American Woman.

American Made.

Some call me Hades.

Attention Whore.

None of it was my fault.

HAHAHA yet more unhinged stuff from the Yank I hear y’all say. Oh, I’m so sorry, feel free not to read.

I were being watched over. My Dad. My Mom. McKenzie. My Dads English Friend.

All present and correct.



Pills. And an empty bottle of Whisky by my side, to go with the Tequila bottle already half drunk, still in hand. Casually half submerged in the tub, music on, steam progression as the faucets running wild. Daddy’s cutthroat already working a little bit on the reminder of the time before. Did he notice the spare had gone? It’s only a matter of time. Only a trickle, so disappointing, I’ll let it flow. And I lay. Half singing, half slurring, waiting for the inevitable. It’s always Jim. Jim or Lana that I sing. Eyes closed. I’m always doing this, not any more, or it really could be the charm this time around. Death bleeds. Peace. Out of my depth this time, it’s 2 vs 1. I’ve been in situations before, like this, and handled. Things were different in American alleyways, apartment blocks, fields of joy. I controlled. Not that night. And I had to succeed in my way out, before it got plastered over the socials. Oh Mr & Mrs X, you near did a right number on me. You were different to that couple from Reading that tried. I wanted to die. You near broke me,into pieces. I broke you. Both. Your mini story is somewhere else on here. I’m good. Always.


Eyes closed. It’s coming.

And I flashback, to sunnier days. Romantic getaways to the Bay. Hikes to the Sign, visits to Dockweiler, Vista Hermosa. The surprise you had for me at Central Park in ‘11. Dressed nicely. The Prom gown look it were. I were no match for you, at first. The strength you possessed, mentally and physically, stifled me. But did I not deserve this? I enjoy, this welcome lesson. You taught me so many “I told you so’s”, and I answer all your no mercies given. I deserve. It’s not as if I wasn’t asking for it from ya; I were always asking for it, weren’t I, from way before you came onto the scene and conned my heart. C’mon, it wasn’t the first time a man lay his hand across my face. But I took it all, took it, as I knew I couldn’t exist without you, without your love. I won’t forget Central Park. That footage. Because it turned you on. And you wanted your friends to see, and do.


To keep our relationship alive, you said. I remember. Relationship? Was it even that, to you? I ain’t worried now; today I realize it were just sex. Sex was my weapon before we met, I do the skills, tricks. Everything that period, those 2 hours, 37 and a half minutes. I bet you still have that film; does your new wife know? Honeymoon movie? I do hope you made your own. Maybe I will meet her one day, compare. Warning: I’ll seduce her if she’s pretty. You know my type.

Hurry, please.

It wasn’t the money, the holidays, the ‘me being spoiled’ that I disliked. I left, because of who you wanted to turn me into. Which led into….

…this. Led into all this. Now. Night meet. For night meat. DO NOT ANSWER DMS IN TWITTER! No matter how nice they sound. Warned I were. Ignored I did. Curious.

None of it was my fault.

I say meet/meat, but in truth, didn’t know what to expect from Mr & Mrs X. I did not know Mr & Mrs X. My gratification needed to be met. And I still have the right to a change of mind. Which I did. And they did not like. Out of their car I left, the shouting still ringing in my ears from them, my throat sore from his touch, the inside of my thighs bitten, scratched, from his Mrs. Was it me? I did not entice, I’m 💯 on that. The name calling, I’ve been called worse. I’ve been used to those names since I were a kid. Child Whore. My fault. My tears were real – stranger danger exactly. Never again, chalk that down to experience, I do not recommend at all.

I said no. They did not like. He did not like.

No is No.

Rape is Rape. Attempted Rape is Rape. Attempting Rape is Rape. My body said no. Sorry.

History now, a faded memory, to them. A reminder to me. Curiosity near ended me. I’m a lucky one I know. If I went through with it, consented, how would I judge myself?

June 13.

We break. We mend. We strong. We survive

Now, it’s October, everything is funny as hell, laughter. lolly-ing as I call it. Indeed is the best medicine. I’ve been laughing on/off throughout the Summer, and definitely over the past couple of months. God bless the United States of California. Lol.

I have noticed that if toxicity(stroke)gaslighting, is removed, ignored, avoided, everything is hunky dory. Strange that, yeah? I’ve come more alive, feel more alive, without the pressure that were put upon me. I didn’t know what you were putting me thru, but did you girl? Lonely times at night I would just lay there and think to myself, I know you’re worth it, you carry yourself very well, and make me laugh. And there were many bedroom hours, where my subconscious just knew as much as I craved you, and wanted you, I had to be cruel, so you could dislike me. To shove you aside, and cast away, like others before. It worked. And I’m so much smiling; flip around the sentence, I know what I mean.


June were such a long ass time ago, and all that has perfected me into the next stage of my life. Bought Dad vacation tickets for his birthday, he and Mom are in St.Lucia, and I’m dashing between my home, and theirs, making sure it’s not on fire. Can’t wait to see them again, it’s been a while.

Been forever, as I keep remembering little pieces, and trying not to hate. But I’m also enjoying life right now, so my enthusiasm for writing and sharing has somewhat gone to the back burner. Lazy ass cow. And I’m also making my money, both sides of the Pond. Importantly, I did say some time ago that I’m going to make more time for myself, out out with the girls, friends, colleagues, meet people, go to social events etc, and I have kept my word on that. Feeling more human, if one can call it that. It’s what normal people do, a co-worker told me. He’s right. I mean, this past week, I have cut down on the hours in the office, work a lot more from home, under a time limit, all regimented and strict, only allow myself to do so much. Lately I tend to work more late at night/early hours because of time zones, bearing in mind that my body clock was fucked a few months back anyway, I don’t mind this in the slightest. Love the Insomnia Club. Or Klub, if we wanna be Kardashian-like. $$$$’s rollin’ baby, rollin’. Yeah okay, ££££’s to appease. And in the climate we’re all under, times are hard. But this bitch gotta keep her checking account level sweet. It’s good, and on track😉 for my means, and my future means.

I haven’t been back home since the back end of last year/start of ‘20. They say it’s in turmoil. And the killings, are forever frequent. Killings, murders. Doing it for the flag some may say. These things happen in every State, in every country around the globe, but it’s all heightened in the U.S. Home of the brave, land of the free. It is sad. Everybody far and wide will have their own assumptions, and draw their own conclusions. I don’t really talk the state my home country is in, and the U.S. Election in November. And I won’t be getting drawn into that, I’m a Patriot. Patriotic to the core. I love my country. I love my flag. I have my views, and can kick off, and handle myself very well in a debate, fight. My workmates try to goad me, and at times, it all gets heated, and I casually find myself saying “you don’t know, you’re not a Yank, female and bisexual” and that’s me just being truthful, but on the flip, I sit and listen about their Boris, and air my views, points.

All I will say is #Vote.

Liberty needs you to stand up and be correct. Freedom requires you to make your choice count.

Vote America, Vote.

I break, manipulate. I conquer, stimulate.

I lust, educate. And work, humiliate.

Those sentences above, nowadays it really is how I see myself. A contradictory woman sometimes, with a heart of stone. I don’t need a girl/guy to take me aside and fuck me. I am more than capable of giving myself a real, satisfactory dildo, fist insertion (did I just say fist? you bad, bad girl) when the urge hits, like I did today in the office, behind my desk. Woman enough, to rip my panties aside myself, and get myself off. I’m a girl of 26, don’t need any help with my lust at all.


But, I am longing to be touched by someone else. Yes, in a sexual way. It’s been so long, that I’m forgetting what that sensation of someone else making me feel good is like. I miss the closeness. Maybe that crazy back in June were my way of reaching out, and looking for something, well I know it was. Earlier I mentioned about the bites and scratches on the inside of my thighs, I absolutely loved that feeling, but again as I mentioned earlier, wrong scenario. And I said NO. I could’ve let them carry on, could’ve lay there, and enjoyed myself, but that were The Devil on my side that wanted me to want them to abuse me so. And it were that Angel on my side that wanted them to abuse me so. Can’t win sometimes; sensible me won in the end. I’ve been abused; my abuse story is known, I know how to handle all that, I would take enjoyment out of him doing things like that to me as a kid, and brought all that experience into my pre-teen existence, and let whoever do whatever, as I’d reciprocate. Blame the BPD? Can’t be using that as a failing.

I nearly let a co-worker fxck me today, at work, because I were horny. Horny as a motherfxcker. But I came to my senses. Reminded myself of a movie a watched recently, Disclosure with Demi & Michael. I had my Friday’s best work gear on, as I had set out in the morning knowing I were gonna have this guy in my office. And I wanted to, really wanted to. Surprised he didn’t punch me, for leading him on. I would have liked it. It’s pain. I would’ve punched me. Sometimes I do think how I have survived so long, and got away with so much. Under normal circumstances, teen me would’ve been locked up. Juve living, and fucking that shit up, man I coulda been queen bxtch up in there. “under normal circumstances” – childhood far from the normal, but the realist thing is I truly did wind up okay. And I’m smiling again.

Coronavirus Pandemonium is rife, so the clients aren’t frequenting the building as much. Less crime out there, everyone frightened to go commit, couple goals working on their marriages. My files are pretty stacked, I have work here, and overseas anyway, always on the phone late at night, and our firm has just picked up a couple of celebrities. Yay, B-list U.S. daytime television “stars” – an upgrade from the last time. Who’s been a naughty so and so? So thankfully, yuuuurp, quite slow burning here, but back home, and Asia, money money, dis betch looks hot in her pencil skirt and heels, even on a ‘dress like a boy’ day, I still look, and mean the business. #AttorneyLife #LawyerLife #MyLife.

The title to this piece is called Sometimes.

I wonder, every day, who I am, sometimes. Who am I to portray that day, or the following day. Which characteristic will make an appearance. My circle is small, I’ve had to cut away most of the associates that I knew back home, disregard them. we truly were trash back then. And I know that in snippets, the past frolics will come and make themselves known. Not that girl anymore. I have who I need with me at the moment, and my social awareness is climbing. Brits can surely put the alcohol away. I have who I need back home too, albeit only 5. And my Stateside family.

♪ Sometimes you know you push me so hard
I don’t know how I feel
You almost make me doubt I feel at all It’s not as though I always listen
But there’s just so much I don’t hear
Maybe I’ll never be what you want ♪

Yeah, sometimes indeed. Constant battle that rages from within. Tomorrow’s another day.

November 2 anniversary is fast 🩸 approaching. Cut like a knife.



Yᴇs Nᴏ Yᴇs Nᴏ


And how’s it all going? Covid-19 Lockdown got y’all cray cray as of yet? Self learning? Baking banana bread and such like? Eugh. In all seriousness, hope y’all coping, and doing what it takes to keep you, and others safe. Why were banana bread chosen as the norm? What if you don’t (like me) like bananas? Can a substitute be used? I still have yet to master the bread making, haven’t attempted yet, I was gonna, but finding flour is a pain in the ass now.

This staying at home thing is making me bring out my chef skills even more. Already love cooking as it is, so searching for new things to try is a godsend. Discovering new dishes and foods/proteins is fantastic. And to fillet a fish is a joy, the patience for deboning. Countless BBQs have been happening at mine. Never get bored of doing them, though Dad is the king. My neighbors probably getting fed up with me grilling near everyday. The smell of smoky cooking drifting thru the village, making the old ‘uns salivate. I always send a snap to my parents, with their reply of ‘again’ making me laugh even more. Damn, thinking about doing another at some point this week. UPDATE: did one earlier today, and did so much that I found a couple of large plastic containers, put most of the leftovers in them, keeping back some for myself and Mck, and placed it down the drive with a note saying “help yourself, love from the young attorney” – I rung up the couple next door, and the couple across the road, and told them about it, so go have a party. I always cook too much food. Must be the Mom in me. Not a Mom. Mom in waiting, Mom in training? I better make sure I do not increase in dress size.

New client, another 🤫🤭 U.S. celebrity has come onto our books, asking for representation. Not expecting a Super Injunction. The Brit celebs love this. Anyway, an actor, a bit of an upgrade to the Z-lister from a few weeks ago. I’d say a D-lister, even a C, as this person is still in television. So I’m still traveling into London once/twice a week to the office, for this person, as I want this paycheck, need more shoes, boots and lingerie. I am definitely sticking to guidelines, being cautious, usually one, maybe two others are my floor at the same time, in their rooms, so the social distancing isn’t a problem. It’s nice to get outta the house and do my job looking at a different scenery. It’s weird too. Looking down onto the street below and seeing hardly movement from vehicles and the City workers. Also calming. Speaking to a colleague in Tokyo, and he remembered the same thing, the strangeness of no hustle and bustle. But the main thing is that we’re doing this to keep safe, to prolong life, this will be the new normal is expect. A year of it, two? Can you imagine sticking to the two meter rule for the foreseeable future? And the once a day thing? There would be an uproar.




is the mantra this side of the Pond.

I’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ

Vagina has had some attention during Lockdown, not girl attention, even boy, but my attention, in all aspects. Wasn’t overgrown, hell nah, wouldn’t let that happen, but was nearly getting to that point. I like looking at her at times, a while back (mentioned previously, tho think I deleted post) I took an obscene amount of pelfies* from all angles imaginable, so I could stare lovingly. Weird to admire ones own controlling instrument of Man? We all know the pussy is in control of Men. Even the late, great Prince wrote a song hinting so: ‘Pussy Control’.

*pussy selfie

And the moral of this motherfucker is

Ladies, make ’em act like they know

You are, was and always will be pussy control


Why do men, and women, go gaga over the vagina? Amuses me. I shouldn’t even go there, as I too get loopy over seeing one. And if someone pays attention, and hits mine right, for a split second, I can forget what planet I’m on. I sent someone, not too long ago, a pelfie. A pelfie after I had masturbated. Because I wanted to let her know how worked up she got me. And that were her doing, as I were thinking about her. I hadn’t c*m so hard like that for a while, and she saw the result dripping off my fingers. She, in turn sent me something back, saying she needed to shave. Quite cute, and it lifted the moment. That’s will be the only time I send something like that in a DM. My vagina from now is on a For Your Eyes Only basis. Hopefully not for long, as I’m still looking for that certain someone, that spark to set my insides alight, and to make me feel fuzzy, gooey and loved up. Aha, I do have my housemate, she’s allowed to have a peek.

I briefly touched on McKenzie’s Aunt Marie in my last post, who passed away suddenly, and we buried recently. It’s now my turn to look after her. I’m fussing over her so much, she were so close to her Aunt. Have no deets yet,as she’s not saying anything. When she’s ready, I’m around. Her Dad has taken it real bad, for obvious reasons. From what I’m hearing, he’s taking solace in a bottle, which isn’t all that strange, but it seems that in intake has increased. Let’s hope they all pull together real soon. That sounded selfish of me. I mean grief takes time, and time is all they need.

Being at home made me reflect even further on things from my past. All the shit I put up with, and put my parents thru. Pre-Teen me, running from boy to boy, girl to girl, as I saw myself as being not worthy for anything. And that carried on into my early teen years, being more ruthless with who I encountered. Nobody were safe. My reputation for being an uncontrolled wild child followed me everywhere. Shunned by former friends that I would see at parties. Shouted at by them in shopping malls. I DO NOT NEED ANY OF Y’ALL I would holla, and spit at these useless students, teachers, law enforcement. I am the law. I am my own law. Some neighbors would ignore Mom and Dad. They created the Devil. I were caught flashing my pink parts at the boy that lived across the street; “a dollar for a feel”, I were looking for bucks back then. Funnily enough, the boy has grown into a man, and is also an attorney in New York. Poor Mom and Dad. And my Aunts and Uncles. Horrid kid. I’m forever sorry to my folks, suppose there’s never enough apologizing that can make up for any pain they both endured. But yano, when you’re 16, you know what’s what. You know everything. And that includes getting involved with a 34 year old man. Yup, I were that girl. Because it was all love, yeah? He loved me, so he said, so at a young age, course ima believe that. Love is that magical word. I had heard that before. And because he said it, my parents could not stop me from returning that love. It’s what makes the world go round. It’s only right to reciprocate feelings. Polite. I wanted to make sure Daddy’s little girl didn’t fuck up again. He’s a keeper. Age difference aside.

C’mon now, the year before, there were signs. And the year before that. Right down to my pre-teens. Christ, I saw my first pussy at 10/11/12 years old. Show and tell? Nope. Show and show. And my story is already on here, and out there about all the stuff from years before, so I were already an expert at controlling the D at that age. So for a 34 year old man to be interested in me, I were like yeah, let’s do this. I didn’t know he were that age, was told he were 24, by him. And he didn’t look his age anyway. I remember us sitting on the beach, taking up the SoCal sun, and the looks we were getting, that’s if we were doing intimate stuff, but not intimate if you get me. For all they knew, could’ve been an innocent Dad/Daughter time. But I knew they were looks of disgust for him. And sometimes concern for me. I didn’t care. I could handle any situation. And any body. No fucks given.

He were so charming, and said, and did all the right things. I did what were told of me, to please. Sure, I can do that. So much better than the immature girls before me. And those boys, those boys who toyed with me, experimenting. This was a man. I remember that if I were living at home, this would not have happened. I couldn’t see, blinded by love at a young age, and it appeared again with this all American fella. In some way, this too, along with the childhood games, shaped me into the woman I’ve become. He were destined to be my new teacher, but different from the school teacher, that rotted away in a cell.

For a few months, I were amazed at the sights, joining the adult world, fancy dinners out, relaxing at his apartment, driving along the State Route 1, stopping off at various points along the Pacific coastline. The views, such beauty. I tried to let him in, wanted to, so I opened up and decided to talk about the experiences I had suffered. The learning. The yearning. The disgust I later discovered. My parents taking me away for a short vacation to the north of England to forget. And out of the blue, this dude decided to slap me across the face, then beat me, and call me a whore. I didn’t even know what a whore was. Telling me how he can’t even look at me, all because I let some man get there before him. The mental and physical abuse followed. But hey, I were used to that. No shocker! All my fault you know, my fault for being a young girl, and my fault for not putting out to him; my fault for his jealousy and letting him love me the way he did. Because remember, I thought this was okay. “But this is okay” I would say to him, “it’s not your fault, it’s mine. Please forgive me? Please, don’t leave me. Let me make you feel better”. “You’re nothing but a cheap streetwalker” he said to me. Yeah, okay pervert. He didn’t like that, especially when I told him I were only 16. He really did not like that at all. I could tell. But I stayed with him for a while,

i put up with him hitting me, putting me down in public in front of his pals. I said to him that one of his friends were really pretty. She were amazing. He took that as I wanted to fuck her. He went ballistic, dragged me out of the restaurant by my arm, and tore into me outside. All I were doing were giving his mate a compliment. The woman came outside, and had a go at him. I liked that. That night were the third time I cried (apart from being a newborn, toddler, blah). And only the third time I got scared. And anyway, she were pretty, and I would have, if I had been older. Haha, that’s a joke. I woulda ripped her dress off and fingered her right there. I shoulda done. I had no boundaries, but this man had such a powerful hold over me. Why did I not go to cops? I didn’t think the police would believe a girl like me, and come across judgmental. I didn’t mix well with authority. Too many times they would find me, take me off the street, take me home, and I would leave again. I wanted to go back home when I were ready. I were living my best life as a teen.

I got outta that in the Fall of that year. I were so used to him knocking me about, I didn’t know any other way for a man to treat me. But I knew it wasn’t right. I had money. So I knew I could get back to Silver Lake. And back to the safety of the parents. But I headed straight to Brentwood to Moms parents, then traveled over to Glendale, to see Dads folks. The distance, and distrust for people ate away at me, so I closed family and friends off, body bruised and battered, I hid all that. To this day, the scars I have on the inside remind me of my history, mystory you could say. History sounds male. It’s not HIS STORY. And it were after all that, after all the tears, talks, my life changed. I needed those things to happen to me. To wake me. No more vanishing for months on end. No more crashing on friends/strangers floors, beds, gardens. I knew I had to shake myself together. I knew I were clever, I wasn’t dumb and stupid. And I still thank my Father, for his contacts, and ‘people in the know’. Still worked my ass off. And since then, since that age, nobody, no man has ever dared lay a hand to me. Took me a long while to realize I were victimized at such a young age. And to feel I’m worth something. For a while there, especially November ‘18, I felt nothing on the inside. At times, I still feel nothing. But them days are rare. And if the darkness rages, and the thoughts arise, I have McKenzie on hand. And out there, HSQ. Remembering things is a bitch. But it’s my ongoing learning process, every day something new arises, and I say to myself, damn, the hell did that come from. And there were times when someone random would reach out to me and say, “I read your post, via social media” and they’ll drop me a DM or whatever, then tell me how I’m brave to share. One instance were I were on a site that helps you curb your drinking, and the people on there were beautiful. We all were there for each other, and my story were written, told, shared, spoken about. They helped me, I helped them. I quit that site, as I were weak, and had a drink. But I think I’ll go back onto it, and say hey! ‘memba me? Sober Grid. That’s it. Well, definitely the Sober part. Nothing wrong at all with writing, although it’s better in a journal. And speaking of that, I now have my Moms journal. Interesting.

I’ve finally started watching the phenomenon that is Tiger King. What the actual hell is this? C’mon America! I did not know what to expect, but now I’m lolly-ing with wonder. This Joe Exotic and his guyliner and out of place piercing is too outta here for me, but I’m still viewing. These folk are soooo country. And this accent from Joe? Here Kitty Kitty.

New season of Dead to Me is the one also. So far, looking as successful as S1. Still waiting for GLOW S4, so have been rewatching S1-3. And not forgetting Ryan Murphy’s Hollywood. Absolutely love anything Mr Murphy does, and this is not disappointing at all. tv+ gets a look in with their programming. Beastie Boys story is brilliant. It’s a must for fans, non fans, lovers of the embryonic stages of the Rap scene. Excellent. And back continuing with For All Mankind. Not gonna talk Disney+, as I’d be here forever. I know I watch too much TV. Music, TV, reading, working. Have da skillz, innit. PMSL.


“Level of Concern” by twenty one pilots – 💋

Shopping. Done helluva lot on Amazon, the most randomness of randoms. A chess set? Why did I? Fuck knows. To stick on the coffee table perhaps, for decor. And metal BBQ skewers. Stabby tools in other words. And a pillow spray that’s supposed to be the business. Tag line ‘This Works Deep Sleep’, waiting to see if that’s a success, or a waste. And Lovehoney. Yurp Yurp. Adult online shopping always makes me happy. ( All the good stuff I can desire. Nothing wrong with a bit of sex purchasing. Ain’t gone as far to buy a sex robot. Or even one of the machines that models use on HornPub. Think dudes find it weird for a girl that’s into girls likes penis shaped things inserted. Like why don’t ya just have a real life dick?

Lockdown has made me rediscover my love of music. As mentioned last time, Madonna and her back catalog has come into play. Prince, Radiohead and Pearl Jam. ‘Black’ by Pearl Jam sends me dizzy. Could listen to that over and over, and not get bored. And ‘Just’ by Radiohead, is my favorite record, ever. The video accompanying the song: yasssss bish. And obviously, the other person on replay throughout all this, is Lana. Lana is the Queen of all things. Her last album, words can’t even describe. A modern day poet. All singer/songwriters are poets, but she’s bringing next level thangs.


Challenging times still ahead, there has to be a conclusion sometime soon. Mr Boris will do the right thing for this country, hopefully. And not put Britons at risk. Britons, and the other nationalities that reside here. One thing I hope they get right, is the soccer. Possibly an unpopular opinion, coming from a girl, and a girl that calls football ‘soccer’, on a personal level, the past season should be scrapped, voided. I think it’s way risky. Risky for the players and staff. It’s all about money I know, but you can make more money. You can’t bring back a dead soccer player. The UK Government surely has to see sense on this. It’s a lawsuit in waiting: let’s finish the season, then a player is tested and is found positive of getting the virus. Season subsequently abandoned again. Player unfortunately dies due to Covid-19. Family sues. WAKE UP!!! Let’s put humanity first and foremost. You say you are, so don’t say. DO! The 2019/20 season should be wiped. But hey, what do I know. I’m just a girl.


PMSL, betcha this is coming all unhinged, and triggered. If so, HEY! FUCK DA FUCK YOU! You shoulda asked, before assumption.



This is for you Marie, McKenzies aunt, for whom we said goodbye to on April 30. Rest In Peace. Only 53 years young. May you dance with a bottle of champagne in one hand, and lippy in the other. “Always girls, always carry lipstick, and yourself with class. You never know when you need to smudge a mans dick with it.”

Thank you McKenzie, for all that you do, for keeping me sane, for looking after me, and just watching out for any sign of fallback. Love you girly. Without you around, don’t think I’d survive all this. Id be dead. I know my Mom and Dad appreciate you moving into my home to babysit my ass, just know you are free to leave anytime. Could be a blessing, only because as soon as the lockdown is over, I get the distinct feeling you’re gon’ be on a manhunt for penis. Dutty Ho’ lol.

the girl with the sunkissed hair speaketh.

I had to start from the beginning again, and to re-read my past posts. Needed to see if there were some alien language written, something foreign, other than English. Because I just couldn’t fathom how a simple instruction was ignored, multiple times. And yet were told ‘I read it‘ – you did? If so, you would ask the questions. And if you had, then you’d understand, and not pressure. Wasn’t even sure half the time who I were speaking to, the husband or the wife. At least your husband didn’t lie about his name. You were so easy to find on Facebook, Charlotte H*****rs* from Reading, UK. All you had to do were be straight from the get go. And even then that would not have guaranteed anything anyway.

Dad recently sat me down, yet again *sighs* and had a talk, then Mom came in too. Forever being the parents I suppose. Because they know I’m manufactured differently to other girls. That’s not quite correct: I amassed quite the bit of experiences to other girls before my teens. So they constantly ask, as they missed out on quite a chunk of that stage in my life. But hey, I grew up in the end. They ask, because they, like me, see the reminders I own, on my flesh, on my wrists and lower arms. So they know if some girl, even boy, is tryna manipulate, coerce their lil’ girl, they see the signs in me. So the couple from Reading tried, she more than him, and failed. Not gonna lie, she were hot. But I were investing my wasteful time in someone else, and I don’t like to play games. That sadly did not pan out anyway, to my fathers disappointment, haha, as he quite liked the conversations we were having, when he were obviously snooping at my tweets. She were good for me, apparently. Even too good for me.

So why the naivety?

Because I’m stupid and silly, intelligent and gullible. Or maybe just intelligent. With stupidity. Nope. I’m so much better than that. It kinda felt like I were being seduced, unwillingly, into some kind of sex ring, for their gratification! Married couple, for whom are mentioned above, chasing a slip of a girl like me? A MARRIED COUPLE?? WOW! Now, that were attention, and I fell right into that trap again, didn’t I? How many times have I said to myself that I will not go back there? Fall under a spell? Get weak? Many times I know. It’s usually me that makes people want me. Those ten days at the start of March were a headfuck. I’m usually the one in control. I’m the one that calls the shots. I’m the one who makes the decisions and choices, then leaves before anything gets weird. I am grateful though; no more monitoring my tweets, or looking at my mates posts, and asking if my then Twitter partner in crime were in fact :-

A lesbian

My girlfriend

My lover

A fuck buddy

They wanted to follow her on Twitter, and ask questions, and get her drawn into their world, and I put the brakes on that real quick, stating that she wasn’t gay at all. Protection and all that, protection for her. They kept asking if we were married ourselves, and how is that working with a child too. And then the sexual questions kicked in. Half the time I wasn’t even sure who I were speaking to. But as soon as I found out where they lived, and the close proximity to me, I panicked. Why am I saying panicked? I didn’t. That were one thing I had control over, as they were not going to know how close our homes were.

OVER AND OUT. CAUGHT AND YOUR ACCOUNT DELETED. To join the other multiple accounts on Twitter that vanished too, quite a few suspended ones. I wonder what you did there? That’s the inquisitive side of me rearing its head. But have to give you flirt points: you knew what to say.

For an attorney you’re dumb as shit

Forgiven, because you make me laugh out loud so much in all that you do babe. Don’t think you realize how much you make me smile. ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Anyway, I am dumb. Dumb as shit. Dumb, and maybe lacking in intelligence. And two faced.

two face with a six figure sum in da bank tho

Okay, must remember to bring my Harvey Dent persona to the fore; couldn’t be further from the truth with that statement, I have multiple faces. *tuts* *rolls eyes* . I’ve been called a lot better, like bitch, cxnt, slag, dyke, all the derogatory names that is associated with being a confident woman. So being called two faced and dumb is all good. It’s just as well words don’t, and has never phased me. Tryna think what does. And anyway, if HSQ had said that, then maybe I woulda been cut, just a smidgen. Plus, no matter why you said this, you still make my heart bang. And I’d still walk thru lava for ya.


As I’m updating, I’m away from social media; it’s all go at work for me, so something had to be sacrificed. The judicial system waits for no-one. I’m bogged down with so many LRs, I’m forgetting to sleep. I’ve slept a total of eight hours in the space of three days. Huh, did I not say that I’m scaling back? And hell, Twitter don’t pay my bills. Missing the Tipping Point banter. And Battle Nips. That is truly a masterstroke. Miss speaking to the tabbycat from Cali. She’s a mental case. Also leaving behind the trolls who are coming out to play. And the weirdo perverts, who delight in sliding into my DMs, and asking me all sorts. I’m so curious at times, I have to open and reply, sometime. One bloke got way to gross. He unfollowed soon after, as I set him straight.

I’m surprised that I haven’t struggled more with this Covid-19 Lockdown. I’m that girl that needs to be on the move, all the time. But I’ve also realized, unintentionally, that at times, being the tortoise, and not the hare, is a great thing. Slow down LJ, SLOW THE HELL DOWN.

I’m also a Bipolar Girl. I don’t talk about this side of me too often, only a handful of people know, Hairspray Queen for one, family obviously. It’s controllable. And by leaving social media helps too, as I could sense me spiraling out of sorts at the smallest things. And dance, dance the days and stresses away.
Madonna. Been listening to her back catalog on a daily. Singing to the top of my voice. She makes things a lot brighter I tell ya. Even sat down one evening and watched her Blonde Ambition concert from yesteryear. Iconic! And discovered her track ‘Causing A Commotion’ – *dances* – and ‘Hanky Panky’, both really don’t get radio play nowadays. Hardly any of the old skool stuff gets hella airplay. Ageism? Always liked Madonna. And for what she stood/stands for. She really did not give a flying fuck back then, did she? I like how she portrayed herself; strong, confident, sassy, bold, power. And the males hate power, don’t they? Estrogen with POWER!

lemme digress for a split second: EXTREME COUPONING IS ONE MAD ASS SHOW!! People in America still do this?

During these strange times that the planet is experiencing, I’m getting around to doing things during downtime which I haven’t done in ages. I’ve taken it upon myself to start reading again, a book I borrowed from my Dad, written by Jim Garrison, and re-reading Anne Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles series, and No One Here Gets Out Alive, which is a great read if you worship Jim Morrison. It’s nice to read things that isn’t work related.

And The Stand by Stephen King, though I did read that many moons ago. Captain Trips, anybody? And the lives and times of Americas original first family, The Kennedy’s. I’m kinda obsessed with that administration. This guy murdered, for which the Garrison book that’s mentioned above, is based on. Killed as he wanted to change shit up, well that’s what my Grandparents say all the time come November. Disgusted they were. But I’m not even gonna get into nay political debate. What else? I may even try my hand at DIY. I’m notoriously crap at DIY. I can change a plug, light bulb, and even can (ish) find my way around electrics. Well, if I discover a wire is out of place, or a fuse needs changing, I can solve.

I have also stopped alcohol for a while. My Twitter feed got alarmingly full with people posting “drinks”,”is it too early for wine”,”cheers” with an accompanying photo, you know what I mean? I were guilty of the same. Thought why not. Thing is, for a real long time, must’ve been 4 years, maybe more, I actually had quit drinking, and only started back in October ‘18. So, for now, it’s a no alcohol lawyer. I’m not judging people that like to have a tipple. It’s quite amusing seeing the usual suspects telling us all. I were one of those also. For now, uh uh.

I trust all of you, far and wide, are dealing in your own way with this Pandemic. It really is just crazy how it’s all come about, but we’ll get thru it. Mother Nature has more to give. Right? Party away, and listen to Government messages. To those keeping to their ‘strict’ diet regime, exercise like a boss. Do that Kanye Workout. Bring out your inner hoefessional.

Boys. Meh!!

For a long while now, I have known that my ex fella has been looking for me. He were in the country for approximately six months. Somehow he has managed to suss out my ‘Layla-Jade’ account, I thought I had this down, and discreet from him. Didn’t mind him knowing me workbased one, but my fun one? Not too happy. He reached out to me, asking for a meet. Asking how I’m doing? Kinda. He told me he knew how I were doing; unbeknownst to me, my firm took on a job representing his company in Quebec, and he were over here in the UK overseeing things this end. He noticed someone had liked a photo of me, that’s been since deleted, but he recognized that it were me, got my @ and voila. “Well hi honey lips, it’s been a while….” I despise him so much. I remember being called out as a man hater a few years ago, think the Twitter user said “what’s wrong, why you hatin’, not all men are bad you know” – same lass called me unhinged too – and I know I’ve said this before, but if she took the time to ask me why I felt that way, maybe she woulda understood. I don’t hate men at all. I mean, they’ve had their purpose for me, and used me as their toy, all them years back.

The truth is I am a toy that people enjoy

‘Til all of the tricks don’t work anymore

And then they are bored of me

I know that it’s exciting

Running through the night, but

Every perfect summer’s

Eating me alive until you’re gone

Better on my own

And I learned to play them back. But my ex made me feel that I had to depend on him, to be a kept woman. He couldn’t figure why I wanted to carve out my own career, make my name in the world, and in the field I am, and not the white picket fence, dinner on table, something resembling a 1950s housewife. And showering me with holidays and gifts may seem a dream to other women, but not to me. Last time I heard, he were engaged, a surgeon I think. So why he’s reaching out to me is weird. I’ve blocked him on Twitter now, even though he doesn’t follow me. I really don’t want to know him, or for him to try all his devious ways to contact me. Co-workers will deal with him if he comes back into Britain. He’s such an asshole. A douche. And a wanker, really like this British term. WANKER!

I’m used to being on my own now. Yes, I live with somebody, close on two years she’s been here, but it’s a non sexual thing, we’re more like sisters. I haven’t had anything real serious for a long ass time. Dates, yerp. Dates that lead to foreplay, BDSM, leg buckling orgasms, chocolate digestives and a bacon sandwich, well nope. Do I miss the intimacy? Do I miss the closeness, the companionship? Ain’t gonna lie, I do. Sometimes. I see folk at work talking about their partners, wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends. And I talk about my housemate, and work, and food, and my housemates latest lay. Sad innit? For the Nth time Layla-Jade, stop moaning, I can hear y’all saying right now. Y’all crack me up. I’m always moaning, when I have my friend from the bedside drawer entertaining me. 😉 But yeah, I have kinda kept up my word, phased back on a few appointments, and done real life meeting of humankind, for interaction, and frolics. Nothing as yet.

End of ‘19, beginning of ‘20, I were lucky enough to fly back home for a while, to work, and unwind. LA to Las Vegas, back to LA, down to Jamaica to vacay, then up to NYC. I had never visited JA before. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED! And the bods that caught my eye whilst overseas: WOW. I didn’t act on anything, as I were somewhat sweet on a UK lass. Felt disloyal if I did anything. Weird, right? Slowly getting myself back out on the playing field, I’ve proven that I can mix work and fun, so gals and guys, watch yo backs. Horny attorney on the hunt. Jheez, sounding desperate much. Horny is a strong statement, so will tone that back and be (again) sensible. Cautious, and horny then.

Very open about my sexuality, I know who I am and what I like, and what turns me on/off. Some humans are somewhat reserved; well Americans are. American females. The British are supposed to come across all stiff upper lipped, and la-de-daa when it comes to talking about sex. That presumption is incorrect by far. Y’all filthy. Not sure how many times I have sat in numerous pubs and bars : The Tokenhouse, Forge, The Bolthole, The Old Bell Tavern, to namecheck a few in the busy financial district of London, and overheard such Pornhub speak. City Boys, lunching with cocktails and beer, spouting whatever. It’s why I do not like that species. We really are pieces of meat to them, I’m sorry to say. I were the subject of such chat too; lol, notes left on my desk regarding Bukkake parties. I didn’t even know what that were, until a kind soul on Twitter told me, after I had posted up the note, with the question, the hell is this? Yerp, I know now. And a big no thank you. Brits have no filter when it comes to the art of talking about shagging and conquests and targets. Meh.

Am I the only girl that hangs up boots? Is this a thing or nah? Lockdown had got me doing weirdo stuff. Also put my suits in color order, from dark to light. Plus my toys in size order. Yup, weirdo. It’s also got me watching more movies. Watched a flick called The Untouchables the other week, and a Bond film. I remember working, and then relaxing, and noticed that You Only Live Twice were on – I’ll have me some of that – the Scottish lingo is something I still need to get used to, but wow, what a fabulous nights viewing that were, double Connery.

Anywho, let me indulge in some chocolate digestives. One of my downfalls.
Have a great Lockdown ‘20. Love you. (heya HSQ🥰)



I’m a homewrecker.

At 15 I knew what I was doing, and how to manipulate to get it. I mean, why should he get to taste, squeeze, hold, touch etc. The relationship they were in were rubbish anyway, and no child were involved, so I waltzed my ass in, took, waltzed out.

At 15, I should have been doing normal things girls did at that age. As far as I were concerned, I was. I were ripe and ready for anything years before, and I saw many a girl down make-out alley; I wanted to be part of that gang. I had previously seen the girls and guys before, doing all kinds – looked ever so exciting – I would sit and stare, jot notes, and memorize what they would do, so I could include in my game.

Only being 24, I knew she wanted me, she didn’t realize that yet. He on the other hand thought I were after him. Off course I flirted and teased with the husband, but nah. I used the fool to get to the wife.

Men are so weak.

One little bit of attention, a unbuttoned blouse, just low enough to leave to the imagination, hair a certain way, perfume, the ‘Bambi’ eyes, the slightest of accidental touches as you walk by. Their brains tick tick ticking.

I did most of those, to both. And to be fair, Mr Husband only made a pass at me once, a Tuesday morning. And I politely mentioned “Mate. You have a Wife.”

Phase one complete I thought to myself. He knows where he stands.

It were a July afternoon when I went over to the house. Had skipped school that day. I said to myself that morning I’ve been so great with heading back to classes, and I’m getting my life back in order, and looking forward to seeing Mom and Dad. But for reasons unknown, I turned up. And I knew I wanted her that day. It had to be that day!

We talked about me, and my upbringing. Talked about all that shit from the younger years that went before. And all I could think of were I’m gonna place my mouth on yours.

Changed the subject real quick onto her, with her telling me that they’ve been together 6 years, and it’s good. In parts. My ears pricked up at that point. I didn’t want to know about his job, their future goals, kids, farm, picket fence, Bla Bla Bla! And then she says “I were scared you were after my husband” to which I laughed and just said that would be indecent and not ladylike of me. “And besides, wrong sex. I want you.”

Time stopped.

The answer is yes. Only once. She knew it were wrong, real wrong, and panicked about authorities etc. I assured her I would not tell, and it’s my doing anyway. And I kissed her, and left.

That Fall, I did hear about them parting ways for a while. She told him she needed to re-evaluate the marriage. She were open, and told him. It were a couple of years or so that they got back together. They have the children now, and are in a bigger house in a different State.

For that moment though, that afternoon, I felt wanted, really wanted, as it felt different.

I long to have those feelings again. (read ’20)

It’s near 1130pm here, so I’m gonna stop dwelling.

Good things come to those who wait and all that. So I’ve been told.




If God one day struck me blind
Your beauty I’d still see


My name is Layla-Jade.

And this maybe just a thing about crying for help. Or just crying.

You may have read the last thing I did, or if you clicked the the hashtag #thegirlwiththesunkissedhair over on Twitter, you might have come across me via that. And last year, I were caught up in something of sorts, and the following is well, shit, I ain’t decided. Healing? I just know that somewhere, the L word is the time bomb, ticking …..

To begin, Saturday November 30 2019 were pivotal in my timeline for my existence. Not even sure why, or what, astronomy wise got aligned, but I managed to shirk all my inhibitions, and go full throttle. THAT IS NOT ME. That is not me at all, it’s not my character. But it felt so good, like I have been let loose. I liked it. Alcohol induced, but I haven’t consumed so much booze, so many different types of drink, in a short time period, in a very long while. Not even sure why I started the evening like that. Nothing of sorts to pinpoint the beginnings. Or maybe subconsciously, something were there, dormant.


I, somehow need to overcome the real life shit. Make an appointment with my parents, I jest, don’t need to schedule with them, but in seriousness, I’m thinking of sitting down with them, and have a talk about my childhood. It were last spoken of maybe 15 or so years ago, so it’s time to bring all that back to the forefront, so I can move on. We’re open enough to talk about sex, and being sexual, and me being a bisexual woman. (Mom still wants me to hook up with Ruby Rose). But what is being ignored is why I am like this? Am I paying the price of using and abusing my body during those early years of awakenings, living door to doormat? Becoming everybody’s doormat. And how did they feel, ‘losing their daughter’ back then, living out my best life, doing and discovering and not giving a flying fuck, and not even a teen? It must’ve destroyed them. And have I apologized? To this day, I don’t think I have.

I find myself too scared to approach the subject of childhood trauma to them. Why should I feel that? They’re my parents, you’re meant to go to your parents for anything, right? Ain’t that the unwritten rule? Don’t get me wrong, they’re both fantastic Maybe they are both frightened to bring up subjects to me. Well, that’s a lie, as mentioned before, we’re so open about sex and relationship talk, but maybe that’s why they ask: roundabout way of seeing if I’m coping. I am, Mom and Dad, I am. But we will talk, things need to be asked, said, answered properly.

I still think about pre-teen me. I surprise myself that I’m still here. Fearless then, and fearless now. And still I feel lost.

She come round my street, now
She come to my house and
Knock upon my door
Climbing up my stairs, one, two
Come on baby
Here she is in my room, oh boy

Hey what’s your name?
How old are you?
Where’d you go to school?
Aha, yeah
Aha, yeah
Ah, ah yeah, ah yeah
Oh haa, mmm

Well, now that we know each other a little bit better
Why don’t you come over here
Make me feel all right!

Jim sung that correct alright. That’s how it felt back then. Being made to feel beautiful. Special. Wanted. A princess. Huh? I remember to forget. And I then remember with a smile. And I realize I shouldn’t.


If I saw me, as a kid, in this time and place now, I’d be like child, seek help, NOW! You’re a wild child, getting way too outta control. And this ties me right back to the top of this post. Why did I choose that Saturday to binge out on all the alcohol present in my home? To unashamedly put myself out there on a certain social media account, y’all know the one, white bird, blue background. I guess it’s love. Love and lust. Love, lust and attention. No. Not love. Not that word. The most destructive word in my dictionary. Maybe attention though, if someone gives me that inkling, I go in, hard. Without even considering the consequences. And that, to me, is deadly. As in the back of my mind, I still see the little girl, the little girl in a kindergarten, gaining the attention of grown ass men. It’s not good you know. Okay, so being a single girl is not as bad as it seems, but being a single girl, and avoiding triggers is a hardship. And these triggers are pulling me towards, when I know it’s wrong. But I also know wrong can be good. I’ve been here, 12 months or so ago. I’ve been here, and thankfully that friendship is still there, but my God, it near killed me. Literally. And now, I’m slowly disintegrating back to that woman, and regressing back to the girl of yore.

UPDATE My Dad’s friend is interested in the same girl that’s giving me butterflies. I don’t know how to deal with this situation. Hurts even more now. That’s my fault for a: confiding in a man and b: not noticing him over my shoulder when I were liking her posts, gazing into her eyes on her profile etc. He thinks she’s fucking fit as fuck. What a quote. He’ll stand more of a chance, I mean he’s a older man. And I’m still a slip of a girl. 😔 I’M SUCH A JEALOUS BITCH.

I shouldn’t feel that, but I’m raging at the thought. Maybe I should forward on his Twitter username to her. Cupid goals.

One mechanism I’m experimenting with is coming off Twitter for a while, well leaving the normal account behind, and use the work based one for now. Gonna hurt bad that will, with my goodbye post on December 3, I shall definitely miss the interactions I have on there, publicly and privately. Oh the fun of it all, and the banter, can be misconstrued and taken way too far at times, but it can also be the most rewarding thing ever, to have that innocence of communicating turning into something wonderful. And their lies my issue, as I run a mile from wonderful. I am not allowed, let myself be allowed to be loved and craved, wanted and satisfied, needed and complete. Because I do not deserve to, those feelings are not supposed to filter thru’ to me, no matter how beautiful* (*we’ll come this this later) and special I’m made to feel. I shut down, and get petrified at the thought of someone trying get in, trying to know lil’ undeserving me.

I tease and make a person want, and desire me, and then I push myself away, and discard them without even a thought, or care of how they’re feeling, or how they may themselves be hurting.

How can that be right? Does that make me the most horrible person of this Earth? I think it does. I know it does. I pursue. I enjoy the thrill, and hunt.

Utter Bitch!

Devoid of emotion? I’m not. I’m protecting my feelings, selfish that way. Protecting my suffering, so others can not suffer with me. Can’t have 2 people, in a thing, that suffers. Where’s the fun in that? Alone for now is good. And one day, in a not to distant far future, it’s alone I won’t be. Family Girl. Maybe.


I’m happiest when I’m not pressured into anything, I can take things at my pace, usually gets done. Just chuckled to myself, I do humor sometimes, anyway, chuckled at the thought of this post being finished. I’ll probably still be composing this whilst walking down the aisle, that ain’t even happening for a long while yet. If ever. Not gonna deny, it is my dream for my Dad to walk me, arm in arm, to the future waiting to make me the happiest girl. Ain’t it every little girls dream? White dress and a veil. Or no veil. Flowers in my hair. Jesus, I want that so much. Feels like I am asking for the world. Me, a bride. Has a certain ring to it. Wanted to be married by the time I got to 30, with a child. It seems too far fetched now, impossible mission. Won’t happen if I keep throwing people away, making people despise me. Gotta fix up on that one. Duly noted.

And so yet again *yawns* someone has caught my eye, wasn’t I here before? And yet again, it’s someone on the medium that is Twitter. She slid into my DM, an innocent message. And off course, I replied, then she replied, then I pushed the envelope and replied again, saucily. Why did I do that? The hell is wrong with me? DO I NOT LEARN OR UNDERSTAND? Falling Fallen. Why do I do it to myself? It’s a never ending battle: don’t contact, contact. Be pleasant and polite, or tell her every single dirty thought that’s going in your head, and we’re going to fuck. THAT IS A MIND FUCK RIGHT THERE! She hasn’t done anything wrong. And yet I want her. And I want her to want me. And I know think she wants me. And me knowing that is making me not wanting her. You see the contradiction? The problem? I just don’t know why my brain is screwed this way. I want her so much, and I don’t want her. I want a life with her so much, and I want to stay the hell outta it. I want her to make love to me, and me to her, but then I just want to be pals.

Some people want to die so they can be free


Therapy sessions given up a long while back, as I thought I finally broke the barrier of self esteem. How wrong were that. Ongoing project, some laboratory experiment. PROJECT LAYLA-JADE. TEAM LJ as someone recently has said to me. Anybody can be in my team if they like. It’s lasting the distance that’s concerning. Do y’all stay, even if it’s out of sympathy, or do you jump off, as the pressure of being in the team is too much, and the patience has gone way past the expiry date?

I have a fantastic team. Work team. They listen. They get the job done. We could roll up in the office building, or the courthouse, lookin’ like something out of Reservoir Dogs, or dressed like we all hittin’ church. And I have done well to hide this character defect I have from them. Yes, I snap sometimes. They see that as stress. They cannot see the screaming from within. Wish they could, or someone just notice, or throw a question “you feeling okay, L?” Never know with me what the answer will be, though 10 times out of 10, the reply will be “I’m good.” One day I’m gonna surprise them all. But doing that would be deemed weak. A failure. So no, this girl keeps it work based all the time. Except when I’m sleeping, obviously.

UPDATE I were called you beautiful girl today. (Thursday December 5)


Look at you! You beautiful girl.


How did I feel about that? I sent a photograph of myself and I got told I were beautiful. That’s it really. I remember being called that, over and over and over again, when ‘playtime’ were happening over and over and over again. If you understand, you’ll know. Sorry, I must apologize to all the fairytale types, who see that word associated with princesses. I want to be beautiful, to feel beautiful.

Hurtling towards ’20. By time this post is out, more than likely I would’ve traveled back home to Los Angeles* (*December 9) for a visit, and with my Mom & Dad holidaying in Hawaii, I’ll either join them, or take a different vacay.


I intend to get 2020 off to a positive start, by talking openly more, coming to terms with rubbish, with learning how to finally deal with it, love my wrist scars, and my soul, and be beautiful, wouldn’t that be a thing? Me, to accept that the word isn’t ugly, isn’t a reminder of games played, but it’s when I look and see my reflection, when I look into my blues, and look at my skin, and body, and feel it on the inside. And when somebody, parents aside, tells me, Layla-Jade, you are beautiful, a very beautiful girl, I would then have the politeness, with meaning this time, to say thank you.

If you’re reading this, thank you. I’m still new to this. I know I’ve gone on and on as usual. I could easily write more. Just needed an outlet. Now I can start the next phase, by speaking about my lack of everything.

Then I can smile inside and out.

And if you’re reading this, yes you, if you want to laugh, then laugh. If you want to cry, respond to me, bad or good, or if I have jumped to conclusions, or made you out to be something you’re not, then DM me, I promise I won’t say anything slutty. End of the day ( I despise that phrase ) I’m classy. XXXXXXXXXX

Just deleted so much of this post. I’m going back to happy LJ. Because what I’m looking for will find me. I would like be somebody’s ‘The One’. Sounds nice. Fun and mischievousness is better. Watch out. CONTRADICTING AGAIN. I’m good. Happy.

Oh sit there, oh count those raindrops
Oh, feel em falling down, oh honey all around you.

Thank you Janis, you make everything alright.

She was a Princess

Queen of the Highway

And again, to you Jim. You always make everything alright. ALWAYS.




I’m a bit slack when it comes to this, so I do apologize.

I’m a bit slack when it comes to feelings, so I don’t apologize for that.

It’s an anniversary for me. A pretty sad and lame one too.

The problem with me is that sometimes I don’t listen to what I brain is saying, and I go full throttle into making decisions that will be best for everybody, but don’t foresee the upcoming consequences, pain and suffering for others.

I felt that my soul were becoming an all consuming blackness, and family aside, I wanted bring down everything and everyone I knew around me.

I didn’t know how to ask for help; I didn’t know if I wanted to be helped; Only thing that mattered were myself. Took the business trip to New York City and stamped my authority over there, and yet all I could feel on the inside were pain and damnation.

Landing back in The United Kingdom, focused my all into my work, putting such thoughts of human maiming to the back of my mind, and made sure I had the occasional laugh with my team, and Mom and Dad. And my best English girl, for whom has now lived with me for a year, still babysitting me constantly, and watching if I give into temptation. Our friendship has no boundaries, for which I am glad for.

The scarring on my wrists, and along my right arm is a reminder of who I was, well, of who I thought I was: a symbol of the demons that live within me, for which I have kept at bay. For how long, only time can tell.

Suicidal tendencies isn’t the answer. Yes, it may seem the only way out, but it’s not. Speak up. I wish I did. And I now do. Because at the time, I did not realize the countless emotions I were feeling, and the struggle, and mess I were becoming.

A year later, a year to this day, I’m living at 95%, of my capacity, and my mind still whizzes around at a billion miles per hour. But I’m living.

A year ago, this young, career driven woman, was intent on continuing a path of no return, to leave behind all that knew me, to see if there were indeed some higher plain of well-being.

Today, I am not that girl of 12 months ago. I’m still scared. But not as scared and frightened as I were.

And to you, you know who you are, if you’re reading this. Your American pet is doing okay.

It’s not only the British weather that’s bipolar.

Layla-Jade is out. ✌🏼


As I have switched to Year 25, reflection about me has been frequent. I do know I have touched upon this in tweets, but of late, did not realize how much of a mess I truly were in 2006. Not talking about the innocence of splashing muddy puddles, or custard pie in face type of mess.

Hey girls, boys, I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours. You wanna hold my hand, lover? Let’s kiss. Got any liquor? Touch me! I could go on. It’s the norm, isn’t it? That’s what adults do. I were an adult in 2006. An adult, early Summer, 2006. Way ahead of my time I thought. And hell yeah, I knew they were talking about me and calling me all the lovely names under the sun.

The more name calling, the more a soaked it all up, and played on it, the more I liked it. Made me feel important, special.

Michelle, pretty teen with flowing blond hair. I remember you. I remember following you to the bathroom for a kiss. And Jacqui. I wonder what became of you? And how you easily let me tease you with my vagina. And you let me touch yours: the first one I touched. Lynda, first gal to break my heart, albeit wasn’t your fault, as you moved to another state. But still, that little kiss goodbye, cherished. Yeah, it were only a peck, but cherished all the same.

And to those 6 boys that followed me to the beach that Summer: Nigel, Vincent, Graham, Julian, Kenezra and Brandon. You 6, all fingers and thumbs. Think I were your first fumblings, y’all hormones must’ve been overboard, feeling what I had back then.

None of you were to blame though. It took me a quite a while, and a journey of self discovery, to realize it were an adult that had corrupted me a good 7,8 years previously. As my tag line somewhere on social media confirms:

But I didn’t realize it wasn’t right

My Mom and Dad took me on holiday, to England, to see some of my Dad’s friends, but I knew it was to make me forget such games I got taught, by Authority. Summer vacation in a little place near the sea. It helped me. And fast forward a year or 2 after my awakening, that’s when I decided what to do with the rest of my life. Luckily for me, at a very young teen, and some well placed connections of Dads, my path got set.

Summer 2006. No self respect at all. Parents couldn’t stop me. Or find me. Hanging out with older girls and boys, and hanging out with older men and women. I remember some girl saying to me about a movie called Taxi Driver, and comparing me to Ms. Fosters role. I didn’t understand. Just knew it were fun to stay outside till late, creep home, be a nice ‘All American Girl’, creep outside again, party. My poor Mom. Disappointed in me, I could tell. No apple pie learning from her. Daddy’s Lil’ Monster was indeed that. And it’s because it’s all I knew. As soon as I heard Authority had died in prison, a year later, I smiled. And were sad. But yeah, smiled, laughed, celebrated that my demon, my ‘owner’ was no more. And with that, a sense if relief flowed.

I put away a pedophile in jail not too long ago.

He were from The UK. He met a lovely U.S. lady, who was separated, with a daughter. He had a great job too, in computing. He would commute back and forth between Chicago, and a town in England. He also knew my Father; they spent their mid 20s – 30s together, then followed their different paths. So it came as a shock that after a short dating session, they got married, became a family, and he got accused of underage sexual activity of a minor involving his new step daughter, all within a 3 year timeline. Memories came flooding back, but kept my cool and nerve, and put personal matters behind. Yes, my Dad knew him. And yes, I had a job to do.

BB” now lives at HMP, in a quaint little English town. And I’m satisfied with that.

I’m 25. Been 25 since July 4, so not that long. I am aware of my biological clock, and the spouts of broody feelings are more frequent than norm. Motherhood is calling, but I still have a job to do. And when I’m sure, I’ll take a sabbatical from being a damn good attorney, and find my way, and give my (future) child the best she/he could ask for. And I can’t wait.

I still can’t talk to girls though. STILL! ♥️

This is my (part) story of how Layla-Jade has become to be.

Hairspray Queen, hiya.