Posted: Wed Aug 12, 2009 9:14 AM CST
The dog days are over........
I am having a fantastic week!
Hooking up with a cool phucker this weekend, after my birthday bash.
Really looking forward to it and although the sky is full of incredibly sullen looking gray clouds, I am smiling a lot.
I feel that perhaps, I'm going to have a great birthday weekend.
Plenty of booze with family Saturday night, date Sunday.
Cloud nine really.
I'm a simple creature to say the least, always have been and used to actually criticize myself for being unambitious and more or less content with my lot.
Just a super short blog to say there's plenty of reason to smile.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TwqE2X55Wg
Posted: Tue Aug 4, 2009 10:58 AM CST
Am I just not getting it?
I have been blogging for a while now.
I put my heart and soul into what I write, my oddities do come across loud and clear but I'm true to myself.
What I don't understand is the amount of crazy angry blogs going on in this place.....
Do people not realize a potential partner can read their info?
Calling other members out, ranting about this and that.
Now a blog is personal, a reflection of you, well that's what I view a blog to be. If that is the case, there is a fuckload of angry people on CS.
Also, I see these angry Grrrr Oscar the Grouch blogs get a lot of replies. Often they are poorly written, badly posed and I just don't get it!
It's the reason I haven't blogged in a while. I try to write as best I can, provide humor and possibly even a little insight. I enjoy reading blogs that do the same and am often the only one to comment on such blogs that are actually worthy of comment.
It's a pity really than the negative blogs receive the most attention.
I still write daily, just testing the waters in regard to posting a blog up here.
I just wish people would try to be a bit more cheerful, write more in depth and about a broader spectrum of topics.
Rather than getting fucked off over someone blocking you, not replying to you etc.
Blogs that give us an idea of who you are, I for one thoroughly enjoy getting to know people on here, seeing different writing styles, different subjects.... I know that I'm not the only one who is disillusioned by the inane, aggressive and shallow posts.
Where's the frickin love?
That's all I have to say.
Peace out.
Posted: Sat Jul 25, 2009 7:12 PM CST
Leave before the lights come on.....
On the topic of one night stands in a discussion with a friend lately, I realized that I came across as really judgmental and I try to be open minded in all things. She stated that sometimes, it’s just about sex, that you can detach yourself and just have some fun. I looked at her, like she was a stranger.
Now I am no holier than thou angel. I reckon in my local, there are maybe a handful of guys that I haven’t locked lips with. I’d play tonsil tennis with your Grandma after a tequila. But there is always this lil voice of reason a yelling at me, to not go further, to stop. I mean I know I would never ever have a one night stand sober. Drunk….. I’ve been close a couple of times but I always nipped it in the bud.
I just associate sex with love, failing that, emotion close to fondness. Have done since I was a little girl. I made Ken and Barbie scissor, just because they loved each other and because I had seen a rather soft core scene in Santa Barbara the day before. I knew people had sex from a young age. No-one told me, but our TV viewing wasn’t overly censored. To make a baby a man hopped on a woman, jumped around a bit , breathed all heavy and low and behold, this was how women got pregnant.
As I got older, I knew well that some people fuck. Some make love, and some like me, just have plain ole sex.
I know plenty of my friends, both men and women see a one night stand as ordinary as I see having a tequila on a Friday night.
It’s not that I am backward or that I am a prude. Far from it, some here know I have a filthy crass kind of humor but I never got the fucking and fleeing thing.
I’ve heard all about the walk of shame. If I spend the night with someone, I want to know them. I want there to be breakfast and kisses the next morning, not an awkward gathering of clothes and idle promises of “calling”.
Now if there is an understanding of casual sex, I don’t berate people for going out to get theirs. I am referring to the random drunken hook ups. Going back to a strangers house, guys ejaculating here there and everywhere without knowing their "lovers" last name. That freaks the fuck out of me.
I don’t think it’s right. Now I have potentially insulted a dear friend. She has calmed down a lot in recent years, but we had been discussing the good old days when we were too young and stupid to care about our actions, then in retrospect the things we had done and wished we hadn’t. I think she made some bad decisions. As did I, this was not a one sided argument. I’ve fucked up a good bit in my life, I know this, she knows this and I don’t have a problem with her disapproval of certain things that I had done. I only have an opinion because I care about her. A lot. I want her to be loved and treasured. Even if that can’t be achieved, not to be used for a brief few hours. There are some she regrets, others she does not. I just don’t get the mentality behind it.
Do those that repeatedly have one night stands lack self esteem? Do they just want to fuck? I think such hollow screwing is detrimental to ones self value. I don’t take it back but I’m just wondering if there’s something that I’m missing, will I suddenly have an AHA moment and realise that for some, random fuckfests are a positive thing………
Anyway, that’s all that was on my mind.
Hessmeister signing out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEukS2YN9B8 (song sums up my opinion)
Posted: Wed Jul 22, 2009 8:55 PM CST
Tick, tick, tick, tick on the watch…
Life's too short for me to stop…
Restless at 2.30 am can only lead to one thing! More writing.
I’m not really sure what’s going on in my head as the thoughts are leaping like furious frogs from one lily pad to the next. Can’t quite pin them down. I don’t like when my head is like this. Too busy, like a highway, cars going by are just whirring colors, distinguishable but just for a mili-second.
I had a really odd day yesterday.
I thought my kitten had gotten out and had run away. Spent a day in the rain, trawling through surrounding fields calling “Ozzzzzzy” for close to three hours. Came home, utterly defeated with squelching socks and shoes. I could feel my lip tremor, thinking of him out in the cold and rain, near dark. I always spend an hour playing with him in the evening, I kiss his belly and make him chase paper balls. So I went to my Dads car, sat inside it, radio blaring. The rain thudded down on the windshield. The evening was truly gray. I cried over my Ozzy so much so that I even said a kind of prayer to the God I don‘t really believe in but call on for comfort when the shit has hit the fan. Flicking through stations, I heard some adverts so started singing to myself a song that I love. “Been there done there messed around, I’m having fun, don’t put me down, I’ll never let you sweep me off my feet.” I had just that line out, when that very song started on the radio. I was like, fuck me!
So that cheered me up a little, at the randomness of it all. Wiping some soggy eye liner, I pulled my hood up, opened the car door and darted inside, after making a few more hollers for lil Ozzy.
Feeding the rest of my Cat brigade, I noticed that Cougar was scratching furiously at our bits and bobs drawer. I went over, opened it nonchalantly and low and behold…… Lil Ozzy was there, snoozing away. My heart leapt and I cracked a smile so big! How he had gotten in there, no-one knows. Unless someone thought a three month old kitten fitted the category of either a bit, or a bob.
Needless to say we rejoiced like we had just witnessed a mini miracle. After wolfing down some warm milk, he nestled on my lap. I spent half an hour scolding him for scaring the living shit out of me for no good reason. So sincerely was my disapproval at his AWOL day, that one would think he could understand me.
I think I might as well become at peace with my destiny long ago written in the stars. I am going to become a cat lady. Preferably one that brushes their hair and doesn’t smell of cat pee.
Before then however, I plan to find love or even just someone to be around who I‘m fond of, you can‘t set out looking for love. In my 7 years of interacting with the Cosmic forces, I know that for me, it just happens or not. It’s not something that you can see on the shop shelf of life and say “I’ll have that.” Well not for me. It’s much more coincidental and chaotic.
Gone are the days when I believed there is only one in your life who will fulfill all your dreams of what the L word should be. Stop thinking lesbian. Dirty mind! Not that lesbians are dirty, I’m sure their hygiene rivals none. Anyway, I think there is someone out there that I could have a shot with.
I like him lots. We talk about anything and everything. One of our conversations went from kebabs to condoms, all within an hour. That truly is covering all topical bases.
He’s funny and nice and of course, far away. I mean I wouldn’t just like someone near. That would be much too easy. So ya, maybe we’ll be friends, maybe we’ll be more maybe he’ll even save me from the cat lady prophecy. Fucked if I know. So I’m just hoping that by getting these static thoughts out the Cosmic Forces will look kindly upon me and let things go right.
(Contd in comment)
Posted: Sat Jul 18, 2009 1:33 PM CST
Marionettes on weakening cables
Huddled up with fear and hate
Because they know their fate and it's a lot to put them through.
Sometimes one has to come to terms that one has been a fucking asshole.
An unintentional asshole, but nonetheless, an asshole.
I always want truth to come out. Why?
I guess I feel bad for years of ignoring my instinct, always telling myself that I just wanted to fuck things up for myself. I always used to do this when I was younger, gag the voice of instinct until it began to throw a fit, like a panic rat scurrying furiously, gnawing at me, to LISTEN.
To look at me, one might think that I love myself or think that I’m better than others. I have been told this a few times by two women, I don‘t think it‘s jealousy I think it‘s genuinely the way they see me. I try to project a 100% self assured image . Now I am not about to go full circle and say that I am dowsed in self doubt and self loathing, because I am not. Mostly, I think I’m A O.K.
There are some things that I am good at. I think I write expressively and articulately. I am good at making friends, with random strangers. I can sink a good few beers. I have a way with animals. I am a vicious flirt, with little shame and apparently a brilliant kisser. My family is the sun to me. I guess the good of these qualities is quite subjective, but they are things I like about me.
Now for the less than desirable things, I mean, I don’t have a career, my own place, or a car. I have a zest for life, but my life isn’t exactly easily defined. It’s different than most grown ups, I know that much. I stutter when I’m nervous in certain social situations, interviews do the same humiliating thing to my speech. I mean if I could always have a few beers on me, I’d have zero nerves. But apparently society frowns upon this?
Another bad quality, I’m relentless when I think people are being wronged when it’s not my place to say anything or get involved. I have learned this recently. Through yet another online scuffle. It’s not my place, I have no right to say anything, although to be fair, this occurrence was an unintentional minefield of a subject I had brought up. I hadn’t been informed of recent events and posted a thread about weeding out fakes amongst us. I can’t say I’m a victim as I drew the shit-storm upon myself. This I admit. If I had been aware of the recent activity, I would not have posted a thread detailing a way to weed out the bogus and malcontent in our midst.
I don’t want to be seen as a shitty person. I mean, it beggars belief why anyone would want to draw trouble on themselves, I’m for the easy life. So I have resigned to a simple fact, that as well as shady characters existing in real life, there are going to be more of them online. Where you don’t have to stick around for the consequences of your actions, the words you throw, they will come by the dozens with their sticks in buckets of shit. If I think that awareness will stop them, then I’m an idiot. I will just draw more unwanted criticism upon myself. Which Golly, I did in style last time. “Why it means so much to me…… Why do I care…It‘s not anyones place to decide who‘s fake or not…”
As much as it galls me, the criticism is warranted. I shouldn’t care. I can only protect myself and cannot be responsible for what other people allow themselves to believe. My instinct is not their instinct, my prerogative, is not theirs. So having thought about it all, fuck it. It’s not my place to play Jessica Fletcher, or to try and ensure that no-one is wronged. It happens everyday, in real life, online life, so looks like I’ll finally have to have a spoonful of a concoction of my own creation….. A dose of get the fuck over it.
I plan on sticking around. I don’t feel I have done anything outwardly wrong, aside from wanting everyone online to be genuine. Which yes, makes me a naïve, idealistic asshole. A bad person? I think not.
Continued in Comment
Posted: Sat Jul 11, 2009 11:39 AM CST
This is the Gospel, according to Hess..
Never put skinny jeans in the dryer. When you go to put them on, you’ll look like a badly wrapped piece of ham.
Drink pints of beer, it’s cheaper than bottles. Which equates to more money being saved and an increased level of drunkeness.
Heineken is the nectar of the Gods.
Don’t spend a fortune on things you don’t need. Like that handbag for €300. That equates to exactly 75 pints of Heineken. Or a weekend away somewhere. Time spent being drunk, in a new place and or laughing are invaluable. A handbag holds more shit you don’t need.
Take more pictures. I love pictures. You see them and the memory and feeling of a night out, a BBQ with family, a special occasion.. For a few brief seconds the nostalgia brings you right back to that place.
Oh Oh Oh, don’t let your partner take naked pictures of you. They could end up on the innnnnnernet. 
Be sure to laugh a few times a day. If you don’t laugh once a day then you are definitely going to hell. This is my gospel, my rules, don‘t mess with it. In my Hell, you’ll be forced to eat rice crackers and non alcoholic beer. I shudder at the thought.
It IS important who Lataviahs baby Daddy is. If your Dad asks you this while watching Maury, inform him that this is written, in the Gospel of the Hess.
Dr. Phil does speak some truths. Don’t be so quick to box him into the money-making -mustache wearing-asshole category. He’s a Texan hottie, he speaks the truth.
Listen to at least one Grrr Irish Trad song a day. But try to refrain from wanting to kill the British afterward. Absorb the spirit, not the hatred.
Become a member of the fuck it committee. Let no-one tell you how to live your life, live it as you see fit, just make sure you’re happy most of the time.
Aliens do exist. I know any day now, my real parents from Planet Heino, will come down from the skies to pick me up. Heineken was put on earth to weaken me, but I take it on the chin.
I am going out tonight, to get drunk.
I will preach more Gospel of the Hess. Take these words not long written down (well like 8 mins) and advocate my teachings wherever you go.
I have it on my Myspace for 3 years now, that I plan on setting up my own religion.
Today is the day my friends.
All hail the Hessiah.
As always, smiling and signing out.
Hess.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58CJih1iYC0 (Watch it, or else feel the wrath of a hyper Irish Girl, I'll be after yer lucky charms)
Posted: Fri Jul 10, 2009 12:05 PM CST
Florence and Machine, Cosmic Love (had to share ly
A beautiful song that reminds me of overcoming the shittiness of relationships, video is listed at bottom too.
A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you (fave verse)
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tpW-OqIxWo
Posted: Thu Jul 9, 2009 9:28 PM CST
The Adventures of the Gilded Belt…..
Finally, a title that isn’t stolen from a song! I’m breaking outta my comfort zone here, gonna start doing all kinds of crazy shit now. I’m gonna bust this story wide open!
This is a lament, to something I purchased for 15euro when I was 16 years old. I am now 22.
It is lost, due to the fact that it started to gain some unappealing characteristics in its old age.
I knew when I started to get serious cuts on my fingers off the metal embeds that used to hold metallic beads, that it was time for the Gilded Belt to go to it’s rightful resting place.
It will be hung from the end of my bed.
Now, any normal rational person would say, it’s a 6 year old belt, throw the raggedy thing out.
But you see, this belt has a story to tell. It has been many places, most good but a few bad.
I can safely say that I’ve been wearing it pretty much non stop since the day I bought it.
There are wear marks on the belt when I used to be fatter, others show significant weight loss. It isn’t the most tasteful thing I’ve ever owned. I will have to take a pic to show it isn’t as gormless as I describe. It had a lil glitter, a lil something that made me love it and wear it like a badge of honour on all my journeys.
It has been unfastened by a couple of dubious characters of the male variety. Often in a hurry, they too met the sharpened teeth of a cheap belt, with too many attachments. Uttering in sheer disgust, “Fuck Hess, why do you wear that thing, it’s dangerous! What bout tetanus?” Still even though the men protested too much, I could not bear to part with it.
One incredibly drunken Tequila fueled night, it served as a harness as my legs gave way and my best friend, caught onto the back of it, hoisting me up.
It is also a signal to my family. If left hanging off some radiator, if anyone asks is Hess home…… “Ah her belts there, she’s not gone far.”
It was used one night, to give an evil prowling stray cat a slap. I love all animals but it was attacking my kitten, Foxy Baby. Yes, I know it’s a pimps name but Foxy Baby is fair bitchin’.
So to the Gilded Belt, I bid you adieu. Your journey has been long, drunken, tempestuous. I got all the use I possibly could out of you. You must come to your final resting place. Know that you were loved, even so much that there was blood shed, as to not give you up.
When I have children, which of course will be evil, I shall use you as a threat. An idle one but nonetheless effective. I’ll tell them that it was a belt belonging to a mischievous Princess who yielded it come rain, hail or snow. It was a mark of who she was, a symbol of her first ever Summer job, working in a magical kiosk that sold cigarettes and newspapers.
The Gilded Belt, I drink my apple cider and make a toast, to a faithful companion that held up jeans that were much too low slung for most of my adolescence and beginning of my 20 something years.
Thank you, friend.
May you rest in peace.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2d2llB4oIQ
Posted: Thu Jul 9, 2009 5:27 AM CST
A fake Jamaican took every last dime with a scam..
It was worth it just to learn some sleight-of-hand.
Bad news comes don't you worry even when it lands.
Good news will work its way to all them plans.
We both got fired on exactly the same day.
Well we'll float on good news is on the way.
(Yes it's a song, I have a spidey sense for scammers)
How much baggage are you carrying today?! No you’re over the fucking limit.
You are not boarding Hess’s flight to all knowingness. Yes I know everything.
You don’t know that I don’t. Don’t look at me like that.
Wanna fight?!
Go for it, I fight dirty. *Removes massive Gangsta hoops*, I know I can’t pull them off, but I live on Delusional Street. Rent prices are high here, we are an elitist bunch of so and so’s. We could buy but then that would be owning something. Owning something means that it’s invariably associated with you, your name is on it, it’s tied to you. Can ya tell me how to get, how to get to Delusional Street.
I surely can tell you. You take the first right off Assumption Avenue, then onto Lovers Lane, which leads you to Belligerence Boulevard, then you will see before you Delusional Street. Dang it, I missed the alliteration on the last one, but you found the place none the less.
I live here, not because of all the grandeur. We all know that delusion and grandeur are bedfellows never parted. I live here because safe to say, I’m happy here. I am an honest person, I am analytical, I am not super intelligent but I definitely have a different grasp on things, words mainly than most my age. Now this is primarily what has kept me in my fixed abode. The fact that I see the world through my own eyes. No-one has seen the things I’ve seen, from my perspective, angle. You see different things differently according to mood. I am so fucking idealistically special. That fucker in the sky, ya know….. Mmmm he puts us through trials and tribulations, watches on laughing, then gets fed up and decides the Ellen Show is better viewing. Leaves us to sort out his perceived pranks. What’s his name?! I think he goes by G-Almighty these days. Wants to pursue a rap career, appeal to todays youth.
Regardless of his name, he has not just bestowed this gift upon me. YOU are reading this right now. Through eyes, that give you the power to see. How amazing is the thing we most take for granted?! They say our feet are the most neglected part of our bodies. Well I conclude that we abuse our eyes everyday. We don’t allow them to give us the full pleasure of their purpose. This morning for example, I awoke with a dried sponge for a mouth due to Heineken consumption. Ohhh fuck, breaking news, Heineken and I are back together. Heino promised to go to hangover management classes and I think that’s a fair deal. Anyway, back to brillo pad tongue. I could see a glass of water on the night stand. It was clear. Wet, cold. Now you may say to me, that is how you know water to be. Before I ever hydrated my blessed mouth with the elixir of life, my eyes had drank it first. I knew how good it was going to feel before I even brought the glass to my lips. It’s small things like that, we miss out on.
Why do we see but blindly? We carry around a little suitcase in our heads. It’s full of stuff that you don’t really need to take on holiday, but ya do. Cause you never know, you might need it. Stuff like worries about the mortgage, whether you look fat in your current attire, insults an ex hurled at you.
Do you really need to take that around with you everyday? Tip it out. It really is quite simple. I had a big fuck off fucker of a suitcase. Well it was a trunk to be fair. One day, I said to myself… I don’t really need these things. It’s heavy, it makes my body weary, it weighs me down, its ridiculous effect draws my gaze away, from things I should be seeing.
(Continued in Comment, you know the drill)
Posted: Tue Jul 7, 2009 8:37 PM CST
You, remind me of the babe…. What babe?!
The Babe with the power. What power?!
Power of Voodoo. Who do?
You do.
Do what?!
Remind me of the babe.
I remember first watching this movie and noticing that David Bowie was packing something extra than to what I knew girls had.
This was the start of my fascination with the male species.
I mean, why did they have an outtie bottom and why did we girls have an innie?
And why, oh why were boys always more fun to play with than girls?
Don’t get me wrong, I had my fair share of Barbies. Most had custom hair cuts, a few Mohawks, skin heads. I even magic marker-ed in some tattoos.
My Barbies were bitchin as fuck!
But I always found the games that the boys played to be way more adventurous. Like my neighbours were always trying to exclude me from their “boys only club“, until I promised I would gain entry by some form of initiation and of course, them being Dumb and Dumber came up with a rather risky venture.
I had to take a tyre that we had around the house, roll it up the hill by the main road and leave it go upon their command, whenever that was.
An old Toyota starlet comes humming up the road, I stand at the top of this huge hill. Well huge to a 6 year old. Butterflies flittered in my tummy and I felt the flip of a wave of acid, churn and bubble.
“Now, Do it Now!!!”
Almost instinctively I rolled the tyre, to give it a good momentum in hopes it would be to the other side of the road before the car made it.
All my hopes were crashed when I heard the screech of the Toyotas brakes as the car had to hault as my vigilante tyre bounced across the road like a roundy rubber gymnast, effortlessly vaulting into the ditch, at the farther side of the road. At least it didn’t hit the car I told myself, no harm had really been done. Heart thudding, adrenaline pumping, the boys and I get going. Running as fast as we could through the higher growth at the top of the hill. Nettles burned the flesh of my bare legs, briars scraped at my shorts, a temporary discomfort until we cleared the ditch. Having safely gotten to the other side, we sat there panting. Cheeks reddened by the summer sun that had shone down on our mischievous trio. Our faces were flushed with panic, excitement, fear.
Then they looked at me, with an odd acceptance. No words were said, I knew I was in. An allegiance amongst Tyre Terrorists.
This mentality followed me to recent years. Not that I’d do anything to fit in but I knew for me to be seen differently through a boys eyes, I had to project something they didn’t expect. This façade didn’t last long, soon it became apart of who I was.
I am too far gone to ever be a lady. I don’t mind if I get some mud on my jeans, I always have a scrape or bruise somewhere. I sink Heineken better than most men I know and I’m pretty strong.
I brought the way I’m treated by boys, on myself. They say things to me, thinking I can take it and I do. Outwardly. If they say I’ve gotten chubby, I’ll laugh it off. They tell me things about their sex-ploits that they daren’t tell another female. I am pretty much always the friend, but if they’re super drunk I’m good for a grope apparently. I laugh that off too.
Little do they know, spiders terrify me. Aside from my Rebel song obsession, all my favorite artists are females that sing about broken hearts and insecurities. I love the Ellen Show. I cried watching the Color Purple and I tell each of my pets I love them every night before bed. I even kiss Ozzies belly.
(Continued in Comments, you know the drill)