg McMuffin. My mom smoked and drank while pregnant with me and look how awesome I turned out*. My OB, who is cool as shit, told me that it was really okay to drink 1 glass of wine with dinner or whatever. She said, "We used to give women in pre-term labor IVs of alcohol to stop their contractions." And then she laughed heartily at the memory of OB ER rooms full of drunk, pregnant women.

I received so many disapproving glances from people when I sipped my wine at dinner in a restaurant, or at a party, or at my wedding. And I just stared right back at them and said, "Bottom's up!" and dumped it all down my throat. Normally, I liked to savor it but it was so worth it to waste my one glass of wine like that just to piss people off.

People are really on my last fucking nerves these days with their righteous indignation. I feel like people have this need to continously prove what amazing human beings they are because they love children. Every day on Facebook I see something about how somebody's mad because a child got hurt or molested. Don't get me wrong, I get upset when things like that happen, too. I just don't feel the need to announce to the world just how concerned I am about the plights of children all over the globe. I want to ask, "Does that make you special somehow? Who doesn't feel indignant about helpless people being abused?" I just hate when people state the obvious and then feel all unique and good about themselves. (In fact when people feel good about themselves, it irritates me. That's why I surround myself with people who have low self-esteem). When someone says, "I hate child molesters", it makes me want to respond, "Really? Because I totally love them. I wish one would move in right next door to me and come within 25 feet of my daughter's pre-school."

So now I'm sure I've pissed off everyone. Give me a break - I'm in a delicate condition. And I will be reminding you of that often. I will blame everything on this pregnancy - bad writing, terrible attitude, car theft, cursing at old people, laying on my couch all day, murder. Well, maybe not murder. Unless it's a child.

I hope I don't need to tell you that I really don't hate fetuses and children. You know me well enough by now that I don't need to explain my dark, twisted, unfunny sense of humor, right?

*well, I'm not really awesome. But I'm also not stupid so that's got to count for something, right?

Wednesday, July 29, 2009


There is a peanut sized creature in my abdomen wreaking havoc. This thing is sucking the life out of me. Sleep, sleep, all I want is sweet slumber on soft pillows. I am a ravenous wolf. I feel as though I've been deprived of nutrients for years and my body is demanding payment in full. I can't believe that there was a time when I lived with this hunger and actually enjoyed it. Now it is gnawing, distracting, all-consuming. The nurse said, "Eat carbs". I'd be saying "God bless her" if it weren't for the fact that I'm nauseous 24 hours a days and then vomiting ingested carbs. So gross. So my life right now. I want to curl up in a ball and sleep. Wake me up when it's over.

If it seems like I'm complaining, then I'm sorry. I realize that there are a lot of people who would do anything to be pregnant right now.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

I saw something over at ED Bites that made me so angry; so angry, in fact, that I think my rage could fuel a sizable nuclear reaction. Are some people seriously judging the competency of public officials now based on their body weight? How the fuck is that even a little bit OK?

I have spent nearly a quarter of my life attempting to overcome the obsessive, pathological idea that my worth, my competence, my beauty, my intelligence were all inextricable intertwined with the size of my waist, with the number on the scale, with the amount and types of food I put into my mouth. I have suffered and toiled and railed against this thing inside of me, this monster that wouldn't let me live for a single second without thought of how much space I was taking up in the world. It is a mental illness. And now that I am better, now that I have learned how to think more "normally" about my body and try to love it despite it's lack of conforming to some random and ridiculous feminine beauty ideal, I have emerged on the other side of the abyss to a world that is basically immersed in the same pathological nonsense I have just escaped from. Fucking nonsense.

If I hear one more person lament a bite of food, if I hear one more person talk about their diet, if I hear one more person mention the obesity "epidemic", if I hear one more person make a disparaging remark about an overweight person, I really just might explode in my fury. I seriously can't take this shit anymore. It's a constant onslaught - everywhere. You're fat. Lose weight. You're lazy. Lose weight. Lose weight. Lose weight. Lose weight. Sometimes I feel this malice bubbling up inside my veins and I get a stronge and difficult to repress urge to scream, "SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP."

I realize I'm more sensitive to this shit because of the fucking monster that lies dormant in my brain, but is anyone else sick to fucking death of this bullshit? Am I all alone in my confusion? What the hell has happened? What is particularly upsetting to me is the way that not only has thinness been thrust upon us as a beauty standard, they are now insisting that thinness is a health standard. There is absolutely no evidence to support the idea that being thin means you are healthy. You can be overweight and be healthy. In fact, recent studies suggest that overweight people tend to live longer than "normal" weight people.

Perhaps the worst thing of all is the fact that we, as a society, are pushing a thin, anti-obesity agenda on our children. Kids I talk to are literally afraid of fat. They see it as a death sentence. Where did they get this idea? The other day I overheard someone talking to a 9 year old girl. This person said, "You look like you've lost weight. You look great!" I just about lost my damn mind. This child is not fat, nor has she ever been fat. So what does this comment tell her? That losing weight is appropriate, and actually encouraged, during a time of life when weight should actually be gained. Growing and gaining weight is a good thing. Are kids getting that message? I sincerely hope so. My daughter isn't a skinny thing. She's a sturdy 4 year old with a good amount of baby fat on her bones. I think she is absolutely beautiful. Even is she were to put on a little weight and look "fat" by our society's standards, she would still be beautiful. Being a little chubby is not the end of the world. There are more important things for her to focus on than that.

If she ever came home and told me that she hated her body or wanted to go on a diet, I would lay down and die a little death. I am bracing myself for that day, because I know it is surely coming.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

I Don't Care Where You Are

Is it just me or are there way too many "Where Are They Now?" articles and TV segments in the media lately? I'm sick to death of it. Sick, as in I don't give a shit what happened to Danny Pintauro, or the unfortunate looking son from Roseanne, or Kimmy Gibbler, or Steve Urkel, or any other obscure child star of a TGIF sitcom. If I gave even a tiny fraction of a fuck where these people were, I would already know that information. I feel like every time I turn on my computer to AOL I'm rewarded with a smarmy glamour shot and a question: Remember Brad from Home Improvement? See what he's up to now... Then I have to remember something that I really don't want to remember and that's the fact that no I don't remember Brad from Home Improvement because I spent my Thursday nights sitting in an ass numbing chair while I listened to droning on sermons about the Ministry and Jehovah and no end of bullshit. Thanks for reminding me about all the TV that I didn't get to see. Did you ever notice how they put all the shitty sitcoms on Friday nights? Fucking TGIF. Family Matters? Carl Winslow made me sick to my stomach with all his judgmental antics. Why exactly was Urkel never good enough for his daughter? He seemed like a nice enough kid. And here's fucking Father of the Year rolling his damn eyes acting all put upon by a nerdy kid. And his wife? Don't get me started on that one.

Here's the thing, I have a brother - my own flesh and blood that I grew up with and I don't even know where the fuck he is right now. Last I heard he lived in Florida but he could have moved by now and you know what? I don't care. It's not that I don't love him. I just don't care where he is all that much. So if I don't give a shit where my own brother is, why in the name of all that's holy would I give a damn about that stupid "How rude" moppet or the one that wore the hats?

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Is This My Mind, or Yours?

I'm sort of mad at this certain book. Or maybe afraid of it's guts. I'd rather somebody beat me to a bloody pulp with a Bible than read the contents of one to me. Although there are some very beautiful passages, such as The Song of Solomon, it's chock full of some pretty disturbing things. And say what you will about Jehovah's Witnesses but they don't sugar-coat the messages of the Bible. They study every scrimp of it, find a lesson in it all. Even that Mosaic law snoozefest in Deuteronomy. We studied that shit. How that applies to a Christian religion is beyond me. I'm not even sure how Christian it really is, considering most of what I remember studying was the Old Testament. I think that's because after Jesus comes on the scene in the Gospel, "Jehovah" or "YHWH", whatever his god damn name is, loses his steam.

That was so blasphemous and I don't even care.

Well, maybe a little bit.

There's a lot less blanket condemnation and merciless killing in the New Testament. You can't scare people with the Gospel. Well, you can. You just have to work harder at it.

I want to emasculate God a little bit. Take Him down a notch. Because I'm tired of having weirdness and underlying fears about him killing me for not believing in him anymore. Or questioning his existence, anyway. His fairness. His right to rule over people while never lifting a finger to help them. Who the hell does he think he is? See, right now I'm having a mild panic attack. I think all this fear is behind me but it's really still alive and less dormant every day. Monsters under the bed. Brainwashing runs very, very deep. And it's a severe source of shame for me. Which is kind of ridiculous, I realize. It's not my fault that my mother converted to a cult when I was 5 years old. It's not my fault it took me nearly two decades to extract myself from it's tenacious grasp. How do you not get brainwashed when this is what you are told to believe from a tender age? How do you not fall for it all when you are terrified into believing all sorts of fantastical bullshit that has no basis in reality by way of threats of death at Armageddon, birds plucking out your eyeballs, fire from heaven? My personality was formed on a steady diet of doomsday philosophy.

So much is riding on your faith in the veracity of the doctrine. It's more than your life. It's your family, your friends, your dignity. It's your mind - but it's not yours anymore. It never belonged to you in the first place. Even when you're only 7 or 10 or 12 years old, you are carrying the weight of the world on your little back. You are supposed to save these people, kids at school, the cashier at the deli, your grandma, your dad. You are responsible for their deaths. And if you shut your mouth, then when they fall into some crack in the earth at Armageddon never to be seen again, it will be all your fault. This is bloodguilt. You are so young and unformed but you have the special knowledge of imminent destruction of all humanity on your mind at all times. Try to imagine what that would be like.

I wasn't brave. I didn't try to save anyone because I was too busy trying to save myself. I didn't want to talk about my religion, my difference. I wanted to pretend it wasn't there, the thing that made me the weird girl sitting during the pledge of allegiance, or leaving when the birthday cupcakes came out, not going to the slumber party with the girls at school on Friday night, or not having anything to say after Christmas vacation. Everybody was wearing new clothes and having new toys. What did you get, Gwen? I got uncomfortable and then so did she. "Oh yeah...I forgot" She brought up the thing and it was there, suspended in the air as foreign and strange to her as a UFO. "Santa doesn't come to your house." She looked down. And I thought, "She thinks I'm bad but I'm not. She is an idiot because Santa Claus is a stupid lie. Christmas is like the devil coming as an angel of light but full of all kinds of vile things. Jehovah hates Christmas and so do I." Lies I told myself.

Truthfully, I was so brainwashed that I didn't even know I was afraid. Fear was the natural state of being. Fear of God is the beginning of life, the scriptures say.

Fuck the scriptures. I'm beginning to think that Trouble is right when she says my problem just might be a nasty little case of PTSD. The gnawing anxiety, the panic attacks, the nauseating despair, the wanting to die. I don't know. I didn't get robbed or fight a war, but I lived my entire childhood under a blanket of fear and guilt. That can't be good for the psychological well being of anyone.

I realize now after finally researching the power of cults over the human psyche, that I am recovering from the effects of mind control. Lifton mind control tactics that I think apply to my childhood/early adulthood:

Demand for Purity. The world is viewed as black and white and the members are constantly exhorted to conform to the ideology of the group and strive for perfection. The induction of guilt and/or shame is a powerful control device used here. (Yep. Any non-JW activity or person was deemed "worldly" and we were instructed to be careful about those things/people. Questioning the ideology, outside of initial "studying", was cause for expulsion from the group. I was never permitted to question the ideology. I would have been deemed unfaithful and possibly apostate, which in the religion is considered an unforgivable sin beyond any redemption).

Confession. Sins, as defined by the group, are to be confessed either to a personal monitor or publicly to the group. There is no confidentiality; members' "sins", "attitudes", and "faults" are discussed and exploited by the leaders. (Confession was only required for major sins like fornication, drug use, smoking, drunkenness, homosexual activity, etc. Typically the "judicial meetings" were between 3 elders, church leaders (always men), and the person confessing the sin. Sometimes there would be public announcement that someone had been "reproved", which is basically a reprimand with loss of privileges in the congregation. Sometimes reproof would be private. If repentance was not displayed for the act or if the act itself was deemed serious and willful, then the person would be disfellowshipped (excommunicated). No JW's would be permitted to talk with this person, not even his/her own family members, not even to just say, "Hi).

Sacred Science. The group's doctrine or ideology is considered to be the ultimate Truth, beyond all questioning or dispute. Truth is not to be found outside the group. The leader, as the spokesperson for God or for all humanity, is likewise above criticism. (JW's refer to their religion as The Truth. They are not permitted to read literature that is anti-JW or any religious material other than what is published by the organization. The Governing Body, which is a group of 12 men, are the only ones allowed to make decisions regarding doctrine. Their word is akin to God's word. If you deny that they are God's mouthpiece, then you are said to be denying God).

Loading the Language. The group interprets or uses words and phrases in new ways so that often the outside world does not understand. This jargon consists of thought-terminating clich├ęs, which serve to alter members' thought processes to conform to the group's way of thinking (Yes. Absolutely. They even had a name for it sort of, The Pure Language. "The Society says"...was a thought terminating cliche. Or if somebody had a good question that highlighted that the doctrine was incorrect, this: "That's apostate reasoning". That shut people up real quick. Also we used words like Pioneer, Bible Study, Governing Body, The Society, The Faithful and Discreet Slave, Publisher...the list goes on and on. These words all mean something to JWs but not what it means to the outside world).

Dispensing of existence. The group has the prerogative to decide who has the right to exist and who does not. This is usually not literal but means that those in the outside world are not saved, unenlightened, unconscious and they must be converted to the group's ideology. If they do not join the group or are critical of the group, then they must be rejected by the members. Thus, the outside world loses all credibility. In conjunction, should any member leave the group, he or she must be rejected also. (Yep, times a million. JW's who left were not associated with at all. If they officially "disassociate" from the organization then they are treated as excommunicated and not even spoken to. If any JW speaks against the organization or even just professes a disbelief in it's doctrines, he or she is considered an apostate. Many people in the religion consider me to be so. I guess I'm doomed. Unforgivable. Beyond all redemption. Non JW's are considered walking corpses. Yes, I heard them described as such during a sermon once. Mind you, they would never put that in their literature. They don't tell Non JWs that this is their belief because it would disgust people and stop people from converting. But that is the message that is beat into your head from the platform. Sneaky bastards talking out of both sides of their mouths. While we were very interested in converting the masses, finding the sheep, and this was supposedly motivated by a great love for people, we had absolutely no problem praying for Armageddon to come quickly to relieve of us of the burdens of this world. Mind you, Armageddon's arrival would mean the everlasting destruction of billions of men, women and children. I'm sick to my stomach just thinking about what I wished for. Horrible things. So much shame).

I have a foot in each world. I don't belong completely to either. I spent more time in the other world, the place where I didn't have the right to do my own thinking. I feel like I was born the day that I stopped believing. I was 24. So how old does that make me now? 10. It's been 10 years since I started to use my own brain, think my own thoughts. I'm still trying to answer the questions: Who am I, really? What do I want?

I'm afraid that there aren't any answers. That I am completely empty - a black hole of endless nothingness. I have no base. My brain is all fractured. I spent 20 years devoted to something that probably doesn't exist. I might as well have been dead.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Fun With Fireworks

It isn't a Jackson/Binder Family 4th of July celebration without some good old-fashioned pornographic goofing.

My soon to be brother-in-law has some really precious stones. Don't you agree?

And of course, I always enjoy getting a nice, warm golden shower courtesy of my, again, soon to be brother-in-law:

Yes I cropped myself out of the picture. I'd been drinking all day and looked like shit. What else is new?

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Eve's Agony

Reaching out
To touch a stranger
Electric eyes are everywhere
See that girl
She knows I'm watching
She likes the way I stare
If they say -Why, why, tell em that is human nature
Why, why, does he do me that way
If they say -Why, why, tell em that is human nature
Why, why, does he do me that way
I like livin this way
I like lovin this way -
Human Nature

I wrote this blog a while ago and as with so many other things I write, I opted not to post it. But it's one those pieces that stayed with me; there is a psychological importance to what I talk about here. Certainly to me and possibly to somebody else who grew up the way that I did, whose sexuality was forged in that terrible crucible of fundamental Christianity. I dare say not everyone grew up to be quite as fucked up a personality as me. I hope not. I heard Human Nature on the radio today, and I thought, "This is my nature." Maybe nobody cares about that or maybe they do. Either way, with my writing I seek to honor those things in me that twist and gnaw and hurt. I want to present myself not the way I wish I were, but as I actually am. That being said, here is me in all my despicable and strange glory. Do with that what you will.

"Here's your coffee, ma'am". She takes it from his hand and when she does, his fingers lightly, unintentionally brush her hand. And then it happens, because it has to happen these days. She feels the rush of arousal and the inevitable wetness that always follows it. This guy doesn't even know. He is all baseball capped and young and about to get off his shift at Starbucks and probably go meet his girlfriend at the movies. She'll be wearing something adorable, maybe a denim mini-skirt and a tank top, and she'll smile when he hands her a latte. "You're so sweet!" And he'll smile and bide his time until later when he can get her naked and panting and begging him to show her just how sweet he really isn't.

"Have a great day!" she sing songs and then walks away wondering if he could even tell the dirty thoughts pervading her mind. Pink excitement flushing her pale skin, quick, shallow breaths.

This is the way of it these days. Every moment is tinged with the color of fucking, sepia toned pornographic images, one after the other, on a perpetual loop. Distracting, invasive thoughts that make it difficult to live those mundane moments.

When she was fourteen, this was always a problem. She had her peculiar yearnings in bed at night. What was that about? She didn't know. Then it started to bleed into everywhere. In church, as the preacher stated his case for chastity from the stage, a sign containing some poignant scripture hung behind him, she sat, still as a statue. But she was a bad girl. So when he talked about fornicators and unclean behavior, it only served to make her excited. The rush, the wetness. Every muscle tensed, poised and ready, building, building, nobody knows. Then when it hits it is almost painful and unwelcome. Nobody knows. This is God's house and she is balling her fists at her sides having an orgasm. God knows.

She spent a long time at prayer. She spent a long time reading holy literature. "Deaden, therefore, your body members that are upon the earth as respects fornication, uncleanness, sexual appetite."1 It was not good to feel so alive. It was better to cut off your hand than to allow it to do an unclean thing2. Better to be dead than full of sin. Yet this arousal came unbidden and soiled her heart. It was going to get her killed eventually.

Unclean things - Romance novels stuffed under mattresses, hidden beneath piles of theocratic books and a heavy bible. She learned about carnal pleasures from the bible first. But those seedy books completed the education. Nightly, there were re-imaginings of those wicked scenarios. The push and pull of desire. "No, don't." "Yes. You will like it." "It hurts." "You have to." The heroines were always conflicted about their appetites. Good girls will never admit that they want it. They are afraid of their orgasms, of what they meant. She wonders - What does it say about me if I want that? She doesn't have to admit that she wants him hard inside her. "You have to." Her pleasure has a price. Her punishment is pain. Her pleasure is pain.

It's OK if somebody makes you.

When she was nineteen - in her boyfriend's car, intense kissing turns into unbuttoning pants, into hot whispers in her ear "just touch it, just a little bit." And she knew how to do it, too. But she said, "No. I can't. I shouldn't." His request intensified, "Do it, please?" She only wanted him to love her. No, that's a lie. She wanted to know how it felt to hold it in her hands. He pulled her hair tightly into his fist so it hurt and said firmly through gritted teeth, "Do it." So she did.

It's OK if somebody makes you.

Suddenly she was a metaphorical Eve. These are forbidden fruits indulged in. She insists, "God said, 'You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree...nor shall you touch it, or you shall die." The serpent said, "You will not die for God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and bad." Why does the serpent want you to do the bad thing? She doesn't care. She was fully clothed but her eyes were opened and she knew that she was naked. He tried to put his hands on her place and she pushes it away. He didn't insist. His orgasm was the only thing that mattered.

When she was alone, she cried. Wet and unsatisfied, she masturbated to orgasm, wallowing in her sinful, dirty nature. Wet with tears and her own arousal. She fell asleep an unclean thing. It was too heavy. She couldn't do it. She didn't want to be like God, knowing good and bad.

"I don't want to do it anymore. I feel...dirty." She wanted his love. She was desperate for it. She had risked her reputation, her relationship with God, the love of her family to satisfy him.

"Nobody knows."

"God knows." She was crying now. "God knows. We have to tell on ourselves."

She couldn't sit in church anymore pretending to be pristine, virginal. She was full of dirty things.
This is the part that she can't even think about. When you are unclean the only thing that will cleanse your soul is confession, submission to judgment. She made her confession to the older men in the congregation. The confession took place in a library, walls lined with biblical tomes. The room smelled like discipline and authority. She sat on a metal chair shivering internally and told three grown men about her first sexual experiences. They were wearing suits and holding bibles. It was all very official.

"Where did he touch you, sweetheart?" "Where did you touch him?" "Did he have a sexual climax?" "Did you?" "How many times did you touch him?" "How long did you touch him for?" "Did he ask you to?" "Did he take his pants off?" "Did you?"

She was nauseous in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes were opened and she knew that she was naked. All her dirty secrets laid bare before these men who barely knew her. It felt like a violation. She cried as they chastised her with scriptures. Pain is her punishment.

1 Cor. 6:18 - Shun fornication! Every sin that a person commits is outside the body; but the fornicator sins against the body itself.

2 Tim. 3:6 - For among them are those who make their way into households and captivate silly women, overwhelmed by their sins and swayed by all kinds of desires, who are always being instructed and can never arrive at a knowledge of the truth.

Rev. 2:22 - And I gave her space to repent of her fornication; and she repented not. Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery with her into great tribulation, except they repent of their deeds.

Hebrews 12:11 - All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

She wanted to repent because she was exhausted from carrying the burden of this clean disguise. She wanted it to be real. And they said God will forgive you but only if you display works befitting repentance. She was disciplined with private reproof, spared the public shame of an announcement to the congregation. But everyone knew anyway. She lost every small privilege. She didn't have that many to begin with since she was only a woman. Study the bible, prayer, ministry, church. Stop practicing the unclean thing.

You can't sustain repentance when you have so much lust burning in your veins. She tried to starve it out of herself. Even that didn't kill it all the way. Finally she knew that God would never love her. She thinks, "I am dead anyway. I might as well feel good while I'm still alive."

But it was too late.

The Lord God said to [Eve], "What is this that you have done?"
Eve said, "The serpent tricked me and I ate."
God said, "I will greatly increase your pangs in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall dominate you."3

That was the birth of her passion. It's OK if somebody makes you. To have pleasure, first pain. You will want your husband and he will rule over you.

She watches her husband undress for bed. She feels the rush and the wetness. She can't ask him to fuck her. He crawls in beside her, his body warm, his strong arms folding around her small body, his masculine scent filling her nose. She is breathing short, shallow breaths. She is aching for him to touch her. She can't ask. They fall asleep in this nurturing posture.

He wakes her in the night, mounting her urgently. He pins her arms the way she likes it. She pretends he is making her. She whispers one or all of the following, "Pull my hair, bite my neck, spank my ass, fuck me so hard that it hurts". Only then can she have it, the thing she's thought about all day. It grips her and she is momentarily afraid. It is an agony of pleasure. Passion and suffering. They are actually the same thing.

1Colossians 3:5
2 Matthew 18:8
3Gen 3:13, 16

Thursday, July 2, 2009

More to Hate

I don't know how to feel about that stupid new reality show "More to Love". Actually I do. It's a familiar feeling. Hatred. Like I could murder a TV executive with my bare hands and feel all justified. Dexter-style. I have a code.

Let's play a little game. Remember those Highlights for Kids magazines that used to be in every doctor's office when we were little? I always loved those pictures with normal landscapes or domestic scenes and I had to look closely to find everything that was wrong or nonsensical in the picture. This game is a little like that. Read the following description of the show, More to Love, that I found on and try to find all the things in it that are terribly, terribly wrong:

New Dating Series Executive-Produced by Reality Czar Mike Fleiss

FOX is setting out to prove that love comes in all shapes and sizes with the new inspirational dating competition series MORE TO LOVE. Executive-produced by Mike Fleiss ("The Bachelor," "The Bachelorette"), the unscripted series follows a single average guy with a big waist and an even bigger heart as he romances several confident and secure plus-size women. Each week, the husky hunk will wine and dine a group of curvy women to determine if they have more love to give or if they are truly more than he can handle. When the size of competition narrows, he will have to decide if one full-figured lady will become his true love.

"This is a dating show that sends the right message about embracing and loving yourself no matter your shape or size," said executive producer Mike Fleiss. "When you are comfortable with your own body, you can really allow yourself to be open to the possibility of finding the right person to love."
1. Weight puns. I counted six at least. We get it. The man is large and the women are large. Maybe there might be something else about these people worth mentioning?
2. Reality czar? Really? Does he really want to take dictatorial responsibility for the vat of excrement that is reality television?

3. Do we really need proof that love comes in all shapes and sizes? What kind of an asshole is skeptical about that? It's not a theory that all types of people need and deserve love. And I sure as hell do not need FOX to deliver this lesson to the masses. (Oh my god. That wasn't a pun. Or maybe it was. Maybe that shit is contagious like small pox).

4. "Inspirational dating competition." That's an oxymoron if I ever heard one. The only thing dating competitions inspire in me is nauseous disgust. In fact, I keep an episode of The Bachelor on my DVR just in case I ate something I shouldn't and I have a hard time throwing it up. It works like a charm. 20 desperate whores, an asshole, and contrived, romantic sexual encounters makes for "Bye Bye Ice Cream".
5. "More to Love"? What the fuck does that even mean? What if someone is overweight and a total bitch (like me?) Is that More to Hate? Don't answer that.

6. "An average guy." How is he average exactly? He has a "big waist and an even bigger heart". Wouldn't that make him not average?

7. "Romances several...women." Romances? I don't know how romantic it is to date 20 women at the same time. Where I'm from that's called...typical male behavior. Romantic is kind of a stretch.'s the roses he gives out to the women who kiss his ass enough (figuratively and no doubt literally) throughout the course of the episode. That makes it romantic.

8. "This is a dating show that sends the right message about embracing and loving yourself no matter your shape or size." I'm so happy that Mike Fleiss is sending "full-figured" men and women everywhere the message that it's OK to love their own bodies. How generous and fucking revolutionary of him!

9. Thanks Mike Fleiss for letting full figured women everywhere know that one day we can feel comfortable enough with our bodies to go on a reality TV show where we can degrade ourselves, fight over an "average" guy, and be mocked with ridiculous puns about our weight.

Well, there's nine terrible, terrible things that I could find off the top of my head. The whole concept of the show is disturbing to me. Have you seen the commercial? It's so fucking condescending. Like, "awwww. Heavy-set women looking for love. Isn't that cute?" The announcer's tone is so earnest and patronizing. He might as well be talking about contestants in The Special Olympics. Czar Mike Fleiss claims above that the plus-size women contestants are confident and secure. I'm not really getting that impression through all the tears. The women are actually lovely, don't get me wrong. But the fact that they would go on this show in the first place makes me think they no likey themselves all that much. I feel the same way about all these dating shows. Why would a woman degrade herself like that? You all know that I hate myself, that I have spit at my own face in the mirror, and subjected my body to countless tortures. And yet even I, a person who probably deserves that shit more than any of those women, wouldn't put myself through that kind of emotional agony.

I keep seeing the commercials for this show and every time one comes on TV I get a nauseous pit in my stomach and have to go throw up. I'm going to be so skinny by the time this show goes on the air. Oh no! If I get too skinny then maybe I won't be "REAL" anymore. Right? Isn't that what the commercial keeps telling me? This is what a "real" woman looks like? Full-figured, big ass, big boobs. All those skinny bitches just aren't real. Not according to Czar Mike Fleiss anyway. He gets to decide, you see. Czar Mike Fleiss deserves a fatal blow to the head with a blunt object, if you must know. It's in the code.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009