Letters From Home

I received a personal letter recently. I write more letters than I receive. I was surprised. And it was from my dad (the adopted one, not the dead one) who never writes letters. I was super anxious when I opened it.

I thought it would be some kind of reprimand. What did he read in my blog? I mean, I don’t think he reads blogs. Pretty sure he barely gets email. But I was curious what he had to say that was so important a pen went to paper and a stamp went to envelope.

It was deeply personal. I won’t share his personal stuff but he explained a lot of things about himself that he felt led him to make mistakes in his life. In particular? He apologized for how those issues led to ‘damaging my generous and beautiful spirit’. And he said he would be grateful if I could forgive him.

It was super emotional. And my reply to him doesn’t expose anything he told me, really, so I will share it with you before I mail it.

Dear Daddy,

I got your letter a few days ago and have been taking some time to reflect before I respond.

Thank you so much for the gift. I was timely for sure. My rent doubles in July/August so September is recovery mode. I had all my bills paid but things were stretched so your gift really helped.

Thank you for sharing about your life and the things that shaped the person you were and who you’ve become.

Thank you for your apology. Know that you have my forgiveness for however you feel you wronged me.

I knew we didn’t have a lot of money when I was a child. But I never saw THAT as holding back anything. I never felt like my needs weren’t met. I saw my dad as hard-working, who did whatever he needed to for his family to get by.

If hindsight is 20/20 and you see now things could have been different? All I have in my heart is happiness for you that your years of hard work are being rewarded.

Being poor taught me to work hard at as many jobs necessary to make ends meet. It taught me to make meals instead of buying pre-fab food. It taught me used clothing is great. Now I find vintage amazing clothes at second hand stores.

If I didn’t grow up how I did monetarily? I would not be able to survive how I live now. And I make ends meet with a few treats. So I don’t just survive, dad, I’m content.


There is more to the letter.

Six pages later? I told my daddy so many things.

I told him where I think things went wrong for me.

I needed psychiatric medical help. The psychiatrist I went to? Turned out my parents ‘could tell’ he was a homosexual so they wouldn’t let me go back. I was told to talk to my pastor when I needed serious medical attention mentally.

My pastor was an excellent mathematician. He was an actuary before he quit that to pastor a church. Very intelligent. But a horrible psychiatrist. Instead of being able to talk to him about my sexual issues? I was hauled into his office, as the principal of my school, and told I was lazy.

The daydreaming? Constantly holding up class with my questions? Being stubborn about doing homework I thought was irrelevant? They were all my way of avoiding real schoolwork. I was lazy. Official diagnosis.

How different would I be now if I had gotten help then?

I wrote about my socialization. How I was damaged by being forced to attend such a small school (I did ask my parents if I could go to a different one, public). And then I was thrust into complicated social situations, with no clue how to deal with them. It was awkward and terrifying to me. I already struggled with mental health issues yet to be addressed.

I told him that at least college taught me to ask questions again. In asking them? I learned about the faith I was brought up in. In my required Bible classes? I learned so much history that I started going to the library to compare Biblical history VS the history books I never got to read in my private Christian school.

Christianity stopped making sense for me.

I started taking only the Bible classes required. All my electives became psychology, sociology and journalism so I could learn to communicate better. My field study was drama so I could explore being creative.

I told my dad I am myself pagan now.

The long and the sort of it is I don’t feel like you did me any wrong except for what happened at the hands of “Christianity”. YOU loved me and acted with your best intentions for the well-being of your family.

I love you, dad. I forgive you for whatever you think you did to damage me…..

You mentioned sadness. That comes with age. If you find the time? I really want to know what makes you sad. What are your regrets? All of them. I don’t need details. But I am someone who suffers with depression. Knowing others sadness helps. I could learn from it, maybe?

So I’m gonna close now. I feel like I could write pages more and maybe sometime soon I will. Thank you for your letter, Papa. I love you so much.

Your Chosen Daughter,





Humpty Dumpty

‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a big fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.’

Someone I respect recently told me:

Just because his broken pieces seem to fit your broken pieces doesn’t mean you will put humpty dumpty back together again.

Obviously, a broken egg cannot be put back together. Sometimes a relationship reaches a point where it cannot be put back together. I think that is my friends point. A broken egg can’t be fixed.

But I like to think outside the box.

A broken egg? Can still be useful. Fry one up and put it in a sandwich and you know it is true 🙂

Two broken eggs? They can still come together to make something awesome. An omelette, perhaps.

I put sincere thought into my friends opinion (I asked for it). I understand his comparison to Humpty Dumpty. It’s why I have been trying to take everything in my relationship with stride.

But if I were to take that comparison to another level?

When you put two broken people together who are each working individually to be better people? Sometimes there is a lot of other emotional stuff added. It gets confusing.

But, aren’t emotions what give life ‘flavour’?

We’re taking our Humpty Dumpty brokenness and turning into an omelette with every flavour of every emotion. Yes, we are both scared. But we are moving forward both separate and together (a first for us).

You can’t put broken back together. You can take only take what is broken and make it into something spectacular and new.



My Shitty RV

I love that I have a home. It was gifted to me and I own it.

But sometimes RV living isn’t the easiest. Sometimes waste and paper back up in your ‘black tank’ and you end up with an endeavour you haven’t encountered before.

SO what are the options? Well, my BF has been super on top of the issue. We’re putting as much water in the tank and draining it as much as possible. We purchased a liquid thing to break-up the solid stuff but it wasn’t as effective as we hoped. We had some movement though.

Next? We tried a toilet auger. If you don’t know how those work (I didn’t)? It’s like a wiry poky thing that you put in the toilet. It has this snake like part that comes out as you hand crank it. The snaky part goes into the tank and stirs up the shit stuff. Then you try to pump it out again.

It didn’t work. At least the first attempt. It worked a bit. Enough we can take poops. But it’s still not pumping out properly.

We went to a different RV place and the owner there swore by the product we’re going to try. He knows all the details, including that my RV is parked so there is no option to jostle the shit to loosen it by simply driving around.

I never told him I could try to jostle it with amazing sex… but I might try that! LOL

At this moment though? RV life is a bit shitty. Backed up septic. AND it gets cold at night, things are moist (I hate that word). I long for a wood stove to be truthful.

Thinking it’s time to put serious effort into new accommodations.



Do you carry a knife? I do! I think everyone should have an EDC (every day carry) knife on them at all times.

My dad always carried a knife. He was a hunter and also a carpet installer so it was natural he would always have a knife. However, there were more times I saw him pull out his knife to help someone cut a string, trim something or open packages. A knife is a tool before it is a weapon. He swears by Buck as a brand. Probably because he is a hunter and their knives seem to be geared toward that.

It was my BF who taught me most about knives though. He has several. Knives break/or get lost. So, if you only have one knife? You have no knives. Two knives is equal to one knife. And so on. He always tries to have two on him.

He taught me about blade shape and strength. He taught me the different purposes for different knives. How blade curvature affects usage. How to sharpen them to a razor edge.

Now, I LOVE knives. I always saw them as a tool but now I see the beauty in each of them.  And I believe everyone should have an EDC knife.

Canada has it’s laws about EDC knives. Knives in general, but most apply more to people who carry knives every day. For example, the tip has to point down in your pocket so it can’t open as you pull it out. Mine is in my purse and meets all required legislation.

So what is my preferred knife?

The CRKT Drifter. It fits perfect in my hand and it’s lightweight for my purse. It’s not expensive and it is excellent quality from a respected company.



More Information
Blade Length 2.875″ (73.03 mm)
Blade Edge Plain
Blade Steel 8Cr14MoV, 56-59 HRC
Blade Finish Titanium Nitride
Weight 2.4 oz
Handle G10
Style Folding Knife w/Locking Liner
Overall Length 6.5″ (165.1 mm

So, if you don’t already have an EDC knife? I would encourage you to get one. Find one that fits great in your hand, is easy carry and helps with the everyday little tasks a knife comes in useful for!

Next on my list is not an EDC. I want a Kukri!


Yep, I’ve been seeing my ex. He stays with me most of the time. We still have some things to work on but we are working on them. We have a lot of things that were issues between us before that we have resolved. However, there are some things that linger.

This morning as he left he mentioned a lil’ anecdote. His boss’s wife came outside the other morning while he was waiting around to get going. She mentioned she heard he had a new girlfriend. He told her ‘sort of’.

Her reply? “As long as it’s not that Shaunda girl.”

When he told me the words kind of struck me. ‘As long as it’s not me?’ And it made me cry. It felt hurtful. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about that woman in our community. I have only ever said kind things about her and been grateful she helped my ex when he needed.

Who the fuck is she to say anything like, ‘as long as it’s not Shaunda’?

He felt bad for upsetting me on his way out the door. His attempt at reassurance? “It’s only because she has read your blog.” I think he meant it to be humorous and I reacted poorly by crying more.

First off? I call bullshit on that. He worked for her husband at the time him and I split. I am sure she knows all the nasty things he said (hard drug addicted, cheating whore) in addition to my blog. She’s heard a more of his side than he lets on. That’s fine. Just, let’s be real.

Secondly, how does reading my blog give anyone the right to judge me? Do they think they are better than me because I embrace my sexuality? Because I admit my failures like alcoholism? Because I have mental health issues that make me ‘difficult’?

I struggled all day with why that quick conversation made me feel so much pain.

We all fail sometimes. Not one person is perfect. I have spent a long time overcoming shame. I meet people who read my blog and they think it is awesome I can be this open. My therapist thinks my sharing everything so ‘raw’ is what is helping overcome things like religious abuse and other life trauma.

I was so angry and hurt about her comment. I dwelled on it a lot. However, I realize now it was because I needed to understand the source of the pain.

I’ve given up  being ashamed of who I am. I am not interested in people who judge me. I’ve been letting judgement roll off me back. So WHY was I letting this stranger’s comment get to me?

I was comedic when I alluded to it in You Can Call Me.

It took me a while to determine it today because I don’t want to admit this. I told my BF I would give him time for us to figure things out. I also want to have time to figure shit out.

But when he told me about it he laughed their conversation off. He assured her it wasn’t me. I’m still a dirty secret.

It’s beginning to bother me a lot that some other woman is getting credit for the dinners he takes pictures of. She’s the reason he has lunches and clean clothes and a place to stay. As long as it’s not Shaunda.

And it bothers me that for all the times I have been called a liar? I’m not worth being honest about.

So why doesn’t he admit it? I went over and over that today. We decided to keep this quiet (even though I put it in my blog). There is judgement from both sides but when I have been asked about him? I admit we are working on things.

Why doesn’t he admit to me? He is ashamed of me.

He’s mentioned before that my sexual escapades while we were apart made him feel like a chump. He said a lot of things about me while we were apart. Maybe he’s ashamed to go back to ‘that’ girl.

When it comes to his boss’ wife? He says she has read my blog. That means he cares what they know, what they have seen and what they think. I don’t.

I gave up allowing people to judge me. I’ve worked on letting go of that for over a year now and I have been doing well.

*UPDATE: it’s been four days since I started this blog and I still can’t describe what I am feeling correctly

I still have no idea how I feel about this. I’m not angry like I was when I heard it. I am not hurt or crying. I am simply trying to determine how and why this strangers comment, overheard by gossip, became such a menace to my thoughts.

And shame. I need to know how I feel about another person’s shame about me when I have fought so hard to overcome shame about myself.








Shaunda The Hut

eating naked

So, yes, when I sit naked on the couch? My skin from weight loss pools around me and I become some Jabba the Hut like figure that I hate having pictures taken of.

And when I take of my bra and lay on my back? Those tits run and hide under my armpits.

What I am really trying to say is my body isn’t pretty naked. But I’m okay with that.

I have a man in my life who has this incredible body. He’s lean and muscular. Six pack abs. Nice big dick. Tight ass. And skin that is so golden. I want to see him naked all the time.

And I sit here all Jabba-like while he covers up. WTF?

He told me today he envies my confidence. He can’t even take out the garbage without putting on a shirt when I would go out topless if I thought I could get away with it. Probably bottomless as well. On a lazy day.

So what is it about self image?

I am always surprised at his lack of confidence. He needs to cover up every part before he sees the world when I think the world would rather see him in a bit less. How can someone with this body NOT want to be seen?

magnificent dick n abs

Yet, here I sit all fat n flabby but perfectly happy with my body the way it is.

Should I be a bit healthier? Yep, and I work on it. But I don’t do it to be thinner. I don’t do it to make clothes fit better. And I show off my everything on a webcam when I have the chance. I am body confident.

I have no idea how that happened. Feels like a reverse role in some ways. The girl reassuring the guy it’s okay to show off his body.

I like it. I wish more people felt it was okay to be themselves exactly the way they are.