Does anyone but me wonder OUT LOUD, to people other than those in their house, if Robin Williams was jerking off while hanging himself and it was an accident due to auto-erotic asphyxia and not suicide, at all?

Godlike Production members and ATS members…yall don’t count….in this poll.

Am I too soon?

It’s too fresh?



I need to “go to work”, but I hate my job.  It is nice that I can work from home because otherwise there would be no work for me.

I hate to leave my house.  I absolutely hate it, for any reason.

I am not very sure why I hate it so much.

My Mimi used to tell me how this one time she had agoraphobia for four years and couldn’t leave any further than the perimeter of her yard.

She said it was because, one day, when my uncle was young, he rigged firecrackers to every one of her kitchen cabinets so that when she opened one, all of them exploded.

Mimi said after that was when she got real nervous.

Nobody tied firecrackers to my kitchen cabinets…I think they just tied them to my brain.

One Of My Most Embarrassing Videos

This is one of my most embarrassing (to me) videos I have made.  Nevertheless, my intent was never, really for the views….

it was for the manifestation….

…and that continues to continue….

so suck it.

The Haircut

“Come on Sarah, get your stuff together, we have to go to Baton Rouge”, my stepmother said, as she started gathering up her folders containing stacks of papers which had to be graded, later that evening.

My stepmother was a teacher.  She recently retired after twenty-five years teaching in the parish school district, but before her retirement she taught at the ONLY high school in the small city in which we lived. That was good, sometimes, but mostly it was bad.

After school, I rode a bus about two blocks to her school and she was always the last teacher to leave.

I was slow, as usual, to get my things together.  I hated going to Baton Rouge.  We went to Baton Rouge every single day, or at least, it seemed like it to me.

There were many reasons why I hated going to Baton Rouge, not the least of which was the fact that my stepmother drove a 1985 Ford Ranger, specially equipped with NO RADIO.  Seriously, she really, honestly, literally did not want a radio in her vehicle.

To this day, that haunts me…like… I am a strange person, but….that’s fucking strange, even to me.

Besides the Ford Ranger being almost as tiny as a go-kart, once my step-mom, my little sister and myself were inside, the Ranger was filled to capacity, even though two of us were children.  I am not saying my step-mom was fat, I’m saying the truck was freaking small.

I don’t know about you, but I am a person who easily gets carsick.  The tendency towards vehicular nauseousness has decreased with age, but when I was a kid, I hated just about every car ride I took for that reason.

Did I mention my step-mom chain smokes worse than a repentant hooker, fresh-off-da-crack, who is trying to change her ways, sitting on the back pew of her married boyfriend’s church on Sunday morning, listening to him preach?

There was no rolling down the windows in that tiny 1985 Ford Ranger, either.  Even though I knew the answer would always be, “NO!”, everyday I would ask, “can I please crack my window a little bit?”

My stepmother said if I cracked the window it would “blow her hair”.

Whatever that meant…

Speaking of hair, this was the day that my loving step-mother took me, unannounced, to the beauty shop and had the stylist (back then they were called beauticians) cut all of my hair cut right off my pretty little head.

I had no idea what was about to happen. I know it was traumatic for me because once we got to the beauty shop, the memory stops, and my memory never stops.

Nobody’s memory ever actually “stops”, but I have a very uncanny long-term memory.  I remember everything, especially from childhood, in pictures, or, if you will, movies.  I can click on a memory like you would click on a movie you’d like to see on Netflix.

I can remember every outfit I wore to school on the first day from first to twelfth.  I can remember ninth grade french class ‘dialogue’ (and I employ it from time to time).  I can remember the song that was playing on the radio when me and my step-mom got into a fender-bender when I was three, “Sailing”, by *Christopher Cross.  I can also remember the name of the guy who hit us, *Charles Gardner.  I have memories from before I could walk and I have scars to prove they are real memories.

As I remember things, though, I have surmised that my brain hides the especially bad memories where I can’t find them.

I went to school that morning with long, beautiful, chestnut brown hair and I came home with a bowl cut which was level with my ears.

I was only seven, that was my very first haircut and there’s so much more to go.


I have two, paid for vehicles.

The one I usually drive…the one whose back glass, which is almost as big as the windshield, got busted out several weeks ago, is dead.

Fucking dead.

Ok…no problem…I have another vehicle…it’s got no insurance and it’s not registered but all I want to do is ride to my back yard to my bff’s house to vent…I could walk but it’s about to rain….


fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life

I started working again today and made almost $100 in an hour… that’s cool…but I have to put on makeup to work and since I am allergic to makeup and I’m also allergic to my home…it’s double allergies….

haha…one of the symptoms of BPD is adult onset allergies.

I am now diagnosed severe asthmatic and severe COPD.

I got no insurance.



I want to rip my dad’s throat out.

I want to rip my dad’s throat out with the pinky finger of my left hand while using my right hand to slurp two scoops of yummy Baskin Robbins Chocolate Chip ice cream from a waffle cone…all the while keeping my face smiling the sweet smile of a little girl who is happy cause her daddy just bought her some ice cream.

Text Fight Champion

So I’ve been sitting at my chair for a couple of days now, with great ambition and writer’s block.. I am pretty drunk and so I have decided that I am not going to break for paragraphs.  Nope, I am going to ignore that voice in my head that says, “STOP,  AFTER THAT PERIOD HIT ‘ENTER'”…and the logical side of my brain is going to defend that voice as much as it can until the more logical member of the logical side reminds the less logical member, “that it is not as if the paragraphs will be made at the correct place…so go and ahead and let the illogicals on the right side ramble…it’s very late at night, and it’s been a while since we have laughed, anyway.  Take a break, grab some popcorn and enjoy their ramblings…actually sometimes they do say some pretty logical things, albeit in a very illogical fashion”.  Sometimes, I like left brains logic.  Like tonight, I like left brains logic.  Usually, right brain has the dominion.  However, it’s not a vast majority dominion.  Unfortunately, my left brain controls more than a little bit…probably at least 40%.  Thankfully, my left brain and my right brain are actually close friends, and tend to work together, especially on the hard thoughts.  I get into most trouble when my right-brained psychic tendencies confuse left brains logic and make verbalization of a thought or an idea, an impossibility sometimes.  Left brain helps me win arguments, especially via text.  I am the current text fight champion…in my region.