Short Entries 3

An ongoing feed for the day:
10:58am It's like a freight train with no breaks, and it just sped up. 


1:24pm Roller Coaster


8:27pm would love it if everything didn't smell like it was living in our nose.


9:13pm We've posted it before, we're posting it again. So f'n sue us.





10:55pm  HUH - Made the headlines today at The #fml Daily on http://t.co/dhF

Paranoia: More Than A Soft Spot or; What The Hell Do We Call This Post

We've been really paranoid, off and on, for months now...you'll see that if you read enough of our writing. You know it if you are unfortunate enough to listen to us on a daily basis.

We began the journey of finding our self, our balance with each other, almost a year ago, unknown to The Other Girl. While we are happy she didn't notice me creeping up on her, we think she was also an idiot for not seeing it. Especially since she's seen it before. We know what she was doing, by pouring drugs and alcohol down our throats, subjecting up to frivolous partying...and occupying herself with men (we've stopped her from all these behaviors, unfortunately, by removing her from our life), keeping us from art, and books, painting, thinking...all for the last year or more, trying to keep me away, so she didn't have to run again, like I had made her do so many times before...to save us.

The difference, this time, as stated in prior entries, is that I like it here, we, Bitch and I, don't ever want to leave this place that is our home.

To stay, to be us, to be happy, I made TOG start writing. When we killed her off, or rather sent her on a permanent vacation, I took up most of the writing and took over everything else. We've already began sharing our story, with relevant entries being copied to an off-site location: 
Addressing The Issue of Frank
The Origins, History and Life Stories of Frank, from 'Just Call Me Frank: One Womans Endeavour at Being Frank'

It's going to take time, the writing itself is painful, but we need to do it, so that I, Frank, can move on to better things for us. We'd like to think that better things will come our way. We already have a great job, a couple new friends that are ours; they only knew TOG for a short time.

You'll find this portion of our world, this blog address, punctuated with with funny or amusing distractions, and stories of our daily life, on occasion, so that we aren't in constant emotional and mental pain; because we are. In addition we are full of anger towards the majority of the world, We're trying to learn how to deal with that, though we feel we deserve to feel anger now, but there is so much...it's overwhelming.

There are plenty of recent, and past, incidences with friends, who don't happen to be male, that we could write about; how they've been additional people in our life who abandoned us over the years when TOG needed help, instead relying on me to pull her up by the bootstrap and get her out of dodge; (Yep, you can laugh at that. We thought we'd try to lighten it up a bit) but we are not ready to write about the painful things that our friends have done to us...not yet.

This evening family members landed on our little blog, our home, our existence.  We can only assume they had been tipped off from an old high school friend whom we just conversed with the prior evening, and thought we could trust. The timing is rather uncanny, even if she isn't the culprit to this current crest that is ready to peak. There are so many peaks. But then, we could be paranoid. Again. 

The thing about our paranoia, though, is that we usually turn out to be correct. So is it paranoia or intuition?

We received a call from Angry Brother this evening, who we suspected had landed on our blog even before the call (we have our ways), and as we exchanged tears, as I confronted himabout reading our blog; we sobbed over our many shared memories, of the injustices bestowed on us, by family members, by friends, by strangers, by people who have told us that they love us; we felt relief in the two words he said: "I understand". 

We know he does. 

It makes it all the more sad, that we are broken together, that we were broken together, that we were broken at all. We've been broken enough, individually, to have lived multiple lives. But the sad truth is that we only have the one.

We also suspected that The Father had found his way to our blog (no doubt thanks to our yet to be named high school friend) and our fear was confirmed. "I'm not going to sugar coat it" said Angry Brother, "he's reading it right now".  We can only imagine what he thinks of us, as he reads details of our private, intimate exchanges of last year; and all that this year has brought to us.

We suppose that this may be good, but we don't know. We can only sit here and fret, and worry, and wonder if we'll answer the phone when he calls. If he'll try to take us away from the only home we've ever had. Or, if he'll just push it away, like he did the memories of the things that had been done to us.

We have always dealt with our pain through humour, which was great, because it's not a detectable flaw. You can see it sprinkled throughout our blog. People don't take us seriously much of the time, they never have, even for the small stuff. To think that we'll be taken seriously now would be a huge leap of faith; something we are void of these day.

We plan to elaborate, over time, on the many things: the physical, mental, emotional and sexual abuse that have occurred in our life, that has brought us to this point, together, stronger...and hoping....for people to accept us, finally, for who WE are, and provide them a way to understand why we are the way we are; even while we try. 

We're tired of running.

Short Entries 2

This was supposed to be published first...frack...


Sometimes we have things to say that are short, but don't fit into the posts we are working on. That's why we have Short Entries.

We wrote a little ditty last night, Tweeted it even - Twitter has become a notebook for our thoughts, as well as an outlet for the crap that rattles around between our ears. Shake us, guess what's gonna fall out.

Hee hee...

You'd think we'd been recently inspired by some poetry or something... 

It's not much, it's an awakened skill (skill?) that we might consider working on again...could be a fun thing to start playig around with...when we're not working, writing, or painting, or reading...or wishing we could have our physical needs met in a proper manor, by a flesh and blood person...what? Yeah. 

Four lines, to express how we felt last night.

We want what we want 

for once we can agree 

But we can't have either of them 

our heart under siege

We're writing another entry over here, so, you know, come back later. Or don't. Whatever. :) 

A Love Letter From Frank

Finally, we felt like we got some real sleep last night, albeit it was only six hours, but that doubled the amount of sleep we got the night before, and added a couple hours to what we've been averaging.


It may have been the muscle relaxers (we have severe back problems), it may have been Our Forrest, it may have been FaNtAstic kindness, that put us to slumber last night. We like to think it was the perfect triad; after all, we smiled on our walk home yesterday, even through the bitter cold and wind (and holy crap, was the evening cold and windy) that was biting at our extremities.


Last night we had a chat date with our first love  and we "[didn't] want to stop chatting...just knowing [he was] on the other side of the connection, [it was] comforting" to us.


We layed there in bed, our body growing heavy with sleep, nodding off, but not wanting to let go. We asked Our Forrest to type things to us, anything, while we fell asleep; asked him not to leave us for the night, just yet, so that we could fall asleep with him at the other end, so that when we woke up we'd have a message from him.


[For anyone raising their eyebrows about the fact that we were in bed, understand that we've never been that way with each other, with him - and "I" certainly don't want that to be our first time - sorry Forrest, the only thing that that would accomplish is sadness for me, for us; without that, we have enough to be disappointed about. We always want to be honest, and make sure we clarify things.]


While this was initially written directly to Forrest, in response to his final message to me before he, himself, shuffled off to bed; upon sending it we realized that it's pretty applicable to the men we've loved, that Frank has loved dearly, in our life. TOG has let a lot of men, trample through our heart and mind on our quest to "capture" a man who wants us, as much as we want us, and as much as we want them; we even have an ex-husband amoung them - you'll hear about him some day - we didn't love him. He was what we like to call a Complete Fucktard. However, there is/has been three men in our life, who Frank has loved strongly and deeply, who have/will make that impact on us, and this message could very well be written to them too; but we don't want to belittle the significant of this message to whom it was directed (please know that my dear). And as we've written, in the complete original message, "we will take it down upon your word".


To Our Forrest, from Frank:

I don't care what you say to me; I don't need to understand; as long as you say things to me. Having you back again, in this small way, has provided some relief in my brain, you've eased the tension, somehow. I don't know how long the relief will last - with me there will always be the storm at the end, it's always been the tendency. I love that when you think about me you hear music; When I think about you I see rays of light and words...very close to how I feel when I hear music. I suppose that when I think about the things, and the people, that I love, especially these days, rays of light is what I see and words tumble from my brain and out my fingertips.

You were a catalyst to the complete re-emergence of me. I know that's hard to understand, but know that it's a good thing - we don't want you to feel bad - and that, while you were one factor, it's not your fault. That you saw the correlation between the begining of my writing again, and your reappearance in our life in the first place, before I could even share my own suspisions, means you understand on some level how crazy in love I've always been with you. Unexplainably crazy for you. You are one of the few men in my life who have inspired me, driven me, to write, to be creative. Men like you deserve to be written about, to be remembered for the great things you've done, even if in your mind you don't think you've done anything great. To me you have. 

[....] Even when we are a bitch, we want to help people. That's Bitch for ya...she's got residual [TOG] all over her.

(Last we checked, this message was still trying to send through Skype...so you might be reading this for the first time here...and there is a bit more...we're sure it will complete it's transmission eventually...and we'd love to go through it and edit it, but it wouldn't be right. It remains untouched, save the removed portions.)


Our true loves have had a tendency to ground us, while at the same time driving us mad, at least temporarily, when they are in our life, and even when they are not; but they also remind us to see the forrest for the trees.

We generally don't believe in other peoples love but we do believe in our own. It's the only thing we are ever sure of.

Franks First Love

The very first short story we even wrote was about him.  We were 16 years old. The inspiration for writing was fueled by adolescent first love, and cultivated by our personal brand of creative “insanity”. 

We've since lost the transcript of the story in our many escapes from "sticky situations", and the minute details, overall, are not important; what is important to note is the finale of the story.  The finish to our very first, and to date, only short story, involves a double homicide by the young female protagonist. 

We like to think the story was harmless enough. The tale was that of a young girl who, was experiencing great floods of angst and frustration towards not only Her Father but also the first boy she had a confusing, albeit crazy, mad, love for. For story purposes from here until forever he will be referred to as Our Forrest (because he said we are his Jenny - xo).


Did we also mention the female character heard voices?

The portions of the story that featured him contained long descriptive sentences of his characteristics, so well described that our closest friends, and some not so close, found the similarities uncanny; and not at all a coincidence.

We don't remember how the young girl ultimately decided to deal with her father issues (we do know she killed though); what we clearly remember of the scene (and of our feelings) was the point where the life of character representing our first unrequited love comes to an end...we remember that...and peanut butter. 

While the main characters love interest is making a peanut butter sandwich, in her kitchen, she pretends to seduce him while she grabs the butter knife, covered in peanut butter, and jams it in his back.  Maybe we’ve watched too many violent movies as a young adult, under the occasional care of The Mother, after she left us.  We recall seeing 'Single White Female' and 'The Hand That Rocks The Cradle' at a far too young of age.

For whatever reason, when we think about that today, it kind of disturbs us, (well it did anyway) that our adolescent mind would take things to such a place.  By our accounts it was ritualistic erasing; if we could remove him in the story, then perhaps in our mind we could ease the pain of confusion, and disappointment, his departure from our life left behind; or we were just an over dramatic teenage girl. Or we’re just overdramatic. (stop rolling your eyes and agreeing with me)

Whether it was a way for our mind to deal with the memory of him, and how our friendship came to an abrupt end, we will never really know.  Poetry had always been our outlet for emotions, since the age of nine or ten we had been pouring out our heart onto blank sheets of paper, writing love poems to a boy we crushed on, even as a young girl of 10.

This new outlet, this short story at 16, unveiled new and creative ways to handle our feelings about the world and the things around us; however we didn't write another fully developed short or long story for seemingly countless years, always going back to poetry for that familiar release.

It was that typical crazy adolescent feeling that we had long forgotten that struck us 15 years later, in the spring of 2010, when we became reunited with the very man we had removed from our heart with a peanut butter smeared knife.  We, he and "I", recalled feelings of unknown mutual adoration, juxtaposed with the uncertainty we felt for each other in those days; he was remembered for being an enigma in our mind and heart.

We often try to remember the day we met Our Forrest, and while the memory is dormant, yet awaiting a nudge from its sanctuary, we can recall countless other meetings with him.

We were 15 years old, insecure but just beginning to bud from our wall flower position in life; he was 17, interesting, tall, shy and to us, amazing.  We used to take long, hour long, walks together along the lake. He was a mystery to us and we wanted to engage him in conversation, but we were still shy and our social skills poor, we just knew we wanted to get to know him.

We used to hang out in a friends basement and watch movies and be pals, in our memory it went on for months.  We were friends but it seemed to be an unspoken understanding that we were enamoured with him. He captured our attention so much in those days that we were like a lost puppy, we wanted to be near him whenever we could. 

We began smoking cigarettes because Our Forrest would be outside smoking during breaks at school, and so we would go out and pretend to smoke.  Eventually some of the girls caught on to the fact that we hadn't been inhaling, and they showed us how; and thus began our on-again, off-again, relationship with cigarettes (which we've recently kicked, again). All we cared was that it gave us a chance to steal glances at him while we were at school, a place we never talked to each other – reserving that for walking, outside of school hours.

He live in a beautiful neighbourhood of the city in close proximity to parks; in those days one of our “BFF's” lived mere block from him, on an adjacent street. Whenever we hung out at her house we would persuade her into going for walks, paths of which often lead us past his house.  She knew the score; it's what young girls who were in love for the first time did – at least that’s what we think. 

We were a love sick puppy of a girl, leaning (hiding) against trees near his house, hoping we would see him after days of not seeing him; when he showed up places we were, we were elated. We never knew, that he knew, we were behind those trees.

We have always looked to these memories of who we were as a teenage girl and have been greeted with a slight feeling of nausea.  While it is perhaps a generic story of young love, it had been a stepping stone to our long life of relationships.  It was an impact.

We don't recall the last time we saw him, before we lost contact, but we do remember one of the last times; and for so many years it stuck in our head as the day we realized we could not understand men, or our own intuitions.

It was a misty day, we were out for a walk in a park near the lake – it was “our” place for walks.  In a portion of this park there was a stone stage with two castle tower replicas on each end, it had been built, and was used for, the annual Shakespeare Festival in our city. 

As the mist slowly turned to rain that day we continued walking.  In our memory a lot of our walks contained pensive silence and playful nudges, in our mind, flirting; the thing that made us the most confused by him was we could never tell if he was on the same wavelength as us, he was always good at keeping things inside.  We always saw potential for something more between us, but we could never read him: if he felt the same way, or if he thought of us in a strictly “pal” kind of way. There exists in the recesses of our mind a memory of hand holding that may have occurred at some stage, but we haven't been able to decipher it's validity. The entire friendship has always remained under a cloud of confusion always trying to understand what we had done wrong.

On this day, when the mist was heavy, we took temporary refuge from the lake rain in the castle tower of the old stone stage.  Inside the small castle tower was a stone window overlooking the lake.  As we stood and looked at the lake he put his arms around "me", and we just stood there.  It was comforting, it made us feel amazing, and safe.  As the rain came down on the grass surrounding the stage we shared our very first kiss.  This may not have been "my" first kiss ever, but it might as well have been; if you've ever had that first kiss you'll know what we’re talking about.

Shortly after that day we stopped hanging out with each other; he had just graduated high school, so after that summer he would be attending college and "I" would be starting our eleventh year of high school.  Of boys in high school he's always been the one who was in the back of our mind, the one we'd always hoped for: interesting, pensive, creative, intelligent and attractive..and FUN. Those boys generally didn't exist in high school and as we'd find out later in life, they were few and far between after high school too.

When he appeared again in our life through social networking this past year, we were interested. Interested to see what had become of him. 

We got to know him again, the adult version of our high school love.  We didn't know what to expect from the time we made first contact online; we remained uncommunicative friends for quite some time – watching each other, I suspect.  From the information we gathered via social networking “stalking” prior to our official contact – we found he was in a relationship, and had children, and we were happy for him.  He still looked as cute as ever – just like we imagined he would look 15 years later. 

At first we were nervous about how he would remember us, that he would remember us as ‘that girl who used to follow me around’, or maybe 'that girl who used to hide behind trees near my house' – those, we feared, were to be his memories of us. 
What sparked our sudden shift in social networking communication was nothing more than a single line to a song we enjoy, posted to our status. 'Dream a little dream of me...”.

What we were greeted with when our initial transmissions began was an awakening of dormant emotions, they were ignited by the person he had become.  Our heart ached for him while he shared small insights into his strangely parallel life since we had parted so many years before, and current statuses on the unhappiness he felt in his life 1500 miles away.  We found him to be an even better version of the young man he was at 17 – at least on paper.  Whenever we would get an e-mail, a comment, an acknowledgement from him we were left breathless.

We hated that his presence in our life, at such an age, had this effect on our body and our mind; we would spend far too much time thinking about him, daydreaming about meeting him face to face, we would imagine violent things we knew he's like to do with us (lets throw rocks at stuff!) occasionally taking our daydreams to levels that made us fear for the relationship we were in at the time.  We had fallen in a complete trance, revelling in the disclosures of unknown reciprocal feelings he had had for us in those youthful days. Amazed at the fact that not only had we been on his mind at any point in the last 15 years, but we had been continuously.

We made a few attempts to see each other, "I" took trips back to our home town, under the guise of wanting to see others, and inviting to pay for his transportation, if only he could get away. He never could. But we did have a date once last summer, miles apart, beneath a clear sky, starring at a full moon.  We made a pact that “I” would go to our castle tower in the park, at a designed time, and he would sit near the stream by his house at the same time, hundreds of miles away, and we would watch the stars together, and listen to music.

We went to our spot, and we sat, and we thought of him, and looked at the stars and listened to music…and as we got up to leave we listened to the song, that “I” can only hold in "my" heart as our song. On of his favourites, and one that we love.

Months later, in the fall of 2010, we started pulling away from each other, in what appeared to be a mutual move based on disappointment at the failed attempts to connect in real life. And then a month after we hadn’t spoken, we saw on his social networking wall that he was engaged, to the woman he wasn’t happy with. We sent him a short message:

Holy Fucking What Batman? 

11/06/10
So, I see from Facebook that you are engaged...I guess I should say congratulations...but I'm not gonna.
And since I really have nothing nice to say....

That was all we had to say to him.


He didn't write back; didn’t respond...until the night before this entry. 


We won’t post his message. That’s not something we do when Frank truly loves someone. In his e-mail he wanted to convey his uncertaintly over “what [I] had wanted from [him]”, and his confusion as to how "I" had ended our communication (meanwhile, he was the one who didn't respond, not to mention he removed us from his social networking account), and to express the feelings that he’s always had, and an admittance that his thoughts of 'me' "weren't going to go away". But he would deal/live with them, since "I" wouldn't talk to him.

There is no doubt in our mind that this man is telling us the truth. The most painful thing is the impossible distance, the obstacles keeping us apart, even if it was feasible for us to be together; and the understanding, and acceptance, that there may never be more between us than hours of video chats, starring at each other in comfortable silence, punctuated by laugher, discussion, and more starring; watching the pain flash in his eyes, the regret, the sadness, and struggling to to hold back our own tears.

Just when we thought our heart couldn't handle anymore. It did. But that doesn't mean this isn't how it feels.

Nothing Interesting To See Here. Move Along.

We're taking a break for the weekend from blogging about anything serious. We have a busy weekend; not to mention the entire works of Emily Dickinson to start trudging through (an assignment, we can only guess, to torture us further).  So, for the weekend we're just going to post about music and movies that "nobody" is going to like. Or maybe we'll read a poem and write about that. Who can tell. We haven't been given much "motivation" to actually read Emily.

This is one of our many favourite bands, though Bitch seems to like them more than me these days. It can't always be about Frank.


This is music by The Fratellis, an alternative rock band from Scotland that hasn't really made the charts in North America, but Europe seems to like them.


We suggest you listen to at least one. And if you like these search for more on YouTube.

Now excuse us while we go dance...by our self.

A Frank Evening with... Fabulous People and The Pup

That's funny. They sound like a crime fighting team, 'Fabulous People and The Pup'. They very well might be, anything is possible these days.

We enjoy company, on occasion, and have gotten very selective about who we let into our world (and apartment). There are only a couple people who have access to our building code, and only one who has a key to our door. We fancy our apartment a fortress, and if we let you in...at this point...it really means something.


We realized that, while we've referenced them, we never really say who Fabulous People are to us. While their identity is confidential, what we can say is that we owe them our life. In the past two months they have sat with The Other Girl while she slowly came undone, and then sat with us when we spun off like a top and ripped our way back into the world, grieved TOG and found our footing (it's still shaky though). They've been our life preserver in a time when we had nobody and needed somebody - our experience with fair-weather friends is extensive - and FP hardly knew TOG, and they didn't even know us. They remain the only people who truly accept us for who we are. No questions asked (but mostly because they don't need to ask).


That's Fabulous People. They are called Fabulous People for a reason; as a side note, Fabulous and Fantastic are two of our favourite words, going back to at least last summer when it was pointed out as a word we used often.


The Pup is a recent edition to our world (strictly a friend), recent, though we seem to remember referencing him at some point in the not-to-distant past, as the target of  "crush" or "destroy" instructions; or some such maniacal direction. We declined then, we decline now. Especially now, given the recent soul killing accusations. We just can't destroy him, he's just a puppy after all; let the world do it's job - our conscious is pounding right out of our temples as it is, without adding a true "innocent" to the list. 


It's interesting, our little crime fighting team. The Pup is just a young thing of 21 (or is it 23?) years, 10 years our junior; and Fabulous People are 17 and 40. Despite all of our vast age ranges we get along like, well, like peas and carrots...and onions.  Yeah. Those go well together. (peas and carrots, we are suddenly struck with more memories of our Forrest)


Why The Pup hangs out with us, even after Fabulous People depart for the evening, even after he's seen us be roaring bitches in public; while he listens to our pessimistic angry words, he sits there with that innocent grin. We wonder why he keeps coming around. He makes us sad. He's such a nice boy, a boy we could have liked if we had been different people, if we were unaware of our abiilities. He's on the list of Frank Untouchables, just like Tasty Young Morsel - though increasingly we'd like to bite TYM, just a little...but we know that's just misdirected pent up biting desires...we are in need of sinking our teeth in some flesh.


So, what do Fabulous People and The Pup do when they hang out? Well, we think The Pup spends much of the time confused, because we and Fabulous People tend to reference things he doesn't really know about (mainly anything that has to do with this blog). In addition to lobbing witty banter, the four of us could go on the road with our shtick, we watch food related clips (food porn!) on YouTube, partake in all ranges of conversation, watch movies and eat food lovingly prepared by us.


Tonight we made Fabulous People and The Pup dinner, yummy beef burritos with home made guacamole, and for dessert fruit (strawberries, pineapple, mango, banana) with freshly whipped (with a whisk, blender beaters have gone missing) cream, sweetened with table sugar and flavoured with organic Mexican vanilla. We meant to take pictures, but we didn't. Everyone enjoyed the meal, and everyone laughed when we told The Pup that we were baiting him with food. But just for the his company. We know what we want, after all, we say it enough.


Our entertainment for the evening was the movie Gamer...Frank and I questioned as to whether anybody knew if this movie had been regarded as good by the general public. The general consensus was 'no'. 


It was our (Frank and Bitch) assessment that, without the addition of our own Mystery Science Theater 3000-esque team (and all our innuendoism - a word created by The Pup tonight), the movie would have been a flop, save a few scenes; mostly those with car chases involving large machines that ended in mayhem, graphic and frivolous scenes of violence and profuse profanity, and particularily this clip, which is the best use of Frank Sinatra's Under My Skin we have ever encountered:

What can we say, we're a sucker for song and dance, and violence, and evil men, and Michael C Hall (from HBO's Dexter).


Bottom line, an evening with Fabulous People and Frank is a fun time, who wouldn't want to be our fifth wheel?

The Emergence of Frank: The Beginning

We suggest you read this:

Addressing the Issue of Frank: Part 1, if you haven't already, before you read this:

The Other Girl (TOG) grew up on a farm in the United States. She came from a poor family, who raised and grew their own food, and depended on social assistance, and The Fathers low-wages from his swing-shift factory job, that took him 45 minutes from their home.

The Father had grown up in a Christian family, also on a small sustainable farm within the same "region" of the United States. The Mother had grown up less than a half mile from where The Family eventually resided until The Other Girl was about 14 years old.
The Mother had graduated high school there, briefly attended college in a nearly town, where she met The Father (not a college student). She was a homemaker, and a home business owner as long as TOG could remember, until she left them at Christmas, leaving the then 12 year old TOG to help her father raise The Brothers.

The Other Girl was enrolled in a private Christian school for the first 5 years of her elementary education, and by the time she made it to a real public school she was a bit behind in subjects, given the shoddy structure of education at the private school. Luckily she was smart, and caught up on everything (it was hard)...except for math. Math she was never able to grasp properly, maybe because there was so much more to catch up on, and it was left by the wayside to die. Don't read this as an excuse for being bad at math, she probably could have worked even harder to get better, but she had other things to worry about.

The Other Girl was never popular around the small town in which she was raised, and when she entered public school in the 6th grade, it was no different. Being socially awkward due to the lack of social contact with the world, other than private school each day, and being of large stature and from a family that could not afford proper clothing to fit her body, TOG was often ridiculed for many thing; including her mothers history in that town (The Mother was a bit of a whore). She was tripped on the bus, had food thrown at her (mostly fruit), pants-ed, was called names like "Tatonka" (which means water buffalo in Lakota's or Souix), and had very few friends.

While ultimately this does not seem like a big thing, who isn't somehow ridiculed in middle school; it was what happened at home that made all the difference. You see, TOG could handle the cruelty from strangers and acquaintances. What she couldn't handle, on her own, was the abuse at home.
The Mother had/has some afflictions, similar to our own; this remains one of the reasons we can forgive her for some of what she has done to us. Like our self, she deals with things in her head differently than, what we would call, "normal" people. We are not unconvinced that she had her own issues growing up, ones that we don't know about; we do know about some of them though.

The Other Girl was the oldest of three, she was The Big Sister to Angry Brother (he wasn't always angry) and Baby Brother. They were left at home, on the farm, with The Mother, all of the time, unless they were in school. The Family didn't have any social groups, and had very few friends who visited them on the farm. Overall they were left on their own, the kids, to play in the yard, catch tadpoles in the ditches after the rain, trap daddy long legs under jars, play with the animals in sunshine, and in the case of The Other Girl, immerse herself in books. She read all the time, constantly. The Mother used to like to read a lot too, but The Father used to get on them about all the reading, and the boys of the family took this as a sign not to do it. It was unfortunate for them, that they had no way to escape.

There were countless instances in these children's lives that caused them to have to seek shelter, in hidden places, in their world on the farm. You see; The Mother was full of anger and rage too, just like we are now (it wasn't always this way, it's very new for us). She was so full of anger that she would pound her own head against the cupboard doors, scream at herself, scream at her children, scream at the voices in her head, threaten to harm herself and her children. Sometimes she hit them, sometime she slapped them, sometimes a knife was waived in at them. This scared The Other Girl, who felt she had to protect The Brothers.

After repeated abuse from the outside world, and at the hands of her own Mother, I, Frank, had to intervene. She was just not strong enough to cope on her own anymore, and her survival depended on me, what with The Father being gone much of the time.

One might ask why she never told The Father about these indiscretions, but for a 9 year old little girl, there was the fear of what would happen when left on the farm, once The Mother knew she had told The Father; and the fear that he wouldn't believe the things she said anyway.

So we kept silent, the two of us; there were only two of us at the time. She knew I was there to protect her, she also knew I couldn't be there all the time. So while we hide The Brothers from The Mother, holding them while they cried with fear, we made a pact that I would be there for her when she needed me. And believe me, she needed me lots, and lots...and lots...of times, and it wasn't always because of The Mother.
The Other Girl (& Bethany), before I came along:

Mid Afternoon Music

While we work on our next post, and hopefully get the dishes and dinner ready for Fabulous People and The Pup, here is some music to...entertain...you. Just for you. The question that remains is; who are you?

We like posting the lyrics, so shoot me.

Lyrics to What's Your Problem by The Zutons

What's your problem?
What's your problem?
I don't get what your problem is

You got me racin'
Anticipatin'
And I don't think I can handle this
Cuz when you look at me funny
Well, it makes me worry
It's gonna get me excited and I'm gonna get frightened

So stop your smilin'
And stop your starin'
I'd rather talk and be friends with you
All this bravado
It makes me nervous
But that ain't gonna sink through to you
And you're still lookin' at me funny
And it's makin' me worry
It's gonna get me excited and I'm gonna get violent

You need it
You want it
You know just how to get it and you will
Oh, yes you will

You started punchin'
And started screamin'
I seen my face scattered on the floor
I tried to block you
I couldn't stop you
I couldn't hold you down no more

Cuz when I looked at your face
It made me shiver and shudder
It weren't a beautiful face
But it was that of a woman

You need it
You want it
You know just how to get it and you will
Oh, yes you will

Please don't pile on the pressure today
I can only deal with it sometimes
But if you told me close to my face
I'd respect you more of the time

What's your problem?
What's your problem?
I don't get what your problem is

Pieces of Frank - In Photography

We've got a new page up!

Pieces of Frank - In Photography

It's a hodge podge of pieces of us from photo shoots, and some of our own photography from the past couple of years, back when we had access to an amazing quality camera. We're thinking of getting a new one,

Here's a sample of some of Frank. Click the link above to see more pictures, or don't, we really don't care. This is our home and we're going to decorate it how we want.

Cartoon Fun

We gotta lighten this joint up a bit.

If it weren't for humour, and our ability to look at life and laugh in it's face...over and over...we'd be dead by now...

Cartoons that tickled us today:

Our Stressful Day: A Completely Uninspired Title

We don't feel like writing, but I'm going to plug though this short entry anyway. I'd ask you not to read this one, but we know you will, no matter what we say.


We had a tough day.


We started off pretty good, getting some work done, looking at cute things occasionally walk past our door, causing some daydreaming; but then we got slammed with a stress headache and an aching swollen back; then there was far too much yapping coming from the outside world, overwhelming us, and causing us to become short with people (we sure wish we could have closed a door). At one point we found solace in banging our head, ever so slightly, against the wall. We hope that didn't scare any Fabulous People that might have been around, or the loud, mouthy people who were observing. But we care less about them being scared and our only concern is FP.


On top of that our rental property, the house we own and rent to people, has a bed bug problem that's likely to cost us around $1400. Cha-Ching.


Frank and I don't deal with stress well, I used to handle it fairly well with TOG; but Frank just gets mean and angry when she is stressed and the only way to handle it is for me to make her cry for once. Which should be easy since she's being a big baby about him. God is he ever an ass, he should go back to being rude to us now, it might make me sad, but it sure makes her happy, given the circumstances. I figure I can use her sadness to my advantage, a little payback for how mean she is to me all the time.


I keep telling her to stop thinking about it, if this is what SHE really wants for us, and if not, well, it's her own damn fault for getting us into this mess anyway. Fuck. I warned her.


So, I'll sit with her tonight, while she lays in bed, tears silently streaming down her face (she's a quieter crier than I am). I'll brush her hair behind her ears, and reassure her that we really don't need anybody this time, and they don't need us; not a man anyway. I'll remind her that we had better get used to this being alone idea, even though we enjoy it most of the time; now that we're out in the world together, who's going to want us anyway? He's certainly not, not in the long run, not now, why would he, why would anyone? We're just his current play thing, for whatever reason, he's keeping us around (he likes to torture us, in all sorts of ways?). I just have to convince her that it's all true.


We're a handful and we don't expect anybody to be able to deal with us. We like us, that's all that matters.


Maybe I can talk some sense into her, after all, I got her to dump him once before, when it was the three of us, in attempt to control the situation. I should be more powerful now that I only have to deal with her, and not the both of them (her and TOG).


In any case, we're stressed as fuck, good thing one of us is control of the situation...a little.


~The Bitch~


This is the song she's sobbing over. And she thinks I'M the stupid bitch.

For some reason she can smell him on her hands. Must be the bed sheets. I think I'll burn them while she sleeps, if I can just get her to the sofa...

In Defense of Failed Pandering - A Rebuttal by Frank

Well, now that I'm awake, and I've seen what that little whore wrote; how can I not write in defense of my dear FNA? (Fantastic New Addition - to you new readers)...even though I'd rather be finishing that painting that he critiqued (he's hard to please). Not going to happen tonight.


I had a nice nap and FaNtAstic dreams, and now I'm awake, slightly refreshed, but for the severe back pain we are, more often than not, plagued with (from a terrible car accident).


While it's true that this afternoon was not the usual FaNtAstic time, nor did it contain any of our FaNtAstic Frank Adventures that I've come to crave; I can't say I was too disappointed (never disappointed). 


When it comes down to it, I'd just like him to be around more, wish he had the freedom to do so. For all I care he could just sit in a room with us and read books, or whatever it is he really likes to do; maybe while we write, or read, or paint, or do whatever else it is that we tend to do. (Did I mention the sex? Lots of sex...weird, awesomely strange, FaNtAstic sex)


Well, that's not entirely true. 


We'd like to go to museums and pubs and music events (if we could ever agree on music) and restaurants, and travel, and listen to him do most of the talking. He sure does like to hear himself talk, and for some reason we love to listen - even though it's punctuated by "the little bitch" nattering on about how we should make him leave, and trying to convince me he's trouble. I just want us to be his slave, his play toy...his addiction; maybe because he's turning into mine. 


I hear "booing" (boourns) in the background - she's not so happy we're saying these things...she's got her reservations. (SHE needs a name)


I'm having a hard time writing tonight, distracted by flights of fantasy...thinking about him and the next time we might get to see him; we never know. 


I'd like to just ramble on and on about how awesome I think he is, how much I like to be angry with him, and how much I like to be not-angry with him, and after all, he is one of the reasons I'm here. One of the many reasons. But he's already so full of himself (his smug self satisfaction is so damn adorable) that we highly doubt we need to keep going on and on. That's a collective decision.


We both know he's FaNtAstic, but she's apprehensive and scared. While I enjoyed this afternoon, she just doesn't want us to get hurt, even though I've told her we're strong now, and we can handle anything together, she and I.


Bottom line: we know he knows that we think he's worth a lot to us. At least he better by now.


And now for a totally unrelated music post...