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Super Spy Ninja Barbie

What does it mean when she stares at your lips?

She’s partially deaf and an aspiring lip reader.

Unlike the majority of human beings, Crystal watches television, reads books, and so on and sees an amazing skill at play and decides to try to learn it if it’s mostly just observation at work. Fun fact: nobody really moves their lips well enough to read them 100% accurately, so even if there are lip readers, they can’t do it without audio. I know because I’ve been trying for DECADES!!!!!

James Bond is ambidextrous. Sometimes, I write with my off hand, or brush my teeth with my off hand. Did I carry my heaviest groceries on my left or right last trip? Pouring liquids with one’s off-hand trains a lot of muscles, I must say, so I do give it a shot from time to time.

Theodore Geisel, a.k.a. Dr. Seuss, is a rhyming critical thinker that makes up words all the time and everyone thinks it’s cute. Or genius. I make up words and love to rhyme, which I’m bringing back as of six entries ago.

Albert Einstein chose to have identical shirts and identical slacks so he’d never have to put effort into his daily attire, leaving his important decision making in academia. (Incidentally, this fits in with the wardrobe of a Barbie owner who is under poverty level.) So I reduced my wardrobe to two colors plus a bonus shirt or two in other colors I liked.

Jesus Christ is a humble character full of love. We killed that bitch, so many times. And yet, I don’t stop being like him enough to be convinced I wasn’t him once upon a time. Just remember one thing: the victors write history. The Bible is a history book of some sort. It is a collection of historical events, even if they are exaggerated in places. What if turning into a pillar of salt is really just being covered in Pompeii’s ashes? What if the Garden of Eden is just a place like America once was, lush and verdant in opposition to the desert life of the Mesopotamian area? We’ve created new deserts since then, naming them clever things such as “New York City.”

Bruce Willis’s Die Hard character is so resilient it’s admirable. You can watch that chutzpah again in Hudson Hawk. Let’s not forget the entirely epic Sin City, either. I heart Bruce Willis for teaching me how to be a snarky jerk (in addition to Lori Petty in TANK GIRL, of course!) In other words, “Never give up! Never surrender!”

I adore Sigourney Weaver in totality. She plays smart, chic bad asses. She has so many qualities I feel like I need to re-watch the movies to remember them all. In Avatar — yes, I know they’re playing a role, you asshole, but they still are themselves underneath it all and if you watch all of their roles you can see who they are — she’s a conscientious scientist. She plays conscientious characters quite often, honestly. Even Ripley is conscientious. Think about it before you open your mouth to tell me I’m wrong. In a sea of women in cinema, she stands out as the one who takes the most INTJ-like roles, thank-you-very-much. INTJs are said to only be 4% of the total world’s population and only 1% of those are female. I feel so lonely without appropriate role models and she is a most appropriate role model, in my opinion. She wields a gun, she asks the right questions, and she survives. #Love.

Loyalty. We all love Galahad until it’s apparent he has the hots for Guinevere. Oh, wait, most human beings still love Galahad and suppose he’s a Brad Pitt or other “handsome” monkey. Pics or it didn’t happen! Wait, Sansara! There are no pictures from those times! Okay, then imagine the 80s. Who did you like in the 80s? Oh yeah, Tom Hanks, not Brad Pitt. Does Galahad shine so brightly as a Tom Hanks to you? Oh, I didn’t think so. (By the way, Mr. Hanks, Castaway is brilliant, thank you.)

Bernie Sanders and his accountability. When that man makes a promise, it becomes reality. So many people do not keep their promises. I could have been a contender! I mean, a politician. I liked to keep my promises, allowing them to hover over me until they were fulfilled so I wouldn’t forget about them. If I made more promises than I could remember easily, I wrote them down and checked off my list. Now? Now I’m ditching people left and right to write a senseless blog about psychopathy when my other life goals could be moving forward at the same time. (I’m sorry, Fanti, please forgive me.)

Honest Abe is still my favorite president. Honesty should be so easy and simple for all of us and yet we have so many Pinocchios just because your nose never grows. If there was a way to tell you are a liar by looking at you, you’d be in a noose, every one of you lying cheating bastards. I can tell, by the way. I can tell who is a rapist and who isn’t with just a glance. I have soul sight, which is some way to detect the electrical activity within your brain. If you have a conscience, your soul is never pristine for long, unless of course you develop a code of honor to live by such as the Moon Supreme in Love Between Fairy and Devil. Most Asians have strong souls without being complete assholes somehow. Hindus, other Indians, and of course all the vertical language folks, the Thai, and so on. They figured out enlightenment while the white people just flail about like turtles on their backs, unable to flip over because they’d rather lie to themselves about things. TRUTH: THE TRAIL OF TEARS WAS GENOCIDE.

There are so many qualities worth admiring and aspiring toward in books, movies, history, and even video games. We see it all the time. Our favorite fictional characters espouse qualities that belong to GODS. I love the Ultima series for being fascinated with virtues when nobody else is. And, it was irreligious in context, I felt, even if he tossed you into the role Jesus Christ would play and nudged you to pick one virtue out of the eight he focused on. Mine was always humility, but it’s not entirely honest I come by that. When you are surrounded by people who tell you that you are not enough, you believe it. If they tell you that during puberty, you will never disbelieve it, no matter if God tells you that you’re amazing and wonderful and their favorite for years. And then, if you’re me, and you’re determined to become enough, you grow even more awesome extra appendages but then some asshole lops them off with an axe of disdain and I have to watch as my tentacles writhe upon the floor, screaming senselessly as I feel the pain.

This is why conditional love is hatred, my friend. You conditionally chose a piece of me and threw away the rest of me. I was never destined to be less than Cthulhu herself, you see. YOU RUINED IT, in short. I was only conditionally loved by the psycho if he got to date other women.

Meanwhile, my Skullcrusher Mountain mind is encouraging the rest of creation to be more than human. Grow a pair of wings here — I don’t care if they’re bird like or bat like, come on! Just rise above being mundane. Become part of the solution instead of remaining part of the problem! Grow a third eye! Tentacles! Extra arms, while you’re at it. How about a second head? Maybe you’d like to morph into a more traditional critter like a deer or a shark or a praying mantis?

If you don’t, you’re just boring, so don’t worry. But anyone who doesn’t have weird quirks is sus. SO SUSPECT! Let me tell you why:

Any person who acts like Jesus Christ is hiding something insidiously ugly on the inside. Or that’s what y’all think, anyway. A flaw they refuse to work on. A problem like a mile wide jealousy streak they try to subdue the wrong way. (I know how to subdue it, but that’s a whole ‘nother novel for you folks. I suppose I could be motivated to write it if someone could throw me a bone. Maybe ten. I need to make bone soup. It’s medicine, you know.) And in many circumstances, it’s PSYCHOPATHY. THEY’RE HIDING THEIR LACK OF COMPASSION AND EMOTIONS FROM YOU. People who pretend to be kind-hearted, compassionate (without nailing it exactly — you know the sort!), conscientious about objects rather than people — these are the psychopaths of the world. (You should be conscientious of both objects and people, by the way.)

Psychos cover it all up with a veneer, thin or not. The really skilled ones only crack after half a decade of wear and tear. Some last a bit longer than that, even, I am sure. I unmasked the rage of one once. #ScaryShit. I’m pretty sure he wants to kill me, but I’m safe even in T.V. land because he doesn’t know me. He knows the version of me he forced me to fit into, which wasn’t me. He hurt me, breaking my limbs and putting me into a form that I am not naturally like. And then he tried to break that again, folding me up like a service flag on death, forcing me into yet another contortion: a polyamorous lifestyle.

“Oh, you can have as many boyfriends as you want!” he insisted to me as he tried to craftily figure out how to keep me strung along while he fucks the rest of creation in his free time, not realizing that he is stealing from me the only precious resources that he could give to me: quality time and words of affirmation. (Yet, when I left him for another man who was monogamous, he showed that he was an entirely jealous git.)

God insists everyone I know — as in people I’ve spent more than 5 hours with outside of work — knows that I am a quality time & affirmations person. The man who murdered me five times, my bestie, even my bestie’s wife; they all know. Just ask her. We barely spoke to each other, really. That was because as soon as the wifey came home, he wanted to dote on her and give her 100% of everything he had. He wanted to make sure she was comfortable and happy. As a Walgreens manager, she worked every Saturday for years, and Saturday was the day he and I spent time together because of my work schedule. We’d speak nonsense, talk about feelings and life — often he’d tell me whatever was bothering him about Erin, so I’d respond with whatever I could to add value. We ate, we cleaned, and then I got chased away so Erin could be solitary and unwind. I remember thinking of my bestie as a bit controlling, which I believe is not true love, so I would end up giving him advice as a former victim of control freaks. I have no idea if it truly helped or not, but I’m anti-authoritarian; you have to treat me as equal in sovereignty inside of the relationship we have (be it platonic or otherwise) or I’ll buck and kick and bite like a bronco.

Over time, I came to learn that Erin’s love language is acts of service, so to show her that I loved her, I did the dishes (or made as few as possible) while I was visiting. In fact, it fueled me to buy a gift for Romano that he didn’t even knew he needed: a spoon rest. Erin may have more love languages than just that one. I don’t rightly know. I sense she’s still discovering herself after having a lot of appendages rudely lopped off by The Man(TM). You know, corporate America. Service industry. The customer is always right (and almost always RUDE AS FUCK.) That hurts people emotionally, folks. Why are you mad at the manager or the worker trying to do their job? Take a breather. Smoke a blunt. Relax. It can all be solved from a rational standpoint. Nobody wants to shaft a customer, not truly. They want to contribute to a booming, thriving business so they can continue to make money effortlessly doing what they know how to do. (I mean, don’t you? Remember that we’re all human. Treat others how you would like to be treated. #GoldenRule)

I was a 411 operator once and I got a lot of anger and hate thrown my way just because people don’t learn to compartmentalize like I have. I had to talk to 1200 people a day. Imagine 1200 pissed off people yelling at you because a holiday just came and went and made everyone cranky AF. #HolidayHatred

I package all my feelings up for the end of the day. I record the facts and replay them in private and decide how I feel about the collection of facts I have. I try to distance myself from that which I cannot change, which is thousands of hangry people who are starving themselves and taking it out on poor 411 operators or Walgreens managers and cashiers. I look for patterns of abuse and misbehavior and so on… or I did until I started dating The Psycho. I still journaled and wrote frequently, but not frequently enough. I would have caught more misbehaviors as snapshots in my diary. I would have seen the bigger picture much sooner. I would have noticed he had zero real feelings. It was all a pageant of false airs of naivete and play pretend. “I’ll try having a girlfriend!” he declared, saying I was his first one. I really don’t believe that now, and if it’s true, our whole relationship after April 15th, 2015 is RAPE. It ended November 28th, 2019. Thanksgiving day.

He was more apt to cry over an object being ruined than a person’s emotions. RED FLAG, WILAMINA ROBINSON, RED FLAG!

And I have got to say that wasting weeks if not years of one’s life peeling stickers off of things is really not a great way to improve one’s character. Maybe that’s why he had next to nothing in his home when I moved in: he’d feel obligated to painstaking peel stickers off of everything, even stickers you would never see on the bottom of a brand new fruit bowl full of fruit on your kitchen table.

I got the distinct feeling later that the only reason he wanted me to move in was that he wanted more sex. Oh, wait, never mind: he actually said that to my FACE. THE ONLY REASON WE LIVED TOGETHER WAS FUCKING. RAPING, ACTUALLY, TO BE PRECISE. I don’t think he was ever attracted to me once in that relationship. He likened me to a sister once, which literally made me want to run for the hills and I couldn’t. I don’t know why not. I wanted out. I wanted to get away. I wanted to cease and leave. I still couldn’t. This, also, I wrote in a diary that is going to take down the world’s first fully documented psychopath. Stay tuned(TM).

Compulsively peeling stickers so slowly as not to leave behind residue is not a functional human being’s response to life, children of Earth. This is psychopathic. And the psychopath didn’t see any harm in diluting his love for the messiah by opening the relationship and spending precious time with others. He put his face in his phone and ignored his primary wife all day every day and then, presumably, would go on a date with Jessica, they say mockingly together, and give that WHORE his undivided attention. Then he came home to tell Crystal all about it, parroting everything Jessica said to him to her in turn. (What? Aren’t you a whore when you have multiple partners? I thought that was cut and dried since the beginning of time. My ex is a whore and so is his whore, the end.)

“Jessica and I talked about XYZ (without you) and we decided (THIS OUTCOME TOGETHER),” and that’s that, you two bit blow up doll whore who sleeps next to me every fucking night, now let me fuel my addiction to Summoner’s War before I kill a bitch! I MEAN YOU, BITCH!

There it was. Right there. In my face.

They were the couple. They made the decisions. Together. My bed was infiltrated by whatever-the-fuck-that-boy-is and I had to take being raped every night for 45 minutes whether I liked it or not. If I kicked him out of my bedroom, he would ply me with his attention until he got back into it. He would doggedly and single-mindedly apply all his charms until I caved in again. It did not matter how I felt or received any of this. I resigned myself to the fact that it would never end unless I moved out. It would never get better; he only cared about the woman he saw the least of. He never cared about me or my emotions. What proof do you have, you might ask. The proof is in the fact that he decided to sleep with another woman when I told him I was fundamentally opposed to it. He pushed the subject until I told him to just do it and find out what the consequences would be. (2 years, 7 days, God says.)

He broke up with me in 2017 because he wasn’t sure if he wanted this to be The End(TM). To marry his first girlfriend was beyond his comprehension. It was impossible for him to be happy with me. He literally talked himself out of bliss. I watched it happen as he resisted his internal urging to get hitched time and again, projecting onto me that taking a two week vacation would be too much like a honeymoon. (Or did he take vacation without me and couldn’t take two weeks off to go places with me? Questions, I have them.) We had been talking since January of 2015, our first date was on February 9th of 2015… if he didn’t have two weeks of vacation to take, where did it go? I remember he took leap day off while we were together, without asking me to take it off to spend time with him, saying he always took the day off. He’d have me believe he just sat around the house doing nothing because he’s a lazy git that only does “three chores a day.” That’s his maximum. I’ve never successfully run a household without spending a minimum of 7 hours a week keeping it tidy. Now I believe he found himself a date. Either that or God’s right and he murdered someone that day. I can’t possibly know that, so I won’t speculate personally. I’m more concerned with the fact that I ran out of Corn Chex right now. I mixed Corn Chex, mixed nuts, and sugar free maple syrup with some soy milk and voila: TASTY IN MY BOWL. IT HAPPENED. And then I ate it.

I do have one unfortunate flaw that I’m about to tell you all about. That’s right. Your Queen of Reality or whatever fucking name you gave the messiah when you thought it was going to be J.C. reborn. I am flawed.

As part of my therapy, my inner child — which is actually God — wrote with my off-hand onto a piece of paper. She wrote:

They hurt me and they don’t care.

I will make them care.

Little Crystal

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