Posts tagged irony
Closing in on tax time, having already “done the deed” and paid what I owe, I’m reminded of how the year really does kind of start in April for me instead of January. I have had a slight anxiety about tax time since a few years back when I made the totally ignorant decision not to file for 2 years. I was getting income without any W-2 or 1099-Misc, so I thought, “what they don’t know helps me.”
It wasn’t very long before that delusion was fixed by the realization that sooner or later, some other shit would get tied into taxes, and if you didn’t file, you couldn’t take advantage of certain opportunities. Just a few short years later, after I had already repaired the financial damage of catching up, Obamacare was announced.
It was rough to catch up, because I had to print out everything from 3 years, because I was filing the 2 skipped years as I filed the 3rd year “on time”. When I saw the difference in how much the year on time cost me versus each year skipped plus penalties, I realized how foolish it was to skip those years to begin with. I considered just filing the current year and not saying anything about the 2 skipped years, but then the whole thing happened with “Wesley Snipes” getting busted for owing millions.
There was a freaky, weird combination of paranoia and intuition causing me to decide to file 2 skipped years as I finally acted like an adult and filed the current year. There was also the fact that “clips 4 sale” uses a system of sending out a 1099-misc whenever someone makes more than $600 in a single year. Success has it’s consequences.
I was lucky to make more than $600 in a year, but shocked to see that 1099-Misc come in the mail in early Feb. At that point, it all hit me, that I was fooling myself, and that you can’t fool a data mining, privacy invading entity like the U. S. Department of Treasury and get away with it. When I filed those 3 years, I did it in person, bringing paper returns in to an IRS office in myself.
I made a comment to the big beautiful agent who I ended up with that “I’m not going down like Wesley Snipes.” She laughed out loud. I also made a comment that there is no point in hiding income because the government knows how much you make already anyway. All my income is “digital” and I’m sure that I am not the only one being made aware of each deposit from each company.
I was so nervous about all that stuff, as most people probably would be. Yet, I chose to put myself right into one of their offices, in person, and hand over tax returns from previous years in an act of surrender. I kept reading that the IRS goes easier on you if you go to them rather than them coming to you. That translates into something else that happened years after I caught up and continued to file on time.
When Candy was gone the second time for 8 months, I got to know a neighbor who started talking to me while I was outside smoking cigarettes that I no longer smoke. His name was Kevin, and he worked as a carpenter, which also means contractor. He was good at what he does. I’ve seen some shitty carpentry, and his work was way superior. He knew what he was doing, and he could get jobs with apartment complexes that were being remodeled easily.
He had made some friends with apartment management people who could provide him with regular work. Even though he didn’t have a typical 9-5 job, he was a hustler who could go out there and find some kind of job just as he needed the cash.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t filed taxes in over a decade. He had been working “under the table” here and there, but a few of those apartment complexes did issue him 1099’s because they were up to date on their taxes, and nobody is going to pass up the chance to write off payments to contractors as a tax deduction. That’s where my buddy Kev got fucked.
He was so confident in his ability to get away without filing taxes, that he had an account at a credit union in his own name, with over $10,000 in it. One day he knocks on my door freaking out because he want to his credit union to get some cash, and they told him that his account had been closed by the IRS.
Another irony. I felt dumb at one point for giving up all the financial info that I did to end up with a tax liability that was pretty close to the $10,000 mark myself. Luckily, I didn’t freak out, and I simply started a “payment plan” with them. After just a few years of paying a bare minimum, there was only a little over $1000 left. At that point, Candy was gone and I was having financial issues, so I called them on the phone, and I was able to request a “penalty abatement” right then and there.
Because of my positive payment history, and the fact that I had continued to file on time every year after, they actually took off $1000 of penalties, so I went from owing over a thousand to owing under just one payment with one phone call to them.
The lawyers on television that advise you not to talk to the IRS are real douche bags. Those greedy, selfish cock suckers would have you pay them thousands of dollars to file an “offer in compromise” which the IRS turns down a vast majority of. That means, you could pay a lawyer to file that one thing for you, and then the IRS turns it down, so now you still have to pay them the full amount plus pay that scum bag lawyer!
I could have tried an offer in compromise myself, but I don’t think it would have been accepted, because the first year that I started paying on those back taxes, I made more cash than I had in any year before or since. I went up to nearly 29K in one year, which for me, is a lot. I know that so many people would feel some kind of pity on me for living my whole life around the 20k per year range, but money doesn’t make me “happy”, life experience and growth does.
The request for penalty abatement is easier to get than an offer in compromise, and not to mention it only took one phone call instead of pages of documentation. I didn’t really owe quite enough for an offer in compromise anyway. That’s for the big hitters who get paid twice what I do every year and go twice as long as I did without filing!
When Kev lost his bank account, I started to suggest a few ways that he could hide his income in the future. He had already considered some of those things, but he was in a panic about what to do “right now” and what to do about rent when it was coming up. I immediately felt compelled to start avoiding him at that point, because a “friend in need” and all. I’m so used to people going into “bum mode” when something like that happens, but I should have considered how Kev really is a hard worker.
Kev did bounce back, he got some job and started making money just in time, just like I did myself when I got 2 job offers just weeks before barely having rent in the bank. The problem with Kev is, even though he started making more money, he already felt such a loss, that his hustling habits started back up.
By the time I left Louisiana, he had managed to beg around $40 off of me, which is a *lot* because I don’t give money out like a charity, usually. He also owed me a little weed, but it didn’t matter by the time I was leaving Louisiana because I didn’t want to be traveling 2000 miles in a uhaul pulling my van holding on to a drug that could literally cause me to lose everything if I was caught with it. At least, that was before getting the medical marijuana card, but then again, while moving, that card would be worthless in the 5 states that I would travel through on the way to Nevada.
Nothing justified the years of paying monthly on my back taxes like watching Kevin lose over $10,000, and not even want to approach the IRS to see if he could get that money back if he agreed to file all returns not previously filed and get on a payment plan to pay any back taxes owed. When I suggested that to him, he looked at me and laughed, saying “I will never make enough money to pay them what I owe them.”
That’s what I may have thought myself at the time when I got hit with the letter from the IRS after they “evaluated” my case and gave me the bottom line figure that I would owe them. It’s ironic that I talk about how adversity creates inspiration and motivation, because the year that I got that bill, I’ve already said I made more money than I had ever made, and more than I have made any year since then.
Now, I would be crazy to jack my income up over $20k, because I have to keep it below %133 of the federal poverty guideline in order to be eligible for medicaid. Why is it so important to be eligible for medicaid? Because, I realize that if I made $20k instead of less than $15.5K, at least according to the federal poverty guideline issued for the year 2014, I would probably not be able to afford insurance payments, prescription cost, plus paying estimated taxes all year so I don’t owe over $800 like I did this fucking year!
I was lucky because I anticipated putting out around $600. I thought I had paid enough to only owe $500 by the time I filed, but the fucking self employment tax calculator I used was off by hundreds of dollars!
Yeah, I thought I would owe $500, and because the first estimated tax payment is due April 15th, and I wait until nearly the last minute to file because I know I have to pay out, I was ready to put out $200 for the first payment along with $500 for what I owed. Unfortunately, I owed $800 and still had to make a payment by the April 15th first estimated payment deadline, so I only paid $100 in estimated…
I am not paying estimated taxes quarterly this year. That shit is too hard, because every time I am prepared to put out over $400, for one quarterly payment, some shit comes along and causes me to delay paying that much, and then I fail to catch up later in the year. This year, I’m going to pay $250 or more per month, so by the end of the year, I will have already put up $2000. That way, if my taxes are higher than that, it can’t be by much, and I will be able to make a full first estimated payment at the same time I pay off whatever I failed to pay for the previous year.
My expenses went down, my income went up for 2014. That would normally be a good thing, but not in my case, because it bumped me up to the next higher tax table and I got hit with about $400 more in taxes owed than the previous year. Just making an extra $2000 cost me more than $400 in taxes… Not spending $500 in expenses this year that I spent in the previous year also raised income by that much too, which fucked me even harder.
The truth is, I am such a cheap bastard that I have been successful in my first month quitting smoking because I can’t bear to pay nearly $200 a month in fucking cigarettes! Fuck nicotine, that shit is too fucking expensive! Paying that money for cigarettes each and every month was throwing away some of the income that I am limiting to be eligible for medicaid!
Drinking beer also contributes to money loss over time, in what adds up to a shocking annual expenditure, but not nearly to the extent that cigarettes were. The sad thing is, our wonderful, allegedly “free enterprise” system came up with this strategy of penalizing smokers with artificially raised cost in order to deter them from smoking. Isn’t it ironic how the poorest of people cling on to such an expensive, self destructive habit?
When I started to seriously add it all up, it was so shocking to me that I was able to be bled so hard by taxes and then waste so much money on top of that! I, like most people, would choose for years to be so lazy that I would have every ability and intention of adding up those little costs over time, but I would conveniently prioritize it so low that I would never get around to it.
It wasn’t until I started to add stuff up in my mind, using approximations about frequency that are probably remarkably accurate without going back to the receipts that I have organized into categories. I could have simply started using a more thorough method of organization to put cigarette receipts in one envelope, and then pull it out after 3 months of accumulation to come up with a monthy, and yearly average cost. That would have probably shocked me into quitting smoking right then and there.
I didn’t need a “new years resolution” to quit smoking, or to make my accounting method more purposeful and serious. I have finally dumped my out of state checking account, so I can have all my income reflected in all deposits in just one account. Lucky for me, the local account that I have now allows me to search for specific transactions over a defined period of time and actually provide a total at the bottom of the spreadsheet.
I won’t mention names of banks here, but the old bank had the capability of searching a date range for deposits, but they didn’t give a total at the bottom. I would have to take a screen shot of that spreadsheet and then manually add up the numbers over a whole year with ‘calculator’.
The new account does it for me, so it’s one stop shop to see income total at any give time in the year. This allows me to create a very distinct trajectory over time and give a pretty good estimate of annual income based on the first few months.
This is internet publishing, so amount of income can fluctuate based on effort put into the work itself. The second one stops updating things, the money stops soon after. The work basically goes “inactive” and people start copying it and putting it everywhere. I like to say that all models quit, and when they do, the dating sites start using their images as spam, because nobody that attractive joins those dating sites.
So, instead of quitting smoking cigarettes as a new year resolution, I made a fiscal year resolution. It’s not exactly the same time as a corporate fiscal year, it’s an idea that pops into my head when I consider my use of the title “the year starts here.”
Now, I have had the idea to not only stash business expense receipts into one envelope, why not use the 3 categories that I use the most? Supplies, Repairs and maintenance, and Legal and professional services are the 3 categories that I have used consistently for certain things, and I maintain all receipts and notes on why those receipts are relevant.
I get so specific that because food is something used as a “prop”, I can’t put it into the Deductible meals and entertainment (see instructions) category. It’s bad enough that I use “supplies” when it’s followed by ” (not included in Part III).” The “meal” is being used as a prop in a mini documentary, so it is actually more of a supply, assuming props for production would go there. It’s an item being used but destroyed in the process of creating a documentary which generates nearly all income being taxed to begin with. It’s a full circle that somehow combines taxes with food. Weird.
Because I would not want to appear to be abusing food as an expense, I keep all food receipts that are not used as props in another envelope. If I were ever confronted about the use of a dozen or so food receipts as expenses, I would pull out the huge envelope of food receipts for the same year that were *not used*. While the receipts for the food that was not used are irrelevant to taxes, being in possession of those receipts validates the relatively few receipts that are being deducted as expenses.
This strategy is what I call the “avalanche of paperwork theory”. It cost me an ink cartridge when I was ready to verify my income to the department of welfare to keep my medicaid, and all they wanted was the 2 pages of the tax return that showed income and expenses. Like they had to go compare it to the database they have stashed somewhere that shows what the government already knows I am making.
I’m not taking all of the assistance I could, because I don’t want to be dependent on any system that one political party wants to destroy so badly. Oh, guess who? I don’t have to bash conservatives here, I rarely get deep into politics unless I’m talking about drugs.
I really do need the help though. Even if I made more, I would be paying even more taxes. I am legitimately making under %133 federal poverty guidelines, but I still had to pay $2397 in “self employment tax”. Yeah, I would pay less taxes if I made more money working at a fast food place… That makes so much sense to me.
In a way, Obamacare is not free. I am paying for my medicaid, because my income after expenses is below $15,000 a year, but I am paying $2400 in income tax. I was prepared for just over $2000 because of that shitty online estimated tax calculator. I was doing the whole year income after expenses, so it wasn’t like I was depending on it for the quarterly payments. Now, I don’t want to make quarterly payments because a monthly bill of $250 or more is more manageable than coming up with $750 a quarter… I have no fucking idea why they don’t *encourage* that.
They know that they are taking a big chunk out of a very low income, and they don’t care. I pay it, because I would rather be honest and pay it now than be caught and pay even more later. I know about data mining and data collection. I know that there are databases that I have no way of knowing about, but if it’s possible, and smarter people than me are working on it, I can rest assured that they are reading what I type as I read it. It’s not paranoia, I’m not angry about it, I just live my life in gratitude that I have what I have, and I have the talent and ability to create what I create.
I’m not bitter because I don’t make a lot of money. I don’t make a lot of money because I don’t try. I don’t try because I have very real physical and emotional issues that are waiting to be completely resolved. I have quit smoking, and I am not the slightest bit tempted to go back. I didn’t get drunk on ice beer last night, and I wasn’t trying “not” to drink. I don’t have to drink every day, I could go days or weeks without it and just shift over to another hobby, maybe writing in some blog that nobody will ever read.
I can’t drink when I want to do something, because I know, while sober, that while I’m drunk I don’t want to do anything, except for drink, and maybe rant weird shit on twitter and facebook for some reason. Actually, I kind of suspect the reason already, being a coping mechanism that I picked up when I was emotionally devastated by Candy’s 2 previous departures, and then the constant threat of leaving a 3rd time after we moved to Vegas. Thankfully, that has been resolved, and therefore, Candy has given me a break from being depressed so I can work on my fucking issues for once.
It’s ironic, that Candy wanted the version of me that she met to “come back”. She kept leaving and coming back hoping that every time she left, I would get better instead of getting worse. In a way, I got a lot better after she came back the second time, because I managed to keep working that shitty job that was ripping me off by not paying my payroll taxes, and I saved up enough to move to Las Vegas a 2nd time in my life.
This time I had the big 16′ truck, towing the big shitty van, that I still have and it still actually works. I never drove a truck that big, I never towed a 6 wheel trailer with a shitty van on it, and I was lucky to only have to back up one time, to leave the parking lot I was moving from, and I almost fucked up the trailer hitch right then. Luckily, I had enough space after getting into that weird angle to go forward, clearing a big brick fence, but going right over a bunch of grass.
The irony of Candy leaving and coming back hoping to find a better version of me is that her leaving created a catastrophic deep level depression that would take time for me to resolve. There is no immediate reaction in this complex brain, and habits ingrained over time have to be removed over time.
When Candy threatened to leave the 3rd time, while we were in Vegas, it didn’t help me to get better. It caused me to descend into the emotional state I felt either time she left before, but only on occasion. There were stretches of productivity and drive interrupted by intense episodes of inner depression. Candy would not see them as an obvious manifestation of anything being “wrong”, she would just notice that I got a little more drunk than usual, or listened to sad music instead of high energy electronic music.
There wasn’t much room for sympathy in Candy’s heart for what I was going through, because she started to feel like she already “had enough”. I started to recognize a familiar pattern where Candy comes back, I am working on myself, but I’m not fast enough, she loses patience, and she runs away again.
I quit drinking vodka because she came back, but she knew that I had to step down with beer until a certain “point”. That point was for me to choose, not her, and she recognized that while she was gone, she wanted to work with me to get through it because she was not with me for months before.
I would make promises, but still know and share my limitations based on my ability to just “snap back” after what really was a complete nervous breakdown. Most people who got down to the level I did would have had to go through a lot more bullshit before pulling themselves out of it. The fact that I managed to get a job while Candy was gone showed her that I could stay sober long enough to at least pull that off.
When Candy came back, I didn’t think I was overdoing it, but I kind of was. I was setting limits on myself and then breaking them repeatedly. We were staying in different rooms, and by the time we would decide to “hang out”, I was drunk already. I didn’t stay drunk all day, but our timing was such that we would tend to “do our own thing” all day and then maybe hang out in the evening. If I started drinking too early, or Candy hadn’t announced she wanted to hang out early enough, I would start with the beer, and it didn’t take much.
When I was doing vodka, I had a high tolerance. When i started doing beer, I used the 12 pack limit over 2 days to try to control myself. That started to break down, and not long ago I was picking up the 30 pack because it’s “cheaper”.
It’s not really cheaper if a 30 pack is consumed in even less time than 2 12 packs. It wasn’t until I started to see myself descend into a higher and higher tolerance that I realized what I was doing to myself. I was slowly letting it get worse instead of better.
Candy had an epiphany that involved a lot of shit I don’t want to get back into now, but she realized that she couldn’t control me, and the time line for me to get back to “normal” was not decided by her, or even all parts of myself. It wasn’t until I decided to finally stop smoking that I realized how much control I could grasp again over all other addictions disguised as “needs”.
Candy is related to my desire to quit smoking as well, because when I watched her breathing getting worse and worse before treatment, I realized that she didn’t even smoke and she could barely keep enough oxygen coming in. She’s huge, so just standing up for her is like me picking up 300lbs. I can only imagine what it would be like to be on a level of gravity that few humans ever experience, without weight lifting.
I started to notice that as I was pushing her around on this bariatric transport chair that I would get winded way too quickly. I would notice it during sex, and also realize that it effected my energy level too. Once I started to realize how much i was paying to destroy my sex life, quitting smoking wasn’t a priority, it was a necessity.
Because I can actually use having sex to create content, which creates income, I also have another incentive to stop spending so much of that precious little income on something that is destroying my physical ability.
Now that I have quit smoking, there is less of a desire to consume too much alcohol, because there is a renewed awareness of my ability and how it is compromised by the use of both nicotine and alcohol.
If I think I am a relatively smart person, I should not have figured this out so slowly. On the other hand, it’s hard to want to improve yourself when you secretly want to die. I had to have many varied experiences involving other people besides Candy to finally realize that I was limiting my own potential and also the time I have to do everything that I fantasize about doing in my short and half over life.
In just the very first month that I have quit smoking, I have tested myself in a variety of ways, and I already see a marked improvement of oxygen intake. I realize that I have smoked for 2 decades on and off, more on than off, and it will take much more time to do serious healing. I realize that I may never be granted with the full capacity I might have if I had never started smoking that shit to begin with.
One interesting fact, after getting the medical marijuana card, I made the simple observation that nicotine doesn’t get you “high”, it just takes you down from an anxiety that is created by the addiction to it in the first place.
That shit is fucked up. I get so mad at myself when I realize that quitting smoking right now, and paying taxes monthly instead of quarterly, is going to cause no change in my budget whatsoever. I don’t have to set aside money for taxes if I’m paying monthly, and because I’m saving almost that amount by not spending it on something else, the taxes become more “invisible” unless they go even higher.
When I bring the drinking down to half of what it has become, I will be saving even more money. The beer doesn’t cost as much as cigarettes though. If I spend $8 on beer as often as every 2 days, that’s still $120. That is the maximum allowed amount that I let myself get though, with my strategy of attempting to control alcoholism through intake restriction rather than abstinence.
I was spending that much on crap that I don’t need, and I am way too poor to think I need that shit! I am not bitter about being “poor” because I enjoy living with such a strategic outlook and not giving away money on crap that I am being made to believe I want, when i don’t really want it.
I have been putting off changing my cable bill for days because I didn’t prioritize doing it, but I got a digital antenna that picks up more channels than what I paid cox cable for 13 of them. $27 for 13 channels, that I would say are “shitty” but I do appreciate local news. The irony is that there is a free digital channel just for local weather, that shitty cox cable doesn’t include in the minimum package.
I’m glad I write here now, because I’m going to bring my cable bill down under $100 a month, and still have the highest speed internet below business level, plus the shitty phone with no long distance as a local incoming phone that doesn’t use up “minutes” on the “pay per minute” plan I still use! While some people spend over $100 a month on a fucking phone, I pay about $20 every 2 months for a cell I only use when I have to.
I can make so little and be so content because I own my shitty vehicle, and just have to bust my knuckles up a little when it fucks up. I have an old shitty phone with no internet, that I don’t have to pay on monthly. I build my own computer systems about every 2 years, so I haven’t purchased a company branded computer system since the late 90’s. I don’t watch much television, so I have one, but it’s an old CRT probably less than 40″. Now I have a digital antennae hanging from the ceiling in an artistic way that picks up more channels than the bare minimum shit package from cox cable.
I can live off of less than $1000 a month, but I make a little more than that, no matter how much I try to keep it at a certain point. It’s like a natural habit for me to do things online that happen to promote my business and end up causing a little bit of a ‘surplus’ here and there over the year.
That’s why my next investment is going to be to accept mastercard as well as visa. I’m saying this as ccbill takes around $85 out of every payment until they hit $500 for the annual visa renewal required for them to process visa for my website.
Another irony. The clips4sale store sent me a 1099 for over $11,000. When subtracted from total deposits, that means the web sites made just over $5000. That is before expenses, which is why my income is still under $15,000. My expenses were still under $2000, which fucked me, which is why I want to pay the additional $500 this year to start with mastercard.
I didn’t do it originally because mastercard was such a smaller market. When I could not take visa, my membership went into the toilet. I only started clip stores because I could not afford the $750 way back to take visa when they started to require it. I should have, because by now, I would have made more, and the renewal would have been less painful when it is taken out of income rather than spent on it’s own.
I will have to spend the $500 for mastercard just to keep expenses up to what they were this year, because my cheap ass doesn’t like to spend money, even on the business. That’s why I have had to quit smoking and now I want to quit drinking because of how much money I could save, meaning how much less I have to make, meaning being even more fucking lazy!
I am such a hippy now. This flower child wants to do the least work possible, but I have issues when some of my “fun” is in promoting and creating the work. If you love what you do, you never work a day in your life. I guess that’s why I am addicted to creating super fat content.
With this new year, new energy, and new motivation, I have also finally created some video that I have wanted to create for a long time. I have been going back to doing the hardcore stuff. It’s not as easy with a fucked up hip, but I still manage it, and now that I have better oxygen intake and more energy, I am getting back to where I was in the Florida days. I know I’m not even close to being back there yet, and at my age, I’ll be lucky to get to %80 of what I was capable of when I started in the early 30’s.
I impressed myself with my last clip though. I haven’t released it yet, but instead of being 14 minutes long, I accidentally got up to nearly 25 minutes. I was just having so much fun fucking the piss out of Candy in front of a camera again that I got carried away, and it shows. That’s the whole point though.
I am finally getting back to who I was so long ago. It’s ironic that Candy always wanted this guy back, but it took even more than getting her back to bring him back. I have to give some credit to another woman that I had to hurt so badly, and I feel badly about it. If it weren’t for her though, Candy may never have realized what she was about to lose forever.
I guess one can take it for granted that Candy rarely, if ever, reads this blog. When I talk ‘about her’ in the way that I do, it’s not spiteful or with any need for vindication. I point it out because it is the truth. There is another woman who helped me greatly, and it did hurt me deeply to have to disappoint her.
Candy wants this version of me to come back, but that version existed with different rules, agendas, and inspirations. I am still trying to resolve how I can fully return to the mindset of wanting to be fully monogamous to Candy, after the change from that status seemed to start a chain reaction that almost destroyed the relationship on multiple occasions.
I am not saying that I need an open relationship to return to being the guy I was when Candy met me, but I can’t help but notice the connection from the patterns created in the past. Candy left the first time just months after I said I only wanted to be with her. That did something to me that hasn’t been “fixed”, and as I clear my head of the nicotine and alcohol, I am starting to see it more clearly.
I worry that the need for alcohol arose to begin with because I could never be happy with myself if I never got to the bottom of what I think I want or need out of life and relationships with women. I’m already kind of a “special case” because I am a “pornographer” and I tend to enroll whoever I am with into my work.
I say “whoever I am with” because there was the super sized woman I have already posted photos of here who I worked with when Candy was gone the last time.
The woman I met and had an affair with while Candy threatened to leave a 3rd time had a remarkably similar look to this woman, and she was actually available, and ready to go all out into a live in relationship when Candy was ready to eject.
One can imagine what this has created within my brain, and how I am still resolving this, even as I continue to try to better myself by quitting smoking and finally controlling drinking. All the things Candy really wanted, and I had to fuck her over in order to give those things to her. The irony is never ending in my life.
The title is a popular song by the electronic band Prodigy, and it’s an awesome song on it’s own, but I have a memory of being taken to the hospital, where I still get a bill every month that I spitefully pay just $5 a month on for that ride. I didn’t get charged by the hospital, luckily, but the freaking ambulance company is up my ass about a ride they are charging me over $700 for. The cab ride back to the apartment from the hospital was under $20 with tip.
I got to talk to someone else recently who has endured this kind of thing. Calling out for help sometimes gets you in even more trouble than you started out with.
In this photo I look like I am a psycho nursing assistant or something, but it’s actually a patient “uniform” when you get checked in to the ER at Earl K Long in Baton Rouge for a psychiatric evaluation. Never call a suicide hotline while drunk! More importantly, make a cop take you to the hospital because you will end up with a bill over $700 for a ten minute ambulance ride!
Now I could probably try to get medicaid to pay that, but I don’t want them to get the cash that quickly. I don’t think it’s right for people to get carted off in an ambulance when they could take the ride in a cop car. I really should have refused the ambulance and someone should have offered a ride, but then again, I didn’t push it, so nobody threatened to “take me to jail” if I didn’t go in the ambulance.
I know a cop could have taken me, even if they had to cuff me, but then again, if the ones who showed up were too lazy, the one that did put me in a car would have probably threatened jail just to get me into the ambulance. I was drunk and depressed, in that “drunk crying” mode. I was allowing myself to literally shake with anxiety because in my mind, this was the potential start for a much longer journey than just the hospital trip.
I wasn’t sure at all about what it would be like, or how long they would really keep me, or what kind of accommodations I would find at wherever they were taking me. I didn’t know if I should expect the kind of thing I see in the movies, or if it would be worse.
When I got there, I was admitted, and they tested my urine and gave me ativan because the figured I was a pretty high level alcoholic to have that level, and they didn’t want to deal with seizures if I was physically dependent. Luckily, even though I have been drinking about six years, I still never got to the point where I could handle the kind of amounts that they were probably assuming.
I am lucky to have the background and history of smoking as much weed as I did, because I have read somewhere that it helps prevent seizures that can potentially come from sudden abstinence from alcohol after several years of using it regularly.
I was in a weird mood when I started this post, probably buzzed, and I even used that photo of me in the paper suit while I was creating the first draft. I would say I’m “not feeling it” anymore, but something kept me coming back to this post in an effort to figure out what I was ranting about this time.
I know that I didn’t appreciate having a $700 plus bill show up in the mail after going through such an ordeal as putting myself in that situation in the first place. Then I had to go to the hospital and show them my actual financial state at the time so that they didn’t hit me up for over $1200. That would have been over 2 grand for making one drunk fucking phone call!
At least I didn’t get caught trying to drive while fucked up because commercials out here in Nevada indicate they will take $10,000 from you by the time it’s all said and done, and you lose your car and license, unless they are figuring that all in with that horrible threat.
I’ve posted enough about “luck” and that didn’t have anything to do with never getting caught driving while fucked up. I actually have an anxiety about trying to get behind the wheel even if I have been drinking a little bit, because I know very well that if some a-hole pedestrian walks out in front of you, it’s their fault if you are sober but your fault if you are fucked up.
That makes no fucking sense to me whatsoever. I mean, if some drunk guy hits a bus stop, like one just did recently very close to where I happen to live, he should get slapped with the harshest punishment available. He fucking killed somebody. At the same time, nearly every week, some asshole tries to cross the street in total darkness in the exact point between intersections where they should not fucking be crossing. Add to that if they are drunk and wobbling all over the place while trying to cross the road in total darkness, and you can guess that Darwin’s law will prevail, and that asshole will be another statistic shown on the news.
Most of the time, those suicidal pedestrians are taken out by people who happen to be *TOTALLY FUCKING SOBER* and very lucky to have been on that occasion. In those cases, the drivers aren’t charged, because the cops know you CAN’T FUCKING SEE THESE PEOPLE IN THE DARK. If, on the other hand, the driver happens to have had as little as a few beers, then criminal charges come into the picture.
That’s why I am scared to drive drunk. I’m not scared I would cause an accident, I’m scared that some idiot would cause an accident and then I am still at fault because I happened to be drunk. Because of this, I don’t drive drunk myself, but I am not so militant about drunk drivers. If I lost a loved one to a drunk driver, I still would not occupy my time or energy in pursuing “every other drunk driver on the planet”. Those people do that so they don’t go buy a gun and take out the *one drunk driver* that really matters “to them”. 🙂 I know, dark.
I am not just lucky, but work hard at keeping myself as safe as possible when I am fucking around with a drug as dangerous as alcohol. I like getting drunk, but I understand and respect the power of that drug, and I know that it’s ironic that out of all the drugs on the planet, this is the one “they” chose to sedate us with.
I really wonder how and why they could not have encouraged the use of marijuana over alcohol because it is so much less dangerous. Then, I remember that they only made marijuana illegal in the first place because they were racist and wanted an easy way to lock up as many minorities as they could. I have read that it started with Mexicans, but it worked so well for them that they kept the law in place for blacks. I am guessing that crack was a real boom to police unions and private prison investors, as well as a big win for racists everywhere who want to continue to lock up more people than any country in the world.
I also keep in mind how big pharma and big alcohol love the lack of competition from this meek little harmless plant. Occasionally, now that the walls are coming down against the removal of marijuana prohibition, people are trying to lump in pot smokers with alcoholics, and I am kind of offended, even though I happen to be both at the same time.
I know that if pot would have been legal, I never would have started using alcohol regularly in the first place. I have to wonder how many investors in big alcohol know this for a fact, and are close to knowing an exact statistic of how many regular customers they would not have if weed was legal.
I also wonder how much cancer could have been prevented or slowed down from killing so many people if weed was legal, since it has been proven that weed does inhibit tumor growth. I have read that this was discovered way back in the 70’s, but the information was suppressed because they were trying desperately to find something *wrong* with weed but just couldn’t.
In fact, I failed to mention how genesis 1:29 in the freaking bible says that God created all plants for man to use as food. Hemp happens to be perfectly nutritionally balanced, and yet, the christians are not in an uproar that this “sacred plant food” has been taken away from us.
I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for the “food network” to talk about the merits of weed being the “perfectly balanced food” because they are so mainstream and busy slinging out the pro alcohol propaganda while they conveniently act like weed doesn’t exist. There is a “cocktail” recipe in nearly every show, with real alcohol, but they act like they have never heard of “marijuana edibles”.
I have to wonder how many people never would have resorted to overdosing on prescription medication if they never went to pills because they stayed happy with a little weed every day. I have to wonder how many people are in serious pain, and being denied those same pills even when a doctor orders them, because some dickhead at some pharmacy looked them over and labeled them a “drug addict”, even though they are %100 fucking legit.
All that makes me hate big pharma even more. if the drugs they make aren’t killing you, you are left dying in pain because the masochistic pharmacist doesn’t want to give you the shit that a real fucking doctor said you should have.
I don’t know, I like to say “I’m not crazy, this fucking reality is out of it’s fucking mind crazy.”
Of course, that is a typical statement of someone who is bat shit crazy, to assume that they are normal and the rest of the world is just fucked in the head.
In my case, when I look around at the world, and see comments people make online about different things, I really start to wonder if everybody is really fucked up in just one small way, and they are only functional because they can hold down that little bit of crazy long enough to get out of the public eye and express it in some kind of fucked up ritual.
I am happy just smoking a little weed, but that was “too much to ask”, before moving 2000 miles and going to a doctor for x-rays that show I need a hip replacement at the age of 46, and I am going to suffer in pain until it is replaced. If I still lived in Louisiana, they would be giving me fucking tylenol for this massive occasional hip pain. Louisiana can forever suck my balls.
Even now, I consider how after surgery, I will probably be given some heavy duty shit, and because I have long hair, the dickhead at the pharmacy might deny me of it when I really need it. On the other hand, I have a history with my pharmacist, and I don’t go in there all nervous, anxious, and itchy, bitching if there is any delay on my precious fucking pills. I have been in there and watched the kind of people they have no choice but to turn away. At the same time, the local news makes a big deal out of people who have had to go to up to 30 pharmacies to get one medication, and one of those fuckers was in a fucking wheelchair!
When I said “take me to the hospital” a little part of me had given up. I reached a kind of “rock bottom” that didn’t require a televised intervention or even the participation of family and friends. At the time, my family was literally scared of me more than they were scared for me, and my “friends” were pretty shitty and fucked up themselves at the moment.
I had nobody to turn to but myself, and while I did check in for a 3 day holiday, it was really educational. After all the alcohol I had abused, it wasn’t until I was on ativan that I managed to see from a slightly different perspective, and pull my head out of my ass long enough to finally start to straighten out all the shit that was fucked up with my life.
In a way, the visit to the hospital did absolutely nothing to improve my “condition” on it’s own. The medication combined with the intense boredom of being stuck with nobody to talk to but yourself was enough to change my perspective to the point where I realized that I either had to figure out a guaranteed way to take myself out, or I had to figure out a way to maximize the potential I have for growth and development in the future.
I think that a spiteful part of myself wanted to get back out there into “reality” just to see how much trouble I could cause without getting into trouble myself. In a way, I think I am still doing that. My work is pretty unique, because there aren’t many super sized, or super morbidly obese women who are approaching 500lbs who literally suck and fuck on the internet.
I had to sober up “just enough” to get a job, to keep the apartment, to meet a few women, to build my confidence, to get Candy back, to get back to work doing what I was meant to be doing all along.
In a way, my life is even more crazy now than it was when I was just drinking myself to sleep every time I woke up. I was boring, typical, useless alcoholic. Now, i create content that is just raunchy enough that it stands out against the competition just enough to pay me just enough to make me want to keep creating it.
I am kind of taking money away from other people who are doing the same thing. Every dollar I make I am grateful for because it’s a dollar someone could have spent somewhere else, but didn’t. I realize that everybody and their grandmother, LITERALLY, are trying to make a dollar in the adult realm online.
There are granny phone sex chicks that are super sized but don’t even use that to their advantage, or just started to recently, which gets them into modeling. That’s how I met and got started with Dia from bbwdungeon.com. She was in phone sex, she was a SSBBW, and she didn’t think that she could market her real look in order to promote her phone sex. Now women are doing it all the time.
I love saying “grannies” because I did some math and concluded that a woman is old enough to be a “granny” at just 32, if she had a kid at 16 and that kid had a kid at 16. When you raise that to 18, you get 36. If you raise it to 18, you get 42. Candy happens to be 42 right now. 🙂 I have concluded that when Candy does hardcore content, it is not just SSBBW hardcore, it is actually SSBBW granny hardcore. 🙂
Being a ‘granny’ isn’t just for “parents” anymore. 🙂 Being a MILF probably doesn’t require having kids anymore. Even if someone has biological kids, it doesn’t mean they have to have custody of said children when they do porn in order to be called a “MILF”. I think that is just one of many “flattering” terms that have been given to fetishes and sexual preferences that don’t involve magazine cut out “allegedly perfect women”.
For example, “BBW” is supposed to mean “big beautiful women”, but I have often commented upon how the “beautiful” is easily disputable not only based on facial charisma, but on personality and general attitude. In other words, there are some fat women out there who are just real bitchy cunts! They really don’t deserve to use bbw no matter what they look like, but I like to call them “big bitchy women”. 🙂
So, the content that I create can get a little crazy, because all I have to do is cross over into a few more fetishes and it gets insane. I put on a horse head mask for one video and so there is “mask play” and “pony play” as well as the already crazy combination of SSBBW granny porn. If I toss some food in there on top of that, you have “feed me fuck me” ssbbw granny porn with mask play.
I don’t know, but maybe I just found a way to end this post, and justify the title “take me to the hospital”. 🙂
Also, this reminds me of how badly I want to do another SSBBW “feed me fuck me” hardcore clip and Candy has been procrastinating because she is fixated on the food she wants for feedee videos!
My life really is “crazy”. 🙂
I don’t like to depend on “luck” as we call it, or think we know it. I live in Las Vegas, and I don’t really enjoy or feel compelled to gamble. It’s really ironic to move nearly 2000 miles from Louisiana to Las Vegas and not want to gamble.
I blame it on my cheapness, and my weak but solid knowledge of math, statistics, and odds. I make one assumption when I walk into one of those massive super store type casinos. The odds are in the house’s favor. Beyond that, I realize that any money lost would be a natural consequence for betting against that house.
The cheapskate trait that I have noticed most of my life comes in when I realize all the things I could do with money rather than gamble it away through some lottery or machine. I also make subtle calculations on how much money I would lose over time if I continued with a regular gambling habit that seemed small.
As cheap as I am, and as aware of odds as I am, I still smoked cigarettes for a few decades on and off. I had managed to quit before, for over a year, but something would eventually trigger me into going back to it. I’m only at day 17 and I’m acting like I have beat smoking already, but I am used to using patches and now there is the “emergency e-cig” too.
After just a few weeks, I’m already having dreams about smoking, but instead of fulfilling a fantasy of wanting to smoke in those dreams, they are more like nightmares, because of the feeling of disappointment after taking that first drag on the “dream cigarette”.
I have been in some kind of inner conflict for the longest about if luck is something that really exists, or if an old cliche’ is true about the more you work towards a goal, the more luck you happen to run into. I don’t test my luck in a casino because just like the psychics like to say “it doesn’t work that way.”
When I consider where I am right now, and how things are going, I am forced to remember what it was like when things were so different, and I was so different. My “growth” was hindered by the abuse of just one drug, alcohol, for months at a time, and I didn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation I was placing myself in.
Now, I have only taken a baby step towards being somewhat “fixed” in quitting smoking. That is just one little habit in a long line of impulsive behavior I have to gain control over. In quitting smoking, I have given myself another level of confidence in what I can achieve when I put my mind to it.
The truth is, I was merely procrastinating from quitting smoking because the withdrawal is such a bitch. I would have done it long ago, as I have a few times before, but I just didn’t feel like the hassle of a few weeks in first world misery. Once I started using expressions like “first world” more often, I started to realize the arrogance of this concern over such a minor inconvenience.
I was only so “lucky” to get to smoke in the first place because I had the extra income to blow nearly $200 a month on the drug that would probably end up killing me eventually. It seems so simple, when you think of the assumed logical equation of smoking = death. Maybe people who smoke have a death wish. Maybe people who eat themselves up to nearly or over 500lbs also have a similar wish, but it has been modified to abuse a substance that provides life. Food.
I don’t usually post music videos, but I had to give credit to what I chose to listen to while I attempt to finish this blob post without hitting 5000 words, but then again, there is no way I can predict where my stream of consciousness writing will go.
I’m only 2 weeks into quitting smoking, but I already know I will be successful, because I have been reminded in what could be called a “nightmare” that I have to quit, “right now” apparently. There is some sense of synchronicity in this realization, because Candy experiences such breathing difficulty that she is on 2 different medications now.
I never smoked inside after Candy quit smoking, I started smoking outside before Candy ever quit actually. I made it a habit, because I always knew I would quit smoking, and I didn’t want my apartment and everything in it to be polluted with that horrible smell after I quit.
After I quit for just a week, i started to experience my true sense of smell again as well. Now I can taste better, and I can detect so many things in the air around me with a sense that had been dulled for years by this dreadful habit.
I can detect a female that is heavily “scented” from quite a distance. I can also detect when someone is smoking a cigarette in a very wide area. I can smell someone close to me and know if they are an alcoholic, or a smoker, or a pot smoker, or a crackhead.
With that realization alone, I am motivated to stay far away from inhaling burning matter on purpose, except for weed of course. I went to the trouble of getting a card at the DMV from the state of Nevada to get legal permission to smoke fucking weed. What a rigmarole.
I might be “lucky” to have quit smoking when I did, or in the long timeline, it’s already too late and the real tragedy is that I don’t even know it. Either way, I’ll take a higher quality of life while it is granted to this old, abused body. I am still trying to become more “enlightened” even though I realize that because of my age and my old ways, it will be much more difficult than a much younger version of me.
There was really no way to break through to younger me though, as it is, I didn’t become a full fledged alcoholic until after hitting 40, and I am already backtracking at 46. When I gain control over alcohol though, I won’t need to abstain, I will just use it sparingly when the desire arises to reconnect with this aggravating part of myself.
I have had access to more pharmaceuticals than I can pronounce, and I don’t abuse those at all. I know where that road goes, I chose to start using alcohol when I already knew how fucking serious it was and dangerous that particular compulsion can be to people like myself who have issues with impulse control and procrastination and anxiety and depression.
I lost so much while I chose to experiment with alcohol. Candy didn’t even know the full extent of her ability to emotionally disconnect and withdraw when exposed to a “typical alcoholic”. She had family issues going way back with alcoholism, and me being “that guy” brought her back to a family situation that she fled from as a mere child. There was no way she would tolerate that behavior from me.
I don’t think it’s too late for me though, I started reading “Be Here Now” and it gave me an insight and perception that I had not thought of or realized for a very long time. It was like reading that first Dianetics book and realizing that there were a lot of statements in there that I “knew already but never thought of in that way.”
I realized as I was reading Be Here Now by Ram Dass how similar his ability to recall things everyone already kind of knows in a different way is to L Ron Hubbard. The severe difference is that L Ron Hubbard doesn’t write from the perspective of someone who has done LSD.
Ram Dass also traveled India extensively and met with many gurus who made a profound impact on his perception of this reality. The influence of being on LSD a lot of the time could have impacted or biased that experience, but when you think about it, it would bias it in exactly the direction he was meant to go.
Be here now is all about figuring out the simple truth that you are exactly where you are supposed to be at any given time, given your desire to either find enlightenment or hide from it.
Everyone is on a path, and some people ride that path with blinders on, protecting them from seeing the potential branches that they could take which would change their lives for the better, forever.
I have used “drugs” to open my perception beyond what my bias and upbringing and limited education would allow. I have expanded the very experience of my reality by opening my mind up to alternate states of consciousness.
People who are all like “drugs, ew” are so “white and uptight” that it kills me. I can easily see why so many Caucasians will reject the race that they happened to be assigned at birth in favor of one that isn’t so fucking uptight!
I have spent a great deal of time in waiting rooms, getting the much needed and neglected medical attention for myself and “The Candy” simply because the opportunity was provided by this thing “Obamacare” that so many “fake conservatives” are all worked up over. I dread another “republican in name only” getting into office to destroy any chance I have to get medical care while at the same time creating a moral panic over “obscenity” to appeal to the religious right. 🙁
I have read a great deal of spiritual material in those waiting rooms, and I feel that I am very very far from total enlightenment, but even the very first step towards it is enthralling, exhilarating, and beautiful.
I have realized that no matter who I was, or have been, there is room in my heart for change, for the better.
I know that no matter what beliefs I have stubbornly held onto in the past, I can see the “big picture” just a little clearer now. I know that my dependence on any substance has been some kind of false idol that I worship and make sacrifice to in order to maintain my personal status quo of procrastination.
If the first step in solving a problem is admitting there is a problem. I passed that little nugget of self awareness months, if not years ago. I just needed a reason to grow emotionally. I needed to find hope and salvation in the potential of a future I really wanted in order to make myself prepared and available for that future to occur in this reality.
Now, as I take the baby step of quitting smoking, I realize that there is something in my distant future that requires and demands that little positive change in order to allow a chain of events to occur. I am thinking of time a little differently now. Instead of thinking of time on a straight line, I can see how the present intersects with the future due to consequence in ways that I could not see or did not want to see before.
The simple act of quitting smoking has caused me to begin to realize a whole set of new future realities, that never would have occurred to me without having had the experiences I have had, good and bad.
If I had not gone through so much bad shit, I would not have had the motivation or inspiration to continue to get better, and continue to grow spiritually. When I say grow spiritually, do not confuse that with the whole fucked up and contradictory phenomenon known as “religion”.
They are not the same, and can’t be, because current mainstream eastern religion inhibits personal growth by keeping women down and restricting sexual behavior. It will always seem back woods and “redneck”. Just look at any given argument against “same sex marriage”.
I have to laugh when I see what bigoted fools the highly reverent and religious are making of themselves to this current, slightly more enlightened generation.
Maybe I am so lucky, because while in one of my altered states of consciousness, I had this crazy idea of leaving everything I knew so well to travel west and land in allegedly fabulous Las Vegas. I followed some sense of what I know will happen in the future. I know that Louisiana will be one of the very last hold outs to legalizing marijuana.
I know that as voters turn down medical marijuana in the deep southern state of Florida, voters in Nevada approved medical marijuana over a decade ago, but the state of Nevada is pussyfooting around because they are so scared of being hassled over “gaming”. Dicks.
I think that I realize just how lucky I am, to have moved to where I did, just when I did, and follow a highly disciplined regimen of living on next to nothing for over 3 years. It sounds totally crazy, even to me, but I seem to know what’s coming, and I am planning every step of the way before I even realize what I am planning for.
Everything just happens as it is supposed to. I take limited risks in tiny micro social environments, and I create an outcome that I really want. I am faced with a challenge larger than I have ever attempted in all my life in the future. I have to make everything exactly the way I want it, in a way that is even more perfect than I have set it up in the present. The scary part is, I know I am capable of doing it, and it will be done.
I am just that lucky. 🙂
The title might be misleading, because I am not talking about anxiety on a ‘hardcore’ level. That would become apparent without explanation, but I was compelled to use that title before thinking of how it would appear to have a different meaning than what I wanted to infer, simply because the story of why it exists would clear it up without this ‘disclaimer’ being used to clarify.
I found this unusual feeling of anxiety come over me just before posting the last clip on the store. It is a hardcore clip, and I really like this one because I had been practicing some mental exercises to regain a much higher level of climax control.
It had been a long time since getting back in front of the camera myself, and the previous time, there was more time spent waiting for climax to chill the fuck out instead of doing some serious continuous porno style pounding.
I don’t have anxiety about getting in front of the camera, because in the end, I choose what to release and what not to release. At the same time, I still ponder releasing content that shows me passing out drunk while trying to have sex with a ssbbw and she’s texting people on her phone.
I think that shit is awesome. I find the reality sense of flawed work more interesting than something that looks plastic, fake, and magazine cut out. I find it funny when I am failing in front of the camera as I look at it afterwards. While in front of the camera, because I have been doing this for over a decade, I don’t feel anxiety at all about it. I can’t, because if I were to let that creep in, I would have difficulty in maintaining erection AND controlling climax at the same time.
That is the worst too, because if there is ANY effort being put forth in order to maintain an erection, one has to continually skate the edge of climax. If there is ANY issues going on with maintaining control of climax, you are just fucked, and not in a good way.
Just wanted to add some music, if it stays there, but this is a stable channel. I almost laughed as I typed that. I have had 8 youtube channels deleted because even though Candy was not nude in any of the clips, they were considered “obscene”, according to the standard terms of service note that let me know they were digitally murdering 8 of my fucking channels.
There is probably more anxiety about doing hardcore video on Candy’s side than mine. I don’t have anxiety because again, I can just delete the clip, or distribute it for free somewhere as if it got “leaked”. I use EVERYTHING though. My first porno was on VHS tape, and I got it mail order by lying about my age by signing some bogus form, after saving up from mowing lawns to buy my first VCR just for this purpose.
The first porno was not edited at all. There was a disembodied voice of a producer in the background telling them what to do. There was also a lot of laughing and messing around that was probably supposed to be cut out. Some guy literally paid a couple of people to fuck in front of a camera, then placed a tiny ad in the back of a porno, and sold this shit probably out of his house.
The actors in that first porno were not fat. I wanted to see “porno” because I had been exposed to it “at a friend’s house” at probably the age of 14 or 15. Once I got a taste, I had to keep watching it sooner or later. I believe one of the first films I ever saw was “taboo”, but I can’t be sure if it was that movie, or if that was a preview that was shown before the cheesy crap that was being put out at that time.
I eventually tripped across fat porn by literally calling every 1 800 number associated with every porno ad in the back of every porno mag I could get my hands on. Long before the internet, I was doing research by literally cold calling porn distributors asking them for fat porn.
Using that technique, I eventually came across a few fat porno tapes, but a lot of them were from Europe, because back in the 80’s, nobody thought of using fat models for porno until some creepy guy started calling all of them asking for fat porn.
I remember “wrinkles and ripples”, which was probably made in the UK, because there was no dialogue, only shitty music, but there was a scene where two guys walk into a building, and the architecture is unmistakably European, and early 80’s. One or both of these 2 guys walking into a fat prostitute’s apartment were not circumcised either, which is a sure sign that they were not in America.
I am circumcised because it was forced on me, but I’ll take it, because a lot of women seem to prefer it. I still don’t think it’s cool to just do it without permission from the male though. People bitch about genital mutilation in Africa while they do this shit to every male born as a standard in the USA. Anyway…
That first porn with fat women actually had old people too, hence, the “wrinkles” part of the title. Back in the 80’s, they were combining fetishes in these combo tapes because nobody assumed that fat could stand on it’s own. As the years passed, and we get into the 90’s, I remember going to a few adult book stores that were destined to be closed down by shitting fake religious Louisiana politics. Those book stores actually took the leap and had a “fat section” that was separate from “weird and freak” type stuff.
I could almost feel relief that for once, the BDSM and D/S stuff was considered “freakier” than fat porn. Maybe I wasn’t a total freak for being attracted to super sized women after all. No, I am a fucking freak and a half.
So, there is zero anxiety about performing in the porn coming from me, but Candy might be concerned about having a complexion that exists in reality rather than having a magic wand that could photoshop her ass in real life. I know that some of my work could be criticized because I don’t touch up complexion or use filters to hide shit. I have always considered my work to be “real”, and then this shitty “reality television” crap came along.
It’s ironic that people don’t see the connection between the content I create and “reality tv”. Maybe because my shit is “porn” so it can’t count as “reality”. It’s really ironic because porn is about as real as people can get, when they know each other and have been doing this shit for over a decade. When you toss 2 people in a room with a full crew and a producer yelling out instructions in between takes, I’m sure it’s not as real as my shit is. The corporate stuff is so fucking *pretty* though, so it has it’s own following. My shit is gritty, and sometimes literally ugly, and that’s what I like about it.
When I look around at fat porn, I am most drawn to the content that features more realistic models, with actual real life flaws, who act like real people. Heavy duty faking is annoying, begging for cum and then reacting to it like it’s nuclear waste is annoying. Two people acting really attracted to each other while they actually can’t stand each other is not going to translate very well with people who are “porn stars” and not “actors”.
My shit is real, flaws and all. I almost think about it like some kind of perfectly balanced equation. Nothing can be perfect. If perfection was a requirement for existence we would not fucking be here. It’s wild that as I get older, I start to see porn like MATH. In fact, I am starting to see this entire reality being broken down into common denominators and simplified fractions. It’s almost like how the characters in The Matrix were able to see what was going on from streams of numbers and characters across a screen.
When Candy is worried about a flaw or imperfection, I try to remind her, that she is thinking with her brain, and not my customer base’s collective brain. When I saw imperfection, I feel some kind of common ground with people who are literally “out of my league”. If a woman doesn’t have a perfect complexion, or she has some obvious flaw, it makes her more “real” in my eyes.
Imperfection doesn’t seem like a very real qualifying factor in making someone more attractive. We generally see imperfection as something that takes away from perfection. The real truth is, all “fat people” are already considered “flawed” based on their fat appearance. Trying to make flawed fat perfect is something I wish I had a clever analogy for off the top of my head. Maybe “lipstick on a pig”, but that might sound insulting and harsh. Cliche is rarely friendly or politically correct while trying to convey a message of truth that few really want to hear or believe.
I can talk to her all I want about how she is just the perfect fulfillment of an equation that makes her known at all in a world of plastic people, but it won’t help. She is working with her brain, her bias, her experience, her wisdom, her perception, and her reality. As I get older we get along better because instead of being personally offended by some of her observations, I can appreciate just how different her perception can be from mine, as we both simultaneously experience the exact same reality, as 2 unique observers.
Every once in a while Candy will say “fuck it, let’s fuck in front of the cam”, and I am down, like setting lights up before she finishes the sentence. I jump in there full throttle, so much so I might forget to take my socks off and look ridiculous. It doesn’t matter, I leave it in there. 🙂
I love doing it. I get a rush from fucking in front of the camera that brings me back to my “first time” long before Florida and Lexi from fatfantasy.net. I remember spending long days in a back room repairing computers fantasizing about using one to make money instead of having to figure out complex computer issues all day every fucking day.
The first chance I get to express this desire to create fat content, it starts to take off, and then I figure out that I can’t co-exist with Lexi at that age, and that level of impulsive behavior not checked by a clear sense of consequence or long term planning. I was “young, dumb, and full of cum” and I could not resist fucking exactly the woman I wasn’t supposed to exactly when I wasn’t supposed to exactly where I wasn’t supposed to.
I rebelled against Lexi’s control, because I was really in control of all that shit, and she was confined to a bed barking out orders and making unreasonable demands, and conning the fuck out of me the whole time. I deserved it, I was young and stupid, I made promises I could not keep, and I could not resist opportunity when I had multiple bbws and ssbbws flirting with me and tempting me to step out now and then.
i walked away from Lexi and started all the way over from step one. I worked for 3 years for someone else while I slowly accumulated new content and started from scratch. I managed to pull it off though, and by 2002 I was working on version 2 of hotbbws.com because Lexi shut me down for using the Florida shit the first time.
Getting in front of the camera again was getting revenge on Lexi for taking all that content away from me. I have seen content with me in it now and then, and it always reminds me of how I don’t have copies of that shit myself, because I was a fucking “nice guy” and didn’t just take all that fucking shit with me when I left.
I didn’t even take a camera. I had to work for months to save up to buy my first fucking digital camera after leaving Florida because I was too fucking stupid to just take the shit that my credit paid for.
Ok, enough of that. Maybe that conveys the passion and drive behind everything I did after I left Florida. There can’t be anxiety about creating hardcore content within me because I literally get off creating it.
The reason for using the title hardcore anxiety is because of a feeling that sometimes comes over me at that last moment before I am about to post the content I have already created, edited, and uploaded.
I should be so anxious to get it out there I can’t stand it, but sometimes I actually procrastinate before taking the final steps of writing the description and hitting “add to store”. Once I start writing the description, I am into it big time. The last description I wrote was probably so weird that people might want to buy the clip just to see what the fuck I am talking about.
Once I start writing, something seems to just take over, like right now, as I check and see that I am rapidly approaching 2000 words and instead of wanting to stop, my fingers are moving faster and faster. I can type up to 80 words per minute if I am in a good mood and not drunk, and when I start writing here, I may actually go higher than that. I get the figure 80 from the last pre-employment typing test that I took, so that was an unbiased computer generated test with a result that I could only influence by actually typing really fucking fast on demand.
Writing the description soothes the mysterious anxiety that comes about just before adding the clip. I love creating the content, I am excited while editing it, and I can’t wait to promote it. At the same time, i started this follow back shit on twitter, so now I am about to post really inappropriate content still images to a bunch of people following me just to get a follow back.
I don’t have anxiety about losing followers on twitter, because every time I lose 10, I get 40 more at the same time. I don’t even care about twitter itself so much, because it started out as an experiment to figure out how it works, and why people are so bat shit crazy about it.
I still don’t even use a smartphone, so I’m not seeing that shit constantly all day. I didn’t log in at all yesterday, but I did take a moment to log into “tweepi” just to “flush” unfollowers and reciprocate new followers by following them back.
I have managed to make twitter so mathematical and impersonal, I may have actually defeated the entire purpose for it’s existence, except as a source of amusement now and then when I am already procrastinating.
So, I experimented myself right the fuck out of feeling good about promoting my shit. At the same time, I have picked up so many fat, bbw, and ssbbw porn reposters that I could lose %90 of my followers and the remaining %10 were actually MORE IMPORTANT than all the rest. Twitter is mathematically fascinating to me.
Yeah, it’s very impersonal when I can log into an app outside of twitter itself and do 69 clicks to resolve the imbalance between people I follow, and assholes who add me to get a follow back and then unfollow me like I don’t fucking know they did that. I’m ready to start seeing repeated attempts to do this shit by familiar avatars.
I don’t even fucking care about twitter, but now it has turned into some kind of game for me, which is actually more exciting than World of Warcraft ever was. It involves real people with fake avatars just like a MMORPG, but this is a different type of game, because it also involves gaining followers in a specific niche and working the fuck out of it.
So, it’s like the first “video game” I have come across that amuses me to the point of wanting to do it every few days, but at the same time, instead of collecting fictional “gold”, I am acquiring followers who will tend to repost my shit when I am putting out some awesome new SSBBW hardcore and I actually stopped procrastinating long enough to list it.
Hardcore anxiety in my situation is really minor, and it only takes place at the most perfect time, when all the hard work is done already. This minor anxiety is something that I want to dig deeper into my own brain to figure out. I have tried to attribute it to the PTSD left over from Candy’s previous departures. I have wondered if I occasionally suffer from premature ejaculation for the same reason. It’s like i want to shoot my load in her before she can take off again or something! 🙂
I still have climax control, but every once in a while, that shit sneaks up on me. The time when I created the horse head mask hardcore video, the scenario of wearing a mask excited me unexpectedly to the point where I was struggling big time with climax control. I still managed to pull it off, in a few different positions no less, but it was a constant struggle, believe me.
The next hardcore clip had more preparation and getting into position than it had hard sustained pounding. Again, the fact that it had been so rare to create hardcore after all those feedee clips, contributed to difficulty in containing my excitement and my cum too.
I have found that having just a few beers, not getting loaded, but just barely buzzed, can help a great deal. Of course, if you cross a line and go too far with alcohol, there is a potential for difficulty in maintaining erection too. I can’t help but remember the song “Too Drunk To Fuck” by the Dead Kennedys.
I don’t resort to that though, because Candy doesn’t like to have sex with drunk people, and even if we have been together since Feb of 2002, if I am buzzed, I’m still “drunk people” in her perception, and I understand that. I also don’t like to resort to the use of drugs in order to control aspects of my self, or my being. When I use drugs for intoxication, I am exploring a part of myself that I can’t access while sober. That is different.
So, without any enhancement from alcohol, or even Viagra, I have a damn good time in front of the camera. The last video clip that featured hardcore was excellent. I had Candy nearly trying to fake orgasm to get me to climax, because I was getting kind of rough on her, and going on a little longer than necessary for her sexual preference. At the same time, I had finally done just enough hardcore video in just short enough increments that it just started to “come back to me” like “riding a bicycle”.
Even then, the evening that I could have posted the new clip I ended up getting drunk, and when I get intoxicated to a certain degree, I really don’t want to write because it is going to be so fucked up and make even less sense than I manage to make when I am fucking sober, like now.
So, hardcore anxiety is something I still deal with in that strange procrastination technique. Even with that one evening delay, the next day, I was so eager to list that clip that I literally could not do anything else until it was complete. Sometimes, the anxiety may just be a simple sense of timing. Maybe posting it the night before was just a little too soon, because it had not even been a week since posting the last clip.
Maybe the hardcore anxiety is less related to the type of clip, but the fact that I literally can’t wait to list it, so I have to stop myself and hold out as long as possible before slamming that shit up!
Either way, that clip is up, and I am tempted to post another clip on the day that the hardcore clip would have been normally added on a once a week schedule. I don’t want to exceed the once in a week schedule because I am literally concerned about making too much money to be eligible for medicaid, while I am carrying out that whole separate experiment.
Maybe the reason i was compelled to write and get to the bottom of this one thing was just to help me come to the conclusion that I just wrote. One experiment is actually getting in the way of another. Because I have lived with this cursed sense of irony, a part of me may actually be creating a concern about making “too much money” because that’s exactly what a part of me really wants.
What a first world problem to have though huh? Maybe it’s because I need a hip replacement and I am very concerned about being made even more disabled than I am with a bad hip, so I have to maintain the low income to make a transition into disability much more convenient.
Maybe I am concerning myself with the possibility of being physically more fucked up and making too much money because a part of me has experienced something all through life where my low expectations generate a much more emphatic positive reaction when I was wrong about what “could happen”.
I worry about making too much money, and a part of myself realizes just how easy it is for me to make money, and I am left with a variable in an equation that involves future probability entangled with low expectations versus the motivation and drive to do “better than expected”.
More simplified, by worrying about making too much money, I am kind of guaranteeing myself that I will, just to fulfill some kind of passive aggressive inner conflict.
By worrying that some surgeon is going to fuck my hip up, I would be highly pleased at an outcome where I can still walk, and actually have less pain that I do now.
I know, that is a totally fucked up way to live, but then again, it’s the way that I have continually gotten everything I wanted, so much so, that I am left to worry about things that I can’t control, which I have to stop myself from dwelling on, so I can continue to control reality enough to get what I want out of it.
I have to actually concentrate to think of the next thing I “really want”. Odds are, I am going to get it, but I hesitate in even granting focus to something I think I want, because of the possible unintended consequences that may go along with it.
At this age, at this point in my life, knowing what I know, I would never have fallen for the tricks that Lexi played to get everything. At the same time, I don’t have the need to search for and find another Lexi, because as many times as I have lost her, I am still with Candy.
Maybe all of this helps me to work out the lingering PTSD involved with almost losing Candy repeatedly. I know that I still have abandonment issues because of that, there is still some degree of insecurity because of it, and I never would have even attempted to carry out the kind of affair that I did last year if I wasn’t still suffering from some kind of residual emotional effect of her leaving both times.
Now I have caused a negative emotional impact on yet another innocent bystander because of the fickle nature of Candy’s whims. I am not openly resentful about that, but a part of me has not let go of it fully. I’m still bitching about Lexi and fatfantasy. net and that shit started in 1998 and ended in 2000. That little 2 years of my life is still fucking with me. It may be one of the main reasons that I am still creating hardcore content at all.
Another interesting thought comes from this stream of consciousness writing now. As I begin to finally resolve feelings of resentment for Lexi, I start to lose focus of my motivation and drive to create hardcore content in the first place.
Now a part of me can perceive what I am doing externally, because of all the experimentation with alcohol and weed. I can see this old guy who is desperately trying to hold on to some former position of glory, that can and will never be realized again. Maybe that’s part of what would be an otherwise normal “mid life crisis”, except that the biggest thing I accomplished in my life besides what I do now is that fucked up, highly traumatic 2 years with Lexi.
I am letting go of all that, or I started to really let go of it when I heard of her passing just weeks after I destroyed all my physical copies of that work. Irony strikes again. The only person obsessed with keeping me from using that work dies just weeks after I destroy it so I don’t have to look at it myself. Luckily I did save one cd full of photos out of 21 cds, and they were the ones that meant the most to me.
i can let go of the resentment for Lexi and still remained focus on creating what I truly love to create. After all, how many women closing in on 500lbs do you see getting fucked and swallowing right now??? 🙂
Yeah, I am really lucky to have the drive and desire to create this content and have such a willing participant. I don’t feel the loss of Lexi or that entire group anymore, because I have been guided by fate and destiny to be lucky enough to work with this super sized angel.
I managed to comb time and space in order to find one SSBBW that is not scared of cock or cum, and who loves doing this shit so much that if she is faking it is humorous instead of erotic. The truth is, once cock gets involved, she is not faking one bit.
That’s what makes her shit so great. I can see it when a woman is struggling to tolerate a situation, or has some kind of allergic reaction to cum after begging for it for 15 minutes.
I know that is harsh, and I realize that I could not possibly imagine what drives a woman who has such an adverse reaction to being cum on to do porn in the first place. At the same time, the phrase “you had one job” comes to mind too. I have had talks with Candy about this, and she points out that if it gets in your eye it burns, and I can accept that, but it doesn’t explain why some women will allow an actor to cum in her mouth and then literally gag even if she is going to spit it all out.
I never worked with a “real porn chick” before, because I am under the impression that I could not afford to hire them, and Candy would be somewhat intimidated to work with them, even in softcore “side by side” type modeling. There is one model that lives right here in Vegas that Candy and I have talked about, and we would be more than willing to come up with a few hundred to hire her, just because of who she is, but Candy is still intimidated by her.
There have been a few other women who have offered to model for the same amount, but they are escorts and not really professional models, so I am hesitant to invest a nickel in them because of the nature of being an escort in and of itself. From what I have heard, some of them are really good at word play to the point where a guy is paying them to feed them and just hang out without even going all the way. If an escort works to create that kind of scenario in a non modeling situation, I imagine that they would be hard to work with as they try to “let the clock run out” while doing the bare minimum and not really putting their heart into the modeling itself.
I could be wrong, an escort could be an excellent model, I just wouldn’t know, because I’m not spending $300 to find out! It’s hard for me to justify spending that kind of money to hire a model, when Candy appearing by herself is guaranteed to bring in something. I get the feeling that paying someone $300 to model next to her would never bring in that much more than a video clip of her by herself.
I’ve stopped asking around about modeling now, because it’s not really my place to do that. It’s up to Candy, because she is the one who has to stand, sit, or lay next to this person. Candy may not even be prepared to do that with another model at this point, so I am leaving it up to her if another model ever appears with her again. The last time one did, it was 2009, we were in Baton Rouge, and the woman didn’t want to get paid because she wanted “shared content”.
Here in Vegas, finding an established model that wants to do shared content with Candy is not as easy as you might think. I think everybody here wants to get paid, for anything, and I can’t blame them. At the same time, I see these group photo shoots and I know that each woman probably wasn’t paid individually, because they all have websites, and they could all use that as shared content. In a big group there isn’t usually anything sexual going on, just 3 to 5 big women hanging out while posing next to each other.
Candy hasn’t ended up in that situation, because she has not worked to create that situation. If she had any interest in going out to “bbw parties” and stuff like that, she would meet women there that do this kind of thing all the time. Candy has had a bit of social anxiety though, so without making a grand appearance at a bar somewhere, these other women will never meet her in public, and in the past 3 years, they have not made any effort to come to her.
I don’t really care anymore if I get to work with anyone else now, ever. I had a mild curiosity when I saw a few Vegas bbw models posing together, but then I realized, being a full time model is not even Candy’s “job”. She volunteers to do this for me. I am just lucky enough to be around when she is going on a food splurge, and she doesn’t mind me pointing a camera at her while she is binge eating.
I am also very lucky that Candy is ok with me bringing a camera into our sex life, because I don’t think there are very many SSBBWs at her size doing the sexually explicit type of content that I am creating. If there are, I just haven’t found them because I’m so busy making my own porn that I have lost interest in looking around at everyone else’s.
I can’t believe that as long as this post was already, I came back and added more to it. I guess I was thinking that I was too harsh to end this post with that statement about how unusual it is for a woman to take a job where she is begging to be cum on for 15 minutes and then suddenly has an involuntary spasm of disgust once she finally gets what she asks for. Why work in porn if you hate cum? 🙂
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.
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.
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. 🙂
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! 🙂
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. 🙂