Honest Tuesday’s: I Can Do It! … ?
Feb 8, 2010 Honest Tuesday's, I Forgot to Tag, Out with the Old Wicked in with the New Wicked, P.O.E. Biz, Thoughts and Perceptions, Wicked Wisdoms
Hello and welcome to Honest Tuesday’s. A place to be honest about shit that you would not or can not normally be honest about to anyone in your “real lives” for one reason or another.
Today mine is involved with some self worth … insecurity issues.
Most of you know that I am an aspiring writer. I have written many a poem and eleventy million blogs where some have had a teeny bit of editorial content to them. My biggest accomplishment was last August when I published my book all by myself.
It took me almost 2 years and the death of a new friend to build up the confidence to do that. It wasn’t perfect enough. What if no one likes it? Blah Blah talkmyselfoutofit Blah. But then I just fucking manned up and did it.
And I am so damn happy that I did.
Especially considering the fact that, after countless publishing companies that I have submitted my work to, one finally said yes. YES! A 365 day contract. 1 year. *grin*
My confession on this Honest Tuesday is that I never really thought that I would ever be published. Just like every day when I go to work I have to self talk my way into believing that I can actually make a successful mark at this new job. Just like I have always just kinda flew under the radar of excellence. Not because I am incapable … but because it has always just been easier to be average.
The let down is much less of one in the long run. Or at least in my experience anyway.
I am sure many of you read my blog before back on the space about my most embarrassing moment. Looking back now at who I was … and who I have grown to be … it wasn’t just an embarrassing moment for me. It was a moment that has essentially defined the last 13 years of my life.
For those of you who aren’t in the know … … in a nutshell … …
I spent my entire youth being the best at what I put my effort toward. Make fun of me all you want to but I was a band geek. I spent years in 1st chair in my wind ensemble and in my free time played in symphonies where I was one of 2 or the only flutist in the organization. I won awards and competitions and played many a solo. I was the best of the best.
So when I made the decision to join the Navy, I wanted to continue my journey as a musician in the Navy band. I was required to compose my own piece. As in write it out full score. Then I was to memorize it and play it in front of the judges at the Naval base in Everett.
So I did. I wrote an amazing piece and practiced my ass off. I knew every fucking note as if it was my second language. The day of the audition, my mom came with me. I was ready. Just like every other God damned solo I had ever played in my life. Just like every other God damned audition I had ever aced. I was calm and collected and confident that I would handle business.
I entered the stage area and was faced with 5 decorated officers in a panel in front of me. (Knowing what I know now about military decorations … they are waaaaaaaay more intimidating than they actually are in real life.) Seeing them and being under the spotlight … shook me. I froze. I forgot my piece. I forgot how to fucking play the instrument that I had been playing for 10 years of my life. Meaning, when they allowed me a chance to play what I had written, the notes swam across the page. No longer was it my second language. It was instead a completely foreign language in some dialect that I had never heard before in my life.
I motherfucking blew it.
The reason I say that it was a defining moment of my last 12 years is because looking back on them, I have never really accomplished excellence. I literally have done exactly what I needed to do to remain successful enough. Not overly anything. I just didn’t give a fuck enough about any of it to really push myself. That, and I would rather expect to blow it than think I was gonna nail it and save myself the heartbreak when I did. I always have found myself questioning my excellence. Questioning my self worth. Questioning whether or not I am good enough.
The fact is, average is not me. Because of one stupid moment of weakness, I have made it me to save face in my own little pity party of waaaaaaaaaaah. When instead, I should have known it to be an everything happens for a reason moment and learned from it. As I have approached and entered my 30’s … I have really been working on practicing what I preach. You know, owning my words as if I were my own reader. Taking this new job has really pushed me to work outside of my element as well. It is unacceptable to be average. It is completely unacceptable to fly under the radar. Furthermore, being successful and striving for excellence is so rewarded and recognized that it is stupid to not want to be a part of it.
Never before have I been surrounded by more motivated and inspiring people, which has allowed me to not get discouraged at all of the “No’s” I have received. There is always a “Yes” following somewhere… you just have to push through all of the “No’s” first to get to it.
So instead of asking myself whether or not I think I can do something … I am working on reminding myself that, when I really put my mind to something … I absolutely with no doubt CAN and WILL do it.
Because that is what awesomeness and excellence and success is all about.
Now it is your turn. Get all HONEST up in this bitch. I promise I won’t judge you. 
If you could inherit one extraordinary talent in one of the arts … what would the talent be?
Would you rather have an orgasm every 10 years OR every 10 seconds?
Tags: confidence, esteem, flute, navy, solo, success, symphony
TMIThursday: Rock the Boat
Aug 26, 2009 Out of Wicked's Mouth, Out with the Old Wicked in with the New Wicked, TMI Thursday's, Yum... or Lack There Of.
Hello my TMIT gluttons for punishment!
You know the drill… I blog about totally inappropriate shit… (sometimes literally) and sometimes, you throw up in your mouth a bit.
If you are interested in participating, reading more train wreck worthy blogs…
Click the pic below and enter the hub of TMI Thursday….
Once upon an ocean blue, (read: yes this is another Navy story) I traveled the world. Well, I traveled the Western Pacific. But whatev. I traveled to several awesomely kick-ass countries and drank entirely too much alcohol while doing it. Being in another country means that you get to follow their laws as to what under aged was when it came to being at the bar.
I could see over the bar stool. Sooooooo I was good.
When we arrived in Hong Kong, we had to anchor a certain amount of miles off shore because we were a nuclear vessel. (I know right?! I am kind of a big deal.) We had liberty boats that were hired to take us back and forth from ship to shore. The awesomer you were, the less time you had to wait to get on one. I was a cook. Which means I paid the boatswains in pizzas and baked goods to have head of the line privileges.
What relevance does this have to my story? It means that I rode to and from on the boats that the big wigs rode on. All of the division officers… the commanders… their boat was also MY boat. And, it ruled because I got to party with them.
So this one time… I got off the boat super early in the morning. I had baked all night, and it was my Friday so I was ready to get off the ship for my 3 day liberty. I had already packed, found my hotel… yadda. So we all go, and I immediately get my drink on. I was hammered from the time I left the boat until I can’t even remember when. Sadly, when it was time to go back, I didn’t consider the fact that my boat … the one I was bragging about earlier … was the boat that I would be on. Wasted.
Picture a ferry-like boat. Rows of seats, packed to the brim with all of my shipmates … trying to get back on the ship and prepare for our next deployment. Picture me, on this boat … hammered … quickly realizing the fact that this boat and my NUCLEAR VESSEL were 2 completely different kinds of sea legs. We were 3rd in line. Meaning there were 2 other liberty boats in front of us to unload before it was our turn. While we waited, we began to rock.
Back and forth. Baaaaaaaaaaaack and forth. Back and fooooooooooooooooorth. Back annnnnnnnnnnnnnd forth. Back and forth.
I held it. I fought the bile. I tried my hardest not to focus on the rocking. But when that final wave hit, I was defeated.
I jumped up, hands over my mouth and bolted for the door. I pushed my way through people and through the heavy door and onto the bow. Or, I tried to anyway. My division officer was standing in the narrow walkway right by the door smoking a cigarette. She was blocking my ability to get to the edge.
I couldn’t tell her to move. If I did, I would have puked in her face.
I thought that the universal sign for I am gonna puke is 2 hands over the mouth and wide eyes. No?
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. So I let it go. All over her open toed Chanel sandals. And her leg.
When we made eye contact, she laughed.
“Feel better?” She asked.
“Yes Ma’am” I sighed.
“You owe me a new pair of shoes.” She laughed as she took a drag of her cigarette.
I don’t know if she was joking or not but you can bet your ass that with my next paycheck I bought her a pair. I was just grateful that she didn’t make me go see the Captain.
Happy TMIT! As always, feel free to share a similar or non-similar TMIT of your own.
TMIThursday: A Vat of … Vomit?
Aug 5, 2009 I Forgot to Tag, Out with the Old Wicked in with the New Wicked, TMI Thursday's, Yum... or Lack There Of.
Hello my gluttons for TMI Punishment!
You know the drill… I blog about totally inappropriate shit… (sometimes literally) and sometimes, you throw up in your mouth a bit.
If you are interested in participating, reading more train wreck worthy blogs…
Click the pic below and enter the hub of TMI Thursday….
I am going to warn you. This TMIT is fucking nasty. Like, Naaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa sty. I am not proud of this, however if I am going balls to the wall with TMIT… No holds barred, right?
Aight. Consider yourself warned:
In the Navy, I was a cook. In the Navy, in order to save money and cut costs… the bootcamp cooks prepped.
If you know me, you know that I do not like mayo (read: I would get shot in the face if the person holding the gun told me that in order to not get shot in the face, I would have to eat mayo) Yeah. It is that serious. Anyway, the mayo didn’t come in pretty little jars like you have in mommy’s fridge. It came in 50 gallon FSA vats.
(cringe)
So one night, after a long day slaving for unappreciative fucking officers in the Officer Mess, I went to our normal hangout spot. (read: a dirty apartment where all of the underagers drank at) As usual, I got completely hammered. The drink of choice back then was Alize (which I would almost rather get shot in the face if I had to drink it again to save my life … a l m o s t). I had been pre-purchased a fifth of that tropical nastiness and a couple of deuces of Mickey’s Ice. Oh bitches I motherfucking went there. Which I finished. Like a (stupid fucking idiot) pro.
Fast forward to 5AM. Drunk, on maaaybe 2 hours of sleep. I stumbled into the galley. On my list of things to prep for the day was tartar sauce. Enough tartar sauce to feed ALL 3 MESS HALLS.
YAY for Fish Friday! SIKE.
So the recipe requires 1 50 gallon vat of mayo, split into 2, sweet pickle relish, garlic powder, onions and a pinch of dill to taste (read: skip that shit because I am not tasting this fucking shit)
/sigh.
So picture me, wasted. Stirring this nasti-ness together. Gagging at each wafting moment. Holding in the vomit. TRYING to keep it together. I was doing a good job until 6AM hit and the air turned on. I was attacked by a facefull of mayo-relish smell, and I fucking lost it. It = the cheeseburger, Mickeys Ice and all of the Alize just marinating in my stomach.
One good heave-ho. Inside the tartar.
“FUCK!” I said to myself. Or maybe it was out loud. I dont remember. I was totally panicking.
My Sr. Chief came whistling his fucking ass around the corner, demanding me to hand over the tartar not 3 minutes after the hurl-event.
What did I do?
“I just need to add a dash of dill… to taste.”
And I did. I was the asshole who served the pukey tartar sauce. I am like a scene straight out of the movie waiting.
Did I feel guilty then? Maybe a little.
Don’t judge me.
Tags: cook, fish friday, navy, tartar sauce, vomit
TMIThursday: “Uhh I Just Need to Use the Potty…”
Jun 3, 2009 I WIN!, Out of Wicked's Mouth, Sex, TMI Thursday's
Hello my gluttons for TMI Punishment!
You know the drill… I blog about totally inappropriate shit… (sometimes literally) and sometimes, you throw up in your mouth a bit.
If you are interested in participating, reading more train wreck worthy blogs… Click the pic below and enter the hub of TMI Thursday….
So… One time at bandcamp … *giggle* Not really. I never went to bandcamp.
Really though, back when I was in the military, if you were a female it went like this: You were either one of the guys … or you were fucked by one of the guys.
Or, in this case… allllllllllllll of the guys.
When we played we played hard. Just like in every military town, there were the trashy whores that were too often referred to as ‘military wives’ (Heather don’t get mad you know the herd I am referring to) who really arent wives but more just the broads who loved the anticipation of their ‘men’ returning home from deployment. Just like the men, they fucked pretty much every cock and balls in sight while we were out.
I know this because 1) I am smart and 2) I have seen some pretty whore-ific pictures of it.
Anyway, the boys who didnt have heffa’s on the pier waiting would all get together and flock to that one cheap ass nasty motel that is located a cum-shot away from any Navy base. Some females (me) would go and rip it up wit h them as friends. I can honestly say that out of the group of 15-25, I had sex with maybe 2 of them. Maybe. But I am going to stand firm to one. It is one of those pride things for me where because I was the minority and because it was assumed that because I was a female that I was automatically assumed that I was a just-add-water-slut, that I refused to let them win. (So I moved up the Chain of Command and fucked the Officers. *wink*)
Other females were invited strictly because they actually had become just-add-water-sluts. There was this one slut who was just … wow … I don’t even know how to describe her. She came to every party with her mini sweater and painted on jeans. Her laugh was annoying, her make-up too thick for how cute she was… but we tolerated her because we knew that we would get a show.
I never really expected the show that I got that one night at that one party.
So after a 45 day training deployment, we were all amped to get fucked up. Payday hit the day before we pulled into port, so we already had planned on 1) how many bottles and 2) how many rooms we were going to get and what the $$ breakdown would be each. We got super lucky and scored the adjoining rooms.
Fast forward to hours later. We were all smashed. I had to pee.
The line to the bathroom in 1 of the rooms was like 4 people long due to another dumb slut being drank under the table and throwing it all back up… so I jet over to the other room that was originally dubbed as the hook up room because it was set up like a one bedroom apartment. Problem was, the bathroom was inside the bedroom. So I open the adjoining door to the room and there were a good 5-6 guys standing in a line outside of the bedroom door.
Me: “Are you kidding me?! This bathroom too?”
Strange guy: “Not the bathroom…”
Me: “Uhh can I just go in there then? I wont look, I just really need to use the potty.”
Strange guy: “I dont give a fuck.”
Sweeeeeeeeet.
So I weave through the dudes and ignore the “I wouldn’t go in there” s because I had it set in my mind that I was about to pee. One way or another, the pee was coming out at this point.
So I open the door and as much as I said I wouldn’t look… I fucking looked. And I couldn’t believe what I saw.
There was that one slut, on the bed with cocks in all of her orafaces. She looked up at me, whore-ified… cock-in-mouth… unable to speak. I stood there for a second, also speechless… before I realized that in my moment of fucking shock, the pee had started to come out. I bolted for the bathroom so fucking fast.
Luckily for me, the pee casualty was minimal. Ask me if I peed with the door open so I wouldn’t miss anything. G’head. Like when the one guy told her to shut up and take it when she tried to protest since I had apparently “ruined the mood”. Uhm no bitch. You got busted.
It was live porn. LIVE.
Ask me if I kept my mouth shut. *snicker* Fuck no I didn’t. Not even for a minute. As soon as I walked back into the party I was yakkin it up. I am pretty sure that I told everyone.
*sigh* I loved the military. Never a dull moment. Not ever.
(Also, in talking about this with D… he is convinced that this experience has everything to do with my GB fantasy. I think he might be right. I never thought of it before. Weird.)
Happy Thursday!!!!!!
(As always but no one ever does… feel free to share TMI’s of your own either in actual comments or links to your own blogs)
Tags: Deployment, hotel, just add water, military wife, navy
TMI Thursday: With Her Vagina!
May 6, 2009 Friendship, Out of Wicked's Mouth, Random, Sex, TMI Thursday's, The Tarably Wicked Show, Yum... or Lack There Of.
Hello my gluttons for TMI Punishment!
You know the drill… I blog about totally inappropriate shit… (sometimes literally) and sometimes, you throw up in your mouth a bit.
If you are interested in participating, reading more train wreck worthy blogs… Click the pic below and enter the hub of TMI Thursday….
For most of you who know me… I have a stripper/prostitute/escort/lady of the night fascination. It started longer ago than I can remember. Maybe it was when my friend and I snuck in to the obviously too-old-for-us-R-rated movie “Pretty Woman”. We loved Vivian Ward so much that we played “Pretty Woman” Barbie forever after we saw it.
It is one of my all time favorite movies in the history of forever.
Anywhore, the first time i can remember hootin’, hollerin’ … and throwing dollars (well Thai currency anyway) at stripper poles was when we visited Thailand for my very first 6month deployment. one of my senior chiefs thought it would be funny to take me to an ‘authentic’ strip club.
Heh. Ask me where we sat. G’head. That’s right… front and center.
So there we were… watching the things you watch… when the ‘feature dancer’ was introduced. She sauntered her petite behind on stage and began to do her thing. Before i knew it, she was crawling across the stage like a wildcat on the hunt for its dinner toward our table. She leaned in to my Sr. chief, and he reached into his pocket… handing her a cigarette and a lighter.
Then she did something that made my jaw drop to the sticky strip-club floor: She leaned back, placed the cig in her vagina hole… and lit that mofoing cig right in front of my face.
With her vagina.
And then… she proceeded to blow smoke rings. In different sizes. Right in my face.
With her vagina.
Raise your hand if you volunteer to offer her some good quality cunnilingus.
No? You sure?
The group of salty sailors I was partying with thought my horror and my inability to look away was hilarious. Like LMFAO hilarious.
I wish taking pics was as cool then as it is now…
When I was talking to Tarable about my TMI post this week and recapped my awesomely nasty stripper-smoke-rings- story… she gleefully reminded me of the time when she was in Naw’lins and her then-boyfriend-now-douchebag went to the strip club. Instead of using her fingers or mouth to pick up her hard earned scrilla… she used her vagina to do the work for her.
Have you ever wondered if the one dollar bills in your wallet were ever in a stripper’s butt crack??
She also reminded me of the time when she was in Vancouver at a strip club… and the fine performer at that classy establishment gave the entire front row a parting gift when she shoved her entire hand into her vagina and flung the wetness at them.
Tarable said… and I quote: Tara: you can also add about mine in Vancouver, when the stripper put her hand all the way in her cooch and then flicked it on the crowd… and by flick I mean she was makin it rain.
Happy TMI Thursday peeps! I know that it is not gross like previous TMI’s… but definitely entertaining, funny and brought back a hilariously traumatizing memory for me.
I know you beezos have stripper stories. If not something you have experienced personally…. but a story that you have heard from someone you know.
Share in the Stripper TMI!
Tags: barbie, cigarrette, dancer, dollar bill, julia roberts, make it rain, navy, performer, pretty woman, sailor, story, strip club, stripper, thailand, vancouver
The Back-Story of Mouth
Apr 30, 2009 Family, Out of Wicked's Mouth, Ranteriffic, Wicked Wisdoms, bitch
For many of you who have known me for my entire life… you may already know that I have been blessed with a mouthpiece.
So when I was in bootcamp, I was quickly given the nickname ‘Mouth’. Even though I told myself sternly on the plane that I would just shut up and do my time… it didn’t take long for my foot to find my mouth and insert itself inside.
Anyway, back to how I was crowned with such an alias.
If you did not know, boot camp when I went was located in Great Lakes, IL. I pretty much went directly after graduation… so beginning of July-ish I hopped on a plane all by myself and flew halfway across the country to allow someone to mind-fuck me for a good 12 weeks.
The trip to boot camp is a drama-blog within itself for an entirely new day.
After a couple of weeks of learning the ropes and getting a feel for who my Drill Sergeant’s were… and what buttons could be pushed with them… I realized that my male Drill Sergeant was a great deal more laid back than his bitch cohort. Especially when she was not around. The barracks were hot as fuck in the middle of August/September. It is muggy and sticky and when you are wearing Department of Defense issue uniforms and heavy socks and boots… marching in the sun all day… We would march everywhere we went, and I remember that my showers were my most favorite fucking moments.
Well, except for the fact that at any given time, there were no less than 10 girls in the shower area at once. It was a rare occasion if you ever were given it to shower alone in boot camp. You would think that most of the girls would be a joy to look at in the shower. That would be a big fat no.
Squish mentioned her terrification of all things vag-bush… this was up there in the worst display of pubic grooming ever. There was so much bush present, that if a cig was thrown in the middle… we mighta had a brush fire.
Not kidding.
The thing about the heat and the close quarters and the packed shower room is that pretty much as soon as you shower, dry off and get dressed again… it is time to shower again. So one muggy afternoon after a great 11 minute timed shower… I left the even muggier bathroom and walked into the main part of the barracks. I stopped at the reader board, scratching my head as I read whatever was posted for us to pay attention to.
Male D.S. “Seaman Kenyon!”
Me: “Yes Drill Sergeant!?”
Male D.S.: “What is wrong with you?”
Me: “I dont understand…”
Male D.S.: “Why are you scratching your head?”
Me: “I have head lice, sir!”
Male D.S.: (laughing out loud) “You have head lice?! Who did you get it from?”
Me: (snickering) “I got it from YOU Sir!”
(I was unaware that the bitch Drill Sergeant was in the office with him.)
Bitch D.S.: “Seaman Kenyon!”
Me: (fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.) “Yes Ma’am?!”
Bitch D.S.: “You have talked your way into a cycling session.”
I spent the latter part of that day doing push-ups, 8 count body builders, holding my arms out in front of me for several minutes… more push-ups… whatever her 4′10” ass decided would be appropriate punishment.
As I sweat… and cried… and cussed my ass off about it, my drill instructor walked past me, laughed, and I will neve r forget what he said: “One day you will learn when to shut your mouth… Mouth!”
From that day forward, I was no longer Seamen Kenyon. I was just called Mouth.
(side note: When I called my mom and told her, I thought she was going to literally die laughing. She had no sympathy for me what so ever. None. To this day anyone close to me knows it and refers to me as Mouth at the most inconvenient times. Bitches.)
Oh, and ask me if I learned when to shut my mouth. G’head. LMFAO. 
Do you have a nickname?
How did you acquire it?
Do you love it or hate it?
Tags: boot camp, brush fires, drill sergeant, great lakes, il, mouth, muggy, navy, push-ups, showers
