Yesterday I celebrated my 4th anniversary since my ex broke up with me. (the gory details have been the history of this blog, so I'll spare you the melodrama) Anyway, I decided I should CELEBRATE, instead of sulk.
You see, before that last break up, I was this naive, innocent, sweet little creature before the waaves of toruture and treachery killed me. Now, I do have reason to celebrate. I am stronger, wiser, and several times more vile than ever before. It's so good to be baaaad.
I LOVE being bad. Being "BAD" isn't necessarily a bad thing, really.
It's LIBERATION. It's Being free, being WHOM YOU REALLY ARE, AND NOT AFRAID of SPEAKING YOUR MIND. It is sexual liberation. It is BLISS. It is Catharrtic and pure. It is the bursting of little pinpoints of light in the darkness. It is creation and destruction.
Just take Catwoman for example. She was a miserable Selina Kyle, a pushover. Someone who is battered, bruised, beaten, and the only good thing about her is that she always gets upwhen she falls. Well In this case, she DOES fall from a Schreck high rise and gets up. She gets nine lives and an ATTITUDE. She gets a SEXUALITY. She gets to be in this saucy black skin-tight catsuit and wreaks havoc.
Being a bitch isn't all that BAAAD...
"I dunno about you, Miss Kitty, but I feel so much... YUMMIER."
So I decided to celebrate liberation by Chocolate Vodka. Courtesy of a friend of mine, whose daughter happens to be my god daughter. (Yes, you can also call me Fairy godmother). She was telling me how mean I was, and vengeful and I felt oh so yummy being described as such. I went home with a light head and a a heart that matches my lightheadedness. Prior to that, I was reprimanded for posting this wonderfully truthful picture:
Now, i don't see anything wrong with expressing myself. I hate his guts. I was reprimanded for modesty. Modesty? I kinda don't give a hoot whose friends he reinvited to Facebook. The mere fact he deletes people before asking them if they're still friends is kinda deceiving. States he's straight; well do straight people pose like this?
I hate the guts, bile and blood of anyone who is deceiving, untruthful and sneaky. I say, If you're not true to yourself, you may as well doubt if you are capable of being true to other people.
What amazes me is how much following this guy gets out of just plain face value. If God had blessed me with Charisma, I would use it for truth. Truth isn't always pretty. Truth isn't this blindfolded girl with a sword and scales (yes, that sounds more like Medusa), That's Justice. Truth is a scary old woman who tells you things you aren't ready to hear. Because Truth is a pill. Truth is taken with a pinch of salt (and sometimes whole cupfuls of it) and I say if truth comes with a cupful of salt, then get the tub ready and have a salt rub.
Closet Queens. Why in the world do we have them. SOCIAL PRESSURE? You're not allowed to be gay? You're the cutest guy in the family and your parents want you to sire offsprings for them so your clan's genes stay goodlooking. Bullshit. Your uglier sisters can marry handsome men and do that too. I've seen goodlooking couples with children that look like they've been beaten with an ugly stick.
No this is no longer the Chocolate Vodka speaking. This is the naked truth speaking (God, I wish we have a photo for this). What is that word... TRIPPER? It's not even fashionable, nor politically or grammatically correct. So this is a guy who has sex with other guys for a trip. A fancy.
Dude, kung trip mo'ng makipagsex sa lalaki, it means you like it di ba? That's not something a straight guy would enjoy doing over and over again. perhaps once. Perhaps out of desperation... pero as a HOBBY? Dude... Gurl... wake up. It doesn't and will never sound right.
Come on, dude, do you really believe anyone buys your shit about tripping? Like anyone actually believes you don't like men with huge bulging muscles and a smile that could make your man-pussy quiver? (God, I hate that word--- man-pussy) You just have really good friends who give you the benefit of the doubt, but I would be willing to wager that if they all take a polygraph test, they will all definitely FAIL.
Closet Queens should fear lie detectors. They really should. Coz when it all boils down to the truth... We bitches really do tell the truth, whether you like it or not.
Choolate Vodka, anyone?