rosyxxx's journal

You'll excuse me if I am confining myself to my journal. Some people may think of it as a form of "blogging", but for right now, it's been a place to quickly type through an issue, in a place where I know my writing will not be lost, even if my computer goes kerfluey. That issue has reached a sort of resolution, and the peace it brings to my heart is immense.

Peter Levine talks about how those who have been abused have a tendency to want to repeat the original trauma. I wouldn't necessarily say that what happened this past Wednesday was an attempt to repeat. It was more like shitty luck. :/ But the upshot is that I was handed an opportunity by accident to do with as I chose. It came down basically to two choices. Rage vs. Forgiveness.

I chose to forgive. In an odd way, it was actually easier to forgive him than some people I have known for ages, and then again it was also, paradoxically, one of the hardest things that I have done. After the attempted rape, he kept leaving me text messages. It became more and more apparent that he had been so drunk the night of the attack, that he didn't even remember doing it. It was my 'hunch', and I was right. I wonder, how many full-blown rapes work out that way? And the woman, or man as the rarer case may be, can't calmly stand up for themselves, and gets further abused by being accused of lying? Probably way too many.

Fortunately for me, that did not happen. The man kept leaving messages, he kept calling...and so finally I picked up the phone determined to tell him calmly that I was not okay with what had happened. I did tell him that. I also told him what he had done.

At first, he denied it. He said that he would never treat a woman that way, that he had never even gotten into a fight. I said that may well be, and something like this may never have happened before, but he did do it. I told him how he'd ripped my coat off, how he'd made veiled threats of violence in his friend's apartment, that could both have easily been written off as lack of depth perspective and drunken morbidity. I told him that after that he had stood in my kitchen and forcibly tried to remove my clothes. That each time I managed to pull my dress back down, he would grab and twist my nipples painfully. That he forced my hands onto his cock and kept them there. That as I stood there wanting to cry I kept telling him to just go home and get some sleep and call me for coffee in the morning. That he'd finally released my hands so I could remove them from his cock, and walked away and muttered that this was bullshit. That he stalked out of my apartment.

He remembered none of it, and I believe him. I know he doesn't remember. BUT.....It happened. I told him that any chance at a romantic relationship was now over. I told him that he was in no position to deny what he had done, since he was so drunk he was slurring his words at the time, and I was stone cold sober, and have been for over a year. He said that he was so sorry, and begged me to forgive him. I said that I would, but that that did not mean I was ever comfortable being alone with him again, and that he is not allowed in my home. If he knocks on my door, I will not answer. I will not open it. He accepted this.

He asked if he and I could at least be friends, and maybe really have coffee sometime, because he just really enjoyed my company. I told him that might be possible, but not right now. He wanted to call in a few days and invite me to coffee. I said no. I said that he should not call me, that if I felt comfortable inviting him to join friends for coffee, to let me call, and not to put any timeframe on it. It could be a very long while.

I also explained that the only way I knew for him to avoid doing something like that again to a woman was for him to spend a great deal of time doing some soul-searching, and to discover what inside him would prompt that behaviour. I told him that if he clung to wanting to speak to me, that could short-circuit the process. That he needed to own what had happened, and not shove it under the rug and pretend that it did not. And then when he had done that, when he had gone deeper into his own soul he would likely find that he wasn't a bad person. That he'd just made a terrible mistake, and someone had helped him stop, and had been kind enough not to yell and scream and call him a demon, because he was not one. Just human and fallible. And drunk at the time. :/

I talked to him about some of the funny conversations I had had with friends over stuff the past few days, and how all my guy friends had been there for me through this, but had no idea who he was...and that I would keep it that way for now. I told him how much the experience, oddly enough, had allowed me to grow to love and appreciate my friends here in St. Louis that much more. That I had chosen to get something positive out of all of this, and then I just let him talk about literature. I didn't want him to forget how serious this all was at its core, but I didn't want him to hate himself either, or feel that I thought that what he'd done was unforgivable. Because it is forgiveable.

And yet, the trust he had implicitly upon first meeting, the level which I might give a total stranger is not there. He has a harder road to climb to get that back, let alone the kind of trust I extend to those whom I've known and been able to trust for years. I think he knows this...but, no matter what, he is aware that I will not socialize anywhere but in public with him, in large groups of people who are not intoxicated, and he may not knock upon my door and expect to gain entry.

And I am at peace with this. The feeling inside my heart right now, is almost as if the event never happened. The shaking and crying I needed to do, I did within my friend John's arms. And he held me like a friend. He helped to remind me, in that irrational phase of healing, that all men are not like this. He put a band-aid on my soul, and so did Bob, and Mike and Joe.

And now the band-aid is off, and the wound has healed mostly. There's a scar, but it's healing fast. Being able to have that talk with him, and to know that he heard me, not only healed the pain of his assault, but it seems it has allowed me the opportunity to heal so many others from youth. Here, as an adult, was an opportunity, with a sane adult to call him out on his behaviour, to be heard, to be validated, and not to be threatened or belittled.

In a very real sense, what he has done from start to finish, is to allow me to heal much more than what he had done. It is regrettable that such a fascinating person would have broken my boundaries so harshly, but he has given me a gift, actually, far more valuable to me than a potential intimate relationship. Peace. He gave me the opportunity to have it, and I took it...by standing up for my self, calmly, with no tears, and with compassion and caring in my voice, not pity, nor rage. And he put the final healing balm on the wound by saying he was very, very sorry, and asking my forgiveness. He has it. Now the trust is the only issue.

At some point, maybe years from now, I would love to tell him how what he had done has allowed me to use the situation positively to heal so much more than what he did. Maybe someday it will be appropriate, and I can trust him enough to do so. I hope so...very much. Forgiving feels so much better than hating.

I would certainly not go out actively looking for an experience like this one to learn from, but I am not deluded into thinking that obstacles of varying kinds will not appear again in my future. I think the key, according to Pema Chodron is to 'hold your seat', and in doing so...the waves that come and knock you down don't disappear, but they actually get smaller and smaller, and less of a potential to cause you harm, not because their intensity is reduced, but because you will not allow them to affect you as you have in the past.

What she has to say about this process in her book: "The Places that Scare You" follows below, and sums up what I have been trying to do. It's not easy, and I stumble a lot, but it is still worthwhile:

The most straightforward advice on awakening bodhichitta is this: practice not causing harm to anyone-yourself or others, and every day do what you can to be helpful. If we take this instruction to heart and begin to use it, we will probably find that it is not so easy. Before we know it, someone has provoked us, and either directly or indirectly, we've caused harm.

Therefore, when our intention is sincere, but the going gets tough, most of us could use some help. We could use some fundamental instruction on how to lighten up and turn around our well-established habits of striking out and blaming.

The four methods for holding our seat provide just such support for developing the patience to stay open to what's happening instead of acting on automatic pilot. These four methods are

1. not setting up the target for the arrow,
2. connecting with the heart,
3. seeing obstacles as teachers, and
4. regarding all that occurs as a dream.

I have left out much, which resides on pps. 109-112.

....These four methods for turning anger around and learning a little patience come to us from the Kadampa masters of eleventh-century Tibet. These instructions have provided encouragement for fledgling bodhisattvas in the past, and they are just as useful in the present. These same Kadampa masters advised that we not procrastinate. They urged us to use these instructions immediately--on this very day in this very situation--and not to say to ourselves, "I will try this in the future when I have a bit more time."

This post was edited by rosyxxx on Feb 27, 2006.

My girlfriend has been in Cambodia for some time now...I've read her e-mails and been fascinated by what she has to say. When she went to the Killing Fields there, she said the pain was overwhelming, but that everyone should see the place.

Jack Kornfield, the insight meditation teacher, talks about witnessing an event during the time of the Khmer Rouge. 50,000 had become communist because they were threatened with death if they did not. But a Buddhist temple was still set up within the camp. 20,000 of those people showed up for the opening ceremony, which consisted of nothing but continuous chanting of one of the main beliefs in Buddhism:

Hatred never ceases by hatred
but by love alone is healed.
This an ancient and eternal law.

It's not easy to stay with this every day. It's not easy to forgive, especially on a personal level. With what just happened to me a few days ago, I want to hate very, very much, but the hatred eats you alive. Forgiveness heals you. It is done, primarily, to stop the pain. And I find that the reasons for forgiving in Buddhism make more sense to me than they do in Christianity. For someone else it might be different. I also find that Buddhism more readily accepts the 'personal demons' that we have within ourselves, and has compassion for them. It isn't about eradicating the demons in our hearts, it is about learning to love them, and to bring them home from their journeys. It works for me most of the time :/, but it may not work for others. So be it.

At the same time that I see some of my friends deeply into their addictions that can include religion as well as alcohol, I begin to see mine as well. Cruelty, one of the far enemies of compassion, seems to be one of them. When I am backed into a corner, it is how I get away from my pain. I don't want to stay with it. And yet I continually ask for help. ???

With that in mind, as I have been processing whether I really need to be on the NAO much because it had become an "addiction" for me, a way to avoid my pain instead of facing it, a way to act out; as well as processing my experience with the man who attempted to rape me on Wednesday....as I've tried to stay with that pain, and the remorse and guilt on both counts, for I, of course, like everyone else experience guilt, I have become angry and enraged.

Normally, I would come here to write about something that has nothing to do with anything that I am processing. Normally, I would eat copious amounts of chocolate, and threaten an immune system that is already weak, when my doctors are already amazed that I am even walking around. Normally, I would use my kitchen as a bowling alley and break things to bring relief, rationalizing that it reduces my posessions that I don't need. Normally, I would find a good book of fiction and turn to it. But today I just cried. And I did that yesterday. Inbetween going about my life. I avoided the distractions, and sat with my pain. I sat alone with my pain and tried to make peace with it, instead of running like crazy, and looking for something or someone to fill up the hole.

Yesterday, I drove to my accupuncturist's office and reflected upon the events within the last two months. December was filled with happiness that hasn't been there on previous Christmases. I loved the month of December. The early part of January was lovely. Then it all came to a screeching halt. The girl at work who crawled up my ass and left me so drained that I couldn't find my way home after ten years of living here scared me. The girl with her cigarettes scared me. Getting the flu for two weeks and needing a very strong antibiotic which didn't work in the end scared me. My health is always on edge. Getting a relapse of the flu the minute the antibiotic was stopped scared me. Having to take another round scared me. The yeast infection and bacterial vaginosis that followed scared me. The resurgence of my CFS scared me. When I went back to work on a Monday, and barely left with $5 I lied to myself, but it scared me. I refused to cry. I knew that tomorrow would be better, and it was... My bills will get paid. Bad days happen. I was so excited to be back to work, that at that point, nothing fazed me...finally.

But the very next day, I was in an argument, yet again, with Aynjell. And that evening I almost got raped here in St. Louis. I decided not to work the next day. I was crying too much. I couldn't hide it. I knew, from reading Peter Levine's "Healing Trauma" before, that I needed to let all of the emotions I had held in while I was squeaking my way out of the rape come to the surface and be allowed to dissipate. I spent the day with friends. When everything finally slowed down, one of those friends held my hand while I cried again, and we fell asleep in each other's arms...platonically. It was healing. It reminded me of what I already know, but was losing touch with as I spiralled down after the experience, namely, that everyone has a core of goodness, and that the reason I had not been raped, was that I had somehow, by the grace of the Universe or something, been allowed to touch the 'soft place' in that man's soul long enough to stop what he was doing.

As I drove to my accupuncturist, I thought about this, and realized in the thinking that I must tell her what had happened. It would factor into my weekly treatment. As I made this decision, I looked down at my instrument panel on the car, and right before my eyes the engine light came on. I've been out of work, as I seem to be every few months, long enough to have exhausted every amount of money. I keep saving to rebuild my life, and every few months it is knocked down again. I had had to rely on friends and family yet again. And here I was making a comeback, I'd averted rape, scraped the funds together to see my accupuncturist, and the car was falling apart.

Now, $770 later after the repair of my car, not to mention the hundreds of dollars spent in the last month alone on my medical care and prescriptions...I found myself utterly falling to pieces. I'd found a quote by Trungpa Rinpoche:

In the garden of gentle sanity, may you be bombarded by coconuts of wakefulness.

I thought, God damn if I don't keep getting hit by coconuts. And those coconuts ricochet onto my loved ones. What gives? Am I fucking Job or what? And then I remembered. I'd asked to reach enlightenment, which kind of precludes going through rough times and owning them. In addition, as Peter Levine says in his book:

According to several Buddhist and Taoist traditions sex, meditation, death and trauma share a common potential. These are the great portals--catalysts for profound surrender and awakening. Unfortunately, most of us are not prepared to take the opportunities offered by these powerful teachers.

Sex often doesn't do it because in our society we are so focused, oftentimes, on performance, rather than truly loving. Meditation is not a path where a lot of people succeed and stay dedicated to the path, because of the many, many years it sometimes takes to achieve "ego-death". I certainly know I fight my ego all the way...Death is even something where we aren't usually allowed the opportunity to truly surrender, because doctors are fighting constantly with tubes and gadgets to keep us alive...and we let them do it. We fear death. We can't seem to surrender to it. I know I don't want to...

And then there is trauma. Trauma is about thwarted instincts. My instinct to punch that asshole in the face, and kick him in the balls was thwarted in favor of quietly trying to reason with him. Oddly, when I suggested that he call me for coffee...I touched a tender nerve. He stopped. I, was left shaking with all the energy to run screaming bloody murder down the halls trapped inside me as he left. I wanted to shout with rage.

And here too, was an opportunity to allow the trauma to open my heart wider. Here too, was an opportunity not to yell and rage anymore at Aynjell. Not to beat up on myself for failing. To realized that every day, every moment is another opportunity to experience joy. And when I drove to the autobody shop to pay them vast amounts of cash to repair my car, in the neverending list of crap that keeps happening, I knew that I could always fail at my task at every turn, and that in failing I could forgive myself and everyone else a whole lot more easily, by realizing that we are all human, and we all hurt, and we all lash out. I realized that the trauma of failure at my task of forgiving myself and others, is the very GIFT that can provide my "ego death". All of these things that keep happening, all of the times I lash out at people, and then feel humbled...these are opportunities to let my ego go. I could use all of this to become a better person, rather than a bitter one.

Those of us, who are aching for love in our hearts can sometimes turn that search into anger and rage; and if we are big, strong, strapping males in situations with women whom we can overpower, when we feel we aren't being given the love we demand, we might decide to take it...not realizing that what we are taking is so far from love that it isn't even funny. And if we are tiny aspiring powerhouse females who feel as if the world just keeps snapping at us at every turn, when someone points out our faults, instead of looking at them, we can rip on theirs instead. Or when we realize that we've done this we can forgive ourselves, and try again.

But if we just rest in the space of being human, and realize that what goes up must come down, and what goes down must come up in a universe that operates partially on Newtonian physics; then when someone gives us an opportunity to care we can see how we could use even that as a crutch to avoid our pain, by caring about them. And we could fall into the dreaded space of "pity", rather than compassion. Nobody wants pity, really. Everybody wants compassion, so...we could just care about people, while we are also taking care of ourselves.

So, at the dealership, when I explained to the service manager why they needed to take my Dad's credit card number over the phone, and felt embarrased, and felt the need to explain that I tried very hard to make it on my own, but I just kept getting sick all of the time, he asked what the reason was for the illnesses. I told him. No one else was there. No one to hear and judge me for what my particular curse is in the way of illnesses. He told me that he had spent countless dollars, drained savings accounts to care for someone that he loved very deeply. And that it all seemed so hopeless, so he could feel me there. I asked if he minded if I chanted for his loved one, and with tears in his eyes, he said that it would be a great honor.

So that is what I am doing, as well as trying to heal myself, physically and emotionally. In the words of a greeting card: I fall, I pick myself up, I keep on dancing.

Life goes on. People make mistakes. People are human. We're all in this together. Even though today I can't make peace with everything in life that hurts me, I still keep trying. There are places where my heart is rigid and unyielding. Other places are open and soft. If you get one or the other, just realize that I am human, and I bleed, just like you. And I'll try to love you as best I can. But I'd best not be here too much. In the same way that the NAO can help me along the path, it can also distract me. It is a question of balance, I guess. I find that I fall out of balance more here, than most places, and yet I do love this place.

This post was edited by rosyxxx on Feb 26, 2006.

Something is telling me not to write this post, at the same time that something is telling me to write it. Suffice it to say, this isn't just for me....but it's been something I've been struggling with for a bit here recently. If you could all just take this post at 'face value', as if you didn't even know me, I'd appreciate it.

There is a bad beginning, and a good ending. But let me preface this by saying that what I did to avert the situation, might not always work. Sometimes, there is no way to avoid it.

Here my story begins:

I met a guy, on the elevator, in my building. I've lived here since 1996, and I rarely talk to people on the elevator; it's just not something you do in St. Louis. But this guy, was so sweet (it seemed), rubbing his hands from the cold, and vocalizing how cold it was... I was intrigued, not realizing that I was getting pulled in by the 'charisma'. I asked his name. It was the name of one of my favorite authors, and I said so. He responded that he had read said author.

Too make a long story short, I missed my floor. We exchanged numbers. I was shaky about calling back, because I had taken a vow, in relation to my meditation practice, not to have sex for a year from January 6th (Epiphany), until January 6th of next year. As an asceticism to pull my attention toward the work I need to be doing inside my mind right now. I didn't call. He called, and invited me for coffee.

We had a lovely dinner. He recommended a dish on the menu which I turned out to love! and even in light of the circumstances, will probably still love. I drank copious cups of tea, and we rambled on about literature, South American writers, and Magical Realism. I was smitten. The path to my heart is paved with books, and I must admit I am a sucker for 'tortured literary types'. I asked him if he would like to go see a movie. We settled on "Transamerica", which made me like him even more. Even so, I was not about to kiss him or even think about breaking my vow, until I knew him better.

As we headed to the movie, a friend called. We decided to meet them at a swanky bowling alley here in St. Louis. I loved his friends. Loyal to the core. To him. And one of them was very serious about his Hindu faith, and very curious about my chanting and yoga practice. We talked for a bit, I learned a lot about each of them, and then we played pool into the wee hours of the morning. They were polite, gentlemen, always offering to buy more water, pretend that they didn't make that shot, so that I had a fighting chance on the pool table. The more I learned about each of their backgrounds, the more I was fascinated about the guy I was out with on a date. He intrigued me. His friends intrigued me.

They also gave me no flack over my not drinking. When he kissed me, it was magic! It was heaven! I loved it. Honestly, though I am a stripper, I am not much on public displays of affection. I made an exception. I reasoned, that if my vow was meant to be broken, then I would simply take it very, very, very, very slowly.

Sometime after we went to another bar, and I was wandering around chatting with people, meeting dedicated chefs and talking about food, and real estate, and jewelery and art, and hockey and figure skating...my date began to get more and more drunk, and more and more possessive. I just met him, and he had to come over every five seconds to whisk me away from someone else, and lay a big wet one on me. His friend who is a devout Hindu even called him on it. He said: "Dude, you don't have to prove anything. You have her. She's yours."

When we left, we stopped by his friend's house. He and I necked in the car. Then, uncharacteristically, he ripped my coat open violently. The buttons popped off. I recoiled visibly. I was taken aback. I suggested that maybe we shouldn't keep his friends waiting, and I chalked it all up to too much drunkeness.

Upstairs he became vaguely belligerent and threatening. He talked about how it took a lot for him to get angry, and how he had ripped a couple of doors off their hinges at his friend's house. His friend said: "Man, why are you scaring her?" Finally my date suggested that we leave. He beat me to it. I drove us back to the building we both live in, and we stood and kissed. It was as innocent as before. I told him that I would not sleep with him. He suggested that we just curl up together. No sex. I knew it could be a line, but he seemed so sincere, I just didn't feel like being cynical.

When we got upstairs to put the leftovers from dinner in my fridge, he asked to use my bathroom, and when he came out, he was wearing only his underwear. He'd dropped his clothes off in my bedroom. He began to maul me. I'm fairly strong, so I kept fending him off. He grabbed and twisted my nipples. I said no. I kept telling him that I was not ready. After several attempts at him very forcibly trying to remove my dress, and painfully twisting my nipples, he stopped. Then he forced my hands onto his cock. At that point, I said: "Listen. On January 6th I made a vow not to..." And he finished my sentence for me, though I had not told him this before. There was no reason to tell until that point. He knew though. He read me that well.

Even this did not stop him. He kept twisting and pulling, and I could see rage welling up in his eyes. I knew that if I allowed myself to realize at the time that this was attempted rape, then I would get very angry, and his rage could explode in response, and I could quite literally become a rape victim. I just kept telling him to go home, get some sleep, and call me in the morning to share a "coffee" like he had suggested earlier in the evening. Somehow, my calmness, or something, made him stop and walk a bit angrily back to my bedroom to retrieve the pants he deposited there without my permission. He muttered something about this being bullshit. I took his coat from the hanger, and tried to sit as patiently as possible...waiting. I knew he should not see how anxious I was for him to leave.

I leaned to give him a kiss on the cheek, and he recoiled. He stomped out of my apartment, and told me that I knew where to find him. Ever so slowly, I closed the door. I slowly locked it. Then I ran to my bedroom and collapsed in a pile of tears. Then I stopped. I knew I needed my big brother Bob...the dj at work. I went to him, and on the way, I got a text from this guy. It was horrible, but averted.

Bob, and all of my friends in the exotic dance industry were there for me. They reminded me that this had been an attempted rape. That I was not wrong for feeling violated and shaken. These people, in an industry that so many people hold contempt for...sheltered me, and made me laugh. After I cried a little, we sat around while they drank some beers and I drank orange juice. We swapped jokes about vegetarians, old lady neighbors, and compliments. I am now making a tray of special brownies for my boss as a gift, as a thank you. And the kindness Bob the dj extended to me will not be forgotten. When I needed my big brothers they were there. And they know who I am. They know what I am about. They love me, understand me, excuse me when I am wrong and will always be close to my heart.

This experience has only served to make me love and respect my friends in that industry even more. Certainly no one else I know was up at that hour, and those two guys stayed up with me until I was okay. That's friendship. When I tried to buy them drinks as a thank you, Bob reminded me that I've been there for him in the past, and that he knows I will be there for him in the future. He's right. These are the kind of friendships that do not die. And I am ever so grateful. To have had to have curled up in a tiny ball with my purple teddy bear and allow the realization of what had almost happened dawn upon me alone would have been too much. I am so glad that Bob and Mike were there. I am eternally grateful.

Wow! I am quite literally shaking with rage. If you all don't know me well enough to know that the post I wrote in my journal was ABSOULUTELY POSITIVELY PRETEND, AS THE VERY, VERY LAST SENTENCE MAKES CLEAR TO THOSE WHO ACTUALLY HAVE AN IQ......then fuck you.

Have you not ever had the wish that your dead mother could write you from the grave? Hey, at least a few people got it. Yes I am still me. Probably the most honest fucking bitch on here. I don't even hide my social life, and my suicide attempts. Not that those exist for me (except for the one at 16, over 20 years ago...do the math idiots!), because they don't. But I've listened to so much crap in private from people here, who have attempted it, and they don't even have the balls like I do to be honest about who they really are.

I've had to listen to so much whiny crap from people who have never really had it hard at all...and certainly aren't old enough to know any better. But that is beside the point, and yet...still, somehow relevant.

You should all know just exactly how much contempt I have for each and every one of you who wants their NASTY LITTLE POSTS deleted so nobody can see what an ass they are at times. While I am busy sitting on my high horse, I'll tell you that the ONLY posts I've EVER had deleted were deleted against my will. Not by choice. Certainly not because I went whining to null or Jaz about what an idiot I was (as a NUMBER of you have done on certain occasions here....), begging to have the disgusting entrails of my bad behaviour removed so I can pretend I am nothing but nice. I've never done that, like some of you have. The dead carcasses of my shit swing around like pirates on a gallows here, and as far as I am concerned they shall continue to do so.

Actually, that isn't exactly true. I DID have "1" post deleted because I was worried that if it remained, Mr. Potato Head would come strolling along and try to fuck with the person I mentioned in it. I did it to protect someone else. Not me. Unlike the reasons for which most of you here have had your indiscretions deleted.

Everyone else should only be so real. And yes, in that respect, I do think that I am better than most of you. So now you know. I despise people who pretend to be other than what they are...and that was part of the irony of the post. Part of pretending includes not wanting people to see the sides of you that you least like. How can you possibly ever change them if you hide them from everyone including yourself? Things you put on the shelf in the darkness only fester more.

Maybe right now you could say I am having issues with my ego...but I suspect that eventually I will make peace with them as a result of my candidness; whereas the vast majority of people will continue to flounder around.

I'm not always nice. Nor should I be. And neither is anyone else here. But most of you want to run hiding after you've insulted the fuck out of somebody. Never fear, people do send copies of your posts that get deleted so no one else can see what an ass you've been. And as for all the other arguments here on the NAO that included me, my bullshit remains for your perusal. Whereas, almost everyone else has asked for their shit to disappear. As far as people who OWN both their dark and light sides, Ginsterbusch, null and Jaz pretty much come to mind. And I doubt that any of them have had their bullshit deleted. They show themselves warts and all, just like I do.

Then there are the few who are too cowardly to take the risk of getting 'rated down', and never speak their minds. I'm obviously not one of them.

For those of you barely able to hang onto your IQs which rest at a level close to that of a styrofoam cup, I am still me. I am Heather Marie Beebe. I am now 38. My measurements are: 36-25-38, last I checked[/sarcasm]. Nothing in my posts is a lie. Fuck you very much for saying so...and even at that, you have no idea the self-restraint I exercise. My god, this should be self-explanatory. I did and do have a stalker. He could probably tell you my social security number. He knows everything else about me, anyway.

None of what happened to me online here was a joke. And I am a stripper. I could have my bosses call you all to prove it if you want. I could also send you each a copy of my passport to prove where I've traveled, and a copy of my driver's license, social security card, and birth certificate.

I could also continue to write posts about the revealations I have attained in Yoga class recently, but considering the reception I got on that one.......probably I won't.

For your freaking information, I have been very, very, very, very busy drafting up a new resume, finally getting my bosses at the STRIPCLUB to consider having me off-schedule after ten fucking years of bogus bullshit, so that I don't have to put up with the ignorant, assanine, juvenile, hedonistic, motherfucking piece of shit, pompous, bastard, sons-of-bitches asshole new managers that come strolling through our doors on a day to day basis. I particulary have been busy restraining myself from saying what I'd need to say to get one particular jackass fired for what he tried to do on Tuesday of this week, not to mention last week.

Everything in my family life, as well, has been stepped up a notch, and I additionally have Five Trojan Horses.

The good news (Hello people???? GOOD NEWS? As if most of you gave a shit about that kind of thing, shitmongers that quite a few of you truly are...) is that I not only now have two new part-time jobs to add to my workload, but I finally was able to work out an arrangement with my club manager to put me in a position never to have to deal with the newbies' assanine behaviour again. I am absolutely positively excited about all of this, as well as the progress I have been making on getting into grad school. I'll be taking advantage of the B.F.A. with a studio emphasis, and the minor in Psychology that was only one class short of a Major, AND my fucking 3.94 GPA, and Magna Cum Laude graduation status. AND, I MIGHT ADD, I MANAGED TO GRADUATE AS SUCH WHILE BEING SEXUALLY, PHYSICALLY, EMOTIONALLY AND MENTALLY ABUSED. I DOUBT, SERIOUSLY, THAT MANY OF YOU COULD SAY THE SAME. So much for being "just a stripper", as some of you have so ineloquently put it. In addition I have several dozen knitted Christmas presents to finish. But everything else finally came to a head this weekend. And I must say, everything OUTSIDE of the NAO was positive.

The conclusion I have reached about this place, is that it is not what it seems to be. Quite a few people here do nothing but read controversial posts, and set the good ones aside. You live for trauma and unrest, and feast upon it like vultures. The few human beings who exist here, I'd be happy to keep as friends.......OUTSIDE OF THE NAO.

I doubt I'll be writing again at all, e especially with this kind of assanine behaviour coming from you people. With the exception of the few whom I trust, and you know who you are......the rest of you can just...

Btw, null thank you. I got your birthday present in the mail. I have not opened it yet. Fairly soon after I sit down to meditate and take a quick toke, I shall. And shall be shortly mailing your birthday scarf and one for Orchid as well. Any further communication between you and anyone else who wishes to communicate with me can be conducted through e-mail, or snail mail...until further notice. This place has succeeded in royally pissing me the fuck off. For too many reasons to count beyond the current one.

Oh and by the way, today is my parents wedding anniversary. You know, the minister for a father, the dead mom who is probably nothing but rotting bones and tattered clothes in her shell of a coffin in a Michigan cemetery right now. The mother who was so kind as to hang herself on the 3rd of August nine years ago. Yup. That couple. They were married today, I am pretty sure, in a little San Lorenzo church.

I think I'll think about formerly happy events like that one right now, rather than the bullshit here from now on. Excuse while I attend to some other more important pursuits.

Addendum: Just for the record, I wrote the post, in my mother's hand, after viewing Neil Gaiman's movie Mirrormask. He's written several stories about the lies we live with daily....and I would have loved to have written a effort-consuming post (as most of mine are) about that movie. But I doubt that I shall now....I doubt that if I had it would have even been read. Considering how much most of you simply thrive on nothing but controversy. I'm betting you'll all be dying to 'rubberneck' on this accident, instead of responding to more important posts.

But hey, I could be proven wrong. I certainly hope so. Right now, I don't hold out much hope for the NAO.

And if you don't like the length of this post, too fucking bad. :( Rate away jerks. I'm sure those of you who go around randomly rating posts because you are either to the extreme religious right, or think that 'even one obscenity' is grounds for your judgement will have a nice satisfying orgasmic experience after rating this one. I dare you. I double dare you. Prove me right. Or don't. Restrain your hungry little anonymous fingers and just read without having to rate every goddamn thing you see like a bunch of cliqueish little children. I dare you to simply read.

I hate to say it though, it might be a cold day in Hell before I read any responses to this journal entry though. So don't wait anxiously for me to reply. I am busy doing more important things than logging on here to see this shit.

This post was edited by rosyxxx on Oct 22, 2005.

This

..........is exactly the kind of thing I don't come here to read. It makes me realize that if I am vindictive in my words, I certainly am not this bad.

That's the ONLY redeeming quality to this post. And then I read: this one, with it's reference to "special places". Now tell me truly people, is this the kind of crap you look forward to reading when you have a spare moment? Because if it is, I don't want to know you.

Grow up. Most of us like to think about getting revenge...but this crap is beyond 'petty'. And you can't see the forest for the trees, can you?

It's one thing to 'snub' somebody, it's one thing to be a chatterbox about how much they piss you off........it is entirely another to go about the process of ruining their lives. THERE IS A DIFFERENCE. This kind of stuff, just like that whole stupid vampire thread, where 80-bazillion responses appeared, makes me want to quit writing here.......and just go read salon.com.

It appears that I have lost the chocolate bet. I shall have to fork over a box of these: absolutely, stupendously marvelous and orgasmic bites of fun-filled blackberries drenched in mouth-watering dark AND milk chocolate...extended for sale until the very day of my B-day: Sept. 28th...oh the joy of such a coincidence.

I have set aside all other worries to be 'consumed' by this one.

If you don't understand what I am talking about, then let me say that I made a bet with Joe that a book we passed by on display in the library, namely Steve Almond's The Evil B.B. Chow, had been written in the 50s. I believed, erroneously, that based upon the design graphics of the cover, it was vintage 1950s. It just reminded me of the cover of a book called: "The Thirteen Clocks".

Anyway, Almond's book is recently published, and I lose the bet. The bet was, whoever was right would receive a chocolate-covered blackberry from Karl Bissinger's. I know we only said 'one', but seeing as how it got all confused, and he thought I meant 'raspberries', which are only available from Bissinger's in July...why not eat the whole box {between us}?

The ultimate irony in all of this, revolves around not only the book in question, but in another of the authors books, namely: Candyfreak: A Journey through the Chocolate Underbelly of America; where the author, who is, ironically the very thing I sometimes wanna be - a creative writing teacher - takes us on a tour of local candy companies throughout America who have been usurped and dumbed-down by the three major chocolate conglomerates. As if other things like literature hadn't been dumbed-down as well...witness this diatribe on "The DaVinci Code".

The highlight of my research on his book about chocolate, is this: he has a stockpile of Kit Kat Darks, which were discontinued, in an undisclosed warehouse somewhere. The man loves chocolate more than even I. I only bought a case of Kit Kat Orange, which is only available from Canada to us poor chocolate-starved Americans, to be distributed between myself and Joe several years back.

I am almost afraid of what I will find if I sit down to read both Almond's book 'Candyfreak' and The Evil B.B. Chow. Like I have mentioned happening before...this book just glowed all alone from the display shelves of the library. It was like a beacon through the picture-window glass of the library...beckoning to me with its siren-like call: "Come to me, for I bear treasures of infinte worth...come to me, you sad, weary bibliophile, come molder in my musty depths, and squander your minutes in the pages filled with my words...luring you onto the rocks of words, like so many sailors of literature's depths before you..."

Oh my, oh my...it appears that history repeats itself. On September 17th, 2004, harold_maude wrote this post, and I, true to form, waxed poetic about chocolate respectively on the 18th, the 19th, again on the 19th, and on the 20th. Even Magnifico joined into the fray with his description of the candy store in Munich which housed a giant Marzipan reproduction of La Cathâedral de Sacre Coeur in Montparnasse. And now here it is September 19th, 2005. Exactly one year later. How's that for time being circular? There must be something I am commemorating or avoiding here....wonder what it is....I must just need chocolate BADLY around my birthday, or something. I had no idea that I had written those posts on those dates until I went to check. Nor, did I have any idea who the hell Steve Almond was when I first made that random bet with Joe. God DOES exist. I swear. His flashlight was shining on the glass in the library last Sunday. And he is a chocolate bunny rabbit. Six feet tall, too. Frank is my friend. ;p

And what's more, this is my 666th post. *laughs out loud* Screw the beast. I don't believe in that crap. There's a higher existence and it doesn't care about that specific number. But I think it is immensely hysterical that people think I am nuts, and then go on being wierded out by said number. Hey, to add to the mix, my building has 13 floors. Maybe I'm jinxed, but I don't think so...not with the wonderful friends I have, and the fact that chocolate looms closely in my future. I feel nothing but warmth and love and thoughts of chocolate.... :-)))))))

This post was edited by rosyxxx on Sep 19, 2005.