Watch me Dance Lion Fucker

I can be in the depths of hell. This is the depth of hell. Then something will hit me really hard. It’s a picture that can really get me. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s bad. So I do realize I emasculated a man last night. I really try not to do that all the time. I fight the urge to emasculate. Every now and again a man will do something to me or a good friend that allows me to harm his manhood. Like when jenny biscuit’s got humiliated by diaper boy and an internet web cam whore. As a good friend, it became my duty to emasculate for her while she cried and screamed. It was a hawthorne moment. Her fiance thought he was hot shit. Everyone has a secret. Her fiance had a motorcycle accident. He broke his dick and he shits himself all the time. Nonetheless, he’s still a man whore.
When he came to get his shit he was high on something. He had no idea. He didn’t realize what he was up against. He always looked at me and joked about fucking me. We were cool, until he stood there snide, high and ready to hurt my friend. I know how to degrade a man whore. The right combination of telling a man he fucks clams because he never had enough attention from mommy with the fact this abuse makes him want to fuck his mommy. Then the fact he’s only ever going to know whore’s like his mommy. When you leave a man wondering if he’s been trying to fuck his own mother because she’s a whore…they snap. I know I’m going to get hit one day.

Actually, it’s already happened with another one of jenny biscuit’s boyfriends. We had a fight so fierce he tried to choke me out. I know the moment some man is actually trying to choke me to death that I’ve pushed too far. In that moment when I’m being choked I have a natural instinct and ability to get my little fingers in some fuckers eyes. I’ll never have force behind a punch. However, when it comes to fighting like a woman…I’m down. All of a sudden my fingernails make me a female wolverine. I can pull, bite, scratch and wiggle my way out of being choked. Maybe it is a woman’s talent like childbirth. During a choke down we all become hellcats. He was the first person I bit. I’d wolverined his face and eyes enough to get him off my throat so he could punch me senseless. During the punches, he fucked up and got his hand near my mouth. For the love god don’t hurt me and stick your hand near my mouth. I’m going to fucking bite.
Every time I tell this story I actually relive it. It was the most traumatic thing I’ve been through. I realized some other bitch’s mule can bite you. We were in Jenny’s car I was in the back seat. It was a lesson from God. It was so random. They started arguing about something stupid while she was driving. 
It wasn’t the fact she wasn’t paying attention to the road. Maybe that made me feel like she couldn’t defend herself. I don’t get in the middle of things. All of a sudden the fight escalated to the point he actually had to yell at her while holding out a hand to hit her. It was like watching a baby drown. All I had to say was ‘If you hit her motherfucker, I’ll fucking kill you.’ It will stay with me a lifetime. That’s what made him turn around to start choking me.
I think it’s jail. Completely. A new lynn rule. I won’t date you if you’ve done time or if you’re in and out like a revolving door. That’s a huge rule for me. I forgive everything. I don’t judge for past mistakes. However, I learn lessons from God. I have mega huge flaws like being insane. Nonetheless, I refuse to talk to anyone with a criminal record. If God drops a man in my lap. I accept all flaws. Until I think about the guy who choked me out, the nazi and NA dude. One didn’t even have to be my boyfriend to convince me I’ll never touch a criminal again. Just like people give up drugs, I’m giving up convicts. I don’t care if he’s as cute as the Don CeSar guy and

1. he has hayden’s personality… I will not associate with guy’s who’ve been in the system. Shawna, it’s your duty to help me keep my promises. It’s just as bad as me calling you in the night saying I need crack rock. You’ve got to be cruel enough to convince me when someone mentions the word jail I must flee like the wind.
   Give the guy a break if he’s only done a year. To be honest, I could see myself snapping to the point I earn a year in jail. That night my cousin casey told the nazi that I let mexicans run train on me…I was going to set his car on fire. Most people say that in a joking manner. Only my cousin will understand I actually got out the lighter fluid and put on shoes. I don’t know how long you go to jail for burning cars. Only my mom would understand how keying a car could never give me satisfaction. Only my mom would understand getting mad enough at someone like Casey that I commit arson. I can’t promise my mom won’t set my car on fire. In all honesty when I was at the height of suicidal fury over Tim, I wouldn’t have been surprised if my mom burned his house down. If you told me he spent a week sleeping on his porch out of fear my mother would set his house on fire, I wouldn’t be surprised.
   Accidents happen. It’s going to be rough Shawna. You’ll have to look up records. You know, I’ll never be wise enough to check a man’s background. Every time I meet a man I’m going to call you and say ‘Shhaawwnnaaa, I found a new critter.’ I’m so angry. If you have a dick and balls you’re just another critter to me. I have the weirdest night companionship with Hayden. He’s 3,000 miles away but while I’m writing I have the comfort knowing he’s playing on the computer with me. I send him the message:’analogies. I’m comparing men to critters. Im really into the word critter. If youre in my yard what kind of critter are you?’ In my loneliness and isolation knowing sometime before I fall asleep tomorrow that I’ll get a message and rationale behind what kind of critter he’d be.
   It hits me. In this process of flirting with a boy that receives attention like it’s piss splashed in his face he made me feel like I manipulate men. I felt bad. Then I realized I was offering the same fragile and beautiful communication I have with Hayden. He can tell me the newest way the exwife his abusing him. I can tell him my mom hit me and we can discuss seafood buffets, death and critters. Two smart people with computers can entertain one another day and night. I wasn’t pissing on your face. I’m offering to be the girl that will love it when you are hit with sudden inspiration and I’ll listen. Hayden can just randomly blurt out “karma is not your cosmic bank account” and I get it. The fucked up thing is that I accept he’s at the all you can eat Sea Pussy Buffet and he’ll stand there patiently waiting for a fresh batch of hot clams. He likes shellfish and I’m trapping possums.
   In my possum trap I’ll get all kinds of critters. I’ll be bringing shawna everything from squirrels to raccoons in my attempt to get the right possum. Sometimes, If I’m lucky I’ll trap an armadillo. The Don CeSar boy was an armadillo. I talked with the bff about the fact I’m half way convinced he was a celestial creature. He popped out of heaven and manifested at my hotel door. There were so many coincidences. There are things I don’t even talk about on facebook. He manifested himself into my personal view of perfection. He was tawdry enough to get my attention and stimulating enough to keep it. I realized that night no man has actually managed to stimulate me like that. It’s not just sex. It was his intellect and life stories. He’s a bartender going to school for writing. There is something so sexy about a witty, well educated cute boy with the street smarts of a bartender. It was the fact he could satisfy all my fantasies and make me the perfect long island.
   If you’ve known me long if I could ask God for a guardian angel you know I would ask for a cute boy in a sweater. I wouldn’t want some amazing father figure or a little old lady. If I’m to receive divine intervention and guidance I would want to hear it from a cute boy in a sweater. Evil laughter only my bff or Hayden would understand. I knew he was my guardian angel because his teeth were just as beautiful as spikes. Even if he only reads it when I’m dead or engaged, Hayden will have the moment of laughter thinking about spikes teeth. You would have to know him. Spike is a cute colombian boy I dated. He had epically beautiful teeth. You could pay that boy to smile outside the dentist office his teeth were so pretty. He had me with the beauty of his smile. He was like a shark. I get the urge to log into my real face book and look at a picture of spike and his damn teeth.
   I know my life his in the toilet. I know I’m and epic fuck up and a failure. Despite my mom trying to convince me I’m morbidly obese. Despite that I’ve totally quit eating and sleeping like a healthy person. Despite the kidneys I’m hellbent to destroy. Despite the fact my mom hit me and convinced me I’m trash. My bff can send me a message like ‘Don’t give up on life. Think about little brown boys with teeth like spike’ I will giggle. When I’m on the verge of flushing the toilet little things like spike’s teeth, keep me going. I’m just sticking around for communication with my bff and a few close friends. I learned a lesson watching Madmen. It’s a fact of life the more memos you send the less likely they’ll be read.
   I know by writing a novel hardly anyone will take the time to read anything I post on facebook. If I could sum up my thoughts in one entertaining paragraph more people would give a shit what I have to say. By giving so much of myself, I’ve actually managed complete alienation. Like the guy sending out too many memos, I’m pissed off. Fuck people that are too lazy to read memos. Especially really important ones. I’m memo guy. All I’m trying to do is build an incredible agency and no one reads memos. I’m angry the world isn’t more entertaining. I’m fighting back. I don’t give a shit if the agency gets off the ground. I’m going to write some fucking memos that are legendary. Plus, as a double fuck I’m not reading anyone else’s goddamn memos. I know I’m a hypocrite. As an artist I will embrace hypocrisy and just announce I’m no longer reading my facebook newsfeed.
   I did it like a duty. I enjoyed every picture of people’s kids. I heard about your dinner. I saw pictures of your dog. I did it. I have some amazing facebook friends. Unfortunately, no one I know does anything on facebook that is actually entertaining. If anyone mentioned one story about missing keys, boyfriend drama or something funny that happened in their life facebook would entertain me. Yawn. You people fucking bore me. Your memos suck. Fuck your dog. Fuck the inspirational quote to your best friend. Most of all, and I say it with love, Fuck your facebook game.
   Hayden gets it. We were able to bitch about the fact our newsfeeds are lame. We both know great people. Yet our newsfeeds are about as entertaining as reading the daily flyer. Life could be a novel. I’m reading ads for free couches. It’s like an ad for a job you know is just a pyramid scheme. Facebook makes me think of an ad trying to get me to buy supplies to make beaded earrings for money. I fell for the ad. I’m following the directions making my damn beaded earrings. Yet when I go to sell them back to the company, my earrings are never perfect and they refuse to buy them. I realize I’ve been scammed and ass raped for my time and money. I call bullshit. Fuck that company. It was worth it. Now, I know I love making earrings. I’m reinvesting in supplies, doing it my way and selling my earrings on etsy. I realize wordpress is my etsy. I also realize I can get the cheapest beads from the company that ass raped me.
   I will buy supplies from facebook. Each post is my bead earring. It takes time, energy, and enthusiasm to make a fucking earring. Rational people scream get a fucking job and stop making earrings. I can’t explain it to someone who doesn’t create. Making earrings, posts and analogies is my drug. I need it. I want it. I have to have it all the time. Since I have no ties and I’ve chosen to live like Emily Dickinson I have the luxury of making earrings. My selfish urge to write isn’t hurting my loved ones. No babies are going hungry because I’ve lost my mind a bit and I choose to write. I also have money. Aunt Jonell managed to leave me enough to start over. Some people will get it. Even if it’s only comparable to staying up really late to finish a great book or an amazing movie. You know you’re going to feel like shit the next day. Yet nothing can stop you until you see how it ends.
   I took a break from school and fell in love with writing. The way some people like to dance, cook, make music or art and act. Most people would be content to slightly indulge these new loves. I’m screaming I have to dance and you can’t stop me. There comes a time for every person who says ‘I have to dance and I can make it work’ when they are judged by everyone they know. Every ballerina wonders what other ballerinas think of her dancing. I doubt my own ability. If I was a ballerina, I would be a fat ballerina. I would have the beauty and poise. But, I’d just be too fat.
   Right this moment I feel like a fat ballerina willing to risk going to Juilliard. Even my own damn mom tells me how fat I am every second of the day. I can relate to a fat ballerina. I made the decision not to go back to nursing because I can dance. Fuck what anyone says. I’m rough around the edges. My grammar is shit. I know I need an editor. I know this is going to be as humiliating as being twenty pounds overweight at Juilliard. I have to write. NA guy hurt so bad because he slammed having a dream so hard I almost doubted myself. Every ballerina is going to get called a ‘silly dreamer.’ There is an insanity to the devotion that I have compared to my actual rewards. No one needs to rub it in my face that I do it for free. I know there is no grand high paying job guaranteed after Juilliard. I know it may mean I end up homeless and hungy. I know I gave up a sure thing.
   But you know what I would do if I were a fat ballerina. I would face ridicule and embrace the challenge. If I were a fat ballerina I would probably be dancing naked for money. I would do moves on a pole that men thought defied gravity. I would dance 20 hours a day. I’d stop eating garbage. I would get liposuction on my thighs and go directly to the studio. Somewhere in this strange world there is a fat ballerina trying to explain why she’d risk a hard life just to dance. Some poor fat dancer is probably thinking ‘damn, I wish I could just write a book.’ She could understand sitting in my attic with a simple mission to tell a story. Like any great creative endeavor, some people will never get it.
   I asked my bff if she ever had ‘hippie moments’ when she felt like declaring I believe in peace, trees and all things beautiful and free. She gets it. I will be a fucking hippie. I believe in dreams and protests. The fact I can finally have a voice and the freedom of my body has made me revolt against anything that confines me. My dad was a hippie that went to Vietnam. If I go back to nursing school I’m reliving his mistakes. I have this fiery spirit and nursing is literally like putting me in Vietnam. I’ll stand there with my gun and tell you why the war is fucked up. I would hold the needle in my hand and I would see healthcare as the ugly institution it really is and I would hate my existence.
   I knew I couldn’t do it with Terri Pazdell in the nursing home. I watched a little old lady with a broken hip not get fed because they didn’t have enough staff to take thirty minutes to feed her. She was fine when she was able to feed herself. As soon as she became another mouth to feed she simply didn’t get fed. She dropped weight like she was in a concentration camp. ‘The nutritionist’ at the facility has received the full karmic slam of my wrath. If you make me furious to the point I pray that one day you will be punished. You are the scum of the earth. When I talk to God I don’t ask him to reign down fury until I meet someone like ‘the nutritionist.’ Me and Terri were trying to feed the poor woman. Because of student nurses sometimes hungry old people get a meal. The nutritionist accused of us of feeding the woman laying down. I can handle getting my ass chewed. It was what happened next.
   The nutritionist says family members are demanding a meeting because the poor little old lady looks like she’s starving. She tried to feed the lady. In five seconds she decided that she could tell the family that the old woman won’t eat. What happens next was the only bright moment I felt trying to be a nurse. We got her to start eating. I’ve never fed someone whose starving. I did that day. It took an hour but we managed to feed this lady that ‘refuses food’ according to the nutritionist. What I remember the most is that she couldn’t get enough tea. God told me that I was in Vietnam when I made damn near five trips to the kitchen to refill her tea. As I made those trips down piss smelling hallways I realized the fact that no nursing home is going to be staffed to the point where everyone gets fed. No one but a student nurse is going to go to the effort of refilling tea five times. Welcome to America. We don’t bother feeding people in nursing homes.
   I’m a rational person. I asked my professor in fury how the nutritionist couldn’t see that this woman needed some fucking ensure? I can accept they don’t have the time to feed her. I made the assumption that we live in a world where a nutritious milkshake is not a luxury. When my teacher explains it takes a doctor to order ensure like a drug. She explains to me that people don’t get ensure because it’s just too expensive. I realized that American healthcare is the most fucked up problem I could ever discuss. American Healthcare makes Vietnam seem like a good idea. Everybody in my clinical rotation got to see me lose my shit. I was so pissed off all I could do was cry and shake violently. That post-conference made me feel like I was trying to describe what it felt like to kill my first enemy in battle. The simple truth is that I can’t kill people. I don’t care what I’m fighting for… I can’t pull the trigger when I see the enemy. Like my father, I don’t believe in war.
   Ensure. Don’t think just because your grandma is at a nursing home she gets ensure. If you do have a grandma in the nursing home and you don’t bring her ensure. FUCK YOU. It’s as simple as people starving to death. Yet, no one sees the problem. It comes back to people like jenny’s boyfriend. Healthcare is that moment when someone raises a fist to strike. I’ll never make it as a nurse because I can’t keep my mouth shut. When the nutritionist is raising her fist at some defenseless old woman I’m going to do something. In many ways, I would’ve been more proud of myself if I actually confronted the nutritionist. If I had thrown a monumental fit over ensure to the extent that keiser students were no longer welcome in that shit hole nursing home, I could stand with my head held high.
   If Uncle David hadn’t eaten a bullet, I wouldn’t have ever grown the balls to walk away from Vietnam. I would have spent all my time in the military. I would learn to look the other way when people die. It wouldn’t bother me. That could’ve been my life. It would reach a point when principles like ensure don’t mean as much to me as the pursuit of posting my status in the latest Farmville. I could’ve been ‘that girl.’
   If I’m a life’s equivalent of a fat ballerina. I’m going to dance. I don’t care if the people I love the most choose never to watch me perform. I dance for strangers. Strangers watch me dance and they don’t just see some awkward fat girl. Strangers view me as a ballerina. It doesn’t matter if I’m fat. Strangers walk past my open window and they sit and stare. There is something so fundamentally beautiful about a fat woman who isn’t afraid to dance. Her friends and family may be mortified at the way she dares to move her hips. But, there are men like my Don CeSar angel that make fat women feel beautiful. In that moment of watching women dance he is mesmerized by the excess jiggle of a fat ass. If you can’t tolerate watching the pleasant jiggle of fat, you’re never going to read my stories. Even if I loose the weight at Juilliard, I will always dance with the passion of a fat girl with confidence.
   This latest confrontation started with something lovely. A love song from Nico which made me reach out and confess a secret crush. It could’ve ended there. But, I’m a fat ballerina that likes to dance. NA guy doesn’t ever get to watch my fat jiggle. He can stand in front of my window. He can watch me dance. But, he’ll never see the rhythm of my flesh close enough to actually see my fat jiggle. He just knows it’s there taunting him like a beautiful woman giving him a lap dance while wearing a sweat suit. He called my love a drug. I’m not something dirty like a drug. I’m something beautiful like a fat girl dancing. I can’t help it if you can’t stop watching. I can’t stop dancing.
   I will never be Emily Dickinson. But, I choose to live like her. In my bedroom with nothing but my writing and my correspondence I can relate. Nonetheless, I have the brain of Sylvia Plath. It is my blood. It is my brain chemistry. I will admit I’m probably going out with my head in the oven. However, till I actually check out I’m going to do my best to be entertaining and disturbing like The Bell Jar. I’ll always be something that women can relate to even if they don’t understand. I will satisfy anyone that joins my ad agency. I’m fighting to build something. I’ve been thinking about my memos. I can be Emily Dickinson or I can be Sylvia Plath. I may have started writing with the simplicity of Emily Dickinson but the entire existence of NA guy turned me into Sylvia Plath. If I could put a title on a memo this one would be called YOU DON’T FUCK WITH SYLVIA PLATH.
   I will emasculate you with words. When Jenny’s fiance earned my wrath all he could retort with was ‘You’re fucking fat.’ I’ve never met a man who could resist the urge to call me fat. It doesn’t phase me. I can make someone feel ugly. Or I can burn with the brilliance of Sylvia Plath and destroy. When I went on an intense tirade on a man that wears diapers… I became a legend. I stood in front of two police officers and came up with every way to destroy the soul of a man with a broke dick that shits himself. The police will never forget it. I had them practically rolling on the floor in laughter. When I started to call him ‘huggies’ one of the officers actually stopped me to say ‘huggies, damn your good.’ Till the day he dies I will call him diaper boy.
   This is for NA guy. When Emily Dickinson reached out and you responded with ‘mermaids are seasluts,’ you earned the wrath of Sylvia Plath. I have self control. However, in one stupid honest moment when I reached out to you as a friend because I realize I’ve probably destroyed my kidneys you actually shit in my mouth. Rarely, has anyone taken me at a weak moment and shat in my mouth. I checked his page out of curiosity and I’m blocked. He can still stand in front of my window.
   When I take a glance through his window he holds up one single picture. The picture is something I’ll be able to see in my head and giggle about for a lifetime.
   It’s a picture of NA guy standing between two men hugging them. It hits me that I always date men who are kind of gay. I love male bonding. I can see a picture of three men and not think sex. However, it’s the fact that anyone who remembers me from high school has had one clear thought… ‘Someone, stop lynn from chasing after that boy that fucked the lion in ‘the lion, the witch and the wardrobe.’ My closest friends know about you. As they’re reading this they’re thinking I can’t believe Lynn went there. I’m opening the motherfucking wardrobe. I could’ve gone a lifetime without mentioning it. But there is a special place in my hell you have earned by taking my moment of my emotional weakness and turning it into some way to make me feel like a junkie slut. I may be facing organ failure. But, I still have fire in my soul. The combination makes me take risks like opening the wardrobe. I’ve got nothing to lose.
   If you don’t know me from freshman year of high school, let Sylvia Plath weave you a story. I was so happy to have a part in the school play. Drama was new and exciting. It was a shit storm of hot young boys and I was a teenage whore. NA guy was one of my first experiences having a boyfriend. Things were great. Then the rumor hit. I wonder who had to sit me down and tell me that everyone I knew had heard that my boyfriend fucked the lion. I was probably the last person that heard the rumor. Kids that never knew the school had an auditorium seemed to know about the lion fucking before me. Like a rumor it spread like wildfire. It was everything from a blow job to anal rape. Then everybody needed to tell me new details.
   It’s been so long I can’t remember if I broke up with him or if he just disappeared. I’m surprised my teachers didn’t consul me. All I knew is that suddenly I was the girl with the gay boyfriend. It wouldn’t have been so funny if it hadn’t been the lion. I can laugh about it now. Back then it was mortifying. It was soul crushing. It also made me a legendary fag hag. After NA guy left I think I dated every man in the school that questioned his sexuality. It was like my duty to determine if a man liked boys, girls or both. I just went downstairs and took a long shower. I actually thought of all the men I’ve dated. Holy shit, I could argue that every man I dated besides tim was a little gay.
   What it all boils down to is I let some lion fucker call me a junkie slut. Dude, you fucked the lion…and you leave me the visual of you hugging men. The irony. I’m done for the night. One final thing, I just got another random life insurance check for five grand. Sometimes, when you live like a fat ballerina God actually rewards you. Tonight, I made damn good money making beaded earrings. Watch me dance you dirty Lion fucker.