Tag Archives: my friends are my energy

check in

By | | , , , , ,
Leave a comment

I feel like lately I have been asked some strange questions that you don’t get asked before you are 40. I’ve been asked if I’m working out more than before, because you know… Metabolism. I’ve been asked if my husband is okay with the extra pounds that forty gave me. I’ve been asked about potty habits and if I’m sad because I’m too old now… To you know… (Hushed voice) have babies.

First of all, NO, I don’t fucking work out more, I don’t work out at all because frankly, I don’t have time. I actually work. Like a job. You know, that place you go to earn money so you can have a roof over your head, and food on your plate, and blankets on your bed and all the techno gadgets that keep you connected to the people you may not even want to talk to but do anyway because… life! And if you are lucky, you have programmed the gadgets (by you I mean the smart tech peoples) not to tell you what the cheeto said this week that is slowly making you cray-town. Otherwise you may throw said gadget and cause yourself to have to work at said job more than you already do. When I find time to work out, I’ll let someone know, and they will find me on the beach where the cabana boy will be bringing me a series of tasty adult beverages and I will be doing some lifts- of those drinks to my mouth.

Second, I don’t have a fucking husband! I am happily NOT married, for ten years, to an amazing, difficult, handsome, exceedingly intelligent, ridiculously emotionally unkempt, absolutely perfectly imperfect human. He loves me in spite of myself. I love him sometimes to spite myself and other times to keep myself sane because he may be the only reason I am. And (third, if we are counting) he hasn’t pressured me to have crotch fruit. He doesn’t need a fuck trophy to mark the decade he’s put up with my crazy ass. He didn’t ask for one at the 5 year mark even though he may have thought they might be a fun adventure. If he does want a trophy- I will totally allow some breeding with a hot sars stand in. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was handsome. Chicks propo him him on the daily (look at me using current jargon) but he doesn’t even give them a second. He comes home and snuggles up… to his not wife (who doesn’t work out). The not wife who has stayed for ten years of things. The things no one else can know. And that is what matters.

Finally… don’t even fucking start with the potty habits. You have no idea what this bitch has been through. I have been sliced and diced and teased about the the cauliflower and apertures… If you haven’t had your brother and your best girl photo texting you pics of things that may look worse than your ass to make you feel better about the sate of your union, well… you can’t step to potty talk with this bitch. So go get yourself a Squatty Potty and call me when you understand how life changing that shit is (oh, yeah… I said that!).

‘Till we next…

Letters Unsent… But maybe they should be

By | | , ,
Leave a comment

I often struggle between my inner dialog and the one that goes through my lengthy filtering process. When friends ask for my opinion or advice, which happens way more often than I care to say, I often ask myself repeatedly ‘should I really give it??’ ‘do they really want it, or are they just asking so I will reassure them that their decision is perfect and I am their minion?’ ‘Don’t they know by now I’m gonna be honest??’ ‘Why the fuck are they asking me??’ Then I give a kindly worded, much pondered, answer that may not be what they wanted to hear. But oh well, you asked. However, there have been a few things since my last post that I haven’t addressed. Frankly, this shit is tiring. Buddha (or whoever writes cool quotes and says they are from Buddha- either way, I like it) said that carrying around anger (or resentment or frustration or unaddressed hurt- those mine) is like holding a burning coal in your hands and expecting the other person to get burned. Smart guy this Buddha. So I’m gonna drop some hot rocks. Prepare yourselves bitches…

*****************

Dearest Friend,

Please stop apologizing for the things that happened almost ten years ago. We both made mistakes and we both did stupid things. We let pride and ego and self come between us and now… We don’t. We’ve grown, we’ve changed, we’ve suffer losses without each other to wipe tears. We’ve had wins without each other to celebrate. We’ve seen the people that we drifted toward drift from us and we’ve made our way back to each other. Yes it’s different. No, we are not the inseparable pair we were then… But we wouldn’t have the amazing men in each of our lives. Now we are friends. Not just friends, but true friends. Friends with history and shared heartache and shared love and shared laughs and shared jokes that no one else understands. We can be three but cycle and the other one will always get it. So move forward, because we can’t finish the movie if we keep rewatching in the last scene.

I love you princess. More than my shoes… Even the ones I don’t wear anymore.  

Less than three.

*****************

Dear Friend (are we still?),

Thank you for finally articulating your feelings after simply dropping off my radar for three weeks. I really thought we had the kind of friendship where you could drop by and say ‘hey friend, we need to hash something out’, but I guess we don’t. To be honest, it wasn’t so much the content of what you said texted that hurt most, but that you couldn’t talk to me… That you still can’t talk to me. Don’t get me wrong, what you said affected me too… In a what the actual fuck? Am I really reading this right now? Noooo, really?? Kind of way. I have been the same person since well, always. I think what’s really changed is the message. You don’t like what you are hearing now. A few years ago the message was supportive, because that was my truth to you then. Now the message isn’t as supportive, it’s more questioning, more of a devils advocate. It’s still given with kindness and in my voice, but I am not towing your party line. I’m not sorry. I think you are making some horrible decisions. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the decisions you are making are good and I’m wrong. Or maybe I’m the enabler. Maybe these couple months without hangin out with me have been good. No one is helping you spend time self destructing. If it took my “hurting your feelings” to get you to pull your shit together then I’m not sorry, not that I was anyway. I don’t hold on to those coals. It doesn’t help anyone, least of all me.

I hope the last couple months have been really good for you. I hope the kids are well and if they ever want to come over for Mac n cheese and minions, I always have time for them. And when you are ready to have a conversation, with words… Through your mouth, I’ll be here. Same as always. Because unconditional is the only way I know how.

****************

Units,

Fucking figure it out because we didn’t choose, you did. So fucking act like it. Act like you give a shit, because frankly, I don’t. Others do, but I don’t. And do you have any idea how much it takes for someone like me to stop caring??? Ask around, ask my friends, ask other people that know me, ask people on the street. It is known. But I am done and over it. The fucks are gone, the shits have done been given. The love that remains falls under the obligation category but the like… There is no requirement for like that in the handbook. I checked. For fuck sake. This isn’t even about me, it’s about them, the ones that still have something left to give.

I can’t even. Words are failing me and words are what I do. I just can’t.

****************

Yang,

You have put the knees on my bees. You are the grammar nazi to my writers journal. I have had best friends that are forever friends (you have met the princess) but you are somehow a part of me I didn’t know I needed. You give voice to things I can’t and help me rein in the compassion that seems to flow unimpeded when you aren’t around. At the same time, I think I lend a chisel to your edge and a filter to your outer voice that you may have been looking for… The chisel and filter that have been sitting there in their pretty boxes just waiting for their home. Plus, you get the parts of my favorites that I don’t, and you eat the centers of my cinnamon rolls and you smoke when you aren’t on fire giving me a chance to take a break when I need it. 

I love you too, more than my shoes… enough to let you borrow them and give them to you if you want them. Or find a better pair made by ALDO and send them to you as a gift.

***************

Dear Country,

I knew some of you were not that bright. I knew some of you would believe anything the channel you watch most told you. I even knew some of you were such fucking sheep that you would listen to the loudest one in the room even if he was telling you that you were on fire, while you were wading in a swimming pool. I did not think enough of you were were so blind and ignorant that you would allow such an obvious piece of shit to leave his mark on your door. I did not think you would lay back and open your legs to what is obviously the smallest dick of them all, while he tells you how huge it is… And then tell him how huge his centimeter feels. Haven’t you had enough of this nonsense? Haven’t you felt sufficiently reemed? Must you allow this to continue so the rest of us have to endure your shame? Once again I find myself struggling to find words to properly describe the disgust I feel at the people I have to share citizenship with.

Wake the fuck up! You think we have issues with “terrorists” now? What the fuck do you think will happen if you right wing nut jobs succeed at putting this idiot in office? You know, the guy that has insulted every race, creed and culture I can think of. Do you think we’ll be fine? Do you think it will be okay, that his GIANT centimeter cock will protect you?? Think again motherfuckers… All the “terrorists” that hate each other may stop for a minute and get together to decide- hey, wait… We need to go show the giant, entitled, overinflated, American wack-job that he fucked with too many of us. You can fuck with the people that guy hates, or the guy over there, but not everyone, that’s just greed. Terrorists hate American greed. And who is a bigger poster boy for American greed than our Republi-cock candidate? NO ONE.

So sort yourselves out. This has gone way past funny to, again ridiculous.For fuck sake people.

For. Fuck. Sake.

I can’t even. Again the words are failing me and words are what I do. I just can’t.

So I will let someone else… (It’s not new… But it will work)

(a really good) holiday challenge

By | | , , , ,
1 Comment

Is it just me or do the holidays start earlier and earlier every year? It seems to me that if Samhain has not yet passed, then stores should not be allowed to put up decorations for magic baby day.  If I haven’t even given thanks for the pilgrims giving smallpox to the indigenous peoples yet, then that shit ain’t right. Maybe if it were Fear’s Fuck Christmas, I wouldn’t be so offended.  But i’m not likely to hear that while picking up diabetes in a bag for the neighborhood ghouls.  Why don’t stations play a better selection of holiday shit? Why must they always go with ye olde golden christmas oldies a la bing? Why can’t we get some hard rock or punk or ska or Queen???

So faithful friends I present a challenge. Most specifically to my favorite diverse type music loving friends; DJ joshpsmsc; The Social Assasian, Mr Atomic, Miss “Jen” e sais quoi, Mr (I use that loosely) Jody Neil Ruth, Miss (morethana) ShoeWhore,  TravisISivart and the original mini (t)hug Liz aka FloRich… Don’t be offended if you weren’t named by name. I love you none the less and will happily listen to your crap selections as well.

Make a list, or better yet, a youtube playlist of your favorite holiday tuneage. It can be traditional if that’s your bag but the angrier, the louder the harder…. the better!!  I expect a shitload of variety. A minimum of 5 songs would be appreciated but knock yourselves out… Go big. Give me a playlist that will make me the shame most awesome ever of my office when I “accidentally” play it at the company holiday party. 

In fact let’s make a contest out of it. I shall challenge myself as well and have mine up within a week. I know my friends don’t like to pass up a chance for free shit so here goes.

My favorite list/playlist will get a shiney gift wrapped goodie from me.  Sent directly to your door. Go forth, play music and be merry bitches!!!

posted from my tablet thingy

I’m smiling next to you…

By | | , ,
Leave a comment

Well, well, fancy meeting you here.  I know it’s me who’s been out of touch but I had a bunch of shit and you know there was that stuff with the ting and all that. You know how it goes. One day you have all this shit in your head to write about and the next day its two months later and where did all the time go? In my defense I’ve been training at work, planning baby showers, getting ready for vacation and you know… nursing the sick, giving hope to the desolate and leaping tall buildings in a single bound. It’s a tough job being me full time. There have been days when I have seriously wanted to trade with someone for a while. Just a couple days, nothing permanent and then something happens and I realize I have it easy. My life is wonderful. I am not sure how I stumbled into what I’ve got but I’m not going anywhere. That desire to switch lives dissolved in a moment when I remembered… I remembered I am treated with respect, like a person deserving of respect and spoken to in that same way. It is amazing how much that can change things. I realized that I am flawed, beautifully and unashamedly flawed, but I am me. I am not hiding behind a mask of insecurity pretending to be someone else… I have moments of crazy and moments of lucidity, moments of sheer joy and moments of despair, moments of wonder and impossible amazement at my fortune followed by selfish tantrums about what I don’t have that someone else does. But in all this, I am just me. More good than bad, more lucid than crazy, more joy, amazement and good fortune than not. I have friendship and laughter. I am loved and cared for. I am wanted. I am thankful.

image

posted from my tablet thingy

Tuesday Dare – For Liz: Time is On My Side

By | | ,
9 Comments

When your daughter tells you “you have no time management skills” with a disapproving tone. Then requires you to “write down everything yo do for the next three days” to discuss upon her return, you are a busted bitch. No, I have not suddenly spawned a precocious, intelligent teenager. But my friend Liz is having some issues with her time management skills. In an effort to help adults thwart the wrath (or is that condescention) of their own children before they are actually adults…

Liz, here is a little tutorial in the basic ways to keep shit from falling into the abyss of lost time.

1. First locate the smart phone I know you have glued to your body in some fashion – you know know, the rectangular thing that lights up and probably has sparkly covers to match your mood and/or outfit (I know my girl). It also doubles as a texting device, camera and thing to check facebook and twitter on…

2. Find the calendar. (picture that looks like a one day calendar that used to be on your teacher’s desk in high school – but with less hidden profanities written by Johnny Jock.) Tap to open. This is typically an app that is in the start-up section, as it comes with every smart phone. If by chance you have moved it…

3. You want this to sync with you normal gmail account… NOT your public email account, lest someone decide you are inappropriately texting her mother and decide to hack your calendar and find out where the hubby is taking your for dinner. No Bueno. You do this by “managing accounts”. Believe it or not, your phone is smarter than me and will walk you through the steps to sync up.

4. This is important… settings. This is where you tell your calendar you are retarded and need it to tell you when to get ready to go places and what to do. I am going to suggest doing this at ye ol computer. It doesn’t matter whether you have a pc or mac, it is the same… in your settings you can tell your calendar (I like to talk to mine when I set things up, makes me feel better) I bow to your greatness and trust you to tell me when to be places…

Now put in your appointments and chello! They will magically appear on your phone. And each appointment lets you decide if you want one, two or ten reminders and if you want them by email text or pop-up on your computer. Those Google peeps are the SHIT! So now you can block out the Wednesday massage, and Tuesday husband makes dinner night and Thursday Daughter brings me tea and tells me how I’m the bomb diggity (see I’m respectful, I didn’t even say shit-diggity) time. You can even invite them via email so they get annoying reminders that they must take care of your every need. And if you really can’t figure it out with my amazeballs directions…. Google tells you how and so does Apple, because those people get paid the big money for a reason!

Now when you have a handle on all this big pimpin shiz, hit up me and Mrs Clark with an appointment invitation from your sparkly phone, that’s glued to your hand that you’ll be bringin vodka and expect good fixins on my table. (Give me warning so the smart one can clean the house… indeed)

For the rest of us.. my calendar says it almost the time to celebrate, Samhainn, all Hallows and the changing of the time. I have no fucking clue what a costume is and the days are closing in… I feel a panic attack coming.

posted from my tablet thingy

TriFecta of Gus

By | | , ,
1 Comment

Everyone has something they say all the time. A drop-line as it were (I just leaned that term, not gonna lie). Me, I just tend to swear… a lot. No really. A. Lot. Most of my friends would say my drop-line is (well, was) ‘Jesus H.’, ever since I read Christopher Moore’s Lamb. That man is a genius. Sometimes I’d go with the full name for umph, you know, like when your mom was pissed and used all three or five of your names, ‘Jesus H. Christ’. Then of course are the variations for effect… christ on a cracker, or christ on a fucking cracker or in a really good moment mutha-fukin-christ on a mutha-fukin-cracker. The christ on a cracker seems to have been adopted by several friends, as have choice other things… and that is an entirely different story.

This, this is really a story of a man named Brady. Okay no it isn’t, but that would be rad right!? Well, actually there is a dog named Brady… but I digress. So one fine eve at the beer drinkin’ writing spot, I was hangin out with Zimm and Grrr. We were discussing life and the finer points of beer as we are want to do over a fine Belgian, IPA or some other high alcohol content beer or six two, and a conversation started about my affinity toward the Jesus Candle. I don’t know if you heard about my love of the Jesus Candle or my quests to find the most amazing possible pieces for my collection but let’s just say the “finger puppet candle” has had a place in my home. As our discussions progressed it was noted that one of my favorite sayings (drop-line) had changed to “Gerald F.”. Probably because I had said it twenty times already and also they were tired of hearing it had no fucking clue where it came from. So I explained…

‘Well ya know how everyone says Jesus H. Christ?’
yeah
‘I was tired of dealing with the dirty looks and all the bullshit that the ‘thumpy peeps’ give plus you can’t just blurt out Jesus H. Christ in front of a bunch of kids so I needed something else to say. I was gonna go with ‘Buddy Christ’ but it doesn’t fix my problem, and frankly George Carlin giving a thumbs up isn’t the attitude I’m looking for… So I came up with ‘Gerald F.’! And to solve the kid-in-trouble action ‘Gerald F. McCracken.’

What??
‘Gerald F. McCraken’. I need a name with uh-thor-i-tie!

The looks of shock and awe were less shock and awesome… and more like – holy shit Sars, you have officially fallen off the deep end.

You haven’t fallen off the deep end and started a cult have you? Did you call Tom Cruise or Oprah Win-e-free and get approval from the MotherShip?? Is there poison in our beer?!?
‘No. I just needed a little word replacement therapy. Jesus H Christ gets a point across. And you know, runnin’ around sayin’ goddamnit all the time just “ain’t christian”.’
Peels of laughter and beer-spray… Um-Kay….
‘But it had to be something strong… with uh-thor-i-tie. ‘Gerald F. McCracken’

and a hush fell over the crowd…..

But then Zimm, my ever faithful beer chemist and friend said… so who are the rest?
‘what do you mean?’
Well you have ‘Gerald F. McCracken’ he’s kinda like “the son”, you know, it’s his title. So who are the rest in your little cult, sorry, group?

At that point I admit I hadn’t given it much thought but the idea was making me smile. I think we needed a Copola style ‘god father’ that would be his title. We started chatting, and it was all down hill from there… First was the decision that all names should start with the same letter.. and there should be three, (because you can’t have proper rock-paper-scissors tourney without three) but we couldn’t call it a trinity, (duh) and so the TriFecta of Gus was born.

‘With Gerald as “the son”, We needed “the father” and only the son has a middle initial. So I think Gus should be “the father”, I like Gus.. Let’s go with Gus. With Gus “the father” and Gerald F. McCracken, “the son”…’
Why Gus??

‘It’s a good name, and short. you know…’
But wait, who was Gerald’s mother?
‘the virgin Connie Swail of course’
mm-hhhmm, mm-hhmm, of course, duh.

Coming up with a third name was not nearly as easy, being mostly drunk didn’t help as much as you’d think. Gene didn’t sound ghostly and really, no one else could come up with any more in our thoroughly beered state, until I said…

‘What about Geoffrey, you know with a “G”? He could be all snooty and British sounding, Gee-off-ree’
What’s his title??
‘huh?’
I think he should be “the holy” Geoffrey. his title should be “the holy”
‘Sounds like a plan to me!!’

And thus it came to pass the TriFecta of Gus was born… Gus “the father”, Gerald F. McCracken ‘the son’ (born to the virgin Connie Swail), and “the holy” Geoffrey. It was glorious! We parted ways with a toast to Gus and felt as though all was right with the world. Maybe it was the 9% beers but I’m going with the holy Geoffrey.

About an hour later my cell rang… this never happens. It was Zimm and he had a question about our newly minted TriFecta that only Zimm & Grrr would come up with.

So Grr was wondering… is Gerald F. the Extra Crispy Saviour? Because you know, the original is already taken.
‘If Grr says it should be so, I’m gonna go with her instinct. I don’t think he’s “popcorn style”. So we revised… Gus “the father”, Gerald F. McCracken ‘the extra-crispy saviour’ (born to the virgin Connie Swail), and “the holy” Geoffrey.’

Great Gus I think I just peed….

posted from my tablet thingy

…put a record on

By | | ,
Leave a comment

This will not be your typical barstool musing. This will not be a standard issue rant about drunken bitches falling out of their shirts or frat-boy douchecanoes plying said bitches with drinks to take them home. No, this is a Tuesday. Tonight DJ’s play in the old school way, from vinyl and an outline of a playlist and a bit of what’s in their head. tonight’s set starts and well…


“You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.”

words from Gil Scott-Heron’s words from his 1970 Track The Revolution Will Not Be Televised


Like I said, not your average music night, and not your average night at a little local Irish pub. As is typical of this particular DJ’s way… he starts every set this way, then he eases you in to his sound roller coaster with some Rock Steady. The rest of this almost hour long set could include an over the map mix of The Miracles, Marvin Gaye, Ken Boothe, Gaylads, Slim Smith, The Supremes, Jimmy Cliff, Cock Sparrer and Stiff Little Fingers… And that is a scratch on the surface. Our Old-School DJ has a collection that would make other collectors bow. Maybe that’s why he’s the guy that can play Rock Steady, Soul, Classic Reggae, Original Punk and other stuff I can’t even remember. Did I mention all of this is on vinyl?

Then the punk fades out, (because just as he has his favorite way to introduce his set, he has his favorite way to end as well) up comes a sound that, while completely different, seems to flow like they were always meant to go together. No spoken word, this is Garage Rock baby… Our rock n’ roll DJ just plays it that way. In a set that will have no spoken word, few instrumentals and you are more likely to find a stack of 45’s than 33’s in his collection, it is a ride through the world of … The Ronnettes, The Crystals, The Mummies, The Shondells, Paul Revere & The Raiders and The Sonics. That list may not have a ton of names you know, but they were influential on the ones you do, but it isn’t even my point… You will spend the entirety of this set shakin’ your booty and having fun.

Then… they each get to spin again but still the music ends all too quickly. So you ask if they have this or that so they can play it next time. But if it isn’t 60’s genre on vinyl you’ll be out of luck… but you’ll be back anyway.

Oh, Did I mention this is all vinyl?? But people still make cool videos of The Sonics with Raquel Welch dancing… awesome.

[youtube]http://youtu.be/goe2fpeHYLk[/youtube]

more badass than Jules

By | | ,
Leave a comment

I  have the most random song in my head… I guess it’s my theme today.

“sometimes…. sometimes, bad is bad.
I stay cool as a rule, but sometimes bad is bad.”

Why fucking Huey Lewis???

I have this friend, I usually refer to her as half my OREO because standing next to her I glow in the dark. Add our MP friend and I become the center in the OREO. I’m the ass white bitch between two women who have no idea what SPF means and are determined to blend if they accidentally wake up in the congo.

oreo

see… I am ass white!

My friend sin is a total badass. She is that chick you want on your team when the zombie apocalypse comes. She will be all Tallahassee and shit and you will be standing behind her like the little bitch you are. She is a 46 year old gilf with the body of a 35 year old. Her work out regimen makes douchecanoe-frat boys bow and worship at her feet… and not just to get a better look at her DD’s, they want her secret. They want to know how she does it. Ya know what little man, it’s attitude. She just loves life. She has been dealt the worst possible hand so many times but she ended up with chips left on the the table because she is a badass. Sin works everyday with the worst humanity has to offer yet she reflects the best humanity can give.

well….. she did. Friday was her last day here. She didn’t know it and I think she’d have wanted it that way. She wouldn’t have wanted to sit around wasting time waiting for that stupid bitch to bring her a door…. She’d have hopped on her Harley and gone balls out until the sunset.

Sin had a philosiphy:

” Fear less, hope more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Hate less, love more; And all good things are yours.

…I’m a mother, a daughter, a sister, a grandmother, a girlfriend, a friend, a mentor a leader a local and someone everyone I know can look up too. I am proud, I am strong, I love hard and loose with dignity. I am a challenger and a supporter. I do what I believe in and I do it better than anyone else. I am here for anyone and everyone. I help those that can’t help themselves and I do it cause I can.”

This song just makes me think of her.. She loved country and dancing and country. And I can fully see her doing this.

[youtube]http://youtu.be/Gw7gNf_9njs[/youtube]

 

Sin was a badass and she rocked my world. Sometimes it’s just like that, you stay cool as a rule, but when your girl is a badass, well…

posted from my tablet thingy

not quite a .38 special

By | | , ,
4 Comments

I know, I know… before you launch into a tirade about how I should be writing more, and it’s cathartic, and will cure whatever ails me.. piss off.

Okay, okay, I didn’t mean it. I want you here, but (and it’s a Star Jones pre-surgery sized butt) only if you are prepared for the older, not necessarily wiser, unfiltered, unadulterated, unashamed madness that is sars at 37. Because suddenly I found myself staring down the barrel of .38 trying to figure out where 37 years, a bunch of dreams and half my mind had gone. Shit (y’all). shit… Where the fuck did 37 years go? Why do I have all this shit to say causing me ocular leakage, filling my sinus’ and giving me a goddamned headache? Why indeed! I created my own fucking happy place and I intend to use this shit as I see fit. So the warning sign that some fucking hipster kicked over has been reinstalled in a concrete post hole and The Social Assassin has it in his sites (don’t fuck with him, he pulls no punches and will make you cry for years to come.). That being said, well… I don’t know, I make this shit up as I go. Long before the advent of pinterest or someecards or any of those places, I would quietly collect and share little quotes, words of wisdom with people through writing and correspondence. (and maybe the occasional framed card or something) You remember writing on paper don’t you? I am a walking pinterest board with all the quotes I have collected over the years. So as I stare at 38 I decided to share some shit, not necessarily just quotes, or some gold or some golden shit… whichever it may be. So without further adieu…

Buddha said “All life is suffering.” Y’all know I love me some Buddha. If I were Buddhist I may sit here and tell you how we should forgive all, trust everyone and allow ourselves to be in the moment and be one with our suffering because it is the way to achieve enlightenment. Horse. Shit. I do believe we should forgive, we should let go of the past – but (there is that but again) we have to learn whatever lesson we were supposed to from whatever shit hit our fan. Otherwise we suffered for no fucking reason. Because that Buddha, was right (again) when he said “Holding on to anger (or insert resentment – I do) is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at the one who wronged you. You are the one who gets burned.” I’m not saying forget everything… just move forward. It is important to remember… remember what we learned from the hurts we feel, remember the times we fall on our ass, remember the people we lost because we fucked up royally… equally as important is to remember the people who fucked up and hurt us, so we don’t fall for the same trick again. We should learn from our suffering because Buddha may have said that all life is suffering, but ya know… he never said you have to suffer to live. I think every time we move forward and learn from the mistakes of the past, maybe, we can prevent a little suffering in our future.

Facebook is not a substitute for life. If you are reading this you probably know that I hate Facebook. The only reason I am on there is guilt. I probably need to work on that to prevent some suffering. Anyhow… we are the age of technology rapidly becoming the age of completely connected. This sounds good on paper.. er.. screen, but we are losing touch with each other as human beings. We are becoming isolated, lonely, and forgetting that we need each other. Put the cellphones, iPads, tablets of another variety, laptops and netbooks away for a bit and have dinner with your spouse, significant other, kids and friends. Remind yourself and them, that reality is where you look at each other, touch, hold hands, hug, laugh, cry, scream, find out that things are happening because someone’s mouth spoke the words, not because someone random posted something they heard from the neighbor on facebook. Take an entire day without tech. Can you do it? Send a birthday card without posting a witty abbreviated message on their wall. I read a cover story for The Atlantic recently that dug in to the meat of this very topic. (there have been several articles disputing The Atlantic’s story, my opinion on these articles is they are written by people that do nothing but play on facebook, they don’t understand reality and personal contact.) It took deleting my facebook completely to realize who my real friends actually are, and it isn’t the people who tell my boyfriend how great I am but never bother to tell me to my face. I am more than the number of “likes” or +1’s that my post has. I am more than the number of views on my blog. I am less than the number of friends I have on Facebook, and that suits me just fine. Because at the end of the day ~when I find myself fading I close my eyes and realize, my friends are my energy.~ I said friends, not facebook… that would just sound dumb.

I had a more amazing nuggets of wisdom to impart, but I decided that it has taken me a month to post this so I may want to speed this along. Plus it gives me some shit to post over the next few days. I feel some blog vomit about to happen and it will not be for your children. Because sometimes it’s just like that, you look in the mirror and you aren’t 21 anymore. And it’s a good thing, at 21 you are afraid to say the word cunt.

confessions from Kevin’s couch

By | | , ,
9 Comments

So it would appear there is a bit of a tet-a-tet going between one Social Assassin and myself. This should not be seen as a complaint. I feel rather special to be honest and also a little bad that it has taken so long to respond to his little challenge. Sorry, BIG challenge. As he is one of my favorite unmet friends, that I hope to someday meet… I happily answer the following as my ass has been tapped tagged.

1. Book or movie and why?
I personally hate it when I read a book and then a movie comes out after so I can nit-pick the shit out of it… That being said I will pick a book every time. I just finished the Dragon Tattoo series after watching the whole Swedish series of films and was really impressed by the books. They kept me interested, which is really difficult when you are easily …… is that a pigeon?

2. Real book or e-book?
Real Fucking Books. I, like everyone else on the planet has used an e-reader at this point (okay maybe there is a starving child in Haiti, but let’s not focus on the depressing shall we) but it just isn’t the same. That being said (déjà vu?) I am now willing to acquiesce that they have their place. Who wants to take 6 books on vacation? Unless they are graphic novels and get hot geeky men to pay attention to you. Because I love hot geeky men. Big brains are sexy. Yeah.

3. Funniest thing you’ve done in the last 5 years?
In my efforts to follow the advice of my therapist, head shrinker, blogishere friends and other people I see daily in flesh and blood, I have been working on my penchant for self-deprecation… in this instance however, Fuck that. If you can’t make fun of yourself???

I was sitting at the pub writing, how unusual I know, and this all of 21.5 year old douche frat boy kept looking at me and mumbling. Then he’d look back to his friends until I again felt his eyes on me and again… staring at me with furrowed brow and mumbling. I was getting worried (read pissed) at what could possibly make this douchbag so frustrated since I was sitting there with headphones in writing on a touchpad tablet and not even singing along!! The third time I realized this was happening and he looked like he was fuming I walked over to his table, poked his shoulder and said, “I’m not sure what I’ve done by merely being here to piss you off son, (yeah, I threw out son, I was rad that way) but back the fuck off me.” He looked at me completely bewildered and said “What are you talking about lady?!?” I said you “are shooting me angry stares and I’m not even in your general vicinity. So unless you are having some sort of girlfriend transference issue, or always mumble at girls sitting alone minding their own business – which incidentally will never get you laid and you need all the help you can get (yes I said that) back the fuck off me.” I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t being as quiet as I should be and I had conveniently missed the fact that 4 of my friends (mechanics and the dudes who showed me this place and taught me about beer) were in a corner booth.

At this point he looks up at me, squints and says, “listen I am not sure what your fucking issue is but, the fucking Lakers are losing and you are blocking my view of the TV.” …that happened to be conveniently located above my head on the wall. Yeah. I have an incredible awareness of my surroundings. So when my friends burst into laughter… I deserved every second. They remind me of this every time they see me at that table, so does the bartender and the waitress.

4. Do you put yourself into the books you read/write or the movies you watch?
Uh no… I am not like Lisbeth Salander in any way and though I can be a tough bitch, I hate math, have nothing close to a photographic memory and would probably have died at least 5 times in the first book. I am also not an alien, zombie, soldier, crazy megalomaniac, early 19th century farmer or his fucked up sons, or zen philosopher… I could go on but I just do not have that kind of imagination.

5. How would your best friend describe you?
I am really bad at figuring out what anyone would say about me. I have a hard time seeing myself the way other’s do unless it’s flaws or failures. (I know that’s shitty, I’m working on it and took a compliment just last night… I see a shrink for a reason bitches!) So I’m changing the question to ‘How would your friends describe you… then asking them. One of them got back to me so apparently “I’m kind of a big deal” well something like that:

“Sars is one of the best listeners and advice givers I know! Empathy isn’t something you can fake and Sars doesn’t have to try to. You may be in a crowded bar but in her eyes you are the only people there. A true blue, ride or die friend-she is great!”

uuuummmm…… I would never have thought to write this about myself.

“quick-witted, sassy, loving/nurturing, firm, level headed, stressy.” (I love stressy, kinda like sassy but not really.) And I’m gonna remember that level headed thing the next time I fly off the handle and get all wishy washy : o funny, patient, smart, loyal, loves shoes (lol), good cook, great at talking people (and by people I mean me) off the ledge…kind, generous, a true friend”

or this… *sniffle* wipes nose on sleeve.

6. Favorite kind of car and why?
Bar none… Range Rover Sport. This vehicle is so awesome that Top Gear has used it to challenge a Tank… (yes, a fucking cannon shooting, I ride on dam track thinggys- tank) Now, I am no fucking soccer mom and I would drive the shit out of that thing. I would take it off road and get it dirty and then be comfy and cozy as I do philanthropic works and volunteer to stuff and things with the underprivileged. Because you pretty-much need disposable income to own one. I currently drive an amazing little Mazda3 (6 speed Manual – oh hells yeah). Two days later it is all that I wanted from a car since I am not rich and famous and don’t have a sugar daddy to give me my Range Rover. If you need more reasons, you don’t know cars and have never seen Top Gear (for shame): so here:

[youtube]http://youtu.be/ot6dL2mlO7c[/youtube]

[youtube]http://youtu.be/-wKfpPrRVIo[/youtube]

The Rubicon is calling my name now and I need a moment alone.

7. Would your choice of party be a catered meal or barbecue out back?
Since both the man and I have been cooks somewhere – he far longer than I, we like to do dinner at the house for friends. I am more the baker and breakfast/brunch maker and he is more the dinner/I can whip something up out of some mustard, a jar of capers, half a chicken breast and 2 brussels sprouts. I’m a planner. We like the bbqing and California is probably the best place in the world to live for it. Although I will admit, since I hate doing dishes, a nice dinner out on occasion is just lovely. Or bring me a maid. I’m cool either way.

8. What’s your favorite season and why?

because you can do this in the summer

When there is sun and warmth and clear skies, that is my favorite season. The season where I can wear a tank top and not a sweater, flip-flops and not boots.

 

[youtube]http://youtu.be/U8voypJbQcA[/youtube]

9. What specific lesson have you learned – Spiritual, educational, occupational?
Educational : Never let anyone else decide for you. Wherever you want to go to school so that you will find a path that makes you happy… then do it. If someone is your friend and honestly cares for you they will support your decision. Be it a tech school, trade school, university or certification program… go. Then don’t stop learning.

Occupational: Sometimes being treated poorly is just stress on the part of a person who lacks understanding. If you can rise above it and have patience you will learn and probably teach at the same time. And don’t trade stability for what seems like and easy fix to a stressful situation, you may be shoving your head into a lions open mouth.

Spiritual : I agree with Kevin that spirituality or religion can cause a shit storm of issues in life. Especially since they are two different things..I used to be a super religious person who also happened to have a healthy grasp on my spirituality. I have learned that the best way to ruin a person’s spirit is cram religion down their throat. I think the best way to describe what I’ve learned and how I feel is two fold:
I think ‘we have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another.’* And I also think that maybe Buddha was right in that “all life is suffering” but I don’t think we have to suffer to live.

I believe in Bacon!

*attributed to Jonathan Swift

10. Besides writing, what’s your favorite thing to do when you get some extra time?
I agree with Kevin (again) that listening to music is one of my favorite things. Getting lost in a song or finding something new is glorious. But when I have time, I love to share. Time, food, drink, tears, music, laughter, friendship, solace, whatever is necessary to connect with my friends. We are so busy and so cyber connected that we forget to put down the fucking gadgets and look each other in the eye. We are forgetting how to be with each other in a real way. And that is my favorite thing to do, spend time with those I care for.

11. What’s one place you can be found at least one time every week?
I don’t have an answer for this question. That is a sad admission for me to make. It is one, however, I am working to change in a very real way. If I had answered this 5 or 6 months ago I could have said the pub where I write, the gym or the favorite coffee shop, any number of places. Right now I can’t say that. I can say home and work. Maybe in a couple months I’ll have a better answer for this. Today it is what it is.

I’m supposed to make others do this now but I’m just gonna leave you with this… and go find a kleenex while I print what my friends wrote in 76pt font to paste on my walls.

rainbows and kittens bitches