Money

Yes, it’s true what they say. Money cannot buy you happiness. But it sure can buy you 5 star vacations and that’s about as happy as a grown-up can get. Sure, there’s the unhinged, unwavering, unwarranted happiness that is in a child. But that child grows up, in a society fret with problems. Problems created by grown-ups who build schools and colleges to help solve those problems. Talk about going in circles.

I have been on the planet over three decades and I can narrow down to two moments of sheer joy: one, when I married my now adulterous husband, and two, when I saw the man holding my baby in his arms. If that isn’t true love, I fail to see what is. And that same man denied me a hug a minute ago because “he needed some time apart”. I don’t even have any Valiums on me to counter that shrug. All I can do is whine to the world, where I know I am not even going to be heard. This man, he cheated, lied, and beat me up and blamed me for everything. I have started thinking that maybe I am the monster who torments someone so much they want to beat the shit out of them.

I have sobbed, slept on hotel floors, waited for a taxi at 2 in the morning because I was thrown out of the house, made to leave my child behind, been called a whore who can’t even sell her body for sex, and beaten up black and blue; why? Because I asked this person why he needed another woman in his life.

Five tequila shots down, I finally have the courage to share my story. I know there would be several women out there going through this and worse shit possible. If you are one of them, leave a message and the least we can do is give a metaphorical shoulder to cry upon. YES, face it, world! Women cry. They’re not being melodramatic, they’re just being real.

And if you are one of those wife-beaters, please, for the love of whatever you love, stop doing that, no matter how much she provokes you. You were born out of a woman. And just because someone annoys you or you are filled with rage, does not give you the right to hit a woman. Women are not the weaker sex. Women are the smarter sex. That’s why “housewives” is more common than “househusbands”. That’s right, we put our pedicured feet up and send the man to make money to buy us shoes.

In spite of everything, a woman would do anything in her power and beyond to protect her family. She is not just a mama bear to her sons and daughters. She’s mothering you as well, the “breadwinner”. She’s the glue that keeps it together; without her, everything would fall all over. RESPECT, mofos, RESPECT!

Wise Bud

Continuing with the photography, this was pre-meditated. Four Budweisers down, I wa able to carefully peel off the stickers off the bottle and label them on the tabby.

He has been my billboard for most anything.

🍻 Do not drink and drive. Put the bottle aside, pull over, take a swig, and then drive.

Nooo… seriously, it is not a question of capability, it is a question of safety. Drink at home or Uber. 😬

Netflix- Wine Country

Is it just me, or did anyone else make the connection of “Wine Country” on Netflix with “The Hangover”?

Of course, all these stellar lady comic geniuses coming together is no match to the hunky “The Hangover” bunch, but heck! I connected with them.

It was perfectly timed, bad news with a sprinkle of fairy dust, lady laughs, cussing and swearing and Amy Poehler and Maya Rudolph and Tina Fey and Katherine Hahn (I may have misspelt, what with 6 Buds down) can do no wrong. Go girl power!

While I fight my own battles with this bitch of a life, these fun, successful women have helped a lot dealing with this pain and anger.

Move over, Phil Todd’s hunky Hangover, it’s time to break the glass ceiling with women being funny and silly. Tears of joy, laughter of sadness- this movie was like an ice cream before hitting the hay.

Much love, from one broken woman to all those broken ones out there. 🤗

Turban troubles: A not so metaphorical true story.

PG18

*All the characters are real, the names haven’t been changed*

Once upon a time, a young whore was born out of, probably a wedlock. The young whore was braindead at birth. Her eyes looked North and she saw South. Her teeth grew like a heavily fertilised cornfield, too many to line up in the jaw. She went to school and did not pay attention to the teachers, but instead kept admiring her fingernails.

As the young whore grew, her grassy hair grew and she learnt a thing or two about tying them into a whorilicious way. She learned about co-ordinating skirts with blouses and hot pants with tank tops. She attended a “fashion school” to learn this. As she reached her 20s, her hemline went higher and higher and the neckline went deeper and deeper. Despite this, the little whore was not able to walk, talk and act like a whore because she was trapped in a family who lived by the book.

One day, as the whore was juggling jobs as a showgirl juggling her boobs, a young, lost soul caught her eyes. She spread her legs wide open and immediately the lost soul decided to marry her to be the sole owner of those legs and that body. The lost soul started out humble but worked hard and reached places in life which the whore had never heard of.

Being free from the shackles of her family, she started her Babylonian epic whore journey, spreading her unfertilised eggs, from one man to another. In the meantime, the lost soul was clueless about his little whore’s business and loved her dearly and showered her with the latest gadgets. iPhone, myphone, a lot of phones were given to her to communicate with her.

But alas! the lost soul failed to see that the little whore was guzzling wine and beer like a parched whale and making other lost souls fall from heaven like Lucifer. The elixir of alcohol went to her braindead head and she looked in the mirror and saw a demigoddess. She levitated with a delusional delight and her feet never touched the ground. Of course, her knees did a lot of groundwork, performing fellatio on any male genitals that came her way. At one point there was also an equally braindead whore who decided to facilitate each other’s deviant desires while the lost soul looked on.

A decade passed by and the whore decided that she needed to mess around with more genitals. She moved to another country seeking cheaper wine and cigarettes and gullible middle-aged men. Her eyes had gone puffy, her voice had grown hoarser, and she was still grotesquely attractive to men. Another dumbass lost soul came her way and they fornicated each other’s brains out, not that there was much to lose to begin with. The dumbass had a star by his side who guided him back to his heaven. The whore kept on luring him back in, and the guardian angels stopped him many a times.

The star that stood by the lost soul’s side while he vomited the germs passed on by the whore, was mangled up, smashed and left at the curb side, begging for help from a child. At last the lost soul opened his eyes and saw the light. He gave his star his American Express Platinum card and the star transformed into Superwoman overnight. Superwoman shouted a lot, because she was dealing with dumbasses and the dumbasses paid no heed to the words and registered the noise as abuse. (*eye roll)

After much deliberation and debates between his brain and phallus, the lost soul decided that the star was indeed right and decided to follow her path. There were slip-ups, mind you, but the star stood her ground. One day, the whore lured the lost soul into a seedy watering hole and filled him to the brim with alcohol. Then, the little whore produced a pack of cigarettes that were hidden in her ass crack and they both smoked like an industrial chimney. They rolled home in their carriage, drunk as skunk and slapped the star across her face.

Now the star got very very angry and decided to bulldoze the whore once and for all. Collected but uncalm within, the star hatched a plan to demolish the harlot. After multiple attempts, she succeeded; first crushing her sunglasses, next crushing her head which was quite easy as there was nothing within and finally, crushing the whore entirely with a speeding truck. The star smiled with a deep sigh of relief and told the lost souls, both of them, “And that’s how you kill a whore.”

The End

Caffeine, too much caffeine

Porsche Cayenne,

GMC truck,

Hit the brake pedals,

To let my legs stroll through.

Yeah, it was a red light,

But I can have them stop,

Even at a green light.

Everyone gets old,

Everyone gets mangled;

Corroded hearts and

Corrupted minds.

Like Pearl Jam says,

I am MINE.

I know this sucks, it’s neither poetry or prose. But this is a venting platform for me and when absolute strangers say, good going, it pulls me away from the dark abyss. Thanks for reading!

Bugs and Fishes

Broken, bleeding, slumbering.

It sat at the end of the pew.

In an empty church, the altar awaited.

A hapless soul with arms crossed,

Dressed in best, in case there was a ball.

Tears and prayers, down on the knees;

Begging for alms that were never received.

It was shrouded in pink, wanting to blink;

Dead within, dead without, breathing was a sin.

Stained glass windows, and an invisible choir,

Take me, it said, I have no fear.

🧠

Fell in a puddle,

A wriggly noodle.

Slush and gravy,

Slimy and wavy.

Jump out,

Stay put?

The noodle didn’t know,

The puddle didn’t slow.

A fork came down,

Wielding its tines.

The bowl was rocked,

Cradle and all.