<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209</id><updated>2011-07-30T20:09:19.102-07:00</updated><category term='Wayne'/><category term='Sabrina the Cunt'/><category term='Sue Ellen'/><category term='Rachel'/><category term='love is a stranger'/><category term='Birthday'/><category term='Poem'/><category term='Verana'/><category term='Steven'/><category term='Gay'/><category term='Bullshit'/><category term='Nilla'/><category term='Tequila'/><category term='relationship issues'/><category term='Front Stree'/><category term='Love'/><category term='Poetry'/><category term='Work'/><category term='like a drug'/><category term='mental issues'/><category term='Norma'/><category term='1996'/><category term='Sabrina'/><category term='Heather Garren'/><category term='whitetrashDallas'/><title type='text'>Absolutnilla</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-3435647852689307744</id><published>2009-08-05T01:19:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T01:20:21.501-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nilla'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poem'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Poetry'/><title type='text'>These Actions of Mine</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnlArkkq-_I/AAAAAAAAAFs/apNpVSPTPK4/s1600-h/2878423419_533c592f63.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnlArkkq-_I/AAAAAAAAAFs/apNpVSPTPK4/s400/2878423419_533c592f63.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366391548284697586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have nothing else to give you &lt;p&gt;only my fear inside&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;for my emotions have run us dry&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;and I feel so helpless to these things in my  mind&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;wanting to undress myself from my own sins&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;wanting to be anything but what I’ve become&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I need to feel that need&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;of something to fit myself into.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;And I find it so hard to understand these actions of mine…&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;when I just want to fly away from it all&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;from my shame and my shadows&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;those things I keep hidden in the black petals&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;in the gated gardens tucked away somewhere in my shadowy  mind.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I want to be where no one can reach me&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;want to  hear only poetry of silence in the world outside.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Oh how I hate these actions of mine…&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I long for the kindness of the people of yesterday&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;but the seasons have changed into the spring of diappointment&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;and mirrors only reflect to y0u all the things you hadn’t become&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;just mistakes&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;and mistakes all over again&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Oh how I  hate these actions of mine&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-3435647852689307744?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3435647852689307744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=3435647852689307744' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3435647852689307744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3435647852689307744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2009/08/these-actions-of-mine.html' title='These Actions of Mine'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnlArkkq-_I/AAAAAAAAAFs/apNpVSPTPK4/s72-c/2878423419_533c592f63.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-8965421697949692641</id><published>2009-06-15T21:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T21:03:50.206-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoot From The Hip</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SjcZjJpkmKI/AAAAAAAAAFk/zBOGdvNeTX8/s1600-h/shoot+from+the+hip.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 168px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 181px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347771174202153122" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SjcZjJpkmKI/AAAAAAAAAFk/zBOGdvNeTX8/s400/shoot+from+the+hip.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My day off, today, was a little different than my usual low key days. Usually I spend them wrapped up in the blankets of my bed or out window shopping downtown or just hanging out with Wayne or a friend having coffee or roaming around Barnes and Noble. I am not too adventurous (sad but true) and outside of my personal writing and shopping I don’t have many other passions. Occupying my time is simple, just put me in the corner of a room with a pad and pencil and I can totally entertain myself.&lt;br /&gt;Today however I was invited to do a photo shoot for a friend of mine who is getting in to photography. We were to meet at the Dripolator in Black Mountain (a really good coffee shop in a picturesque little town near wear Wayne and I live). My friend’s name is Nick and our past has been…well…turbulent as of the past year. He’s Wayne’s ex boyfriend and for the most part we have gotten along but for a while there was a period of time when i didn’t want Nick to talk with me; he had offended me greatly and I had returned the favor if you know what I mean. Up until a week ago we hadn’t spoken at all then a week or so ago he had sent Wayne an e-mail asking if we would be willing to do a shoot for him. Nick was wanting to take some “couples” shots and Wayne and I thought it would be fun so we agreed.&lt;br /&gt;Today was the first day that I had laid eyes on Nick in forever. I didn’t know when I arrived at our rendez-vous point if things would be tense between Nick and me. Fortunately there was no issue and Nick and I got along just as we did back in the old days. The shoot was an experiment for Nick, to give him exposure dealing with diffrent types of models and I think it went over quite well. However, when they say the camera adds 10lbs they mean it. Between shots at different locations Nick would show us how some of the pictures would look and I have to say I was a little bit surprised with myself. I have gained so much weight, I look like a freaking potato. Back in the day when I would do photo shoots for other people I was skinny, thin, flat stomached, tan and had a hair line that wasn’t as far back as it is today. I hadn’t thought about my self image much but after seeing myself in a few shots today I am going to lay off the Paula Deen cook book and start trying to do something with myself. Its all about age-ing gracefully and so far I haven’t done the best job with that. I hadn’t cared at all and I didn’t realize I had a reason to care…until today.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway despite all of that we had fun. Wayne and I aren’t an affectionate couple at all. We don’t look at one another with stares of endless love (well unless one of us is drunk). We don’t believe in Public Displays of Affection and we are not excitable people in the least. We are not the image of a sterotypical gay couple by any means. We are mean, negative people that wear black a lot. But today, for the shoot, we had to involve a lot of P.D.A that we wouldn’t normally do. Luckily most of the shoot took place in downtown Asheville a very tolerant and gay friendly town. I was amazed at how little attention we drew to ourselves. Hugging, holding hands as we walked down the street. Kissing on street corners and no one seemed to be offended or even care. We did draw attention for the simple reason people could tell we were getting our photos taken, but as far as the whole “gay” issue no one cared. It was a nice feeling to know that if Wayne and I decided to do something like that on our own that in we could. I had always read that Asheville was very gay friendly but since I don’t share my romantic life with the rest of the world, today was the first day that I saw that it was true.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway I am exhausted and I need to eat something. My brain is starting to shut down. And as soon as I get copies I will post pics… Until next time…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-8965421697949692641?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/8965421697949692641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=8965421697949692641' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/8965421697949692641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/8965421697949692641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2009/06/shoot-from-hip.html' title='Shoot From The Hip'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SjcZjJpkmKI/AAAAAAAAAFk/zBOGdvNeTX8/s72-c/shoot+from+the+hip.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-3245850241197193797</id><published>2009-04-01T18:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T18:12:30.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Alone.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SdQQVrUcqBI/AAAAAAAAAFc/33bpViWrPIo/s1600-h/Love+Is+A+Gun.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319895024423184402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 283px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 191px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SdQQVrUcqBI/AAAAAAAAAFc/33bpViWrPIo/s400/Love+Is+A+Gun.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Alone…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past two weeks I have been home alone. Wayne had a temporary job offer to come work for a friend in Tennessee who is managing a hotel in Pigeon Forge. He was only supposed to be down there for a week but last week, while he was down there, he got an offer to stay another week which &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;he accepted. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a little uncomfortable the first few days that he was away. I wasn’t so much afraid of the bears and the coyotes as much as the white trash neighbors. Talk about a scary bunch but they are. Not to mention the house being broke into about a year ago. None the less, in a few days I was for the most part over my uncomfortable paranoia. I cleaned the house from top to bottom and blasted my music and ran around the house naked. I did all the typical things that one might do when left alone but by the time Wayne came back that week-end I was getting bored with being alone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That week-end Wayne did come back but only to let me know that he had accepted another weeks worth of work down there. I wasn’t exactly happy about it and soon again that Monday I found myself coming home to an empty house. Now, on day ten I am sick of being by myself. For one thing I miss Wayne, I really do. I know I bitch about him a lot and he can be a total douche sometimes but you don’t realize how much you depend on one another until you spend some time apart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year we lived four months apart but it was all out of anger so it may have been a period of displacement, it really wasn’t like this. This time I have actually missed Wayne. It’s odd, but totally understandable. I miss going to bed with him; I haven’t slept well since he’s been gone. I miss talking to him when I come home from work and little things like that. It’s really sappy I suppose. I don’t care to tell you though because it’s true…not to mention NO SEX…that part blows the most. Without getting nastily detailed or anything Wayne drives me crazy physically. Often while we are watching TV I will slightly stare at his face and thinking to myself in those moments “He is so cute”. Or even in his sleep in the early morning light when he’s on his back snoring I think its cute. I am real prude at not admitting these private moments that I don’t let him in on. Usually I mask my moments of “awe” with saying something immediately rude or sarcastic …but still, I have them.&lt;br /&gt;Oh god, make me stop! I am making myself sick. I sound like my friend Sabrina which scares me immensely. But I won’t go there. That is a blog entry within its self. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am sick of being alone! When you find yourself doing laundry for fun you know you’re bored. So hopefully Wayne will be back sometime tomorrow and I can go back to being hateful and stuff.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-3245850241197193797?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3245850241197193797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=3245850241197193797' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3245850241197193797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3245850241197193797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2009/04/alone.html' title='Alone.'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SdQQVrUcqBI/AAAAAAAAAFc/33bpViWrPIo/s72-c/Love+Is+A+Gun.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-2752686922846319300</id><published>2009-03-03T02:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T02:35:59.277-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Wayne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mental issues'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Front Stree'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationship issues'/><title type='text'>Happy Pills</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/Sa0Hokj_EpI/AAAAAAAAAFU/SMOem4vFsig/s1600-h/1410044825_045b591bba_o.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308907929330455186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 283px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/Sa0Hokj_EpI/AAAAAAAAAFU/SMOem4vFsig/s400/1410044825_045b591bba_o.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I don’t get it anymore.&lt;br /&gt;I just need to get some things out here that drive me insane. Every time I mention Wayne’s name on here is starts some drama, he always takes things the wrong way and it usually turns into an explosion. He printed off a few of my old blog entries from back in the day when I had the original Stevanilla 360 page that got deleted because I pissed off the Mormons running Yahoo. Evidently he had printed off a bunch of my entries to throw things up in arguments that he was sure that would happen (and they did). At the time it was 2005 or 2006 and re-reading the entries make me realize that not much has changed. Of course we are not as “romantic” as we used to be back when we first started dating, that just comes with the maturity of a relationship, you loose the endorphin rush of affection over time, and that is to be expected. In the early days of the relationship we argued a lot which was something I wasn’t used to and didn’t do that much in my former relationship. I somewhat liked the fact that we stirred a passion with one another and sometimes that would lead to some heated conversations. We used to spend a lot of time together, but somewhere down the line that has become less and less occurring. I mean we spend time together, but not quality time as much as we used to. Now days I feel that since I am not in computer graphics I can’t compete for his attention&lt;/span&gt;. He spends night and day sitting at his computer like a scene from the movie Videodrone. The house could really be falling off the side of the mountain and I don’t think he would notice until the internet cord slipped from the back of his server. I have discussed it with him before, many times, sometimes in argument but luckily one night the power went out and we sat on the couch and discussed it rationally. Since that night he has been a little more attentive with the house work and things of that nature but still I find myself feeling murderously frustrated at the amount of time he spends on-line playing the same games over and over again like a teen-ager. No matter how tired I am when I come home from work I typically have to go to the grocery store after work, buy dinner. Come home, cook it, clean up after us, pick up after him, do the laundry, play with the dog, clean up after her and maybe by 2:20 am I get time to sit down. All the while he has usually been sitting at his computer showing no sign of appreciation or even recognition. He has been good as of late, he vacuumed, he has done laundry, he actually seems to have been disappointed a few times when he found out I was working when he was off. We are at a point where we are not arguing as much. But for example just tonight, after he made a really great dinner, I washed up afterwards, he had dropped tea bags into a pot of boiling hot water and forgot it on the stove. When I looked to see where he was I wasn’t surprised to find that he was sitting at his desk typing away to some random stranger probably in Iceland doing some tech support for a game that he plays. I understand that when you are good at something you enjoy you can become obsessive and I am definitely an obsessive person. If I like a singer, or an album I will listen to it over and over for months before dropping it. I am capricious with my hobbies, one month its tarot, one month its food, one month it’s making soap or bath shit. But I don’t let it consume all of my free time. Left to his own liking, he would probably spend all day and night on the computer and some days when he is off and I am working he does just that. I leave in the afternoon and he’s sitting on his ass at the computer and when I come home he’s wrapped up in a bath robe, hair a mess, pecking away at his computer. It’s like living with a crack addict without the crack. Anyway, I have talked to him about it, showed my ass over it, now I am just over it – over it. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him to feel like he shouldn’t do the one thing that he enjoys but at the same time, get out of the house, go see a relative or a friend or something. What the fuck ever. It really doesn’t matter to me, in fact I wish I had probably not written this, and I don’t want to cause drama but am I nuts and selfish for feeling this way, or should I allow myself to be aggravated over this on going issue? I had trouble thinking of something to write about lately because we are under a whole lot of pressure right now. Wayne is about to lose his job, the mortgage company we are taking legal action against, and financially …well we are butt fucked, wait no, fisted by a logger. So maybe things are just on my mind that I try too much not to dwell on. Anyway I can take a deep breath and mumble an improve Buddhist mantra and pretend to be ok about all of the big issues but the sounds of Wayne’s keyboard or a pile of dirty clothes in the corner makes me want to commit homicide. I really think I am losing it people. I need xanax, a straight-jacket and a white padded corner to get into the fetal position in. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-2752686922846319300?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/2752686922846319300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=2752686922846319300' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/2752686922846319300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/2752686922846319300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2009/03/happy-pills.html' title='Happy Pills'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/Sa0Hokj_EpI/AAAAAAAAAFU/SMOem4vFsig/s72-c/1410044825_045b591bba_o.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-9011972953755571517</id><published>2009-01-23T01:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-23T01:47:46.492-08:00</updated><title type='text'>HATE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SXmR10xr6zI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0w7luGtxfnI/s1600-h/love-hate-baby.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294423190836865842" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SXmR10xr6zI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0w7luGtxfnI/s400/love-hate-baby.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;I am writing about something that I haven’t dealt with in a while. Today I couldn’t sleep; I woke up repeatedly worrying that the imaginary power-man was here to cut off the power. I kept hearing phantom knocks at the door and lying in bed wondering if I had paid enough money to the power company to pacify them until I can pay them again. Money wasn’t the only thing running through my head, the stresses of everything else going wrong in my life was doing laps around my peace of mind.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Finally frustrated I decided to get up, I knew the sun would soon be up and I hate watching the sun rise. It assures me that I will not be able to sleep. It was six thirty am and I hopped on line to check my e-mail and see if any of my friends were available to chat as they were having their morning coffee, getting ready for work.&lt;br /&gt;I opened my e-mail and saw that I had a few facebook messages and I was excited to see that I had a new message from someone I don’t know on Yahoo 360. The message was from a guy named “Matt.” and I was excited to see a new person checking out my page on the graveyard that is now Yahoo 360. I logged in and put in my password and quickly went to my mailbox on there and sure enough there was a message from him so I excitingly opened it ready to make a new friend. My excitement was a mere distraction from the stressful thoughts running through my head but my excitement was soon to come to a crashing halt. In front of me were words that I did not want to set the tone for my day and the message simply read: &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;“You’re a faggot and that is sick…I hope you die of AIDS”.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; I was not nearly as shocked or offended because it’s only the nine thousandth time that I have received a message like that. His attempt at hate was neither original nor interesting and I decided at that point not to respond because I am sure it would fuel a fire. I suddenly realized and was impressed with the fact that it wasn’t affecting me, at least not in the way that “Matt” wanted to and I suddenly began to realize that I have de-sensitized myself over the years from that sort of thing. The attempt at hate that I found simply boring made me question myself. I quickly removed myself from my own situation and became offended with myself for being such a door mat. Years ago I would have sent a message back letting Matt know what a nut job he is, but why do him the favor of letting him know he has issues. I have always believed if you truly dislike someone you don’t want to do them any favors or give them any information that they can reflect upon later and better themselves with. Years and thoughts of “school daze” torture came rushing back into my mind, further feeding my insomnia remembering days of sitting on crowded school buses with kids throwing gum in my hair and trying to pull my backpack away from me in hopes of throwing it out the window. Every hate experience I have had the misfortune of knowing. From my cousin Judd running over the doll house his wife gave me with a back-hoe and making me watch, from being ridiculed by family members for liking the color pink to being pushed down stairs in between classes to being grown up and a drunk man yelling out faggot to me as I walked down the street in my hometown. Yes, there has been many an occasion in my life where I have been scarred and I suppose over time the emotional skin has thickened into an armor that maybe now no one can permeate. No, the hate-mail I got did not faze me but it got me to thinking why someone holds so much hate and disgust inside them.&lt;br /&gt;I have thought about this all day despite my efforts to repress my painful memories and thoughts. They have been stabbing my thought process from the darkest recesses of my mind, so I am writing this asking you if you can answer my question; “how can someone hold so much hate inside?” It must be extremely painful to walk each step of your day holding such an emotional burden inside yourself. Insanity, possession, whatever the cause I am certainly glad that I have never held such a demon inside me. I simply do not have an understanding explanation for my own peace of mind….so can you tell me?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-9011972953755571517?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/9011972953755571517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=9011972953755571517' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/9011972953755571517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/9011972953755571517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2009/01/hate.html' title='HATE'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SXmR10xr6zI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0w7luGtxfnI/s72-c/love-hate-baby.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-2356629842618323379</id><published>2009-01-14T13:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T14:31:32.089-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Natalie</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SW5nQQKEFkI/AAAAAAAAAE8/auEjpHDE240/s1600-h/Family+-+Natalie+Modeling+2005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291280141119657538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 286px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SW5nQQKEFkI/AAAAAAAAAE8/auEjpHDE240/s400/Family+-+Natalie+Modeling+2005.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;~Natalie&lt;/span&gt; ~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Some people believe that you've known people in a former life and some people believe that these souls can re-occur in your next life and the thoughts of that some people may not believe but with me I say I have to wonder when it comes to my sister Natalie. We have always been night and day; clearly I being night; reclusive, passive, withdrawn and soft spoken always leaning towards the dark side; then there is Natalie. She is completely day...or at least evening.&lt;/span&gt; In High School she was little bit country with hair so big it would scrape every door frame she would pass under and I, on the other hand would walk through the halls in my black fingernail polish and vintage clothing wearing a Burial Vaults shirt. She and I, through the teen age years really seperated as much as we could in the personality department. I have to attribute that to the fact that we were always beside one another. I felt at times she was my left hip and I was her right. You know how teen agers are. But prior to that time in our lives we got along beautifuly. We liked the same music, did the same things together and went everywhere together no matter if we liked it or not. At the time I though she drove me completely crazy but in retrospect, after growing up a lot, I really cherish those years. In that time we lived with our grandparents. We didn't really have a chance to really enjoy life back then, but we would spend time together, Music being our common bond. Recently in the past few years Natalie and I have started to re discover our similarities in life, and our personal views, although they still sometimes differ we are a little less black and white and meet in the middle somewhere in the gray. I am more sentimental in some ways than she is and the other day in my comment field here on myspace she posted a song that transported me back to a place in time, a song that she and I loved together and would privately dace around together to. It made me remember how hard times were for eachother and how much fun we once had. It made me miss days that I spent forever to try to forget. The song reminded me of how we still managed to have fun depsite our troubles surrounding our life back then. Years have past since then (and just so you know the year it was is 1990 and I was thirteen and she was ten). She and I live total seperate lives but I still make a point to see her from time to time. She makes me smile like no other and humors me with a simple turn of phrase that she may un-knowingly comem out with. I love her because she is my sister, that is true. But I love her because she makes me laugh and has always ben there for me. No matter how far apart we may be emotionally or phyically we will always be connected and that is someting in my life that I will always cherish and reqire to keep going in my own life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-2356629842618323379?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/2356629842618323379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=2356629842618323379' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/2356629842618323379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/2356629842618323379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2009/01/natalie.html' title='Natalie'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SW5nQQKEFkI/AAAAAAAAAE8/auEjpHDE240/s72-c/Family+-+Natalie+Modeling+2005.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-8617896861042021687</id><published>2009-01-07T02:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T14:13:38.208-08:00</updated><title type='text'>That Cloud Looks Like Ireland...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SWSOUyamW0I/AAAAAAAAAEc/TPhVczgJ2xA/s1600-h/Kate_Bush-b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288508350221671234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SWSOUyamW0I/AAAAAAAAAEc/TPhVczgJ2xA/s400/Kate_Bush-b.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't write enough anymore and part of me really misses doing it so prolifically its such a nice thing to do because it makes you take a moment out of your day or week(s) to take a deep breath and reflect. Whether it be good or bad its always a nice thing to do. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I haven't written since before Christmas and there is reason for it. I have been so active lately and really it's been in a good way. I have been spending my free time hanging out with friends I haven't seen in forever and focusing on my family. Christmas this year was really good I have to say and one of the best things about it was the fact I was off for a change. &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SWSPGdc91qI/AAAAAAAAAEk/co1fV3_Gb9U/s1600-h/Elizabeth+Louise+Corn.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;New Years was fun too...no dookie cake this year... really it was very laid back, I spent the night watching the ball drop on ABC (and before I go on, let me be mean but if you watched it then you know it deserved special Nilla commentary: First of all Kelly Pickler makes me embarrassed to be from North Carolina, she's cute and all but damn that bitch needs to shut the fuck up! And I think she mentioned she was from NC about 8 times...but its she did manage to find people from my town Asheville to interview that were actually normal acting. Secondly I know it's mean and it's his show but Dick Clark needed subtitles. Its tragic what happened to him if you are a Dick Clark fan but I am not. What an asshole and you know Ryan Seacrest sucked Dick Clarks' nasty liver spotted dick to get the job of hosting the show...Man Seacrest makes me want to tell people I am straight, what a closet case. But you know who does make me wanna be straight and that is the talentless Taylor Swift whom was the first performer of the night. She's hot for a 10 year old...something about the eyes, they are all squinty and sneaky, I think it's kind of hot....) I digress; New Years was fun and Wayne and I spent it together on the couch sipping cheap champagne. My friend Sabrina called me a little after midnight like she always does which was nice...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Speaking of Sabrina, man we got into it hard core. I know most of you reading this won't care but those of you know have known me for years know who Sabrina is and our love/hate relationship. I have been really angry as of late and I have been making it clear to people when they piss me off and she did. I let her have it; explaining to her that I didn't' feel like she had been there for me when I really needed her this year and demanded to know why. Afte&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SWSP6FaiXxI/AAAAAAAAAEs/AYf_87_e_b0/s1600-h/Sabrina+Winehouse.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288510090488471314" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 329px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SWSP6FaiXxI/AAAAAAAAAEs/AYf_87_e_b0/s400/Sabrina+Winehouse.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;r a conversation of screaming at one another (I did most of the screaming) we made up and were hanging out the next night. It was such a relief to get it all out and come to a peace with her. She and I have been friends for so long I feel like something is really wrong with me when we find ourselves growing apart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh and I pissed off Wayne's skank ex boyfriend this week as well...it's not even worth mentioning but just another person to add to the "people Ive made mad this week" list. OOOH and let me tell you what really pissed me off. Today at Cracker Barrel Wayne told me that Nick (his ex) called him all pissed over what I had said to him and actually went over to his house after he got of work that night to caudal him. I didn't press the issue because it's not worth it. Wayne and I have been getting along lately so I am not rocking the boat but just know there will be an entire box of licorice Altoids that will be eaten right before bed time each night. (the smell is a big turn off to Wayne and he hates it when I eat those right before bed LOL)...and he'll pay later trust me...and as for the ex boyfriend...well he just better stay the fuck out of my way is all I have to say. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288510765617129074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 271px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SWSQhYdwJnI/AAAAAAAAAE0/cc1pm5GTEgo/s400/2bed47d8b1d01838232.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, that's about it for now...you know it's funny...I wanted to write this entry entirely about Kate Bush but I guess it's too late for that now...Its late, even for me so I am going to pop some Altoids and go to bed....good night...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-8617896861042021687?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/8617896861042021687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=8617896861042021687' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/8617896861042021687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/8617896861042021687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2009/01/that-cloud-looks-like-ireland.html' title='That Cloud Looks Like Ireland...'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SWSOUyamW0I/AAAAAAAAAEc/TPhVczgJ2xA/s72-c/Kate_Bush-b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-4537057001123976086</id><published>2008-12-12T23:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T01:26:18.394-08:00</updated><title type='text'>...Just Nod If You Can Hear Me. Is There Anybody Home?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SUN3sVercnI/AAAAAAAAAEU/XN0bOFdLN8Y/s1600-h/Comfortably+Numb.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279194791772123762" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 288px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 352px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SUN3sVercnI/AAAAAAAAAEU/XN0bOFdLN8Y/s400/Comfortably+Numb.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My friend Rachel entitled her blog &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Hello, Hello is there anybody out there?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;hence the title of this entry. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Comfortably Numb" is simply one of my favorite songs of all time. I love the original and the Scissor Sisters re-make from a few years ago. The re-make reminds me of such happy times that have since left me behind so I listen to it rarely but when I do I am reminded how much fun things were when I first met Wayne. I was so happy then and I felt there was nothing in the world that could stop me from getting what I wanted, and at the time, I didn't let it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;These days I am happy as well but these days those feelings are more fleeting than the constant sting of Cupid's arrow that I felt back then. There is something to be said about falling in love, it's like a drug. But like all drugs the high ends and reality sinks back in and you realize that the world around you isn't as Emerald City as you had once thought. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;None the less, let's change the subject and digress to Rachel. She may be asking if anyone is out there but I for one don't want to know who is on the other side of the door knocking. Since last year many of my high school mates have facebook profiles in order to keep in touch with one another. This is a nice concept but what do you do when you are faced with someone from your past that you would rather STAY in your past? Every psycho crush that anyone has ever had on me has found there way to my face book. If you approve the invite then you know what is coming next; they pressure you into giving them your phone number and the next thing you know they are calling you, texting you every thirty minuets wanting to know when they can meet up with you. Its really awkward, but as you can imagine there are some advantages to the whole facebook/online social networking scene. For instance through blogger I have been able to keep in touch with my dear friend Norma. Norma, like Rachel is someone I have known for a long time and it was a pleasure to reunite with her once again. Still though, the case of Norma is rare and what am I to do with all the fag-hags that I left behind in 1997 that are suddenly resurfacing. I don't want to be rude, or judge anyone for the way they were ten years ago. I mean, my god, look at me, I am almost nothing like I was back then but unfortunately I have found that most people haven't changed that much since the pre-post-grunge era. Then there are people that have changed too much. People that make you insignificant with their wonderful jobs, living in wonderful places; living the life you once hoped you would have, back when you still knew how to dream...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am starting to sound like a song from Les Miserables aren't ("I had a dream my life would be so different from the one I am living...")? Still I have a lot of mixed feelings about re-connection and I am starting to remember why I have been so selective in the company I choose to keep and why after school I became so reclusive. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know, but I do know that this Pomegranate Wine is kicking my ass. There is a vineyard here in North Carolina that I have been getting all of these fruit wines from and I am afraid that they are turning me into an alcoholic with their delicious flavors. This week a lone I have gone through a wonderful, sinfully sweet Muscidnine, two bottles of strawberry wine and three bottles of the pomegranate! It makes me proud to live in this shit hole state. (with wine like this is is no wonder why we were called the Rip Van Winkle State for almost a century) Anyway it's late and this is all I have to say in this blog but I ask you; Should I feel so strange about simply communicating with people from my past? Why does it seem that I am tormented with the ghosts of my past? ...I have issues...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-4537057001123976086?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4537057001123976086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=4537057001123976086' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4537057001123976086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4537057001123976086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/12/just-nod-if-you-can-hear-me-is-there.html' title='...Just Nod If You Can Hear Me. Is There Anybody Home?'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SUN3sVercnI/AAAAAAAAAEU/XN0bOFdLN8Y/s72-c/Comfortably+Numb.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-4276542200774283351</id><published>2008-11-28T21:23:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T21:23:27.926-08:00</updated><title type='text'>FACEinHOLE</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.faceinhole.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.faceinhole.com/08/11/28/cc5387d8b1d012152fd.jpg" border=0&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.faceinhole.com" target="_blank"&gt;Create your own FACEinHOLE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bHQ9MTIyNzkzNjA5ODA3OCZwdD*xMjI3OTM2MjI*MTI1JnA9MTkzMjYxJmQ9Jm49YmxvZ2dlciZnPTEmdD*mbz*wNWQ1MDNlZmI4OTE*NmViOTBmNmIxNDViMzRhZDExZQ==.gif" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-4276542200774283351?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4276542200774283351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=4276542200774283351' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4276542200774283351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4276542200774283351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/11/faceinhole.html' title='FACEinHOLE'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-4846526084896983829</id><published>2008-11-11T00:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T00:51:47.597-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Heather Garren'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Norma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gay'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sabrina'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='1996'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sabrina the Cunt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Verana'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rachel'/><title type='text'>The 90s made me do it...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlHPwDcRuI/AAAAAAAAAD0/vIiZulZj-JM/s1600-h/Graduation+Photos+1997.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267319575109453538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 188px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlHPwDcRuI/AAAAAAAAAD0/vIiZulZj-JM/s400/Graduation+Photos+1997.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Senior pic, sad but true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267313289465017570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 272px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlBh4NBtOI/AAAAAAAAADE/g5JpljLQyhM/s400/Norma+98.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This was my friend Norma ....I used to sit on her piano while she played Talula and sing...shopping in Goodwill (yeah Norma could always find the coolest stuff...We once hid a homeless guy on her farm and did spells in her bedroom...Normie was the coolest. (and she had peacocks&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"and on and on and on...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlBAjHsokI/AAAAAAAAAC8/UP0QnN5cfdc/s1600-h/1996-_09_RACHEL_WILSON,_STEVEN_CORN,_APPLE_PARADE%5B1%5D.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267312716869837378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlBAjHsokI/AAAAAAAAAC8/UP0QnN5cfdc/s400/1996-_09_RACHEL_WILSON,_STEVEN_CORN,_APPLE_PARADE%5B1%5D.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;The 90s made me do it. This is me in 1996 with my friend Rachel. We did everything together...We once threw a tea party that envolved me getting into one of my sisters sunday dresses and dancing on the coffee table. I love this pic just as much as I love her today...15 years ago we met and we're still friends...pretty priceless. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;(Below) This is the pic of the last real girlfriend I had. I was retarded and thought I was the only gay guy in the entire state of North Carolina and I was dumb enough to think she would think I was Str8.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267314589633863202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 230px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 343px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlCtjtb3iI/AAAAAAAAADM/f_ycSEaTVbg/s400/Verena+Lang+circa+1996.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlDYuHHg-I/AAAAAAAAADU/kLDr0O5yaeU/s1600-h/D%27anna+Ramo+1996.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267315331160310754" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 230px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 319px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlDYuHHg-I/AAAAAAAAADU/kLDr0O5yaeU/s400/D%27anna+Ramo+1996.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This would be my friend D'anna...the first girl I ever french kissed. It was a game of Truth or Dare and it was pretty good. I had never french kissed anyone, let alone A GIRL. Anyway I survived and I think she miraculously did too. &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlD5wvlHUI/AAAAAAAAADc/Oh8l3l4dDy8/s1600-h/Bridgette+Ramo+1997.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267315898802576706" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 272px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlD5wvlHUI/AAAAAAAAADc/Oh8l3l4dDy8/s400/Bridgette+Ramo+1997.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Over here to the left is her sister Bridgette. I hung out with Bridgette because she was poetic and had the best pair of bell bottoms in the entire school....But I liked Bridgette most of all because she scared ppl. ...I once got caught stealing condoms for her at Wal*Mart and she ended up getting pregnant anyway. Yeah, I was a dork. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlEmLyM8tI/AAAAAAAAADk/PwK91np6Wx4/s1600-h/Heather+Garren+Jr.+Year+1996+(washed+picture).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267316661975577298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 272px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlEmLyM8tI/AAAAAAAAADk/PwK91np6Wx4/s400/Heather+Garren+Jr.+Year+1996+(washed+picture).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Oh and who is this here on the left? Well that's Heather Garren...I hung out with her because everyone called her a slut. She was sweet ...sort of. In retrospect she's a little too "Lula" from the movie Wild At Heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Over here to the right is my friend Sabrina...before the Tummy tuck...she was a pain in my ass then and 15 years later she still is a pain in my ass. Still, who I call my best friend EVEN THOUGH I AM NOT TALKING TO HER BECAUSE SHE RUINED MY BIRTHDAY! ...selfish cunt...but I love her&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlFV-s7piI/AAAAAAAAADs/aj5pfFgz2p8/s1600-h/Sabrina+Sen.+Pic.+1996.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267317483097531938" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 281px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlFV-s7piI/AAAAAAAAADs/aj5pfFgz2p8/s400/Sabrina+Sen.+Pic.+1996.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;well, that's it for this installment of the 90s made me do it...now you really know I was a dork &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This has been &lt;em&gt;AnotherIdeaIStoleFromRachel Production.&lt;/em&gt; copyright 2008&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-4846526084896983829?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4846526084896983829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=4846526084896983829' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4846526084896983829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4846526084896983829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/11/90s-made-me-do-it.html' title='The 90s made me do it...'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRlHPwDcRuI/AAAAAAAAAD0/vIiZulZj-JM/s72-c/Graduation+Photos+1997.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-4589181214302296401</id><published>2008-11-06T23:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T23:38:04.028-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Orange Horizon</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRPwQtnVyhI/AAAAAAAAAC0/cdCRZdYgdfo/s1600-h/peter-wileman-orange-horizon%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265816559239416338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRPwQtnVyhI/AAAAAAAAAC0/cdCRZdYgdfo/s400/peter-wileman-orange-horizon%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Orange Horizon&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every year the air cools and the colors surround me unleash themselves. I feel both emotionally and physically unbound. Autumn is one of the few times a year I can feel alive again. Here, where I live it is a magical experience as the colors of the leaves change and the cool mountain air seems to energize you. Everything is beautiful and for me it’s literally the season I was born for.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t really care for my birthday but building up to it is always exciting to me. I secretly envision what my birthday will be like and usually my vision quickly becomes a morbid illusion on my actual birthday. Yeah, “the-day-of” is usually a disappointment but this year (tongue in cheek) I say that it was more than I expected on a lot of levels I owe this mainly to my mother who threw the first “family birthday party” that I have had in like 15 years. You see, to me hanging out with your friends on your birthday is quite a different thing than being around your family. &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRPvuJn07II/AAAAAAAAACs/cErmV368w7k/s1600-h/Peter-Wileman-Red-Horizon-152368.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265815965462228098" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRPvuJn07II/AAAAAAAAACs/cErmV368w7k/s400/Peter-Wileman-Red-Horizon-152368.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the day before my birthday she threw a really cool party for me, made a big dinner for me, invited a lot of people in my family to come over and we all had a big dinner of fried chicken, biscuits, fried squash (yeah we’re health nuts, let me tell you) and something else I cant remember (but I am sure it was fried). I asked for this all of this food in jest (well, not really) and she makes it. I mean my mom has been away for the past 10 or so years and finally I get to eat her cooking again…it was a long time coming. Then she gets all Susie Homemaker and makes this kick ass “Scarecrow Cake”…Anyway I told her I didn’t want to know who she invited because I didn’t want to be disappointed in anyone not showing up. Well she didn’t and when I arrived at her house I was surprised to see a lot of cars parked in the yard. There was my Aunt Ruby who is like 81 and let me tell you the lady moves like a 23 year old. She is an angel …but I will go off on a tangent if I don’t stop here. My Aunt Linda was there ( I was really thrilled with this) ALL of my sisters and brothers and their kids, but most importantly there was my mom…(oh god I just remembered she will probably read this so I need to say mama from this point on because she doesn’t like it when I call her “mom”)…My mother was flying around the kitchen, fighting like ten kids just whipping food out like a machine. My cousin Kerry was there with her little boy Holden and we immediately do what we do best; find a corner and talk, gossip, bitch or whatever. Kerry is not someone I see often but when I do it’s always fun. It’s even more fun when my little sister Natalie joins in, ‘cause Natalie doesn’t mince words by any means and often it comes out really sarcastic and funny. Anyway you get the point it was really fun and it was the most fun I was going to have for my birthday….but I didn’t know that yet.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway I will talk about that another time I am going to go in the kitchen and celebrate the fact that I have gained 15 pounds in the past two weeks and make some cookies or something. Besides what else is there to do at three in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;You guys take care…all four of you that will read this…LOL…&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-4589181214302296401?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4589181214302296401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=4589181214302296401' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4589181214302296401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4589181214302296401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/11/orange-horizon.html' title='Orange Horizon'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SRPwQtnVyhI/AAAAAAAAAC0/cdCRZdYgdfo/s72-c/peter-wileman-orange-horizon%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-5725955337162161171</id><published>2008-10-27T00:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T00:38:07.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back On The Chain Gang</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SQVv193gYoI/AAAAAAAAACk/FtN7gPKbdp0/s1600-h/Nilla+Warhol.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261734712583414402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SQVv193gYoI/AAAAAAAAACk/FtN7gPKbdp0/s400/Nilla+Warhol.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SQVuqrCgsiI/AAAAAAAAACc/p7zgIM7ER5U/s1600-h/Wayne+-+Bearded.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My birthday is later this week. I have requested the day off and got it but I didn’t get the day after off. Typical…so if I end up doing anything I will need to be in bed long before my carriage turns back into a pumpkin. So I doubt no fun would ensue. I may just stay at home or volunteer to work. These two guys that Wayne and I met at a bar from Greenville, SC are coming up and want to do something with us but I don’t know if I will considering I barely know them at all. They are really fun and nice guys, maybe I should but I don’t have a lot of money to work with. I just found out today that the power bill is 303.00 and the cell phone bill is way past due so the sensible thing to do would be rent a classic horror movie and just stay at home.&lt;br /&gt;Most of my “real” friends are of course pre-occupied with something to do those nights. I have grown used to that. The one and only thing I am looking foreword to is my mom is making me dinner and having some family over the day before my birthday. I don’t know what Wayne wants to do and I don’t know if I will get anything from him considering he’s out of a job come Friday. So with the house payment looming in the near future maybe he should hold on to any money he would spend on my birthday and save it so we can have a place to live&lt;br /&gt;With no house there will be no place to pick up his dirty dishes or do his laundry, or pick it up when he’s left it on the floor. Not to mention there will be no internet to play the game that seems to completely consume his life all together. From the moment he comes in to the house to the moment he is ready to pass out he sits in that computer chair looking fat, watching me run around this house cleaning like a chicken with his head cut off with absolutely no regard or inclination that he might help me. Never mind the possibility I might not feel like picking up after him every waking moment of my day. No he doesn’t consider anything besides himself. Just wants to sit in a chair all day as if his legs were broken and do only what he wants to. I have reminded him several times that he is no longer 13 and I am not his mother but for some reason he still treats my actions as if they were expected.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t need to say a word about this, I am sure he knows and that is what bothers me…he knows it bothers me yet he doesn’t have the respect for me to even get off of his ass and help me out. When I was 12 I wished upon a star and said “twinkle, twinkle little star I want to pick up after an adult child, do his laundry, make his dinner and scrub his toilet for the rest of my life…(sarcasm) He has the nerve to ask me why I am so mad all the time but I think it’s pretty evident. The real issue is not the fact that I am viewed as his personal slave but the fact that he doesn’t take how I feel in consideration at all. That is what infuriates me.&lt;br /&gt;In between the times I am accused of cheating on him which happen about every six months and the ranting and raving about “kicking me out” there is peace and during that time I try not to rock the boat too much but a relationship (if this is what he wants it to be) is to be 50/50 not 99/1.&lt;br /&gt;I am so aggravated I shouldn’t even be writing this. But I am &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-5725955337162161171?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/5725955337162161171/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=5725955337162161171' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/5725955337162161171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/5725955337162161171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/10/back-on-chain-gang.html' title='Back On The Chain Gang'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SQVv193gYoI/AAAAAAAAACk/FtN7gPKbdp0/s72-c/Nilla+Warhol.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-4787968905036539878</id><published>2008-10-15T02:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T02:46:56.219-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sprinting Into Tomorrow</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SPW7-WifEBI/AAAAAAAAACM/f3Q8RmH2MWE/s1600-h/Peter-Wileman-Red-Horizon-152368.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257314819901427730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SPW7-WifEBI/AAAAAAAAACM/f3Q8RmH2MWE/s400/Peter-Wileman-Red-Horizon-152368.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is my last day off until next week and what a good day it has been. I actually took time out and drove to see my Aunt and my mother...While I was at my Aunt's house she let me pick some apples off of her trees. I have about ten of them and I am going to make a pie with them I think. I wouldn't normally pick apples but these are Arkanas Black Apples (yes, they are actually almost black) which are my favorite. They are firm and tart and will be perfect to make a pie with.&lt;br /&gt;Today was abnormally hot and before I left to go to my Aunt's house I had to stop by work and talk with my boss. She is offering me a promotion which I don't think I want. It would certainly look good on my resume but I am having fun having some free time to enjoy myself. I am making "just enough" money and I have no pressures on the job right now ...still the offer is something to think about.&lt;br /&gt;I also saw my mom today which was nice. I haven't been able to go many places in the past few weeks due to the gas shortage here in the south east. Two weeks ago there were only three gas stations in the whole city that had gas. People were lined up causing road blocks and fighting over gas. Last week when we got gas in the area I felt odd that I got excited over seeing it. The whole scenerio lasted for about three weeks so it grounded me at home. I wasn't able to go anywhere or do anything besides go to work and come home. Naturally since I wasn't able to go anywhere I desperately missed my mom. This year will be the first year since she moved back that I will be able to spend my birthday with her. She is actually throwing me a little family party they day before my birthday on the 30th. I haven't had a "family birthday party" since I was 16 which was a few years before she moved so I am really looking foreward to it.&lt;br /&gt;Next week is mine and Wayne's 3rd annaversary ...a spectacular feat that we made it. I say this considering not that long ago I didn't even know if we would be speaking by this time. We have decided to stay local this year and keep it low key (we normally go out of town to Savannah GA or Charleston SC). I think it will be nice to stay at home.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway I hope this blog sticks, the last one didn't. So I hope all of you are doing well and I am glad to be back up and running.&lt;br /&gt;Until next time...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-4787968905036539878?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4787968905036539878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=4787968905036539878' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4787968905036539878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4787968905036539878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/10/sprinting-into-tomorrow.html' title='Sprinting Into Tomorrow'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SPW7-WifEBI/AAAAAAAAACM/f3Q8RmH2MWE/s72-c/Peter-Wileman-Red-Horizon-152368.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-3113112226549812460</id><published>2008-09-28T14:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T14:19:34.792-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Alone?</title><content type='html'>I really do not like blogger...but as it seems my page is picking up so I guess I will be writing here for a while. My main page (Yahoo 360) has become a pointless endevor it seems. Blogger is not near as user friendly and half of the functions I can't figure out how to work, nor do I care to devote time to trying to figure it out. I am spoiled by the ease of Yahoo360 and Multiply.&lt;br /&gt;I haven't really cared to blog much of late but for my good friends Norma and Rachel I would like to keep them updated on my life since I don't get to talk to them as much as I would like. It seems that since I have moved to Swannanoa to be with Wayne my social life has dwendled. At first it was a nice departure but now, three years into this I am missing home and I am missing my friends. I miss going out and enjoying the company of others. I feel sickly in my isolation and it seems the only time I have a good time is when I am thinking back on days gone by. Sounds sad doesn't it...but it's true. I love my new life in so many ways but I miss being around the ppl I know and care about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-3113112226549812460?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3113112226549812460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=3113112226549812460' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3113112226549812460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3113112226549812460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/09/alone.html' title='Alone?'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-3925738492421976116</id><published>2008-08-24T18:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T18:16:28.760-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Want to Go To The Olympics</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SLIH5WVVf9I/AAAAAAAAABo/ByKlr-meo6A/s1600-h/oly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238257998414315474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SLIH5WVVf9I/AAAAAAAAABo/ByKlr-meo6A/s400/oly.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yeah, those fuckinng swimmers are hot as hell...and you know since I am the alleged dwarf princess of nymphomania according to SOME ppl I should go to the next Olympics and wait in the locker room and ass rape one of them&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I am here at work and there is absolutely nothing to do at all. I still have three more hours to kill before I am free to be human again. I have Monday and Tuesday off this week (hell yeah!) but I don't think it will be a lot of fun. See, I have no money at all and to make matters worse I don't have the money for my truck payment this months so I have to go off graveling to one of my realitives in hopes that they will loan me two hundred dollars. I hate begging for money and worse yet I hate paying it back. But that's just the way I have do it....&lt;br /&gt;"Daddy I am a total fuck up can i have two hundred dollars?"&lt;br /&gt;Anyway ... lets talk about something else....life on BEAR MTN!!! Woke up today and Wayne and I were running late for work as usual and we walk outside and I discover the sliding doors were ripped off of our utility shed. It didn't take Sherlock Holms to figure out what had happened. There were five bags of garbage strown about the yard and the trash can was sticking out from between the desheveled doors. Yes, the bears have struck again, just one of the perils of living out in BFE. I know it's stupid but the whole time I have been at work today I keep invisioning a bear roaming throughout our house devouring our dog like the tiny tic-tac that she is. I keep thinking to myself; will I go home and find it totally distroyed, did I lock the sliding glass door? I don't think I did if the truth be known. Wayne swears he's going to shoot the damn thing if he finds it in the yard tonight...I told him that we didn't need a bear skin rug...but it may happen. It's not bear season but at our house it is.&lt;br /&gt;Well anyway a lot of stuff has happened since I last wrote. We had a little problem with the power company earlier in the week. I tried to rectify the situation as well as I could but the situation ended up in a screaming match between Wayne and the poor lady on the other end of the phone. THe conversation took place at work and the conversation became so heated that I could hear Wayne through the rock wall seperating us. None of our co workers had ever seen Wayne so mad and the next day the General Manager called him in her office where she asked him if he ever had thoughts of killing people. So they are scared of Wayne at work, but that could be a good thing.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway like I said I am at work and I have to get back to being semi-productive. Until next time my little nibblets...&lt;br /&gt;OH and if you would like to help out your dead beat losers like me feel free to send a check or money order to&lt;br /&gt;THE STEVANILLA FOUNDATION FOR LOSERS&lt;br /&gt;37 BEAR RIDGE ESTATES&lt;br /&gt;BFE, NC &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-3925738492421976116?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3925738492421976116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=3925738492421976116' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3925738492421976116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3925738492421976116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-want-to-go-to-olympics.html' title='I Want to Go To The Olympics'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SLIH5WVVf9I/AAAAAAAAABo/ByKlr-meo6A/s72-c/oly.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-7133583621760316403</id><published>2008-08-15T18:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-15T18:55:03.419-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love is a stranger'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='like a drug'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Wayne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nilla'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bullshit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Field of Stone</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SKYzKLVHqaI/AAAAAAAAABg/qSRQZdNe25s/s1600-h/Wayne%27s+Gun.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234927866797861282" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SKYzKLVHqaI/AAAAAAAAABg/qSRQZdNe25s/s400/Wayne%27s+Gun.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SKYzAfSFiRI/AAAAAAAAABY/_Jzn63sd1g4/s1600-h/Wayne%27s+Gun+(1).JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Disintegration&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;There comes a point&lt;/span&gt; in any turbulent relationship where you have to ask yourself if you have gone past the point of return. It is certainly a place that no one enjoys being; when you have poured your heart and your soul into a relationship and have used every fiber of your being to make things work. Despite all of your efforts you are still left with a feeling of inadequacy and feel uncertainty of your future together.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For me long term relationships are something that not only want but I feel it is something of a necessity. Most gay men are quite the opposite I have noticed. I suppose it’s what I am used to (long term relationships) I have been in a relationship seemingly non stop since I was 17. I am now a haggard 31 and I am in my 3rd year with Wayne and let me tell you things have been rocky as many of you know. Some of our issues have been simple things that every couple encounters and some have been dramatic enough to be a story line for a really bad soap opera. I have taken it all in stride at times and I have tried to over look his imperfections including his irrational behaviors. I too have to be over looked at times. I have a very sharp tongue and I too loose my cool far too often than I should. There has been a lot of give and take in our relationship but how much is too much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course the answer to that question can only come from rational estimations, but in the world of love what is rational seldom comes into the equation. There is no guide book for every two people are unique. No one can ever tell you what is around the bend for you and your love interest. Love will go anywhere…but there is no scale to measure how much you have the capacity to take with an individual. In most situations like this you don’t even know how much you are willing to take. Its just one foot in front of the other, any other way of approaching an issue in a relationship is irrelevant in my opinion. I haven’t made the smartest choices in my relationships and I most certainly don’t make the smartest choices in my current relationship. But these days I don’t know if I can count on a future concerning our relationship. I am still in the relationship I think. After the events of the past few weeks I am not even sure about that, but I am guessing everything is ok now. I can’t worry myself sick about it, I know it should be the subject of a heavy duty conversation but to be honest I am just glad that things are peaceful now. A lot of times I wonder if I have forced myself on him and on a few occasions I have felt sure of that. Either way we are still going through our daily motions and things are being kept normal. My lips are sealed in this matter…just go with the flow is what is best for me.&lt;br /&gt;But let me tell you…I had to go to my best friend’s wedding earlier this week. The wedding was so unique and fun and I should have had a good time there but I couldn’t enjoy the happiness I felt for my best friend when each thought that ran through my head was like a river of doubt about my own relationship, where I was going to live, what job I was going to have to switch to, how I was going to miss the dog and anything else negative I could dwell on. I knew only a handful of the guest but apparently my best friend (Sabrina) talks about me a lot so my reputation preceded me and an introduction was quickly followed with an “I have heard soooo much about you”. I ended up leaving the reception early and driving home to go over things with Wayne.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The issue between us has been a reoccurring one that makes me worry about every word I make and write so I apologize by not telling you what exactly happened, but the frustrating part about the situation is the fact that is an issue of jealousy and misconception. I am sick of it although I understand some of the roots behind it. I am just sick of dealing with it. It is so retarded and unnecessary. It’s like a reoccurring slap in the face for me and each time it has happened it has (as Annie Lennox would say) placed a chill on my heart.&lt;br /&gt;You read this then say whatever you wish or say nothing at all. I am just getting some of my personal tension out of my mind. I need the relief of getting it out there. Had this past week been a normal one then who knows what I would be writing about, but whatever it would have been I wished I was writing about something that I am a little less sensitive about. I don’t take love lightly, despite whatever other people might think, I put a lot of thought in every step I take during my day and keep Wayne in mind at all times but am I doing the right thing for us by thinking this way. Am I not seeing something by thinking that I have all bases covered and everything is alright? Who knows…because at any given time I am not sure if everything is alright…Yes, my life is like a bad Tanya Tucker song these days, but hell I have been through worse and I can get over it if we can make it through it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-7133583621760316403?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/7133583621760316403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=7133583621760316403' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/7133583621760316403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/7133583621760316403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/08/field-of-stone.html' title='Field of Stone'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SKYzKLVHqaI/AAAAAAAAABg/qSRQZdNe25s/s72-c/Wayne%27s+Gun.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-3860493015590671980</id><published>2008-07-29T00:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T00:32:15.109-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Twisted Sexual Perversions</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SI7HNsF46cI/AAAAAAAAABQ/5Nkx_zBm5Go/s1600-h/pierre_et_gilles_3.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228335255411812802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SI7HNsF46cI/AAAAAAAAABQ/5Nkx_zBm5Go/s400/pierre_et_gilles_3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;Twisted Sexual Perversions&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not only do I live, sleep, shower with my boyfriend, we also work together. Crazy as that might sound some how we do it without thinking about it too much. At the hotel that we work out is a long term guest named Peter Bradley. That name shouldn’t ring a bell with you but understand this about Mr. Bradley he is a strange bird that I have deliberately tried not to write about. None the less he is a factor in our lives possibly too much so. Mr. Bradley is a former Police Lt. in a small town near where we live. He has been forced by local controversy to seek refuge in our hotel. He squealed on a local police chief for drug trafficking and his sexual appetite made front page news a few years ago when his wife’s suicide note mentioned his infamous diaper parties. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg as far as Mr. Bradley is concerned, but that is all the information I will tell. Over all he is a guest in my hotel and I have to keep a level of professionalism with. Despite the fact that he was married until his wife’s mysterious suicide he is an open bi-sexual who has taken a liking to Wayne and me.&lt;br /&gt;Despite his turbulent past and controversial whistle blowing in local politics we have come to know him as person. He is a dark and daunting individual who usually comes down to the lobby desk slobbering drunk reeking of Armani and Johnny Walker slurring things like “what-are-you-doin’…” none the less he has offered to pay for Wayne and me to fly to California and get married. I am certain his offer was entirely alcohol driven none the less, it was quite a sweet offer that lead me to thinking to myself “would I ever get married?”&lt;br /&gt;Undecidedly I would have to say no. It doesn’t reflect how I feel about Wayne per se but would I ever do that? I can’t see myself married to anyone. The whole concept seems alien to my sprit, something that I can’t wrap my head around at this point in my life. We live in North Carolina so gay marriage won’t be legal here until 2099 with the backward ass politics in this state. We have a nice home and we enjoy where we work and our life together BUT earlier this year things weren’t quite so peaceful. We were separated in the flash of the eye and no one could have predicted it… So when I think of marriage I think of divorce. How would it be to separate from the person whom you had told the world that you would spend the rest of your life with? Had our separation earlier this year been a divorce where would I be right now? And would we be together as we are now? For me, Marriage is the path not taken…The parallel life I will never live. Like having children and other things you push out of your mind. But with the offer looming in the recent air it has caused me to think. What would I do if I really was proposed to? I am more certain that I wouldn’t have anyone in the ceremony in cumber buns more so than I am to saying “yes” to a marriage proposal. Besides I think gay marriage in this day and age is so cliché. But in my life will there ever be room for a proposal? I would have to say at 31 I would have to say “no”. I am still too immature…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-3860493015590671980?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/3860493015590671980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=3860493015590671980' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3860493015590671980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/3860493015590671980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/07/twisted-sexual-perversions.html' title='Twisted Sexual Perversions'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SI7HNsF46cI/AAAAAAAAABQ/5Nkx_zBm5Go/s72-c/pierre_et_gilles_3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-4197403665322091329</id><published>2008-07-12T23:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T23:15:42.452-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mirage</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SHmdaY3TlbI/AAAAAAAAABI/Bii9AP_WSSc/s1600-h/sop2050.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222378319589381554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SHmdaY3TlbI/AAAAAAAAABI/Bii9AP_WSSc/s400/sop2050.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dunes line the night sky in mountains&lt;br /&gt;Black like the nightfall&lt;br /&gt;And the stars shine at the setting of an Arabic moon&lt;br /&gt;With warm sandy winds polishing my skin&lt;br /&gt;As the sun sets in the darkest corners in my mind&lt;br /&gt;Into the darkness&lt;br /&gt;that's where I find him&lt;br /&gt;Emerging from the verdant blossoms of the oasis&lt;br /&gt;His beauty like a drink of water to my parched soul&lt;br /&gt;A celestial gift to all men alike&lt;br /&gt;bathing in a lake of youth floating down into the crests of waters of Metsopotamia&lt;br /&gt;The winds sing an ancient lullaby&lt;br /&gt;Singing the haunting sounds&lt;br /&gt;Chanting from the origins of time&lt;br /&gt;Bitterly does appeal to me&lt;br /&gt;Igniting a fire within my blood&lt;br /&gt;Causing me to burn inside hosting an uncontrollable longing&lt;br /&gt;I know no longer what is good for me&lt;br /&gt;As he sinks deep inside the haven of my soul&lt;br /&gt;He is like the swallow&lt;br /&gt;Sinking deep within the heart of me&lt;br /&gt;Enchanting me with ointments of patchuli and opium&lt;br /&gt;laying me under his spell&lt;br /&gt;Dark is his hair as it hangs above me&lt;br /&gt;Twisted dancing over my body in shadows&lt;br /&gt;Like rain clouds his sweat falls over me&lt;br /&gt;Bathing me on the banks of Euphrates&lt;br /&gt;Where there are more stars in the sky than grains of sand&lt;br /&gt;His waters wash over me&lt;br /&gt;Rising like footsteps in the bed of the river&lt;br /&gt;Over the crests of the skyline&lt;br /&gt;Of mosques and pyramids and vacant midnight markets&lt;br /&gt;Into the bliss of night and the scents of another world&lt;br /&gt;Emerging into the silver light of the moon above&lt;br /&gt;He covers me with his love&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-4197403665322091329?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4197403665322091329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=4197403665322091329' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4197403665322091329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4197403665322091329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/07/mirage.html' title='Mirage'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SHmdaY3TlbI/AAAAAAAAABI/Bii9AP_WSSc/s72-c/sop2050.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-4629806867175907817</id><published>2008-06-30T22:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T22:39:43.904-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil Faggot After All</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SGnC0koWYkI/AAAAAAAAABA/J5SlraCQzXc/s1600-h/baco.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217915851727331906" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SGnC0koWYkI/AAAAAAAAABA/J5SlraCQzXc/s400/baco.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Nobody looks at this page yet so I feel it is safe to post this here. It has been a long time since I went out and Wayne and I thought that it would be nice to do so. I didn’t want to go to our usual Charlotte Street Pub, they make a good drink and it’s where we met but it’s a straight bar and I just didn’t want go there… Our friend Michael comes over every Saturday and since it was Saturday he joined us on our trip to La Rues. La Rue’s is a small gay bar and it’s kind of schwag but everyone who goes there is really just waiting until the Drag show at the main gay bar in Asheville (called Scandles) opens. I hate Scandle’s it sucks asshole. Its every snobby queer you have ever hated all in one bar. To me it’s like three levels of pure hell. I usually run into someone I hate there so I never want to go there. La Rue’s is more laid back and they make a better drink so I go there when I need some queer time. Going to gay bar when you have a boyfriend isn’t as much fun as you can imagine. Wayne doesn’t dance and we just sit around like a bunch of old farts; just me and him and Michael. La Rues is one bar in the back of O’Henrey’s which is the real name of the club. Its been around for like 300 years and most of the guys in the front bar are about that old. I stay in the back bar, La Rue’s it lookes like a bad flash back to the 70s but it’s the only safe haven for anyone under 50 there.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway in fag bar fashion I was having a good time and chillin drinking my sex-on-the-beaches getting my buzz on when low and behold MATT comes in. Matt is a 300lb cop that had a crush on me back when I started dating Wayne. Matt almost caused me to break up with Wayne which is another story. Anyway Matt comes in like a sausage turd coming out of the plastic, wrapped tight in a red tee shirt making him look even fatter. I didn’t say anything to him but I saw him, I just kept going about my business with Michael and Wayne and feel my phone vibrate. I was hoping it was my friend from SC saying he was coming up to join us but it wasn’t. It was Matt…I was surprised he had my number! The message read “Yeah, it’s me stop gawking”. I was like “what a fucking bitch” how DARE his fat ass send me a message like that. LIKE I WOULD BE STARRING AT HIM, HELL YOU CAN’T HELP BUT SEE HIM HE WEIGHS 300 LBS FOR CHRIST SAKE.  I would need a helicopter to get an aerial view of him he’s so fat.&lt;br /&gt;I didn’t respond to him, I waited a few minuets purposely. I replied back eventually saying “I don’t really care, thanks. BTW you don’t have to be such a cunt”. I went later to make quite an ass out of myself and proving to myself I was a true drama queen. I tell Wayne and Michael how it bothers me that he is texting me and being so shitty. By this time I was on my fourth round and anything and everything was pissing me off. I am usually a happy drunk but I wasn’t on this night. Apparently Sex-On-The-Beaches don’t mix well with the new Cyndi Lauper. He text me again asking me if I was mad at him and I didn’t respond... Beyond that point he kept texting me which became really tiresome for my drunk soul at the time. Finally I stewed in the fact that he asked me if I was mad at him, like he got some sick rise out of me and I finally answered back telling him that if he was a real friend he would have said “Hello” to me since he noticed me first and that I didn’t give a fuck and told him to go fuck Nick Cargo (a guy that I am not supposed to know that Matt fucked). But the buck didn’t stop there I proceeded in telling him that he needed to get tested for an STD because his boy toy now has herpes. Which is a real fact…and told him to delete my number for his phone.&lt;br /&gt;He was shocked I could see it from across the room. I couldn’t resist and I couldn’t help but bask in telling him his whoring ass might just have an STD. I turned into the type of fag I hate. An angry drunk little bitch and I realized it while I was doing it but couldn’t control myself I was so engulfed in anger.&lt;br /&gt;Matt had no response and I told Wayne and Michael that I wanted to go. They could see I was riled up and they understood. As we walked past Matt who was sitting at the bar at the time, I slapped him across the arm making a loud poping noise that silenced the room and walked out between Michael and Wayne. I didn’t look back but Michael told me later on the ride home that I had everyone looking at me and Matt was in complete shock. Matt being an officer of the law could have been my ass with his large meaty ass but luckily he didn’t come after me in the dark hall way like I thought he would. I giggled my way out of the bar and went home.&lt;br /&gt;I can’t help it, I guess underneath it all I am a snotty little queer just like the faggots of Scandles that I hate. But a person can only take so much. I wasn’t letting that fucker get the best of me that night.&lt;br /&gt;It must be in the air of O’Ho’s that I show my ass last time I went I almost got thrown out and Wayne almost got arrested. Twisted place. I have decided to stay away from gay night life for a while and keep my evil queerness to myself. Alcohol is cheaper when you drink at home anyway…Moral of the story I guess I am only human after all…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-4629806867175907817?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/4629806867175907817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=4629806867175907817' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4629806867175907817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/4629806867175907817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/06/evil-faggot-after-all.html' title='Evil Faggot After All'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SGnC0koWYkI/AAAAAAAAABA/J5SlraCQzXc/s72-c/baco.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-661808709495450722</id><published>2008-06-19T00:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T00:45:03.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>.:Nothing.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SFoOYpXtl6I/AAAAAAAAAAo/Teki211bPto/s1600-h/ph1596d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SFoOYpXtl6I/AAAAAAAAAAo/Teki211bPto/s320/ph1596d.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213495335219730338" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You never would&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Care about anything&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why would I think I would weigh any importance &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to you &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there you are now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Putting the damage on&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Punching it deep inside my chest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I watch you build bitter words&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Designed to tear us apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You don’t know what you’re saying&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought I would never hear you say &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those words&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Condemning me to the cold winds of your winter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That rape the love I hold for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leaving it wilting on the vine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I simply thirsted for just one emotion from you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Such a simple request to deny&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just kept for your convenience &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a shelf in a bell jar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Safely contained keeping me far away from the humanity &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That hides somewhere&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deep inside you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you say that I am the one to blame &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The one that should walk away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your words they hit me like a fist to the side of my mouth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crushing all I have inside of me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything I have ever known&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I don’t want to go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To no longer have a home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With no one to come find me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(it's a little over the top but I thought that I would be a little tragic for a change)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-661808709495450722?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/661808709495450722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=661808709495450722' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/661808709495450722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/661808709495450722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/06/nothing.html' title='.:Nothing.'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SFoOYpXtl6I/AAAAAAAAAAo/Teki211bPto/s72-c/ph1596d.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-5796009877410799003</id><published>2008-06-05T22:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-05T22:27:43.737-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tequila'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Steven'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whitetrashDallas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Wayne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nilla'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Work'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sue Ellen'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Birthday'/><title type='text'>Sue Ellen</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SEjH1Qgd2FI/AAAAAAAAAAg/hc4d3exC4w4/s1600-h/suellen%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208632686832113746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SEjH1Qgd2FI/AAAAAAAAAAg/hc4d3exC4w4/s320/suellen%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Ugh!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off from work, man that place is such a departure from where I came from…&lt;br /&gt;But whatever, it’s comfortable for me…for now I guess.&lt;br /&gt;I think I have a good idea who to avoid and who to befriend. I try to get along with everyone but as soon as you think you can actually do that some one crams a big fist of reality right up your ass and someone stabs you in the back. They are all women and I am the only guy so I play the “stupid male” as much as possible. I am afraid that I am going to show up at work and they are all going to be on the rag all at the same time and tear me limb from limb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wayne’s birthday was the other day and it didn’t go down as expected which is really a good thing. It was more low key than usual which translates into Wayne behaved himself and didn’t get drunk and treat me like Suellen from Dallas. That sounds bad but I am trying to be funny. See Wayne likes to party (when he parties) and sometimes that leads to arguments and like JR and Suellen from Dallas we are both evenly matched in the MEAN department. Besides I could never get my hair to look like hers; its way too short to be feathered, plus I don’t do shoulder pads. But I digress, We had a really good time, just going over to his parents and spending some time there and I took him for a nice dinner at the most high class restaurant in the world …Red Lobster… we were craving those crab biscuits damn it! So we had a nice dinner and it was cool. We tried our damnest to get drunk off the bottle of Patron he had bought earlier that day but it just didn’t happen. I made him a cake and actually didn’t fuck it up this time amazingly. I guess that could be credited to the fact I broke down and bought a mix this time but it was nothing like the infamous Dookie Cake 2007 * Anyway things with Wayne are cool…we’re like two months in this and no one has died yet…it’s amazing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway that’s it for me tonight…its still early enough to do some tequila shots…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*if you don’t know what Dookie Cake 2007 is it is a cake I tried to make for new years from scratch. It was posted on my old blog that got axed because I posted some gay art and supposedly violated some of Yahoo’s shitty Terms of Service….fucking Quakers…Anyway I made Dookie Cake in hopes it might tell me how the following year would hold for me and man it hit the mark. It totally fucked up and looked like something that you would find in NYC sewage system. I posted pics of it under the title “Don’t Drink and Bake”…you had to be there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5mxA9IhB4K8&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5mxA9IhB4K8&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-5796009877410799003?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/5796009877410799003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=5796009877410799003' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/5796009877410799003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/5796009877410799003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/06/sue-ellen.html' title='Sue Ellen'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SEjH1Qgd2FI/AAAAAAAAAAg/hc4d3exC4w4/s72-c/suellen%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6066010034015392209.post-8267982611557295764</id><published>2008-05-31T18:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T19:00:24.831-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's He Dribbling On About</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SEICX-LFWcI/AAAAAAAAAAM/Q9jMr2NJ88U/s1600-h/42a4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206726730043447746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SEICX-LFWcI/AAAAAAAAAAM/Q9jMr2NJ88U/s320/42a4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don’t get sick often, and I wouldn’t even say that I am sick now, but I do know that I woke up this morning and opened my mouth and the voice of Harvey Firestein game oozing out. I have a hacking cough that sounds like it belongs to some 70 year old jazz singer that smokes two cartons a day, and I have enough snot coming out of my head I am like a walking Bjork video. You would figure that it would happen on the day that Sabrina, my best friend, would be coming up. It’s not that often that I get any visitors up here, and not many people are sure that they can even remember how to get up here. The driveway looks like a donkey trail in Afghanistan and it’s a steep climb for any vehicle, in fact in the winter it’s almost un-navigational, so it’s not that often that people come up here. When they do it’s a big to-do for me. I don’t go off the deep end and scour everything in comet before people arrive, in fact I give little to no effort to it, but emotionally it’s a big deal.&lt;br /&gt;I get the phone call she is on her way and I start a pot of coffee, spend some quality time in front of the bathroom mirror putting on eye cream to give me the appearance of someone who has been awake for more than fifteen minutes. I guzzle down a huge mug filled with loads of sugar and coconut creamer and dress myself in an almost presentable manner. I go sit down on the couch and wait and in a few minuets I hear a knock on the front door. I suddenly realize how high the grass is in the front of the house and I go to open the door. Sabrina bolts into the door tell us that the neighbors leaving the house below us forced her to back all the way down the mountain bumper to bumper. I apologize to her for it, it is a common occurrence for our Jerry Springer neighbors show their asses. Anyway she had arrived and we sat and talked for a little while. One thing lead to another and we both decided we should go blow a few extra bucks and go to Target or something.&lt;br /&gt;Looking like something resembling a homeless person I tried to talk her out of the idea but secretly wanting to go too. I sounded like shit, I looked like shit so I tell her to go check her e-mail on my computer and I would go take a shower. I come out of the bathroom about thirty minuets later looking like a severely congested person trying to look presentable and miserably failed. With my head feeling like it had two cinder blocks resting on it we make our way into town and go into Target as planned. Pacing through aisle after aisle, picking up things and explaining to one another why we weren’t going to buy them. We had fun but didn’t spend too much time out and shortly found ourselves sticking to a table at the near by Pizza Hut. Sabrina paid for our “food” despite my protests and we came back here and actually got to talk to one another.&lt;br /&gt;It was a nice change to have someone come visit me instead of me having to drive all over hell and high water to see everyone whether they be friends or family. I understand why people don’t come up here, some of my friends and family don’t even know where I live and those that do don’t ever make it out this way so I never get visitors. In some ways it’s nice not to have to worry about people dropping by but over all it sucks. My days off I usually spend going to Barnes and Nobel or Starbucks by myself and cleaning house and thinking about what I am going to make for dinner like I am lost in the lyrics of a really bad 70s Carly Simon song. Anyway it was nice to see Sabrina. I hadn’t seen her in a while…bla, bla, bla&lt;br /&gt;I lost my favorite Aunt last week to cancer. I don’t wanna talk about it too much but she was the one person that I actually looked up to growing up and she was very special to me. She was so intelligent and so brilliant in every aspect of her life but eternally a wild child. She never did anything conventional, and was the first to dub me the name “Nilla”. She was only 50 something and she was diagnosed too late to help her fight off the cancer properly. Anyway as in life…her exit was eccentric. She asked to be cremated and there was to be no memorial service for her. So finding closure with her has been difficult. I suppose it will help me remember her better rather than a cold corpse in a casket.&lt;br /&gt;Either way I miss her already.&lt;br /&gt;Well, kids that’s about it for me&lt;br /&gt;Signing off, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Debbie Downer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6066010034015392209-8267982611557295764?l=absolutnilla.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/feeds/8267982611557295764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6066010034015392209&amp;postID=8267982611557295764' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/8267982611557295764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6066010034015392209/posts/default/8267982611557295764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://absolutnilla.blogspot.com/2008/05/whats-he-dribbling-on-about.html' title='What&apos;s He Dribbling On About'/><author><name>Stevanilla</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12651034003130549367</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SnnwXA_lAxI/AAAAAAAAAF0/LxX4-3scrg0/S220/5494_106725441206_569191206_2622414_1326669_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_epDGBYJKTdQ/SEICX-LFWcI/AAAAAAAAAAM/Q9jMr2NJ88U/s72-c/42a4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
