tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72973982388400227112024-02-19T23:20:45.379-05:00The Escapecopper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-49976565984364439672012-05-16T18:41:00.002-05:002012-05-16T18:52:56.388-05:00It don't mean shit now...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6c5QgditbsWi2NclbEqKamDs8ZDYrsyAy0zZ3oVsXgjk8iDn1w9xMsjSPuRPfhEE7KcBMDPJitouif5Hp44jkzHULmMiOwQy2VUGTxsDccmiJ3Bt5TUoJhzUvDRwcNRmG-cZ7ZFbYHTMJ/s1600/fuzzy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6c5QgditbsWi2NclbEqKamDs8ZDYrsyAy0zZ3oVsXgjk8iDn1w9xMsjSPuRPfhEE7KcBMDPJitouif5Hp44jkzHULmMiOwQy2VUGTxsDccmiJ3Bt5TUoJhzUvDRwcNRmG-cZ7ZFbYHTMJ/s320/fuzzy.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I want to apologise in advance for the explosion of rants that i am about to have on this page...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">The person behind the words has been trying to heal, and has kept Copper in the solitary confinement of my psyche. But just as any good alter-ego should, Copper knew just when to induce a personality split and come clawing to the surface to rescue the weak woman who plays author to Copper's voice...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Lets us commence...</span><br />
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<em><strong><span style="color: #e06666;">MEN: A constant source of new and entertaining ways to torture my soul.</span></strong></em><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">So after the final (hopefully) removal of The Grand Asshole from my life, I began to move towards something similar to a normal life, if there truly is such a thing. I have broken patterns that I never thought I would be able to break. I still have a touch of PTSD but I have developed new skills. I can shop in the daytime, I can go out to the club at night and not look over my shoulder, and evidently i can do one other thing: I can let my guard down with a mother fucking, cheating-ass man! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">So a little while after the GA's exodus, a good friend of mine introduced me to a guy she had known for a little while. She told me he had recently gotten out of a relationship too and might be fun to just hang out with. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">We met, and over time began to hang out quite frequently. Yea, we had sex. We had fucking awesome sex. He's nice and twisted like Copper and he knew how to do mama right. But it was what it was and we were both cool with that. We never mentioned love or relationships, it simply was not what we were about. He knew i was out doin' me when we were not together, just like he was, and when we would hook up, it was bangin'... moving furniture and having to mop the floor afterward type bangin'!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">So we chilled like this for about 2 years, and over time, we became pretty tight. I trusted him and we talked about everything. Other men, what causes relationships to fail, why women trip over stupid shit, etc. He was my "key-guy". You know, the person that you trust enough to hold a key to your house and car in case you get locked out. He had met my kids, so rare for me. So needless to say, i really thought i knew all the important things about the guy.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Well, as it turns out, I had been left in the dark about one very important detail:</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> HE HAS HAD A GIRLFRIEND THE ENTIRE TIME</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Imagine my shock to find out that I have been the fucking other woman! The "extra", "ace in the hole", or "number 2". A surprisingly well kept secret, considering the amount of times we have been out, just chillin' together.So degrading, it makes me sick to my stomach to thing that i was parading around town with someone else's man. Bless her heart, i guess she has not clue that we had had sex, outside of my car, in the parking lot of the apartment that they share. Regularly. I can't believe that this young kat has gotten one over on me so damn well.. I never suspected a thing. I really don't know why he would wait until 2 years in to sit on my bed and simply inform me of this fact. He claims he thought that I knew when we met and that i just chose to not bring it up. And he was starting to maybe think differently towards me and suddenly realized that i did not know the real deal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #e06666;">Well..now.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Times;">Let's be real here. Had he told me from the jump I would have definitely played the situation quite differently, but it would have only changed some of the outcome. Yes, we may have still had sex, unfortunate but true. (Sorry if that offends anyone but like is said, we are being real and I know many of you feel me, so don't hate) But i would not have allowed him to know many intimate secrets that i can not remove from his memory. I would not have spent so much time with him, and I know this is twisted, but out of respect for his girl. A random hook up is different than keeping soap, shoes and a change of clothes at my place.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999; font-family: Times;"><span style="color: #e06666;">SO .. now i am left feeling foolish and rather pissed. I don't know how to handle the remaining shards of this odd relationship. Truth is, i am used to having him available, since he is the absolute only friend that I have that lives in the town I live in... all my other friends live where i work or out of state. I would miss the companionship.</span> <span style="color: #e06666;">But I can't help but to feel terribly used..</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Copper </span></span></div>
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<br />copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-11163839227789950112011-05-15T16:20:00.000-05:002011-05-15T16:20:57.627-05:00What’s it worth to you?<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF900E-N6nPfC2l91JhHsN7Ida2wJayzpfF7OC5qg2pBjfDsD7PhUuGzql2BoOlqGyd8rUsswdyvm9DcU-587eOM5GnOrccFchMrzwzQeR5ROI45efWtNxTpEvF-_kiqiZSUukSkHUyt8p/s1600/mo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF900E-N6nPfC2l91JhHsN7Ida2wJayzpfF7OC5qg2pBjfDsD7PhUuGzql2BoOlqGyd8rUsswdyvm9DcU-587eOM5GnOrccFchMrzwzQeR5ROI45efWtNxTpEvF-_kiqiZSUukSkHUyt8p/s320/mo.jpg" width="320" /></a>Some of you may recall my short lived escapades with a local physician a few years back… I met him in a department store. At first glance I thought he was gay. I remember thinking that I have a lot of male friends that would love to meet him. He was looking my direction and when he approached me I was thinking that he was simply searching for help in locating the correct isle for some elusive cleaning product. I was quite surprised when he introduced himself and asked me to join him later that evening for a drink. </div><br />
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Things progressed from there and for the few months we would see each other a few times a week. The sex was pretty good and he kept an ample selection of good imported beers, so I guess I could say I was enjoying his company. Over time I had began to develop some sort of feelings toward him. Certainly not love, but I have to admit that I had allowed myself to think of fondly and his bed had become a place of comfort and reprise. He is divorced and it was obvious that he had not gotten over his ex-wife. I don’t believe either of us had any ideas of a future together, but I felt that there was an good amount of mutual respect between us. Although it came as no big surprise when our contact began to fade away and eventually ended completely, I was annoyed that he was not mature enough to simply say we should part company.<br />
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So a few weeks ago I am sitting at the kitchen table when the home phone rings. I nearly jump out of my skin. I live in an older home and have a working rotary phone hanging on my dining room wall. It’s of the vintage avocado green variety and when it rings it can rival the best of air raid sirens. This was strange because only family and close friends have my home number and the thing rarely gets the chance to scare the bejeezus outta me. I grab my heart and the receiver at same time. It’s him. He says he has been trying to find me. I am thinking that he must not have been trying too hard because I live in the same place, drive the same car and have the same mobile number, but whatever. I am slightly intrigued, but have really moved on and there is more than enough on my plate at the moment. He goes on about how he has missed me and that he lost my mobile number and he finally found my home number via the internet… how lovely…<br />
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After a few minutes of him rambling on he asks me if I have plans for the night. I am really not feeling the situation so give him my mobile number, make a joke about him saving it this time, and blow him off for the night. It does not take long for him to start texting me. It starts out mildly enough but I cringe when I see that I have an incoming picture message. Why is it that men think women would want to gaze at a picture of their hairy balls and crooked penis? Seriously… is there some misguided website out there that advises men to routinely shock innocent woman with forth-rate porn pictures with “sent from my iphone” watermarked at the bottom? <br />
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So my internal ENGAGE IGNORING SEQUENCE warning light begins to flash like mad. What is really up here? I am pretty sure I know… he just wants sex…<br />
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(I was right… I just had no idea how right!)<br />
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It’s been a few days and I am doing an excellent job of ignoring his calls and text messages. Then it got really strange… So strange that at first I thought he was joking…<br />
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The first off-the-wall message asked me if I wanted to make some money. Well…now of course I want to make money… but in my experience offers such as these never seem to be of the legal variety. We all know that curiosity kills so I send a reply asking what, exactly, is he getting at. The reply made me take a seat: “I will give you $500 if you will spend the night with me”. Excuse me? Just who does this jerk think he is, or better yet, who does he think ‘I’ am? As I sit there with my mouth hanging open, I receive another text. It simply says “$700”.<br />
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Now I’ve had all kinds of sex in my day.. good, bad, sloppy, amazing and some that I am still trying to forget… but I have NEVER had sex that I would pay money for… especially the ridiculous amounts that he seems to be suggesting. As I stated earlier, I am having a difficult time believing that this is for real. He must just be uber-drunk and will be ashamed of himself in the morning. <br />
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No such luck kiddies! The next night the bid starts out at $1000. I send him a text that says: "are you trying to BUY me??" He replies: "does that offend you?" <br />
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Then I receive: "what will it take?? $5000?!"<br />
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This is insane! I do not reply to any of these and then the most heart stopping text of all: "We can work out $10,000"<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Time to "phone a friend". I dial friend #1. Of course, #1 basically tells me I am crazy for not jumping on the offer to get paid to have sex with someone that I have already 'done the deed' with before... But it feels so... wrong. Had I not had a touch of feeling for the man in the past, I suppose its possible that I would have a different view of the situation, but in the given circumstances, I just cannot bring myself to do it. On to friend #2. Now I am offered a few different scenarios designed to set him up, tie him up , and take the money... no sex required. What a supportive set of friends I have. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>To date I am still receiving random offers with the occasional " I miss you, don't you miss me?" mixed in. Now its just a laugh to see how long it will go on. Bottom line is: I know I got some good shit going on down there, I know its not 10k good, simply because I don't believe any woman's is, but its mine, and I choose not to sell it!<br />
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</div>Coppercopper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-47959792061090900352011-05-11T12:59:00.000-05:002011-05-13T15:36:32.954-05:00Paradigm Shift...When I woke up this morning I felt revived… Its funny how the feeling of victory can cause a paradigm shift. <br />
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My old view was that I had been neglected… passed over for another. See… it should have been us… Not them…<br />
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“King” and “littlegirl”… what a match… <br />
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So yea, King still calls once in a while and Copper is still weak for him… so she allows him back into her bed…but not into her heart… She knows better… Now when he prepares to leave, she does not feel the usual sting of tears forming in her eyes… She simply kisses him goodbye and smiles… She knows he may return to littlegirl for now, but her King will always come back for her…<br />
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Copper has her VICTORY… <br />
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You see… littlegirl thinks that she has the upper hand… she is with him…they are the ones in the conventional relationship… But King keeps running back to Copper every so often… If littlegirl was enough to keep his attention King would be satisfied and not need to fall into Copper’s arms to feel complete.<br />
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King will never be satisfied with one woman… Copper is wise enough to know that… but she gets her benefits without the pain… Since she has known King he has been with some woman or another in some sort of relationship… and in each relationship King has cheated on that woman with Copper…<br />
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In the past, there was nothing she wanted more than to have her own relationship with King…<br />
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With time comes wisdom… She now accepts that they have created their own form of togetherness…and that this form is the plateau… They will never go any higher than this odd combination of carnal attraction and fleeting affection… but just maybe that is exactly what they were meant to be to each other… <br />
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In this light, all time spent together is pleasure filled… they laugh and talk just like they had been together every day when in actuality it has usually been months…<br />
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They enjoy each other without the stress and distrust of real love… <br />
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Or…maybe… this is the purest and simplest form of love… Uncomplicated and free…<br />
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Coppercopper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-59535697176078890322011-05-03T22:54:00.000-05:002011-05-03T22:54:17.463-05:00The fire inside<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmk_U0-RikkX-_H23gRtKVFYCA7QkMzppewcMtd-6RpInN72KLsJF_V53121soj0_h3lutf29vw8ZNOIm8DCikxRMZwIE2ju93fcbVubsv7oLJyW5qoS4kfdyX5SwIZ71ZmhrYDUwDbfLx/s1600/spark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmk_U0-RikkX-_H23gRtKVFYCA7QkMzppewcMtd-6RpInN72KLsJF_V53121soj0_h3lutf29vw8ZNOIm8DCikxRMZwIE2ju93fcbVubsv7oLJyW5qoS4kfdyX5SwIZ71ZmhrYDUwDbfLx/s320/spark.jpg" width="212" /></a>A burning desire... the building up of pressure...the throbbing fever of spirit. That inner spark that can be doused to barely a flicker or fed and fueled a roaring inferno. Copper has tread the coals of both smoldering outter rims... She finds that the true art of life is in the abilty to just run with it...and don't look down.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Guarding her flame she struggles...burning dangerously hot but working diligently to stay within the safe confinement of kiln... She fears she will work the fire and turn the embers until she is so overcome by the heat that she bursts open... causing an explosion of emotion to cascade down around her an onto those near her. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Still, she is cautious when she dampers the flame for if she allows herself to drop too low... if she cools too much and her embers turn to ash... she will become cold...she will no longer be able to warm herself or heat up another...</div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-25181262945775655312010-10-24T03:46:00.001-05:002010-10-24T03:50:57.680-05:00Watching Insanity: Part One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhnKlb5rME3rvmx9XHkirfDixuSc8SRzCoi2yPghItsNaJ3OQQV47WftEegVxD2JJyoOxhpv9Wls6P3Inj30ibcw_16lXwLdIp2cnFERabf7bh42GP2vXJ9pUqLZQJ-yn1NP-SeXtGKnm/s1600/corner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEhnKlb5rME3rvmx9XHkirfDixuSc8SRzCoi2yPghItsNaJ3OQQV47WftEegVxD2JJyoOxhpv9Wls6P3Inj30ibcw_16lXwLdIp2cnFERabf7bh42GP2vXJ9pUqLZQJ-yn1NP-SeXtGKnm/s320/corner.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>For Sarah, <br />
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You have inspired me to finally attempt to find the words to tell the story...<br />
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I love you..<br />
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My friends we are about to begin a journey. It will be a long terrible trip and every moment is true. We will go places that the sane will never venture. Friends, dear sweet friends, tonight we travel into the mind of a madman. <br />
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NIGHT ONE : WAKING UP IN HELL<br />
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It was a few years back. I was still with the Grand Asshole and we were living in the converted basement of a ranch style brick overlooking the high school. I really don't know how to say it began it just seemed to happen. We had had friends over earlier that day and had stayed up late watching TV. I was really sleepy and he has had his usual over dosage of pharmaceuticals so I helped him stumble to the bed and went around to my side. I still had my jeans on so I slipped them off onto the floor and left them in a crumpled pile. I climbed into bed and was asleep very soon after.<br />
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A few hours later I was startled awake. "I know what you fucking did bitch." His face inches from mine. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek. I blinked my eyes. Once. Twice. What? He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me up. "I know you had sex with them! I know you taped it, I watched you. Are you three gonna sell it? Make money making a mockery of me?" He was up on his knees on the bed. Naked. Looking at me, his eyes wild in the moonlight leaking through the curtains. I was so confused. What was it he had said. Something about sex. "What are you talking about?" "Sex with who?" "Did you have a bad dream? What's wrong with you?" <br />
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He tells me that he saw me and the friends that we just had over go into the bathroom and he watched as we proceeded to film ourselves fucking each other all twisted different ways. He was adamant that it had happened. He pointed to my jeans on the floor and shouted "see you still have your pants off!" I said of course, I mean we were in bed, I don't sleep with my pants on. We are up and fighting now and I just can't figure this out. He seems to really believe that this happened. I can't convince him it was a dream. But then it all starts go from bad to really freaking strange. He goes to the closet and picks up a shoe. A brown Stacy Adams. Then he starts talking to it. Talking to his friend named Randy actually. He says Randy is in the shoe. Like inside of the shoe. I can't believe what I am hearing. He is telling Randy how I am such the little cunt and that I have probably been having sex with of his friends. As he is talking to Randy he begins to pick at himself, like you would pick off a ball of lint. He says he has arrows on him and he has to pick them off. He says that they keep hitting him and pricking him like thorns. Here is a man standing at the foot of the bed naked, picking at nothing and holding a wing tip shoe! I must be dreaming. But I am not dreaming. I know I am not dreaming when he opens the window and the cold November air rushes through. He says the room is filling with spiders and he has to scoop them out. He looks insane. I am really scared. He is cupping his hands and going through the motions of scooping and dumping out the window. Every time I try to explain that what he is seeing is not there he pushes me back and shouts for me to stop lying. He says I am just trying to confuse him so he will forget what I did. <br />
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He goes to the window and stands there. Looking at his reflection he thinks that there is someone out in the yard looking at him. He climbs through the window with a golf club. I go down the hall and out the front door. He is swinging the club in the darkness and daring the nonexistent intruder to come near him. After much persuasion I finally get him to come inside. He sits on the couch. and I get him to put on his robe. He sees his winter coat hanging on the coat rack and goes over to it. Suddenly he yells at the red and black fabric to stop laughing at him. He jerks it from the rack and is on the floor punching the coat! He is screaming at it but I don't understand what he is saying. Something about all the faces and they are laughing. <br />
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Its dawn. He has wrestled and fought the jacket in the floor for hours. Crawling around, scooting across the floor. He has carpet burn on his knees and elbows. His fingers are raw and his knuckles are bloody. He sleeps in the corner. He has taken off his robe and wrapped it around his head. <br />
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I lay on the couch crying, hoping he will be normal when he wakes up...<br />
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to be continued...copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-728849991484509452010-06-29T19:36:00.000-05:002010-06-29T19:36:01.476-05:00...a quick word on comments<span style="color: #6fa8dc;">I have been putting this off for some time now. I will now begin approving comments before the are available for public view. PLEASE continue to leave comments, as they are my motivation to continue writing. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Damn Spam!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Copper</span>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-43186978224570256782010-06-29T00:06:00.000-05:002010-06-29T00:06:14.600-05:00The dentist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBr71kBs0lM4TTUJwexKXaxIub0Z2D34c42e-aodNP3c-y5fm_W86DEjwdBcJM4f8qVORHZzxDpRMEx_h_tZdeKrA-dSoIVGa9Zqon__5SebbmJk5u9euM2F_XVpr1MUOOMlXLUBvc1WO/s1600/dent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBr71kBs0lM4TTUJwexKXaxIub0Z2D34c42e-aodNP3c-y5fm_W86DEjwdBcJM4f8qVORHZzxDpRMEx_h_tZdeKrA-dSoIVGa9Zqon__5SebbmJk5u9euM2F_XVpr1MUOOMlXLUBvc1WO/s400/dent.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: red;">A friend of mine had a toothache. He likes to complain a lot and had been complaining of this tooth for so long but always said he did not have the money to get it looked at. That is always his story so I was just sick of hearing it! One day we were hanging out with some other friends of ours and one of them mentioned a dentist that they had heard of that would pull a tooth for $50. He acted like he could handle the price so I chimed in and asked for his name and number. Now its around 9 pm and were all just sitting around talking. Of course he starts in about how much it hurts and could he use my phone to call. Sure why not. Its late and its Sunday night. I assumed he would get an answering service and life would move on. Not so much!</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Someone answers. As i listen I begin to realize this gent is open for business! Seriously? He is two towns over but still, we're in the Bible Belt. That is unheard of in this area. He hands me my phone and asks will I drive him. Where?! To the DENTIST? Umm, I guess so. At least maybe the complaining will be over.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">So we start out. He had gotten directions and i punch them into TomTom. All the while I am thinking that this just seems real odd to me. By the time we get there it around 11pm. I pull up to see one vehicle in the parking lot. A Navigator. Ok, so maybe he does well for himself. Its a bit promising. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">We walk in and see a shabby looking waiting room. Mis-matched chairs around the walls. Very old, sticky looking magazines are strewn around on wobbly tables. It smells like the cinnamon fluoride paste that dentist offices are famous for.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">All around the room there are photocopied lists hung:</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br />
</span><br />
<div align="center"><span style="color: red;">1 tooth - $50</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color: red;">2 teeth - $60</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color: red;">3 teeth - $65</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div align="left"><span style="color: red;">The list goes all the way through until the last line:</span></div><div align="left"><span style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">Full mouth - $350</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red;">I had to blink a few times for the effect to set in. Now a lady in Carolina blue BabyPhat scrubs approach us. She verifies that he is the person that they were expecting and leads us down a short hallway to a room on the left. It looks unkempt if not plain dirty. I choose the only chair in the room, other than the reclining dental contraption reserved for the patient. It was a metal framed waiting room chair with the typical light padding and grey upholstery over the seat and back rest. It vaguely occurs to me that there are bits of white and pink fuzz stuck to it. I am tired and have to work the next day so it don't even make an attempt to wipe it off, i just sit. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: red;">He takes his place as patient and its only a few seconds until the woman rushes back in with a clipboard. She asks him a few very basic questions and says sign here. He complies. I will later reason that she did not explain what he was being asked to sign because it was no doubt a waiver releasing the office from any and all liability for... well... anything. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Now it gets interesting. The dentist comes in the room like a man on a real mission.He walks up to my friend and says "Pay me." My friend complies. He darts past me to the other side of the room. He reaches behind the reclining chair and pulls out a tray of dental devices de' torture. He looks up and out into the hallway. The man yells "What are you dense? Get the hell in here!" The woman comes running in carrying the customary blue bib with chain and drapes it over my friend, not bothering to put the chain around his shoulders and attach the clip. The dentist fills a syringe from a clear vial and states "I am giving you a shot and it will hurt." In less than a heartbeat he jams it into my friend's mouth. I flinch from my post in the corner. My friend screams words that his momma would smack him for. Then... what happened next still makes me cringe.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">The good doctor reaches for one of his utensils. Its a slim stainless steel thing, similar to a set of pliers. He is in my friend's mouth in a blink a hear a crack. Another, he pulls out a piece of tooth and slings it across the room. The shard bounces off the wall and hits the floor. I realize that I am staring at the piece of tooth and that my mouth is hanging open. It is a very good thing that I closed it because then came another bit and it bounced off of my cheek and onto my leg. Oh! I look up to see a what actually appears to be a madman. He is hunched over my friend, pulling and breaking off bits of tooth and throwing them over his shoulder. My friend is making noises that are about half shriek and half gag. The lady in blue is standing there with the plastic sucking device. Every few seconds she does her thing. My friend has passed out. I suppose he has gotten all the tooth out because he stops, stands up and turns to me and says " What kind of pain medication does he want?" Umm, I don't know, isn't that his job? I don't say this though. I don't say anything. But I do close my mouth because it was open again. He leaves the room as does the nurse. I sit there for just a moment before my friend wakes up moaning. The nurse returns and hands me a stack of papers and says </span><br />
<span style="color: red;">" Leave now. He is awake. Take him to the Walgreen's across the street." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">As I rise to leave this house of horrors, my final thought was of the bits of white and pink fuzz that I noticed in the chair when we arrived. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">I was sitting on strangers teeth! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">I confess I removed my pants in the parking lot of the dentist office. I left them laying there. I refused to allow the particles of someones pearly whites to enter my car. My friend was unconscious. The man at the Walgreen's drive through window didn't say a word. I suppose the look on my face kept him silenced. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">For weeks afterward my friend picked little scraps of tooth from the wound. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">This dentist office is still open and from the looks of the parking lot during regular hours, has a thriving business. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Copper</span><br />
<br />
</div><div align="left"><br />
</div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-70042247749394201372010-06-28T23:07:00.001-05:002010-06-28T23:11:46.235-05:00The Amusement Park: You gotta call that love, man.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLnkIHSJJQ3MVP4fTs6gqRXYa_aWviARcSyGGrJP4OsZ0EbN8zJXiFH-M_d3idihv0RAZh7QaWzwB1I7Oq2XnYfyfy3oWwrb1FH0r7SwtYP6vRtygKhxO31M4LhUyuiKjuMnOnaBxGY4KG/s1600/excited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLnkIHSJJQ3MVP4fTs6gqRXYa_aWviARcSyGGrJP4OsZ0EbN8zJXiFH-M_d3idihv0RAZh7QaWzwB1I7Oq2XnYfyfy3oWwrb1FH0r7SwtYP6vRtygKhxO31M4LhUyuiKjuMnOnaBxGY4KG/s400/excited.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: orange;">When I was a little girl I would become so excited at the mention of a trip to the amusement park. I would be sitting up in the backseat of my mom's Oldsmobile smiling ear to ear and talking my parent's heads off. The would repeatedly have to tell me to sit back in the seat and be quiet. I would comply for about five minutes. I just couldn't wait. The thrill of the roller coasters and candy peanuts have since wained considerably, although I still enjoy a good wooden track with plenty of twists and turns, once in a while. The truth is that I rarely think of the amusement park these days, someone close to me recently used it to teach me a lesson I will not soon forget.</span></div><br />
<span style="color: orange;">It was one of those experiences in your life that you never truly expected to have. I was like that little girl again, siting up in the back seat and loving every moment. I was in a place that I wanted to be, with someone that I wanted to be there with and all was right with the world. As the time passed I was saddened because I was painfully aware that soon, it would all have to end as abruptly as it had began. It hurt. I was in the midst of feeling sorry for myself when I was told:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;">" Don't spend the entire time at the amusement park crying because you will have to leave. Enjoy it for what it is while you can. If you don't, you will look up and it will all be over. You will have missed it."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;">He was exactly right. I may never visit that 'amusement park' again, but I rode all the rides I could and ate all the candy peanuts I could find. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;">I am reminded of a quote by Janice Joplin from Ball and Chain:</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">"I mean, if you got a cat for one day, man — I mean, if you, say, say, if you want a cat for 365 days, right — You ain't got him for 365 days, you got him for one day, man. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">Well I tell you that one day, man, better be your life, man. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">Because, you know, you can say, oh man, you can cry about the other 364, man, but you're gonna lose that one day, man, and that's all you've got. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">You gotta call that love, man."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: orange;">What else could be said?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;">Fin</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: orange;">Copper</span></div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-91659012930463545592010-05-24T20:30:00.001-05:002010-05-24T20:39:34.181-05:00Yellow T-Shirt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyleVQ_bJ_wz2jOVr0yFofE21ReDPqrQln92cJoitxgSabKYaoBg4Lq9FcTDIu7x8TEqP7lLK4tx-IS9McgoRI2phSe-ls1iIpWJklH4sQeHTvWBX9V7jkZrZWtbpbAK7MfBOtk8HO4O7/s1600/yellow-t.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyleVQ_bJ_wz2jOVr0yFofE21ReDPqrQln92cJoitxgSabKYaoBg4Lq9FcTDIu7x8TEqP7lLK4tx-IS9McgoRI2phSe-ls1iIpWJklH4sQeHTvWBX9V7jkZrZWtbpbAK7MfBOtk8HO4O7/s320/yellow-t.png" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: yellow;">I slept in it even though we had been driving all night. It smelled like him. I was wrapped in him and was surrounded by his scent. Even though his arms were around me once again, it made me feel more than close to him. It made me feel that I was in the most natural place I could be. Like I belonged in his arms with my head on his chest. I did not mean to put it in my bag when we got up later to shower. Or maybe, subconsciously, i did. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: yellow;">It was not until i was home unpacking that I realized i still had it. I washed it.Then after in internal struggle with myself, I wore it one more night, this time in my bed. Its as close to he may ever come to being there with me. I could still smell him faintly. I relished the comfort it provided.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: yellow;"> I felt a little guilty as i placed it in the washing machine a second time. I should not have done that. But even though I sent him a link here, he has never visited. I wonder now what he would think if he knew. Most likely that I am crazy. But I am actually just lonely. He wore it today. I wanted reach out and touch him. I wanted to feel the material in my hands again. Of course I said nothing, did nothing. I felt a sense longing. Whats new?</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: yellow;">Copper</span></div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-30785628981539923232010-03-24T20:57:00.003-05:002010-03-24T21:14:33.306-05:00Let the bodies hit the floor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQLqDZckZ0V621lrNYlrslvVDih0lP7pMZc8Jx1QZH4oz0btuJ79-Ap6b8a7D6aN2hnzHo3NeAvehPBAdL2xrKimVA1_SAMBXDOfJXnkg6fJ5EjVmrZvx9NycturuC4P5FcmO0_Ckzkl_/s1600/downthebarrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQLqDZckZ0V621lrNYlrslvVDih0lP7pMZc8Jx1QZH4oz0btuJ79-Ap6b8a7D6aN2hnzHo3NeAvehPBAdL2xrKimVA1_SAMBXDOfJXnkg6fJ5EjVmrZvx9NycturuC4P5FcmO0_Ckzkl_/s400/downthebarrel.jpg" width="257" /></a></div><span style="color: #cc0000;">It was one of the first pleasent nights we have had since the weather broke. I had cleaned the dog kennel early in the day, Its pretty much an out door bedroom, in my opinion. It happens to be the same dementions as my bedroom, in fact! I put the boys out there thinking that they would enjoy the fresh air.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">The people next door have regular arguments. Its quite commonplace. I usually tune them out pretty well, but that night it had gotten pretty rough. I woke to the sound of the dogs barking. It sounded like they were about to absolutly loose their minds out there. I jumped up and threw on my robe. I could hear their voices outside intermingled with growls and barking. It was after midnight.I decided I had to bring them inside. I ran out the back door barefoot. When I got to the end of the house I saw a figure in the street. He was lit pretty well by the orange-sulfer glow of the street light above him. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">The figure was holding a shotgun. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">It was the husband from next door. He was standing the with one hand on his hip and the other grasped the shotgun about half way down the barrell. I was frozen. I did not dare make a move until I figured out what he was up to. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">I could see the wife through the front window. She loked frazzled but ok. Then she ran out the front door. She bent down and picked up a rock and threw it towards him. Was she serious? A rock? That can't end well! He pointed the barrel at her. I wanted to scream! But Copper ain't stupid. I stood my ground. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">I stood my ground well over an hour. They argued. They wrestled. He slapped her. She punched him. He broke her phone. She grabbed the gun. He choked her and got it back.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Noone called the police. I waited outside. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">After a while they got quieter. I had not seen the gun in a while. Soon she walked back inside. He lit a smoke and stood under the street light, and get this... he was blowing smoke rings. Just as cool and calm as you please. It gave me chills. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">After flicking the butt into the street he went inside too. I stood there contemplating what to do next. I really did not want to leave my dogs out with this madman. I walked ever so softly and let them out. They ran furoiusly towards the back door. My heart was in my throat. What if he had heard. I played it cool and saundered back to the house.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Only once we were inside did I begin to shake. I was scared. Living alone don't usually bother me. I have Super Woman Syndrome. I feel like I don't need anyone. I lived through the Grand Asshole, I can take on anything. Not this night. This night I was truly scared. I needed someone to hold onto, someone to protect me. But Super Copper had to go it alone, but she did drink a beer in complete darkness at 2 am on a saturday morning. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">I had layed down somewhere about 3. The dogs were right outside my bedroom door. I was feeling pretty cozy and i guess I drifted off to sleep. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">BAM! BAM!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">BAM! BAM! BAM!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="color: #cc0000;">My mind hears it before I can understand it. My body smacks against the hardwood floor! I must have hit the deck before I actually woke up. Now here I lay. Hurting. Some of you will remember I have been here before and let me tell you, the floor has not softened up a bit! I listen. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">BAM! BAM!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">to be continued...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-30011112643765213602010-03-13T20:00:00.002-05:002010-03-13T20:15:14.821-05:00Five Star Bitch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8e24mS69ZtTvlyjA3v15xleGh7c7oLHIdY0nWo4zddibXEYhl6_mXuB_NmkLnXxRVIRUd7LNcZJu44Zi89b28qAR6LYELmSm4ldJzKmShB3hKTHOVkmv9Ud8es7kjberGlaS8MetkyNC/s1600-h/btich.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8e24mS69ZtTvlyjA3v15xleGh7c7oLHIdY0nWo4zddibXEYhl6_mXuB_NmkLnXxRVIRUd7LNcZJu44Zi89b28qAR6LYELmSm4ldJzKmShB3hKTHOVkmv9Ud8es7kjberGlaS8MetkyNC/s400/btich.png" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #cc0000;">Yes, thats what he said said. Someone told me today that I am a Five Star Bitch. Wow! Thanks for the compliment. That was so sweet of you, you Classy Bastard! Thing is, i believe that he actually thought I was going to take those words and feel warm and fuzzy toward him because he cared enough to utter them. </span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">I guess in his way, he was giving me a compliment. But where are we as women if we choose to let the media and music set out boundries? He is calling me a bitch and we have not even went out yet. What a future I would have to look forward to! I think I have been there before and thank you, but no! </span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">What would it take to be a Five Star Bitch? I have no idea why I feel the need to capitalize that title, unless its just the sheer audasity of the phrase itself, that deserves to be honored. I have heard the Yo Gotti track so I suppose we should look at the term bitch as the media portrays it to be basically another word for woman. So what about five star? I it a typical 5 of 5 rating. Well my Rate-My-Face page has sled steady at a 9.3 for many years now, but thats not 10 of 10 so im about a 4.something star to internet land. By the way Copperstiletto is NOT my ratemyface name so, if your curious, don't even try. But I guess it is supposing alot for me to think you would, so moving on. </span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Five star would also include such things as independance. I would have to give myself a five here. Sorry, but I am. Financial security, umm, four. And that may be pushing it some months. I do have my own house and car. Guess that stands for something. So what are the other catagories that I am missing here? Looks to me like my assesment would land me at about a Four Star Bitch. I think I a cool with that. </span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">As for the Five Star Bitch, well as the song says, ...let me know when you meet her. </span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Copper</span>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-86470304844881237862010-03-11T21:24:00.001-05:002010-03-13T19:38:01.481-05:00I'm happy in my car<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6iXCan9SKOjoMN5z1Qy9QsUaote51nphYsPrIMqWyLf17Zu40qj5YTwGw4gA2Z2Q0pMsMw7Xtplht71elbDdayNe2v4Rwg1A1YGhkSyYiOi4IsLt_bL2ytOndOwf5lg_V7Ye8UYySED8g/s1600-h/in+the+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6iXCan9SKOjoMN5z1Qy9QsUaote51nphYsPrIMqWyLf17Zu40qj5YTwGw4gA2Z2Q0pMsMw7Xtplht71elbDdayNe2v4Rwg1A1YGhkSyYiOi4IsLt_bL2ytOndOwf5lg_V7Ye8UYySED8g/s400/in+the+car.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: orange;">Today I noticed something about myself. There are many places I love to be, I enjoy my job, really love being at home, its nice to visit friends and family, but where I am really comfortable, is in my car. From the drivers seat of my car I feel empowered. I am safe and protected. Its funny just how comfortable I can get. I will catch myself getting to deep in the radio. Putting on a concert for the rearview mirror. Speakers blaring, its no use to try to see out of it or the back windsheild because they, along with the headlights, are bouncing to the beat with me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;">If I have to make an important or stressful call to make, most of the time I do it from my car. I can muster up such bravery while surrounded by that hunk of shiny sheet metal. Any serious conversation is no worry for me while I am sitting there. Its windows, tinted the shade of a permanent marker, conceal me and I am in my safe place. Like a dog's den, it is my sanctuary. Noone can hurt me here. I have spent long hours crying in my car, trying to make sense of it all. Spent many more singing and laughing to myself. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;">Yes, I know its silly... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;">But you take 'happy' wherever you may find it.</span><br />
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<span style="color: orange;">Copper</span>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-1429015076060839692010-03-11T14:40:00.002-05:002010-03-11T15:09:44.564-05:00UnattainableThere are certain situations that, if awarded the opportunity, a person would truly give all they had inside of them to make that situation become a lifestyle. <br /><br />Sounds almost simplistic in nature, but none the less true. You would cherish each moment in its entirety. When you have a craving from deep within your core, a permanent ache, you are consumed with desire. When you have caught fleeting glimpses of the feeling that you so long for it causes an obsession to develop. Like a drug, you are constantly seeking that initial high. The pain is almost pleasant in that it is a constant reminder of what you had and how desperately you want it to be yours. <br /><br />How does it feel to know that that which you want so badly is out of your reach? Even if just slightly . Sometimes it can be so close you can taste it. Maybe your fingertips can occasionally graze the object of your beloved obsession lightly, but never able to grasp and hold on. <br /><br />But somehow, you keep reaching, stretching, pushing the limits of relationships and your imagination. Your soul is restless. Hoping beyond hope that somehow, someway, you will find peace.<br /><br />Coppercopper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-53490436923593220062010-03-08T19:41:00.003-05:002010-03-08T20:34:02.939-05:00I'll just wear mine<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIOtvdHIUrGijSBBpXepvG1OcJSX2tWsQYWnKh2PnBzfHOrguOmGto6DxTFeZetJkNumEWhvXoiPmzEIaSQmJC2dH3Z4rRSW6bAocYDfss0aIR9FZGF2w_Po1j4Y0f2qWvfFdBXKt7IvLJ/s1600-h/old.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIOtvdHIUrGijSBBpXepvG1OcJSX2tWsQYWnKh2PnBzfHOrguOmGto6DxTFeZetJkNumEWhvXoiPmzEIaSQmJC2dH3Z4rRSW6bAocYDfss0aIR9FZGF2w_Po1j4Y0f2qWvfFdBXKt7IvLJ/s400/old.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446441316667521330" /></a><br />I was thinking about life the other night and a strange analogy occurred to me. I thought I would share it with the women here. Men you still may learn something so please continue.<br /><br />Let us pretend for a moment that we live in a world far different from the what we accustomed to. Lets ponder the clothes you are wearing now. For illustrative sake we will say it is a dress. Let's also say that, during life here, that each woman is awarded one dress, just one. Now some will get ball gowns, some sun dresses, some a plain single color sheath, but each has theirs, and only theirs, to wear.<br /><br />I would say that you would protect your dress from all stain and soil. You would reinforce the seams often, making them resist the stress of everyday wear and tear. You would want to keep it as clean and presentable as you could.<br /><br />Now imagine, for a moment, that you get a hole torn in the dress from a struggle one day. You moved the wrong way and it just happened. It would hurt, wouldn't it? You would try to think up all sorts of ways to put it back like it was, but it can never be exactly the same. So you begin to think of was to handle the pain.<br /><br />You could try to take someone elses dress, but even if you could wrestle it away from them, it would never quite fit right and you would live with a feeling of guilt from then on. <br /><br />You could stitch it up alone, it would close the hold. There would always be a scar with frayed edges. The cool air would seep in occasionally to remind you not to make that move, lest the same thing repeat itself.<br /><br />You could borrow bits and pieces from friends and quilt a patch for the hole. It covers well, and you feel warmer, but somewhere underneath, you will always remember it was there, it just don't bother you much anymore. <br /><br />Lastly, you could strip off the dress and walk around bearing all, risking everything. It will be refreshing and fun, but eventually, you will get uncomfortable, and seek out your old comfy, warn in, fits you perfect, dress.<br /><br />I think i will just be proud of my dress, open gaps, large quilted areas, jagged lines where I have tried to fix myself without help. I am proud of my rips and stains. <br /><br />At least I have lived!<br /><br />Coppercopper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-63893329214965906682010-03-05T19:39:00.005-05:002010-03-06T10:43:20.260-05:00When I grow up<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3o33KX8G8pZOnP2VsXgzDPDPQsAJImAMFfbvUyzweao16_A9C6bub7z6cNhxEXrFre8SYABMMBj-avY4vcgYYJnkEYVZeVIo-U0eSp0UMij6E0oAhpAYO1ZfB5Hwjnjr9-9cZOIzhvfex/s1600-h/Cinderella_by_peeko.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3o33KX8G8pZOnP2VsXgzDPDPQsAJImAMFfbvUyzweao16_A9C6bub7z6cNhxEXrFre8SYABMMBj-avY4vcgYYJnkEYVZeVIo-U0eSp0UMij6E0oAhpAYO1ZfB5Hwjnjr9-9cZOIzhvfex/s400/Cinderella_by_peeko.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445397357928452370" /></a><br />I want to be Cinderella! That was my 8 year old answer to growing up. I was a spoiled child. Not rotten in need of a swift kick in the ass. I was made walk the line. I have mentioned before that I was raised in Free Will Baptist household. We were at the church every time the doors were opened. I had chores and responsibilities... but I was spoiled too. I am an adopted only child. Makes for a special kid. I was wanted, chosen and planned for. Since I was so darn special, my parents wanted to give me everything my little heart desired. It was an enchanted life. So it makes sense that to me growing up to live life like a fairytale was certainly plausible. I expected the ease and gentleness of my parents house to simply flow over into mine when adulthood dawned. Their perfect marriage, bills always paid, check book in the black. I expected to take family vacations with my children, and I expected it all to just somehow... happen.<br /><br />I have had to build my life like the rest of the world. I was not ushered to the door of my home in a carriage fashioned from a pumpkin. I have learned to accept the struggles as learning experiences. The kids and I have eaten many potato chip and whatever is in the cabinet" casseroles. We have had garage sales at our Secion 8 housing apartment to buy gasoline. Over time I have been blessed to be able to establish a life for my children and I, we are doing quite well now.<br /><br />This past CHRISTmas I was very proud of the spread I was able to put underneath the tree. There were actually gifts worth more than few dollars and many of them. I watched with anticipation as they tore through the paper and ribbon. They were pleased, and i was too. I felt it was one of the best CHRISTmas' we had had so far.<br /><br />A few weeks ago I mentioned to my son that I felt this way, He is 14 going on 20 and sometimes the thimgs that he says really throw me for a loop. This was one of those times. He ponders what I said for only a second then says "know what mom?" "I think the best CHRISTmas' were the ones where we really didn't have much but each other." "It made everything small feel so big!" <br /><br />Guess I am doing something right! <br /><br />Coppercopper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-41264743079545707972010-03-04T18:07:00.006-05:002010-03-04T22:23:53.484-05:00Sticky Situation<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgppXQUQSAK7797hZDa2cmF2fRE_iu3BU3lLYXp1QwZYoqaelqkiI-NK-T2LIRjXrproek3_d-1lxKvShb5N98hxGm28cFI3Lk5FYxjnd9NKKyTBnLQxTiGlpDn0lnlRNnDR6BqS_tzcBvN/s1600-h/Heart_by_lady_wildflower.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444985276699063250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgppXQUQSAK7797hZDa2cmF2fRE_iu3BU3lLYXp1QwZYoqaelqkiI-NK-T2LIRjXrproek3_d-1lxKvShb5N98hxGm28cFI3Lk5FYxjnd9NKKyTBnLQxTiGlpDn0lnlRNnDR6BqS_tzcBvN/s400/Heart_by_lady_wildflower.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#cc66cc;">This happened to me about a month ago. Leave it to me, eh? A few of my friends have heard this story in short form but i felt it was worth sharing.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">If you have been here before then it should not come as a shock to you that I frequent the local adult novelty store. They have really cute jewelry there and you know I love the exotic heels they sell! (I am certain that i will be compared to a man with his "i just read those magazines for the articles" line for that one) But seriously, I don't make a B-line to the hot pink-'feels like real skin'-powerful vibration section! I like to look at the stuff in the front of the store too! </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;">So the other day I pass by the store on the way home from work and the sign out front said:</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">!NEW SHIPMENT JUST ARRIVED!</span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">PANDORA COLLECTION</span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">CHECK IT OUT TODAY </span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">I'm not too tired and I am curious to know what Pandora collected. I pull up and park. Of course I'm still wearing what I did to the office, black dress slacks, red sweater and black stilettos. It would have never occurred to me that I would look like anything other than a simple office worker with a touch of style. You will see why this is important as you read on. </span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">I pick up my purse and drop my keys inside then walk in casually. To the left there are some very adorable bra and panty sets that catch my eye immediately. As begin flipping through them. Nothing I can't live without. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">As I continue to walk around the store I see that the lady behind the counter is watching me quite intently. Does she think I am gonna steal something? Surely not. As I get closer to the counter she steps from behind it and approaches me. She pretty, a bit portly but carries it well. Nice smile but needs to leave the knits alone and go with a much more structured ensemble. </span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Then one of the strangest conversations I have ever had begins. She asks how I was doing, I reply in the typical nonchalant way. She tells me she has something that just arrived that I will love and would love amazing on me. The Pandora Collection? I was slightly excited. I follow her to the far side of the counter where she produces a small silver box. Hmm. She tells me that I could wear these to work and everyone would love them. I am thinking some sexy rhinestone earrings. Not quite.</span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Pasties! Nice ones, I have to give her that. They are silver and have dangling gemstones. Woulda made a killer pair of earrings!</span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Then I think... wait... she thinks I am a stripper! Not that its a bad gig, I hear there is plenty of money to be made. I just never tried it. But why does the think this? Is it the way I am dressed? I am not lude or inappropriate. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">It concerns me that she would automatically assume anything at all about me. A good sales person asks questions about the customer before making an offer of any product. I explained to her that she was incorrect about my profession, as politely as I could, thinking that was the end of that. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">But wait...</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">this woman does not get it!</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">She says, still smiling: But you DO do this on the side don't you?</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Unbelievable!</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Copper</span></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div></div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-5301019275292663422010-03-03T20:38:00.004-05:002010-03-03T21:25:50.357-05:00The Kitchen Table<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGDxWReHnPQRJVfVAmjnaEEm-TQ_j9aP2Xgb7Ynb66SXnp8WYAcTuLhZVLFqhyjO9aGf7kaIiKtfUDXTCr8YgJtm3qQaYuadtUD-XadGVU4Rxz6zNddwDOumS1ZPMQvv_1r7qtvIw9mjo/s1600-h/purpkiss.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 267px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444598667376422274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGDxWReHnPQRJVfVAmjnaEEm-TQ_j9aP2Xgb7Ynb66SXnp8WYAcTuLhZVLFqhyjO9aGf7kaIiKtfUDXTCr8YgJtm3qQaYuadtUD-XadGVU4Rxz6zNddwDOumS1ZPMQvv_1r7qtvIw9mjo/s400/purpkiss.jpg" /></a><br /><div>... is where i sit. I think I need to pop the top on the single beer i have left. He has been chilling in the old <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kelvinator</span> down in the basement for about a week now. Its been a pleasant week at work and I really have not felt the urge to indulge. Surely due to part of me still being in Heaven. I have a feeling that there will always be a part of me that is. Like a VCR with a tape trapped inside, i replay that magical night over and over again.<br /><br /><br />The dogs are play fighting in the living room. The two huge Labs shake the floor and make the basement echo their thumps throughout the otherwise silent house. So do I consume my friend or let him wait it out? Its almost eight. But what do I have to loose. I am sure I will go to bed shorty anyway. Why not...<br /><br /><br />I noticed that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">alot</span> of my friends here are gone now. Oh, there are a few still around. Sporadic posts. But who am I to talk huh? Sometimes life gets in the way of itself. Hopefully there will be a few float back in on the wings of change to report some wonderful news one day.<br /><br />Their absence has left a void in my readers. But who am I here to please anyway? Its not like I will ever do this for a living. Although I would love to, I do not possess the necessary talent to be a writer. But I love to write!<br /><br />I noticed that I have received a few comments from a couple of new readers. I went perusing through blogs last night and found a few I really liked. For any of you that decided to return tonight and possibly drink from the well that is Copper... WELCOME!<br /><br />I mean that in the most sincere of ways. You truly are welcome here anytime. You may leave comments, rant or whatever you like. If for some reason you desire my twisted opinion on any subject, feel free to ask.<br /><br /><br />So good friends i will leave you to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">descend</span> the stairs to the basement. My friend is calling...<br /><br />Copper</div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-82899243695939980912010-03-02T22:17:00.005-05:002010-03-05T17:48:53.691-05:00Heaven<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibcD9DShAb2tDUV9Uwwq4jNADZOPe5SJRZFedYFuyo65Mqbbhjkyt-5EsMaeJsHef758wkj2Lnh3jZIChUJVgj7zmjRQdkmPR4A2RoYQv-H-QgY50jF6i2tCHSksOG5ceaV-xJXdwPsX_K/s1600-h/Passion_by_klr.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 399px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444250190670678162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibcD9DShAb2tDUV9Uwwq4jNADZOPe5SJRZFedYFuyo65Mqbbhjkyt-5EsMaeJsHef758wkj2Lnh3jZIChUJVgj7zmjRQdkmPR4A2RoYQv-H-QgY50jF6i2tCHSksOG5ceaV-xJXdwPsX_K/s400/Passion_by_klr.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I experienced a night in Heaven.<br /><br />It was an explosion of passion that shook the world inside of me as it had never been shook before.<br /><br />I was taken in by a pair of soulful eyes and a New York accent. I melted. I succumbed to the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">rhythm</span> of his bittersweet swagger.<br /><br />He called to me. I arrived, nervous. I had been with him before but not like this. This was much different. The air was thick with desire. He lay undressed and lay down before me. He was a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">beautiful</span> man. Built like <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Solomon</span>, he was almost intimidating. I approached, slipped off my dress and rose up to embrace my trembling body. His hands, Oh his hands! They slid from my shoulders to my waist to my hips.<br /><br />He pulled me down beside him. Has he <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">caressed</span> my breast his other hand explored me. I was drenched in desire as he <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">whispered</span> in my ear that he was so pleased that i came to his side. As he entered me <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">electricity</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">coursed</span> through my body leaving my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">fingertips</span> numb. He filled me. He was so deep inside of me i am <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">certain</span> he touched parts of me that had never been reached before. I was consumed with pleasure as was he.<br /><br />We continued this dance together for hours. Stopping to rest then beginning again with more fever than the time before. We consumed each others passion until we were <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">strangely</span> both empty and full.<br /><br />Only then did we lay together to truly rest. My head on his strong chest, his arm around me. We lay in the silence. The cool air from the open window above felt alive on my moist nude body. This is what Heaven must feel like. It was the kind of contented calm that fills one with peace. He played in my hair until we both fell deep <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">asleep</span>.<br /><br />In the morning he told me it felt as a dream. I concurred. I did not want it to be over, but reality rises with the morning sun. We kissed once more. I felt a tear escape my eye as I turned to leave.<br /><br />We vowed to come back to each others arms again one day.<br /><br />I can only hope, dream and remember ... Heaven.</div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-61558600696199295872010-02-24T20:56:00.003-05:002010-02-24T21:33:08.804-05:00I'm with stupid<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUxGR2ES4wtaFY7FWKdsvs5NqJT-iT_oqXzrUeExE5xfirayys7E_5SgL8zYvumYAJ90vMQTC5hqpzXtdVgJhDFp2S6-FP0mxIFexv22jZCKM28C_Ybz-DVxlPCYrd7idMACh-9sogKZP/s1600-h/Officer__s_close_up_by_TwistedFairyPoison.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 194px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442003511678842914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUxGR2ES4wtaFY7FWKdsvs5NqJT-iT_oqXzrUeExE5xfirayys7E_5SgL8zYvumYAJ90vMQTC5hqpzXtdVgJhDFp2S6-FP0mxIFexv22jZCKM28C_Ybz-DVxlPCYrd7idMACh-9sogKZP/s400/Officer__s_close_up_by_TwistedFairyPoison.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#33ff33;">I</span> <span style="color:#33cc00;">love children. I really do. I would never want to say an unkind word to a child. But let me TELL you about my nephew. He is a cute kid. The round chubby type that you can't help but love but sometimes you would rather chew on aluminium foil than be in the same room a second longer. He's whiny. Cries way two often to be twelve, but as you will see, he does not really function on a twelve year old level either. I don't believe he has a learning disability, or I would not be writing this. He's just a little... peculiar.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">His parents are divorced. Typical setup, mom and dad switch off days/weeks as to who gets him from school, soccer etc. So the other day he was waiting for the bus and must have been kicking rocks around in the parking lot or jamming a paper clip through an eraser because he missed the bus. No big deal right? Happens all the time. The kid is supposed to just walk over and tell a teacher, teacher calls parent, parent picks up kid. Easy. Not this kid. No he just sits around until all the buses leave then goes and sits in the playground. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Mom thinks dad picked him up. He does this sometimes. He usually calls but, no worries, its cool. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Somewhere around 11pm a police officer rolls through the school campus. Just checkin things out. Routine. He sees the kid. Kid's just sittin there smiling. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Officer: Hey kid. What are you doing here? Where are your parents?</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Kid: I missed the bus. I guess they are at home.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Officer: You missed the bus and you did not tell anyone? Well that was not real smart, but lets get you home. Come on, get in. What's your name kid?</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Kid: Scott. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Officer: Ok, Scott. Where do you live? </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Kid: That way. (points up street)</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Officer: Ok I am going to need a little more information from you. What is your address?</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Kid: I don't know</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Officer: You don't know your address? </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Kid: No.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Officer: You have got to be kidding me! How old are you kid?!</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Kid: Twelve.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Officer: You are twelve years old and you don't know your address? Do you know what street? Do you know your phone number?</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">Kid: No but i think i might be able to tell you how to get there if you drive. I never have to use my address so i don't know it and my momma always dials my daddy for me. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">This is a true story! After about 2 hours of driving around he finally recognizes my house as being his aunts. At least that is what Officer Stamey tells me.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;">I drive the kid home. He continues to tell me he does not know his name or telephone number!</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-56194569346902141842010-02-15T18:17:00.003-05:002010-02-17T12:42:04.006-05:00To the other woman...Now I may be a relentless bitch. I may be selfish, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">conniving</span>, or crooked, but i am NOT a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">home wrecker</span>. I have, however, found myself in numerous unfavorable positions and here is a record of one. Lets explore:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In my humble opinion, if a man an woman are married. Tied in the bonds of Holy Matrimony, in legal wedlock, then both are off limits and otherwise unattainable.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Be that as it may, if you are a unmarried person, in a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">committed</span> relationship, if you, yourself, make the decision to stray, then let it be. Now you will most likely find yourself dealing with some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">extreme</span> drama for a few months as you mutually decide the fate of the leftover relationship scraps, but it was your decision to make. You must handle it the best way you know how.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />That said, should you find yourself in a position of being the one that picks up some stray, be aware that the owner may eventually come 'round looking for that pet. There are many ways to handle this situation. Some time ago I had the opportunity to express myself in a way that all of us 'other women' have wanted to do so badly in the past.<br /><br /><br /><br />My <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">apologies</span> in advance.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The phone rings:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />A private number! We all know what that means! (cue intense music)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Copper</span>: Hello<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Caller: Who is this!!??<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Copper: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Umm</span>... who is this? You called me!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Caller: I want to know why your number is in my man's phone!! Who are you? What's your name? Why you be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">callin</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Tyrell</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">fo</span>? You better step back off my baby daddy!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Copper: Wow! Excuse me. I was unaware people actually talked like that. I am sorry to hear that it has upset you to find my number in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Tyrell's</span> phone but he obviously put it there, not me, so i believe you have the wrong person on the line.<br /><br /><br /><br />Caller: I got the right person bitch!<br /><br /><br /><br />Copper: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Ok</span>, let me ask you a question? Have you ever owned a dog? I'll just answer for you and say yes. So you know that with a dog you can train it and feed it and show it all kinds of love and affection and if you do all those things that dog is going to want to stay by your side. He is going to want to protect you. He will be there when everyone else is gone.<br /><br /><br /><br />Caller: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Ok</span> and?! Whats your point?<br /><br /><br /><br />Copper: Well, you see, if you start to neglect that dog, pay no attention to his excitement when you come home. If you start to pet other dogs, hell maybe even a cat or two in the neighborhood, then your dog is going to turn on you. As soon as he sees the front door open he is going to dart out and run away. Looks like you neglected you dog. So like I said, you got the wrong person. The problem is YOU!<br /><br /><br /><br />Coppercopper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-45159786549105652392010-02-14T21:05:00.005-05:002010-03-03T20:37:57.953-05:00Stop and Stare<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9o01IYCSaC1xN7P83VCqiDzeOZ6waz2279gVYBI6w6g-6TBsphXSaIeCJ5rAp-I64tnAMc0YCBZvD2Hko1nstAfws7G-5fQIWAUGg0BfyDJwDtAqXCFXNsI1PSjMN-JjEdVGLOpDKnc3I/s1600-h/53maxwellhousecoffee.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 297px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438293663554692834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9o01IYCSaC1xN7P83VCqiDzeOZ6waz2279gVYBI6w6g-6TBsphXSaIeCJ5rAp-I64tnAMc0YCBZvD2Hko1nstAfws7G-5fQIWAUGg0BfyDJwDtAqXCFXNsI1PSjMN-JjEdVGLOpDKnc3I/s400/53maxwellhousecoffee.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I have a new job. well actually i have been here about 8months now. I have been wanting to start coming back here regularly for a long time. Life gets in the way. There has been so so much. Nearly lost my house... twice! God is good! Saved it both times. The Grand Asshole is still around. Less and less though. I can finally see the plague beginning to dry up.<br /><br />So new job = new characters. Lets begin.<br /><br />We should set the stage first.<br /><br />Curtains open to a large call center floor; a greyblue sea of carpet and cubicles. Smells of weak coffee and chicken wings. A rummage sale of people and personalities. There are so many conversations being had at once it becomes a hum of voices. You begin to pick up bits like "ma'am you have not paid anything in four months! Why do you think you don't have service?" and "...for only 14.95 per month, you can add this service today!"<br /><br />So here we are, who are our players?<br /><br /><br /><br />Random : She is just that. RANDOM. You can count on her for something out of the blue that makes you crack up. Cute girl. Quite ghetto. But probably good at heart.<br /><br />Mr. Amazing : I want to taste him! Have a feeling he may be a topic to further embellish upon later but for now just know this is a prime piece of work. I have had nothing more than a few beers with him but...<br /><br />Yellow Rose : I love her. We were instant friends. Very atypical for the both of us. Probably he reason we get along so well.<br /><br />Madam : ... is the shit! She is freaking hilarious. Sometimes I <span style="color:#ffff00;">actually</span> have to mute customers because I am laughing so hard. She has been working here "since the earth cooled" (her words) and knows almost everything about the job. She can put someone in their place faster than anyone I have ever met.<br /><br />SO there are a few. There are so so many more.<br /><br />I will get there soon enough.<br /><br />Copper</div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-36677609017492498792009-06-27T13:19:00.003-05:002009-06-27T13:40:33.212-05:00RoLLeR CoASteR<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46dOqeApeB5OZmxZGPr7HcLn0LQAvJltFeAEUf9sNdeem109yeAIWCJYKwKEV5b69JZQA3Mw5KKhA9U4HogTMGAXOwCZHGoAThWyTifNCs5ATMuCdXwH3FKsKMbPNvTSpCciep_iRWw7d/s1600-h/manix_intense_-_roller_coaster.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352079110755977778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 282px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46dOqeApeB5OZmxZGPr7HcLn0LQAvJltFeAEUf9sNdeem109yeAIWCJYKwKEV5b69JZQA3Mw5KKhA9U4HogTMGAXOwCZHGoAThWyTifNCs5ATMuCdXwH3FKsKMbPNvTSpCciep_iRWw7d/s400/manix_intense_-_roller_coaster.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">UPDATE Again...:)</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">First thank you to those few that still come here to check up on me once in a while. Its really nice to know that God gives you a support system where you don't expect it</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">Well I am now unemployed! Well sort of. I was laid off. I have however found a new job in a completely different field (post on that later) and I start July. Been off since April. So those of you out there that Believe please pray that God lets me keep my house... Money has been tight. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">Speaking of that Unemployment Compensation SUCKS!! $269 per week... 670mo. mortgage... HMMM...</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">So, lets see. What would you want me to tell you so that I can get back to the real writing? If I don't properly update you then most of my posts will seem like jibberish.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">Well the Grand Asshole still lives with me. He is threatening to leave me if I don't marry him. HMMM X 2, wonder how that will play out... Guess we shall see together.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">Men, men and men...</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">So many posts need to be written about this topic. Things have changed, mare questions have arose. I have many questions. From deep soul melting questions to weird, sometimes gross, sexual questions. We will have to work up to those. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">I have new neighbors! They are pretty great. But last night they were up at 4 am doing something that sounded like dragging sheet metal across pavement. It was... interesting.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">I have to sneak to write now because if the Grand Asshole ever caught me writing this it would be all over for me. Luckily i should have time to write due he having what I believe is a girlfriend that he spends most of his time with these days. I wish she would just go on and put it on him so he would go be with her. Wow, what a concept ! </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">More soon</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">And I will be trying to read up on everyone who still comments or has recently. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">Love you all</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#ffff00;">Copper</span></div><br /><div></div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-64355000760050564332009-03-02T22:20:00.003-05:002009-03-02T22:26:26.574-05:00Beautiful Revisit (and for Chewy)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKo74g0-EDbqQZlgx4z170l2m96_8h0mRAE6-ZjF424CxyUFt3iyppb_D1dBYHYFGiIWHUw8eIxLEXmwrgyTiN1eDx8kLg7VzQXHoJTSLtvFsfiaRK8dtTKhbPQKYmBjsImPrG8K45V_q/s1600-h/Salvaged+Pics+087.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308797148962663634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKo74g0-EDbqQZlgx4z170l2m96_8h0mRAE6-ZjF424CxyUFt3iyppb_D1dBYHYFGiIWHUw8eIxLEXmwrgyTiN1eDx8kLg7VzQXHoJTSLtvFsfiaRK8dtTKhbPQKYmBjsImPrG8K45V_q/s400/Salvaged+Pics+087.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><p><span style="color:#ff6666;">I took this last year in my back yard. I was impressed by both the bloom and my amature photo!</span></p><p><span style="color:#ff6666;">Copper</span></p>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-30496019183468333082008-08-07T13:44:00.002-05:002008-08-07T14:11:36.324-05:00Yesterday I Cried<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWzg4qPCzSxYwHmu3TMZD0xExoNo0kaTdfZUcYXW-ZA6i5EpFw61Pc1-ZmL4rch6tvNvCFQpmtIFs-HAV_sQ9QYCt7dACxYdwcB1Bi8dhfOAu15Ukk-OYldk5EiUeg22akjgBo63YtaAg/s1600-h/Crying_Girl.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231855279257122530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWzg4qPCzSxYwHmu3TMZD0xExoNo0kaTdfZUcYXW-ZA6i5EpFw61Pc1-ZmL4rch6tvNvCFQpmtIFs-HAV_sQ9QYCt7dACxYdwcB1Bi8dhfOAu15Ukk-OYldk5EiUeg22akjgBo63YtaAg/s400/Crying_Girl.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>A friend shared this book with me. Below you will find a poem from this book. It seems to embody the change that has come over me lately, it expresses the feeling of a new beginning that I am so longing for and that I EXPECT!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>I hope you feel it too...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><br />Yesterday I Cried<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I came home, went straight to my room, sat on the edge of my bed, kicked off my shoes, </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">unhooked my bra, and I had myself a good cry.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I'm telling you,</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried until my nose was running all over the silk blouse I got on sale.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried until my ears were hot.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried until my head was hurting so bad that I could hardly see the pile of </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">soiled tissues lying on the floor at my feet.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I want you to understand,</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I had myself a really good cry yesterday.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">Yesterday, I cried for all the days that I was too busy, or too tired, or too mad to cry.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I cried for all the days, and all the ways,</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">and all the times I had dishonored, disrespected, and </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">disconnected my Self from myself,</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">only to have it reflected back to me in the ways others did to </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">me the same things I had already done to myself.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I cried for all the things I had given, only to have them stolen;</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">for all the things I had asked for </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">that had yet to show up;</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">for all the things I had accomplished, only to give them away, </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">to people in circumstances,</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">which left me feeling empty, and battered and plain old used.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because there really does come a time when the only thing left for you to do is cry.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">Yesterday, I cried.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because little boys get left by their daddies;</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">and little girls get forgotten by their mommies;</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">and daddies don't know what to do, so they leave;</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">and mommies get left, so they get mad.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because I had a little boy, </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">and because I was a little girl,</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">and because I was a mommy who </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">didn't know what to do,</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">and because I wanted my daddy to be there for me so badly until I ached.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">Yesterday, I cried.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because I hurt. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because I was hurt.</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because hurt has no place to go except deeper into the pain that caused it in the first </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">place,and when it gets there, the hurt wakes you up.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because it was too late. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because it was time.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I cried because my soul knew that I didn't know</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">that my soul knew everything I needed to know.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">I cried a soulful cry yesterday, and it felt so good.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">It felt so very, very bad.<br /></div><br /><div align="center">In the midst of my crying, </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I felt my freedom coming,</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Because Yesterday, </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I cried with an agenda. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">(Iyanla Vanzant,from her book Yesterday I Cried:Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving) </div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297398238840022711.post-16705477907245172622008-08-04T13:03:00.003-05:002008-08-05T11:20:53.029-05:00Making my escape<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCJabJrcr59353xASz8iSX-fcS15AbWjr7FOzfLaTrFgzjRJoMa09JCkT-hukTxNszwArYiBdt2vtPCQiwtcwLZ5wS_n0gvQ7y-5a1_rAzXzFAuOos8IyAXITOTic7nNg-Fx4yIkOltAa/s1600-h/Escaping.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231069341083853842" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCJabJrcr59353xASz8iSX-fcS15AbWjr7FOzfLaTrFgzjRJoMa09JCkT-hukTxNszwArYiBdt2vtPCQiwtcwLZ5wS_n0gvQ7y-5a1_rAzXzFAuOos8IyAXITOTic7nNg-Fx4yIkOltAa/s400/Escaping.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Been a while huh?<br /><br />I have missed this place. Funny how it gives me a sense of nostalgia. A few of my friends here have been asking me why I have not been writing. I guess that I could make the usual 'work' excuses, and they would be valid, but why make excuses?<br /><br />I turned 30 last month. I have found that there are quite a few things that I make excuses for that I no longer wish to excuse. I no longer wish to have these things in my life, period.<br /><br />I am making my escape. I am escaping all of the pain, disrespect and aggravation that I have so long endured.<br /><br />I wish that I knew a way to make it happen fast, like removing a band-aid, but I have been an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">enabler</span> for so long that my compassion for (his) feeling is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">thwarting</span> my efforts.<br /><br />A am accepting any advice on how to end a 7 year relationship and remove him from MY home ASAP!<br /><br />Be back later today!<br /><br />Copper</div>copper stilettohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05598350041369266032noreply@blogger.com1