Oh life.

My most recent of absences has been much too long and much too abrupt. 

I’m not even sure any of my “followers” still check to see if I have made a post. 

Shit, here’s for nothing, if not helping me cope. 

 

Every time I think that my life is making a turn for the, significantly, better something happens to make me change my mind.

 

I was being paid as a part time consultant for  my old high school debate team. Branching out to a multitude of new people, including going slow with the new guy that I thought I had something with, got my sweet lover 90 pound ox of a dog over her fear of cars.

Long story short:  coach is dying of cancer, guy thought I was just a friend started dating someone else, dog abruptly dies. 

I took all of these badly, but MY dog dying is the breaking point. 

I loved her with all my heart. I mean, I don’t have a large amount of friends. I don’t have a significant other. I have my animals. This animal was a great animal, too. 

She could sense when you were feeling down or sick or whatever. She would lick all over your face to try and make you feel better. Oh, and then try and climb in your lap and cuddle it out. Imagine, 90 pounds of dog trying to get her 2 foot long tongue in your face. It makes you forget you were upset. 

But now she’s gone, buried under the shade of the tree where my dad puts all of the animals that have died since we bought this house. It makes me sick to think of her there. Rotting already. Infested with bugs and probably no longer looking much like my sweet dog.

I try to talk to my mom about why I can’t sleep or eat since this happened. 

          MOM: Stop it, that’s sick. Why would you think of that. 

             ME:  I can’t help it, I see the pictures of her I have of her in my room, I see the mud she left on my backseat that I never bothered to clean, I walk around the backyard and ITS ALL I CAN THINK OF. 

I’m never going to see the dog that helped me through the hardest years of my life, and I have this irking feeling that this shit storm isn’t over yet. 

My month is now of the likes to be written into a country-western song. 

Here’s to hoping my mom doesn’t get runned over by a damned old train. 

 

Betty. 

Check out the new tumblr!

I made us a tumblr. 

I say “us” because its mainly just images that I find provocative, and that especially turn me on. Beware if you aren’t ready to glance at some things that are out of your comfort zone. After all, I am bi and I am attracted to men as well, so there is a chance that I may reblog pictures that show more dick than you like. Just scroll past them, I guarantee there will be more hot girls than I would ever think about putting guys!

Oh, and there are a whole bunch of old pictures of me dumped there!

By all means, join me in the fun! Blog what turns you on and add me so I can see what you guys like! 

Enjoy: http://notyourbetty.tumblr.com/  

Sorry for not being around!

These past few weeks have been so busy for me! I’m going to start posting more again, I swear!

Trying to think of the positive things…

As of late, my time has been divided between college and house hunting. Quite simply, I’m tired of living in the dorms. I’m tired of not having a dog.
I really want MY dog. Not the one I’ve showed you guys pictures of before but his maximized counterpart, who looks exactly like him but about 65 pounds heavier. She’s a big girl, but she’s a sweetheart who always knows when I’m on my ups and downs. She knows how to deal with my panic attacks (namely by laying on my chest and not getting up).

The problem is that, well, she’s a BIG dog. Most rentals will only let people have animals under 25 pounds. This applys especially to the houses that the guys and I can afford.

The house that we are in the process of signing on was going to let us have my dog, but since the tenants that are there now have a husky that has caused well over $500 of damage to the house, they aren’t letting large dogs or dogs under two years of age.

I’m bummed. I’m super bummed. SUPER BUMMED!
But instead of being bummed for the rest of the week, I’m trying to think of all the things I could do with one of the three smaller dogs at our house.
LIKE MAKING THEM COOL STUFF!
I want to make a bed like this one, out of either an old cabinet style TV or just an old side table!

Maybe I should start a blog where I do DIY stuff. Chicks dig DIY blogs.

First Impressions?

I’m constantly working on my handwriting. Most people never see it, but its something that’s weirdly important to me. My print is functional but not ornamental in all reality, like some peoples is. I love the way cursive looks though.

My father has very pretty ornamental cursive and I want to have that, too, mainly because it looks so professional. I honestly don’t care if people my age can’t read it, its a skill that they were still technically taught. Retention isn’t THAT hard.

My plan? Pick a font I like (this one), and practice A LOT.
Presto chango, better cursive.

To pierce, or not to pierce, that is the question.

On being a debate judge

I’m a kid from an upper middle class family. I’m receiving my dad’s post 9/11 GI Bill, so I receive a rather large stipend every month. In a sense I do not need a job. I just need to do the college thing.
However I choose to go to random high schools across the state and judge at debate meets on my Fridays and Saturdays. Early morning, late nights and a whole lot of free food are what I deal with when I sign up for these gigs. Oh, and entitled teenagers who think they are the best debaters to ever grace my presence.

They aren’t.

Its enraging in a way because I know exactly what they need to do to win on the circuit they judge. My partner and I had every judge figured out and we were very very good at what we did. Now we sit in class rooms and tell other debaters how to essentially live their lives because debate consumes them if you really want to be good.

I read a statistic recently that the average high-school CX debater does the amount of research necessary to write a master’s thesis. I can believe it. We easily put in 40 hours a week researching the topic area and our plan. We wrote enough blocks and arguements to fill five portable file containers (or boxes as we called them). We knew our case backwards and forewards and I could recite almost all 8 minutes of it (while speaking in upwards of 200 words per minute) from memory.

Other debaters don’t want to be good as much as we did so judging is often disappointing.

“Why did you kick that topicality?”
“You need to ennunciate better, your spreading sucks. I couldn’t understand you.”
“What you gave me was not an impact calculus”

I’m getting a little tired of writing these kind of comments on my critics. I shouldn’t have to. Especially if I am judging finals in varsity CX.

I want to teach kids how to write cases. How to find their own evidence, independent of planetsebate.com. I want to teach them that you don’t need to prep arguements for EVERY SINGLE arguement that was written for this years topic, only the ones that actually apply to you. I want them to learn that logic will get you a long way in this event and that you have to have instinct.

Yeah, I enjoy getting $150 in a day to sit on my ass and give people my opinions,  but I love this event and I want to see amazing rounds every tine I judge, and not have to choose who is the better of the two really sucky teams.

I’ll probably say more about CX really soon. Like what it is so stay tuned.

XOXO
Betty.

Tonight.

I’m in the middle of what I can only assume to be an anxiety attack. I’ve been having these attacks more and more often.

The other day, I was set off by getting lost on my way to someone’s apartment. On Monday, I had a touch of one when I was late getting to my biology class. I know that these were more of a pure panic attack where fear overtook my mind. 

I have fear in my mind now, but its different. 

Its hard to explain without sounding like a “stupid little girl”, but I’ve had moments like this before and it is usually centered around people who I like.

I am not level headed in new relationships.

I am not level headed in older relationships.

I need affirmation that I’m not too clingy. That things are “okay”. That they still like me. That the reason they didn’t text me back all day wasn’t because there is someone else.

I NEED affirmation. I am terribly insecure in myself and who I am. 

These thoughts come suddenly, but its not just after an hour with no response from someone. Its after a day or two with no response to a normal text, after sending something sexy — because I am confidant in my body and it usually elicits a response which what I want, ultimately.

I know these thoughts and the acts I do to try and make myself feel better are probably causing more problems and pushing people farther away when I sit down and think about why I don’t have many lasting and deep relationships, but I cannot stop these thoughts.

I wish they would stop. I want to be normal. To be able to be intimate. For these thoughts to stop popping into my head when the slightest thing seems off.

I’m not a twelve year old girl. Why do I act like one when I meet someone I like.

I’m not ”overly attached girlfriend”. I understand why it seems like that, but I barely know these people at the stage when these attacks usually onset. I don’t need/ nor want to be with them all the time. Why can I not just relax and wait for things to develop on their own and not pressure people into expressing their feelings for me.  

Why do I even care what these people think, in all honesty. I’m a young adult. Its not like I’m trying to settle down. I make it a priority to try to promote thinking and actions in others that make them less dependent on others and other things emotionally and financially, but I am always craving someone to affirm me, to help me feel like I am an acceptable person under societies standards of normal.

Why?

I’m not sure. 

This doesn’t feel like an anxiety attack. It feels like a totally different beast. Something far more deeply rooted and something that I can’t just force myself through. 

I need to see a therapist/psychiatrist/psychologist or something, but I’ve been putting it off.

I realized I’ve been doing this because I’m scared. Scared that whatever is wrong with me can’t just be treated because I have an imbalance of chemicals in my brain. Scared that my only option will be years and years of therapy which isn’t guaranteed to work. Scared that nothing will work. But mostly I am scared of the label. 

Mental illness has a stigma, and a pretty big one at that. 

I’ve said for a while that I have some sort of depression. Depression is generally just annoying and people tend to think that depressed individuals are able to just snap out of it. The same with people with anxiety disorders. This stigma is something I can live with. However, I couldn’t live with the stigma that surrounds OCD (something my closest friend from high school suggested after we talked when I was home from break) or bipolar syndrome (something my nurse mother who works in a social work sector has recently suggested for a few reasons she hasn’t disclosed to me.) Those stigmas are life changing and often lead to harsh judgements, especially due to the public’s awareness of only extreme cases. 

I don’t want that. 

I want to be normal. 

I want to be sane, more than anything. 

Until next time, 

Betty. 

Pics or It Didn’t Happen.

Here’s some pictures, post encounter for everyone! I wish I could have thought to hand my phone or a camera back when it was happening, but hey, that might have ended up being super awkward!

 

 

 

Behold! My bruises. I pretty much asked for them, I like to be spanked hard. Apparently harder than I thought

 

 

 

Here is my pantied ass. You can still see my bruises, though not as clearly because of this damn fluorescent lighting. Mr.Man obviously had as good a time spanking me as I had being spanked though.

 

 

 

 

Best kind of proof I can provide! My sore little asshole is slightly red and a little less tight than it usually is. My pussy only got attention from fingers and a little bit of tongue, its slightly jealous.

 

Hope you enjoy!

 

XOXO

Betty.

 

 

 

Baby Got Back

I imagine we all know of the wonders of my butt here. Its pretty nice for my size since I’m a measly 115 on a good day (probably more like 110 today.) I don’t have the biggest ass, but its shapely if I don’t say so myself.

Well, enough with the self promotion. On to my story for the day.

As you could probably infer from reading my previous posts, I am very open minded. This applies nowhere better than in the bedroom. If a person is nice to me and treats me well, I will seriously consider their requests.

That being said, I have always been very interested in anal sex. Being someone who has always had issues reaching orgasm, my philosophy is that I might as well try shoving things in every hole I’ve got to see if it feels good. However, anal is one of those things that you have to be completely relaxed, or at least have total control over your sphincters. Neither of which I have been able to do in the past, so anal was painful and a no go all the times I tried.

Last night, I went over to my new, for lack of a better term, fling’s apartment who is very much an ass man and appreciates mine as much as I appreciate his toned body. And, well, I had my first successful bout of anal. Successful here meaning that I came out of the ordeal feeling sexually satisfied and he came out well… with his cum in my ass. Cuddling then ensued and the night was all over great.

Anal is a strange feeling. After you get over the “shit, shit, shit, shit I don’t want to shit on him or fart” mindset, its a very different and weird feeling. I ended up liking it, especially the penetrative rim jobs. Its the slow, gentle feeling that I need sometimes with plently of deep hip grabing at the ready, while still feeling decently hardcore and naughty. Obviously it felt good to him, since it was over without much effort from me. I’m just curious as to what it feels like from a man’s perspective in comparison to a vagina.

I think I’ll keep this in my repitoire, much to the amusement of my new fling.

XOXO

Betty.

I think I’ll keep this in my repitoire, much to the amusement of my new fling.