These are some nasty ass figures.

Last night, I was able to come to some of my people with great news. One of the survivors I spoke with on a steady basis on my domestic violence board was able to get out. She is free. She made it.

When I tell you I cheered out loud, y’all need to know it was as though my Bucs had already taken it to the house. I couldn’t be more proud, because so many of us don’t make it out with our lives. I came within an iota of not living through my abuse. …

This is, unbelievably, what the state of South Carolina deems to be of utmost importance with the state of the world as it is today.

Let me begin by saying, I very nearly penned this as an open letter to Republican Senator Katrina Shealy, who has traded her V card to be a member of the Biffs. Thank you, Katrina Shealy, for speaking out and ensuring that the women of South Carolina are going back to 1954 when they get home tonight. All those ladies before us who died giving birth, having illegal abortions, so they didn’t have to have the children of rape, and those who were brutally assaulted and jailed to hand us our autonomy, I hope they come out and rattle their…

Ew, Boy, go away.

I’m beyond aggravated this morning. Why? Not my usual, Bitchface with a purpose, type of reasons. No, this morning it’s because I have had some lame dude trying to video chat with me for the last 4 hours, despite the fact that I immediately decline and exit the app.

3 different times, and by the third, I had enough of the bullshit. He is now comfortably on the blocked list, exactly where this lame ass dude should be. Here’s the background on this moron: we had a few mutual friends, several from my old bartending scene, so I figured he…

Thank You, Mary, Mother Of Christ.

It took a full 30 days to make myself log in and survey the damage. I’m not crying as I scroll through, and that’s a huge relief. It’s better than I expected I would do.

I am ecstatic about my ability to sit here, not a tear in my eye, not a quiver in my lip, because I know the worst is finally over with. I’m no longer suffocating under the crushing weight of him leaving me. I’m no longer a slave to my emotions.

I’m over the entire lie. Obviously, I was nothing to him. Now, it doesn’t hurt…

An Ask A Dominatrix w/ Mistress Eve column.

Do not send that text or make that phone call when your’re emotionally agitated. AKA — YOU’VE LOST IT

Rant, scream, draw, paint … let loose another way. This MUST be on paper only. Not the computer.

Writing gets your thoughts and emotions into the physical. Paper, pen/pencil/paint are physical. You touch the tools, they receive your energy. Do not judge yourself and/or edit, just let all hell, hurt, whatever break free. The more creative you are, the better, perhaps calmer, you’ll become.

Painting and drawing particularly release emotions, often ones you…

Um, Me, Bitch. That’s who.

The Viking has a sister. She’s a soon to be bride.

January, as a matter of fact.

So, the Viking is in the wedding. He will be, of course, the fucking finest man at the damned event and that means I need to go and evil eye everyone. I mean, I will be there to celebrate with his family, of course.

Also, I will be evil eying anyone who cuts an eye toward the man.

Now, here is the actual tale of two tied knots I came here to tell y’all: today, though, it was the cutest thing. He said…

I mean, this kid is a fucking clown.

If you thought for even a moment that being in my house isn’t like Barnum & Bailey, you were incorrect. I’ve never hummed circus themed music so much in my damned life.

Today, the Viking leaves to run some errands, and returns with Chic-Fil-A. Ok, part of my Chic-Fil-A, because there were approximately 3 waffle fries, and one was the little half-burnt, quarter of one that comes from the bottom of the fry bin.

The fucking nerve of this kid.

Without missing a single beat, the boy answers “They really fucked us on the fries this time, babe. …

It’s beginning to look a lot like I am enjoying this.

Here in Central Florida, the Viking and I are doing the most normal of the normal. Clearly, I’ve been being a hood version of Martha Stewart, so basically 2014 Martha Stewart. I’m a level of excited that is something like, well, a kid at Christmas.

I have been doing the damned most, if we’re being any sort of honest with one another. I’m nothing less than thrilled over the fact that the Viking is photogenic, because duh…I’m taking so many fucking pictures. Probably so that I know that it’s real.

Now that I’m actually doing all of the shit that…

And the fact that this is still a legitimate problem that can be ranked is vile.

We like to believe that, as women, overall, we have really kicked a dent in this life. We’re getting shit done, we’re narrowing the wage gap, we’re just as educated as our male counterparts.

We can own property, vote, get a divorce, obtain custody of our children, work in essentially any field we choose, and study in those fields as well. We’re a real bunch of go getters, us Western women.

However, don’t pat yourself on the back just yet. We are still a far cry from equality. Here, in the Western world, we enjoy almost every freedom that a…

He stresses about the time like I stress about my hair frizzing.

I am not the greatest at being on time.

I have many, many excuses, but the fact remains, I’m often late.

Andrew? Hell, no, late isn’t happening. It’s probably one of the most stressful situations I’ve ever experienced when it gets close to his planned time for departure. It’s like being in the damned airport.

I really couldn’t give two hot damns about being 3 minutes early, 30 seconds early, or even 5 minutes within the projected ETA. …

April Hawkins, Ask A Bitchface

Freelance writer, Poet basically since birth. Defender of dogs and underdogs, follow me on Substack

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