the secret diaries of nadin

[franksolich]

15 September 2011.  Dear Diary:  Hubby came in again late last night, finding a stone-cold dinner still waiting for him on the table.  I don’t think he likes cold oat meal, but that’s what he had to have.

I kissed him, despite that he was still reeking of her perfume, and suggested we have some nice-nice in bed, but since he was tired out from the naughty-naughty in bed with her, he said he was too tired to poke me.

Dear Diary, I’m getting desperate.  I haven’t been poked in nearly a year.

I think I found out who Bianca is; she’s “kpete” on Skins’s island, the copy-and-paste queen, the one who’s loaded with both cash and real-estate, living in one of the most exclusive neighbor hoods of San Diego.

That repulsive franksolich mooned eight more members of Skins’s island last night.  He thinks he’s insulting them, but five of them—five so far—have admitted they’d hit on him, even if they knew he was franksolich.

Some day he's going to get his come uppance, because three of them are guys.

Right-wing ass.  Ugh.  But I’d like to see it, Dear Diary, to judge for myself.

[md11hydmec]

....Three of them guys.... 
These are good. Great job!

[Boudicca]

the copy-and-paste queen of Skins's island ...yeah, that's the ticket...you can make it easy on yourself, just copy and paste a few lines from a romance novel....with a few corrections of course.

"She He went limp in his her arms as he she  ........"

OR, he went limp when he saw her.

[RWKindaGuy]

Oh, crap.  Now I'm hooked on The Secret Diaries of Nadin.  Great writing, Frank.

[franksolich]

16 September 2011.  Dear Diary:  A lousy night last night.

Hubby came home and gave me a large bouquet of roses.

But then he said he was “too tired” to hop around in the sack.

Diary, Diary, Dear Diary, I want to be poked; I haven’t been poked for almost a year now.

What does he think I am?  Dirty or something?

After he left to go back to the office—he said he has to work late, but I know what’s going on—I checked the flowers again.  He’d swiped them from a funeral procession or something, because there was a ribbon he’d for gotten to take off, WITH DEEPEST SYMPATHY.

Oh, Diary.  I’m going nuts.  I need to be poked.

I want to be poked so bad I can scream.

That creep franksolich mooned Stinky again last night.

I haven’t seen the picture, but I can imagine what a right-wing ass looks like; it’s not a pretty sight.

I saw the man from Nebraska today, while downtown.  Oh, Diary, there’s a man who can poke me any time he wants to, and I bet he’s a non-stop poker.  He was walking along the sidewalk, dispensing alms to the poor.  Being a charitable guy’s nice, but it’s even nicer that he’s so nice-looking.

My girl friend insists that he’s actually BannedFromDU, a close friend of the creep franksolich, but still, that doesn’t explain the Nebraska license-plates on his car.  The mys tery deepens.

[franksolich]

Oh, crap.  Now I'm hooked on The Secret Diaries of Nadin.  Great writing, Frank.

I haven't decided where I'm taking this yet, hence the uncertainty in the writing.

I'm trying to let it evolve naturally, to whatever it's supposed to evolve into.

[franksolich]

18 September 2011.  Dear Diary:  Ugh.  Another fight with hubby.

He didn’t like the rice and lentils I served him for supper tonight; never mind that I’m far too busy with my higher calling of illuminating the common little people, and don’t have the time to cook other than a few minutes standing over a couple of boiling pots.

And from him, well, I haven’t been poked in almost a year.

I tell you, Dear Diary, I’m a normal hot-blooded woman, and this is driving me nuts.  Every time I pass a fire hydrant on the sidewalk, I feel the need to straddle it, I’m so desperate.

I banned some guy from the despicable franksolich’s hangout from my site yesterday; these right-wing jerks are really a nuisance, and I wish they’d go away, leave me alone.  I will be listened to, I shall carry on, despite them.  It’s my destiny in life.

And then also last night, the despicable franksolich mooned half the population of Illinois.  He was trying to get the notice of Don from Skins’s island.  I dunno if he did, but he got a lot from Illinois looking.

He’s a slippery character, franksolich.  He mentions something, a harmless comment, and then waits until the regular audience has come and gone, leaving only lurkers to read what he’s written.  And then he modifies the comment, showing his bare ass to the lurkers.  Since he modifies rather than adds a comment, the regular audience isn’t aware of the change, thus keeping his reputation among them as a nice guy, and he catches lurkers by surprise.

It’s rather crude and juvenile, although I’ve heard from those who’ve seen it, that it’s a nice ass, and that it’s too bad it belongs to a Karl Rove operative than to one of us.  I haven’t seen it.

[seahorse513]

well, dang Nadine!!! I haven't seen Frank's derriere either!!

[franksolich]

well, dang Nadine!!! I haven't seen Frank's derriere either!!

I'm sneaky about it, for good reason; I don't want to hurt the reputation of conservativecave, even though it's only a PG picture.

Is franksolich ever going to moon nadin?

No, no way, not at all.

And for the same reason that, when the greenbriar primitive was lurking towards the picture (I had put it up to moon the Die alte Sau), I immediately deleted it; some primitive women are so fragile, so mentally unstable, so emotionally distraught, that such a sight would discombobulate them even more.

This moon's in total eclipse for nadin.

[franksolich]

19 September 2011.  Dear Diary:  I am s-o-o-o-o mad at hubby.

Last night, for his supper, I dumped some raw macaroni straight from the bag and cold beans from the can into a bowl, and told him I was too busy to cook for him, that he’d have to do it himself.

Hubby got all bent out of shape about it, but doesn’t see I have higher obligations, more important responsibilities, than just making him a warm meal.  Humanity begs, cries, pleas, for my Wisdom and Insight, and the whole of humanity seeking answers is more than just hubby, one man.

Illumination of humanity is a 24/7/365 sort of job, more important than mundane domestic chores.

Diary, I don’t know why he doesn’t understand that.

And then earlier today, the two of us were walking down the sidewalk when a man with a television camera approached us.  He asked hubby what he thought about the grocery store strike, and hubby said he was against it.

Then the man with the camera turned to me, asking the same question.

Hubby butted in front, and said, “She’s my wife, and she’s against it too.”

[franksolich]

20 September 2011.  Dear Diary:  Another fight with hubby tonight, when he wanted supper.

I gave him a box of corn starch and a package of saltine crackers, and told him to make it him self.

He stormed out of the house, probably to go over to kpete’s luxury mansion with its triple supersized waterbed, to romp with her.

Oh, Diary, it’s very frustrating.  He doesn’t under stand that while I love him, loving him is only my second priority in life, illuminating the great unwashed masses is my first.

I’ve got no time to cook for one man, to do the laundry and vacuuming and errand-running, when there’s so much more of the ignorant ‘mericans begging, pleading, crying, for my superior wisdom and insight.

That creep franksolich hasn’t been at his favorite hang out very much the past few days—he made a swipe at grouchy Don’s memory, but that’s about it—and so I’m getting nervous.  When the creep’s out where everybody can see him, hanging out there, we all know what he’s up to.  But when he’s not around, some mischief’s afoot, and I wonder what it is.

[franksolich]

21 September 2011.  Dear Diary: Yet another argue ment with hubby.

He says the clothes haven’t been washed, the floors swept, the dishes cleaned, the bed made, the trash taken out, for a few months now, and that this place is becoming a pig-sty because I won’t do anything other than sit at the computer all day.

He’s a stupid man, Diary; he doesn’t under stand.

I, Nadina, was made for bigger things than just being his wife.

Destiny chose me, Nadina, to be an Oracle, a Prophetess, a Seeress, a Divine.

I’ve got no time for the chores of ordinary people.

When he wanted supper last night, I told him to look in the cup boards, and make something out of that.  He complained there was nothing in there but a box of table-salt and a box of powdered pan cake mix, and what was he to do with that? 

I told him to “be creative,” and he stormed out of the place.

Oh little man, of such little imagination!

The creep franksolich continues to be away from his hang out, other than for a few minutes here and there.  Something’s up.  It’s best that he’s there all the time, so one can keep one’s eyes on him.  When he’s not there, he’s up to no good.

I decided to start a dossier on franksolich, Diary, but to be honest, there’s not much about him on the internets; no criminal record, no credit record, no drug-and-alcohol record, no driving record.  He’s a blank sheet, just his name and nothing else.  And he doesn’t belong to any social networks, although it appears he’s a frequent topic of dis cussion in some of them.

What I know at the moment—and it’s a good start, Diary—is from what hippywife, warpy, and horsey told me about him.  They after all met him in real life, as told in “Mrs. Alfred Packer does Labor Day”—and they met him up close and real personal, especially warpy, who actually seduced him.

[franksolich]

22 September 2011.  Dear Diary:  Hubby continues to vex me, Dear Diary, by his constant demands that I be his slave rather than his wife.  This morning, he yelled at me because he couldn’t find a pair of clean socks, and the last time I’d cleaned anything was in February.  He said he was tired of going to work in dirty socks that were stiffer than boards.

He just doesn’t under stand, Diary; Nadina was made for the world, not for hubby.

Doing laundry is for little people; only a few can speak from the mountaintop.

And last night, when he yelled for supper, I told him to take something out of the fridge.  He said there wasn’t anything in there but an old carrot and a bottle of vinegar.  I yelled back at him that cooking’s only for little people to do, that I, Nadina, would be depriving the planet of my greater gifts if I wasted my time cooking for him.

Dear Diary, if it wasn’t for his income, I’d leave him in a second.

And he hasn’t poked me for almost a year; instead, he’s always going over to the rich bitch kpete’s mansion to poke her, on that acre-sized waterbed in the bedroom with mirrors on the ceiling.

That creep franksolich continues to be absent from his hang out, other than a few minutes here and there to check up on things.  Diary, I know, I just know, he’s up to something.

I deep-googled franksolich to find things for his dossier I’m keeping, and I think I hit pay dirt.  It took a long time, as the creep has no criminal record, not even for jay walking or a parking ticket, in all his life.  Never been in front of a judge any more than he’s had tea with the queen.  Never been sued, never sued, a regular Immaculate Mary he is.

I checked his driving record.  He’s had drivers licenses since he was 15 years old, Diary, in Nebraska, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey.  Nothing, not a thing, on any of his records, not even a warning for going too fast.  Not even a fender bender or parking lot scratch.

Now, Dear Diary, nobody, but nobody, can possibly drive that many years without something happening, some random negli gence or care less ness at least, and so I googled his car insurance, thinking maybe he doesn’t drive much.  But according to google, his policy’s for a “100,000+ miles per year” driver—and get this, Diary, he pays only $84.36 in insurance every six months!

No.

But I did find some dirt on him, Dear Diary, and I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.

[seahorse513]

Dang Frank, you should be cannonized!!!!

[franksolich]

Dang Frank, you should be cannonized!!!!

Well, not quite, madam.

I do have a blemish on my record.

Check back for tomorrow's entry.

[franksolich]

23 September 2011.  Dear Diary:  Yet another argue ment with hubby.  Argue ments with him are becoming a daily event now.  I wish he would under stand.  He’s married to a special woman, a woman whose destiny in life is to Enlighten the Masses, not to just be his wife.

When he came home today, he noticed I had taken our wedding picture out of its frame, and put in one of myself, Nadina, looking longingly into the distance.  He was upset, even after I told him that was the best frame here, and I deserved the best.  He also noticed I had taken out pictures from other frames, and put in ones of myself, in various poses as a Seeress, an Oracle, a Prophetess.

Nadina with a halo, an aura.

I, Nadina, deserve a shrine, and I hope to get a better one than this crummy place; with tall looming columns and atria and all that.

Anyway, Dearest Diary, while that’s something, as I already told you, there’s some good dirt on franksolich.

I deep-googled the creep’s income tax records, from the IRS archives.

He didn’t file his income taxes for 1993, 1994, and 1995 until 1997.

I pulled up the facsimiles of his returns, and found an electronic image of the letter he’d sent, which went

…..my apologies for being so late with this, but during the years covered here, I was out on the steppes of Russia, out in the middle of nowhere, all by myself, as the attached photocopies of pages from my passport show. 

I had not anticipated income for those years—and it was a pleasant surprise to find I had gotten it—and had not the means to take advantage of this income, and to file tax returns on it.

There are no H&R Blocks in lower Siberia, and for reasons I am sure you would understand, I was rather more preoccupied with other things while wandering around the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants, including that of simply keeping my wits.

I was not aware of this income until I returned to this country, hence my delay in filing.  I hope this is not too large of an inconvenience, and with my good wishes…..

franksolich, income tax evader—now, that’s something to tell everyone on Skins’s island.

Much to my dis appointment, however, he got refunds totalling $224 for those three years, and no penalties.

franksolich, income tax evader—ha!  I have him now, by the balls, Diary!

[franksolich]

24 September 2011.  Dear Diary: Yes, another argue ment with hubby today, when he got the bill from the portrait studio for all those poses taken of I, Nadina.

But never mind, Diary; he stomped out of here and went to see the rich kpete slut, who probably cleans his clothes in her washing machine while he’s poking her in the play ground sized bed in her mansion.

As I wrote you yesterday, Dear Diary, I’ve been deep-googling the creep franksolich, in pre emptive snooping.  Best I snoop first, before he does.

He says he doesn’t do social sites, but I’ve found him registered as a member on four of them, although he’s never posted on them.  He reads them, and replies privately, because others then quote him.

There’s lots of reading on them, but the pictures are more interesting.

There’s one, a small one, with nine members, all guys, who apparently went to college together and lived together, about thirty years ago.  Middle-aged men, professionals, married with families.  Mostly the smug self-satisfied bland happy fundie red-state faces.  Most of the pictures are of them and their wives and children, but there’s some old ones too, from when they were in college.

A ribald group they must have been, Dear Diary, expressing themselves as if they’re still ex uberant frat boys in college.  Probably their wives don’t know the face book page exists.  Most of the pictures seem to be groups of people at parties they held, boys and girls all getting drunk.  I would be ashamed of how I was back then, if I had been one of them.  Lots of male chauvinist locker-room talk. 

There’s one, dated “1980,” of the creep, and oh! Dearest Diary.

Oy.

He’s walking into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, and doesn’t know some one has a camera.  He’s got nothing on excepting a pair of skimpy under pants.

Oy.

[franksolich]

25 September 2011.  Dear Diary: Hubby seems to have disappeared.  It’s now a day and a half since he was last here, and I can’t find any edible food in the place.  I need him to go grocerie shop ping because I’m too busy illuminating the ignorant masses, the little people.

And I’ve been busy, hanging all those framed photo graphs of myself all over the place.  So far I’ve put 116 of them on the walls, and still have 87 more to hang.  The problem is, Dear Diary, I’m running out of wall.  Hubby isn’t going to like it when I demand a bigger place with more walls, but I, Nadina, deserve a bigger shrine than this.

I’m still deep-googling the jerk franksolich, Dear Diary, so as to keep ahead of him googling me.

Last night, I checked the State Department, to see what they had on him.

He’s had four passports, Diary, and there were electronic images of all them.

His second and fourth passports are the most interesting.  The second passport, on the amendments page, has one of those lazy passers signed by a captain in the Royal Marines at Stranraer, Scotland, but it seems angrily crossed out a few days later by a “Deputy Chief Constable” of the “RUC,” with the notation that the lazy passer is null and void.

I wonder what was up with that, Diary.

And there’s his fourth passport—he apparently now has a fifth—from the midd 1990s, with pages and pages of stamped visas in Russian and Ukrainian.  The first visa was issued by the Ukrainian embassy in Washington, and all the others in Ukraine and Russia.

It’s curious, Dear Diary, those other visas.  There’s a couple signed and stamped by OVIR, the Ukrainian foreign ministry, but there’s many more signed and stamped by the MVS, colonels usually.  Six of them, with differing dates.  And the Russian visas, stamped and signed by the FSB and GRU, including one lieutenant general. 

Hmmmm.

It’s very odd, that these are police permits, and not foreign ministry visas.

[Traveshamockery]

This is the first time I have read Nadin's diary. Quite fascinating!

 

[franksolich]

This is the first time I have read Nadin's diary. Quite fascinating!

 

I had to somewhat alter the main story-line, though, some days ago.

I'd always thought nadin's husband was a Navy officer, because one time she referred to him as "the submarine commander."

Apparently that was just a term of endearment, and her husband's a retired Navy enlisted man.

And so I had to abruptly without notice change his character.

A nice, undemanding, modest guy now, he seems; the salt of the earth.

[seahorse513]

I had to somewhat alter the main story-line, though, some days ago.

I'd always thought nadin's husband was a Navy officer, because one time she referred to him as "the submarine commander."

Apparently that was just a term of endearment, and her husband's a retired Navy enlisted man.

And so I had to abruptly without notice change his character.

A nice, undemanding, modest guy now, he seems; the salt of the earth.

I vote we put up a shrine to him!! what a narcisstic bitch she is!!

[franksolich]

26 September 2011.  Dear Diary: Hubby’s been gone now for two and a half days.  I got desperate for groceries, but I can’t let up on my destiny of enlightening the little people, so I payed the lady who lives next door to get some for me, forty dollars plus the cost of the groceries.

Distractions, distractions, distractions.

Keeping I, Nadina, away from my important work.

I got a bundle of new photographs of I, Nadina, from the studio today, and had to go to Hobby Lobby to buy some more picture frames.  There’s one of I, Nadina, gazing at the stars, another of I, Nadina, addressing the unwashed multitudes, I, Nadina, laying my hands, I, Nadina, surrounded by a halo, I, Nadina, counseling the Wise Ones, I, Nadina, glowing with light, I, Nadina, walking on water.

And many more; the one I don’t like is that of I, Nadina, riding an ass through a filthy crowd of poor people waving palm trees at me.  The one I like best is of I, Nadina, holding a swan.

After my last visit, Hobby Lobby’s going to have to re plenish their inventory of picture frames.

Diary, I tried last night to google the ass hole franksolich’s record with the federal OPM, but this time I hit a brick wall.  It won’t let me go there, and says the information’s not covered by the FOIA, so tough luck.

I do know that OPM carried a long in vestigation into franksolich in 1997, the up shot being that in the end, he was granted a very high level of national security clearance.  Out of the 512 people he worked with at the time, only he and two other guys, very senior in the bureau crazy, had this high of a level.

It’s very strange, though, Dear Diary; he never seems to stick around long, wherever he goes.  The place he lives now, he’s lived there only since September 2005, and that’s the longest time he’s ever been at one place since he was a child.  All the other places he’s been, he’s been there only one, two, or three years, and then moved on.

His jobs, the same thing.  It looks as if some day he just decides he doesn’t care for the job any more, gives his 30 days’ notice, and then quietly leaves.  I’m getting this idea that he’s the sort who’s here today, gone tomorrow.

[Chris_]

Needs more typos.

[GOBUCKS]

I only just discovered the diaries, hidden away in this dark corner. I'm only about a quarter of the way through, but so far, outstanding.

I have only one quibble. Mr. nadin is working now on his undergraduate degree. His wife is unemployable, and a high school diploma doesn't go far in the land of fruits and nuts.

No one with the character and intelligence to attend the Naval Academy would look twice at nutcase nadin, unless it was the first day ashore after six months submerged at sea. Even in that case, a gag and a bag would be in order.

[Traveshamockery]

I only just discovered the diaries, hidden away in this dark corner. I'm only about a quarter of the way through, but so far, outstanding.

I have only one quibble. Mr. nadin is working now on his undergraduate degree. His wife is unemployable, and a high school diploma doesn't go far in the land of fruits and nuts.

No one with the character and intelligence to attend the Naval Academy would look twice at nutcase nadin, unless it was the first day ashore after six months submerged at sea. Even in that case, a gag and a bag would be in order.

What?  Nadin only has a high school education?  The way she speaks about herself, one would think she's been a professional student.  Otherwise, her use of grammar and poor spelling indicates she barely made it out of the 6th grade.