I Deactivated my Facebook account...AGAIN.

Yes. I have gone through the process of weening myself from my affiliation with Fagbook once again. It took me about fifteen mintutes to find the tiny footer to click on that leads to the process that "deactivates" my account. I clicked on it and was redirected to a single-question survey asking me why I had decided to do this with about seven different answers I could choose from and couldn't move on until I chose one. They use this piece of shit ass thing when you decide to get rid of the ads from your existing page, too. The last choice is an "other", which is what I always want to choose, but if you decide to choose this as the reason for your not wanting to see an ad or rely on their addictive and maniupulative social tool for updates on people for whom you mostly could give a fuck less about, you are required to explain yourself in your own words in a box that is given for you to do just that.

The mono-mini questionaire was like a whining freshly dumped long term girlfriend in that the available answers in the multiple choices below the question were that of "I do not find Facebook useful", "I spend too much time on Facebook", blahblahblahblahblah...I don't even remember what I chose. I just wanted out.

I gave the few people on my Facebook that I thought might actually want to have further contact with me a message including my e-mail address. Three people responded to this with emails. After doing this I later learned that one of these people decided to send my best friend a snotty ass message complaining about how in my deactivating my account I was "pushing people away". I wasimmediately vexed by this. I jus thought, "are you fucking serious?"...and yes, she was. That's when I had to stop and confess that as much as I did not want to know or believe it, the social reprocussions of any kind of drama cooked up on these sites are, as silly and retarded as it is, very, very, VERY real.

I have to accept that not having a Facebook account is much like not having a phone. If you don't have one, you're most likely a weirdo. People will think you have something to hide or that you're paranoid. Another sad fact is that not having an account can throw you out of the loop completely as to what your friends or family are up to and could very well be the only way they will contact you. I don't know why or how it has come to be that the only way people will keep in contact with each other is if you allow them to shove every aspect of their life in your face through the powerful modicum of successful social media. It's so fucking narcissistic and pompous to assume that everyone involved in your life wants to know that much about you, and will still want to be around you after they do. The magic of human relationships is partly based on mystery, and knowing too much about people you are involved with could very well end up with you no longer respecting them, or worse, hating them.

I've been known to overshare on these sites, but never as far as to let the entire world know my motives as a consumer. Why in the fuck people are stupid enough to let robots know what they buy in these sites is beyond me. They retards look at the side of their page and see these ads disguised as little tidbits of personal information that the person has left out about themself...like, "Hey, narcissistic consumer drone...you use Downy fabric softener, eat Planter's peanuts, and shop at Wal-Mart, don't you? You're leaving out information about yourself that is vital to letting your family and friends know the REAL you by not informing them of whether or not you use these products, so 'Like' them so we can know more about which ads to target you with, so you'll BUY OUR SHIT!"...and who could forget the ones disguised as cool shit related to entertainment..."Hey, we're going to automatically assume that you're dying to be hip and won't pass up the opprotunity to listen to this band that is on the same label as another band that you like, so 'Like' The Wheatle Wogs..they sound a lot like Guided By Voices!" FUCK YOU! I'll fucking "like" what I already know about and won't fall prey to some corporation's robots that have targeted me as a consumer.

But you know what? After all of these things I've said, I'm finding that at some point, I'm going to HAVE to go back. And, yes, it is for no other reason than my own selfish desire to make myself known for the sake of my writing and shoving my views, personal preferences, and opinions down the throats of others. I'm an idiot.

My Unsolicited Advice=Failure

I think I just broke up with my best friend. It's gonna suck so bad. I don't really have any other friends I can really count on to spend time with me that I can rely on being as understanding or funny as her. She was the only other atheist I had in my life besides my husband. I feel absolutely lost and stupid, but I've fucked things up beyond all recognition.
It all started when I began to drunkenly give unsolicited advice to her about her realtionship and from there it spiraled into me giving her a barrage of unwanted opinions on how I think she treats her girlfriend like shit. I called her a dick and her girlfriend a retard for putting up with her.
I had been meaning for about two years to tell her that she had been acting more and more like a mutated mashup of all the negative personality flaws that both of her parents possess, mainly that of her father, whom she hates. I didn't do it in so many words, but I did tell her that she had been acting like a "crabby dad" since she became the dominant, more masculine roleplayer to a more submissive person in a relationship. I had begun to forget about it until one night about a week ago when after a 5 hour breakup with her girlfriend she posted "99 Problems" on her Facebook page and proceded to call me and tell me how many "hot dykey girls" were hitting her up within changing her relationship status. By the next morning she told me that her girlfriend had basically guilted her into reconciling, and how "she better lick (her) ass cos the next time she fucks up she was going to beat her ass and leave her with all the bills."
From then on I began to lose sleep and the burning in my belly to tell her how disgusted I was with her behavior when it came to their relationship had been lit. I wanted to point out to her how I felt she made a sport of how demanding and snarky she could be to this person she claimed to love. I felt terrible for having thoughts of disgust for my own best friend, but I couldn't hold them back any longer. A few nights later I was talking to her while I was drinking. She informed me of how she was going to allow her girlfriend to clean out a shit and piss soiled kennel of a dog she had volunteered to babysit for a friend after she got home from working a most likely eight to twelve hour shift. I told her that was wrong, and it morphed from thereinto a shitstorm.
The thing that drove me to continue lashing out at her about her relationship, something that I admittedly really didn't have any business doing, was the fact that she refused to acknowledge the fact that she had ever done anything wrong to this girl. At one point I had become uncomfortable visiting them because I couldn't stand listening to the way she talked to her, and having to hear her girlfriend whine about it every time my bff left the room. I hated listening to her yell and demand at this girl as soon as she woke up when I would be spending the night. I got tired of having to act like I didn't think she deserved it whenever the girlfriend would lash out on her. I was just tired of pretending like the way she showed her ass in their relationship had changed the way I thought about her as a person.
Why did I open my mouth? Why did this become so important to me? Why did this cause me worry and strife? I feel absolutely horrible, but the truth of the matter is, I can't have total respect for someone that takes advantage of a weaker person like that. I'm extremely conflicted as far as to how I am going to deal with this. I want her to be happy, but not if it means walking all over someone else. The thing that I don't understand is how I can be so concerned with an aspect of someone's life that isn't really any of my business. I'm more disgusted with myself than I am with her.
I could sit here and come up with a thousand ways she acted disrespectfully or hypocritically with this girl. I guess the truth is that I don't feel comfortable being close to someone who could be so inconsiderate to someone they love. Even though she didn't do any of this to me, I just find it hard to be buddy-buddy with a person that is, for lack of a better term, "mean", and completely oblivious and lacking in remourse to their mean-ness.
Or maybe I'm just a meddling jerk that needs to keep their fucking mouth shut. I seriously just think I wasn't meant for meaningful and long-term friendships because I can't keep myself from holding a magnifying glass over the things I don't like a bout people. I don't make a lick of fucking sense, because I'll be crying out of loneliness once the results of my actions set in.

I'm Not Dead...

There is absolutely no excuse for my utter lack of writing lately besides the fact that I've been slightly uninspired. I can no longer spill my guts the way I once could. Although I tend to lean toward the belief that my life has become a bit boring, there have been sporadic events that have blossomed in bittersweet ignitions. I got married. There have been a couple of deaths. I've patched every ragged relationship in my life. I have learned to refrain from my bitterness.
The truth is that the things I could write about are either too painful to divulge or are just simply uninteresting.
My husband bought me a laptop in October that I've only used to look at pictures of boobs or download bad music onto. I received it in the hopes of writing again and at first the reason I couldn't bring myself to was because at the time I was too comfortable and happy to find anything in particular to rave about. Unhappiness and complacency seem to be huge artistic motivators for all of us who find ourselves members of the creative realm...but alas, tragedies resurfaced. I realize these tragedies are of no particular interest to enquiring readers seeking entertainment and besides that if I forced myself to tell the world about them I can honestly say that the welling of tears in my eyes would make the completion of any entries pertaining to them nearly impossible as well as unbearable.
My issues with self-loathing, destructive behavior, and suicidal ideation haven't completely disappeared, but they have become a fuckuvalot more scarce as compared to other periods in my life. I haven't felt the need to write droning twelve page epistles dedicated to how worthless I am or how much I want to die upon the lined pages of comp notebooks. I haven't felt the urge to fill a blog with posts slamming the existence of everything I love and hate. I will, however ALWAYS have those dark passages deep within my psyche...I will always have bouts of my being lost within them...I can't make that go away. I will never try to.
I haven't done anything very differently, so I'm not quite sure what has brought about this hiatus of my utter batshit insanity...but I think that the fact I have felt something very foreign or ill received has been helping to keep me alive and coping for the past year or so...
real love.
...and I believe some gratitude and groveling is in order to those who have given me this love...
it may not even be love...it could be respect, or understanding, but whatever it is, I'd like to thank those who matter the most in my life for making me finally feel like I'm deserving of it.

People To Meet?

Why is it so fucking impossible for me to find intelligent people to hang out with that aren't fucking creeps? Every time I think I've made a new friend that I can carry a decent conversation with they always have some kind of terrible personality defect or horrendous skeleton in their closet. "Hi. I'm going to ruin your week by telling you that I fuck bats and children." or "Oh, by the way, from here on out I'm going to say something sexually suggestive in nature or talk about porn every fifteen mintues." Let's not forget all of the crazy fucking idiosyncrasies that are too annoying and invasive to be quirky or cute, like "Disagree with me and watch me get pissy and pout," "I don't listen to other people or music when I'm at home,"...blahblahblah. UGH. It would be nice to just be able to find someone that likes to sit around, drink booze, and listen to music with without having to worry about getting hit on, being made uncomfortable with disturbing facts about the other person, being saturated and bombarded with their pretentiousness and haughtiness...fuck. How hard can it be? I miss my old bar.

YOU GONNA GET RAPED.

One day I woke up from a night of binge drinking in a half-drunken hangover haze to some fat teenage douche bag and his 40 year old black drug dealer trying to gangfuck me. I could hear the black dude egging the boy on. "You got her panties off, stick it in her..." he directed the impressionable adolescent. I didn't know if I was dreaming or not, and the weiner was rubbing against my clit. I almost involuntarily started to move my hips. I began to come to and realize that the black dude was actually forcing my fingers around his cock, and the boy was well on his way to entering me. I quickly dug my nails into the dick in my hand and shoved the other guy off of me the best I could in a drunken stupor. The white boy ran out the front door and the black guy ran back and hopped in bed with his girlfriend. I was left alone, de-panted and slightly traumatized.
I left the house and got a ride from a friend of mine to the hospital to have a rape kit exam done on me because as I was walking it became clear to me that something, I don't know what, but something, had indeed been in my asshole. I figured "That shit ain't cool, I'm gonna do something about this." The whole rape kit thing was as traumatizing as waking up to strange man's dick in my hand and after the nurse was finished performing the exam she informed me that I had two weeks to decide whether or not I was going to press charges, and that I couldn't receive the results of the procedure unless I did.
I still lived with my mom at the time, and for the next week she could tell something was up with me. She asked me what was wrong and I told her. Then, she replied with the most unexpected statement ever...
"Everybody gets raped."
I thought about it and came to the conclusion that she was kind of right. Looking back, almost every female I know has at some point had some variation of unwanted penetration forced on her. Maybe not "rape" in the traditional sense, but, well, I don't know what else you would call it. The drunken wake-up hover-fuck, the guy that won't quit groping you on the backroad who's your only way to get home that you fuck after being threatened to be put out of the vehicle to be eaten by coyoties, the sadsack bastard who acts like he's gonna commit suicide if you don't break him off a piece of pussy, etc. It's almost necrophilia. These dudes know that the girl they're screwing wants no part of the act and will most likely be a dead, dry, awkward fuck, but they don't care. It's as dishonourable as rape, if you ask me.
It never seems to matter how fat or conventionally unattractive these women are to most men, nor does it seem to matter how attractive or capable of getting laid the guy is. This happens to many girls and women of all shapes, colors, and sizes, just as it is difficult to determine the particulars of the male perpatrators. It's true. Most women, at some point in their life, will be in one way or another, for lack of a better term, "raped".
I didn't press charges on the kid or the other guy, which means that I never got the results of the rape kit back. I just wasn't enough of an evil bitch to ruin a couple of guys' lives that were doing something that it seems like a lot of guys do. However, I did beat the holy fuck out of a guy about a year and a half later that did it to some one I love...
and it felt oh so good.

Internet Identity

I've never really ever set up any profiles on the internet without giving away, either through photos or by disclosing my name, who I am in real life. Anytime I've attempted to do so I've always ended up giving in to the temptation of telling the world that I, Michelle Stone, am the person expressing the thoughts and feelings expressed through various blogs, message boards, and status-plugging sites. Why do I feel the need to suject myself to such deliberate lack of privacy? Is it some type of exhibitionism? Does it have something to do with the fact I've always wished I'd be widely known for something? Imean, it doesn't really make any sense. I feel terrible about myself in every area of my being, so why do I feel the need to own all of the crap that runs through my head? Why do I let people see my tits? Why do I make my aging face viewable to the world? I need to stop being so judgmental of people who don't understand me, especially on the internet, because I don't even "get" myself.