❄️ Snowflake Christine Milneaux - Munchie who came here to sperg [PM sneasel if you wanna do a proper OP on this tard]

[ADHD]

And he knows about the affair

It would be really hard for him not to know about it when she doesn't shut the fuck up about it.

Article she wanted to submit to Everyday Feminism or XoJane.
Same basic tripe posted to a subreddit she created for cheaters. Her Reddit comment history is full of comments talking about it.
Blog entry on LoveShack.

If you read my post history (and it's very brief) I was a 15 year old girl who fell in love with a 25-year-old man who lived in England. Everyone except my wonderful parents was opposed to the idea. Thank God they weren't, because he came over for my 16th. We went to parks and museums and gardens and out to dinner and had a wonderful time. He came over that Christmas and spent the holidays with us, too. And the following summer, he proposed. The summer after that was my 18th, and we went to England to meet his family and ask their blessing. They took to me right away, though they said I put unholy amounts of sugar in my tea.

We got married in September 2011, in the US, and he moved here under a fiance Visa. On and off I had thought about coming back, about saying "HA! I told you so!" but I decided you wouldn't have believed me anyway.

We have been married for almost 3 years. This may I am to be 21. My views on what love is and is not have changed a little bit, but my views on what love is meant to be haven't changed even slightly. I still write poetry, and I'm a fairly good Opera singer to boot. The Opera turned out to be the only place where my particular breed of melodrama was welcomed and embraced. Love is... confusing, and a little bit sad, and lately it hasn't been what I'd always dreamt it would be. But when I ask my mother and several of my mentors if this is what love is meant to feel like, if it's meant to change this way if I am meant to grow so contented, so complacent... they all said that yes, it was natural, and that true loves takes work, and it's not always work you want to do. I don't understand. I never imagined a day when I wouldn't adore writing poetry and singing songs to my Eternal Beloved... Now poetry and songs just depress me, particularly when they're about him. I wrote this one and shared it with him very recently...

Here below
The lilacs die and sparrows' song
Is never more than short refrain.
In the silence
I dream of springtimes sweet and long
Which bloom and forever remain.

Here below
Where kisses are but memories
That bear no signs of love maintained
In solitude
I dream that passions never cease
Embraces that forever remain.

Here below,
In vain do men and women weep
And lovers hearts are only pain.
In my grief
I dream of love that's strong and deep
Whose promises forever remain

It's not as though our relationship is all bad, or even mostly bad. If I had a decade, I wouldn't be able to list all the things he has done for me, all the ways he has truly given it 110%, all the things he's bought me and places he's taken me and things he's tried to please me and countless hours he's held me and kissed me and caressed me and loved me. I tried a few nights ago, in a love letter, and I kid you not I injured my hand from the strain of all the writing. We have a million little inside jokes, and stupid little things... but it just seems to me the fire is fading, and time is taking its toll. And further, there's been infidelity in the relationship.

So, about last month, I was feeling really "romantic" so to speak and as my husband and I both have medical conditions that make sex hurt a LOT, we both tend to be asexual. We've been to see doctors about our lack of a sex life, to little avail. We do engage in foreplay a couple times a month but we have very low sex drive due to our conditions, and penetration is definitely out. We were both virgins (apart from one incident involving clothed foreplay and a summer vacation home!) before our wedding night and the next morning we both kind of looked at each other and said, "Let's not do that anymore". We've had a hundred heart-to-hearts as I tried to gauge what needed to be done to improve matter, but we really are both happiest when he doesn't try to penetrate me. But this night I begged him to have sex with me... He was unaware that I had another guy on Skype's webcam who could hear us if we went into the bedroom. I had left the cam on on purpose so this dude would stop accusing my husband of being bad in bed. If I had to fake an orgasm or six for my husband's honor (and, okay, my own inner exhibitionist!) so be it.

Turns out, Skype crashed just as we got into it, and whether that's good or bad I'll leave open to your interpretation. I was racked with guilt because I can't hide a secret from anyone- let alone my husband- if my life depended on it. I'd have to tell him about the webcam incident. I fretted and worried he was going to leave me and had panic attack after panic attack
That was the night I reconnected with an old Skype friend named Leto. Leto was absolutely made of compassion. He knew how to soothe someone through a panic attack in a manner that really could blow a psychologist out of the water. I told him I was dead without my husband, emotionally and financially.

Leto said I didn't have to worry about anything... if my husband left me, he would drive across country with a moving van for all my worldly possessions, and take me to live with him and his bisexual, polyamorous girlfriend, where I'd be treated like a queen.

Yep. He began telling me about all of his various BDSM-type fetishes, and how he was a firm but very compassionate Dom and a bunch of all this other stuff I didn't really want to know about at the time. I was bloody terrified but, if my husband left me, for the first time in my life I didn't see throwing myself off a bridge as the only course of action. I asked him to tell me more about himself, his house, his girlfriend... and my potential new life. It comforted me as I shook and trembled and was repeatedly ill throughout all that night and into the day.

The night and morning came and went, and presently my Eternal (Eternal??) Beloved came home. I told him about the webcam incident and he thought it was nothing and forgave me, but because I can't keep a secret like I mentioned earlier, I had to tell him about Leto too. I tried to play him off as just a creep, but the truth was I was becoming captivated and was in denial about it even to myself. I continued speaking to Leto. Suddenly, life without Eternal Beloved wasn't literally the end of the world. It would be traumatizing to be sure... but I realized for the very first time in my life that there were potentially other paths I could take. I never really made plans to leave my Beloved, but I would by lying if I said I didn't consider it, if for no other reason than it was different. I was having a quarter-life crisis.

Last week, Eternal Beloved finally confronted me and asked if I really thought it was normal that I hung out with him. I saw the light and realized it wasn't. I mean, even men whom I had considered my abusers (another really long story for another day) hated the dude.

So I have stopped talking to Leto. I will never speak to him again. And though I realize Leto may well have been an axe murderer, I still missed the deep and very-quickly-established emotional connection we'd had. And ever since I met Leto, I'm not sure I love Eternal Beloved, at least not as I once did... I know I'm very fond of Eternal Beloved, and sometimes it even melts my heart a little bit to think that he still puts up with me through all of this and actually blames me very little, saying that I was enthralled with Leto because of naivete, and that my cooled-down feelings for him are a natural sign of the relationship maturing, and that every honeymoon phase ends...

Tonight I told him flatly that I did not deserve him and neither did he deserve such a punishment as an adulterous wife. His reaction was to APOLOGIZE TO ME for not paying enough attention to me over the last couple of days. I was, and remain, completely floored. It's obvious he man loves me, though the reason why utterly escapes me. He's forgiven me completely -with the caveat that i never make contact with Leto again. To satisfy my lust for adventure and newness, he has planned a romantic vacation- a week at a resort, complete with dinners on cruise ships, live shows, and ziplining. Once again, above and beyond. I'm floored- there's really no other word for it- that he's anywhere near me, and I'm equally floored that in spite of it all, the flames are cooling down...

 

[Or Else What]

Milady's little hectic fevers and resultant swoony-spoonery dramatics are, paradoxically, most likely to be the consequence of the actions of a strong, robust immune system working hard to fight off the regular vira and lurgii that everyone who isn't a self-marinading shut-in encounters daily (and whatever else her archaic habits may have exposed her to).

A few people 'catch' everything going round and so turn into that extravagantly manufacturing snot factory or sinus cement plant we've all had to sit opposite from in the office/bus/dinner table. On the other extreme, a few will 'catch' the same but their excellent defences efficiently deal with these little bastards in less than a day, and the symptoms can be vague and mild enough for them not to even know it. But for a seasoned precious little hypochondriac however, such a day would typically begin with waking up with a scratchy throat, and with a thirst unquenched by the usual coffee and demanding favourite fluids as a matter of urgency. A need to document and disseminate these distressing feelings and findings always follows. An aching back and/or head may add to the suffering. The key finding is the discovery that whilst the torso feels warm and dry to the concerned touch, the feet and hands are cold, and the hairline clammy. The standard therapeutics consist of a couple of ibuprofen/paracetamol, oral fluids, other treatments prn (eg antacids) but most efficacious of all that good long afternoon kip on the sofa that all such sufferers invariably succumb to. Indeed, by the time the soaps are starting, the worst is well over and a lucky Lady of the Leukocytes will be ready to face the world tomorrow.

 

[Christine Milneaux]

(PWL - retired British RGN here)
...such a day would typically begin with waking up with a scratchy throat, and with a thirst unquenched by the usual coffee and demanding favourite fluids as a matter of urgency. A need to document and disseminate these distressing feelings and findings always follows. An aching back and/or head may add to the suffering. The key finding is the discovery that whilst the torso feels warm and dry to the concerned touch, the feet and hands are cold, and the hairline clammy. The standard therapeutics consist of a couple of ibuprofen/paracetamol, oral fluids, other treatments prn (eg antacids) but most efficacious of all that good long afternoon kip on the sofa that all such sufferers invariably succumb to. Indeed, by the time the soaps are starting, the worst is well over and a lucky Lady of the Leukocytes will be ready to face the world tomorrow.

Poetry. Why do I unironically find this so beautiful despite the tone you intended to convey?

 

[homewayhalf]

It would be really hard for him not to know about it when she doesn't shut the fuck up about it.

Article she wanted to submit to Everyday Feminism or XoJane.
Same basic tripe posted to a subreddit she created for cheaters. Her Reddit comment history is full of comments talking about it.
Blog entry on LoveShack.

Poetry. Why do I unironically find this so beautiful despite the tone you intended to convey?

Because you’re an idiot.

 

[Or Else What]

Poetry. Why do I unironically find this so beautiful despite the tone you intended to convey?

Because you have no concept of irony.

 

[AbraCadaver]

Percy just HAD to contract the brain fevers in the one room in the house with a secret floorboard. What an arse he was.

Brain fever???

As in encephalitis?? Or meningitis, it's one of those, I forget.

I would have thought about brain fever except that it translates into such acute and deadly illnesses in modern parlance. Everyone would read "brain fever" and think encephalitis. I've actually considered that it could be brain fever before, but the archaic illness sadly no longer has a clinical definition, to the best of my knowledge, and the modern illness is definitely not something I have. You would think that with the vomiting and the muscle spasms, it would be accurate, but I could easily attribute the muscle spasms too much MMJ and cerebral palsy, and since the vomiting correlates with nervousness my MMJ doctor thinks it's either an allergy to a strain or a nervous response.

Whichever one of you said that a paragraph of mine "legitimately reads like Joyce," I saw that, I should have screenshotted it, and I love you too.

You absolutely missed the point of the literary reference he was making. How the fuck any Victorian weeaboo does not read Conan Doyle is beyond me.

Poetry. Why do I unironically find this so beautiful despite the tone you intended to convey?

Because you’re desperate for any attention, good or bad? Any person paying attention to you, even just to insult, seems heavenly because you lead an intensely boring life...hence all the plastic flower crowns and cheap costume corsets worn on the outside of polyester frocks, because to uneducated people like you, there are only two kinds of fashion: Modern and Old-Timey Days Of Yore.

Are we leaving this thread up in hopes she might get more entertaining? Because i doubt it. I wasn’t aware KF did a service for munchies by jerking them off in their self-made attention threads.

She only sounds like Joyce if you mean the letters Joyce sent to his wife about his farting fetish.

 

[Christine Milneaux]

I understand what brain fever is; I just can't use the term any more than I can call myself consumptive. I'm not. It applies even more so to brain fever, which sadly is no longer a diagnosis in the same way it used to be, so people who do get feverish episodes in response to stress have no way to treat it.

 

[Whatthefuck]

I understand what brain fever is; I just can't use the term any more than I can call myself consumptive. I'm not. It applies even more so to brain fever, which sadly is no longer a diagnosis in the same way it used to be, so people who do get feverish episodes in response to stress have no way to treat it.

No, sweetie, darling, you’re missing the reference. It’s referring to someone with essentially hysteria, not an illness. Seriously, read some Conan Doyle, it’ll do you good.

 

[AbraCadaver]

I understand what brain fever is; I just can't use the term any more than I can call myself consumptive. I'm not. It applies even more so to brain fever, which sadly is no longer a diagnosis in the same way it used to be, so people who do get feverish episodes in response to stress have no way to treat it.

I meant the literary reference, the context of which you’re totally missing, because using big words and attempting to imitate overused writing styles of actual good writers is no substitute for actually being well-read.

Also the only symptoms you have are ones related to plain commonplace navel-gazing anxiety. Not lupus or anything else. Get a fuckin job, get out of the house and do something useful with your life, instead of sitting around metaphorically huffing your own semi-intellectual farts. Or at least keep them to yourself and stop posting them here.

 

[AnOminous]

The stuff is awesome because it glows under blacklight; vaseline glass too, although it ain't radioactive.

It definitely is radioactive. Most modern uranium glass is made with depleted uranium, though, so it's a weak alpha/beta emitter. Vintage uranium glass, though, from before uranium became more valuable for its other purposes, has a normal distribution of U-235 and is also a gamma emitter. Some of that stuff can get a Geiger counter purring.

In neither case is it likely to be dangerous.

 

[FrostedFlakes&PBR]

It definitely is radioactive. Most modern uranium glass is made with depleted uranium, though, so it's a weak alpha/beta emitter. Vintage uranium glass, though, from before uranium became more valuable for its other purposes, has a normal distribution of U-235 and is also a gamma emitter. Some of that stuff can get a Geiger counter purring.

In neither case is it likely to be dangerous.

Yep, uranium glass and Vaseline glass are the same thing, and neither is harmful to use. Source: my artfag historian degree.

Back on topic: I know that the pre-80’s practice of tossing people (especially non-compliant/depressed/abused/lesbian women) into an endless hellhole of institutionalization was fucked up, but surely, the pendulum has gone too far in the other direction. It’s practically impossible to get help for people unless they’re screaming “IM GONNA KILL EVERYONE AND MYSELF UNLESS YOU LOCK ME UP” over and over while trying to bite a cop and doctor.


This young woman is honestly pretty “meh” on the “disturbed people on kiwifarms” scale, as far as her shenanigans and entertainment value. But maybe that’s why it’s so fucked up to me- if someone could just get her away from her pedo troll “husband” and into a place where doctors wouldn’t put up with her bullshit, she might have a chance. Someone please slap me for having feels bc my GOD this chick is obnoxious and I hate myself for giving a shit

 

[cunting season]

+1 votes for shuffling this back into proving grounds because this shit's a boring read regarding her specifically

 

[simulated goat]

The victorians knew the real antidote to malingering. It's like "Three Men in a Boat". Find yourself dwelling on imagined symptoms and medical books, GTFO and do something outside. Remember your can opener, but get out into fresh air and life. Even the Vics made fun of malingerers with the vapors.

Wanna wear a flower crown? Go to SCA or ren faire or victorian reenactment on weekends. Girlfriend, get a fucking job and have something going for yourself because expecting to die before maturity doesn't always work out. Ask old punks. You are old enough to get a life and it may make you happier. Good luck with Gnomie, I'm outta here.

 

[MistressCaridad]

Okay fair to all those saying this bitch is boring (she is) but I also love that in this thread we have:

1. Discussed Georgian, Regency, Victorian and Edwardian culture, history and literature.
2. Discussed autoimmune disease, what constitutes a serious fever and other medical facts
3. Discussed how seriously fucked up a lot of the Beauty Parlour cows really are.

Meanwhile, Chrissy spergs on around the edges, frantically trying to make herself the “prima donna” of the thread as she so “charmingly” put it... then the rest of us just go “lol no” and go right back to discussing whatever subject it was.

As to the “prima donna” thing specifically... Chrissy obviously has not been introduced to our Queen of the Beauty Parlour, Pixyteri. She’s got a long way to go before she can get close to even touching Pixy’s crown.

 

[cunting season]

do you have any fave lolcows in this section, mistresscaridad? we can talk about those next

 

[Munchie_Minder]

I wonder what she even does all day. She doesn't work. She probably is not at school either. I doubt she does cooking or chores, considering she's ~~super ill~~ (with... an occasional fever, I guess?) Her terrible prose would suggest she doesn't read. She doesn't seem to have any hobbies either. Like, what can you do with all this time?
But she's too boring to be a lolcow anyway.

Apparently, she’s so desperate for attention, she’s decided this is the spot to gain it.

I needed the insurance because I was turning 26 and wouldn't be able to stay on my father's. Mr. S. did put me on his plan this month, so we shall see how our accounts fare.

And he knows about the affair, and knows I'd jump ship if he became abusive. We sit down together and have loving but frank contingency-plan talks every once in a while.

But, aren’t you taken off a parent’s insurance plan when you get married? This is the part I’m not understanding.

 

[horridtorrid]

But, aren’t you taken off a parent’s insurance plan when you get married? This is the part I’m not understanding.

Nope. It would make sense, but nope.

 

[ADHD]

As to the “prima donna” thing specifically... Chrissy obviously has not been introduced to our Queen of the Beauty Parlour, Pixyteri.

And she is obviously unacquainted with the daintiest Beauty Parlor cow who got her own entire subforum, Amberlynn Reid. Compared to Chrissy, Amberlynn is an eloquent genius.

 

[Christine Milneaux]

So what you're saying is that I've marched into a website filled with trolls and degenerates, where everyone is known to hate my kind, fully expecting to be roasted, getting roasted, and somehow I STILL MOVED PEOPLE TO COMPASSION. I did it more than once, too; fatherly advice is hardly the kind of compassion I prefer, or even like, but it is still an empathetic reaction. I mightn't be poetic enough to soften all your hearts all the time, but even doing it a few times in a place like this is noteworthy.

 

[FrostedFlakes&PBR]

So what you're saying is that I've marched into a website filled with trolls and degenerates, where everyone is known to hate my kind, fully expecting to be roasted, getting roasted, and somehow I STILL MOVED PEOPLE TO COMPASSION. More than once, too; fatherly advice is hardly the kind of compassion I prefer, or even like, but it is still an empathetic reaction. I mightn't be poetic enough to soften all your hearts all the time, but even doing it a few times in a place like this is noteworthy.

Pretty impressive how you have credited “Christ this pathetic bitch needs help” into somehow being a personal virtue of your very own. Has anyone mentioned possible npd yet lol


ETA: hitting “ignore” for this cow before I get Mad On The Internet. That retarded attempt at manipulation showed her bpd ass and officially drained me of empathy. Peace out fam, have fun with this one