This guy had been emailing me nonstop for months, until I finally asked him to contact me when he was ready to meet and not before. We set up our meeting for last night, and tbh if it weren’t for the fact that he asked for 90 minutes I’m not sure I would have agreed, his extreme neediness before even meeting me was setting me on edge. But he was recommended by two friends of mine who already saw him, and he said they’d recommended me to him very highly in all his emails. I’ve posted a few of them before, “if you want me to go away and stop messaging you just let me know, I just want to talk to you, you sound so amazing,” &c&c&c.

He opened the door and my heart sank a little. He REEKED of needy Authentic Pleasure Man, but even more, he LOOKED the part of a desperately insecure sad little clover, but worse, one with bad fashion that states clearly he thinks we’re both counter culture and will spiritually connect. You think it’s not possible to read all that by appearances, but any sex worker will tell you you’re wrong.

He had rockabilly side burns that stopped just before connecting with a chin beard; his receding hair was kept quite short except for the middle which was allowed into a slightly longer fauxhawk. My interior cringe, begin with his hair and facial hair, deepened when I took in his bow tie. “90 minutes,” I reminded myself. That’s a lot of money.
“I’m so nervous and so glad to meet you!” he babbled on. “I just want to talk to you, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for so long.”
And he did. Boy did he. He talked and talked, and after a few tries I got that he’s not exactly interested in talking with me, he really is just interested in talking TO me. AT me.
He’s a union organiser and he told me a lot about unions. Not much I didn’t know, but it was fun to listen to someone with a lot more experience talk about tactics and people’s fear around employment and rights and losing employment.
Every now and then he acknowledged that he might be telling me something I already know, as when he said, “I guess you could even say marriage is a kind of sex work,” but it was immediately apparent that while HE may get to tell me things I already know, I didn’t have that privilege.
I laughed, “a lot of people do say that,” I offered.
“I KNOW that,” he snapped, going red and annoyed.
That whole time he was talking about how cool sex workers are and how he wants to organize sex workers bc he respects us so much. He doesn’t know anything about sex work, he’s never been to a strip club, and I guess that’s part of why I was there, to tell him. To initiate him into our world. He just wants to organise sex workers, it’s been his whole life goal, sex workers and prisoners, “not that I’ve been either.”
And like, that set me on edge. He wants to organize sex workers. Not “help organise” or “support.”
Apparently he once had a conversation with some activist group he was part of where they talked about how to work with communities they aren’t a part of, and how to approach them and whether to wear signifiers of the community or not. “Don’t wear Mohawks,” a woman said. “Except _[his name]___, because it’s spiritual.”
“That’s silly. Are you Mohawk?”
“Brown people don’t all have the same oppression,” he told me, like that was what I asked.
“No, I know,” I tried to explain. He got annoyed that I wasn’t listening.
He was super mansplainy and condescending, but I figured, he’s paying me. I can take it for 90 minutes.
So after our hour and a half is up, at eight, HE looked at the clock and went “oh, it’s 8 do you have to go?”
I had my back to the clock the whole time, the better to not be accused of clock watching, but since he looked–but he continued:
Our time is up, he understands if I have to go, and he wants to respect my boundaries but he’s had such a great time talking to me… He drifted off to leave me an opening to enthusiastically offer to stay longer for free.
I rolled my eyes internally, tried to put it into language he, as a socialist union organiser, would understand. “Well, I gotta respect other workers. I can’t go over time, that’s like undercutting their work and value, you know?”
“But we didn’t,” his face kind of convulses and I can tell he’s thinking of how to suddenly demand sex. “I guess talking is kind of emotional work. But we didn’t really, maybe you can decide what’s a fair amount then, since,” and I could see he’s suddenly regretted all that talking he told me he was so excited about, he wishes he’d initiated some saucy time, and I thought, okay, listening to him talk about his work and organising is interesting so what the heck, I’ll stay a little later but he is DEFINITELY NOT getting sex now. “I guess talking is emotional work” indeed.

–and this is why I’m angry, this is why. I violates my own boundaries and ethics because I let some little shithead guilt trip me into spending more time with him than we agreed on, even when he CLEARLY does not respect or understand my work. That’s not–“talking is emotional work” is so disrespectful and clueless. Being in that room is work. Listening to him and clucking and nodding and asking questions and letting him talk over me and snap at me IS WORK. That’s part of what you pay me for, my aggreeability.
I know this and believe in this at a gut level but I still allowed him to make me feel guilty.

So I stayed. We talked for what turned into another hour, and I could tell he was working up to try to put the moves on me, he took off his shoes after like 40 minutes and said “the shoes are off! All bets are off!”
I laughed, “that’s like when my bra comes off. ‘The bra is off, definitely not leaving the house again’.”
“You like vintage dresses though.” He gestured at my dress. “We’re the same. We both like looking good.”
“I love sweatpants. I love staying in pajamas. I don’t like that Portland is trying to overcome it’s frumpiness with all these out of towners.”
“You can blame people like me for upping the ante,” he gestured at his bow tie, then referenced something I’d said earlier about how being a sex worker is like being a spy. Constantly in disguise and underrated. “It’s my disguise.”
I rolled my eyes again internally. Your fucking bow tie and rockabilly getup are not corporate drag, they aren’t fooling anyone, and they don’t inherently express an affiliation with a common proletariat or ANYTHING.
He moved to flop back on the bed, which have me another excuse and urgent need to look at the clock. “Oh, it’s 9, I have to go walk my dog!”
He gaped at me. Got up, said
“well the money is in with the chocolate in the bathroom, and you should take whatever… Chocolate… you feel is fair, I mean I guess TALKING is kind of emotional work, and you did drive here” and I started to get like this weird feeling, like what a stupid thing to say–but maybe there’s A THOUSAND DOLLARS in the bathroom. I mean I stayed an extra HOUR OVER so why would he even talk about me giving him money back otherwise?

–I was so stupid–

I opened up the chocolate bar, wriggled the cash out from its box, I felt something wrong with my brain. Counted, recounted, only five bills. One of them’s a ______. Wrong this is wrong there must be more, this is wrong. I wondered if I totally read his emails wrong. Even factoring in the free hour it was wrong. I ran through possible scenarios in my head and none of them ended well for me. Frog marching him to the atm? Nope. Hitting him? Nope. Explaining to a man who already clearly didn’t understand labour? Who thought that I would fuck with him after TWO AND A HALF HOURS of conversation when we agreed upon an hour and a half? Nope.
“How much more free time do I want want to give this fucking asshole who deliberately ripped me off?”

No matter how I counted and counted it it still only came to ___, so I took it all, put it in my purse, and said thank you.
He was VISIBLY crushed and angry.
“Bye,” he whined, looking after me like I was going to turn around and tuck a bill into his bowtie.
And then I left! Shaking with anger.

He emailed me later, after I’d done my warnings about him, to say he couldn’t wait to see me again but he’s confused about my boundaries. I haven’t replied yet.

tbh don’t call me by my full name just Britt is fine just Britt when you call me Brittany it literally sets me on edge bc the ppl who yell at me all the time in my house call me Brittany. Britt is short and sweet and simple and I prefer it to Brittany ty

Seriously my biggest pet peeve is loud chewers and people that can’t stop moving their tongue around in their mouths. I hate the sound of saliva. It sets my teeth on edge and makes me feel so grossed out. And I love my grandpa but he won’t stop making spit noises and I might shoot myself!!


 Favorite Curly Hair Products // Leximarcellaa

Products Mentioned:
Shea Moisture Moisture Retention Shampoo & Curl and Shine
Apple Cider Vinegar
Aussie Moist
Aussie 3Minute miracle Moist
Deep Conditioner-
Shea Moisture Deep Treatment Masque
Coconut Oil
Bonnet Attachment
Stylers and Detanglers Kinky Kurly Knot Today
Spray Bottle
Shea Moisture Curl Enhancing Smoothie
Eco Styler Gel Olive Oil
Herbal Essances Set Me Up Mousse Perfect Edges Aragon Oil Goody Tangle Teaser
Duck Clips
Satin Bonnet
Revlon Hair Dryer

This is probably a bit random, but I kind of feel like I can’t comfortably ship anyone in the Blacklist that is a main character (Ressler, Liz, Tom, Red). I feel like any one of them having an intimate relationship would drastically alter the feel/flow of the show. 

Ressler and Liz being together would, I think, completely change how Ressler reacts to certain situations, and I don’t feel that those changes would be very beneficial to his character or the task force in general. 

Liz and Tom being back together I think is also problematic. I think it would signify that Liz has completely lost her mind, or that she is too easily manipulated or something. Tom is just one of those manipulative, unhealthy guys that sets me on edge.

I can’t even begin to pair Red and Liz together without feeling uncomfortable. Their relationship is way too paternal for me to be okay with them being physically or romantically involved. (no this isn’t an age thing. If they weren’t so father/daughterly I wouldn’t have an issue other than changes in character)

So yeah, weird thoughts from this head of mine. 

Theres just something about this place that sets me on edge. I’ve cried every day since I’ve been here for some reason or another, I’ve been super antsy and anxious and angry, I haven’t had anything to do… Like this is not where I’m supposed to be I’m supposed to be doing things. And even like when it comes to relaxing… sitting around this house with nothing to do stewing in the bad vibes IS NOT RELAXING. 

Day 20 of my #DoItForMark promise

I thought things would be better.

That being said, this morning I was all good, preoccupied with the xbox 360 for the whole day. The occasional ringing of the house phone set me on edge a bit, but other than that I was fine.

Until my sister came home. She caused me to have a meltdown by shouting at me for something small that I did wrong. Because of the way I reacted to Sheeny yelling at me, my mom intervened and told me that I WAS IN THE WRONG! For a reaction that I didnt have control over! For God’s sake, it’s not my fault! I was born this way!

AND! During the meltdown, neither my mom or my sister were giving me my ‘alone time’. They were just there, making the whole situation worse. My sister even invaded my personal space in a threatening way.

These two things are things that you’re not meant to do if a person with Asperger’s or Autism is having a meltdown. You’re meant to give them time, space and quiet time so that they can recover in a reasonable amount of time. I didn’t get any of that today. This is further proof that my own family doesn’t understand Asperger’s or autism properly.

During that meltdown… I hit myself 18 times. I am not proud of that moment, but at least mom didn’t have to restrain me this time.

I went into post-meltdown depression soon after, and I swear it felt like 2 hours to get out of that state and get to the recovery stage.

This recovery stage unfortunately happened while I was at the local polling station, placing my votes. The result of this was that I got very confused when the guy who gave me the ballot papers said a number, and thought it was aimed at me.

Ok! Tomorrow! Tomorrow will be a good day! I will make sure of that! :3 #DoItForMark

I apologize to everyone because my brain is on the fritz. I am extremely flighty and prone to fits of panic right now; ex I just spent the last hour panicking because my brain told me “you fucked something up today really badly and you just don’t remember what it was but if you could remember you’d be humiliated.” I’m pretty sure I didn’t. But what if I just don’t know?

I torqued a ligament in my dominant (heh) wrist about a week ago and at least it’s not serious as far as I can tell but it’s taking forever to heal, as these things do, and the constant pain is setting my teeth on edge. When things hurt constantly it makes me claustrophobic, I don’t know how better to describe it than that, like I’m crammed into my body and it’s closing in, like my skin is too tight. I don’t think I actually tore it but I twisted it bad enough that there’s a bruise, presumably because I broke some capillaries. I panic over whether to use heat or ice and then heat seems too much for my nerve endings and cold doesn’t seem to help at all.

I’m pretty sure I actually overheard my landlord’s nanny fuck up my amazon delivery for today by telling the ups lady she doesn’t know who I am and that no one with my name lives at this address but it was through the window and by the time I got my pants on and got outside they were both long gone so maybe I hallucinated it, who fucking knows.

This week has been incredibly stressful and it ain’t over and this weekend I have an elopement to attend, a date with marcinhaunts, and probably my last chance to see likeaduck before she goes to A-Camp and I am super stressing even though these are all low-stress things that I am very much looking forward to. Which makes no fucking sense at all. Which pretty much sums up how things are going for me right now.

I was going to go smoke an entire pack of cigarettes but that would mean i have to go buy one and things like shoes and money seem far too complicated considering that a few minutes ago i almost broke my brain trying to unload the dishwasher. I think instead I will lie very still in my bed under a stack of pillows. This is all reminding me that I need to make a followup appointment with my shrink, because I forgot because work has been so busy. Not because I’m out of meds yet though, I’m not that out of it yet.

I’ll be fine. Really. I just need some darkness and possibly some carbohydrates. Definitely some carbohydrates.

Personal Journal

Busy week! I got to play the spy, which was more exhilarating than I had expected. We had an idea, a way to trap the trapper, as it were. Hill announced a routine suit test and only Fury, Agent Morse, and myself knew what we intended.

While monitored I shrunk down and was let out of the car in front of an old playground. I started the course as if I was actually training, slipping through the metal pipes, climbing the swing chains, and testing leverage/strength on the seesaw. Normally we did these things at the SHIELD facility, but sometimes an uncontrolled environment presents unforeseen challenges: sudden showers, birds. Reaction time is important. 

On cue Agent X appeared. I was on the picnic table, sitting with my legs dangling over the edge. She carried a purse on her shoulder which set sat on the edge of the table beside me, it’s gaping mouth open. I could see that the bag was only carpet on the outside, and was reinforced with metal and wiring within.

She bent down and spoke to me. She told me she had an associate, Doctor E. He’d wired my entire lab up to explode unless I came with her willingly. I had my notes saved elsewhere. I was supposed to go with her. That was part of the plan, but it had to seem real. She told me Agent Morse had a mark on her. 

I radioed Hill, told them not to send help, and stepped into the purse.

The purse was not uncomfortable. The metal and wiring supported my still large mass. The design was very sophisticated and I tried my best to figure out its workings as X took me to their base. Whoever designed it understood physics and electronics perhaps more than I. He also understood Pym Particles. The metal would keep me from increasing in size without harming myself and wiring would deal a heavy shock should I venture too near the opening. The mole surely had to be one of my associates, one of SHIELD’s own. Dr. Lee, Dr. Kessler, Hardy, James, Starr? Starr seemed to take more than a normal interest in the suit’s designs and was most helpful in creating the cybernetic aspects of the helmet. 

I composed a message with my theory and transmitted it the moment the bag had been opened. Fury had been tracking and on my signal, deployed my newest offense, Nylanderia fulva, known for their knack for destroying electronics. With a few signals, X and Starr’s communications were down, SHIELD infiltrated, and I was shot at, repeatedly, with a laser. 

We confirmed that Dr. Starr was a contact, though perhaps not the only. He’s facing trial and I’m trying to not think about it. I need a break from Ant-Man. A date would be nice, or an afternoon at the museum. 

((Loosely adapted from Tales to Astonish #36 and #38))

I did it. I texted HM about courses. We can’t check any out this week, though. She’s got work in Karlsruhe tomorrow and Friday, and she’s apparently going on a weekend excursion with R, M, and K.

But hey, I asked.

It was pretty chill all day (got the boys sorted out and off to school) but as soon as HM comes home, it’s chaos. All her yelling sets me on edge and I just feel like I did something wrong… it’s nerve racking.

apostateapologist replied to your post: petition to ban the phrase “despite wh…

honestly………………….i end up blocking almost every post with that phrasing just on principle

even seeing it sets me on edge like what has tumblr told me this time?? is tumblr telling me that mental disorders are like flowers???? is it telling me to commandeer a bus and blast “DOWN WITH CIS” on the intercom??? IT IS A MYSTERY