the slope

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I don’t think I’m boring, well, maybe I am boring. I never used to think I was boring. Okay I’m not its just one of those days.

Sometimes its like that when you are sitting listening to your friend talk about her life and things… I think I may have fallen off into the abyss of canned pears in heavy syrup boring. I never used to think that. I never used to think I was vanilla but lately when I look in my closet at the 25 long sleeved plain colored layering t-shirts I start to think there is a distinct possibility mensa may skip my house in favor of other applicants (mine were written in sharpie you know, color makes a statement).

So lately I’ve been feelin a little on the short scale of the bell curve. I’m feelin kinda like that kid who’s friends point over there, then swipe his chocolate milk because he looks, over there, every time. And then wonders where the hell he put his chocolate milk.

Today is a blue day. A Vanilla blue day. My real life is full of amazing and creative and brilliant and fearless people. I have been on a mission to slough of those that suck away my own creative energy… and yet still… today.

I feel like I am staring through the window watching the cool kids. I’m wearing my cute clothes that make me have a girl shape and I am here, staring… watching through the window hoping that instead of just wandering out on occasion to say hi or chat or get away from the annoying bitch they came with and laugh with me for a minute, they’ll want me to come in… and hang out, sit at their table. Maybe some of whatever it is they have will spill onto my plate and it will make me feel less small. Maybe I won’t feel so weak and vanilla. Maybe I will remember how it used to be to be pink. Yesterday. And then I can get out of this bed and pick up that magazine from the New York Times Sunday Paper that keeps taunting me, and I can remember…

 

WoW: FuckSox Friday on Wednesday

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A Blank page is staring at me. It’s been this way for a week and it’s unnerving. There’s this unseen pressure about where to start and what to fill it with. So I go read other peoples pages… oops, not the best idea really… now there is a further desire to be funny or profound or informative or shit just funny… But I have a story and FuckSox Friday needs to have some stuff in it stockings. I have some crazy shit to share, shit that makes the track of my bipolar express, and this may be the push I need to do it. So I will attempt to make the page not blank. As always keep your rose colored glasses handy.

Becca had this lovely flow, this prose-esk way of writing her Familial Friday and starting with “I remember…” I love that. It took me with her back to her space, along with her to her memory. I don’t have anything quite so lovely, but I have something familiar. Sorry it’s not short, but then, we were told word count wasn’t the goal (yay for you!)

Write on Wednesday: Make it Better…

A FuckSox Friday piece on a Wednesday.

Sometimes it’s just like that… you’re almost 12 and your Mom is doing her best to embarrass you with her dead on Billy Martin impression. She’s screaming at the ump at home plate because the opposing catcher kicked you with her shin-guards in a futile attempt to keep you from scoring the winning run for your team. Little did miss catcher girl know that your 6′ tall mother, who was managing your team, would have no problem charging the field, picking you up and sitting your blubbering ass on the plate, before screaming at the ump with her thick and getting thicker Boston accent (this is California – they think you are making sexual advances when you just want to eat your lunch) about how little miss shin splints should be banned for life for unnecessary roughness. (um I think that’s a different sport ma, but thank you for playing) At this point you have gone into full asthmatic meltdown and the fact that you can’t breathe is barely enough to cover your shame ad embarrassment. Your mom is ejected from the field, your dad has no idea how to handle any of it and you are really thankful that someone’s mom knows that you put ice on a shin to keep it from swelling and had enough sense to find your inhaler.

This was pretty much the end of my oh-so-illustrious softball career. The point where I became known as “that lady’s daughter” or “hey, isn’t your mom the one that…” and my favorite… “dude, you got totally boned at home plate and your mom is a badass!” I admit I was not the greatest athlete, but I enjoyed the game. Over time when playing here and there, I even learned to deal with my nicknames having to be printed in a mini-font and taking the entire back of my jersey… I learned to embrace being her daughter.

As I’ve grown older I learned that Billy Martin Ma wasn’t reserved for the softball field. She is a protective bitch (probably the only time you will hear or see bitch and my mom in the same sentence and it is a respect thing). In fact being protective is a trait she passed down to me, kinda like being ‘her daughter’ would follow me always. Just like looking back on the incident that day, being her daughter isn’t a bad thing. It is a major part of what has shaped me. I don’t sit on the bench and watch those I love get kicked in the shins by some stupid bitch in plastic guards. I don’t give a shit if I get kicked out for saying what I think is right even if my voice is sometimes at the wrong tone. And even though I may not be in the best place with her at that moment, I am never ashamed to be introduced as her daughter. Because sometimes it’s just like that… you get totally boned by life one way or another only to realize your mom is still a badass.

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 18 – Look through your previous WoW posts (or select a short writing piece that you would like to work on). Read through your piece carefully and let’s attempt to make it better. Look for redundant words, clichés or overused phrases. Chop and change. This is not an exercise in word count; it’s not about simply whittling it down. Make it a better piece of writing. Post your original and edited piece. THEN, throw it to the*wolves. Ask for advice from WoWers. With  help you can make your writing shine. **

Original:

A Blank page is staring at me.

 

It’s been this way for a week and it’s unnerving. There’s this unseen pressure about where to start and what to fill it with. So I go read other peoples pages… oops, not the best idea really… now there is this pressure to be funny or profound or informative… But I told Becca last week on her post I wanted to steal Familial Friday. (Probably because if I called it FuckSox Friday no one would know what it was about… or think it about something else entirely! Maybe I don’t care and FuckSox Friday it shall be.) I have some crazy shit to share, beyond my normal bi-polar express, and this may be the push I need to do it. So I will attempt to make the page not blank. As always keep your rose colored glasses handy.

 

Sometimes it’s just like that… You’re goin on 12, and your Mom is doing her best Billy Martin impression with the ump at home plate because the opposing catcher kicked you with her shin-guards in a futile attempt to keep you from scoring (what would ultimately be) the winning run for your team. Little did she know that your 6′ tall mother, who was managing your team, would have no problem charging the field, picking you up, sitting your blubbering ass on the plate before screaming at the ump with her thick and getting thicker Boston accent (this is California – they think you are making sexual advances when you just want to eat your lunch) about little miss shin splints should be banned for life for unnecessary roughness. (um I think that’s a different sport, but thank you for playing) At this point you have gone into full asthmatic mode and can’t breathe, your mom is ejected from the field, your dad has no idea how to handle any of it and you are just thankful that someone’s mom knows that you put ice on a shin to keep it from swelling and found your inhaler.

This was close to the end of my oh-so-illustrious softball career. The point where I became known as “that lady’s daughter” or “hey, isn’t your mom the one that…” and my favorite… “dude, you got totally boned at home plate and your mom is a badass!” I admit I am not the greatest athlete, but I enjoyed the game. I even learned to deal with my nicknames having to be printed in a mini-font and taking the entire back of my jersey… I learned to embrace being her daughter.

As I grew older I learned that she was protective and that was a trait she passed down and that being her daughter would follow me always. In my adult life (oh yes, 20+ years later) I learned to get used to being introduced as “her daughter … Oh I just love your mom” or “Have you met sars? no? Oh, she’s her daughter. OH!”

Write On Wednesday

 

welcome to my ride

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Your hands are on your head and your mind is racing and you’re wondering ‘what the fuck, what the FUCK!’ What’s next and why am I standing here staring at my bed in tears wondering why I’m in tears. And why, WHY is a magazine from the Sunday New York Times sticking out from under my bed, ‘did I even read that??’ I need to clean up this mess and edit my closet because I have too many articles of clothing that I just don’t wear and shit dude! I’m so fucking sick of this mess. I can’t see the top of may nightstand (who names these things??) and that nasty drawer-thing by my door should just be burned in favor of a nice little table to set my keys on, because jeezis, that looks like something straight out of a dorm room and 18 years later you need to have a bit more class and a lot college chic.

Hands go back to the head… but not before wiping the tears and blaming yourself for the fact that the rest of your house is in a state of disarray, you have no children to blame, no… you are just a lazy slob, despite the fact you are not the only person in the house.

Okay, so maybe your mind isn’t doing this but mine is. well was, a few minutes ago. (did I mention this happened in the span of about 4 minutes?) The cycle continues and is repeats itself. Recognizing it, well, doesn’t stop the fucking cyclone from crashing through my bedroom er psyche, but I protected my shoes, so its okay this time. And it doesn’t just happen over the state of cleanliness in my house. Oh noooo. This is just one little trigger, one lever to shift the car down the track toward the scary loop-d-loop that I certainly didn’t sign up for (did I mention spinning gives me migraines?!?) but… We choose how to deal with the ride we’re on. So I try to remember the rose colored glasses I stashed in my seat pocket (and the meds so conveniently stashed next to them). Now that I know I’m on this ride, recognize it has traps that are trying to make me look like that crazy person who walks around talking to herself with tinfoil on her head, it’s gotten better. On occasion, I can even see the vortex of anxious coming and at least brace myself. Sometimes, I can’t, but it’s always an adventure, if not for me then it is for those close to me.

I am sparing the innocent victims of my blithering mess from having to endure public ridicule, shame or worse, pity for me to tell my story, by giving too many details or focusing on it too often. That’s the point of this really. Its my story, my life, the ride I’m on. Its my bi-polar express, two point oh (they gave me an upgrade, the original didn’t come with the anxiety package and the mania just didn’t match my shoe collection).

So lease keep track of your rose colored glassed and if you find the blinggy ones… those are mine. They fell off during my last spin in the vortex.

 

Thanks to Becca for Familial Friday which I will be calling Fucksox Friday because I have to give it my own twist… Like posting my first one on Tuesday. Because I lag.

3am…

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She worries about how cold it is and how lonely he must feel outside.
Every time she pushes him to that place and he turns from her.
She screams at him ‘let me in.’
And he stares at her with that blank look that says ‘…I just, I just can’t.’

And he walks away.
So she stands there… spent. For what seems like days.
Waiting for something, anything.
Crying tears that leave sandpaper trails on her cheeks.
Wondering if this was too far to push…
this time.

They are both hurt, scared, alone.

The mirror shows the blinking clock by their bed, it’s late.
But he’s across the house, alone in another room, hurting within himself.
The tears have dried, their mark only visible in the bags beneath her eyes and when she looks in the mirror.
Softly the rain begins to fall.

She goes to him, lying there in the dark, listening to the sound of the rain.
Beside him, she hopes for tomorrow, and the sleep comes.
Finally the sleep comes to them.

[youtube]http://youtu.be/jcgunQft0Tc[/youtube]

3am performed by Rob Thomas (I don’t like the video but this is the acoustic version from story tellers where he gives the real background… kinda defeating the purpose. but for those of you who need the eye candy find him here.)

Thanks to  ink paper pen for this weeks prompt.

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 16:
Hadge says: Take a favorite (or even random play) song and write the story behind the lyrics, not something inspired by the lyric, but the flesh on the bones of the story. It gives lots of scope for interpretative writing. Use the lyrics or theme of a song for a piece of flash fiction (50 to 200 words). To clarify, write your version of the story behind the lyrics in a song

Write On Wednesdays

~I don’t write fiction, though this is not entirely true. Of course a bit of a departure from my usual style as its a rather prose-ish piece. ( I really only write poetry when I am at the bar with um a glass of potato juice…) so I am open to anything anyone has to say.

correspondence or some shit

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bro,

You are fucking awesome. Here is a list (in bullet form as I am a nerd) to aid in making my point:

*You are a feminist whereas I am not, I say open my door damnit! But you give me hope that it is not a bad thing to be a feminist and are the only person I can say that about.

*You love unconditionally. It hurts to do that, but you persevere and are a stronger man for it.

*You are a good human. You don’t have to take my word for this, ask others or I can provide letters of reference.

*You follow what you believe and stick to your ideals even when it isn’t easy and makes doing something good really difficult.

*You can punk me out but it doesn’t feel like punking, well most of the time.

*You are intelligent, funny, kind hearted and cute, also very colorful, both literally and figuratively

*oh, yeah… you ran 13.1 miles on a fractured foot to give money to a child with blood cancer pretty sure you should get a medal for that – oh wait.

I don’t need to say more but I can elaborate, for pages.

less than three,
sars

*****

Dear job,

Nevermind. My filter is still working.

grumble.

sars

*****

Dear filter,

Please uninstall yourself so I can get some shit out. I have some anxiety happening up in this bitch and it needs to stop. like now! If you would kindly allow me to remove the gorilla glue so I can just utilize at my leisure I would appreciate it.

now!! kindly,
sars

*****

Dear Matrix,
*not the car

Why can’t I look like the hot chick the ended up breaking her leg performing her own stunts? Without breaking my leg of course. I’m not fat. So maybe I just need to be more bendy. That would be helpful. Is there a red and/or blue pill for that? Please advise.

yours binarily,
sars

*****

dear old ass dude on a bass-ackwards (I hate that phrase too, but really, it applies) tri cycle,
**also wanna-be skater kid, coffee shop hipster and stroller pushing crack mom…

There are rules of the road for a reason, namely your safety. I like to think of myself as a patient person who is understanding. Occasionally you have to endround a rule to keep from becoming a smudge on the pavement, but that is on occasion. Riding or pushing as it were, down or in a one-way street, the wrong way, is not okay and not safe really – especially if say you have a child in a stroller. Rolling out of a driveway, THE WRONG WAY, also not okay. These are ways to insure sudden smooshing under the wheels of my tank car.

And to you specifically old ass dude… I realize you are from an era when dinosaurs took up the entire field and you had to club them with a log to get where you were going and thus you feel some sense of entitlement to take the entire lane… at lunchtime… in the downtown area… going 3(ish) miles per hour, backing up cars for two blocks. But hear me now old dude… You are not entitled to this privilege. Bring a dino and maybe. Hug the cars on the side giving room for my large, but not canyonarrow sized, vehicle to go by you kindly and I will not feel the need to have my passenger door check you or honk unexpectedly as I pass your ear. We can have a peaceful coexistance. Much like you and the brontosaurus once had.

namaste,
sars

*****

you put up with my blithering… here is a treat.

The Black Keys: Howlin for You

[youtube]http://youtu.be/TLSpj7q6_mM[/youtube]

co-ed naked what?

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I don’t normally just re-post something and call it a day. I usually have some fun stuff to say then maybe I link something on occasion. Today… I found myself wishing we had naked sports. Or at least men willing to have fun and people who weren’t annoying and so uptight you could make diamonds in a day. Oh well, I will live vicariously.

Thank you kindly Bextar for the amazing blog and today’s delightful (albeit nauseating) post:

When Scrotum Goes Bad…

I. Am. Dying!

musical tourettes

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I’m not sure about you, but anytime I sit down to write, or read, or cook, or clean, or pick my eeer um movie… anything for that matter, in my head there is a song… I call it (for those of you new to my world) my mindpod. And when the little jack thingy isn’t pushed in all the way, and random lyrics suddenly escape through my piehole as the chick drops off my pay stub -think Johnny Kemp ‘just got pay-ed, Friday ni-eet. Party’s jumpin.. Feelin riiite..’ yeah, totally went there. no. I really went there a couple weeks ago. And the best part is only one person in my office was old enought to have heard that song so I had to send a link to the youtube video to several of them (the ones I like enough anyway) So it then becomes musical tourettes without the odd twitching. Its a family thing the musical tourettes, my brother’s version has lots of obscure punk and my moms has a lot of Eagles, Mama’s & Papa’s, and Little River Band and my sister’s has a lot of well shit, yeah, not gonna lie, it has shit. Then I take a amalgamation of all of them, including the shit, and just spew lyrics at random all over you when you least expect it.

So the last few weeks, the mindpod has been on overtime. But in an I’m-gonna-shufle-you-into-the-recesses-of-shit-you-forgot way. Hence the Johnny Kemp. Today and as I made my way to the barstool, er writing desk, I found myself in a Tom Petty time warp. Nope, not Mary Jane, though maybe that would calm the shit in my head yo, and not American Girl, though I could use some lotion right now. Nooo, I had Refugee… nothing to do with anything at all!! I haven’t even heard that song in for-fucking-ever. Well, the mindpod doesn’t lie so maybe my bipolar sensibilities are trying to tell me something? Or maybe it’s ADD. Because just as I decided I needed to figure out why I was trying to live like a refugee, I no longer felt the need. What the fuck yo??? I need refuge! Shelter! Something, I certainly need calm, Xanax maybe? Is my prescription current? I was at the drugstore. hhmmm. then as soon as it came to my mind, the car was on (it actually started which was a feat in and of itself) and the pod did a mad shuffle and threw me into a totally different place entirely …

“Take a drive baby up the coast, yea highway 101
I’ll pass Ventura and Santa Barbara too, just as fast as my motor runs
Gotta pocket full of memories, some happy and some are sad
Gotta girl standin’ by my side through the good times and the bad
Follow the palm trees under the California sun
I believe in love now, I believe in love again”

Now that’s better. I need a break! Work, life, work. I need to get away and take a drive! Take refuge!!! Holy shit, I’m not crazy and my mindpod did not blow a fuse. Excellent!

See you had this fear I injured my funny bone in a freak pizza tossing accident or my sarcasm font had been disabled, Fear Not! I merely took a break from my usual ranting and shit to contemplate the direction my roller coaster has been veering. Its not always easy adjusting to the sudden gee force changes that come with the bi-polar express ticket. I’m going for a ride this weekend.

yay.

viral

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I was asked “What do you look forward to?” ……………  yeah, I couldn’t answer. It wasn’t that I’m unhappy, I can honestly say I am, for perhaps the first time in a long time. But what do I look forward to? What am I passionate about? All I can ever answer is people and I don’t think that is the answer she was waiting for. I think she was waiting for me to tell her about some up-coming trip (nothing on the books) or my hobby (other than the sporadic rush of verbiage onto screen, I don’t really have much there that is consistent) or some event and I just couldn’t produce.

So there I was, trying to decide whether to cry into my potato juice or eat a pound of bacon. And sometimes its just like that… you are rolling along through the mundane day to day life and someone re-posts a something that thousands of others already have and wham! you are hit in the head like a shit-brickhouse. Your motto for life- that may or may not have served you well- has ceased to exist. So there you are now given a new credo from which to operate. Welcome to my world. That was me ten days ago when someone posted the manifesto from a clothing company in my google+ stream (…. yes I have google+………. and facebook……. and twitter…… I think I have a small problem but I have not gotten to the cyber-stalking-taken-over-my-life-I-post-pics-of-my-food stage so I think I’m good.) anyway, there I was looking at a bunch of food pictures from a friend’s vacation and in the middle of his fish something or other and some cemetery, was the key to things, the cypher so-to-speak. So I adopted all but a couple lines and have decided to make it mine. A mission statement of sorts…

This is your LIFE.
Do what you LOVE, and do it often.
If you don’t like something, change it.
If you don’t like your job, quit.
If you don’t have enough time, stop watching TV.
If you are looking for the LOVE of your LIFE, stop;
They will be waiting for you when you
start doing the things you LOVE.
Stop over analyzing, LIFE is simple.
All emotions are beautiful.
Open your mind, arms, and HEART to new things
and people, we are united in our differences.
Travel often; getting lost will help you find yourself.
Some opportunities only come once, seize them.
LIFE is aout the people you meet, and
the things you create with them
so go out and start creating.
LIFE is short.
LIVE your dream.

Right?!? I find it amazing how a few lines can be so clear and simple and give a renewed sense of forward momentum to what was starting to feel like a stagnant life. I think I can use this to propel me forward to find what I’m “looking forward to”. Life IS short. This is evidenced everyday. I do need to stop over analyzing and remember that emotions are beautiful even when they are complex and I don’t understand them. There are things I don’t like and I am the only one that can change them. No one else can fix my shit and no one else should (how will I learn anything?). I am creative and able to start creating.

This is my LIFE. It is viral and moving forward.

thank you holstee company

its 2am, do you know where your children are?

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Thanks again to inkpaperpen for another Write on Wednesday…

Write On Wednesdays

via fb” “I’m not really sure if I slept at all last night or if I just dreamed of not sleeping… either way there is not enough coffee in the world to wake me up”

I am a notoriously bad sleeper. I am known to be awake at 3 am twiddling my thumbs and wondering why I didn’t just break down and take a sleeping pill say, 6 hours ago. But then oh… that would have required forethought and I don’t do that. Plus there is that whole bait-n-switch thing that happened when they told me ‘no, no… you have to work at 7am not the 8:30 you were promised and just for shits ‘n giggles why don’t you come in at 6am a couple days a week.’ You know, because I am do so well on no sleep and an inability to procure coffee that doesn’t taste like they scraped it out of the bottom of the pot before I have to be shiny and happy on the phone for 8 hours. Maybe I should re-think my strategy. Maybe I should install a key to un-wind my brain or maybe I should subscribe to my brother’s method of relaxation and start subjecting myself to reality tv! That’s enough to lobotomize you or in the very least give you enough pause to (does the weighing air gesture) remember,oh wait! I have tea, and a hot bath or my friend zanax or even a really long stick to shove up my nose so I don’t have to suffer through this! yay. Go to bed snookie.