TBD on Ning

Kat, or maybe it was akabukowski, once said to me that everyone thinks their life would make a good book.

She is probably right. What do you think?

Here is your chance.

Let's all tell stories from our experiences as we traveled through time.


Ahh, but there has to be rules. They will be pretty loose, but rules there must be.


1. It can be any experience that you want to tell us about.

2. It can be as short as one line. Or as long as fifty. Anything over thirty will be deleted.

3.You do not have to end the story at fiftyy lines, but you have to quit writing at the end of fiftyy lines. You can not post again until at least one other person  has posted something.

This ensures that everyone gets a chance.

4.You can continue on the same subject or jump to a new one.

5. Nothing is required to be in chronological order.

6. Very Graphic Sexual discriptions should be posted in the sex talk group. You can direct us to go there if we want to read about it.

7. No one will be checking the facts 

8. Additional rules will be posted and implemented as I see fit.

Step right up and post. who knows, the next knock on your door may be Spielberg asking for the movie rights.

Tags: adventures, death, joy, life, love, poverty, power, riches, sex, sorrow, More…war

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((((()HUGS))))) I appreciate all to the positive feedback. But some where in the back of my mind, I feel that I was the first one that he tried to abuse, and I never said anything. To anyone. I will never quit wondering if I had said to someone, to somebody,to anybody, that my dad wanted to see my penis.


My little brother might still be alive. My sister might not be as obsesive, and I might be not as insecure.


Who the hell knows!!!!!! 

Kooner, as much as I would like you to hop on that plane, I think I will lighten my mood so I don't get my ass kicked. Sorry, sometimes when I think about my long lost brother, I tend to get maudlin. Tonight was one of those times. Most of the time I'm a happy camper.

PS. Anytime you wanna go south, Me and Dee have a spare room.

I was born six monthes after my grandmother died from Lukemia. Breach with the cord around my neck, the last words that my mother heard before they put her out to do an emergancy cesarian were ; "Save the baby." I was named after my grandmother who was a visiting nurse who liked to make handmade lace. I do not know much about her but she raised my mother and that had a lot to do with how I was raised. By depression babies like my parents .  I think that my uncle is still somewhat spooked by my resemblance to her appearance. As I walked down the hall to my mother's room in the hospice he hugged me. Later he told me that he thought I was his mother walking towards him.

 I wept most bitterly as my mother died. I vowed that no matter how many times someone had to change my diaper I would not go out without being able to talk because of dehydration. My third son was there with me and he held me as her death rattle escaped as she escaped her cancer stricken form and rhumetoid ravaged body. "No more pain." I said aloud.

Those are touching, intimate stories, Merry. Thank you for opening your heart & sharing them with us.
Merry, That is a very moving story. I hope with time the pain has diminished a little.

These stories are amazing...so many, have just finished reading all of them and find them quite touching...

I think of a light moment in my life(I have had a few)  I went to a very prim and proper girls college in colorado, well prim and proper is what they liked to think...

We had a dinner once, not sure what it was for yet Pearl Mesta (she was the hostess with the mostess in DC) was visiting the college...after dinner there was a piano concert given by one of the piano teachers) We were sitting in the round, my roommate next to me, and across from us, the dean of women, Pearl Mesta, and the president of the college

My roommate took piano lessons from (can't remember her name) and she had told me that when she played the piano, she got very involved, emotional and made some weird noises...

She started playing and I began to hear the moans...and sounds coming from her mouth

I started to laugh, and could NOT stop....pretended that I was coughing so I could get up and leave...we laughed about that for months after...writing it does not seem so funny now...although you cannot hear the sounds coming from the mouth of this woman...would try to find something on u tube, imagine that would belong in the explicit sex group..

I do tend to laugh at inappropriate moments at times.

Hope eveyone has a great day filled with love and LOTS of laughter

I'm going to build on your lightness, thallygal.

I thought of this in the shower this morning, & thought I would share it here. I actually shared it on the original tbd the day it happened, and I wish I had a copy of it! As Bill Engvall says, there's no way you can make this stuff up...

It happened a couple years ago, when I was first living in this house on my own.

I had my own 2 dogs, both black, & a new foster dog, also black, who was a terrified train wreck of a case, named Casey.

One afternoon, just after I got home I got a phone call from my next door neighbor, who was calling from work. She said that one of my dogs was at her carport door, and her mother, a recent amputee in a wheelchair, wanted to go outside, but was afraid of dogs, and my dog would not leave her carport door & was trying to get in. I said it couldn't be one of my dogs, that they were w/me, but she insisted it was, so I agreed to go over.

I walked over & there was a young black pit bull at the neighbor's door, wanting in, and the poor mom in the wheelchair, w/the door cracked, scared. The dog saw me & started for me, but I was scared of it, as it was a pit bull & I didn't know it. So I dashed back into my house. During all this, my dogs had gone into my fenced in back yard. The pit bull wanted in to my back yard & started trying to push through the gate. He tried so hard to squeeze through that he took the gate off its hinges, but wound up stuck in the gate. I now have a pit bull I don't know w/his head stuck in my dislodged gate running/wobbling around my back yard. My little dog & the new, scared train wreck foster dog are confused, and leave the back yard through the opening the missing gate has made, leaving the pit bull & my big guy in the back yard. Needless to say, I'm freaking out & want to go retrieve my dogs, but am scared to leave the gate-impaled pit bull in my back yard w/my other dog.

I finally approach the pit bull. He's a love! Oh, my god, WHAT a sweetheart. And he has a huge, grapefruit size swelling hanging off his face + his head is through the gate. Lord, I'm a mess at this stage. I call the Animal Project from whom I foster & in a controlled panic, explain to them that a pit bull took the hinges off my gate, was walking around my back yard w/his head stuck through the gate & my little dog & the foster dog they had just placed in my care were gone somewhere & I didn't know where & was scared to leave the pit bull.

I get off the phone & begin trying to remove the gate from the pit bull's head, worried about this huge, grapefruit sized swelling I have to get past to free him. I decide to corner him in my carport, really tight in a corner & then coax him to move backwards as I hold the gate w/my hands at the top & my foot at the bottom. I keep coaxing him to back up & when he makes a little progress I push him back into the corner & start coaxing again. Little by little we made headway w/the gate, until at last, together, we freed him. He was so happy & was just a sweet, tender, loving bundle of joy. With an infection hanging off the side of his face like a grapefruit. Just when he was freed,  three of the workers from the Animal Project (& there's only a handful of workers there) arrived in my driveway. I'm now panicked that my dog & the foster dog are missing. One person takes the pit bull, the others of us step out into the yard to begin a neighborhood search. We didn't have to. The dogs were just next door & were standing on the wrong side of the fence, trying to figure out how to get back in. (they're cute, but they're dumb as dirt)

That's my story. The folks from the Animal Project took the Pit Bull, got a vet to treat him for free & cleared up the infection in no time. They named him Memphis & put him up for adoption. He lived at the shelter for awhile & then was adopted.

I was already known as a magnet for homeless dogs, cats & people. This dramatized that into infamy, that a homeless pit bull broke into my backyard to get rescued. 

Great story D's. I think I remember it on TBD1.

One more bratty story about grade school and them maybe we'll go to Colorado during the Urainium Boom. Or over to Viet Nam with Darrol, or maybe to High School, or college, or Turkey, or Panama, Or Youngstown, Ohio.



I want to hear the Youngstown story!!!!

I'd never tell stories about you. Actually, the only time I was ever in Youngstown was the week last August that I spent with Larry, Kittycat, Calib and you.


You helped with the laughter, Thally.

I came out of the womb a Civil Rights Activist, in a family of racists.

When I was about 5, my beloved caregiver, our housekeeper, was in a bad car accident. She was out of work for several weeks, which for a 5-year-old is an eternity. I vividly remember to this day seeing her walk through the front door after being away for so long. I was filled with joy & ran to her, jumped into her arms & hugged & kissed her. My mother was there. Later, when we were alone, my mother patted me on the arm & said, "Honey, we don't kiss colored people." I remember, at 5 years old, taking that information in, recognizing it as ridiculous, and rejecting it.

We moved to Tuskegee, Alabama when I was 6 years old, in the late 60's. When my mother & I walked downtown if a black man was walking toward us on the sidewalk he would step into the street before he approached us. I understood somehow, that this was a superior-inferior practice. It sickened me.

I was talked into participating in a Miss Junior Civitan Pageant when I was in high school. I was NOT the pageant type; this was my one & only. Anyway, here I am, this cute, southern, blonde thang. In the interview stage one of the judges asked me who my hero was. This was in the late 70's. Without hesitation I energetically responded, "Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr."

hahaha.... those all white judges just about swallowed their tongues.

(I don't think they were impressed, btw)




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