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Showing posts from December, 2005

Defining Love

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It’s difficult when you have to deal with shallow-minded people who have absolutely no tolerance for anything unfamiliar. Again, it’s all about ‘the unknown territories’; the fear of opening up to a new world, or learning about someone else’s lifestyle. Why should they? They’re comfortable in their walls of seclusion—not desiring knowledge of other lifestyles and cultures. And that’s “okay”. Then you have the people who cross those lines. Those very thin lines of respect can be easily confused as ‘innocent questioning’ or ‘remarks’. Most of the time, it’s not so innocent, due to their approach. Madelene and I have been known to be the itinerant bar hoppers back in the day ---okay, okay, we still are. We love talking to everyone and anyone. Most people I meet at the bar are men, and they’re just so interesting to talk to. We never get ‘weirded out' or feel awkward when men approach us, because if you’re sitting at a bar, you have to realize that it’s a social setting. If you’r

Bottoms Up!

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It never ceases to amaze me. Every single time I am with friends & family trying new drinks, everyone wants to take a sip out of my cup to see what I’m drinking. Why? Can’t you pour your own and just leave my cup alone? Especially in the midst of the flu season---lay the hell off my cup! It actually reminds me of that Bugs Bunny episode where he keeps telling the gorilla, “Stop breathing in my cup!” Oh great, different wines from all over the world. Everyone gathers around the bar at my house to try these fantastic wines out. I pour a small dab of Chianti in my glass, I swirl it, and then take a sip. Hmm. It had a bite to it—probably needs to breathe a little longer. “Oh! You got the Chianti, can I try it?” Sis asks. “Sure.” “Oh that’s the Chianti? Let me try?” Mom asks. I sat there staring at everyone who was taking a sip of a small puddle in the bottom of my wine glass. Madelene knows my dilemma. She sees it in my eyes. I nod—indicating, ‘it’s okay to get me another glass—bu

Walking In a Liquor Wonderland

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Champagne streams, are you listening? In the land, my family’s drinking A beautiful sound, we’re happy & loud Walking in an liquor wonderland Gone away, went my sanity Here to stay is calamity I sang a love song The vodka was strong Walking in a liquor wonderland In the meadow we can make a gimlet And pretend that he is Bobby Brown He’ll say: Are you married? We’ll say: No man. Then you can do my wife while you’re in town Later on, we’ll perspire Drunk and nude, by the fire To face the unafraid Turning the lights on is brave Walking in a liquor wonderland In the meadow we can make a cocktail And pretend that we are circus clowns We’ll have lots of fun with mister snowman Until the batteries start wearing down When it snows Ain’t it thrilling? Another drink, and I’m willing To frolic and play The S&M way Walking in a liquor wonderland Walking in a liquor wonderland Walking in a liquor wonderland ~By Deb Lovely, isn’t it? I think it’s the first song lyrics that I wrote on

The Unknown

Everyone knew, except me. I was always in the dark about everything. Maybe I just chose to ignore what was right under my nose. Being a teenager living home, my friends would come over with such enthusiasm. I remember one particular day when my two close friends came over. Steve and Corrine were sitting out in the living room, while my father had his workers in a nearby room talking about work. My father was always in the construction and excavating business. In fact, he held two jobs. He owned a fish market at the South Street Seaport, as well as the excavating business. All my father’s workers would gather around a table over demitasse coffee and talk for hours. Funny how they all were so dressed up, as if they were attending a ‘family function’ or a party. They all had dress shirts, jewelry from head to toe, and all smelled like strong pungent cologne. If I were to guess what occupation they were in, I’d say ‘car salesmen’. I guess I was clueless. “Deb! You gotta listen to this! D

A Question That Had to Be Answered

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Each morning when I open my email, I’m surprised to see so many of you who read my blog and email me with comments and questions. There are more people who ‘lurk’ instead--- and that’s okay. When I first started this blog, I never got a comment and never received an email from people who read my posts. Sometimes, I open up my mail, to find thirty to fifty emails waiting to be opened from loyal readers. These people are usually the 'lurkers' who do not comment. Different questions or comments can range from various topics. Some ask me about my ‘mental disorders’ and if they are real , some ask me about my lesbian lifestyle and if I have ever been with a man, others ask me about my family life and upbringing. Most ask me, “Is this all true?” The answer is, yes. Each post is disgustingly all truth. Sometimes I even have to ask my family members, “Is this okay to post?” I have other people asking, “Why do you display your life out on the net?” To me, my life is a comedy. I

It's Five O'Clock Somewhere

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Thank God. A trip to the psychiatrist should do the trick. He should be able to calm my nerves and make me feel a little better this Christmas holiday. This is exactly what I need before I go into Toys "R" Us and Walmart to be trampled down by overstressed mothers trying to get the latest toys for their kids. Psychiatry was on my ‘to do’ list. Shopping is definitely a sign of love. I absolutely hate it-- what an oxymoron! My girlfriend was so gracious enough to come to the doc’s office with me and wait there like a mental patient watching all the other wackos in need of help. She doesn’t mind. She sticks her nose in some weird magazine for a good hour. While sitting with Madelene waiting for the doc to call me in, Madelene pointed something out to me. In the New Yorker Magazine, it showed Jessica Coen making $30,000 per year just by blogging. Her stats show that almost 2,000 people visit 'per hour’. Holy mother load of bloggers! I know that $30,000 per year isn’t a l

Dysfunctional Christmas

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Christmas Eve at my house can get quite exhausting. My father is old school—and still plans on making every single fish on the face of the earth. It’s an Italian heritage. He’ll cook two days before—no lie. He even spends all night till 5am cooking shrimp, lobster, crab legs, baked clams, squid, scungilli, and crab salad. He usually gets highly exhausted, and being that he is a very large guy with health problems, it’s just too much for him. My father doesn’t want to disappoint everyone, because this has been the tradition for decades. In other words, he’s fricken stubborn. Here’s where it gets a bit comical. Half my family is now allergic to shellfish. I won’t go near it—in fact, when I smell it, my throat starts to inflame. The aromas that come wafting up, in through the vents are enough to make my lymph nodes scream bloody murder. My sister Cathy is extremely allergic. If she touches the stuff, she blows up like a tick. Logically it would be a good idea to make a traditional meal,

Come On Get Happy!

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As we all know, this time of year can get us a little gray. Psychotherapists and pharmacies make a bundle during the holiday season. Hell—they make a bundle regardless. Now you can sit on the couch and bitch and moan about your life to a psychiatrist. Your doc will write your scripts and you’ll end up heading out to the next tavern to wash down your problems, but there’s also other ways to lift your spirits. Food. No, I’m not saying to chomp your way into obesity. I’m talking about certain foods that hold the same chemical that’s in anti-depressant medications. There are so many natural ways to overcome depression—besides taking it out on your loved ones. (Poor poor Madelene) Bananas: This is a miracle fruit. I remember my friend saying to me, “Oh I gotta take my Prozac for the day.” I was like, “What?” She told me about bananas, and I did a little research to see if it was true. Bananas are rich with magnesium and potassium. The magnesium helps aid in sleep and decreases anxiety—

The Royal Flush

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(Plumber's crack dream) “Good morning sunshine!” Madelene says to me, while I’m sleeping. She always has this habit of screaming out ‘good morning’ when I’m in a deep slumber. I think it’s some sort of weird resentment on her part that I get to sleep in a bit. Of course I wake up and grumble at her a little, to let her know she succeeded in waking me up. She rushes of to the shower and goes about her daily regimen. It usually takes her a good hour to just shower up, dry off, moisturize every single cell of her skin, and then get dressed. Slowly but surely, I rise up from my bed like a corpse, and head into the bathroom. I usually do this when I know Madelene’s about to get out. “Don’t come in here!” Madelene screams out, as she hears the doorknob wiggle. “Huh? You’re getting shy with me after twelve years together? Open the door your freak!” “No!” I open it—and I feel the immense pressure of water flowing over my f

Psyche Ward

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As you all probably know, I’m a little too close for comfort to the parental units. Yes, mom and dad live downstairs from me. My mother is retired, so she usually takes care of the grandkids or goes shopping, but she gets depressed a lot due to not working. She used to work in retail with lots of people—so this was a big life change for her. Now there are a whole lot of advantages to living in an apartment above mama and papa. 1. We’re all like best friends, we love to make martinis and hang out. 2. Being that I work a non-conventional type of job, I get to take mom out to lunch, and we always remember—it’s 5 o’clock somewhere! 3. Mom is a great cook. We get invited for dinner often- hell we just go down there when we smell something good brewing. She loves company—actually craves it. 4. I don’t even make my own coffee, she brews her coffee in one of those old peculators that Alice had on her stove on the “Honeymooners”. It’s so good that I can’t go back to regular coffee. 5.

Not For Nothing...

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Not for nothing, but when I admire a woman from afar, I look for certain qualities—or the unique traits that one already has. For instance, I love a woman who has curves, more on the voluptuous side—not necessarily someone of much avoirdupois. I look for woman who carries herself with confidence; someone who is not afraid of letting their hair down—but of course, done with class. I love the femininity of a woman; a woman who relishes in ‘being a lady’. This quality, I found in Madelene. When Madelene and I venture out on the town, we both love to admire the beauty of a woman. We even say to one another, “Oh look—she is so beautiful!” We are aware that we’re both sexual beings, with eyes—so why fight it? It’s actually really interesting to sit at a bar and see who piques our interests. Now, as you all know, last Saturday night, we went out for our anniversary. After dinner, we headed over to this new bar that opened up. It was this old looking, country western looking type of bar. W

Our 12th Anniversary?

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Gracefulness is not a word I would use to describe my girlfriend Madelene. Although she is a beautiful woman with feminine qualities, she has this certain abruptness about her approach. As I mentioned before in another blog, she bruises herself frequently from just walking into walls. No, she’s not a drunk—she’s a bit clumsy. This morning she wakes up around 6am to prepare for work. For the most part, she stays within the bathroom to get ready. Today, she was galloping all over the house like a trapped horse. She works for a car dealership, and whenever it snows, they make them all wear work boots and heavy gear so they can clean off the cars. All I could hear while I was all comfy in the bedroom under the covers was, “Ga-ThumP! Ga-ThumP! Ga-ThumP!" Back and forth on the hard wood floors. She usually makes a few trips back into the house because she forgot something, but today it was different. G a - T h u m P ! G a - T h u m P! G a - T h u m p! Of course I got up to investi

Normal?

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Someone put me back in my padded room. I’m done. I’ve had it. I can’t take it no mo! Yes, I said it that way. Sad, huh? I’m dragging ass today, feeling like a pile of crap. Is it seasonal affective disorder? Is it manic depression/bi-polar? Can I be going through a weird sort of depression and not know it, but yet—know it? Insomnia kills my sleep. Sleep kills my ability to wake up. I’m stuck. I can’t get out of bed. I’ve fallen asleep and I can’t get up! Why is Madelene so effin’ cheery this morning? “Good morning sunshine? How you feeling today?” “Mmm. Good. ” I mumble; hoping she finds her way out of the bedroom before I scream. “Do you want me to bring anything home for dinner tonight?” “Ughhh…I can’t even think of dinner right now.” I slur out of my lazy mouth. “Want me to cook? Want some Chinese take out? You want some---“ “NO!!! I want some sleep! I can’t think of food 6am for the love of God!” She gets off the side of the bed and starts getting ready for work. Wait—isn’t it s

The Envelope

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Patience. I absolutely have none. I never did. Patience. That word irritates me. Needless to say I have no virtue. Patience gives us more character. What kind? The kind that waits, and waits, and then… waits. When will my time come? God, why isn’t it happening ‘now’? I want things ‘now’, and nothing seems to be progressing in that area. Then God spoke: “God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.” ~Ecclesiastes 3:11 What then, do I have to do in the meantime? Wait. Be patient. Maybe my life is out of control. Maybe my life needs a time to relax, and wait upon whatever it is, to enter my life. “When the Holy Spirit controls our lives, he will produce this kind of fruit in us: love, joy, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness.” ~Galatians 5:22 Do I not have enough trust? Do I have enough faith in God to say, “Here, take control of my life, and

Life Is But a Dream

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“Come with me, let’s go Deb.” An androgynous voice calls out to me. “I can’t leave here, what if I don’t make it back on time?” “You must come along now, while we can still go. Come along, Debbie.” The voice suggests. Still kept within my body, I wondered how I would manage to get out of this heaviness; this shell that kept me from flying. In an instant, the person with the androgynous voice lifts me up, and holds me securely as we start flying upward. Looking down, I saw my own body sleeping in my bed. I saw Madelene curled up beside me. It had to be close to 3am, and we didn’t have to wake up for another four hours or so. “I have so much to show you! Let’s go!” The voice said, as we made our way up into the sky. We were flying above the clouds at this point. My body was no longer with me. The heaviness was gone, and I had no pain. Pain? Yes—pain. It was then I realized that humans, in their physical bodies build up a tolerance to pain. We just don’t know it. For example,