Posts tagged credit

another wave

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Time is funny.  One can remember some events with such clarity, and yet, other events that might be more recent seem cloudy and distant.  One can remember something from childhood as they reach middle age, yet most people can’t remember the dream they had the night before.

For some reason, negative events seem to imprint themselves into memory so much deeper than the positive ones, with a few exceptions here and there.  I can remember the feeling of achievement when I passed the A+ computer tech certification test without having paid for any training or preparation classes.  That memory is not as strong as the one of me driving back to Louisiana while leaving Alexis in Florida, and leaving behind my first successful bbw porn website at the same time.

I can remember some of the songs that played on the radio, like Duran Duran “Girls On Film”.  I thought it was really ironic that I would catch that song from the very beginning as I flipped through an otherwise blank radio band in the middle of bum fuck nowhere Florida.  I can remember that the weather was nice, and while it wasn’t too hot, I had to restrict my speed to under 55 miles per hour because the radiator in my 1985 Toyota pick up truck was partially clogged, and I had to leave Florida too urgently to replace it first.

I can only partially remember driving to Florida in that same truck, pulling a U-Haul trailer nearly full of junk to a house that was owned by the woman who would later install the fear of death into me with her lies and schemes.  I can remember taking the plane to Orlando to meet her for the first time better than I remember driving myself there with all my stuff to “move in”.

I was such a fool to move in with that woman to begin with.  I laugh and laugh when I hear about people living across the country from each other, meeting up a few times, then moving in with each other.  I’m sure it might work occasionally, but I am now under the impression that you don’t really know someone until you have lived with them over a freaking year.

If you happened to move hundreds or even thousands of miles from your former home when you move in with someone, you are kind of trapped, unless you hold on to just enough cash to get your ass back home for the first whole year.  I was dumb enough to get talked into marrying that woman within the first fucking year.

There is no way that I should have gotten married to her, but when she suggested it, I thought it would give me more security in ownership of the company I created if I was married to my partner.  That was such a bad idea, because I was so fucking stupid I did not realize the company was really in her name, and so was the website that I poured so much of myself into.

When I got married to her I was entitled to “half”, but only if I was willing to stick around and fight her for it.  By the time I was ready to leave Florida, I had no fight left in me.  Alexis had me thrown in jail twice on made up bullshit.  I was never arrested in my life before going to Florida, and now, at age 46, I have never been arrested since either.  I’m lucky that I fought the charges instead of taking a plea deal, because I don’t have any record of any convictions, and I wasn’t forced to stay in Florida for months longer taking “court mandated anger management courses”.

I wasn’t going to fight her for that website or business, and I wasn’t going to stick around Florida one second longer than necessary once the charges were dropped against me.  The very day of my final court date, when I was told I was free and clear of all that bullshit, I stopped by and said goodbye to one female friend that was special to me, I stopped by the bank where my business account was to empty that out, and I got on Interstate headed for “home”.

I didn’t even have a U-Haul trailer just yet, I made my first visit back home with my cash and the clothes on my back, leaving an apartment with a third of my stuff in place.  Once I established residency back in Louisiana, I drove the 700 plus miles each way a second time to pick up the little bit of crap I could sneak out of her house without her knowing.

I was pretty bold back then, to even try to sneak my shit out of her house when I was waiting on a court date where she agreed to drop any charges that she had made up to begin with.  Alexis not only lied to get me arrested, but she also lured me back to her house, to call the cops again, to have them catch me there and lock me up for violating a restraining order.

The first arrest was traumatic enough, but when she tricked me into coming over there just to get me arrested again, she just helped me to make up my mind to leave her and that business far behind as quickly as possible.  The second arrest was so much worse, because I was already violating a ‘bond condition’, so I had to hire a second lawyer to get me out the second time, after having to stay in there for five days.  The first arrest, I was in lock up overnight.  The second arrest, I was in general population for almost a week.

The first lawyer was just for the divorce, and he tried to tell me that he could get me out of jail, but by the third day I was on the phone with another lawyer,  paying $3000 on a credit card that I would never pay back.  It’s wild, I never declared bankruptcy, but because I left the state of Florida and never allowed any credit agency to know where I was for seven years, nearly $20,000 was dropped right off the credit report.  No bankruptcy lawyer needed, or wanted.  I had enough with lawyers, and now I realize after all that stuff why people make such cruel jokes about them.

“What do you call a thousand lawyers at the bottom of the sea?  A good start.”

I know that I got away without having to pay that credit off, which is good for me, but at the same time, Alexis was able to continue to collect any profit from the business I created for years after I left.  It is a good thing she was so fucking ignorant and lazy about how to go about doing that, because her websites all started to go downhill once I left.  People actually noticed, I still get occasional notes to this day.

The websites are still there.  Someone purchased or was given the business “Bigger And Better Inc” and they continue to keep fatfantasy.net and biggerandbetter.net going to this day.  I have lifted a few photos from there to show proof that it was me right there next to Alexis when that business was at it’s height.

I spent a whole year after I came back to Louisiana just getting my shit together.  I had to get a job, I eventually had to replace the truck, and I had to find a place to live that didn’t do a credit check so that they would not find me to try to get a judgement, and so the apartment considering me would not see that I had just broken a lease in Florida to get the fuck out of there.  I was only in that apartment for a few weeks, and left it cleaner than I found it, but they were entitled to make me buy myself out of the lease because I did sign one.

So, $20,000 in credit card debt, and a $4000 penalty for not finishing a lease.  I got off cheap.  A few years later, I would fuck up and skip filing income taxes for 2 years, so I did pay an extra $2000 for fucking up like that.  I was still lucky in that case, because after spending years paying that off, I made a call and requested “penalty abatement” and I actually got out of paying the last $1000.  Again, no scumbag fucking lawyer required for me to reduce my tax liability.

It would probably take them quite a while to get around to auditing me, because I was so fucking honest with them to take on that kind of penalty, pay it off, and keep taxes paid up every year since.  I even keep receipts that could be legit business expenses but I don’t claim them, so if I am ever audited, I may actually be found to be wrong *IN MY FAVOR*.  I’m sure they don’t get that too often!

It took me a whole year to run into a woman who happened to work with phone sex.  She also had a website going, but she was buying skinny content and creating a website to resell it.  She was probably doing ok back then with that, because there weren’t tens of thousands of porn sites in existence just yet.  This was 2001.

More importantly, there still weren’t very many BBW specific porn sites, and virtually no porn sites that specialized in SSBBW.  When I first met Dia, she had never modeled, even though she had an eloquent feminine figure that happened to include FF cup breasts.

Dia was already in the adult mindset, she just never realized how powerful her body type was, until she met me.  She hadn’t done much research on the BBW niche’, even though she had been working in phone sex for years already before I even met her.  While I was getting myself into all kinds of shit in Florida, she was sitting back making cash just talking dirty on the phone.

I would have thought right then and there that I had met my future forever partner.  There was an issue though.  Me.  The experience I had been put through with Alexis, at that age, with that much loss, created a PTSD like syndrome where I became obsessed with getting credit for my work in Florida, and better, creating something all new that was all mine.

With Dia’s help, I got some pointers on design, and I was able to create a much more attractive site than fatfantasy.net ever was.  I also pulled out 21 cd’s full of images from Florida and went to work using those to build my all new site, hotbbws.com.

Within just a few months, the checks started coming.  My work had only been seen on one site before, so it wasn’t long before my photos started to get attention and make money.  My site was prettier than her’s, even though looking at it now, it is not nearly as fancy as the current corporate assortment of bbw and ssbbw related porn sites.

I like to say that the prettier the site, the less content there probably is.  I think that is a really correct assumption when I see the high quality design capability of some webmasters combined with models that quit after a few months, or are way too lazy to create new content on a regular basis!

I was so driven, but it was by revenge.  I wanted revenge on Alexis, but not in the typical way that some people go crazy and destroy shit or hurt people.  I saw a slogan on a daytime talk show before I ever left Florida where someone said “The best revenge is doing better.”

I could have taken my own advice back when Candy left both times, because I acted a damn fool online, and seemed to get off on making hurtful comments just to disturb people.  It took me months after Candy left to attempt to get revenge by “doing better”, and by that time, I had already done too much damage to ever fully recover socially online.

I was crazy motivated to find new models in addition to using all this content I had.  I was lucky to have photographed releases, ID’s, as well as about 2 dozen plus different bbws and ssbbws.  I didn’t have any of the video, even though I was in almost all of them, and there were at least 2 dozen hardcore videos too.  That was back in the days of VHS, before the internet had a prayer of ‘streaming’ a whole porn, television show, or movie.

That was back in the days of DSL and T1 lines.  Alexis had invested in a T1, but once cable internet came out, that shit was totally obsolete.  I bet that fucking woman kept paying hundreds a month for years on that shit, because the websites were hosted in a fucking garage.

Once I moved back to Louisiana, cable internet was available, and pretty cheap, and I was able to take full advantage of it.  It was not long though, before Alexis saw what I was doing, got jealous, and went fucking crazy to knock my shit down.  She harassed my hosting company, my internet billing company, and got me shut down by just being fucking annoying.  These days I know it is not quite as easy to get someone closed down without a fight, because the companies that exist today are much more stable than the ones back then.

For example, my host was shitty, and over priced.  My billing company was fucking GLOBILL.  If you do any research on them, they fucking ripped off hundreds of people for thousands of dollars when the last fucking check they mailed out bounced, and people who had thousands of dollars coming in a month were FUCKED.  To my knowledge, Globill never fully paid back any of the poor fucks they stole that money from.  I hope those fuckers still have problems because of that shit.

It wasn’t long before IBILL went down next, and that was the company Alexis used.  I was lucky to have been so fucking pissed at Alexis I would choose CCBILL before ever going to IBILL, JUST BECAUSE ALEXIS FUCKING USED THEM.

All this time a lot of other shit went down though.  After Alexis got hotbbws.com version one shut the fuck down, I had to switch over to using all my own content, which luckily, I had been working on for a fucking year by then.  Unluckily for Dia and me, my obsession to get new content pissed her off.  She was too jealous at that time to understand my absolute need to find other models and pick up where I left off in Florida.

There was a point one day when I had made plans to photograph someone, and Dia was ok with it at first, but of course, we got into an argument right before I was supposed to leave.  I was still so fucked up from Florida.  I was doing all of this shit just to get back at Alexis, and prove that all that fucking work was mine.  I didn’t even care about the fucking money, I just wanted credit for all that fucking work!

Little did I know at the time, if I could have afforded a lawyer, I could have shown that because I was the photographer, I had rights to use that work, and I could have further sued her for damages in getting me shut down.  Either way, I fucking hated lawyers, and I didn’t want to fight her.  In fact, soon after I got to Louisiana, I cut off all contact with her so that I could not be accused of harassment back in the days before “stalking” existed.

The argument with Dia was heated, and she was so pissed at one point that she said something that I could never forget, and could not accept at the time after Florida.  She said “Do you know how easy it would be to kill you in your sleep?”

Now, if it was me in the present, I would give her suggestions on exactly how to go about doing that without it hurting me or fucking up and leaving me alive and fucked up.  I have that kind of sense of humor, and now I am old enough to welcome death as long as it’s not too painful and I don’t have too much time to suffer.

Back then, I was still traumatized from Alexis.  That bitch had me thinking at one point that people wanted to blow up her house, people were following me, she had mafia affiliations, people were being kidnapped and tortured for information, and we were in debt to an organization that was providing protection.

All that was such stupid bullshit, and I was such a fucking dumb fuck to believe it for a second.  I let that foolishness go on for about 3 weeks, and one night, I got fed up.  Alexis sent me to what was supposed to be a 24 hour post office, and she gave me fucked up directions, and I was in the middle of nowhere.  I hate wild fucking goose chases!  I pulled up to a payphone, and at the risk of being shot in the head right then and there, I made one phone call.  I called her bluff by risking my very life.

That’s what I mean when I say that Alexis put the fear of death in to me while there.  It was only 3 weeks, and I was the one to blame for believing such an outrageous set of lies.  I still have the micro cassettes that I used to bug her phone after she pulled that shit, just to see what other fucking shit she would come up with.

I let my mother listen to those tapes before she died, and she was on “team Thomas” after that.  She sat back and listened to Alexis talk to another woman about how she knew an ex cop and could have me “taken care of”.  That, and a few other statements, provided more than enough encouragement for me to get the fuck out of there.  When confronted, Alexis would claim that she knew I had the phone bugged and she said that shit to bait me.

She was a liar, but she was too fucking stupid to get over on me once I busted her compulsive, pathological liar ass.  I know that shit was for real, because there was another conversation with her son in law, who was a cop, about how a “pattern of arrest” could show a pattern of domestic abuse, and enable her to forcefully push me out of the home, the marriage, and the business.  She didn’t need to do all that shit.  All she had to do was ask me to fucking leave.

On another conversation, she talked to someone else about how she had everything “set up” to take over, but she needed my help, and she needed my work ability.  I once told Alexis when I knew shit was going downhill that when I finally had enough and left, it would take five different people to do “my job”.  To this day, I still believe that to be absolutely true, because i have listed off the many jobs I have to do in another post somewhere I don’t want to stop to dig up.

Before I finally left, before the last court date that would free me forever from her, I had a conversation with her about how I am “out of control” and maybe I should just go back home and leave everything to her.  She started crying, begging, pleading for me to stay because she “needed my help”.

I told her that I had a few conversations with her friends that revealed some wild shit.  That was the cover I used to avoid telling her that I was still bugging the fucking phone.  It was a lot easier to bug a land line phone than it would be to bug a cell, but I imagine even that is not impossible, or very difficult.  The fact that I was even compelled to go to a “spy store” in 2000 and buy a voice activated micro cassette recorder and a microphone cable that plugged into a phone jack with a double phone jack plug let me know that shit was out of control already and I had to get out.  I was just looking for a reason by the time I was waiting months for my second court date after spending five fucking days in jail and blowing $3000 to get my ass out.

I have to wonder how long it took for Debbie to call Alexis when I stopped by her work to tell her I was on my way “home”.  I was really telling both “Little Debbie” and “Big Debbie” at the same time because they worked together.  They had both modeled, and I had been filmed having sex with both of them.  Alexis would be the only one to see that money after I left, except for the $3000 that I pulled out of the business account and kept in my sock on the drive home.

Back to Dia though for a moment.  When Dia told me just how easy I could be murdered, potentially by her, while I was sleeping, it was too much at that time for me to accept.  I still regret bringing her to that state of anger myself.  The real irony is in the fact that the woman I went to see could not even take photos because her relatives here staying in a trailer near by, or some bullshit.  That fucking bitch made me drive nearly an hour each way to tell me that shit instead of letting me cancel online.  She caused me to literally kick Dia out of my apartment for saying what she said because she was rightfully angry and upset at me.

I didn’t just put Dia out on the street.  I was still friends with my second ex wife Stori at the time.  Stori appears on hotbbws.com too, but only in the member’s area, because she wanted to be “discreet”.  I was way too agreeable as a fucking pornographer back then!  I would tell Dia that I would stay with Stori, and she could take as long as she needed to get her shit together and get the fuck out.  I still can’t fucking believe I did that to her.

Because I was so driven at the time to replace my work lost in Florida, and then lost a second time at hotbbws.com, I had to do it.  I don’t think I could do that to her now if I was in that situation all over again.  I still feel badly about it, and I resent Alexis more because of how badly she fucked me up over there.  I really should have gotten counseling for that shit, and so much other shit to follow!

Dia took about a week to two weeks to prepare, and I took her to the bus station, and she went “somewhere”.  I don’t even remember now, because she is not where she went at this time.  I still talk to her online, and have talked to her by phone, and I have apologized profusely for doing that to her back then.  I just could not handle it.  I was so fucked up.  She had a quick temper, and odds are, I would have pulled some shit sooner or later that would have caused us to break up.  I still think she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the pleasure and privilege of photographing.

Dia at hotbbws.com

Dia at hotbbws.com

I am fortunate that she is so gracious and forgiving, so that I can still count her among my friends, even if she is so very far away like all of the closest ones, except for Candy.  I still maintain bbwdungeon.com as an ad for her phone sex, which she still freaking does.  Exoticbbw.com was originally her’s, and she gave it to me when she decided she wanted to stick with phone sex over websites.

Bbwdungeon.com was once a member site, but I could not sustain the costs of hosting it back when I had really shitty hosting.  Thankfully the hosting issue is resolved, so I can finally add shitloads of stuff to all the sites.  The problem with me lately is the block I have in working with hotbbws.com or lots2luv.com.  The reasons for that block are partially explained somewhere else I’m sure, and explaining it again here would drag me way off course, more than I already am.

I hit over 4k in words so far, and now I think I have gotten myself kind of lost.  I realize that I had to come back to Dia, after going way off course with Alexis, and then Stori, and of course Candy.  There is something I realize is vitally important to go with all of this, and I still haven’t figured out the title of this post just yet, but my stream of consciousness writing always seems to come full circle, eventually.

Because Dia was so fucking hot and my paranoid ass dropped her, I had to find more models.  I was working full time as a computer tech with the small shop I worked at before going to Florida, before upgrading from that job to a tech job in New Orleans that I hated having to drive to, park for, and hated them for giving me shit when I failed a drug test 3 months into working for them, as they casually said they “forgot” to do it pre-employment.

That is a whole other fucking story right there, because the fact that they pulled that shit encouraged me to move to Florida and start fatfantasy.net instead of having to suck a boss’s dick every day.  They couldn’t just fire me because they failed to give me the drug test before hiring me and paying me for 3 fucking months.  They just wanted to give me a shitty assignment in http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chalmette,_Louisiana, which I wasn’t fucking having.

It’s bad enough that these assholes made me come to work the day that hurricane “George” hit in 1998, and left me stranded in a Bourbon Street bar watching television until the water went down so I could see if my fucking truck got flooded while parked under interstate.  Luckily, the truck was ok, the shoes weren’t.

Anyway, anybody who has heard about hurricane Katrina knows what happened to Chalmette.  If the drive to New Orleans every fucking day and evening wasn’t bad enough, they wanted me to go another half hour to fucking shitty Chalmette.  I would be a computer tech in an oil refinery having to wear a fucking biosuit.

That is an important fact to keep in mind, because that fucking computer company influenced me to move to Florida to begin with, and start my life of being a fat fetish ‘pornographer’ forever.

Also, on a side note, those alleged ‘flushes’ to help you pass a drug test DON’T FUCKING WORK.  DON’T FUCKING TRY IT.  USE SAFE PISS.  I was asked by a co-worker when word got around that I failed the drug test “Why didn’t you bring in someone else’s piss like everybody else does?”  Too honest for my own fucking good.

I didn’t fuck up like that when I got a job at CompUSA.  I was so lucky to have a friend that didn’t smoke weed!

Back to the point.  Because I had to dump Dia because I was a paranoid little bitch, I had to find other models.  I did just that.  Over the course of the next year I would end up luring at least a half dozen bbws and ssbbws to taking photos.  I had to weed through the ones who didn’t want to sign a release and just have sex.  I had to avoid the ones who just wanted “personal pics”.  I had to focus on finding the ones who would let me copy their ID, and sign a fucking model release, and not bitch months later for me to remove them because they are a dumb ass who told the wrong person and they told the really wrong person.

I stumbled upon Candy around that time.  Candy would be the death of me and my ambition to find as many models as I could, eventually.  We met in early 2002, we were living together by the end of 2002, and we stayed in an open relationship “with conditions” until feb of 2008.  I was able to “hook up” with a woman if she was willing to give up the ID and sign a release and be on my websites.  That was the only condition.

That meant certain types of women who would inevitably contact me were off limits.  A good example of that is “teachers”.  I can’t tell you how many times I got an email from a teacher who said “I used to model but I started teaching and…” and i quit fucking reading.   Sorry.  Not really.  Next.

Now, I sit back and watch wave after wave of new models coming into the picture, doing some work, quitting, then appearing in stolen images used to promote dating sites.  Every time I see a brand new bbw or ssbbw model doing this or that, I sit back and wait until she quits, or has weight loss surgery, or both.

No matter who just started, or who just quit, there is always another wave of new models coming in and going out.  Some of the ones going out like to stick around in the periphery of porn, by running group parties or annual conventions.  They are still relevant to the bbw scene, but they still quit.

It is so ironic, that I had to reject and dump so many women over the course of my life to find, lose, and recover Candy.  Once I met Candy, I was doomed.  I must have fallen in love with her instantly, because I tried to “return her” back to where I found her, but after a few months, she always re-appeared.

Even when she left for 4 months and then for 8 months, I remained obsessed, because there could never be another woman who had the effect on me she did instantly, and further, I had never met another woman who cared enough about my own agenda to let me have it without greedy or jealous emotional restraint.

Once I was ready to give up all other women, I realized internally that I was giving up my old technique in finding new models too.  In a way, I kind of “quit” myself, but I didn’t, because I still have her.  As many times as I have lost her, i knew, that even if I came across a woman who was similar, there was no way to build up that kind of history with someone else.  At 46 years old, I don’t think I have time to go through all of that over again and still be young enough to physically do the shit by the time I did.

I did meet one woman while Candy was gone, that I already went into great detail about.  She is the unnamed ssbbw that I showed in the last post.  I realized as I re-read the previous post that I said I never used a single photo of her in the 4 years that I had them.  By posting her here, I just did.

By bringing up hotbbws.com and lots2luv.com I am kicking myself for not working on them more already.  I don’t care about the money, I care about the unused content that sits on DV tapes in a back room closet.  I have a computer that I set up with a firewire card just because of that camera and those tapes.  I have hours of tapes of the unnamed ssbbw and I will be glad if 4 years in time travel didn’t fuck those tapes up.

Dia at hotbbws.com

Dia at hotbbws.com

I had to add another photo, the last one was after sex, so I’m sure it was not as flattering as this one.  This photo was shot in an apartment in Metairie, Louisiana.  If I had not moved to Las Vegas the last time when I did, I would have been holding Candy’s hand walking out of this apartment in 4 feet of water during hurricane Katrina.

Fate is a funny thing.  Showing Dia at that apartment reminds me that I lived in Vegas before, and I was fucking lucky to have packed everything in that shitty car and have the exhaust scrape the interstate on nearly every big bump because of how all that shit and Candy’s huge ass was weighing that crappy car down.  The transmission didn’t last too long after that 2 way trip 2000 miles each way.

The only woman I met when Candy was gone that impressed me nearly as much as her was married and living with her husband and kid.  I am still shocked  that she did the ID and release, and I really should have added her sooner.  Maybe I was worried that with her living situation she might come back on me to remove her.  Now 4 years has passed, maybe she forgot about it altogether. 🙂

unnamed ssbbw

unnamed ssbbw

Now I have used 2 images of this unnamed SSBBW.  There is hope I can overcome the block I mentioned before with the 2 inactive sites.  This woman is far too impressive to sit on my drive forever.

Just like I said before, no matter how many new models start, or older ones quit, there is always another wave, even if they took photos over 4 years ago! 🙂

 

 

 

complexity

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I wanted to write, the last post being created from a perspective that had not yet completed a specific objective which required multiple prerequisites.  The stress of that upcoming change, decision, or action caused ripples in the time before it, extending months.  The planning that had gone into it was set into motion years before that.

I signed in, signed up, and shopped for my plan.  The plan would be free, but I didn’t quite know it at the moment before taking the actions.  I had employed some type of psychic accounting in order to prevent liability, but I had taken it to such an extreme and I probably did not need to.

A moment here or there, sober or intoxicated, taking a peek at subsidy calculators and the current table of poverty guidelines issued by the same people that think one can live on 700 a month.  I could have worked it out much more skillfully, but some frantic, manic, procrastinating, lazy fool chose to take over for a bit instead.

I still haven’t done the research, but a part of me even chose a specific number as an income target.  It wasn’t very well thought out, except some simple math showed that I would have to make one amount in order to maintain bills, maybe save a little, and still have the reserve capacity to make big payments in order to sustain a business model that even I believe is unsustainable.

It takes money to make money.  Even if I had a crazy plan to make as little as possible and still keep everything going as if nothing was wrong, there would still be times when I know I would have to come up with 500, 750, maybe even a cool grand at different points in the future.  As it stands, there are only two main expenses to my entire business model.  Hosting and payment processing.

Without having to file a thousand little receipts I can just pop out those two and the rest is small change.  I just don’t spend money.  On very much at all.  Ever.  Sure, a few bad habits have somehow slipped through the cracks.  Cheap cigarettes in the hopes I’ll quit, cheap beer because I don’t drink it for the taste.  A 22 year old vehicle that I somehow prevent from completely disintegrating before my eyes, and a body that insists on working without intervention from a cruel and malevolent medical complex.

I don’t spend money with some ignorant assumption that I’ll just “write it off”, because when the predicted income level is below a certain point, there is not going to be very much cash to throw around in the hopes of “writing it off”.  In other words, if you know you aren’t going to make a specific amount by purchasing any product from the use of that product, the purchase isn’t a write off, it’s a loss.

Maybe my past experience of getting burned in Orlando by that mystical creature Alexis did more help than harm in the long count calendar after all.  I mistakenly trusted her to access my credit, thus destroying my credit for that 7 year waiting period for everything to just disappear from the credit report.  During those 7 years, one can become quite disciplined in not depending on other people’s money to maintain regular expenses or splurge on what I like to call “stupid shit”.

All those years of avoiding collection efforts, waiting for time to pass, and finding rental accommodations that did not depend on excellent credit really taught me some valuable lessons.  To this day, I couldn’t get unsecured credit if I tried, and I have made it that way on purpose.  I didn’t use any identity protection “service”, I simply made sure that while my score is actually considered “good”, I do not meet at least one of the criteria for being easily granted credit.  I also monitor it myself with an alternate service that is free, except of course for all the ads that are actually paying for it.

There was a built in incentive to be super cheap when you know that the money you have stashed is all you can depend on, and there will be no “safety net” because the credit done run dry and the parents are dead, well, one of them.  It provides quite an incentive to view money as “time” instead of seeing it as all the shit you have been told you need on television.

When I went through my last severe depression, I was prepared to release all possessions and live on the street for a while, just as an experiment.  I was impressed and disappointed with myself at the same time as I got the job that prevented homelessness at the last minute.  I was impressed because I didn’t think I could really pull it off, but I was disappointed because by getting that job, I was abandoning my “plan B”.  I didn’t have the balls to be homeless.

I was too selfish to let go of everything I had created and maintained online, even though, being homeless didn’t mean being “host-less”.  I could still have existed comfortably on the digital plane even as I was sleeping in a 20 year old van.  Hosting is just over $50 a month, rent was $450.  I was ready to trade down and allow my physical self to exist in limbo in order to maintain my digital presence for as long as possible.  I didn’t have the balls to go through with it.  Getting a job, making some cash the old fashioned way, was actually easier for me than just being a lazy fuck and panhandling until I got disability.

It didn’t help that shortly after Candy’s first departure, I made a friend in a guy named Mark.  He was 59, and he had been homeless for about a year after coming to Baton Rouge from Chicago.  I met him the day after he moved in to an apartment upstairs, just after getting his back payment from social security.  This was probably in the second week after Candy left.  I would need to review the video footage to make sure, but I don’t think I started making little videos with him until after a month.

He was very abrasive, demanding, insulting, intolerant, somewhat racist, homophobic, unpredictable, unstable, alcoholic, and addicted to Tramadol.  He was a real Archie Bunker type, but add the severe alcoholism and drug abuse.  I was at a very low point, and I don’t think he saw me for more than an hour of any day sober.  The times he would see me sober were when he nagged at me to drive him somewhere after waking me up by phone or knock on the door to wake me up before I could start pounding vodka.  Even then, I had to constantly resist the urge to down beers with him that I told him not to open before we would even return “home”.

He shared quite a bit of information about exactly how to “be homeless”, survive, even thrive.  The information was geographically specific because he had spent the prior year learning these things right in my own backyard.  If I saw him on the street at some point before really meeting him, which I very well could have, I would have refused to acknowledge him, while being aware of his presence just in case he pulled some shit on me.  I have a sneaky suspicion that I had seen him too, because he was familiar, and I would have faded memories of those times when I ran some errand and had to avoid “those people”.

Even with his encouragement, and offer of limited support in this venture, I couldn’t go through with it.  The alternative was to cut my hair, shave, bathe for once, and wait to start drinking until AFTER I went to at least 3 places in person to drop off a resume and fill out an application, if they even fucking let me.  Instead of basing my search at the time on typical want ads, I created ever widening spheres of physical distance I would have to travel for each “zone” where I applied.  The closest places weren’t interested at all, but things started looking up when I hit about 3 miles out…

That decision changed a whole lot of future shit.  It changed where I live right now, how much cash I have, what computer I’m using, if I still owned that van, and in a way, it has changed who I actually am, “right now”.  This changes over time, I know, but that was one of those pivotal moments when I had a distinct choice about how to proceed, and the choice I made led to a future that I am more than satisfied with.

My decision to occasionally rant and rave about this and that over the course of the last six months may have been an indirect effect of the pressure and stress brought about by my fear of missing another mark.  Doing it all wrong.  My occasional visit with my sometimes evil, insensitive, alcohol induced alter ego hasn’t helped very much.  I was in such a panic over having to pay some crazy new monthly bill, that I somehow created a plan that I don’t think I allowed myself to be fully aware of at the time.

I picked a number, and I was so very amazed to see that it was less than $100 off from what I was “hoping for”.  I know that the number itself would not inspire very much celebration to a lot of people, because it is a very low number.  I am astounded that I am able to maintain the reserve that I have while working at such a low margin for almost an entire year.  I know I was sabotaging myself here and there when it came to making money.  I could have encouraged someone to get off their *ss and help me out a little more often.  I could have taken the massive reserve of unused content and add it to two websites that have not been updated in over two years now.

I didn’t do any of that though.  I got lazy.  I wonder even now just how much of it was intentional, and how much of it was following along with a plan that I created when I was too intoxicated to even remember it on a conscious level.  I never even bothered to do more research to find a much more exact number, or even a slightly higher number that would have still created the same result.  Full subsidized healthcare.

I may have created all of this knowing that as a regular earner of one amount, I will be penalized by a lack of subsidies in such a way that would probably not seem fair or proportionate to whatever financial pain I may perceive as an individual who has lived, saved, and been very comfortable with an income level considered “%100 poverty”.   I haven’t really worked out the math, but a part of me glanced over at the federal table of poverty level income at one point and I realized that I might not have gotten much of a subsidy at all if I had made as little as 5K more that same year.  In fact, my worry was that making one dollar more than some cut off amount would lead to me making one higher amount, and then being forced to pay out so much over the course of a year that I still end up at poverty level income anyway.

If I have to just give it all to them, why even try to make more than a certain amount?  It was difficult to even try writing that out without using specific numbers in an example, because I didn’t do the fucking math myself.  I just kind of guessed that there would be some kind of steep cut off for subsidies way too low to be realistic or reasonable.  So, I went for a target income, when considering expenses, would end up at a point where I do not exceed the federal standard for %100 poverty level by more than 1K.

That was a crazy sounding plan, I know, it seems crazy as I type it.  It was convenient that I worked that one full time job the year before last, and I noticed, that without the W-2 from that job, the desired target income was not that much more.  It seems even more crazy to me that I would have a serious anxiety about making “too much” money.  I should have been adding it up with each statement all through the year, but I was just making general estimations based on quick glances at deposits.

Now, I’m “here”.  I enrolled by the deadline.  I almost didn’t, because the state exchange that I used was going bat shit crazy on sunday night, and I just kind of gave up because I knew monday was the deadline.  I am talking about a state exchange, not the feds.  The feds site is such a piece of shit that they keep extending the deadline for them…  Nope, my state has an exchange, and the site almost fucked me over because I had to do this big complex application, but the site shit out before I could put my “free” medicaid plan into some arbitrary fucking shopping cart.  That shopping cart shit almost fucked me out of enrolling in time, which would have cost me an additional $95 as a “mandate tax”.

I was lucky that I felt compelled to “double check” and go back to the site on the day of the actual deadline, because while the site did say I had “enrolled”, it still forced me to do the shopping cart step, threatening me with potential non enrollment, even though I “digitally signed” this big ass document that took at least 20 minutes to fucking fill out.  I came up with the term “entrolled”, because I thought I was enrolled but because that shit is already more fucking complex than taxes, it is almost impossible sometimes to know for sure.

I shouldn’t complain, but it was stressful.  It fucked up this whole tax season procrastination thing I had going.  I would have made estimated payments through the year based on estimations, but I never knew just how close my fucking estimation would be to what I ended up with.  I didn’t know until I was forced to do all the fucking work of filing my taxes without actually filling out the fucking web form…

I would have procrastinated to do all that shit until at least march, but now I have already been forced to do it, I have all the numbers, and as long as I don’t have a deposit or buy any business related shit, I was ready to do fucking taxes before fucking christmas.  That is fucking bogus.  Oh well, it’s done.  I was also super thorough and honest in giving my future psychic prediction of exactly to the penny what I will be making in 2014 too.

I have always thought it was amazing that psychic accounting will soon become a regular term in our vocabulary, because according to the form I filled out at the state exchange I used, I have to honestly predict my income for next year under threat of fraud and perjury.  It’s bad enough I had to do my fucking taxes before christmas, now the assholes are going to threaten me to psychically call to the dead and ask exactly how much my fat porn is going to make next fucking year.

Wow, mood change there!  I can bitch and complain about having to figure out taxes to the penny months early, but it is a genuine “first world problem” isn’t it?  I mean, the alternate me, on a timeline where I never got that job, would probably not be too worried about being hit up for a mandate tax that he would not have to pay because he would not have an income to pay taxes on.  Although, I am curious about the details of that potential alternate reality, like, would I still be liable for a mandate tax even though I did not meet the minimum filing threshold of income.  Maybe I didn’t do more research on that detail because I didn’t really want to know, or I just don’t give a fuck because it is so detached from the future that ended up taking place.

Either way, here we are.  I am not homeless, and I somehow tricked Candy into coming back willingly. 🙂  I have endured the year 2013 with a local move, and the first year payment to process visa on the websites.  That was a lump payment of 750 right there.  It does take money to make money indeed.  All the while, I was making less than $1000 over what my government declares %100 poverty level.  I keep typing that phrase out, because after enduring the alleged hardship of making that income, I still have money in the bank.  Am I “poor” because of my income alone when I am still “comfortable” and actually have “savings”?

In fact, I seem to have everything I want and need, and the only pressing things I still really want are not going to cost any money.  If one of my final goals is to get a specific certification, it is up to me to make it happen.  Money is not an obstacle to education because I would find a cheap way to have someone else pay for it without going into debt.  If I want to gain yet another type of certification that I don’t want to get into, there are very defined steps for me to obtain that “license”, and because of the very thing I have been complaining about, I may now start a process that will not even cost anything.  I will finally have a “doctor”.  That could be scary, because Mark taught me some stuff about handling medicaid doctors too… 🙂

This latest experiment in living just over poverty level has been educational, not only in showing me that I could do it, but also in changing my perception of poverty in general.  It is ironic that I chose to sit down and write on christmas day itself, a day which represents a loop of disappointment, resulting charity, disappointment, repeat.  As a I phase out and watch local news, a part of me would be involuntarily touched for a moment by the generous act of a charity group handing out toys to poor children.

After a moment, I would realize, that I was just afflicted on a subconscious level by a phenomenon that has been created as a direct result of corporate capitalism and blind consumerism.  In other words, if christmas did not exist to begin with, poor children would not be denied that specific positive event, created to raise the bottom line of retailers across the board.  There is a desire, as a human, to allow myself to just flow with this feeling of charitable propaganda, because I want to feel for the children, to see them happy.  The logical side of my reasoning has to ruin the party though, because I am quickly reminded that this entire system has been created out of a new type of greed and sophisticated marketing and propaganda.

I don’t need all the shit on television, I don’t need this or that specific thing, I have not created a ritual involving this or that over priced “treat”.  I have a very short list of very specific things that I would choose to have in my life, but I would let go of those things with little bitterness if my hand was forced and shit got out of control.  For example, there does exist a price point where I would say “fuck this, I quit smoking!”  While it seems like beer is going up and up, I am fortunate that my prior experimentation has not left me physically dependent, so even if I still enjoy psychological exploration of my intoxicated alter ego, it is not a daily habit, and a habit that can be scaled back to such infrequency that I would begin to miss it altogether, if all the assholes that sold beer passed some price point that I am not quite sure about this second.

The only thing I can’t do without is a person, and I lost her before, over and over.  There is no amount of money that could keep her, or lose her.  There is only my bad choices that could lose her.  I am lucky that one of the only bad choices I have even been tempted by was alcohol, and I am very fortunate that she was able to make a compromise to allow occasional use of a lesser source of this chemical.  Trade down from vodka to beer, and attempt to restrict intake to a point that leaves me much less intoxicated than I used to get on vodka.  Every once in a while, there is a breach in my own security, and a part of my own self attempt so live dangerously and push my limits.  Both with myself, and with her.

I know it is wrong, I know I don’t need it.  I know I would always choose her over it.  I guess that is where the term “guilty pleasure” comes from.  There is a part of me that argues “I’m a grown man, if I want to get really fucked up on some ice beer now and then just cut me some slack!”.  It is not that simple though, not nearly.  It never is.  Compromise is a very delicate and complex thing.  Both sides have to give.  I am grateful she has bent to the degree that she has, and while there has been one dented wall incident from a thrown mug (not at me thank god), she has shown remarkable restraint when I have chosen to take my ice beer intake one can over the line.

I can’t make excuses, I can’t even really talk to her about it, because it makes her too uncomfortable.  I have to assume that I am “alcoholic”, even if I don’t feel like I am.  Even if I don’t crave alcohol intoxication every day, or every other day, or I let it slip for 3 or 4 days so my resistance is super low, I still seem to thoroughly enjoy the initial intoxication, and once afflicted, I am driven to push further and further.  I think that is called “binge drinking”, but it is nowhere near as severe as my little relationship with vodka was.

I still “use and abuse” alcohol, like some kind of explicit street drug.  I deny myself for days, sometimes really just “forgetting to drink”, sometimes getting it while out, knowing that I won’t be running errands for nearly a week and I want to take a little trip to fuzzy reality land just once before I have to go out again.  I can’t purchase a “30 pack” because at some point I might allow myself to consume more than 12.  If I get a 12 pack, I have to put 6 in the cooler and give Candy the other 6, or I will most probably get up to 10, maybe opening number 11 but not being able to finish it, leaving a sorry sight of 1.5 beer total the day after I got a fucking 12 pack.  I could have gotten loaded twice, but instead, 5 beer me said “fuck that shit I want to get fucked up!”

It is hard to figure all this shit out at times, if it’s not one thing it’s another.  I felt like writing for a bit, and I came up with the title complexity before I knew for sure i wanted to write about.  I didn’t even get into some stuff I was thinking about when I first started, like trying harder to apologize for all my ranting and raving about weight loss surgery.  I thought that subject was limited to drunk me being stupid, but it appears that frustrated sober me before mandate compliance was using distraction and misdirection yet again.

If I seem so skilled at tricking myself into this or that behavior, I have come to another theory, about how I may be able to re-align my thinking and goal orientation in such a way where I actually “forget to drink”, or even better, procrastinate from drinking.  That’s a thought.  I was using alcohol while I was committing the act of procrastination, but maybe, I can turn some shit around so that I am literally too busy with some other shit I would rather be doing to be tempted to take a trip to that place where I hang out with a part of myself that I hate but am fascinated with at the same time.

I wondered myself why I would feel compelled to hyper post all over facebook when intoxicated on alcohol.  I would ask myself “who am I talking to?”  I think I might kind of be talking to myself there.  I have reached some point where I only get loaded about twice a week, the second time is not as severe as the first because I am still dreading the last time.  This last time I did it, I noticed something about it that was already turning into a habit, a game that I was playing with myself that I wasn’t fully aware of as I was doing it.

Within 2 days after one of these binges and facebook rants, I would slowly begin to remember things that I would have typed, as well as music and news articles I may have posted.  If I posted photos, those will come back to me later too.  One of the reasons I avoid facebook after a drunken rant session could be related to this fuzzy memory game I have been playing that I didn’t “remember”.   When I use terms like distraction, misdirection, and even regression I might be minimizing the actual phenomenon.

What started out as using alcohol for escapism and avoiding reality has definitely evolved into something else.  It is still not habit, it’s not every day, I don’t consume alternate substances not meant for consumption that contain alcohol, and if there was just one beer in the fridge it would not be appealing to me in the least unless I went out and picked up a sufficient amount to “peak”.

It is kind of ironic, that I will take on the responsibility of having a problem with alcohol, but at the same time, I am forced to reconcile with the fact that occasional alcohol intoxication would be acceptable, if it was mild and I didn’t have to push it to the point where I am starting to have trouble walking and typing.  Even worse, it would not be so bad if there were not a part of myself that has a limit, but it is a very very high limit.  I noticed that I stopped taking diphenhydramine to enhance alcohol altogether, because I literally can’t type at a much lower level of alcohol consumption.

I realize that this problem would not even be as “bad” or unacceptable if it wasn’t compounded by the past trauma and experience of my partner, who resents that fact that she can’t keep multiple forms of alcohol to make cocktails with because I might raid it.  She is ok with alcohol consumption, but not alcohol binging.  That is very ironic, because she occasionally enjoys a food binge.  We have had to fight against co-enabling by making very distinct compromises.  The complexity of love… 🙂

I am running out of steam, I don’t know how or why I got over 4500 words, but hey, I won’t be drinking.  Not tonight. 🙂

 

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