Unforgivable

Have you ever done something so unforgivable that you want to reverse time?

Have you ever done something so unforgivable that you want to crawl into a hole and sleep for a thousand years?

Have you ever done something so unforgivable that you known you don’t deserve to be given another chance but you would do anything within your power to have that chance?

Have you ever done something so unforgivable that you hate every part of yourself?

Have you ever done something so unforgivable that you know you will probably end up losing one of the best things you ever had….all because you were to prideful to do the right thing?

I have and it is the worst hell you could possibly imagine.

In which I Discuss Traditions

I have been in the Lifestyle (BDSM) for 30 years. Some of those years, I have been active, some, I have not.

Even when I haven’t been active, I have always identified as a submissive. It’s what I am. It’s as much a part of me as the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins and the beat of my heart.

Lately, I have been seeing a new trend of submissives collaring their Doms, this is a first for me and quite mind boggling.

There was a time, not that long ago, in which the lifestyle was exclusive and not inclusive. It was exclusive so as to protect people from a society that would not understand. People could not just attend any event or party that they wanted to unless they had been vouched for by somebody who was established in the community. There were traditions and protocols in place that had come from years of trial and error. Those protocols and traditions worked simply because, they worked. Never would you have found a situation in which a submissive collared there Dom.

Then, the Internet came along and people were able to find out about the lifestyle through research on the Internet. Suddenly, people could find their local dungeons and they could go to parties and they could go to events and they didn’t have to be vouched for and they didn’t have to be vetted before they could attend. 
And that’s when the watering down of everything started.
This lifestyle has a rich history, it has a beautiful history. But that history, the protocols, the traditions…they are all being left behind by an entirely new generation of people who have no reverence for the beauty in tradition and protocol. An entire generation of people Who think that just because they’re a little kinky in the bedroom that means that they are engaging in BDSM.

People need to actually research and learn about something that they claim to be a part of. They need to research and learn the history of something that they claim to love. What they don’t need to do is change the very core of BDSM to make it work for them when in reality it’s not meant for them.

Bdsm is not for everyone, no matter how much you want it to be….and that’s ok.
~Signe

In Which I Discuss Why Women Are Not Complicated.

“Why aren’t there any good men out there?” “All men want is sex” 

How many times have we seen this bullshit on social media? Some woman who was in a relationship and talking about how wonderful her man was 2 weeks prior is now dragging his name through the mud. Again. This is a common pattern that women repeat, time and time again.

But, why? 

Gentleman, I’m going to let you in on a secret……

Women are not half as complicated as they would like you to believe that they are; give them sparkly things and tell them that they are pretty. 

I’m all seriousness, women are by their very nature, extremely vain and extremely needy. Take a look at some of the “secret” adult centric groups on Facebook. Every day, there are numerous posts, mostly by women, showing off their breasts and asses. These women get many comments from thirsty guys telling them how “hot” and “sexy” they are and the women lap it up like cats to cream. Why does this happen? Vanity.

The neediness is also strong in the majority of women. Women don’t want to be alone and as a result, the hook up with and choose men who they perceive will take care of them. This is where trouble stems from. When a woman had sex with a man, she doesn’t separate her emotions from the physical. Most men are able to separate the two and as a result they have no problem fucking as many women as they can. 

In many relationships, the man is not as emotionally invested and the woman is emotionally over invested. This is why women get hurt…they make assumptions about how the man feels instead of actually talking about it.

Once you know a woman’s weak spots, you will have the upper hand, every time.
~Signe

In which I comment on the 2016 presidential election .

​I had really hoped that after the election was said and done, people would dial down on the gross and negative behavior. Sadly, that has not happened. 
I don’t care who you voted for. I don’t care if your candidate won or lost. I don’t care if you are happy or sad about the fact that your candidate won or lost. 

What I do care about is the fact that the rest of the world is watching us and how we, as Americans, come together or not after such a divisive election cycle.
Some of the things I have seen come across my feed are just gross. I’m not going to name names but the fact is this is not the worst thing to have happened to our country. Let’s stop acting like it is.9/11 was worse. The Oklahoma city bombing was worse. Pearl Harbor was worse.
If you really want to make a difference, and it’s not just sound and Fury signifying nothing…. get out there, make a difference in your communities, treat other people with respect and compassion, be a good person and a good example for your children.
At the end of the day, we’re in this together.

~Signe 

I am Done With My Graceless heart…..

“And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind, I can never leave the past behind, I can see no way, I can see no way, I’m always dragging that horse around.
All of these questions, such a mournful sound. Tonight, I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground.”
~Florence + the Machine

Heart ache is a horrible thing. You think you are prepared for it, but you never really are. Even when you know the answers, you find yourself wanting to ask the questions, wanting to hear a different answer than that which is the truth; hoping that when you get the answer from the person you ask the question of, you will find out that you were wrong. But…..you weren’t, were you?

That’s the worst part, It’s like somebody threw you into the iciest of waters….the feeling of thousands of shards of glass ripping into your flesh, the pain is almost unbearable and you will do anything to make it stop, because you hurt so much. And as your fighting to get past the pain and just learn how to breathe again, trying so hard to not go into panic mode, you realize the truth……

You did this to yourself. You gave your heart and trust to someone who, in the end, would tear your world apart. You realize that, in fact, you saw the storm coming, even before you realized that’s what it was…That storm that leaves your world in shambles, like those towns in Tornado Alley; the ones that you see on the news during the late summer months, where everything has been leveled and yet, the people swear that they had no idea this was going to happen.

That’s right, you are as much in denial as those people. Of course you saw this coming, you just refused to acknowledge it. Refused to read the writing that was on the wall…..in big red letters. You’re head was so fucking buried into the ground that you didn’t stand a prayer.

And yet…you can’t be angry. You care so much for this person and You’re grateful for the gifts they gave you, those things that aren’t tangible. Things like introducing you so some amazing people. People like their sweet little boy. Like that smooth as glass whiskey and poshine. Making you take accountability for yourself and never letting you make excuses, never letting you be anything but the best, even if that means bleeding for it.

In the end, they promise you that they will never leave your life and even though you are hurting and even though you don’t want to believe them, you do. So, you sit back and watch them go after what they want, Knowing that they will get hurt and knowing that when they do, you will help them work through the pain.

You do this because you are bonded. You know it, they know it. The bond is the sort of bond that will never be broken by anything, not even death will break it.

” And given half the chance would I take any of it back. It’s a fine romance but it’s left me so undone. It’s always darkest before the dawn”
~Florence + the Machine

Honey, I’m home.

“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.” ~Charles Bukowski

Life is a funny thing. You think you have everything figured out and then something happens to fuck it all up…..

I am blessed to work for a great company, it is a company that has its roots deep in the Pacific NW. Back in May, I was a section head for one of the departments in my location. I was slated to be moved to a different department. I had planned to move to the department with the intention of eventually becoming a manager at a different location. One night, about 2 weeks before I was supposed to make my transition, I fell.

When I say that I fell, I don’t mean that I slipped and landed on my butt. I mean, I slipped and slammed down on my back, smacking the back of my head and knocking the wind out of myself. That was the beginning of the end of my career, in store, that is. I have been blessed to work for a company that is understanding of my challenges and wants to see me succeed.

Because I love the company I work for and because I wanted to stay with them, even if it wasn’t going to be in the store, I started to look at other career opportunities within the company. Finally, I came across a position at the head office for a “Systems Analyst Specialist” AKA, help desk person. So, I applied. I interviewed and….I got the job.

Now…back to the fall and a discovery. As I mentioned, when I fell, I hit my head. As a result, I was having dizziness so the doctor sent me in for a CT scan last week. Two days ago, I was informed that there was a 3 inch mass located at the right frontal lobe of my brain that was growing out of the membrane that covers the brain and spinal cord. The official term is a Meningioma. Most likely, it is benign but I have had two family members pass from this so I will be seeing a neurologist. Of course, N.D., my warrior said, “I have a pocket knife, a shop vac and a drill if you want to get it out now.” Trust me, it was his way of being sweet.

On another note, my sweet grandson, Berzerker Boy will be four at the end of the month and will be starting school soon and his mother is graduating from college. It makes me a little weepy.

So, there you have it, my crazy life.

It’s good to be home

~Signe

On Being Called a Feminist. (Dedicated to my warrior)

    I’m an old fashioned girl. I have always been secure in my intelligence and my social skills. I am able to easily fit comfortably into pretty most any social setting I’ve been dropped into. I know that I can face any challenge placed before me and overcome it with grace and dignity.

     That being said, why is it that so many women who identify as feminists are so insistent that all women join the feminist movement?  I believe that if a woman is willing and able to do all of the same things on a job site, as an electrician that my husband, who is an electrician, does, well then, she should be paid the same wages.
When it comes to reproductive choices, those are decisions best left between a woman and her doctor and her husband or partner, if there is one. I believe women should be able to vote as they chose, without interference.

     I also believe our society does a great disservice to our men, starting when they are in school. Little boys are treated and educated the same way little girls are, which is not always a good thing due to the fact that, while little girls can sit and learn…little boys have so much energy that they find it hard to sit still and focus.

     Eventually,  these little boys grow up to become men who have been told, constantly, that there is no place for them to be men. There is no real encouragement to go out and bond with other men. We send our boys to war and when they return as men who have become warriors, with all of the challenges that come with that, we become offended at what they are rather than celebrate and honor them.

     I won’t lie, I want men who take charge.  Men who decide what they want and go out and claim it as their own.  Men who are willing to fight and die, whether in protecting the country or protecting me. I want men who, rather than being offended at every little thing, take action and change things. I want man who, even though he will cry at the death of his friends,  won’t cry when the shit hits the fan.

    So, no, please don’t call me a feminist. I don’t want that title.

IN WHICH I DISCUSS PTSD.

     After a bit of a hiatus,  I have returned. The month of August was a trying time for me, the volcano erupted and I simply was not prepared for it. That’s the SHITTY thing about PTSD, it likes to rear it’s ugly head at the most inconvenient of times. It can lay dormant for so long and when it arrives,  it does so, with a vengeance and dragging Hell from behind.
     It has been 30 years since the sexual abuse that I suffered at the hands of my mothers husband and to this day, it still affects me. I am angry. Angry at my mother for being so weak and not protecting me, her only child from the monster she married. I am angry that I went from being a happy, very obviously female child to withdrawing and changing how I looked in the pathetic attempt to make myself less female, less girly so.that the abuse would stop, but it didn’t and my own family never noticed or if they did, they ignored it. Perhaps they were hoping it would go away. Heavens know I hoped it would stop. But it continued. My suffering continued. I’m angry that I was so obviously acting out in inappropriate ways and no one cared enough to step In and ask “Why is this happening?”.
     So I have carried around this anger for 30 years. And the anger has festered, like a wound that has gone untreated. It is constantly infected and some days it can be ignored. Other days, those are a different story. Those are the days that you don’t see coming. Those are the days that leave you in a heap in your bed unable to move, unable to speak, unable to function like a normal person. Those are the days where you relive that hell you were in. The hell where you were trapped for all those years with no escape in sight. Where you were all alone,  with a monster as your keeper.
     Luckily,  for me, those days, the really bad ones,  are far and few between.  I still have panic attacks and triggers that happen on a weekly basis, but I am rather adept at compartmentalizing and can get that crap under control fast, with no muss and relatively little fuss.
     My life is a series of controlled actions and it keeps me functioning very well, even when I’m falling apart inside. I surround myself with a small group of people who I love and who in return love me, even when I’m not always lovable. For them, I am extremely grateful, for they are my rocks.

Mother Fuck-Her….Trigger Warning

     A few years ago, I found the demons from my past creeping back and starting to affect me. I turned to poetry to face them. This is one I wrote. It took over 2 months to write it because of the pain it would bring back. If you are easily triggered, please stop reading here….

     Image is everything, isn’t that what they say? Well guess what bitch….It’s reckoning day. I’ve come to collect my pound of flesh, it may not be fresh, but it will do. Time for the sins of the past to be answered by you.

Tell me, mother dear, how did it feel? Selling my innocence…All of the while, keeping your silence with a smile. Letting your husband rape me as though I were a child whore…All so you could go out and shop some more.

Knowing he was the one to break my 8 year old hymen….just how many carats was that lovely new diamond?

Seven years, seven years, my childhood was stolen, but to the rest of the world, we appeared to be shiny and golden.

Nightly visits to my dark and silent room. And all I could do was close my eyes and hope it would soon end.

His hand over my mouth as he forced himself into me. Don’t lie you fucking bitch and say you didn’t see.

With tears in my eyes, I was begging you to take me away, your answer was always the same, “But we have bills to pay”

So I suffered in silence and kept losing myself…All so you could by more pretty things to display on a shelf.

I was 15 years young, when it came to an end…tell me mommy dear is that because there was no more money to spend?

Laying in bed, terrified to close my eyes, all I kept hearing were your toxic little lies. “Your daddy loves you…look at my pretty new shoes” “Your daddy protects you…and a brand new purse too!”

Now I’m 43 and daddy is dead, I’ve finally evicted him from my head. Bunt since he can’t answer for his sins, ’cause he’s laying cold in the ground, to you mommy dear, we must now come around.

It is time…you must answer for your crimes. No more denial or excuses will suffice. Tell us why you did what you did.

Tell us why you let your only child suffer. Tell us why, please tell us why….

Mother

            fuck–her             

In Which I Discuss the Slobification of America as Evidenced by Pajamas in Public.

     “Dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman.” ~Coco Chanel

     I have a few pet peeves, some huge, some not so much. As someone who grew up surrounded by women who took pride in how they dressed and presented themselves to the world, pajamas worn in public is in the top five peeves of mine.

     I have a very simple outlook on when it would be acceptable to wear your pajamas in public and when it would not, let me clarify: It is acceptable to wear your pajamas in public if you are pregnant and have woken in the middle of the night with a human being wanting to exit your body….It is acceptable to wear your pajamas in public if the human wanting to exit your body was a false alarm…It is acceptable to wear your pajamas in public if the human being who exited your body is now bleeding profusely from some part of their body and you need to get them to the hospital….It is acceptable to wear your pajamas in public if you have to run to the 24 hour pharmacy for medicine for said human being….It is acceptable to wear your pajamas in public if you are getting your newspaper or taking the dog out for its morning constitution.

     Times in which it would not be acceptable to wear your pajamas in public: Shopping in any part of the day for your groceries….Eating at restaurants, even fast food joints….going to the mall….going to the salon….going to the tattoo artist…..any time that does not fall under the heading of “acceptable times”.  Seriously, get yourself some damned yoga pants if you are too lazy to take some pride in the way you dress. I mean, they aren’t that expensive at Old Navy and they are rather flattering…much more so than flannel over sized cartoon character pajamas.

     Seriously, when did this happen? When did people stop caring about how they presented themselves? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think one needs to dress to the nines in Chanel and pearls when shopping for produce, but is it too much to ask that you not wear something that you bought in the intimates section of your local Target store?  Do people really think that looking like a fugitive from the local mental institution is really a good way to go?

     Look, one does not need to forsake comfort when dressing in “street clothes”. For example, I am always on the go and it is not unusual to see me in some loose, wide legged linen pants or a nice pair of jeans with a nice tee shirt and lightweight cardigan and a pair of ballerina flats. The outfit is comfortable, cute and doesn’t make me look like I have no concern for how the world will judge me.

     Because trust me, the world will judge you, whether fair or not, on how you present yourself. You can either spend your life beating your  head against the wall or you can accept that you sometimes have to play the game to get a chance at winning.

~Signe