To think that over the years I have given thousands upon thousands of dollars to that special place in all of our hearts, a little place many Americans shop every day. I never, not in 50 lifetimes, thought I would be on this side of the fence where I would become part of this machine. Eventhough I do enjoy a fair amount of anonymity here on this blog and in social media, my conscious forbids me from revealing the name and/or location of this place of employment since over the years I have read the many instances where corporate retaliation ends up in termination of employment. So, for now, until I know what I can say legally, I will remain as vague as I please. Y’all have a fucking imagination I would assume, this would be a fine time to start using it. But wait, this post is about two jobs actually. I think before I begin I will say that yes, I did consider an offer to go back to being a bartender. An option that was quickly dismissed by my significant other unless it comes down to being the very last resort. I will be the first to tell y’all that $28.59 an hour, 30 hours a week, and NO weekends was a very hard opportunity to turn down and dismiss. With that being said, I respect my wife’s wishes. Yes, it would mean going back to the very club I worked before. New here and curious? Just search my blog for the answers you seek.
Anyway, I have been trying to get back in at the very place which laid me off 18 months ago because they are hiring now, the money is decent, and I know the work involved inside and out. I’m a perfect fit. One problem though, a big problem, the position doesn’t open until the 3rd week in August. Which means, plainly, that I can’t want another month for a job I don’t even know if I will be hired for in the first place. Fortunately for me, taking a night shift weekend job gives plenty of opportunities to work day shifts full or part time at the same time. Seems, as I have seen, its almost better to have two part time jobs. I have also noticed, in this being round two in an 18 period, that many companies are simply looking for people with two feet and a heartbeat to fill mindless jobs for $9.00 an hour. Unless you’re fucking McDonalds, where I was turned down employment opportunities because I lacked one year of fast food restaurant customer service experience, identifying that I don’t have the skills to serve their products to the demanding public. Yea, WTF is the term you are searching for. Which, for me personally, gives me one more reason to hate that company with a bitter fucking passion.
Oh right, get back to the present, and tell y’all about the job I will be taking, in fact I just spoke with the HR and I’m to go in for completion of my paperwork and orientation later today. Meanwhile, I will continue my pursuits in getting on the payroll of one of two former employers again. I have not been enjoying this fucked up little journey, but I have come out of it a little wiser in my opinion. This whole thing begs the question, why is my lack of customer service experience make me a least desirable employee versus a high school kids looking for his/her very first job? Is it because I have the obvious demeanor on my face that states I’m not a people person? I cannot help it, people have jaded my views over the years of my life which have given me fantastic people skills. It truly is a double edged and double standard society we are a part of. All I know is I’m not a candidate to prostitute myself out for sex because there isn’t much of a market for someone pushing fifty in the parts I live in. Plus, my wife would have issues with it. Too bad selling my blood and sperm wouldn’t be too profitable because I have plenty of both. Plus, I’m a rare blood type, AB-, that should be worth much more wouldn’t you think?
What’s a fucking shame is that my disability is in such a mess or I would just quit working altogether. I shouldn’t say it like that, but it’s very true. Someone recommended I monitize my blog with advertising, or sell shit here and in an online store, and a few other ways to use this blog to make money. I won’t ever do it because this blog is my hobby and would cease to be enjoyable if it became work. Hell, people coming here is their unfortunate accident to begin with so it really would not work out well. I’m boring enough without trying to sell y’all shit you don’t need or want. In the end maybe this new job will help get things back on track. I can hope, right?
I try very hard to always remain positive in no-win situations. Over the decades being a cynical sarcastic asshole has served me well, however, that fact may be really hurting my “people skills” overall. Long ago, in general, I lost faith in people, for many of what I consider great reasons. When applying for jobs, submitting resumes, and talking to people on the phone I feel very uncomfortable because I’m a hard person to “sell” most times. It seems that daily I have recap conversations with my wife and they all seem like not only is there no light at the end of the tunnel but it seems as though, daily, I witness my own personal event horizons, that so called light has gone to the place where all light goes to die. As much as I would like to say I’m discouraged with the prevailing party of unemployment, I’m really not. For the second time in a twelve month period I have found that I’m not a marketable person, its a reality that shines the fuck through each day that passes, seems what I know, what I’m good at, really has no place in today’s job market place. One knows he has hit the bottom when big box fast food chains won’t hire him because in all of his years of experience he has no experience in regards to fast food. I get the impression that the pimple faced kids doing the hiring feel that they cannot teach this old dog any new tricks. Maybe they’re right, maybe those jobs aren’t right for me, that I’m not a good fit for the fucking positions, and that is probably because I’m not really a good people person. Walmart has even turned me down, a low point in my personal life, compounded by the fact that I look at the opportunities in the minimum wage market merely so I can get some of the bills being paid once again.
I have found that being a veteran matters not in many cases as well. Saying a company prefers veterans with little to no experience in a particular field looks good in the listing but I wonder if they are just fulfilling legal obligations in the end of it all. I’m just saying its hard to find direction when it seems that everything I am doing has the same response, and I don’t care to be told no so often. Let’s do some fun math, as it has calculated over the last month shall we. On average I have put in 10.8 applications per day each day (including in person and on line) making a total of 324 to date today at the time I’m writing this post. Out of those 324 applications, I have had 13 calls resulting in 8 interviews which were dead ends for all interested parties. Plus 2 stray calls from companies who really liked what they saw in my resume posted on Monster.com. Yet, here I sit. I feel that my networking skills are, to say the very least, are really shitty.
So, against my better judgement, my wife tells me to just “take the day off” and regroup. Not to retreat or surrender, but to evaluate my efforts that have been made in my hunt for a source of income. As much as I would like to do it, I really can’t, which means that me and the wife are now at odds with one another. It’s been heard a million times, but I truly believe that one picture is worth a thousand words, and today the picture above about sums it up for me. No worries though, I will break the code to break the cycle so I can get my fucking life back on track. Which is so cliche since I don’t even remember getting hit by that big fucking train. Anyway, I gotta get back to doing what I really suck at, finding a damn job.
As we know, I do my best to share the stories of my readers. This one really has no direct category to be placed in, but I will add it to the collection of great stripper and strip bar stories. The reader who submitted this story asked to remain unidentified for professional reasons. No, I don’t know what is meant by that, but I always abide by requests and people see it when they read stuff here. I have seen this happen in real life more than once, like every day. One would be amazed what people leave at a strip bar. One would be surprised the efforts people go through to get their stuff back. And, yes, unfortunately it is kinda like talking with a giggly five year old when you call a strip bar, its always been that way because she is never hired for her people skills on the phone, she is hired to be the first thing you see when you walk thru the doors so you go DAMN! let me in. When one enters a strip bar it is like walking through the portal to an alternate universe, often one needs to pinch themselves because the world is cruel outside the doors. So, allot of weird shit happens in a strip bar, but then again a strippers job is to separate a visitor from as much of his/her money in the shortest amount of time, every time. With that being said, read the email.
I went to the strip club the other night…allegedly. I’m not sure it counts though because I don’t remember being there, much less remember driving home. “Oh the humanity Grayson, the humanity,” I hear the voices saying. “How dare you drive home black-out drunk; you could have killed someone!” Shut thefuck up right now and let me finish you interrupting ass-hag! I didn’t quite drive home drunk and I do specifically remember one incident from the night…being woken at 3:30am by a security guard(?) while passed out in my truck in some establishment’s parking lot. Whose parking lot it was…I was totally and completely unsure of. After that, I am wholly unaware of the events except for the fact that I slept for the next 26 hours straight, missing work and occasionally waking up from some pretty twisted dreams of disembodied heads, parallel universes and ex-girlfriends wanting to “give it another shot”…again; then dumping me and shitting – both figuratively and literally – on me and my life. I mean, this heartless cheating cunt had the audacity to…wait, what the fuck was I talking about? Oh yeah, right…blacking out at a strip club and not remembering; I’m the good guy. Anyway, it was like the movie The Hangover, minus the ‘wolf-pack’ and a whole lot more depressing. Like our lovable characters from the film, I was (possibly) drugged with GHB and had to follow vague clues I’d unknowingly left myself in order to find, not a lost friend and groom for an imminent wedding the following morning, but my debit card and driver’s license. So yeah, a completely sad version of the now classic comedy.
The entire night started with an innocent trip to a bar, not to drink, but to sit way back in a corner booth with my notebook (actual paper-type book you write in with pens; not a computer…I ain’t fuckin’ rich folks). Yes, I said that shit with my nose in the air like some pretentious hipster at Star Bucks; feel free to punch me if you ever see me. Anyway, how I got from said bar to, what I later found out to be Cabaret East, I have no fucking idea; but I figured my notebook might have a clue, since I’m always leaving myself notes. I had 20 pages of some seriously fucked up and twisted shit written in there that I am proud to say I loved, and don’t actually know when I wrote it that night. When I got done high-fiving myself and making mental notes to write shit-faced drunk (or drugged) more often, I noticed 2 phone numbers on the last page of writing. One had the name of a tattoo parlor and the other was for a person named Corrin. Intrigued, I picked up my cell phone ready to dial her(?) number until I came to the sudden realization that I had to have used my GPS since I surely had no idea how to get where I went or how to get home. Sure enough, my GPS was the last app I used that night. I searched the ‘recent addresses’, plugged that shit into Google Search and voila, Cabaret East. I got the phone number, called that bitch up and what follows is the conversation, verbatim, I had with the receptionist…as much as I can recall days later anyway:
Girl – Cabaret East
Me – Yeah, hi. I believe I visited your fine establishment Sunday night, and whether I left by my own accord or was forcibly removed, I’m not sure, but I believe ya’ll might be in possession of my ID and debit card.
Girl – Um…what?
Me – I think I walked my tab. Do you have my debit card?
Girl – Uh…I dunno.
(Silence for ten seconds)
Me – (irritated at this point) Can you…I dunno…look?!
Girl – Oh yeah (giggles), sure, one sec.
Me – Wait wait wait!
Girl – What?
Me – Don’t you need my name?!
Girl – (giggles again) Oh yeah…of course!
After talking to this brick wall of human intelligence for what felt like an eternity, I was finally able to extract from her that, yes, they did indeed have possession of my shit. I hung up the phone, triumphant that I CSI’d the shit out of my situation, while also ashamed-beyond-words at the same time because I still don’t know how my shit got there in the first place. I will be fucked until my literal day of recollection.
Later Tuesday evening, I went up to the titty club to retrieve my shit and was met by a big, burly, black mother fucker who looked like he’d choke me with my own intestines; who also happened to remember both, helping me to my truck as I vomited along the way AND waking me up at 3:30 in the AM to send my hobo-ass packing. I thanked him for telling me about such obviously proud moments in my life, then I swore to him that I’d been drugged; in return he handed me a bill with a smile…for just under $350. I fought back maniacal fits of laughter, tears and the intense urge to vomit.
I wasn’t sure if I was playing out my fantasy of a poor man’s Hank Moody from Californication or if I was literally just fucked up enough to get myself into such shenanigans; because I don’t generally share much about my actual personal life other than the intense anger that I feel in general towards society, but I’m pretty sure some people at this point would consider a negative bank account due to a – for all intents-and-purposes – fake night of debauchery, as rock bottom; for me…it’s just another Sunday night.
As for Corrin…she is a stripper, who had as much recollection of me as I had for her; we will not be in touch.
I like this man’s references to movies and life in general. I have the answer he seeks. It wasn’t drugs, it’s deeper than that, its more mental than that, it was out his normal element if you ask me. Plus, writers are fucking out there in their own world anyway, no offense to y’all writers, but it’s true. People often overthink shit too, which is death to our brains, then add in strippers, titties, alcohol, a strip bar, blacking out, and one can see where the imagination just goes ape shit. Not to mention the movie reference, because those were some pretty fucked up movies. Neither here nor there, he solved his dilemma. Too bad he doesn’t remember what went down. Or does he? Maybe its his mind blocking shit that isn’t in his norm or his mind knows that if he recalls anything that he will be in mental disarray. Who knows.
I will always welcome stories from anyone who is willing to take the time to sit and write a story. I say that very collectively, y’all have seen what gets posted here on this blog and y’all know what I don’t personally post. Yet, the field of opportunities for what gets posted is as vast as the Great Plains of The United States of America, which coincidentally, is where this story comes from, all the way from the outskirts of a little town called Gettysburg, a little place located in the central region of South Dakota. Why is the location of this particular submitter important you ask? It’s simple, for me at least, as I would think people would be less inclined to do allot on the internet in a very rural town of just over eleven hundred people. When she graduated GHS in 2014, she was one of 20 some odd graduates. Seems small to me, I graduated in a class of 667 seniors. I’m just saying. Into the now, now, she is a student here in Texas attending Texas A&M in hopes of attaining her Biomedical Sciences degree. So, in my humble opinion, she has one hell of a brain to be in Texas A&M to begin with, and as y’all will soon see, what her mind sees and how it sees is amazing as well. How did she come across me? Oddly enough she was doing some surfing looking for the big city papers in South Dakota to read some local news, and multiple entries lead her here. Again, I will stress the importance of tagging blog entries. Now, at first she didn’t really want to start reading my blog, but said she was drawn in by many of my stories, she reluctantly admitted “binge reading” all night not too long ago and found herself inspired to “share” a dream she had recently with me and hopefully with the 3 people who read my blog pretty regularly. She expressed that I have a new fan and a new member of the mysterious Scorpion Army. Also, I just want to mention that she also let me know she has a few nice tattoos that I might like and she wouldn’t “mind” seeing them in the tattoo section or as a post here. Interesting, very interesting indeed. And, per her request, I will keep her identity my little secret, so for the express purpose of this post she will carry the alias of LabRat. The picture is credited to her friend who took it for her and has given The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog permission to use it at will. Without further introduction I give y’all the story she has sent me, she explained to me it was a very vivid dream she had and has yet to begin to understand.
Mr. Scorpion Sting ~
First of all I just want to tell you that, eventhough I found your blog by accident, I don’t regret a single moment I have spent there reading and looking at everything it has to offer readers. I never thought I would be writing my dream down for anybody else to read. But I am now, because I think it will help me better be able to explain it’s meaning afterwards. I’m open to the opinions of you and your readers if you care to share. By the way, I hope you don’t mind, I’m now a follower of your blog as well as have requesting to be a part of The Scorpion Army. My dream felt and seemed real, as if the memory I have is of something I actually did. I had to look into dreams and what they actually are, the simple answer is that dreams are a series of sensations, images, and deep thoughts that happen in a person’s mind during sleep. The question I fail, repeatedly, in answering is why I had the dream I did in the first place.
The first thing I remember is sitting at the edge of my bed, stretching, feeling the coolness of the air in the room as it touches my body. As I wander around a house I don’t know I see myself moving quietly in the nude, as if I’m trying not to wake someone. I began to run a hot bath, the steam was billowing out like that of an old steam engine train, I could feel the heat and moisture of the steam but when I stepped into the water I could feel nothing. I continued to stand there under the water, letting it pour across my body like it was rinsing off what I did the night before. I bent down to turn off the water, letting the remaining water drip from my hair, as it ran down my back I could feel a coolness on my skin. After drying myself off I wrapped my hair up with the towel and walked back down the really long hallway back to the room with the bed. The curtains on the windows were pulled back now, lighting the room up with vibrant colors from outside. As I listened to the birds courting in the trees I sat in front of my mirror and put on my make-up, I dried and styled my hair, painted my toenails and fingernails a blazing red, misted myself with a sweet perfume, and when I was done I pushed in the chair and left the room. I watched myself walk, from a corner in the hallway, stalking myself, watching the way I moved, and could feel everything I touched, every step of my bare feet, every breath inhaled and exhaled, and even the smells of fresh squeezed orange juice as they passed along my path.
Soon enough I was walking out the door, still nude, still bare, but as if that didn’t matter, as if it was meant to be, and as if this was the way it was supposed to be. As I passed through the front yard I looked back to see the house I just left fade into the distance, as if the yard was a great distance, but then I am at the streets edge, there are other people walking by, or jogging, and even walking their dogs, none of which paid me any attention. I even kneeled down to pet this man’s small dog, I spoke to him but he didn’t answer, and then he continues to walk away from me. I felt his shirt in my hand being pulled away as I tried to stop him, I screamed “look at me asshole” as loud as I possibly could, yet he pulled away. I chased him, I ran as fast as I could, while he walked he soon disappeared into the distance ahead of me. I found my self at the intersection of a very busy street, waiting with others at a bus stop, I listened as they spoke around me, but never to me. Out of bravery or out of ignorance, I reached out to this woman standing there, busy looking at something on her phone, and I knocked her phone out of her hand with a violent slap. Nothing, she merely has a look of disgust on her face as she picks up her now shattered phone. The other people around her began asking what happened and her only reply was that she must have just lost her grip and dropped it. Ahh, too bad I said to her. She looks right through me to smile at the man behind me who had passed on his condolences for her now dead phone. Wait, what in the fuck is going on! Why cant people see me? Why cant people feel me? Why cant people hear me?
On the bus I sat next to a man doing a crossword puzzle in the paper, when he didn’t know the word he would cheat by looking it up on his phone. I never liked cheaters. I took his bottle of water out of the seat, opened it, and began pouring it all over his paper and his lap, but what people saw was him pouring the water everywhere, very casually, and without thinking twice about it. What is going on? Who are these people around me but so far removed from me. I recognize some of the faces, this is my route, this isn’t my first time on this bus taking this trip. I will see where it leads, I will see where to get off when I know where to get off. But how will I know? I don’t even know where I’m going or why I’m going there. When the bus stops it is in front of a very large and tall building, it blocks the bright sunshine seen around me, everyone exits the bus, most of them heading inside the big building, passing through the doors, until I was all alone on what seemed like a deserted street corner. I feel very alone, scared, emotionless, and decide to go into the ominous building myself. When I get to the doors there is a man standing there in a guard’s uniform, I watched as he opened the doors for each of the people that had come before me but he was standing there like a statue before me, motionless, expressionless, seems very unhappy. I walked up to him, inches away from him, until I was pressed up against him, until I pushed myself closer, I began kissing him on his neck, caressing his chest with my hands, I let my hands slip to his zipper which I undid, holding his very limp member in my hand. I squeezed him, I dug my nails into his flesh, and he had not a single reaction. Then I feel myself being pushed forward by him, he is leaning in to pull the door open for yet another person, one which I snuck inside right behind. The marble floor was extremely cold on the bottoms of my feet, I needed to be someplace else.
I stood in the line where the people waited to walk through metal detectors, have their bagged searched, and a wand passed across them, as if to give the appearance that they really do care. My turn at the gate, nothing to put in the basket, no bag to be dug through, nothing to declare, and no magic badge to identify myself to the guards. As I passed through the metal detector it went off, there was a man 10 feet in front of me and a woman about the same distance behind me, but this thing’s sirens and lights are going nuts. The people around, to include the guards are bewildered, they are talking that the equipment has malfunctioned. No dumbasses, it didn’t malfunction, I don’t think at least, come get me, I’m right here, I feel you touching me as you come closer, but you don’t feel me, see me, smell me, or hear me, your fucking loss, I’m going in. Going in? Going in where? Follow the herd, they are all going somewhere inside this building, just follow the herd. I get on an elevator, packed so tight it was like being in a grinder at a meat market, the smells of 20 people all melting together to make one very bad smelling elevator. So much heavy breathing, it was like listening to an orgy in progress, bodies grinding, rubbing, moving, and the “ding” sounds the start of the mass separation, I’m forced out with a large number of the herd, so I just go with the flow. The moved like ants, all following the scent trail to their destination, one by one they dropped off into offices and cubicles leaving me out, I was standing there looking at people work, looking at people surfing porn on their phones, and even one woman I had followed to the bathroom because she looked suspicious, who sat in a stall, alone with her tiny little vibrator that she put to quick work. She had to bite into the flesh of her arm to contain her moans from her coworkers, faster and faster she went until she almost collapses. She wipes down the still dripping vibrator, slips into her purse, wipes herself down too, then it is over, as fast as it started, without washing her hands she touches up her make-up, tusses her hair a bit, and away she goes.
Bored with this floor I catch a ride on the executive elevator, we’re going all the way to the top floor. These men and women quickly load into a boardroom, get their coffee, muffins, and waters as they all try to find the best seat. When the big cheese enters they all stand, as if to show respect, but only thinking about their chair pushing away as they sit and making an ass out of themselves in front of the boss. Why else would they cling to their chairs? Fear? Speed? When they sit and he begins to speak I find myself on the long table, walking back and forth, looking at the view of the city out of the window. I found it fun to fuck with people’s hair, a little messing up of the different heads here and there never hurt. Then one man, as he brushed his hair back into place touched my hand, he looked right at me as if I had just been caught, stared into my eyes for a moment and then it was over. Did he know I was there? Did he know I was squatted down on the table in front of him, so close I could feel his breath on my stomach? Could he really feel me touch him? Did he really just touch my hand and feel it? Answer me motherfucker! Out of frustration I licked the side of his face, starting at the chin and ending at his forehead, he tasted like a woman. I wonder if that was the taste of his wife. Or was it his mistress? Or is he a sick pedophile fuck? Who are these people anyways? Why am I here? Needing a break I excused myself from the meeting and found myself in the office of one of the kings of this corporation. He’s living large, his office is huge, decorated with some very fine things from around the world. Probably all tax loopholes of some sort. His giant antique leather chair was very chilling to my flesh when I first sat in it, soon after I began to feel the wetness of my legs and ass on the leather, I was perspiring as I sat here, it was very warm, it was making me very sleepy. I cleared a space on this big desk to lay on it, I curled up and fell asleep right there. When I woke, it was dark in the office, dark outside, dark everywhere. I needed to get out. I find he has an elevator which goes straight to the parking garage, how convenient, so I took another ride.
The parking lot was empty, I walked around looking for a way out, then I see a car, a very nice car, with the lights on, as I approached the car I could hear it was running. When I peaked inside I see nobody, the door was open, and I got in. I put it in drive and just stepped as hard as I could on the gas pedal, I was going very fast in a short amount of time. I found the exit of the garage and headed towards it, the gate opens slowly and the guard looks at me in the car but cannot see me because the windows are tinted very dark. Then I just started driving, I drove all around the city, a place which is very different after dark, there are different people out, people who see the world in a different way. I started thinking, wondering about my day, this bizarre day which has also been fantastic. I drove that car fast, the speedometer stopped at 220mph but I kept going faster, every light on the street was green, I just kept going like there was no end, before long the blur of the city lights were far behind me, but I just keep driving. Everything comes to a dead stop, the car is halted by something, I am thrown forward through the windshield of the car, thrown so far I cant even see the car. It’s very dark, I’m very cold as I lay motionless, laid in a shallow puddle of water, face down, only hearing the sounds of the wind and rain. I wasn’t able to move or didn’t want to mover a very long time. I could feel the heat of the sun that came up in the morning, the sting of the sun as it blazed down on my back mid-day, and how I could feel relief as the sun would set again. I the final night I felt this for the last time.
The first thing I remember is sitting at the edge of my bed, stretching, feeling the coolness of the air in the room as it touches my body. As I wander around a house I don’t know I see myself moving quietly in the nude, as if I’m trying not to wake someone. I began to run a hot bath, the steam was billowing out like that of an old steam engine train, I could feel the heat and moisture of the steam but when I stepped into the water I could feel nothing. I continued to stand there under the water, letting it pour across my body like it was rinsing off what I did the night before. I bent down to turn off the water, letting the remaining water drip from my hair, as it ran down my back. I began walking, passing the room I didn’t know, walking wet, walking somewhere, walking anywhere. I went outside, sitting on the stairs of the porch, looking at the car that had been crushed into the giant tree in the front yard. I began walking towards this mangled car, remembering a car similar to this one from somewhere in time, there was blood everywhere, the interior was bathed in blood, the windshield laid a distance away from the front of the car, blood pooled on the hood and ground. I walked forward, seeing something in the distance, something glistening in the light rain, there was a nude girl’s body laid face down in a shallow puddle of blood and water. She looks peaceful, she looks as if she is part of the land, I kneel down, whipping the hair from her bloody face when she opens her eyes, looking into mine. She smiles at me, she whispers to me to that I am feeling no pain, I’m suffering no longer, she takes my hand into hers, pulls me closer until we lay together, together in peace, together forever.
When I woke up in the morning following this dream I remembered as if it happened. The girl was me, I watched myself during the entire dream. I, too, sat at the edge of my small bed, dripping in sweat, wondering what in the hell just happened. My friend and room-mate explained to me that she was woke up by me during the night when apparently I had the bath running at about 3 in the morning. As she watched me walk around the house naked she says she stopped me at the front door because I was trying to go out side for some reason. She took my hand and led me back to bed, where I was tucked in and watched for the remainder of the night. When I saw her when I first woke up she had a very scared look on her face, it reminded me of my mother’s face when she told me my grandmother I was vey closed to had passed away. I told my room-mate about my dream, it freaked her out a little, but she was there for me, held me, and brought me hot tea while I took a very hot bath to soak my aching body. She remained at my side, helping me scrub my back, then drying my hair for me, and eventually we just went down stairs, curled up on the couch and watched movies the rest of the day, old movies from the fifties, seemed like that was all that is on at that time of day. After we talked about my dream that first morning it has never been discussed again. I want to talk to her about it again, I want her to read this thing after it is written on your blog. I appreciate your willingness to share my dream with your audience. Maybe, just maybe someone out there has an explanation. Thanks again, yours truly LabRat.
Once again I find myself trolling my own stats, looking at the last seven days, the search terms which lead people here to be more specific. Before y’all read on, and y’all do need to read on, be reminded that I have never claimed to be a “Rated G” blog by no means ever. But, damn people, why in the hell are y’all searching for allot of this stuff for? I have reviewed many of them and I don’t see the how many of the search terms relate to my 8,252 tags on some 2,735 posts. We’ve had this discussion before, maybe it’s just me, but it’s probably y’all. I should warn y’all that if you searched for “it” then someone else knows about it, so deleting history really serves no purpose.
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|Unknown search terms||2,346|
As y’all can see, in the last seven days there were also 2,346 unknown search terms which led people here. Yes I find it bizarre, a little, but mostly I wonder why people search for some things, some are pretty fucked up in my opinion. But, to each his/her own, I don’t judge, but y’all need to remember that every bit of your search data is recorded somewhere on the internet. This is just a little ‘ol personal blog, imagine what the big boys out there record. Anyway, thought this was fun, I’m not pointing fingers or nothing, just making the observation that some of us have way too much time on our hands sometimes. Hope y’all enjoyed the display, it was a direct copy of my stats page.