Monthly Archives: October 2017

Sportsball!

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Sports are a funny thing. Sports, in my opinion, have the power to bring people together- they can be the great unifier. Sports as a rule, doesn’t differentiate- rich, poor, young, old, impaired, sober, it matters not. Sports wants you. You can have a biker, a priest and a CEO jumping up and down screaming and smiling because their team just scored the winning run in the 11th inning of game two to tie up the world series. I’m sitting here watching the World Series right now. There are people around me who could give a fuck about sportsball, they just want a cocktail. But they are watching. They are watching because it’s on and because it is exciting. It’s not exciting because it’s on, but because the people around them that give a fuck are excited! They are invested in whether the guy who made it to second with two outs will be stranded or if the young kid at the plate will come through and rope a hit long enough to bring him in and tie it up. It’s not about what’s happening on the field it’s about the energy around them… the people around them. Sports does that. Even more so championship sports does that. But sports is also the great equalizer. I sat there and watched a prissy socialite smack her hands against the bar “GO TEAM GO!” Over and over… until she frenzied the rest of the bar into her cause and into her corner thereby wooing her prey (in this case) into submission. That’s the thing, sports demands attention. It takes it. So why not use it.

Sportsball can transform people too… you have Mamoo and Nana (who by day have many grandchildren!) and lead normal lives. Maybe even boring to most. Not so much at their yearly Seattle vs whomever NFL game, trying to check another stadium off their list. Yep, they have a bucket list of stadiums to visit. And Mamoo is FIERCE. Don’t get between that bitch and her Seahawks. But call her a bitch and you’ll find yourself hitin the deck. (I’ll be first in line to punch you). You’ll find these amazing (did I mention tiny) ladies are mostly drunk, (not gonna lie, I fucking love that!) swearin’ like I do (love that too!) and havin’ the time of their lives. No men tellin them how to be fans, just two friends who have raised families and loved and lost and live life day to day- on their terms… they sports it up on their terms too. And they love the sport they may or may not have been introduced to by their husbands, but it is theirs now. Maybe this was always their sport. Maybe they loved all the sports. But now is not the time to get into politics.. whether they wanted to like football, whether they wanted to like this team, whether they are still fans… all we know is they are women, in a mans world and they FUCKING REPRESENT… LIKE BOSSES. Well Fuck Yeah Mamoo!

Lets be real… there many sports to watch. Football and Futbal- soccer… incidentally the most popular sport in the world. All. of. it. Not just the US or Europe you elitist bitches, but the whole fucking thing. I could give a shit less about a bunch of people running for 90+ minutes for 2 or 3 whole points but whatevs, I am not gonna judge (in this case). Enjoy a sport, be inspired to play. But don’t be fooled into thinking those players are role models for your life. They are not. There’s this idea that athletes- check that professional athletes- are gods. That they are these people we should teach our children to emulate. WHY?? Because they play sports on TV? Because they have a big salary? Guess what?!? Money and sports prowess does not a role model make. Sure I can get behind workin out everyday but that’s it. Running fast and kicking far and being strong does not mean you are a good example for kids. Making the world a better place by taking some of the multi-millions of dollars you earn being bigger,faster,stronger… that does. Believing in something and standing behind isn’t on top… that’s good stuff.

So whether or not you like sports is okay with me. I don’t like them all. But I appreciate the way they bring people together in a world that likes to be divided. So cheer on sports fans. YAY SPORTSBALL!!

Update! RDCV

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Sometimes it’s just like that… one day you are entering the 300th invoice of the day for the crazy lady who thinks you suck because you didn’t enter 301 and you wonder what you did to karma. Then you realize you are smarter, more capable and oh yeah, way better looking than she is, thus you threaten her. Time to roll bitches! So you do. Possibly landing face first onto the asphlat (I will neither confirm nor deny how many times). So… dusty dusty shaky shaky and rolling forward. I landed myself a new career. And gusdammit if I’m not pretty good at it to boot.

On the days when I am not herding cats I’m pretty sure I am actually just the ringmaster of the shitshow. (No that isn’t mine… thanks BlueQ!) I ended up stumbling my way into what may the most misogynistic industry ever… Okay, maybe not the most, but for sure top 5 or 3, yeah 3. I would say commercial fishing or oil-rigs have fewer women, but I can’t think of many industries less welcoming to women than trucking, yet here I am. Not that it’s been all shits and giggles. (See what I did there?? You missed me you know you did!)

I started at what I thought was the worst place ever. Not the job, the dude. An under-cover woman hater. Boy-next-door good looks, all-american with the wife and volleyball team of crotch-fruit. Can’t be bad right? He hired me and I’m a loud opinionated bitch! Oh wait, not always… loud. So I endured that because the work was fun. It was a lot like babysitting and being a big sister and playing tetris. Only with big-ass men and 53′ trucks loaded at 40 tons. Plus there was some juicy shit happening with the wife and the bff. Popcorn worthy. Then one day I find myself sold off like so much cargo. He sold the trucks and threw in the humans too. So not the worst place ever… it was about to get worse real quick like.

There I was in my new work nightmare home with my new work overlords family. I am going to skip this for another time because frankly I could spend hours on it. New boss man made boy next door look like a girl. He didn’t hide his contempt for me and the fact that I had ‘no place in trucking’. It didn’t matter that I was bringing in new customers on reputation or making insane margins. All that mattered was what was missing between my legs. Oh well, his loss. Within an hour of leaving the office that last day I had 4 job offers from customers. And I’ve made it my passion to contact all the customers I had and offer them service at better rates than they had before. Because newsflash motherfucker… they are too big to fit between my legs, I have to strap them to my chest.

In the end I pushed past all that shit and end-rounded the stereo types. I escaped the super sexist assholes at the places I worked- where I went from an under-cover, nice to your face, guy next door misogynist… to an overt, balls-out -or you lack the proper equipment to play in my sandbox- women hater. But now… Life is amazing. I have a bad-ass bitch of a boss (she’s not even a bitch at all… more of a dick really. Again, another post entirely.) and an epic owner who wants me to succeed. So I am.

Ridin’ the Scales

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The BiPolar Express game board has an update. I figured it was more a game and less a ride when I found out about the judgmental motherfuckers judges but we’ll get there later. It is definitely still an analog board so at least I can play along, I can keep up and my rose colored glasses are firmly mostly secure. Right now I can’t find the name of this updated addition but it has hills and scales and some other junk… I can’t really tell what sort of hell attraction this is but I’m scared excited.

There are many judges and they are disguised in several forms to keep you on your toes, never knowing when you will be under their scrutiny. They also have the ability to go from regular person to judge at any moment without warning – effectively shapeshifting without changing shape. You get scenarios and have to navigate through, coming out unscathed by the judges. I know you are excited about this and ready to play along- even though you don’t know the rules. But since I don’t know either… boom! Ready?

Here is the caveat… judges are not given training and they are not pre screened for mental defect. Also, judgment is on a gradient scale with many factors to the scale. I don’t know how the scale is formed but here is what I know… it can be ass. You think you are good and you are suddenly hit with a ration of shit. But whatever, it’s BPE2.0 Lets go…

First up- the units have been trudging along their merry life. They are miserable and try to suck you into their life but you resist. For this you are judged- you are not a good child… But you do give. You replace electronics and with one of your sibs pay bills and fix things as needed. For this you are judged- you are a good child… But you don’t come around. You don’t call and you don’t like them. How dare you not come around and be sucked into the vortex of grump? How dare you work hard and earn a living and better yourself and your situation while allowing them to stay stifled in their own…. You are continuously judged because you have neither done well enough by them nor for them. By bettering yourself, you now “think you are better than us”. ?!? But if you deny something they have requested you must not be doing well enough because you can’t even spare a few dollars but you can spend $500 here or whatever there…. You should not spend your money how you like. Judgement: Fail

Next up: Wait… I think I found an exit door. Maybe it will get me to pizza and they will have beer. I will investigate. Because I’m pretty sure I will lose the game if I don’t go medicate.

#truth

It’s All About Me

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It seems lately I don’t want to do much of anything. Obviously I haven’t been writing, or I wouldn’t have that awful lag time between this and my last post. And that old adage that depression breeds creativity may have been real at one point but right now it feels like bullshit. Right now I want to create… a nest of blankets and take a nap. I want to go to sleep and catch up on what feels like 3 years of deprivation. I want to create a mind that doesn’t feel the stress and frustration of actual adulting. I want to create a bridge between how I used to create and now, so I can go back and drag its ass to the present.

Sitting down to write used to be fun. I wanted to spend more time at the keys than most other things. I thought of shit to say all the time. And I didn’t give a shit about who read it. If I was talking about you, oh well. You probably earned it. Chances are you earned worse than what I said, but I was being kind-ish. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch but its relative. Then people sorted out who I really was. In my actual life. My anonymous outlet ceased to be an outlet but a chore. It became an exercise in ways to disguise my truth. I don’t want to disguise my truth.

My truth isn’t always kind. My truth is that I get legitimately hurt by people in my life and my efforts to sort that out include writing about how painful it is. If seeing your actions hurts, maybe you shouldn’t take those actions. My truth is sometimes judgmental because as much as we try, sometimes we are judgmental. Sometimes its okay and sometimes its not. But its my truth. I am okay with it. Because sometimes I learn when I bear it.

So I don’t want to shroud my truth in bullshit. If you can’t read it, then don’t. I am not going to apologize for my truth. No, I am not going to start calling out names and using places and telling people where I live. But if you already know, fine. Suck it up and understand that sometimes it is about you. Sometimes it is not. Either way, this is my truth.