I Was Not Killed in The Mexican Drug War- Only Literarily Maimed

I have been gone on a journey. Oh sure, it looks like everything is the same on the outside, but I assure you my absence from the blogomosphere has something to do with tornadoes and trainwrecks in oh the most delightful way.

Don't worry. I know I have essentially reduced my readership to .6 (even 0 in one day), but I'm okay with that. What I have missed is the reading, the community, the imaginary foreplay. They are busting my balls in my 50 hour per week unpaid teaching position "they" like to call "apprentice" teaching. And, boy I am burned out. I am in some day of spring break with my children with grandparents, long lost fathers and jet-skiing rich friends for the week and even then, four days in, I am only just now posting.

This may seem like another complaining post- like the one I was unfortunate enough to have left for weeks at the top o me favorite blog-post-of-the-century-not, but it's not. It is not an apology either. If blogging is not for fun and for free, it's not for me, but I love and miss you. Yes, you.

It's been so long since we made out. I wrote you a poem. I recalled our night together. I wished I had your advice. Couldn't we just walk on Friday and pretend I was never this flaky? I know you would have listened. I know that you came to see how I was doing.

I came out to my mom.

Yes. In twenty years of knowing I am bi-sexual at the least, a lesbian with the mostest at best, I finally told my mom I'm about 80% certain I'm gay.

Of course, she flippantly said she's known that since high school.


So things have been bad and things have been good and then they've been bad again, and then they've been good again, and then they were here, there and everywhere. But, I would eat you in a house and I would eat you with a mouse and I would eat you here or there. I would eat you anywhere.

My mom thought I knew how to read at some ridiculously young age because I had memorized the words to that book, you know. It is embedded in my psyche.

Anyways, school had found me writing as much as I possibly have time for in the form of lesson planning, which I am apparently too slow at, though I intend to churn out the first 12,000 words tomorrow and Thursday for the contest that I wish to submit an entry for to win my $50,000 so Mr. Bee and I can live on in a front house and a garage apartment on a rotating basis, so the kids can live in the same house, but we can have a bachelor pad in the back for to where we can bring the ladiez for our sexcapades. All those ladiez that's knocking down our door.

I'll be back again tomorrow. I wrote a poem I'll leave you with.


I hope to come and read what you have been writing.

It's me not you. And, then some never noticed and are all like, "What?"

Well, this poem's para you y tu:

Pent up
Soon I'll be
But aware
You're awakening
With my heart
In your hands
As dreams unfold;
Obvious and
Oblivious only differ
By the lie
We live
To tell our children
Not to do the same.


Anonymous said...

Glad you're ok - I was getting worried about the silence. I like the poem. Oh, and my mom sassed the hippie dude on the hike and bike trail because he called her "Mom". It was a beautiful thing.

Dr. Zaius said...

We love you too and three, Freida Bee!

Randal Graves said...

Yeah, "lesson plans" and "coming out" and "12,000 words." We all know you were having lavish, TARP-funded lesbo orgies in your swanky thousands of square meters palatial digs with champagne and caviar and cameos by the dude that used to host Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous I can't remember his name.

I feel better that you haven't vanished via aliens or Mexican druglords or Cheney or Old Europeans or, gasp, Texans, and that's the honest-to-Yoda truth.

Utah Savage said...

Even if I can't get published will you eat me?

Bubs said...

"I came out to my mom...Of course, she flippantly said she's known that since high school."

Wow. I like how you just dropped that bomb in there, mid-post. No big deal. Some time you've had!

And here's what grabbed me about that poem:

"We live
To tell our children
Not to do the same."

Now, if only those headstrong little bastards would listen

Sandy Underpants said...

hey FBMD, I think I like you better now that you're a doctor, no but yes but no wait a minute, it's like you was pie and now there's ice cream too, doctor style. and dare I say, pussy juice syrup. hit runs down the chin, drip drip drip on the "Come on over here boy, and bust up this here chiffarobe". my Dad always wanted extra sharp cheddar cheese with his apple pie. the senses decay, feller gets of an age, ya gotta yank on 'em like you're startin' a mower. but really, it's like you was Superwoman and now you're Dr. Superwoman who in your secret identity you deliver tasty pies. life is fun and painful and short.

themom said...

welcome back...we've been missing you.

Suzi Riot said...

Nice to read from you again. Sounds like you need to go on a crazy trip somewhere you've never been for a couple weeks. I know I do.

Bukko_in_Australia said...

Well OF COURSE you're gay. That's why the lesbian plot subtexts with the ominous overtones are building in your part of the Fluffy fauxblog. Don't think I can't see that coming from three months away...

Mauigirl said...

Just realized you're back here! Sorry to have not checked sooner but for some reason your blog doesn't update automatically on my blog feed list!

Sounds as if your journey has been a good one.