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A rock fan. A thinker. A psychic empath and a channel, a Tarot reader. A polyandrist; The lover of men, kings, and gods. An eternal romance analyzer.  A romantic pervert. Generation X Rebel. A psycho-spiritual life coach.

Wow, I even scared myself back then!

Reading through the early archives of

I wanted to post some stuff I’d written years ago on my blog online… I feel like there are a few people who still feel like they want me to “go away already” because of the way some of the things I wrote and the way I worded them came across. I also want to remind you all, that don’t be too quick to jump to conclusions about another person (like Kim Kardashian, Justin Bieber, or even Donald Trump, there’s more to these people than “an annoying idiot”). It is always so easy to hurry to judge, but if you took some time to think about things, maybe you’d see there are reasons to why people say what they say, more reasons than: “Well, she’s a bitch!” Some people are hated simply because people fear they’ll be sucked into some fake vortex, and they don’t want to seem too gullible and easily led on. I think in some small way, my popularity in 2001 was freaking people out a bit. I don’t know what people said about me exactly, but I received some threats, and even though this is still very, very mild, people went insane over it. Someone rocks the boat a little and people panic like a pack of monkeys. Anyway. This is about THE WORST I wrote.

(The original texts are in italics)

Pick up Sebastyne Top 5

First of all… I was tired of constantly rejecting men. It was insane the amount of attention I was receiving, this was absolutely not some wishful thinking on my part, it was constant and relentless, and although I enjoyed it, I was hoping men would know better what not to do and what to do… I just wanted to state the obvious in some cases, for men to just… Chill a little, and save themselves something that they could avoid by simply being a bit smarter about things… For one thing, I didn’t think anyone would be CRUSHED if I wasn’t interested in them, I figured that they should just notice I wasn’t interested and move along, plenty of other fish in the sea, right? Like this:

Wait for a true eye contact. If you get it, you’ll probably get me unless you turn out to be a true asshole. (I avoid making too certain statements. There’s always the possibility I misjudge someone I haven’t spoken to yet.) An eye contact lasts for at least 15 minutes. Series I mean. If I just happen to look at you, don’t take it as an eye contact. DON’T EVER (wow, right!) start talking to me before I’ve given you the eye (unless of course you really just want to chat). (The reason why I said it so strongly was that this irritates the CRAP out of me, and the point I didn’t make clear was that men who do this tend to be shot down just as quickly and hastily, and brutally, as they approach me: Be an asshole towards me, I’ll be an asshole towards you.) Don’t think I didn’t see you. If I’m interested, I’ll see you. I’ll see you if I’m not interested too, but I won’t be looking at you.

This was about the fact that SOME men had an ANNOYING habit of waiting for you to take a hurried glance in their general direction as if they were “waiting for an eye contact” and reading ANY accidental eye contact as a permission to approach. “Wow, there it was, a fraction of a millisecond, that’s it, my cue!” It drove me blinking bonkers.

Show me you’re intelligent but if you are not, then don’t try, as it only makes matters worse.

Yeah, could have worded that one better, but I am a total sapiophile.

Show me you think positive. I don’t like depressed guys. I like them alive, y’know.

I dated someone who took pride in being depressed for quite some time. He believed that depression was a sign of intelligence, and therefore he made a point of being morose and depressed to the point of showmanship about it. He would theatrically burst in tears next to a dance floor, “because all of these people are so shallow”. I got so freaking sick of it you cannot believe how sick of it I got. I should have seen it coming the minute he spoke to me, but he simply pinned me down on one of my biggest insecurities and accused me of being a commitment phobic, and my psychological reaction was to prove to him that I was not. I should have given him the finger and tell him to go fuck himself, but I did not. I was very consciously afraid I was a commitment phobic because I couldn’t fall in love with someone and tended to be interested in men that kept running from me, and he just nailed it as the first thing he said to me, and I spent two years trying to prove him wrong until I forgave myself for not loving him enough compared to another man who I loved too much to breathe. A runner, of course. This was not fun. It takes a toll, and I didn’t want another guy pretending to be more depressed than what he actually was, lifestyle depression based on self-satisfaction and idiocy, rather than true pain or existentialist crisis. What did he have to complain about… “The shallowness of other people”. Fuck that. He read that someplace but didn’t have a fucking clue what he was talking about. A poser piece of shit.

Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. Believe me, I’ve heard it a hundred times. I’m immune to it. I don’t care if you think I’m beautiful, I know I am.

Um… again, something truthful that could have been worded better. These days, I lap up the compliments, by the way… With age comes the insecurity, and the sense of fuck I am dodging bullets here, and confirmations of the successful age sign dodging are required, needed, and encouraged, lol… But… At the time, I felt like these guys came to me with this message of telling me I was beautiful as if that would be manna from gods, I mean… It seemed like they thought I was one of those people who were really down on themselves and then someone comes and tells you you’re beautiful and the world should have lit up… “Oh wow, you think I am beautiful? Wow! We have nothing in common, but if you truly think I am beautiful, oh what a relief… I will follow you to the ends of the earth because everyone else thinks I’m fuck ugly.” I didn’t want to sound so self-conceited about it, and I still struggle with my own level of self-satisfaction at 41, (as opposed to 25 when I wrote that, and now, for 25 I sound a little… Young? I don’t know). And the “I know I am” was supposed to sound like a statement. A fact, not boasting or rubbing it in, just quite a humble “you don’t need to rescue me from my feeling of unworthiness, I know I am pretty enough” and the kind of frustration that people had too  much of a reaction to it in an another way, like they ignored who I was as the only thing they saw was the looks. I wanted them to fucking ignore it and just enjoy the fact I was easy on the eye and keep digging up more great stuff instead. There was plenty there. (If that was bad, when I shaved my head bald people went totally nuts about not seeing the internal and were obsessed with talking about my head rather than what was in it! Ironically, the reason why I shaved the head was to coax people into asking me why what kind of a person does that…)

Take me to dance. And show me you can! There is nothing as sexy as a man who can dance. You get extra points for leading in the old fashioned way!

A guy I was in love with was a ballroom dancer as a kid, and I danced with him a couple of times and he was just an incredible dancer, I melted into his arms, he was beautiful… I was Scarlett, he was the divine dancer Rhett! This was a shrouded come on. I could have begged him to dance with me again, please please beg of you please take me dancing again, please… I did beg him to once, I honestly begged him to. He dragged his feet onto the dance floor, couldn’t have been more displeased with it if he tried… Never asked him again. Soooorrry.

There are people who like me, you know. Who understand what I mean without having to explain it to them, who have a level of humor about things the same way as I do. But when you make yourself the public enemy number one, which I tend to do, I fall into the camp along with those aforementioned Bieber, Kardashian, Trump, people want to warn others about you, and stupidly, we follow. I don’t even know the real reason why I’m supposed to hate Bieber and Kardashian, both of them are quite alright as far as I’m concerned, I mean, I hated them both because I was told to, but once I thought to take the time to figure out WHY they were so hated, it turned out I quite liked them. Now Trump is a different matter. You actually have to know a good deal about people in general to appreciate his approach to things and to see the truly big heart he’s got… I mean he’s far from perfect, but he’s not as bad as people think he is, and I think people like this are really difficult for people to admit to liking to because whatever we like, we admit to being ourselves… Apparently. Which means we are always looking to compliment ourselves by the people we like: “I like the Iron Man because he’s heroic like me”. Fuck that. People give themselves so many compliments by the people they admit to liking. “One day I’ll be just like Hillary Fucking Clinton, honest, genuine, not creepy at all…” People like other people because they’re told to, and hate others because they’re told to, too. “We approve of this person, we disapprove of that one.”

It takes courage to like someone controversial and honestly dislike someone approved of, and it makes you into a poser if you now start liking/hating them simply because I told you to. Fry your tiny brain on that one, wanker.


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