A Scholar and a Sinner

I have some very loyal readers. Because of my attention to the authorities surveilling me for retaliatory purposes, I have a lot of analytics running and I kind of watch everything. I try to stay ahead of the counterterrorism unit, which is shockingly easy to do so I’m a little concerned about public safety in Nevada in general.

My counterterrorism peeps aside, I see my readers and I know you all from the data. Like I don’t “know” know you. Some I do correspond with via email, but I can tell who is who and sometimes say to my computer “hey, Altoona is back, it’s been a few days.” I don’t actually have a life and analyzing data is my idea of a good time.

I have two related but unrelated things I want to talk about. First, I have gotten the vibe that I am thought of as just some slut. A nobody. A nothing person. I get this vibe mainly from the authorities. They said something during the police interview about what a nice building {D} lived in. It was an 800sqft condo. I’ve dated other men in much nicer homes with actual money. I only date men with graduate degrees. As I say, I don't date dumb so by default I don't date poor most of the time. I’m not some succubus Vegas gold digger vapid twat. I’m actually brilliant. Statistically, from an IQ standpoint, I’m the smartest person in any given room unless we’re talking a Mensa meeting. That doesn’t mean I know everything — that’s not what an IQ test quantifies — but I have the ability to learn everything and understand it across multiple subjects and fields.

My point is I’m smart and smart men like smart women. Moderately intelligent men get intimidated by genuinely intelligent women, so I stick with the really smart ones and use the degree as a gauge to see if I even want to bother. As a result, {D} ain’t the highest level of man I have dated and continue to date.

So please don’t get it twisted that {D} was a catch. The dude who was letting me show him which stocks to move around in his $3mil just-for-fun stock market account was a catch. {D} was a connection. I am a catch to men out there who like smart women. They are few and far between because they think with their dicks because they’re men.

Funny {D} story: So I went to grad school for history. There might have been a bit of a scandal regarding me and the 70-year-old department chair who was also my thesis advisor. See, my dick gets me in trouble too, but that’s the only reason I’m not a professor. I am scandalous, just who I am as a human. 

But {D}, who knew me for 6 years, once asked why we had never really talked before and I was like, “I was staying away from you because I had feelings…” But one night we were discussing the Missouri Compromise and I named the Interstate Commerce Clause as a contributor to the American Civil War. {D} goes into this diatribe on how well he knows the Interstate Commerce Act and had argued it in court. I had to explain, sadly really, that the clause was constitutional and existed prior to the act — because that’s how American law works. Anyways, the interesting part of this conversation was that we were naked, had just had sex on his couch, and took pictures and video of our sexual exploits. {D} jumps up from the couch, goes to the bedroom door, looks at the bed, looks at me on the couch. He does this a few times for comedic effect and says: “How is it possible for you to fuck like that then discuss the Missouri Compromise in detail?”

I do actually have a lot of attractive qualifications outside the bedroom. The bedroom bit just helps. I just kind of wanted people to know that in general. I talk a lot of shit on myself, but the cops pissed me off with the way they said that.

Okay the second part I want my loyal readers to know: I do know you. You have names that I make up and some of you have real names and occasional legal and genetic connections to {D}. Half of my followers are likely guests at a {D} family reunion. I know you’re there, all of you. Not trying to say that in a creepy way — I actually appreciate the support.

I do view it as support, because let’s face it: if you believed his bullshit, you would think me just a liar and an angry ex. You know the truth. You know him and his generally less-than-factual ways and you can see the truth in my words. You can also see the sanity — that I’m not just a crazy woman, I have proof and I am backing everything up with conversations and evidence. I’m a little nutty and frankly, I went through the really crazy moments, but I’ve always told the truth and I am WAYYYYY more mentally stable than that motherfucker ever has been, even at my craziest. I just don’t hide it though. You know that too.

There was a reason he was with me. There was a reason we split up. There is reasoning and rationale to all of it. But, young lady, I saw the email to the police. A) that was a genuine accident B) I never used multiple numbers, I added a new and now very established Facebook account and never thought about it as a way to find people who blocked me C) Unwell? I sent one text. Was it the polite thing to do? No. Was it the right thing? Absolutely. I would love to explain it to you but for your protection regarding something you disclosed in that email {D} had told me about prior.

I will say this part firmly and without hesitation: any man with a daughter who chooses to rape a woman is not a man, and it should be known to that man’s family. No man who does things like that deserves respect from their children, especially any female children they may have.