Girls Without Shoes

April 13, 2009

She’s Only 22………

She’s only 22 and has 3 children under the age of 5.   Her Mother is raising them and has given up hope for her, well, almost.  She sent her back home to her family for help, for more rehab.  The 5th time she has been in a rehabilitation unit.  This time she walked away from it, didn’t even give it a chance, just detoxed and left.

I guess it had been at least 6 years since I saw her.  She was then a teenager with long dark hair, long legs and beautiful olive skin.  She was troubled looking casting her eyes downward when spoken to.   Her aversion to looking you in the eye was a by product of her years of abuse by her stepfather.

It all made perfect sense later when we found out the ugly, awful truth.  The quiet somewhat shy girl, who later could not look anyone in the eye even stopped laughing or smiling like she used to.  There was something about her, a feeling you got that you could not quite put your finger on.  A gut feeling that should have been paid closer attention to……… all of us.

When her stepfather started keeping her contact with anyone outside of their home to a minimum it really made you wonder.  It was not long after that he was found out and subsequently sent to prison.  Good riddance you say and rightly so, however……….

The physical abuse stopped and she and her family moved away to another state.  Years later, her stepfather is back out in the world doing God only knows what while her life is in shambles………..still.

The promiscuity that followed seemed ironic to me,  yet I believe that may be  typical.  I am no expert on abuse and the aftermath, but from what I have witnessed, self- abuse stays on inside the victim.

The heavy drug addiction that followed should probably not have been a surprise, yet it was.  Why you wonder?  You get rid of the bastard, put him away and she is free to live her life.  Free to recover and heal and move on to the life that she deserves.  But, it does not happen that way.

She has ulcers on her arms, and scars on her once lovely face.  You can see the beauty that was there only a few short years ago.  Her teeth look like they are on their way out also.

It was quite shocking to see her.  I wanted to hug her and say what happened to you and why?      But instead I just hugged her and said, “Hey there, what are you doing? ”  I did not have to ask how, I could see how she was doing.

I knew what had happened without being in her life all of those years.  I did not want to be close to her, did not really want to hug her until I saw her.   Afraid of her addiction touching my life, as it was already touched by another family member’s addiction, there was no room for more.

But, when I saw her I felt like crying, the sadness weighs heavily on me now, even as I write this.

I realize that the abuser has served his time and is free, while the victim, my once sweet little niece has a destroyed life.  Her children do not have a mother that is whole.  All are affected.

It is sad that punishing the abuser does not change things, but there can never be justice for something of this nature.  It is just not possible.

Maybe she would have become a junkie anyway, even with a normal childhood.  I will never know the answer.

I do believe that there is a point where she has a choice,  to either nurture or punish herself, but it still angers me to my core.  This chain of events that he has set off.  This ruination of a life or her offspring’s lives.

It angers me that he is free while she may never be………………………………….


April 9, 2009

Please Tell My Jeans That I Am Not Fat, Only That They Shrunk


Put them on. This is sometimes easier said than done and may require lying on your back and wiggling into the things.


Make sure you can breathe and give them the squat test. If you squat down and the button flies off or they immediately rip, you may want to go a size up. If not, proceed to the next step.


Look in the mirror. Be honest. If you have love handles spilling over the waistband or your butt looks like stuffed sausage, you may want to pick a different pair of pants.


Pick the right shoes. Tight jeans with stilettos can be sleazy. Tight jeans with riding boots, combat boots, thick clunky sandals or flats can look cool.


Top them off with the proper top. Since the jeans are so tight, you may want to wear a looser blouse or longer top. It can still be sexy, but don’t make it skintight, have massive cleavage or otherwise make a giant statement. Your jeans are making statement enough.



I found the above post on e, LOL>

52nd Cake and the Dog

Filed under: Humor,non-fiction — girlswithoutshoes @ 4:29 pm
Tags: , , ,

Oooooo, grrrrrrr, that dog, that damned dog!  He ate my birthday cake last night.  My daughter had made a beautiful white cake with homemade chocolate butter cream frosting.  We had one piece.

True story here, non fiction, real-time which is unusual for me.  I arrived at work yesterday late, as is my screwed up style.  I walked in to some lovely white chrysanthemums on my desk along with a cute card and cinnamon rolls from my co workers.  We love birthday week at work.

I slaved away for a few hours pushing paperwork until my soul sister came and rescued me.  We went to a lovely Chinese place where the spring rolls were not what they used to be, but oh hell neither am I.

After lunch, we went back and begged time off to play, which my supervisor said, “get the hell out of here”.  Yes, play time with my friend!

Since my birthday request to my husband was for a new patch of lawn in our front yard, (not much left there as two big dogs tore it up!), I needed to pick up a little soil-compost mix to take home.  My friend and I went and window shopped at all of the lovely cowgirl clothes which would look exquisite on her as she is tiny.  We tried on cowboy/girl hats and discussed the possibility of my becoming an old fat cowgirl with a rich rancher husband and laughed.  Next we tried on shoes.

Before we knew it,  time to go.  Picked up my mom from granny day care at my bro’s and headed home exhausted from my fun day.

I walked in to a house pretending to be clean along with the ingredients for the frosting that my daughter had requested I pick up.  We had Mexican food for dinner and a nice little piece of after dinner cake, delicious.

I settled down to watch some old episodes of desperate housewives and later my daughter and her friend had a piece of cake leaving the rest on the kitchen table.  She later came in accusing her father and I of eating all of the frosting off of the top of the cake!  Actually more than frosting was gone, almost every bit of the cake too.

Honestly, you’d think we were pigs the way she reacted, like we would actually eat all of the frosting from the cake.  Not us, but Bear the Retriever had to have the cake.

We did not kill the dog, nor did the cake, but I think he had a belly ache all night.  I hope he enjoyed birthday week.


April 4, 2009

Steaming up the Kitchen

I just want to know why when it is 100 degrees outside, why oh why, would John-Wayne want me to cook for him instead of going to dinner? It was hotter than the hubs of hell outside and if I cooked dinner it would be hell inside the house also. Hell for me, I can’t take the heat anyway. Our old house had a crazy old swamp cooler in the living room that worked great for that room. It was basically a fan with hay around it and a garden hose screwed into the side. The cool air never reached the kitchen area. So on this particular day, after a day’s work, no I did not want to cook, with a passion. It was against my law, against my being, against all of my beliefs.

Like I said before, I did not drive in those days, so just jumping in the car and taking myself and the kids to dinner was not an option. Damned John-Wayne, he just wanted to sit in front of the cooler, in his boxers, drinkin’ a beer and watchin’ the t.v. and have me serve him. How could he be so cruel? Did he not know that it would kill me to cook tonight? I told him. He just wanted me to cook. Damn.

I really did not think he cared about me, he surely could not love me. There was no brutality required here. I was a princess, darn him, did he not realize that? Maybe I would get my princess crown out and remind him of that fact. I mean geez, I was once Miss Tomato Queen in my teen years. Well that was an idea, why not? Maybe he would realize just what a prize for a wife he had and then he would take me to dinner.

I went up stairs to the hot bedroom and rummaged around in the back of my closet finding what I was looking for. Ah, there it was, the Tomato Queen dress and banner, along with the crown I kept in a box on the top shelf. I put on the dress made of red taffeta and green lace. It still fit, though barely. The skirt was so short, right up to my behind. Geez, it did not seem so short in my Tomato Queen years. The bodice was low cut showing cleavage. That’s alright, I thought, I still got it, why not shake it? I slipped the green satin banner across my shoulder and under my arm. The crown went on my head. I looked in the mirror, not bad for a twenty something wife and mother. On went the red high heels and down the stairs I pranced, sweating all the way.

J.W. just laughed and said, “Hey look at Ma”. Sally-O chirped, “You look pretty Mama”. I went and paraded in front of John-Wayne and the cooler to see the effect it had on him. “Well?”, I asked him. “It is such a shame to have to go cook dinner in this outfit, but off I go!” John-Wayne’s eyes got big and his mouth dropped open and he said, “hey baby”, but I just sashayed into the kitchen to begin the stupid dinner he wanted, thinking he might just stop me . Revenge is sweet sometimes. Even revenge on a big jack-ass like John-Wayne.

I pulled out pots and pans, sweating more and cursing under my breath, but trying to look and sound sweet, like the princess I knew I was. I began by filling up a big pan full of water and setting it to boil on the stove for iced tea. Next followed 2 more pans with water set to boiling for hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. I’d show that S.O.B., he could make me cook, but he would be miserable right along with me. Soon, the pans of water broke into a boil.

Steam filled the air as I added tea bags, hot dogs and macaroni, making a green salad on the side, ( I had to eat something cool didn’t I?}. I boiled that dinner at the highest levels possible, sweating like a porker as I was cooking, sweating all down the front and back of my Tomato Queen dress. At least the skirt being short was cool there, but that was it. The taffeta was sticking to my body. What an ass I was, thinking that the princess crown would make John-Wayne see me in a different light. All he wanted was a full belly, a beer, an cool area to watch his favorite shows, and maybe a little fun under the Tomato Queen’s skirt. He did not really care that I was killing myself in the kitchen with the steam and all.

Well if I was gonna be miserable, then so would he, though I felt sorry for the kids, none of this was their fault. Oh well, they were kids, they could handle it. It must have been 150 degrees in that blazing inferno of a kitchen, as I set the table. The ice in the tea glasses was melting faster than I could fill them. I slapped the sugar bowl down and went into the living room and announced sweetly, “dinner is served”. I would give him what he wanted, an obedient lovely wife. Haaa!

They all came in to fill their plates, the kids sitting down at the table while I helped them. I put some food on my plate, and turned to hand John-Wayne his iced tea. He said, “hey that looks good baby, but I don’t know why you wanna do them kids that way, making the kitchen so hot and all.” Instead of sitting down at the table, he turned and walked back to his swamp cooled couch with his plate of food, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and on fire at the kitchen table.

That is when I learned what passive-aggressive behavior was. I also learned that the revenge was wasted on John-Wayne, all it did was make me and my kids miserable. I finished up the dishes and traipsed upstairs to take off the Tomato Queen outfit and take a cool shower, thinking that I had tried more than one way to steam up the kitchen and John-Wayne both, but I was the one who ended up being steamed.

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