My Epic Boobs Save The Day (Again…)

Boobs are great things…When I was just a school girl, I had measly 34B’s, which as I got into college became 34C’s, and by the time I became pregnant the first time, they became 34D’s, and then after that there was literally NO looking back. Right now as I am 5 months pregnant, Mr. D is happy to know that I am a whooping 34DDD ( I just keep piling on the DD’s until the “girls” are freakishly (but naturally) huge. The ONLY thing about being pregnant is the fact that you get epic boobs which drives men insane, especially if that man is a sex crazed, slightly crazy Frenchman like Mr. D with with  teenage wet dreams of of curvy women such as Bridget Bardot and Françoise Hardy.

Last night, Mr. D had to take a short trip to the hospital for a bug that has refused to go away, but today he was due to come home.

During the time, Marc, my-soon-to-to-sex decided to drop by and my life a living hell. I am currently in the process of trying to get a restraining order so he gets busted if he gets within 100 feet of me.

Today, He came by with the sole purpose just to taunt and terrorize me.  He’s a complete meat head who spends more time building up his muscles then his actual brain which I think about is at useless as a rotten cantalope on crack.

Around the time Mr. D was supposed to arrive home, Marc arrived in his BMW in one of those tight teeshirts that only douche bags and tools wear, the ones that are despite having huge muscles still probably live in their mom’s basement and ride their kid sister’s pink bike ( complete with pink sparkly basket) with training wheels to their job at __________ (insert any place you might earn just slightly more then minimum wage) and come home and jack off to grainy 5 second porn clips downloaded from the internet.

As he he came up to me, the first thing he noticed was my epic boobage that had suddenly sprung up over night, instead of insulting me directly, all his insults when directly at the girls who honestly don’t really give a fuck…(unless you call them fake, then you might want to watch out…)

After he hurled a couple of insults at me, he went to push me against the wall, the same fuckin’ shit I have had to deal with for how ever many fucking years I was with him.

And then, he turned and started to go for Amalie who was in her small playpen…I knew he was up to no good…he had hurt her before and it was not happening again NO FUCKING WAY.

Yet how does a little 5’2 girl who has never weighs more then 120 lbs in her life topple some 220 lb 6’3 meathead?

With a little help from Mr. D of course who I saw coming in the door at that moment….AND Miss DDD and Miss DDD.

He was quiet, coming quietly toward Marc, I saw him pick up my Mac book as Marc was about to go try to slap my little Amalie around.

As he was about to touch her I called out to him.

” Marc!” I called to him, he turned around and I flashed him. ” Want some of this?”

I saw him lick his chops and come over to me, amazed that so much boobage was going to be his, as he was about to take his fill, Mr. D came forward quietly and smacked him in the back of the head of my Mac book.

Now, instead of spending quality time with my epic boobs, he’s spending so quality time with the local police…Thanks “ladies.”

I'm Not An Adult and Here's Why

Reblogged from It's Your World, I'm Just Living In It:

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Personally, I believe adulthood is overrated. Being respectful of people, doing the right thing, eating healthy, having money, who needs it! However, no matter how I feel about it, it is inevitable.  It’s coming no matter what and all you can do is suck it up and act like an adult.  Unfortunately, at 26 years old, I still don’t think I’ve got it and here’s a few reasons why.

Read more… 693 more words

Woman Blames Mcdonald’s For Getting Her Into Prostitution…

From Courthousenews.com ( My sister sent me this)

Woman Blames McDonald’s for Prostitution

By JAMIE ROSS

 LOS ANGELES (CN) – A woman claims in a Federal Court complaint that her ex-husband met her after she was hired to work at McDonald’s and later pushed her into prostitution in Nevada. She blames McDonald’s USA in part for the events.

     Shelley Lynn sued her ex-husband, Keith Handley, his company Ivernia, and McDonald’s USA, in Federal Court.
Lynn claims she was “economically and psychologically” coerced into prostitution by Handley, whose company Ivernia owns or owned McDonald’s franchises. The events she describes took place roughly two decades ago.
According to the complaint, Handley hired Lynn to work as a counter person at a McDonald’s in 1982 in Arroyo Grande, Calif., and they began dating in December 1985.
Included in the allegations against McDonald’s, she has the ubiquitous fast food franchise works to keep unions out, offers an inferior health care plan and no pension benefits. Most employees, she says, are paid minimum wages, as was Lynn. And, she says in her complaint, “There is no affirmative action to encourage women employees and other women to purchase franchises.”
Turning to her ex-husband, Lynn says his goal was to turn her “into a prostitute earning a lot of money — at least for a non-union, low wage McDonald’s employee. At the time Handley began dating Lynn, she says in her complaint, Handley ordered Mr. McGrady, one of his managers, to terminate Lynn for insubordination which was sham.”
“This made Lynn extremely vulnerable to Handley’s demands,” said the complaint. “McDonald’s had no policy in place whereby Lynn could have filed a grievance against Handley, Ivernia, and McDonald’s,” she says in her action.
Lynn claims Handley bought a home in Las Vegas for her, as she wanted to work as a performer in a Las Vegas show, but that after he bought the home he told her “that she would have to go to work as a prostitute because Handley could not maintain both the Las Vegas home and his home in Arroyo Grande. Handley then began pressuring Lynn on an almost daily basis, arguing with her every day that she needed to become a prostitute in a legal brothel, it was no big deal to engage in sex to make money, that she would lose her home and everything she had, which was true,” according to the complaint.
In December 1986, Lynn says, she began working at the Chicken Ranch in Pahrump, Nevada, where she claims she became a “top booker,” and once was required to have sex with 12 men in one night.
While working for the Chicken Ranch, the complaint states, one man grabbed her breast so hard it left a bruised imprint of his hand on her breast. Even if she was having dinner, she had to leave if a man showed up and wanted sex, according to the complaint.
Lynn says she and Handley were married in March 1988, but later divorced.
According to Lynn’s complaint, McDonald’s “failed to conduct a due diligence into the moral character of Handley when it sold franchises to him.”
She claims McDonald’s “failed to properly supervise and train Handley, as a direct result of which Handley used his position as an employer and conspired with his corporation Ivernia to coerce and bribe two of Ivernia’s employees to make false statements against Lynn during Handley’s dissolution and to suppress relevant evidence he had disclosed about himself … . Handley also engaged in pimping operations out of the McDonald’s franchises he owned,” according to the complaint.
Lynn claims that McDonald’s “does not insure employee policies are in place to protect against unscrupulous and criminal individuals like Handley. It has an active, notorious, and hostile campaign to keep unions out. It offers an inferior health care plan and no pension benefits. Most employees are paid minimum wages as was Lynn. There is no affirmative action to encourage women employees and other women to purchase franchises.”
Lynn seeks lost wages, special damages, compensatory damages, and punitive damages for sex trafficking, negligent retention and supervision of franchisees, and racketeering, among other claims.
She is represented by Patricia Barry. 

Getting Laid On A Lay-Over And Other Adventures

For the past 24 hours I have been on East Coast, first in NYC…and now in Newark where I thought I was going to be catching a flight back to LA…”thought” being word of the day…

This morning when I woke up the crappy-ass “2 dolla hooker”  motel we were staying in ( why are we staying in a crappy ass ” 2 dolla hooker” motel? Cause we are flat as broke…)

Anyway, I couldn’t find Mr. D anywhere in sight (Mr. D is from here on out what I will call the man who I am madly in love with, the father of my children AKA my baby daddy and the guy who gets me laid every night), my daughter Amalie was missing as well. As I got up I groggily stumbled over to the coffee machine and went to percolate some crappy-ass motel coffee, when I heard a perky knock at the door and I went to go get it, and there was Mr. D in Canalli sport coat and signature silver Raybans holding Amalie in his arms holding some car keys. He looks slightly out-of-place at the uber crap-tacular lodgings.

” Come outside and see what I got…”

I came over to the door and looked outside to the parking lot, there was the ugliest car I think I had ever seen, it looked like a big box with a Nissan logo slapped on it.

” What the fuck is that?”

” It’s a cube.”

” That’s for sure” I said.

” What are you supposed to do with it?”

” Drive it…” He said. ” I rented it, I got a good deal on it…”

” I’m not surprised.” I said.

” I thought we would stay for a few days.”

” In lovely picturesque Newark…”

” No, I thought we would go look at some schools.”

” Schools?, I’ve already been to school, or do you mean for Amalie.”

” No I mean for you, law school.”

Oh God, the not the L word…Law School. When I graduated college in 2004 I came to LA, became an escort, got married to Marc, had some kids and am now getting divorced and having more kids all in efforts to avoid that place, the place that my father had been insisting I attend since practically birth…I had avoided it for 5 years and I was not going back…not now.

” I’m not going to law school.” I said.

” Yes you are.” Said Mr. D, who picked up where my father left off when it came to pushing me into becoming a lawyer.

Apparently according to him I’m too smart not to go to law school, or maybe it’s the other way around.

So instead of going back to LA, I drank my crappy motel coffee, took a crappy lukewarm motel shower, had a quickie with Mr. D and then we were on the road in the…Cube…

” I now understand why they gave me a good deal on this car, it handles like crap” Said Mr. D.

Mr. D was once the owner of several nice Aston-Martins among some exotic and very beautiful cars. Mr. D actually taught me how to drive in a vintage DB5…on the hills of San Francisco…bad choice…that car barely made it out alive.

And now he’s driving a cube…I guess that is the sad reality of the world, isn’t it?

Am hour or so later, we were all pretty tired of the cube…and ready for a real breakfast, we where somewhere in Connecticut, or Massachusetts or somewhere like that…New England is all one big blur to me especially when I have not eaten…

With really low blood sugar, we pulled into the first place we could find, a chain restaurant with a big red sign called Friendly’s, we don’t have Friendly’s in LA, but I assumed it might be like Denny’s.

” I’m not eating at a place called Friendly’s”

” Come on, let’s go, I’m hungry.” Said Mr. D, getting Amalie out of the child seat. I sighed and followed them into the restaurant.

And what I was confronted with was ice cream, lots of ice cream…apparently ice cream is this place’s specialty…along with really fattening breakfasts like my grandparents in Dallas make, the whole place was filled with seniors and people who…ahem…by their girth (the same as a Mack truck) look like they eat breakfast at Friendly’s every morning.

When the waitress came over, Mr. D spoke up in his French accent.

” Can make me an egg white omelette, with asparagus…

” We have a build your own omlette with ham, chedder cheese…”

” No Thanks, do you have anything French?”

” We have French toast….” She said.

” He’ll have that,  and I’ll have the steak and eggs.”I said.

The waitress nodded and left.

” I hate French toast.” he said. ” It’s just butter, fat, and bread.”

” That for bringing me to what ever crappy state we are in something called a Cube.”

After we had eaten our Friendly’s breakfast ( a place I NEVER want to go again), we were back on the road…apparently Mr. D had gone behind my back and made an appointment with a law school for us to have a tour…the same school my sister had gone to…I had been Shanghai’d into looking at this ultra snobby law school for ultra snobby east coast people ( who my sister used to be one of…but happily is now back to her old self)

While we walked through the campus with the tour group, I could tell Mr. D was getting excited about the possibility of us moving here and me becoming a lawyer and kicking ass. On the other hand, I was trying to think of something to distract me from the glib WASPY tour guide in his I-look-like-a-tool-from-a-Ralph-Lauren- ad-in-my-popped-collar-polo-shirt and douche baggy-Brooks-Brothers-no-iron-pleat-front khakis.

And finally I figured out what could distract me…Mr. D…in his sexy sport coat and well-fitting jeans…I wanted to do him right there and then on their manicured lawn…

but sadly I had to wait until we reached the home of one of his friends, another Frenchman who had been rendered a sniveling prepster tool by New England’s chilly winters and humid summers…his ice queen wife…and by eating too much Friendly’s…

After we ate dinner and put Amalie to bed, Mr. D and I sat in the bedroom by ourselves and I FINALLY got laid.

I then told him there was no way in fucking hell that I was going to law school in New England…but I might think about LA school in a more temperate climate, such as LA…

Maybe…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Douche Bags R’ Us

I have got to admit it, when it comes to love, women can be fools and men who are otherwise good people (or not so good people) can be real douche bags. Not to say women can’t be douche bags when it comes to love (or pretending to love someone), but they are douche bags in a completely different way.

Each sex has a way of  treating the other like shit.

I felt inspired to write this blog post when I had a conversation today with my soon to be ex-husband Marc who has recently “left” me for some lady on the East Coast. This morning when I met Marc on a layover New York City, he explained, with an obnoxious grin on his face what he has been up to. I can only say I am disgusted.

When I met Marc for coffee, I confronted him about the whole online relationship he has been having. He explained to me that this woman is a widow and since he arrived she has been giving him money…LOTS of money.

Almost 50K…

What was this money for? Not for any emergency…it was to buy him a new car AND a new bike…to pay off his outstanding debt…to buy him a new computer…to buy him new photography equipment…

So, why was this lady giving him so much money? Marc had told her that since he was moving across country he had incurred a lot of expenses that he needed her to cover ( I am not sure how a 40K BMW worked into that) and that he loved her and wanted to marry her… (he had even bought her a ring with her own money)

After looking at the woman’s pictures…I didn’t get it…she was older than him and pretty unattractive when I confronted him with this fact…he told me that he was going to tell her that evening that he had changed his mind and that he wants to be back with me…of course while keeping all the goodies.

When he asked me if I would take him back my answer was a resounding:

NO WAY IN FUCKING HELL!

I hope she takes him to fucking Judge Judy who will mop up the floor with him.

What a douche bag.

Laid To Rest

Today I and her daddy laid my beautiful little angel Charlotte to rest, although I am leaving her France she will not be alone. She lies beside her paternal grandfather and grandmother and is surrounded by many great people who have come before her.

As we laid her to rest today, her daddy recited this poem for her, which he used to read to her and which his mother used to read to him. Today there was something especially bittersweet about its honeyed words of a child becoming lost from world and going into another.

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.

The Stolen Child

William Butler Yeats

The First Words…

In the wake of everything that has gone on, there is one miracle and that is that my daughter Amalie has recovered fully and is now back with me with the sparkle back in her eyes and the pinkness in her cheeks.

She is very much a daddy’s girl…and I know from the first moment he saw her…it was love.

Since Amalie’s birth, he’s been trying to do everything to make sure she is the smartest little girl in Los Angeles.  This included playing her Beethoven symphonies  (according to him, the 9th is her absolute favorite) and reading her the French and English classics, lately he has been playing her jazz, according to him, she absolutely adores Theolonious Monk, is partial to Miles Davis and John Coltrane and as for Dave Brubeck, she can take him or leave him.

So when it came time for her first words, I wasn’t quite sure if they would be in French or English.

But today I found out. This morning, I went to see Luc in the hospital, he has been recovering from pneumonia and is going to be there for at least a few more days. I went right went the hospital opened and took Amalie with me.

When we arrived, he was still asleep. I sat down in a chair close by the hospital bed and as I held her, she extended out her little hand to touch him.

In the past few months, Amalie has been making all kids of noises, jibberish that sounds almost like words, but had never spoke anything that was recognizable French or English

But as she looked at him with her small hand on his arm, I heard her utter the first word I ever heard her speak.

and with a what seemed to be a lot of conviction and a pretty good French accent (better then mine), she uttered her first word.

“Papa…”

Out of Spite

Adultery always pays, especially if you were the one who was being cheated on.

My soon-to-be-I-pray-to-Jesus-Mary-AND-Joseph-EX has suddenly turned nasty again.

SURPRISE, SURPRISE. He was kind to me for one day after the tragedy with Charlotte and then turned back to his nasty old self.  In the midst of the death of my daughter he is harassing me night and day about the details of our divorce, building a case against me as an adulterer when the whole time I was supposedly cheating, we really just had an open relationship.

I knew after everything he did to me, he would not get away with what he was trying, there had to be something I could throw back in his face…I just didn’t know what until I talked to my sister late last night.

She started telling me about a friend of hers in Greenwich, Connecticut who was dating a Frenchman she had met online who lived in California.  This woman had been seeing him for over a year, making weekend trips out to LA where this guy lived. She found out after dating him for a couple of months he was married, but that didn’t stop her. I wondered why I really cared about all of his until my sister said.

” Oh by the way, his name is Marc and he’s a photographer and he lives in Venice. She asked him to move in with her, she wants him to marry her. I just mentioned it because I thought it was such a coincidence.”

Knowing Marc, it was more than a coincidence. I had met Marc when he was going out with another successful woman who he was engaged to and leaching off of and cheated on her with me, now he had found someone else. And yeah, I had fucked other guys during our marriage…but Marc had always known, it was an open relationship and  this wasn’t open, it was just adultery.

” Do you think it is Marc?”

” There isn’t doubt in my mind.” I replied.

Today I got the number from my sister and called the woman to confront her. She seems as if she could care less about who I was and why I was calling and instead of blaming her for stealing my husband as so many woman wrongly do when faced with a cheating spouse, I decided to toast his lyin’ cheatin’ ass.

My sister had told me that the woman had met Marc on some site called “Wealthy Men” or something like that.

Since I had some spare time, I got in front of my computer, went to the website and saw if I could find Marc’s profile, on a lark, I typed in the login the damn screen name and password he uses for every one of his online accounts and BINGO, I got in and there before me was everything I would need for a nice large KA-CHING sound coming from my side of the divorce court.

On his profile, listed himself as being a “renowned fashion photographer with a law degree who is banking $250,000 a year”

PSSSSHHHAW! Where is all this money? I have never seen a penny of it…I went through all the messages he had sent her, a years worth…long letters in which he spouts lie after lie after lie….such as, he has a degree in law from a top Bay area university, he has worked for a large financial company, that he races expensive sports cars and motorbikes and the biggest one of all, he is 48! He had literally taken his brother Thierry’s life and turned it into his.

Marc is a 55 years old, broke, without a college degree and whose bike was just sold to Apple Boy.

The only good thing about this whole thing is he is moving to the other side of the country which is thankfully very far from Los Angeles.  I hope he enjoys the humid summers and  sub-zero winters…by the way if I want sub-zero, I will go stand in front of my freezer for a couple of minutes.

Strangely I did not feel bad for the woman, she deserved him and he her and I had ALL the evidence that I needed to take him to the cleaners, if nothing else out of spite. I want to teach that Frenchie as my grandpa in Dallas says ” don’t mess with Texas”

As I was about to sign off, I noticed Marc had been having a conversation with YET another woman in Connecticut to whom he also told her he was an attorney who has had his photographs in Vogue.

AND He had not even dumped the wife and already he was cheating on the mistress?

Unbelievable.

 

It Feels Like There Is Nothing Left.

Last night, I went to bed hoping that when I woke up the horrible experience I was going through would turn out to be some kind of nightmare and would wake in the morning the find everything ok…but it wasn’t. As soon as I opened my eyes, I was hit with the cold reality that my daughter was still dead.

Right now I am sitting in the airport at LAX waiting for my flight…Marc was kind enough to come by and pick me up and share breakfast with me. I know that we will never be together again as husband and wife, but my deepest hope is that we could be friends, because there is a large part of me that does love him.

Now I have to go to France, a country I hardly speak the language and go deal with the fact that I must plan a funeral for a sweet little thing I still can’t believe is dead.

Luc and my daughter Amalie are still in the hospital, and I just hope that they will be OK…

Where I Go From Here…

It’s almost midnight here. I’m back at my home in Venice beach, listening what is almost silence. There is slight sound of the ocean, and the dog on the floor who growls in her sleep and then is just me and my thoughts.

Marc was here earlier, since we found out about Charlotte’s death, he has kinder to me then he has in a long time, he even made me dinner. I thought about making love to him tonight, but I couldn’t. Over dinner he asked me if would return to him.

I said no.

When Charlotte died, she took piece of my heart with her, a piece of me that has died today and will be forever gone. There is something only she and I shared, I was her mother, I carried her for nine months and now I have lost her to Heaven.

Right now I am numb and my body frozen, but I know I have many choices to make about the future. The near future is getting to France, dealing with all of this. The far future is that I am going to be a mother again, right now I am carrying two unborn children that will never know their sister. I have Amalie who one day her father and I have to look into her deep blue eyes and explain to her that was once a twin.