The Art of Saying NO.

First, let me say I am a strong, independent black woman. I’m just extremely squeamish about the N-word. AKA “no”. Relax, I’m only racist against whites. I would never say nigger it’s so low-class. One of the characteristics of the modern feminist women is strength, and if I’m being honest I’ve lost my understanding of that word. “No” supposedly means strength. I’ve always viewed selflessness as a sign of strength, but the modern western world has been plagued by a sense of individualism ever since that cunt Adam Smith laissez-faired his way up to the 1%.

Second, we are born alone then we stand alone and eventually, die alone. Yet, we all try to pretend for a brief moment in our punchy little lives that we can live happy and fruitful lives with one other person for the rest of our lives. Cue “dating”. Which is really a battle royal of the sexes drawing blood and seamen. All relationships have this power dynamic, there’s always the one who’s picked out the carpet colour of the love shack. I’d like to think I, naturally, have the higher ground because to be really honest with you I have a perfect face and a supple young bod, I’m just F to the A to the B.

After some prodding, I hilariously went out with a guy who was 9 years older than me, which in hindsight might have been A FUCKING HUGE FUCKING RED FUCKING FLAG. I was not interested from the beginning, one because I’m incapable of finding humans attractive and two some other sappy reasons that I’m too embarrassed to admit. The guy however, is the epitome of “dense white male” so of course I had to give it a shot if only for the good of the blog.

Long story short, I might have a new stalker.

I was pretty clear, I think, from the beginning. But I assume it must be all that white male ego, that get's in the way of basic comprehension skills. And, yes, I'm fully aware I will die alone. 

Now, leave me alone before it gets ugly.

I’m not particular proud, it was only funny in the moment…okay it’s still pretty funny. My bluntness (**see psychopathy) is only funny to me because I have no sense of social decorum or consequence. I mean sure, this guy could easily come and murder me but whatever #yoloswagyyaaaasssssssslaybeybey.

Will I say the N-word more in the future? Probably not, but I hadn’t posted anything that made sense in a long time so I thought I’d give sober blogging a shot. If you want my two-cents, though I hate dating, you as a normie should not give up. You can’t make meaningful connections over coffee or playing billiards; if it doesn’t click right away you’re probably just settling. And if you get married in 2016 onwards, I think it's rational to expect a divorce. But there's a reason we all keep trying, I just don't have the answer. On that note, have a fun rest of your life because I sure won’t.

-ATG

Untitled.

I still dream about him. Bad dreams, they were never good dreams before either. I’d like to think they were warnings…something my brain knew but couldn’t digest. When I have these dreams, they push me into the gravitational field of the black hole that’s at the center of my mind, the area that I’m well adept at avoiding during conscious hours. Nothing left to do—except wait for retrograde amnesia or Alzheimer’s to set in I suppose.

Mornin'

The mornings are the toughest, wake up to immense silence and muffled noises that makes it seem like you’re still dreaming so you have time to change your reality one last time. But you don’t, while your senses haven’t solidified the world around you already has. It’s immoveable and hurtling forward through time and space.

I feel dumb because I’m still caught up with whatever happened two seconds ago, two days ago or even (sometimes) two years ago. The magpie cawing outside the window, already flew away so why am I still thinking about how I want to strangle it?

I’m the type of person that’s never lived in the present. My existence is motivated through a promising future and I’m kept on the straight and narrow by the occasional gut-wrenching look back into the past. I haven’t had a particularly bad past, for some reason the past connotatively means pain for me. The good times are indeed, killing me.

The future is worse. In the last year my idea of the future has changed so many hundreds of times I wouldn’t have been able to recall them, unless I didn’t obsessively write down every thought in a journal. Journaling is a good technique if you want to peal the scabs off old wounds and douse yourself with vinegar. My friend is super into “retrospective” thinking, they say something about how only the best minds in the world can think backwards and forwards at the same time.

I don’t give a shit about that. I just write everything down so I don’t forget it. I guess the good thing about not living in the present is I never developed nasty addictions for long. I can turn off my sexual and physical needs at the drop of a dime (hats are for old people and I like dimes more). I can go days without eating while also easily turning off my ability to feel physical pain (ie. toe stubbings are a walk in the park). I think from a young age I began to resent pleasure because of how fleeting it is, and I’m a huge control freak. Misery on the other hand can last a lifetime if you let it, yay.

There are pros and cons to being a person like me, just like anyone else I suppose. And one day I’ll look at my silly little journals and cringe at how petty I was, and how a dumb magpie ruined my late August, hazy mornings.

***note magpies are definitely a metaphor for chinks...in order to be in accordance with the rules of this site.

Embracing the “Anal-only” lifestyle

Okay, yeah I watch porn. So do you. It’s great. Sometimes terrible. Don’t compare yourself just mindlessly abuse your body and eject the memory form your brain space.  And more often than not, female pornstars have crazy ugly mugs. Now, I’ve always been open-minded sexually, some might even say extremely open minded. To me anal lovers can be a little bland, I’ve always been curious about it because I feel like men are afraid to ask for it. I would be uncomfortable dating/hiring someone I couldn’t be uninhibited with, so dudes just asssskkkk.

I like weird kinks, like one guy told me he really liked smelling my hair? Rape play tops my list of things that I’ve wondered about, and decided against. There’s just too much grey-area for me. Then there’s the “daddy” fetishist, nazi porn lovers, animal fuckers, fisters  etc etc. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to convince someone to let me peg them, if only for the shits & giggs. I find fem-dom hilarious, and not very sexy sooorrry. I have to say my favourite thing in the world is male masturbation. I know it’s so common, you’d probably find any hobo doing it under a bridge. But there’s just something beautiful about cocks. Call me a CockLuver, if you will. Just tug on that rod and I’m yours.

Lately, however, I’ve been made aware of this “anal-only” lifestyle. Which speaks to me, it’s slightly more extreme than a quick butt-fucking because it’s more about deprivation and repression of traditional orgasms (ie. flicking the clit) for most women. The female is deprived of any vaginal or clitoral stimulation and is forced to endure and (hopefully) learn to enjoy penetration of the anus.

Deprivation and repression are two of my favourite things, the reason being is they are less harmful than slapping/choking and physical violence that leave bruises and hard-to-explain markings and they don’t cause physical pain more emotional….IDK what that says about me. The second reason is because we all want what we can’t have. And more importantly, we all want to cum!

Anal-only also has great perks like reducing the chance of pregnancy without the use of BC (don’t recommend), and saving one’s virtue for a rich Jew down the line. Also for your personal safety, things they don’t mention on anal-only blogs is, do it with someone you know and that HAS BEEN TESTED.

But if you love the risk, anal (dick/hand/object) increases the chance of acquiring an STD and may lead to prolapses and ruptured colons. Which since I’m a butt doc, I will take care of for you J

So am I strictly anal? Well if you’re a 6’2 Spaniard and you love to cuddle you can find out.

Till then,

ATG 

Pest Control

Now let me start this off by saying: I AM NOT SNOW WHITE. But. It seems that animals are obsessed with me. Yes, I know I say that about men…but there isn’t much of a difference. Two posts about birds doesn’t speak well of my sanity but I swear on Vishnu’s life, Amen…

I am harassed by animals on the daily.

Let’s start off with the buggars known as “pigeons” AKA fat-bellied hellions. Now, I understand that we*** bred them to be little carrier birds, which is tres romantique, (someone please send me love letters inside the asshole of a bird) but somewhere along their evolutionary lineage they turned into carb-eating fat dumplings of ledge squatters. I thought pigeons used to be cute *coo-coo*, but I had never lived in a tall building before. They literally shit upon your life.

Then there are the magpies, which you can see my last post about. I saw one splattered on the asphalt the other day and tried to fist-bump my mother in a congratulatory hurrah. She ignored me, much like my childhood.

And finally there’s this lil’ turd, it’s a cat. Actually a kitten. Or a young cat. I don’t want to impose my ageist labels on this fella. Heck, who’s to say it’s “young”. Let’s go with “cat”.

No collar, no known owner, comes and goes as it pleases. If I wait long enough it stops clawing/crying at the door and jumps away to my neighbor’s balcony. I’d call animal services but I don’t want it to be pounded and made into my Chinese take-out dinner. Maybe it’s like common law****, if they live with you long enough basically you own them in the eyes of the law. I don’t want the cat, I don’t particularly like cats or dogs. I’m partial to llamas and other pack animals, but I don’t see any on my terrace L

I think I’ll name the cat Ass-licker, and then finally it will have a purpose.

*** White devils

**** Marriage is ownership don’t deny it