Opinions Of An Outraged Triage Nurse

Often times I’m asked by other bloggers to post stories or submissions to my blog since I have such a diverse cross section of readers that visit The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog. Sometimes emails are exchanged between friends with things that they thought were humorous in some way or tell a good story and they don’t want that story to go to waste or never be seen. I offer this promise, as it has always been here since the beginning, when readers contact me I usually try to accommodate the request, and the following submission y’all will read is just that, it has been passed along in emails for quite some time when it finally fell into the hands of my aunt who just happens to be a retired nurse. There are over 90 forwards of the email, mostly if I had to guess, to other medical professionals and such. She sent it to me to see if it was worthy to go onto my blog. After reading the message a few times I thought it will fit in here just perfectly. I like it when people vent, I especially like it when what is being vented about is relatable to myself, family, and the general public. Y’all will see some humor and sarcasm which I’m positive is from this emergency room triage nurse’s years of experience serving the public. I share this post with y’all today with my appreciation and gratitude to all the medical professionals who serve the public, my hat is off to y’all. I dedicate this to post to ALL of my doctor, nurse, and medical staff friends out their in the world.

Just remember, the views, opinions, and positions expressed by this submission from an emergency room triage nurse on The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog is hers alone, and do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions, or positions of The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog. By reading the following submission, you understand and do not hold responsible The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog for the contents of this submission. The following submission contains strong and coarse adult language which might offend the faint of heart, so reader discretion is advised, and now you have been warned.


People of the world, I am a triage nurse at a busy emergency room in a major metropolitan city. There is much to be said about the people who come into emergency rooms and I’m taking my turn to give my personal opinion, so let me get started.

Do NOT come up to the front desk of the Emergency Room, fling your health insurance card at me, tell me that your doctor told you to come in, stand there with a bored expression on your face and cross your arms over your chest. That is not helpful. When I ask what you are specifically here for do not repeat that the Doctor told you to come in. When I ask what SYMPTOMS caused you to come in; Please do not say that it’s in the fucking computer to me. There are 16 God damn people behind you all sicker than your whiney morbidly obese smoking ass. I’m not going to take the 8 minutes to log onto the computer, log my way in and through your medical record until I get to the part where your doctor’s phone nurse writes “This asshole smoker called me because he’s got a cough” Just tell me that you’re here for the fucking cough!

If your spouse (usually the sensible one) drags you in for the stroke that you had 3 days ago and you still have facial droop, slurred speech, and one-sided paralysis do not state that “My wife made me come in” when I ask why you’re here. Just tell me what the fuck you’re here for. And after I put you in line to go back to the ER do not send your cringing hand-wringing co-dependant family members up to me every 15 minutes to ask if it’s your turn yet. IF IT WAS YOUR TURN WE WOULD BE CALLING YOUR GOD DAMN NAME. The window for stroke treatment was 3 hours. Now that you’re long past it you’re looking at a lengthy rehab. After 3 days another hour or four won’t make a lick of difference. Your anger, frustration, worry, and regret will not get you in any faster. As the slow truth of your stupidity sinks in do not glare at me.

Do not ask to talk to my supervisor or the hospital supervisor when I talk to you in the same tone of voice that you talk to me. This is not Burger King, you do not get it ‘Your way right away.’ The squeaky wheel does not always get the grease. Do not excessively first name me just because I’m required to wear a fucking hospital badge. Including my full name in every sentence is a shallow manipulation, an implied threat that unless you get your way another personally directed customer complaint is forthcoming. I am not stupid. Your threats annoy the shit out of me. Making it personal does not change the 3 hour wait. Making it personal may result in the often used “Therapeutic wait”  (reserved for true assholes). You do not want a fucking therapeutic wait.

Don’t cough in my face. Being in a hospital does not automatically excuse you from the social expectations that we as society have had of you since you were three. Do not be like the drunks who tell me that “If you didn’t want to be coughed (shit, spat, vomited, bled, pissed) on you shoulda’ been a carpenter” If you continue this behavior do not be surprised when I throw a towel over your face while you are in mid-cough or mid-sentence.

Do not tell me that you “Can’t breathe” in long rambling 20 word sentences. In the ghetto that may mean something different, Here in the ER we have different standards for what it really means to not be able to breathe. My bar of not breathing will be reset weekly by the people that are truly blue and/or about 30 seconds from coding from lack of Oxygen. There are people whose lungs are so diseased and scarred that they barely exchange oxygen on a good day with the help of their home oxygen tanks. These people come in and let their bodies do the speaking for them. They eloquently slump over their wheelchairs (or the ambulance gurneys) and are never so whiney about it as the 23 year old single smoking mom (of 4 kids by 4 fathers) who has been nursing an upper respiratory infection for a week or two.

Similarly, do not tell me that little Shantiqua is ‘bleeding bad’ with her 1cm cut, that your bullshit pain is 10/10, that you are suicidal when you took 3 Tylenol instead of 2 (gasp!) after mommy grounded you, or that because your emergency is the worse that you’ve ever had, that it’s the worst that could possibly happen in the sum total of human experience. I’m supposed to act like your story is the saddest tale that I’ve ever heard. It’s not. Sad? Sad is when the drunk driver that killed the kids is unhurt. Sad is when someone is actively psychotic but still lucid enough to know that they have driven away everyone in their life and ruined everything with their madness. Sad is listening to the same beautiful young woman beg for some medicines that will stop the hallucinations while crying in frustration and screaming her angst.

Sad is when people pull up to the front of the hospital with a dead relative in the passenger seat of their car. I mean this guy had been dead for 15 minutes and the family only focused on driving to the hospital. Did they pull over and call 911 in an area where the average response time is 5 minutes? No. Did they do CPR? No. Did they expect me to single-handedly yard this 265 lb guy out of the car, into a wheelchair, back to the ER, do CPR, code him just like on TV, and make a miracle happen? Yes! Yes that’s exactly what they expected. I sat there with my fingers stuck in his throat where his pulse should have been and said “He’s dead, he’s been dead for 15 minutes. What is it that you expect us to do?” We argued over his blue/gray corpse for about a minute before I reluctantly took him back to the ER and started the rain dance. Guess what? After we abused his corpse for 20-30 minutes (not my decision) he was STILL DEAD. Who would have thought?

Yes, I know what’s going on tonight. I’ve seen your exact symptoms hundreds of times. I order your X-rays, labs, ECG, and then read/interpret them (and you) before deciding where you’re sent. The whole model of my HMO’s emergency service (and the withholding of that service) is built on our clinical judgement. I am not (nor do I want to be) a doctor and I am not allowed to ‘diagnose’. Yet my job responsibilities and description require me to do exactly that in order to facilitate care. This arrives us at a legal fallacy where we (nurses) all pretend that we don’t know what’s going on and that “you’ll have to talk to the doctor” in order to keep our jobs and licenses. When we do tell people exactly what’s up, they use that to decide to leave (without seeing a doctor = legal mess), or argue ( = pain in my ass), or press for more medical advice, or complain, or ask for special treatment, or otherwise cause problems. Tired of not being told what’s up by the person with the knowledgeable smile? Tough shit. No, I’m not stupid. Telling you has only got me into trouble in the past. As I don’t know you, you’re not worth it.

Do not believe that because your doctor told you to come right to the ER that you have a right to be seen right away. Let us discuss why he really said that; LIABILITY. Your doctor doesn’t give a rat’s ass about little Johnny’s sniffles as long as he’s out of the clinic before 5:00. Filling up his over-booked appointment calender could have an adverse affect on that, but sending them ‘right away’ to the ER won’t! AND no one can ever sue him for bad advice or irresponsible behavior because he TOLD them to go the ER ‘Right away’ for the ‘Highest level of care.’ Gotta keep those malpractice premiums down! Motherfuckers.

There are only two things worse than a doctor that won’t see his own patients:

1) The worse thing is doctors that not only won’t see their own patients, but they send them into the ER with a wildly unrealistic set of expectations. “My doctor told me to come in right away and to go right back! He said I was too sick to wait in the lobby. He ordered you to do tests, they are (stop me if you’ve heard this one before) ON THE COMPUTER”. I’m not taking shit for orders from some lazy-ass, wart burning, boil lancing, sprained ankle rotating, sore throat examining general practitioner who has assessed you OVER THE PHONE and doesn’t even have ER privileges. Piss-off! you can get an appointment at the clinic in three hours and you’ll be fine. Walk down to the lab yourself if you want those tests.

2) Advice nurses are the bane of our existence. Sure they can’t tell everything over the phone, sure people are generally bad communicators, sure the clinics and doctors are over-booked, sure it’s 2-6 weeks out to even see a doctor, sure my cheap-ass HMO added another 90,000 new members last month but no infrastructure to deal with them, but the solution for this is not Not NOT to ‘go to the ER right away where they will fill the fantasies that our unscrupulous marketing department has instilled in you.’ Fuck off. I love getting advice nurses for patients. They must know because they are reluctant to mention it. We hate them all and feel no shame in railing against them while they suffer (off the clock) in their sick and/or injured misery.

People! I could go on for days and days, but I will spare you. Think about every miserable customer service job that you’ve ever had and multiply that by tenfold with whiney patients. It’s not that I hate people; I just hate peoples’ sense of entitlement and instant gratification. Folks might as well say “I have abused my body for decades and I’m here for you to fix me.” WTF?

To review:

1) Don’t be an asshole
2) Lose the weight, stop smoking, take your damn psych meds, and take care of yourself!
3) Its not our fault or responsibility that you’re sick/injured. In fact, it’s probably yours.
4) Folks that arrive dead usually stay dead
5) It’s not like on TV
6) Years of patient abuse have (clearly) left us all a bit burnt
7) Don’t forget your manners when you come to my ER : )

Battling a Memory Monster

Scorpion Sting:

Well written. I can attest to one thing here, PTSD does not have a switch, time does not heal this wound, and its very hard to want to be around your self with or without other people. However, people are quick to judge, quick to label, and even quicker to discard a person who they believe is broken beyond repair. Just some food for thought, carry on.

Originally posted on petitemagique:


Today, I would like to tell you a bit about the Memory Monster you can encounter.

It’s called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

This particular monster will haunt you after you experience something very traumatic.

First of all, let’s see what the specialists can tell us about this monster:

Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that may develop after a person is exposed to one or more traumatic events, such as sexual assault, serious injury, witnessing the death of a loved one, losing someone close or the threat of death. The diagnosis may be given when a group of symptoms such as disturbing recurring flashbacks, avoidance or numbing of memories of the event continue for more than a month after the traumatic event.

That just sucks! You already have experienced something awful and afterwards you have to battle this monster as well!


How identify…

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A Man’s Open Letter To His Mother


I was trolling around the internet as I usually do, looking for things being discussed by others by reviewing forums, social media, and so forth. I like to check out what is out there at any particular moment because I don’t want to have my own information wrong if I’m wrong or step on any toes if I’m right. Well, okay, I don’t really care about stepping on toes but I do like to know the toes I’m stepping on in advance if possible. Of course, nowadays, I seem to be pissing everyone off with what I post. I had made the choice not to do anything really new until after the new year but I found something that “moved” me and now I want to talk about it. In reality, everything we post on the internet, no matter where it is posted, can be considered an “open letter” by pure definition. How so? We don’t ever know who will be reading it much less if the intended party(ies) will ever read it. I relate it to pissing into the wind, it might get on someone somewhere and then again  it might not. Take my own blog for example, I take the time to write or do other posts, push publish, and wonder who stumbled across it by accident. Neither here nor there, when I write or post something it isn’t generally pointed in a specific direction, I call them shotgun blasts because it is unknown who will see or read them. It’s not like I have a dedicated audience waiting on the edge of their seat for what I will post next. Well, that’s not true, I have a handful of fans, aka The Scorpion Army, who always inform me that they are waiting for something. All I can say is that I’m sorry, life got busy for me.

Anyway, back to my trolling, because I read something that hit home with me simply because parts of it could’ve been written by me if I didn’t know any better. It was an open letter from a thirty four year man to his biological mother he had never known existed until recently, information passed to him by his mother as she lay dying from cancer in a hospital bed. She had the need to get something off her chest before she dies. After what he describes as being hours of apologetic talk from her she discloses that she isn’t his biological mother. She told him that hours after he was born that his biological mother was returned to the medical facility at the prison she was serving time in as she had been convicted of murder. His biological mother brutally murdered the man that had shot her husband, then carjacked her and kidnapped her, and raping her sixty seven times before leaving her for dead in an old abandoned house at the edge of town. She was sentenced 99 years in prison with no eligibility for parole. She had been serving only about a month of her sentence when he was born. She had no other information. Her and her husband had been on the adoption waiting list for an infant for several years when they were contacted that they could now move forward with an immediate adoption. For thirty four years his parents had buried this secret vowing to never disclose it to another living soul. But, she wanted to die with a clear conscious and the only way she felt she could do that was by telling her son the truth.

Amazingly enough, he explained that he really had no idea he was adopted, nor that he ever had a reason to consider or entertain the idea that he was adopted. To say the least, by reading his open letter to his biological mother, he was indeed more than just a little shocked by the turn of events. As a result, he wrote his biological mother a letter, knowing to himself it would go unanswered, but felt he needed to acknowledge her existence now that he knew she actually exists. I leave you now to read his letter.

Mother – Only you knew I existed. Only you were to bear the torture of not knowing. Only you knew the pain of our separation. We will never meet, I will never see you, nor you, I. Not because I don’t want to look into your eyes and weep with you but because there is no information of who you are, the only records available by the agency show Jane Doe gave birth to an un-named male child and nothing else. In reality I’m not sure why I write this letter to you today because I know you will never see it and even if you were to see this letter I doubt you would know it was to you. I regret the fact that we will never be reunited but at the same time we are both lucky because we do not know one another. I’m really not sure if I really need to meet you. I have lived my life, raised by gracious parents, and now raise my own family. There is no room for these twists and turns in my life and I don’t think there will ever be a good time for it. I’m sorry you will spend your life in prison because life is much too beautiful to live in a cage. I will close this by saying that I pray for you even though I don’t know you as we are connected by the bond of birth if you can understand that.

Regards, GW

There are things I would like to tell GW but his life is none of my business. It is a great weight to bear being told something of this magnitude. What one chooses to do with it is a personal choice. Personally I think he is selling it all short, imagine never knowing who your biological family really is. I can say this will experience and authority as my older sister and I are both adopted. The difference is that I took the steps into the darkness, not knowing what to expect, and have made contact with my biologicals and to this day we talk regularly. Search this blog for adoption and y’all will find more than a couple entries. My older sister has a different mindset, she believes she was discarded and therefore has no wishes to ever make contact. If she knew that I have researched it all for her behind her back she might be a bit furious, but I wanted to use my personal experiences to help her. Although she would see it as me trying to sabotage her life. We will never agree on this topic and she has made it a forbidden topic to talk about. I hope, one day, she will change her mind, and when she does I hope she will ask for my help. I’m willing to help, I want to help, but it falls on deaf ears, which is sad for her. I leave y’all with a final question. What would you do if you found out one day that you were adopted? Or, if you were informed about being adopted what was your reaction and what have you done with that information since? I know, pretty personal issue, but I also know it helps to talk about the struggles and successes, even if it is with a perfect stranger.

Dark poetry: Alone

Scorpion Sting:

This one will make you dig deep.

Originally posted on petitemagique:





I feel Alone


By every living Soul

I try to


The mental

And emotional


I try to commit

Every day


Stay away

Because I think I

Already Died


All Alone

I am beyond


Many have tried

But still I am


Although I’m breathing

Still alive

But slowly dying


Just Alone

My tears all


Bittersweet sedation

Embraced by pain

Nothing more to


Shattered trust and broken


I am beyond fixing

Just let me be


I am Alone…


Just Patty

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A Married Woman’s Confession


A long time friend of my wife contacted me over the weekend to tell me she had an email waiting for me if I wanted to run with it on my blog. She mentioned that it didn’t really “fit” into any of my categories but thought of me when she started writing it all out. Going in blind I told her to go ahead and send it to me. After reading it, my wife tells me to just post it, fuck a particular category, because this was just a great reading experience. She is right, my wife always said she thought Sarah was a little kinky but could never put her finger on why. So, here we go! The material in the following paragraphs is for informational purposes only, and is not a substitute for medical advice, diagnosis or treatment provided by a qualified health care provider. In other words, consult your doctor or mental health professional before trying anything you are about read next.

I am 28 years old, very happily married, and I have a successful career. I am also a sex addict. To give some background, I was a virgin until 19. I had ZERO interest in sex or boys or anything all through high school. I also come from a very good, healthy, loving home. I was never abused or raped growing up and have an amazing relationship with my parents – especially my daddy. I have always been daddy’s little girl and I always will be. I was a very good girl growing up, and I always had good grades, took school seriously, and I have never done any drugs. I’m not even a big fan of swearing. A very straight laced girl right? 

Well once I lost my virginity at 19, it all changed. I don’t know what it was, but something in me exploded and I knew that I loved sex. I moved away to college soon after high school and studied hard. By day I was in class, earning amazing grades and a near perfect GPA. By night I was having sex with men I met at the clubs. 

Now let me be frank about this. I am a self-proclaimed slut. I am really not sure how many men I have slept with for certain, but the number may easily be 100. I have done a lot of wild things. Group sex, public sex, strip shows for fun at parties, sex with much older men (when I was 19 I had an on\off sexual relationship with one of my father’s coworkers who was 51). But the thing is, I am not in any way ashamed of anything I have done in my past. I was always safe, and never put myself in any dangerous situations. I was on birth control, and I always used condoms on top of it. I also got regularly tested as an extra precaution and piece of mind. My friends and family always knew that I was a very level headed and independent woman. But sex was my outlet.

Without sounding like I am being conceited, I am very tall (6 feet) and very attractive (considered one of the pretty girls in high school, even though I was not really into that clique or even cared at that time). Getting male and some female attention was never really a problem for me. Men were quickly drawn to me. I am also openly bisexual and have been romantically involved with both men and women. In my life, the only two times I ever truly fell deeply in love with anyone has been with my, now husband, and a woman that I dated for a while in college. 

I am also very obsessed with my sexuality and femininity. I dress incredibly feminine and sexy at all times. Not trashy mind you. I am talking, very tasteful dresses, skirts, a lot of vintage inspired outfits, and always high heels. I am so obsessed with wearing high heels that I wear them around the house at all times. I plan the next day’s heels out in advance and place them by the bed, so that when I get up in the morning, the first thing I do is slip my feet into my heels. They are such a crucial extension of my femininity and I feel so naked and uncomfortable without them. I am so triggered by feminine sexuality that I am obsessed with admiring and surrounding myself with beautiful women who embody femininity. I am also attracted to feminine women like myself and my romantic female-female love relationships were with women who were tall, had soft-skin, long beautiful hair, and were feminine like me.

I dress sexy at home and at work and I love it. I am always in a skirt or a dress and obviously I love my high heels, which easily pushes me up to 6’5” tall and turns me into a walking pair of legs that turns a lot of heads. I am obsessed with being a sex icon. While my work attire may be close to the line of inappropriate, I always manage to stay with sexy, sophisticated. I work with all men and they don’t seem to mind and no one has ever sat me down and complained. I am still always professional and they are all very respectful. In fact, if I actually didn’t come in too dressed up, everyone would wonder what was up. On the rare occasion that I change out of my heels, everyone comments on it and is shocked to see me, since they are used to seeing their leggy office girl. I enjoy being the eye candy in the office and I feel that for some of them, I can be the best part of their day. And for the record, none of them treat me with any disrespect or have ever harassed me and I am friendly with all my boys at the office. Plus being the only female makes me queen of my department.

Now on to my marriage: I am in a loving and wonderful marriage and I could not be happier. I am infinitely loyal to him in every way and never have and never will cheat on him. Our marriage is a bit different though, because we are a Dominant\submissive couple. I love being submissive to him. I wear sexy lingerie, or costumes, and other erotic outfits and high heels around the house at all times, and I live under a set of rules that he has for me. Now this is not in any way an abusive relationship. Far from it in fact. I feel the safest ever in his control. He never hurts me and we, of course, talk about bills and finances like equals just as any other couple does. I have input in our relationship, but in all other facets, I am submissive to him. This is a lifestyle I chose to live and I am happy this way. I can’t imagine living a life any other way.

When I have sex, I like it frequent and I like it rough. We often engage in bondage- nothing extreme or that causes injuries, of course, and I like him to dominate me and use me as he pleases. I love being his as he wants me. Submission is my outlet. Its liberating to me. We have been married for 3 years and our marriage is stronger than ever, thanks in part to our lifestyle, which we both enjoy immensely and because we know each other so well. No other man knows my limits for pain as well as he does, and can respect my boundaries without every breaking them. This is the ultimate relationship of trust. We also talk about our lifestyle every week and discuss things as a couple, and we are very serious about always keeping communication going no matter what. We are always checking in with each other.

I know this is all a lot of information, but sooner or later i needed to let some of this out. I seem to be a very rare type of woman. I am into very rough sex, I have slept around with around 100 men, many strangers, and I love exhibitionism. On the other hand, I come from a good home, am a sweet girl to everyone, and I have very high self-esteem and ambition. These things seem to be at odds. I read so many awful stories of how so many women become sexually compulsive because of early childhood abuse, or bad relationships with their parents at home, and are usually miserable and have low self-image. I had an amazing family life growing up, I am still close to my parents who are still married, I am happy with my life and all of my choices in it, and I have very high ambition and high self-esteem. I am happy in my marriage and my job. I love myself. And on top of it, I am not at all ashamed of my past and in fact resent the stigma that being a slut is a bad thing at all as long as you are safe and smart, which I always am.

So what is going on here? I don’t wear panties under my skirt because I masturbate at least three times a day and panties get in the way. There is also the thrill of people potentially getting a peek at me. I’m obsessed with being an object of sexual desire, and I am happy with it. My husband can barely keep up with me, the poor guy, because I just need so much sex but he does his best. I masturbate at work when I am alone. How did I go from never even thinking about sex or even boys up through high school turn into full blown sexual addiction at 19? What makes a good sweet little daddy’s girl with good grades, like me, go out at night and have sex with four men at once at a party? How did I manage to find random men at a club or a bar and so easily feel comfortable having sex with them against a wall around the side of the building or in his or my car? How was I able to have a “no strings attached” long term sexual relationship with my male roommate in college, and not ever develop feelings, but then became clingy and loyal to any boyfriend or girlfriend I became romantically connected with? 

On top of everything, why am I so emotionally stable? I have never had depression and have always been a happy and confident woman. So why does “rape role-play” with my husband arouse me so much? How exactly after losing my virginity at 19, did I get so sexually confident that I seduced my dad’s 51 year old coworker at his home and never once had a second thought about doing it? How can I, on one hand, have sex or give oral to nearly any man that was interested and I found half way cute without batting an eye, yet still have enough sense to use birth control, condoms and get frequently tested? 

How abnormal is this?

For the record, I do have a therapist who is baffled. He says that one hand I am definitely a sexual compulsive based on many factors, however I am an anomaly in that I somehow manage to avoid putting myself in dangerous situations, or letting it cause any problems in my life or negatively affect my life. Though he isn’t too happy to know that I am masturbating in my office at work, and considers that a bit risky.

Does any of this make sense to you? I am not asking for advice because of shame. I actually feel no shame, and as long as I am happy and confident, then I will continue to live a great life. I am asking for advice, I suppose because I just want to understand myself better. I want to get into my own mind and understand what drives me.

To leave you with just one more recent scenario, my husband and I recently visited and old college friend of mine who I reconnected with online and turned out to live nearby. We both dressed up and had dinner at her place. We had wine and some laughs, but I noticed she was getting flirty with my husband. She’s always been the flirty type, and I’m a bit of the jealous type, so when I saw her finding excuses to touch him, like slowly brushing bread crumbs off his shirt sleeve, the green eyed monster came out and I immediately started doing ownership moves toward him. When we got home he went to the bathroom and when he came out he found me, nearly completely naked, and bondage tape next to me and I told him that I needed him to tie me up and dominate me hard. My jealousy had turned into rabid desire at the thought of my friend wanting him and it made me so insanely horny. While he was aggressively thrusting inside of me, I begged him to spank me, harder, and harder, and harder, until we were way past our usual threshold. I don’t know why, but I wanted it hard that night. After more begging, I had him finish by holding me by my throat and spanking me until my butt was beet red and tears were running down my face. And, by the way, I had one of the most intense orgasms I can recall in probably years. This happened just last night, and my butt is sore to sit on still, and…goodness help me, but I love it, and I loved him spanking me to that needed emotional release. I’m glad he is my husband and knows that crying during rough sex is an emotional outlet for me, where most men would freak out. 

How am I so well adjusted as a woman, yet in need of such extreme arousal? How does a confident and independent woman in a great career and a great salary, also feel alive to be a sexual object for man to lust after? Am I weird for wearing high heels everywhere except when I shower or go to bed? Am I weird that I lose a bit of my confidence and femininity if I don’t have high heels on? Where does my obsession with my own sexual femininity come from? And why I am so happy with my life and have such a great, wholesome childhood, yet still become a complete slut in college? 

I just need to understand my own mind here. I was thinking of making my own blog one day, I wonder how that would go over.

Posted From Scorpion Sting’s Motorola Droid Maxx!

Re-defining Defined Lines In Life


There are times that I can see the road ahead of me clearly. There are time that same road seems to disappear. Its not the road to success nor is it the road to happiness, just a road I follow for the course of my life. I try not to take detours or go off roading but there are times that the obstacles won’t budge, so I have to go around. I could let the obstacles define me but I don’t, I just find a way around. Sometimes these detours take a considerable amount of time and when that becomes the case I try very hard to get back to my known road, my course, because one day I will find my destination. Hopefully death isn’t the destination, but then again life is the journey and all journeys must end eventually I would guess.

I find myself needing to re-define the important things in life from time to time. This ranges from how to budget better to be better at having the bills on time, to not wanting to be that person who has no money left in the banking account three days before the next pay-day. Patience isn’t exactly my strongest personality trait so, at times, I tend to get frustrated with the speed others move. I was off work for a long time in my opinion, eight and a half months is most of year in my eyes. During which I had to creatively disperse funds from our savings to live day to day. One day that too had yielded its last bit of money. We all know what happens when you stop paying bills right? The collection offices start calling, demanding payments, and accepting no alternate arrangements. It is hard to satisfy the needs to many when I was more worried about where the money was coming from to buy ramen noodles that week. It put allot of stress on the relationship of my wife and I as well. Looking back, I remember conversations we had, where I may not have had the answer she was looking for. As she remained working I often felt guilty when she would call me to inform me that a bill collector had called her at work and what am I going to do about it because this madness has to stop. Agreed, it has to stop. In the beginning, when I was first laid off, we already had a plan in motion to have my knee operated on once again because it had deteriorated so badly. While I was working I had great health coverage and we decided to pull the trigger to get the ball rolling. I had my evaluations done and I was set, I had my appointment date set and everything. I had over 140 hours of vacation and my employer was willing to let me be off for a minimum of two weeks for recovery. Then, one morning I went into work and was blindsided, I just got laid off. Well, fuck everything I knew for the last 5 1/2 years because that went straight down the ol’ toilet. Plans for knee surgery in three weeks just flew out the fucking window, to say the very least because those plans just ended.

To say this new development put a wrench in the fan is an understatement from hell. Immediately many things had too change. We had already led a rather meager life in my opinion. We didn’t eat out, ever, we didn’t really have any bills except for 2 loans, our cell phones, and of course utilities. Now, we didn’t live a bare bones life, but I made sure that I was putting money back for a rainy day, a vacation, knee surgery, graduation, college, or whatever. I made things tight, nobody saw the money I was socking away so nobody missed the money I was socking away. Little did I know that the balance I was seeing over time was an optical illusion. It was not nearly enough money to even just scrape by, which we were used to, but scraping this way was more of a challenge. I forecasted that we would be good for at least 18 months of regular living, living like we had been living with our expenses we already had. I was way off. I made a very simple, yet important mistake, I didn’t take into account some major expenses like paying the additional monthly money to have the health/dental/vision insurance switched to my wife’s company coverage and their rates were quadruple what I was paying. Then there was prescription costs, not just the co-pays, but paying full price on them until my wife’s insurance kicked in, for my son alone it was over $1500.00 a month. I didn’t include the expense of feeding five adults each week, gas for vehicles, nor my wife and my smoking habit. All of that eats money and it eats that shit fast. When my current job started our checking account was operating on fumes, it had been for two months already. One can only make so many trips to the pawn shop for a quick loan, especially when I knew I would not be returning to get them out of hock.

But, here we sit just shy of two months of my new job and I am still trying to beat off bill collectors with a stick because we have been playing catch the fuck up since my first check. Now lets toss Christmas into the mix. To say it will be meager would not do it justice. By having older kids, I think they understand, they may not like it, but they haven’t given us any grief. We sat down, we explained, we all expressed our concerns, and I thought it was over-with. I had went to my room for some quiet time, some me time, time to not be around people, I was disappointed, I didn’t even want to be around me. My son knocked on the door, asking gently if he could talk to me. I was in there, in the dark, laying sideways on my bed, too lazy to take my shoes off so my legs just dangled. He and his sister had got together, along with the boyfriend, and collected money for me and my wife to go have a date together, just the two of us, no worries, just go see a movie and have dinner, their treat. I was touched. We did go out, just her and I, we saw a movie that she had been saying she wanted to see, then we went to eat. We had a nice time, we didn’t talk about money a single time, and we were almost at a loss to have something to talk about, it was a bit sad if you ask me. When we were done neither of us was in a real celebratory mood so we went to go look at the area Christmas lights on our way home. It’s hard to be festive or to remain festive since we both know that this will be a very quiet Christmas for us. We both are looking forward to the coming year as anything has to be better than how 2014 turned out.

I guess my message is this, no matter how prepared for a disaster you assume that you are, you aren’t. There were probably thousands of ways to do things different but my goal was to keep my “credit” in tact as well as possible, late payments seem to hurt more than missed payments for some reason. I’m sure the kinks will get worked out soon enough, too bad its not today tho. I still wish that all of y’all have a very Merry Christmas (or whatever y’all do or don’t celebrate) and that the new years brings you one step closer to your dreams. I would like to give a quick shout out to Patty and Dr. Rexi who have made me smile and think in my times when I didn’t want to smile and think, and for that I can offer nothing more than my sincere thanks and gratitude. There have been other friends that have been there as well, I have not forgot y’all either. Y’all behave yourself at this time of year. If I don’t get back to writing another post by the end of the year just know we are well and we wish for all of y’all to be well as well.

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