I'm in a weird place. Sometimes I look around and don't feel like I'm attached to the...process. Perhaps because I've always been leery of the process. Of living life. What's the point? The point of all this, I wonder.
Even as a young kid, I was always thinking. I knew I was different than the other kids just being 'kids'. I always worried about repercussions. Not in the "I did something bad so now I'm going to get spanked" kind of way. But more along the lines of how I made people feel. Or what people made me feel & why I ended up feeling that way. Or why kids felt the need to make other children feel badly.
I did that once at school and I still remember it exactly. The boy's face and everything. His name was Ryan & he was smaller & frailer than most of the boys in third grade. He picked his nose constantly. It was gross and he was called all sorts of names etc etc. Ryan seemed ok with this. I guess as long as no one cut off his fingers or nose, he couldn't care less.
But in that year, on the first day of school, I was late (because my mom had thought school started the following week) & all the seats were taken. Except the only empty one next to...Ryan. Oh bleah!! I trudged towards it & sat down and accepted my fate. (Thanks, mom!)
I don't really remember if it was the beginning, middle or end of that school year, but on one of those days, as much as I tried to wrangle it in, an SBD escaped. Oh gawd - Ryan was going to start a ruckus and then I would be teased!!!! Shit, shit, shit!!
Well, it wasn't Ryan who piped up. At all. It was the kids next to us and behind us complaining about the smell and who farted and *gag* *gag* *gag*. Ryan knew it wasn't him & that it left me being the Farter. And what do I do to Ryan? The boy who didn't rat me out?
I blamed him. Flat out turned to him and said "Ryan!?". He whipped his head around, eyes wide and just stared at me. I ignored him and chimed in with the other kids. He never ratted me out.
I still wonder about him. Does he remember (cuz I would!) that some little bimbo farted and blamed it on him in Mrs. Rossi's third grade class?? If I ever saw him again, I would feel the need to apologize, but how do you go about that?? Good Lord, could you just imagine the conversation?
I still feel bad. I try not to hurt people's feelings on purpose. I especially try not to let people get to me. I'm a firm believer in the fact that I do not have to like everyone in this world and that not everyone in this world has to like me. I'm completely ok with this. I don't *need* you to like me, you know?
But what I can't tolerate is rudeness. You don't like a TV show, change the fucking channel. You don't like sushi, don't fucking order it. You don't like me, don't fucking talk to me. It's really quite simple. People make such a big deal about their likes and their beliefs that they aren't considerate to other people's likes & beliefs. What's the point of life if all we're worried about is me, me, me??
1) Fuck off people, the world owes you nothing. It was here first.
2) Fuck you skanky whore who was so rude to the little old lady in front of me. Did it NOT occur to you that she was hard of hearing?? I hope you get crabs, you little snatch-crack.
Nature gives you the face you have when you are 20. Life shapes the face you have at 30. But it's up to you to earn the face you have at 50.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Someone Needs a Nice Summer's Eve
My other half (I shall refrain from acknowledging & calling him my better half today since I'm annoyed with him at the moment) has been bitching about his lack of self-motivation in regards to his weight. He never really used to care, like really care. He'd moan about it & make snippy comments, but more so joked about it.
He's a guy. Beer & food. Beer. More beer. Well, now he is getting all girl-bitchy on my ass and it's annoying the shit out of me. He's being a big baby and getting all mopey and cranky.
This happens when he doesn't drink his beer.
He's not drinking his beer because he's being all emo about his weight.
He's being all emo about his weight because it's summer. And he's comparing himself to non-drinkers or younger guys. Which are totally a different type of species!! Are they even human? Anyway...
I don't deal with emo boys very well. I'm emo enough for one household. He's not allowed to be. He's also not allowed to be sad, depressed, stressed out, bitchy, moody or any other emotion other than happy. He can't be because when I am sad, depressed, stressed out, bitchy or moody - all within my Girl Rights - it's his responsibility to deal with me. Not the other way around!
What was the point of getting married then if he was just going to be me with a ween??? Ya know? Logistics here, people, logistics. I need a boo to my bie, peanut butter to my jelly, Burt to my Ernie...yin to my yang.
I mean, see, here's my point. Yin ying just sounds like my neighbor is trying to tell me something while pointing to my phone - "Phone yin ying!" Huh? "Phone yin ying! Yin ying!!" Now he's stabbing the air around my phone like he's zapping all the radiation waves for me (thanks, buddy!). "Ansa! Ansa! Hurreeee!! Phone yin ying!"
Oh shit. My Daisy Dukes song is playing, I hadn't heard it 'yin ying' over the barking of my dogs. Doh. Thanks, buddy!!
So, the moral of today's post is that my husband's vagina is hurting him and please speak proper English so I don't miss an important call.
It's not who you are that holds you back, it's who you think you're not.
He's a guy. Beer & food. Beer. More beer. Well, now he is getting all girl-bitchy on my ass and it's annoying the shit out of me. He's being a big baby and getting all mopey and cranky.
This happens when he doesn't drink his beer.
He's not drinking his beer because he's being all emo about his weight.
He's being all emo about his weight because it's summer. And he's comparing himself to non-drinkers or younger guys. Which are totally a different type of species!! Are they even human? Anyway...
I don't deal with emo boys very well. I'm emo enough for one household. He's not allowed to be. He's also not allowed to be sad, depressed, stressed out, bitchy, moody or any other emotion other than happy. He can't be because when I am sad, depressed, stressed out, bitchy or moody - all within my Girl Rights - it's his responsibility to deal with me. Not the other way around!
What was the point of getting married then if he was just going to be me with a ween??? Ya know? Logistics here, people, logistics. I need a boo to my bie, peanut butter to my jelly, Burt to my Ernie...yin to my yang.
I mean, see, here's my point. Yin ying just sounds like my neighbor is trying to tell me something while pointing to my phone - "Phone yin ying!" Huh? "Phone yin ying! Yin ying!!" Now he's stabbing the air around my phone like he's zapping all the radiation waves for me (thanks, buddy!). "Ansa! Ansa! Hurreeee!! Phone yin ying!"
Oh shit. My Daisy Dukes song is playing, I hadn't heard it 'yin ying' over the barking of my dogs. Doh. Thanks, buddy!!
So, the moral of today's post is that my husband's vagina is hurting him and please speak proper English so I don't miss an important call.
It's not who you are that holds you back, it's who you think you're not.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Rainbow Brite Never Had it Up the Ass
I'm a pessimist. There, I said it. It's actually no secret and the people that know me IRL will openly roll their eyes at me when I'm being Debbie Downer (that stupid bitch).
I often wonder when this attribute kicked my optimistic's ass & chased it away forever. I had a great childhood, a happy one that was realistic - fighting parents that we knew loved each other (at the time), chores to do with no allowance (but I had a pony & my brother had a mini-bike), rules to adhere to (I can't really classify them as rules since they were expected), spanked when we mouthed off (I look back at this with a thousand thanks to my parents) & raised parents, surrounded my family love (instead of the computer or TV). So totally different than children these days. (It's no wonder that I don't want any)
But I digress. I remember always being pessimistic even as a little kid. Always looking at the bad in things, the worst than can happen so that I couldn't be disappointed. I guess, somewhere along the way, it became a survival tool.
I've tried to push it out & entice optimistic back in but there's no way in Hell it stays. I've learned to put on a fake face and trudge forward, but in my unspoken mind, the black swirls around & around until whispered words are formed. At least I know how to keep my mouth shut. I am good at that. Which I guess makes me a nice & considerate pessimist, no?
People try to trick me into the old 'Is the glass 1/2 empty or 1/2 full' question too. But to me, it's just...1/2. If I'm thirsty & want more, it's 1/2 empty. If my thirst is quenched & I am done, it's 1/2 full. It's a stupid question to me that the answer relies on the circumstance.
I can't shove rainbows up my ass, but I can enjoy good tequila & beer. And acknowledge that my pessimism is uncalled for. To me, it's like when your brother (or sister) is sitting there an inch away from you with his finger a half a centimeter away from your eye and singing "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you!". Sometimes, you punch your brother in the face & say "So?!" and sometimes, you just roll your eyes and call for your mom. I prefer The Punch Method - way more effective, btw.
So, with that - I'm off to enjoy the summer sun by the pool with a nice cold beer in my hand. Enjoy your day!
Parents forgive their children least readily for the faults they themselves instilled in them.
I often wonder when this attribute kicked my optimistic's ass & chased it away forever. I had a great childhood, a happy one that was realistic - fighting parents that we knew loved each other (at the time), chores to do with no allowance (but I had a pony & my brother had a mini-bike), rules to adhere to (I can't really classify them as rules since they were expected), spanked when we mouthed off (I look back at this with a thousand thanks to my parents) & raised parents, surrounded my family love (instead of the computer or TV). So totally different than children these days. (It's no wonder that I don't want any)
But I digress. I remember always being pessimistic even as a little kid. Always looking at the bad in things, the worst than can happen so that I couldn't be disappointed. I guess, somewhere along the way, it became a survival tool.
I've tried to push it out & entice optimistic back in but there's no way in Hell it stays. I've learned to put on a fake face and trudge forward, but in my unspoken mind, the black swirls around & around until whispered words are formed. At least I know how to keep my mouth shut. I am good at that. Which I guess makes me a nice & considerate pessimist, no?
People try to trick me into the old 'Is the glass 1/2 empty or 1/2 full' question too. But to me, it's just...1/2. If I'm thirsty & want more, it's 1/2 empty. If my thirst is quenched & I am done, it's 1/2 full. It's a stupid question to me that the answer relies on the circumstance.
I can't shove rainbows up my ass, but I can enjoy good tequila & beer. And acknowledge that my pessimism is uncalled for. To me, it's like when your brother (or sister) is sitting there an inch away from you with his finger a half a centimeter away from your eye and singing "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you!". Sometimes, you punch your brother in the face & say "So?!" and sometimes, you just roll your eyes and call for your mom. I prefer The Punch Method - way more effective, btw.
So, with that - I'm off to enjoy the summer sun by the pool with a nice cold beer in my hand. Enjoy your day!
Parents forgive their children least readily for the faults they themselves instilled in them.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The 50 Year Friendship
I met two of the funniest women I have ever met in my life one weekend not too long ago while visiting my dad in Arizona. He is young enough to be their son & met them through his girlfriend and they’ve become friends with my dad & his wife (yes, you read that right).
Rachel is 75 & Nita 80. Rachel looks like she was 60 (& put my own 61yo mother to shame) and Nita looks like she’s 70. Both of these girls had it going on, let me tell you. They’ve been friends for over 50yrs and have been through each other’s hardest times, but they don’t dwell on that.
They live for the moment & apparently always have. They were both dressed in young, hip clothes with trendy jewelry and purses. They both had their hair done and wore a full face of make-up. But what got me the most is that they talk ‘updated’. They knew what was going on, all the popular singers, actors, TV shows, lingo. It killed me! They were certainly not going to be left behind or let age take them without a fight.
Nita was Von’s first women meat cutter. In a time where women barely worked, let alone in a male dominated industry. She told story after story of being hung up on the meat hook, locked in the freezer, thrown in the ‘bone barrel’ (*gag*), her knives dulled. She worked 10x harder than any man in there & was still looked down upon by her authorities. She’s a spitfire of a person & to this day, does not like asking for help (practically refuses it). She told of one time where she needed a day off for a routine gyno appointment and her manager refused to grant it unless she told him why. She tried beating around the bush (no pun intended) with keeping it vague & saying she had to go to the doctor’s. That wasn’t good enough for him & he pushed & pushed. Now, Nita was not about to tell him – mainly because he was being such a prick. She wasn’t embarrassed, she just didn’t want to tell him & there was no way he was going to make her. So she lied & blurted out, “I’m getting an abortion!” He never prodded her again in her whole career.
That’s Nita. And Rachel. But they recount these stories not with anger or bitterness, but with humor and fondness. They giggle & laugh with tears in their eyes as they remember. It’s great to listen to, but even greater to watch them.
I was about to ask them what kept them so young of mind, body & soul but quickly answered my own question. These old Betties drink beer like no tomorrow. They’ll keep up with any college student. In fact, they either drink or eat, but don’t do both at the same time, lolol. I got drunk before they did and I pride myself at my tolerance.
It’s good to know I’m already well on my way to accomplish the longevity they have. Now I just need some killer stories.
Things work out best for those who make the best of the way things work out.
Rachel is 75 & Nita 80. Rachel looks like she was 60 (& put my own 61yo mother to shame) and Nita looks like she’s 70. Both of these girls had it going on, let me tell you. They’ve been friends for over 50yrs and have been through each other’s hardest times, but they don’t dwell on that.
They live for the moment & apparently always have. They were both dressed in young, hip clothes with trendy jewelry and purses. They both had their hair done and wore a full face of make-up. But what got me the most is that they talk ‘updated’. They knew what was going on, all the popular singers, actors, TV shows, lingo. It killed me! They were certainly not going to be left behind or let age take them without a fight.
Nita was Von’s first women meat cutter. In a time where women barely worked, let alone in a male dominated industry. She told story after story of being hung up on the meat hook, locked in the freezer, thrown in the ‘bone barrel’ (*gag*), her knives dulled. She worked 10x harder than any man in there & was still looked down upon by her authorities. She’s a spitfire of a person & to this day, does not like asking for help (practically refuses it). She told of one time where she needed a day off for a routine gyno appointment and her manager refused to grant it unless she told him why. She tried beating around the bush (no pun intended) with keeping it vague & saying she had to go to the doctor’s. That wasn’t good enough for him & he pushed & pushed. Now, Nita was not about to tell him – mainly because he was being such a prick. She wasn’t embarrassed, she just didn’t want to tell him & there was no way he was going to make her. So she lied & blurted out, “I’m getting an abortion!” He never prodded her again in her whole career.
That’s Nita. And Rachel. But they recount these stories not with anger or bitterness, but with humor and fondness. They giggle & laugh with tears in their eyes as they remember. It’s great to listen to, but even greater to watch them.
I was about to ask them what kept them so young of mind, body & soul but quickly answered my own question. These old Betties drink beer like no tomorrow. They’ll keep up with any college student. In fact, they either drink or eat, but don’t do both at the same time, lolol. I got drunk before they did and I pride myself at my tolerance.
It’s good to know I’m already well on my way to accomplish the longevity they have. Now I just need some killer stories.
Things work out best for those who make the best of the way things work out.
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