I was born on March 17, 1979, in upstate New York, to Irish Roman Catholic parents. My dad is completely Irish on his mother's side plus Irish and Pakistani on his father's side. My mom's heritage is Irish along with many other nationalities from ranging from the Americas to Asia. She has often said that she is "Heinz 57", and she's not far off.

Introduction: I’m sure everyone has come across a story or two about someone finding that bottle or lamp that after the appropriate action releases a genie who will grant a certain number of wishes for the lucky person who happens to find it. Quite frequently, the person finding the genie doesn’t read the ‘fine print’ and the results are frequently not what the person making the wishes desired. The greedy and the dishonest seem to get the worst of it. In the case of this story, I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.

I developed a much closer bond with my Mom after our special “mother-daughter” time together.

On the following Sunday morning, I came downstairs early, knowing that she would be preparing a big breakfast while my father and younger brothers slept.

She was lost in thought and clearly surprised to see me so early, and I startled her a bit.

“Goodness!” She exclaimed. “Oh, Good morning, Honey Bunny!”

“Morning Mom…I was wondering if I could help you get everything ready for our breakfast this morning?”

I’ve traveled a great distance.
Yet have so far to go.
And met with much resistance.
From those that just don’t know.

Tried to explain, to educate.
But end up wasting time.
It always ends up in debate.
With narrow brainwashed minds.

I’ve made mistakes along the way.
Like most everybody does.
By not being open everyday.
To the ones I really love.

Because I’ve lived for someone else.
For way too many years.
The mistakes I made were to myself.
For not facing my worst fears.

River of tears

This time I know I crossed a line.
And paid no heed to the warning signs.
The feelings within me, there all of my life.
As I held them in, they cut like a knife.

I need to release what’s been trapped inside.
Out into the day and no longer hide.
It has all been my fault, of this I do know.
For just not allowing, my true self to show.

An simple evening encounter with an admirer spirals out of control after a momentary distraction on the El Camino Real. Stephanie discovers she is truly a Libertine

When I was in college in the early 90s, I had a pen pal named Tami who I would write to about once a week—actual, physical letters. We’d been corresponding for a few years, and as we were a couple of awkward people who lived several states away from each other, we’d often flirt with each other. It started off in high school where we exchanged photos and I said she was beautiful. It later evolved into sharing innocent and not so innocent little fantasies and stories about each other: What would happen if we got stuck together in a cabin for a week? What if I dared you to go skinny dipping?

I was born on March 17, 1979, in upstate New York, to Irish Roman Catholic parents. My dad is Irish and my mom's heritage is Irish along with many other nationalities ranging from the Americas to Asia. She has often said that she is "Heinz 57", and she's not far off.

This is a tribute, a remembrance, a lament...to the best man I ever knew, the best human being, my secret love.

He was taken from us...from me, several years ago, but he still lives in my heart and my memories. He knew how I felt, but we could never let on to anyone else. He never did.

I really don't care how any of this is taken by anyone, but as emotional as I have been for the last few days, I HAD to get this out of me for my sanity's sake.

To Mikey, my secret love, my hero, my heart.

I'm missing you tonite...
lying here looking up at the stars.

It was cold. The windows of the small cabin rimmed with frost and wisps of cold air intruding through any opportunist gaps in the defenses. The cast iron stove in the center of the small abode struggled against the encroaching chill as the last bits of furniture smoldered in its belly. It was a race, Mother Nature vs human ingenuity... and human was losing ground.

It was the coldest winter ever recorded, lasting a full month longer than any other winter thus far that was known of. Even the local stories didn't compare to this extent, of this winter.

Will I be … glamorous?

I’m more of a tank-type T, built big, built rough. Never likely to look neat, pretty, sweet, colourful, … and never going to be glamorous. And I hate this outward me. Will I ever be what I want? Would that I could be …. glamorous.

AP - bit close to the bone some of this. Hope it's worth putting up and reading?

Chapter 5 – Shopping and seeing myself as a girl