What is wanting? I want all of the time. Today I felt the hunger of want.

Hunger burned my lips and scared my words.

All of my life, all that I possess, all that I claim. I still hunger.

I hunger for him.

My father.

Tonight I missed him in ways I thought not possible. Tonight everyone was my enemy but him. I have failed everything. I have failed my life. People look at me and I hate it, they judge me, they demand of me and they deny me. But him. He was the only honest relationship I have ever had. My father carried no false pretenses and he made known his intentions.

Dear Robert.

Today in all means was not the best of days. But I miss you. I shouldn’t have picked up the camera. Do you think I should have the Minolta fixed even though I have the Nikon? The guy at the shop told me to screw the Minolta because it would cost to much to fix but I think I should do it anyway. What do you think? Our friends were going to come over an hour ago, are they still coming? Sometimes I really believe that no one will know us, you me, mom and Brandon. Sometimes I feel so alone. I like Bobby, actually quite love him. I think that you and Bobby would have gotten along, straight on. Bobby is the only father I will ever know, other than you. You would love him.  The moss on mom’s roof is still there, should we scrap it off? Where are you? Brandon still wants to meet you. I miss you. Like I said, today, not a great day. But a day none the less. I had a nasty dream about Steve last night. What’s he up to anyway? I still cannot forgive him. Anyways, my room mate is pissing me off so I am going to go and retreat to the garage. Love you.


Who knew how long I would want? I want, want and want. I want him. Hell, I want it all.

Emotion. Co.

Today in question was not the best of days. I expressed my opinion oh so candidly and I could not help but think of my mother. I had to think of her as I prepped my chicken, I thought of her as I chopped my herbs, I thought of her as I told my best friend that on her birthday she was worth it. Telling a woman that “she is worth it”, is not so romantic as it sounds. Women are trouble, men just… well we have our opinions. Men are just men and some of them are really asses. Unless you are me and you catch a fine one. Super fine.

I thought of my mother today as I often do. I think of her and one other woman, my best friend. Today was her birthday (not my mommies) but my friends so I decided to play the whole “I love you” bit and go over there, cook dinner and express my heart and soul.

The thing is, like my mom, I really love this woman. Simple and honest. Just love her. I could eat her alive.

Just like my mom, she claims no self worth. Either do I for that matter.

Why are the most dedicated, loving, intelligent, compassionate women I know so ignorant of their worth?

Why do we make eachother feel worthless?

I wish it was not so but it seems to be a never ending cycle. All of the men I know are overflowing with self worth and yet the women who support them are not.

Where did our confidence go? Was it ever there? I believe my mother was made to feel worthless by her mother who hardily praised her and depended solely on her sons to keep her happy while my mother (who did all the work) was never recognized. But my mother IS very special, intelligent and compassionate. She keeps me going on these really bad days. She has more value to me than anyone. I wish her mother had told her so. Maybe then she would not feel as she does about herself.

I wish I could take my mother and my best friend to some fantasy world where we are all loved and praised and where we could believe in ourselves. We deserve it.

Red Rose. Red Fire.

Red Rose. Red Fire.

Happy Birthday my love.

For Mrs. Jaynie L. Rodriguez

Red is blooming in this garden of mine

Tempest meets temper (in this garden of mine)

Strategy and longevity are the play of my rose

Red Rose. Red Fire.

Red is blooming ( in this garden of  mine)

Passion meets persistence in this garden of mine

Strength and sex are the play of my rose

Red Rose. Red Fire.

Red is blooming in this garden of mine

In my garden red rose dies

In my graveyard red rose survives


The sun moves and lights the southern bay

My red rose sings alone

I pick her petals

I make them mine

My red rose is blooming as I die

My red rose is tempered where I lie

I bury my heart where the red rose cries

Red Rose. Red Fire.

Oven 1 – Cassie 0

As I slide into the raw food world like a greasy sausage off of the roll I ponder my decision to become a mostly raw food consumer. It has been a very interesting year dabbling in and out of raw foods. From a $400 Vitamix with a two horsepower motor that can jump start my Honda to a buzzing top line Excalibur dehydrator that makes everything oh so yummy and crispy. I have no doubt that eating raw has not only changed my life thus far but will continue to do so even more. That is if my oven doesn’t kill me first.

But I have to be honest about the frustration raw food causes, nothing is perfect in it’s entirety. Products must be stored and handled correctly and with patience. These sensitive raw foods are quite unlike the mystery meat you purchased a week ago that is still hanging in there with help from unknown, ungodly additives. The ease of  boxed macaroni and cheese and boiled hot dogs is now a very dearly missed thing of the past. Now time must be filled with sprouting, cleaning, chopping, blending and dehydrating for hours on end.

I love to cook, I always have, so these changes have been very difficult and I will never give up cooked food %100. I see no point in living without Italian food and if I die so many years younger for eating earthy cheese on bread with pasta covered in whatever has been on the stove all day then so be it.

I have tried to organize my now, very small kitchen that looks as though it has a severe case of multiple personality disorder. Half way in the middle sprouting equipment meets the finest French cookware, piles and piles of fresh produce and nuts meet stinky earthy cheeses and bags upon bags of Italian pastas. Throw in a couple grilled cheeses on sprouted bread with oh so much butter and we have quite a mess on our hands.

My oven knows… as in the thing is now betrayed, we have been the best of friends for years, I feel the hostility. I keep a pretty clean oven and I still cook in it. But yesterday as I went to give it a cleaning I found at the bottom a very disturbing amount of what can only be animal fat drippings (as it was solid at room temperature). I know it did not come off of anything I had cooked (I am too anal, I wouldn’t let that spill over, also I do not cook bulk meat in the oven) but I live with another carnivore so my imagination was left to fend for itself when no answers were presented as to the origin of this disturbingly large pool of grease. I truly felt that the oven was mocking me as it spewed forth smoke from its bowels and even more so as I scraped up its “leavings”.

To say the least I looked lovingly at my Vitamix (which cleans itself) and my dehydrator (which requires little more than a damp cloth). For all of the work involved in preparing raw foods I feel it just may be worth it. The oven and I are not quite on good terms yet and dirty looks are still being given but I feel we may come to an understanding, hopefully. As I lean more to the raw side of my kitchen I expect that the toaster oven and my All – Clad cookware may get a bit feisty and take lead from the oven. I made sure the oven was watching this morning as I removed my raw granola from the dehydrator and gave it a few pats and a job well done wink. Perhaps this was a hostile move but I see no other choice I must even the score.

Am I really that bad?

Yes. Yes.

I am a horror of a human being.

I am really “that bad”.

I am someone that people speak of with disgust.

Even my friends have judged me so completely. I love and trust these people, so if they think I am bad. Then I am.

How can I change what I am?

I cannot.

So now I know how others see me and who I am.

I am just another piece of no name shit that has caused others pain. The people that I cannot stand are just like me. Worthless, blood sucking, useless… let me think…I really for a micro second thought I was a some what decent human being. But no, I am just like Sarah Palin. A utter, complete, mindless, useless, soul sucking cunt.

I am just a worthless, problem causing bitch.

I am so ashamed to be me.

I am pretty fucking worthless.


(A few days later) – Upon reflection of this blog I feel obligated to mention that at the time of posting I was very manic and under the influence of a very heavy sickening microbrew. Also comments made about me were over a year ago so I am just being a sensitive, self pitting punk ass. As for the comments on Palin – I retract nothing.