In case you ever wondered what kind of a housekeeper I am…

…this checklist Jesus left for me on the fridge before he went out of town should give you some indication. Susie Homemaker I am not.

Posted in Diarrhea of the Mind, Relationships | Tagged | 3 Comments

Just What I Needed

I spent the week in my apartment, in my bed, curled up in a ball. I did absolutely nothing, aside from go to doctor’s appointments and the hospital. I held onto Jesus almost every minute of the day that I wasn’t asleep. I needed it, obviously. I was super sick from all the medication for a while, which made me cranky and tired and yuck. I went back to work on Friday, which may have been a bit too soon, in hindsight. When my weekend came, I wanted to do things that made me happy and Jesus was the perfect companion.

On Sunday, we put “soothing face masks” on our faces. Unfortunately, due to the chocolate-y color of the mask, we ended up looking like we were in blackface.

WHAT? Don't look at me like you don't end up in accidental blackface ALL THE TIME.

I found this more humorous than Jesus did, and this was the best picture I could get of him in the mask. Of course, it made it to Facebook anyway.

Monday was probably the best day I’ve ever had in Boston. We started the day with me going to get my hair done at a salon partially owned by our friend. He didn’t charge me for the cut at all, and the only thing I had to pay for was the purple dye they ordered specially for me! I also cut the mullet off the back of my hair so that I’m almost at a bob. I can’t believe how long it’s taking me to grow this pixie cut out! I’ll have to take a picture in brighter light so you can really see how awesome the purple is.

We had lunch downtown and it was gorgeous outside. I really should try to go down there more often.

Lunch on the patio.

After lunch, we meandered through the winding streets of downtown Boston, passing the Old South Meeting House and the Old State House. We strolled through Post Office Square and cut through Downtown Crossing to the Boston Common. We walked up to the State House and then walked through Beacon Hill, which is one of my absolute favorite neighborhoods in Boston. It’s amazingly beautiful. We held hands and kissed like teenagers and talked and laughed and walked and walked. I wish I had taken more photos as we strolled so I could share the beauty.

When we got to the other side of Beacon Hill, we stopped into a pub for a drink and a game of darts (If we had stayed for the entire game, I TOTALLY WOULD HAVE WON). We then bought a bottle of wine and walked down to the Esplanade so that we could sit on the dock of the Charles River and watch the sailboats.

Wind in my hair.

There was such a calm and a peace about me, about us, as we sat there. I’m always amazed that this beautiful oasis exists right in the middle of the city.

Moments like this are the reason I moved here.

After that, we went home to relax for a bit before going out for Jesus’ (Second) Farewell Dinner. We had sushi, and it might have been the best sushi I’ve ever eaten. Yeah, it was *that* good. They had a “Sweet miso yellowtail roll” that was described as “Crabstick, avocado, cucumber, spicy mayo topped with yellowtail, mango, friend onion and radish sprouts.” HOLY SHIT IT WAS TO. DIE. FOR. The place was a little pricey, but totally worth it.

I needed this day so badly. I needed it to remind me what it felt like to be normal. I needed to it remind me what it felt like to be completely in love with someone. I needed it to remind me why I love this city so much.

I needed it to remind me what it felt like to be ME.

(I’m wearing a dress from TJ Maxx, H&M belt, necklace of unknown origin, Steve Madden TROOPA boots in Cognac, Betsey Johnson sunglasses, clutch from a boutique in Florida.)

Posted in Awesomeness, Foto, I Want To Go To There, Rape Culture, Relationships, Wardrobe Malfunction | Tagged | 4 Comments

I’m all about the foreplay. Main event? What main event?

Jesus and I don’t actually have a ton of PIV sex. I mean, of course we HAVE it, but for us it serves more as an “intimacy” thing than a “pleasure” thing. You see, he gets off easily and enjoyably via a blow job or titty fucking (I hate that term. Can we come up with another one?) me. As for me, give me nipple stimulation and a leg/torso/hand/pole to hump and I’m a goner. I have the most body-shaking, knock-out, intense orgasms that way. I don’t even have to take my pants off! So most of the time, we never even get around to the “actual” sex. And we’re both totally okay with that. I mean, Dan Savage would totally classify what we do as sex.

On a different note, is it any surprise that I LOVE LOVE LOVED “second base” and dry humping as a teenager? Oh MAN, was I ever disappointed when I got around to the sex. I was all, “THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR? Psh, let’s go back a few bases, yo.”

Posted in Sexcapades, Sexuality | Tagged | 3 Comments

My Friends Are Better Than Yours

Did YOU get a picture this adorably awesome tweeted at you?

Didn’t think so. Thank you, @SingingStrumpet! You rock my world.

Posted in Awesomeness, With A Little Help From My Friends | 1 Comment


In a complete stroke of luck, Jesus happened to be staying in a town on the night I was assaulted. In an even larger stroke of luck, his phone was turned on. He immediately hitched a ride to a bus station and headed back into the city. He made it back only 6 hours after I had called him in tears. He held me and kissed me and loved me and made me feel safe and warm and like everything was going to be okay if only I could spend the rest of my life in his arms.

Several hours after he had returned home, I was still tangled up in his limbs and his love. I kissed him as deeply as I could. I placed his hands on my breasts and asked him softly if he would touch me, but only *there*. I craved him to touch me gently and nicely and softly and safely, but only on my breasts. He followed my lead, stroking and kissing and sucking and caressing my nipples while I writhed to orgasm on his leg. And then I pulled him up over me, placed his erection between my breasts, and let him come on my chest.

I threw my arms around his neck and he lowered himself down onto me as I sobbed into his neck. It was exactly what I needed to remind me that I was safe.

Posted in Rape Culture, Sexcapades, Soul Searching | Tagged | 3 Comments

An Update

Those of you that follow me on Twitter are already aware of the events of Monday night. For those of you that are not aware, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I was raped on Monday night. I refuse to get into the details, because they’re not important. Rehashing them won’t change what happened. I’m choosing not to report. If you want to know some of the reasons many victims choose not to report their rapes, there are plenty of articles that have been written chronicling them, none of which I have the energy to look up for you right now. If you’d like to leave any in the comments, please do.

Reporting a rape (or any violent crime) is a personal decision. I’m sick of being asked (most of the time by men) why I would choose not to report. Many victims of domestic violence never press charges against their batterers. Many people from “bad neighborhoods” who are assaulted due in large part to the culture they are forced to survive in don’t report those beatings. It’s because these people tend to be the kinds of victims that are blamed by authorities. I have no way to know for sure that I would be blamed or shamed, but for me, it’s not worth it to find out. So please, don’t send anymore “well meaning” emails or comments that go something like this:

I can’t believe you’d accept that answer from a woman who comes to you saying she’d been raped… It needs to be reported, regardless of what little you might know.


Jesus came back from his hiking trip for a few days to be here to take care of me. I was lucky; my physical injuries are not bad. Some mild bruising on my knees, shins, and elbows. A sore neck and back. A sore vagina. I threw up for about 30 hours following the attack, I’m thinking due to the shock and trauma of it all. It’s interesting timing for this, as I’ve been working on a post about never feeling safe after reading a similar one over at alphafemme’s. I guess my feelings are valid.

What I do want to talk about, though, is the amazing treatment and help I got from the services I did reach out for. I happened to have an initial appointment with a new therapist this morning, which couldn’t have been better timed. They booked me an appointment with a clinician for as soon as they could and were super supportive. I had called my PCP on Tuesday to ask what the best course of action would be for me, as I wanted to look into preventative medications. I spoke to his receptionist and he called me back himself to check on me. He even called me today to see how I was doing, despite the fact that he’s not in the office on Wednesdays.

If you are in the Boston area and are unfortunate enough to be assaulted, I can’t recommend the emergency department at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital enough. Everyone there was amazing. I never felt pressured for a rape kit, and every nurse that spoke with me was super empathetic. They were great about providing me with female nurses and doctors, even though I said I’d be okay with a male. This is the second time I’ve had to go to the ED there (the first being when I had an allergic reaction to medication), and it’s so clean and nice and bright and way less crowded than most of the other hospitals in the area.

I was asked for some details about the attack, and then given literature, resources, and a rundown of the options and services they were able to provide me. I got an IV for my dehydration and nausea, since I’d been vomiting for the past day and a half. They took blood and urine to run tests for STDs and such. I declined Plan B, since I’m currently on birth control, and declined a pelvic exam since I wasn’t experiencing sharp pains, bleeding, or discharge. The exam would have simply been to check for bleeding and/or bruising, which will heal on their own anyway. If anything changes, I can always go back.

I was given a crap ton of medications. They gave me the meds that I only have to take one dose of while I was there. I was given Metronidazole for possible bacterial infection, Azithromycin to prevent most STDs, Truvada to prevent HIV, and a shot of Ceftriaxone in my butt (also for STD prevention). In total, it was about 15 pills, and holy crap did they wreak havoc on my stomach. Ugh. I also received a 30-day prescription for Truvada and Kaletra for HIV prevention. Also fucking awful on my stomach. I’ll have to follow-up with my primary care in two weeks and six weeks for testing and stuff.

As reluctant as I was to go to the hospital, I’m so grateful that Jesus made me go. I feel so much better knowing that I took care of myself. And I could not ask for better people in my life. Jesus has been nothing but supportive, coming straight home, not being upset when I didn’t want to report it, not being upset with me in any regard to the circumstances leading up to the assault. Multiple local friends have offered to take me to doctor’s appointments, police stations, or just come and stay with me for a bit. Twitter and online folks have been coming out of the woodwork to offer support. I can’t thank everyone enough, and knowing that I have so much support and love means the world.

Posted in Rape Culture | Tagged | 26 Comments

Don’t Call It A Comeback

My job is exhausting. I spend all day tending to the needs of others. And those people are in early recovery from drug addiction, so they’re feeling all this stuff they have been numbing for so long. And that’s uncomfortable for them. And so everything becomes a crisis. They want want want and need need need all the time. They’re used to the instant gratification and relief their substance of choice would give them, and so they want to ask you questions right there, right now, so they can please stop worrying about it. I do a lot of crisis intervention. We have days that involve clients drinking hand santizer for the alcohol content and having to be taken away in an ambulance (for being completely non-responsive after passing out on the floor) immediately followed by someone sneaking down the fire escape to cop drugs outside followed immediately by someone who tried to slit her wrists with plastic utensils.

I have to remain cool, calm, and collected through all of it. Act like it’s not a big deal. Be the voice of reason. Say, “Okay, how can we fix this? How can I help you? How can I support you?” I work late more days than I don’t. It’s not unusual for me to be in the house until 8 or 9 at night. And then go home, only to have to return in the morning with a smile. I can’t let them know if I’m upset or tired or sick. This isn’t like a desk job where I can sit in my office or cubicle and do mindless work, leaving at 5:00 every evening. Some days, I never even get to sit at my desk. The second I get into my office, there’s a call or a knock at my door. Someone needs something.

Besides being a crisis interventionalist, counselor, support system, and babysitter, I’m also a supervisor to staff members. I was told early on that “if you are ever unsure whose job something is, it’s yours.” I do all that stupid little stuff that no one really knows how it gets done, and they take for granted the fact that it is always just “there.” I make important decisions when the program director isn’t in the house. I review everyone’s paperwork to make sure that it’s getting done correctly and on time. I chase people down to let them know what they haven’t done and need to do and by when they need to do it. And then, I have my own paperwork and my own caseload of clients to tend to.

I’m often the only one that steps up to do things that aren’t actually my job, but they need to get done. Setting up new clients’ medication box? That’ll be me. Staying late to do that intake on the client that just arrived? That’ll be me. Working a double when the evening counselor calls out? That’ll be me. Sending faxes? Me. Writing that incident report? Me.

Sometimes, I lock myself in my office and refuse to pick up the phone for half an hour. I am entitled to half an hour lunch break, though I rarely take it and usually spend it doing paperwork while I shove food in my face. It takes me a good hour to come down from the exhaustive environment I work in. Often while I’m there, I don’t realize how tired I am. Then when I leave, it’s like everything just drains from my body. I’m fried. I’m crabby. I’m beat. I go home, take a long bath, and zonk out in my bed by 10 PM. Sometimes, I attempt to have a social life and meet up with friends, but I always regret doing so the next day.

So if you wonder why this blog has been so silent, that’s why. When I spend all day in the environment I just described, it’s hard to have the energy or inspiration to write blog posts. When I was unemployed and sat home all day on my ass reading articles and such and thinking about crap, posting every day was no problem. There’s also Jesus. When I get home and I just want to zone out and read my Google Reader, he doesn’t like it. Even if he is just watching TV, he wants me to be watching with him. He’d feel awful if he thought he was part of the reason that I’ve stopped blogging. He doesn’t mean to be. But when it comes down to it, he’s another big reason why. He doesn’t get why I want to spend so much time on the computer. But it’s comforting. It’s relaxing. I have friends here. And it’s something that’s important to me and that I want to get back. He’s on a month-long hike, so this may be a good opportunity to ease myself back into my online bubble.

Here’s to hoping you hear a lot more from me.

Posted in Griping and Kvetching and Bitching | 5 Comments

Girlfriend of the Year

Upon learning that Alex Rodriguez has multiple paintings of himself as a centaur in his home, Jesus decided that he, too, needed one. As a gift to him for various things including getting off heroin and generally being awesome, I commissioned a painting from a good friend of ours. Behold:

You’ll have to trust me when I say that it looks exactly like him. And will be prominently displayed in our bedroom. EPIC, people.

Posted in Awesomeness, I Am A Material Girl | Tagged | 5 Comments


I want to get these. They are the perfect way to end an argument, if you ask me. Simple, to the point, and cute as hell.

Posted in Awesomeness, I Am A Material Girl, Relationships | 2 Comments


In the few days since Jesus and I have started actively having sex again, our relationship has already become more intimate. We’re more affectionate, we cuddle more, we kiss more. He told me that he feels “giddy again.” It feels amazing, but at the same time it’s led us to some discussion. He recognizes how resentful he grew in the month or so that we stopped having sex, despite his best efforts to be patient and understanding. And he hates that resentment. He expressed to me that the next time our sex life slows down (acknowledging that it will happen again at some point, of course), he’s going to try to be more cognizant of his feelings and how those feelings effect his behavior. He said that he hates how the absence of sex for such a short period of time had changed his feelings towards me so much. Not that he loved me less and not that he was unhappy with me, but just that he felt less affectionate towards me and much more resentful of me.

I’ll admit that it’s difficult to hear how much he grew to resent me in such a short time over something that shouldn’t be (and isn’t) the foundation of our relationship. It made me a little bit angry, too. At the same time, I respect his honestly and his ability to be aware of these things and to analyze himself in such a way that he wants to make our relationship better and stronger. I just hope that the next time there is a lull in our sex, he remembers this conversation.

Posted in Relationships, Sexuality | Tagged | 1 Comment
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