As we begin to look toward the end of another year, reflecting on our successes (I strung a few words into sentences and posted them), and our failures (I barely strung any words into sentences to post), I don’t feel even the least bit nostalgic.
*checks heart for warm spot*
Nope. Nothing. It’s not that the year was unpleasant. There was some much needed weeding out that took place which left my life an infinitely less negative place – so that was a high point. I had lovely evenings (and by “lovely evenings” I mean hilariously, debaucherous nights) with friends. I managed not to jump out of a perfectly good plane. The bills miraculously got paid every month and though I might be tempting fate, I don’t recall being in the emergency room a single time all year. Overall, I’d say it was a successful, albeit meh, year.
*shrug*
As I’ve said here probably every year, I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions. I feel like you’re just setting yourself up for failure. Sort of in the same way I tell myself every Sunday night when I climb into the bed, that starting tomorrow, I’m definitely getting up an hour earlier than the pre-dawn hour I already see so that I can get in a workout. I can say it, but hey, if nobody hears, then nobody knows!
My advice: skip the resolution. You’ll only be beating yourself up in a couple of weeks and that’s no way to start a new year.
So here’s to the end of 2011. Nothing interesting enough to revisit, so I'm sliding out. That said, I may come up with one more thing to talk about… then again, I may not. Don’t forget to read my annually revised repost of Life Lessons come New Year’s Day. Of course, if you can’t wait, here’s the one: Life Truths - 2011
Cheers!
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Loyalty... what a joke.
During my mental rerun of this past weekend, including one perfectly executed “epic fail,” I realized that there is very little left in this world that resembles loyalty. I watched "friends" sell each other out just for the chance to present the latest juicy gossip; significant others abandon honor for the sake of a photo op designed to shame one and leave the rest with a laugh; and finally, employers just screw the people who stood by them for ridiculous amounts of time for….what? Those people made sacrifices and now they’re being sacrificed. Selfish, self-involved, self-serving megalomaniacs: it isn’t “just business.” It’s their own failed economics. So let’s just make sure everyone suffers.
*glare*
I’m disgusted by people today.
Color me old-fashioned – or maybe just old – but I remember a time when your word was a direct reflection on your honor. Now everything, everything, is about ego. Say whatever you need to say to get what you want and to hell with whoever it hurts.
“Me! Me! Me!” Is there a rhythm for that because it’s apparently the anthem of everyone around me.
Take! Take! Take! And when there’s nothing left, at least nothing left you want, leave.
What about standing by people?
What about lending a hand instead of looking for a hand-out?
What about helping when you see someone you know struggling?
Oh wait…
My apologies. Those things fall under the heading of loyalty, and apparently we don’t do that anymore because it requires honoring commitments, regardless of the circumstance or inconvenience. It would mean honoring your word, and that could result in you not getting what you want every single fucking time. That would require that you care about someone other than yourself.
I swear I’m going to snap soon. No part of that is going to be pretty...
*glare*
I’m disgusted by people today.
Color me old-fashioned – or maybe just old – but I remember a time when your word was a direct reflection on your honor. Now everything, everything, is about ego. Say whatever you need to say to get what you want and to hell with whoever it hurts.
“Me! Me! Me!” Is there a rhythm for that because it’s apparently the anthem of everyone around me.
Take! Take! Take! And when there’s nothing left, at least nothing left you want, leave.
What about standing by people?
What about lending a hand instead of looking for a hand-out?
What about helping when you see someone you know struggling?
Oh wait…
My apologies. Those things fall under the heading of loyalty, and apparently we don’t do that anymore because it requires honoring commitments, regardless of the circumstance or inconvenience. It would mean honoring your word, and that could result in you not getting what you want every single fucking time. That would require that you care about someone other than yourself.
I swear I’m going to snap soon. No part of that is going to be pretty...
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Oh, the Holiday Shenanigans!
I’m probably a little late getting to this, but for those of you who have only just received or accepted your holiday party invitations, feel free to print this blog entry. You or someone close to you needs it.
This time of year there are tons of articles about “party etiquette” or being on your best behavior at an office party, as though we don’t already know all of this. Oh, how we know it. And yet, which of us hasn’t woken up the morning after the night before wearing mistletoe for undies, a lampshade nightcap, and a very real sense of dread.
I hope y’all have read enough from me to know by now that the last thing I’m doing is judging. I have no intention of joining the legions of other writers who will remind you not to over-indulge in front of your boss, to definitely hire a taxi, or whip out the tried-and-true adage, “minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.” Though all of this is true, I’m going to assume you don’t need a reminder and head to a more practical, and let’s face it, more realistic place.
RSVP
It should go without saying that when an invitation is extended, you should, within a reasonable time, respond to your host. Bear in mind that this isn’t a meeting invitation at work; you can’t just RSVP “Accept” then not show up; nor can you “Decline” then magically appear on someone’s doorstep. Though you should always RSVP and stick to it, regardless of the time of year, at holiday time, this is particularly important. Most of these occasions are more formal. Your host/ess is doing a head count for food, booze, and maybe even place settings. Don’t be a jackass. Your singular attendance, or lack thereof, is not going to make or break the party, so don’t act like issuing your RSVP is anything more than it actually is: a yes or no.
You’ve heard of it: The Hostess Gift
Whether it’s the holidays, or a mid-summer barbeque, it is never, ever acceptable to show up at a party empty-handed. Never. Ever. Are we clear? Do not call, text, or email your hostess with “What can I bring?” She is only going to say, “Nothing at all! It’s your company we crave!” True as this may be, only maybe half of you were actually considering what to bring; the other half are trying to appear gracious but are secretly hoping to hear you’re off the hook. Now that that’s out in the open, let’s talk about what you should bring no matter what your hostess says.
Wine, beer, spirits: all good. Do make an effort to ensure it’s something your host enjoys, and that you’re not treating the gathering as a BYOB unless the invitation specifically stated it as such. It’s incredibly rude to show up with a bottle of your favorite scotch as “gift,” then proceed to drink it yourself.
Food: not always good. Backyard barbeques are an excellent time to bring your favorite dish and let’s face it, no matter what you bring, it will be appreciated and enjoyed. When it comes to holiday parties though, remember that your hostess has planned a menu that may or may not include the need for potato salad. Dessert is a better option if it’s food you must bring, but remember, you most likely will not see it on your dessert plate. Don’t be insulted! If you’ve brought cookies, or bunt cake, or fudge, you can rest assured that in the upcoming days, it will not go to waste… only waist.
Alternate Suggestion: a holiday ornament, small decorated greens, or perhaps a poinsettia. Of course, each of these has its own pitfall: the ornament may not be your host’s “style,” allergies to holiday greens are becoming more prevalent, and the poinsettia is poisonous to pets. The point is, think about where you’re going and who has invited you – then choose accordingly. FYI: Pinot Grigio. Just so you know…
Attire
Who doesn’t love an opportunity to get spiffed up a bit? Yeah… let’s talk about what that means. It’s simple for men: Suits for “cocktail” attire requests, trousers and a button down for everything else. No t-shirts, no sneakers, nothing with a hole no matter how “fashionable.”
Ladies, it’s almost easier for you. Keep your tits, ass, and who-ha tucked out of view. Done! The holidays are not an opportunity to run amok, displaying your obvious “assets” and lack of good breeding. It’s 100% possible to look sexy without dipping a nipple in the gravy boat as it passes.
Liquor consumption: the root of your humiliation.
We all know I enjoy my wine and vodka as much as the next gal, and I’m always happy for a reason to gather with my friends and a few bottles. Whether it’s in someone’s kitchen, or you’re out for a night on the town, People, you have got to learn to manage your intake.
In addition to my day job and this blog, I’m also a bartender. It’s all false eyelashes, big hair, and fishnet stockings so you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you, I’ve literally seen it all. You are not funnier, more attractive or even slightly more interesting when you’re slurring your words or channeling your celebrity crush. Even less attractive (ladies!), the bump and grind cha-cha, or an impromptu table dance. “Hot” is not the adjective that comes to mind. In a time of instant technology, consider how many hours you want to unknowingly be tagged in a photo – drunken a showing your bits – for the whole world including your employer and your father, to see. Where is your dignity and self-respect?
Gentlemen: a note to you on drunk and disorderly. No. Just… no. This is a time of joy and glad tidings! All of the worst nights in every girl’s dating history include some drunken, overly “amorous” or belligerent man with a singular focus on fondle or fight. Fellas, dinner is not a claim stake. Your open bar office party is not unspoken permission to feel up your girl in public. Mind your manners this holiday season. You want to attract a girl? Try channeling Clark Gable or Sean Connery; not Yosemite Sam or Charlie Sheen.
I suppose that covers it. In a nutshell, look pretty and don’t act like an ass. Try on a shade of elegance. Like lipstick, and scotch, there really is one for everybody.
This time of year there are tons of articles about “party etiquette” or being on your best behavior at an office party, as though we don’t already know all of this. Oh, how we know it. And yet, which of us hasn’t woken up the morning after the night before wearing mistletoe for undies, a lampshade nightcap, and a very real sense of dread.
I hope y’all have read enough from me to know by now that the last thing I’m doing is judging. I have no intention of joining the legions of other writers who will remind you not to over-indulge in front of your boss, to definitely hire a taxi, or whip out the tried-and-true adage, “minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.” Though all of this is true, I’m going to assume you don’t need a reminder and head to a more practical, and let’s face it, more realistic place.
RSVP
It should go without saying that when an invitation is extended, you should, within a reasonable time, respond to your host. Bear in mind that this isn’t a meeting invitation at work; you can’t just RSVP “Accept” then not show up; nor can you “Decline” then magically appear on someone’s doorstep. Though you should always RSVP and stick to it, regardless of the time of year, at holiday time, this is particularly important. Most of these occasions are more formal. Your host/ess is doing a head count for food, booze, and maybe even place settings. Don’t be a jackass. Your singular attendance, or lack thereof, is not going to make or break the party, so don’t act like issuing your RSVP is anything more than it actually is: a yes or no.
You’ve heard of it: The Hostess Gift
Whether it’s the holidays, or a mid-summer barbeque, it is never, ever acceptable to show up at a party empty-handed. Never. Ever. Are we clear? Do not call, text, or email your hostess with “What can I bring?” She is only going to say, “Nothing at all! It’s your company we crave!” True as this may be, only maybe half of you were actually considering what to bring; the other half are trying to appear gracious but are secretly hoping to hear you’re off the hook. Now that that’s out in the open, let’s talk about what you should bring no matter what your hostess says.
Wine, beer, spirits: all good. Do make an effort to ensure it’s something your host enjoys, and that you’re not treating the gathering as a BYOB unless the invitation specifically stated it as such. It’s incredibly rude to show up with a bottle of your favorite scotch as “gift,” then proceed to drink it yourself.
Food: not always good. Backyard barbeques are an excellent time to bring your favorite dish and let’s face it, no matter what you bring, it will be appreciated and enjoyed. When it comes to holiday parties though, remember that your hostess has planned a menu that may or may not include the need for potato salad. Dessert is a better option if it’s food you must bring, but remember, you most likely will not see it on your dessert plate. Don’t be insulted! If you’ve brought cookies, or bunt cake, or fudge, you can rest assured that in the upcoming days, it will not go to waste… only waist.
Alternate Suggestion: a holiday ornament, small decorated greens, or perhaps a poinsettia. Of course, each of these has its own pitfall: the ornament may not be your host’s “style,” allergies to holiday greens are becoming more prevalent, and the poinsettia is poisonous to pets. The point is, think about where you’re going and who has invited you – then choose accordingly. FYI: Pinot Grigio. Just so you know…
Attire
Who doesn’t love an opportunity to get spiffed up a bit? Yeah… let’s talk about what that means. It’s simple for men: Suits for “cocktail” attire requests, trousers and a button down for everything else. No t-shirts, no sneakers, nothing with a hole no matter how “fashionable.”
Ladies, it’s almost easier for you. Keep your tits, ass, and who-ha tucked out of view. Done! The holidays are not an opportunity to run amok, displaying your obvious “assets” and lack of good breeding. It’s 100% possible to look sexy without dipping a nipple in the gravy boat as it passes.
Liquor consumption: the root of your humiliation.
We all know I enjoy my wine and vodka as much as the next gal, and I’m always happy for a reason to gather with my friends and a few bottles. Whether it’s in someone’s kitchen, or you’re out for a night on the town, People, you have got to learn to manage your intake.
In addition to my day job and this blog, I’m also a bartender. It’s all false eyelashes, big hair, and fishnet stockings so you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you, I’ve literally seen it all. You are not funnier, more attractive or even slightly more interesting when you’re slurring your words or channeling your celebrity crush. Even less attractive (ladies!), the bump and grind cha-cha, or an impromptu table dance. “Hot” is not the adjective that comes to mind. In a time of instant technology, consider how many hours you want to unknowingly be tagged in a photo – drunken a showing your bits – for the whole world including your employer and your father, to see. Where is your dignity and self-respect?
Gentlemen: a note to you on drunk and disorderly. No. Just… no. This is a time of joy and glad tidings! All of the worst nights in every girl’s dating history include some drunken, overly “amorous” or belligerent man with a singular focus on fondle or fight. Fellas, dinner is not a claim stake. Your open bar office party is not unspoken permission to feel up your girl in public. Mind your manners this holiday season. You want to attract a girl? Try channeling Clark Gable or Sean Connery; not Yosemite Sam or Charlie Sheen.
I suppose that covers it. In a nutshell, look pretty and don’t act like an ass. Try on a shade of elegance. Like lipstick, and scotch, there really is one for everybody.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Re-Gifting
Huh... I typed that title, now I feel like there might actually be a blog hiding in it somewhere. Oh well, while I sort that out, I thought I'd share a couple of oldies-but-goodies which seem to stand the test of time.
Click here! December 2009
Click here! December 2009
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Sanitation
*jumps up and down waving frantically*
“Oh! Oh! I have a suburb idea! How about instead of raising kids to understand that life is fraught with competition, disappointment, and rejection, let’s teach them that everyone’s always a winner and let’s never keep score!”
…and we wonder how we ended up with a generation of selfish, smart-mouthed, over-indulged, lazy, self-righteous, freeloaders whose “life goal” is to be on a reality television show.
*glares*
Honestly, there are days when I’m entirely uncertain I’ll get through the supermarket without smacking a soccer mom whose kid is pushing me out of the way to climb the shelving for a $5 bottle of ginseng iced tea, while she “explains” to me the importance of his self-expression; and that manners will come later. Later? Later when exactly? Will that be before or after I self-express her rude kid into a freezer and drag her off to the butcher counter to let nature take its course?
It’s a shame that I can’t actually do that. I can’t even raise my voice in their general direction!
[sidebar: technically I can, but I’m falling victim to… continue reading]
Why? Because we’re living in a sanitized society. We've had to clean up our language and our actions for the most ridiculous of ridiculous reasons:
We certainly wouldn’t want little Johnny to think that there are consequences for his behavior. That might upset his delicate sensibilities thus causing him to wonder if there’s a such thing as individuality. Also very important that we erase the lines between gender and cultures while we’re at it! No sense letting anyone *feel* different. That could lead to free thought and ambition, which apparently is not the way we raise children anymore. No... we're safer as a eunuch society. We should all wear white, too (*sarcasm*... in case you're missing it).
I’m not saying that the way I was raised was superior. In fact, my childhood should be a case study in how not to parent. But this is no better! Competition is healthy. Losing as a child teaches you to be graceful about it as an adult. Adulation should be saved for actual accomplishment. What, specifically, are you trying to teach your little brat by congratulating or rewarding for doing what he should be doing as a matter of daily course? You’re teaching nothing. You’re setting them up for a crash course in adult misery. You’re ensuring they are totally ill-equipped to actually DEAL with life’s trials and tribulations. You’re a shitty parent.
Surely someone is starting a study on suicide rates of Gen-Y (aka "Generation Next," but next to what, I can't imagine).
And before y’all get all snotty because I don’t have children of the two-legged variety, mull this over. I’ve potty trained 4 under the age of 5, taught the difference between right and wrong, molded manners, and created appropriate behaviors to mammals with the language comprehension of a 5 year old, yet no ability to communicate back. Seems to me you should be able to get your 14 year old daughter’s tits back in her shirt and teach her to tuck her ass crack away from public viewing. You should be able to convince your son that his smart mouth is going to get him kicked in the teeth – preferably before it actually happens. You do realize it’s not okay for your children to tell you “no” or “I don’t want to,” or my personal favorite, “you do it!” at a simple request, right?
This “self-expression” is not character building. It’s annoying. It’s rude. It’s incredibly impolite, and as my Grandmother used to say, “no manners is worse than no money!”
Self-reliance: the skill that will teach your kid how to extricate himself from the freezer bin I stuff him in.
“Oh! Oh! I have a suburb idea! How about instead of raising kids to understand that life is fraught with competition, disappointment, and rejection, let’s teach them that everyone’s always a winner and let’s never keep score!”
…and we wonder how we ended up with a generation of selfish, smart-mouthed, over-indulged, lazy, self-righteous, freeloaders whose “life goal” is to be on a reality television show.
*glares*
Honestly, there are days when I’m entirely uncertain I’ll get through the supermarket without smacking a soccer mom whose kid is pushing me out of the way to climb the shelving for a $5 bottle of ginseng iced tea, while she “explains” to me the importance of his self-expression; and that manners will come later. Later? Later when exactly? Will that be before or after I self-express her rude kid into a freezer and drag her off to the butcher counter to let nature take its course?
It’s a shame that I can’t actually do that. I can’t even raise my voice in their general direction!
[sidebar: technically I can, but I’m falling victim to… continue reading]
Why? Because we’re living in a sanitized society. We've had to clean up our language and our actions for the most ridiculous of ridiculous reasons:
We certainly wouldn’t want little Johnny to think that there are consequences for his behavior. That might upset his delicate sensibilities thus causing him to wonder if there’s a such thing as individuality. Also very important that we erase the lines between gender and cultures while we’re at it! No sense letting anyone *feel* different. That could lead to free thought and ambition, which apparently is not the way we raise children anymore. No... we're safer as a eunuch society. We should all wear white, too (*sarcasm*... in case you're missing it).
I’m not saying that the way I was raised was superior. In fact, my childhood should be a case study in how not to parent. But this is no better! Competition is healthy. Losing as a child teaches you to be graceful about it as an adult. Adulation should be saved for actual accomplishment. What, specifically, are you trying to teach your little brat by congratulating or rewarding for doing what he should be doing as a matter of daily course? You’re teaching nothing. You’re setting them up for a crash course in adult misery. You’re ensuring they are totally ill-equipped to actually DEAL with life’s trials and tribulations. You’re a shitty parent.
Surely someone is starting a study on suicide rates of Gen-Y (aka "Generation Next," but next to what, I can't imagine).
And before y’all get all snotty because I don’t have children of the two-legged variety, mull this over. I’ve potty trained 4 under the age of 5, taught the difference between right and wrong, molded manners, and created appropriate behaviors to mammals with the language comprehension of a 5 year old, yet no ability to communicate back. Seems to me you should be able to get your 14 year old daughter’s tits back in her shirt and teach her to tuck her ass crack away from public viewing. You should be able to convince your son that his smart mouth is going to get him kicked in the teeth – preferably before it actually happens. You do realize it’s not okay for your children to tell you “no” or “I don’t want to,” or my personal favorite, “you do it!” at a simple request, right?
This “self-expression” is not character building. It’s annoying. It’s rude. It’s incredibly impolite, and as my Grandmother used to say, “no manners is worse than no money!”
Self-reliance: the skill that will teach your kid how to extricate himself from the freezer bin I stuff him in.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Pick Your Fight
I do not care about your hybrid of any sort; your Prius, your Fit, your Leaf, your Volt, your Insight, your SmartCar.
In fact, I think the smart thing to do is to get your Fred Flintstone, Vespa-sounding, hunk of tin out of the left lane so that my gigantic steel cage on four huge wheels can get down the road at a rate faster than the apparent maximum eco-car speed of 45mph.
*glares*
I expect that this one may bring on the hate mail from the tree-huggers who will most likely stop reading right about…. here… in order to “have their say, dang it!” but frankly, I don’t care. I motor about in a big, gas guzzling, 4-wheel drive, I-can-climb-over-your-trunk-if-I-feel-like-it, gorgeous piece of imported fantastic-ness. I spent my American-made dollars on a vehicle whose manufacturer did not consider that long, skinny pedal on the right, part of an “options package.”
Don’t flip me off when I pass you at a “breathtaking” 60mph. You’re jealous. I know it. You know it. You were trying to be a part of “something bigger” most likely because your life is small, and instead your balls are now the size of raisins and the valet snickers at you when you pass the keys.
You need to save the world? How about you quit rattling on about your eco-friendly car “savings” (which statistically don’t actually exist according to the IIHS) and look into ways to put an end to puppy mills?
You need a cause? How about getting our teachers paid more and our politicians paid less?
Can’t figure out what to do with your spare time now that your kids are all in school and your live-in nanny is scrubbing your toilets? How about finding a way to support the arts in those very schools?
Itching to create a placard? Try this: Love is Love! Support marriage equality for gays and lesbians in all states!
Oh wait. You just need to rant about something to feel important? How about you do that during a regularly scheduled pedicure so that random passers-by are no longer exposed to that hot mess revealed by your nasty flip-flops, or your ridiculous opinions on my choice of vehicle.
Go ahead. Pick your fight. Just not with me. I’m in the mood to crush someone just for being stupid and I’m fairly certain the valet will point me in the right direction.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
I May Not Know Jeans, But I KNOW Shoes!
I can't believe September almost got away without a single post. Please forgive me... On the upside, I've been spending more time watching and less time on random rants - which gave birth to the following!
Generally speaking, I do not speak to fashion. Not because it doesn’t interest me, it definitely does! I notice all things fashion. I’m a lover of the classic styles (think Chanel and hats and gloves), but I’m also well in touch with my inner hippie. Basically, I believe the topic spouting is best left to the trained professionals.
Now, that said, I feel there are some grossly overlooked issues surrounding footwear that should be addressed in that straight forward, no bullshit way some people might say is hurtful, while others know is just the truth as it’s meant to be told.
Ladies, and okay – gentlemen, if you cannot walk in a pair of high heels without appearing as though there are eggshells under the soles, wear flats. Seems like every time I turn around, I see some woman "walking" along in a pair of platforms like she’s terrified she’s going to fall off with the next step. So not sexy.
Today I spied yet another of the “no knees” walker variety who stiff –legs every step like a toy soldier. Might I suggest jackboots?
Oh look! There’s the “cop a squat.” This gal has apparently never watched a beauty pageant of any kind – not even drag – otherwise she would know that no matter how expensive your footwear, clomping along with your ankles 12 inches apart makes you look like a linebacker needing to poop.
And how can we overlook the “stick up her ass” sashay. Her stride is so miniscule you can’t help but wonder if she really does have an aspirin between her knees. Relax already! No one is going to steal your shoes if they leave the ground for more than a nanosecond. You look like a wind-up toy straight out of the McDonald's Happy Meal.
We have the “leaner” who pitches dangerously forward like her puppeteer is distracted, and the “Big Girl” who crams her size 8 feet into a size 7 for… well, I don’t know why anyone would do that, bit those appendages now look like stuffed sausages.
So here are the rules:
If they aren’t 100% comfortable in the store, they will not “break in.”
If you generally live in flip-flops, you should know that you don’t actually have a fashion sense and should not be left to your own devices in the shoe department. Oh I know you think you know… I also know that you don’t. Find yourself a friend, and good luck.
If you’ve left high school, yet just bought a “cocktail” dress in the “prom” section of a department store, don’t try to match your shoes to the dress. Return the dress. You know why.
If you can’t run, yes run, at least one-quarter mile in the shoes, you need to believe me when I tell you that you cannot walk across a room in them either. I don’t care how amazing you think you look, in truth it’s more “mommy’s closet” than “hot mama.”
Whether you’re stomping it out like a runway model, or elegantly cutting a swath, you have got to look and feel comfortable in those shoes! Otherwise, the impression you leave it that of a foolish little girl trying to be someone she isn’t. For the record, I don’t wear shoes with less than a three inch heel. To me, that IS a flat. And yes, I can run at least a quarter-mile in all 73 pair.
Glide ladies! Glide!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Who Are You?
Yes, I’m painfully well aware of the fact that there is no grace in giggling with delight over the prospect of watching The Universe prepare to dole out its "enough is enough" via an unexpected source. Nonetheless…
*does a little dance in front row seat*
Okay, now that I’m done acting like a child, I kind of want to look at a peculiar social phenomenon. I’m going to call it “When I Grow Up Syndrome” or WIGUS. There are really two varieties – one for men, one for women. Note that throughout my writings, I never say “men and women” but rather refer to gender specifics as “boys and girls.” I point this out because WIGUS is not a childhood affliction and I want there to be no confusion. Nope, this happens to supposed grown adults.
At its root, When I Grow Up Syndrome is all about making it past say, age 30 or so, and still having no idea who you are. It’s not about family or career; it’s about morphing in and out of personalities like Sybil! Let’s talk about the ladies first, since they’re the most entertaining.
We all know at least a few of these women. She wants to date a rocker; she becomes a rocker. She’s dating a Librarian, and suddenly she’s wearing reading glasses. Her “friends” switch from drinking martinis to drinking bourbon, and no matter how much she detests it, she switches too. She talks shit on people, or shares information she shouldn’t just to be “popular.” She has no idea who she is… so she’s just “them.”
Having never been one of these women, I’m not sure I understand the point of faking your way through relationships. Why pretend you’re someone or something you’re not, all the while declaring to everyone within earshot how different you are, when you’re so obviously the exactly the same? It’s weird to watch, yet incredibly difficult to look away! I expect some sort of nervous breakdown should anyone declare to the WIGUS woman that she is merely a lemming.
Now, because everyone loves a train wreck…
When these women “find” one another, it’s like the worst Lifetime Made for Television movie ever produced! They're like feral cats! I used to think it was just me, watching with my mouth hanging wide open in amazement and confusion, but lately I’ve discovered that the audience is huge! Some people wait for the inevitable implosion, others like myself, just stare in wonderment at the WIGUS of it all.
In men, WIGUS isn’t particularly entertaining and looks a lot like Peter Pan Syndrome. No news there! The only real difference I’ve found is that they generally don’t take their phases too seriously and are good-natured about a good ribbing. I haven't seen too many of these men make a real outward spectacle of themselves. They're infinitely more subtle most of the time. I'm not saying they never show their ass - they totally do! But it seems to manifest itself more often in drink, an awkward walking gait, or bad fashion choices.
I can only imagine how insecure, and perhaps lonely, these people are. They obviously have no real sense of self – and let’s face it, after 30, if you don’t have that, you’ve nothing. It appears as though their whole existence is based on trying to be what they think someone else wants. It’s a slippery slope when that behavior includes poor manners, or insinuating themselves where they don’t belong in an effort to feel important. Long after whatever relationship was involved is well over, people will only remember the unattractive bits of their behavior. It’s what inevitably leads to reputation demise. It’s interesting that they don’t see it coming. Perhaps it’s just too much to believe that after all the energy they put into being “someone” ultimately they’ll still be exactly who they are… or aren’t.
I would imagine the only chance these men and women have is a lot of therapy! Is it a self-esteem issue? Is it jealousy? Is it just years and years of being overshadowed by siblings or friends? I have no idea. I do have this idea about gathering them all up and putting them on the Minnow though!
*does a little dance in front row seat*
Okay, now that I’m done acting like a child, I kind of want to look at a peculiar social phenomenon. I’m going to call it “When I Grow Up Syndrome” or WIGUS. There are really two varieties – one for men, one for women. Note that throughout my writings, I never say “men and women” but rather refer to gender specifics as “boys and girls.” I point this out because WIGUS is not a childhood affliction and I want there to be no confusion. Nope, this happens to supposed grown adults.
At its root, When I Grow Up Syndrome is all about making it past say, age 30 or so, and still having no idea who you are. It’s not about family or career; it’s about morphing in and out of personalities like Sybil! Let’s talk about the ladies first, since they’re the most entertaining.
We all know at least a few of these women. She wants to date a rocker; she becomes a rocker. She’s dating a Librarian, and suddenly she’s wearing reading glasses. Her “friends” switch from drinking martinis to drinking bourbon, and no matter how much she detests it, she switches too. She talks shit on people, or shares information she shouldn’t just to be “popular.” She has no idea who she is… so she’s just “them.”
Having never been one of these women, I’m not sure I understand the point of faking your way through relationships. Why pretend you’re someone or something you’re not, all the while declaring to everyone within earshot how different you are, when you’re so obviously the exactly the same? It’s weird to watch, yet incredibly difficult to look away! I expect some sort of nervous breakdown should anyone declare to the WIGUS woman that she is merely a lemming.
Now, because everyone loves a train wreck…
When these women “find” one another, it’s like the worst Lifetime Made for Television movie ever produced! They're like feral cats! I used to think it was just me, watching with my mouth hanging wide open in amazement and confusion, but lately I’ve discovered that the audience is huge! Some people wait for the inevitable implosion, others like myself, just stare in wonderment at the WIGUS of it all.
In men, WIGUS isn’t particularly entertaining and looks a lot like Peter Pan Syndrome. No news there! The only real difference I’ve found is that they generally don’t take their phases too seriously and are good-natured about a good ribbing. I haven't seen too many of these men make a real outward spectacle of themselves. They're infinitely more subtle most of the time. I'm not saying they never show their ass - they totally do! But it seems to manifest itself more often in drink, an awkward walking gait, or bad fashion choices.
I can only imagine how insecure, and perhaps lonely, these people are. They obviously have no real sense of self – and let’s face it, after 30, if you don’t have that, you’ve nothing. It appears as though their whole existence is based on trying to be what they think someone else wants. It’s a slippery slope when that behavior includes poor manners, or insinuating themselves where they don’t belong in an effort to feel important. Long after whatever relationship was involved is well over, people will only remember the unattractive bits of their behavior. It’s what inevitably leads to reputation demise. It’s interesting that they don’t see it coming. Perhaps it’s just too much to believe that after all the energy they put into being “someone” ultimately they’ll still be exactly who they are… or aren’t.
I would imagine the only chance these men and women have is a lot of therapy! Is it a self-esteem issue? Is it jealousy? Is it just years and years of being overshadowed by siblings or friends? I have no idea. I do have this idea about gathering them all up and putting them on the Minnow though!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Good Morning, Mourning
I may have mentioned this before, but I’ll say it again: I am not the kind of person who can be unemployed – for a number of reasons, really. First, I spend every single “free” minute stressing out over not having an income. Secondly, I’ve discovered that I can only stand my own company for six minutes. Not six minutes at a time – but total for the waking period. I don’t find myself that interesting.
It’s probably important to note that I would have less trouble with having nothing to do if there were someone in my life to support me.
So I’ve been painting during my down time. Not creatively; no this has been completely utilitarian. I’ve been painting interior doors.
[Sidebar: semi-gloss is the devil.]
The up side of this hideous chore is that, like mowing the lawn or scrubbing grout, it gives me plenty of time to think in a leisurely manner. No rush, I’m gonna be here all day anyway…
Finally! The point of that long introduction:
It occurred to me while cursing those damned fancy doors, that there are a number of things in my life I’ve been managing all “wrong” because I didn’t see them “right.”
It appears that I’ve been carrying on relationships, one in particular but several in general, only in my head. What I mean is that the relationship I thought I was having, didn’t actually exist in real life the way I insisted it did inside my little “Life Bubble.” I don’t like to see the ugly bits life doles out – I’ve seen enough, thank you very much – so I just paint them a color I like and pretend it was never ugly to begin with, employing the “if you don’t talk about it, it never happened” approach. Gee. That’s smart…*sarcasm*
Nonetheless, the up side is that since I shocked myself into reality with this revelation, I’m not paralyzed by mourning any longer. And it feels great! And brave! Like I can say all the things that have been swirling around in my head because I don’t have concern myself with the outcome. Which leads me to…
Do you ever think about the things you say to yourself before you go to sleep? The conversations you’ll never have with people you really want to set straight? Or the little lies we tell ourselves:
I’m happy.
It’s all perfectly fine.
Tomorrow, I will add on to my exercise program to lose these last five pounds.
It’s as though by whispering it late at night, it’ll stick. It will all be true in the morning. I do it all the time for whatever mad reason. Though I suppose now it’s because I never knew how bad it could hurt to lose something I never really had.
It’s probably important to note that I would have less trouble with having nothing to do if there were someone in my life to support me.
So I’ve been painting during my down time. Not creatively; no this has been completely utilitarian. I’ve been painting interior doors.
[Sidebar: semi-gloss is the devil.]
The up side of this hideous chore is that, like mowing the lawn or scrubbing grout, it gives me plenty of time to think in a leisurely manner. No rush, I’m gonna be here all day anyway…
Finally! The point of that long introduction:
It occurred to me while cursing those damned fancy doors, that there are a number of things in my life I’ve been managing all “wrong” because I didn’t see them “right.”
It appears that I’ve been carrying on relationships, one in particular but several in general, only in my head. What I mean is that the relationship I thought I was having, didn’t actually exist in real life the way I insisted it did inside my little “Life Bubble.” I don’t like to see the ugly bits life doles out – I’ve seen enough, thank you very much – so I just paint them a color I like and pretend it was never ugly to begin with, employing the “if you don’t talk about it, it never happened” approach. Gee. That’s smart…*sarcasm*
Nonetheless, the up side is that since I shocked myself into reality with this revelation, I’m not paralyzed by mourning any longer. And it feels great! And brave! Like I can say all the things that have been swirling around in my head because I don’t have concern myself with the outcome. Which leads me to…
Do you ever think about the things you say to yourself before you go to sleep? The conversations you’ll never have with people you really want to set straight? Or the little lies we tell ourselves:
I’m happy.
It’s all perfectly fine.
Tomorrow, I will add on to my exercise program to lose these last five pounds.
It’s as though by whispering it late at night, it’ll stick. It will all be true in the morning. I do it all the time for whatever mad reason. Though I suppose now it’s because I never knew how bad it could hurt to lose something I never really had.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Deal With It
This morning started out with the gruesome discovery that I’d arrived about one minute too late to prevent a senseless murder.
Stepping onto the back porch for a quick weather check, I saw one of the rabbits who live under the bushes standing, frozen in the yard – eyes trained on something outside my line of vision. I ventured out to see what could possibly be so interesting that the rabbit wasn’t even going to acknowledge my proximity, only to witness one of my dogs “playing” with an infant bunny. I called her off and ran to check. The week-old baby was breathing, but paralyzed and bleeding from the nose.
Running for the house, I tucked the dog inside, grabbed the phone and a plastic gloves. I did the only thing I could think of then. I called the one person I knew would help me do, oh I don’t know, something to help?
Back in the yard again and standing over the still breathing baby bunny, I quickly explained the situation. What came next was completely unexpected. Instead of sympathy or some other sort of understanding, I was told to “get a shovel and deal with it.” What?
WHAT!
Hanging up, I threw the phone at the fence and picked up the little innocent, cooing, comforting, and apologizing until finally, it blinked once more then took its last little sigh of a breath. I felt somehow responsible for this loss of small, new life. I knew the rabbits were in the yard. I knew there was at least one newborn. And yet, I’d done nothing to protect it from the two dogs who share the same grass.
Yeah. I know, survival of the fittest, and all that.
“…deal with it.”
Life happens. Death, in all varieties, inevitably comes. People, animals, relationships... At some point the time to coddle, coo, and be hopeful passes and you’re left with the lifeless remains of something that “used to be.”
Somebody hand me my grown-up panties. If you need me, I’ll be figuring out how to “deal with it” on my own.
Stepping onto the back porch for a quick weather check, I saw one of the rabbits who live under the bushes standing, frozen in the yard – eyes trained on something outside my line of vision. I ventured out to see what could possibly be so interesting that the rabbit wasn’t even going to acknowledge my proximity, only to witness one of my dogs “playing” with an infant bunny. I called her off and ran to check. The week-old baby was breathing, but paralyzed and bleeding from the nose.
Running for the house, I tucked the dog inside, grabbed the phone and a plastic gloves. I did the only thing I could think of then. I called the one person I knew would help me do, oh I don’t know, something to help?
Back in the yard again and standing over the still breathing baby bunny, I quickly explained the situation. What came next was completely unexpected. Instead of sympathy or some other sort of understanding, I was told to “get a shovel and deal with it.” What?
WHAT!
Hanging up, I threw the phone at the fence and picked up the little innocent, cooing, comforting, and apologizing until finally, it blinked once more then took its last little sigh of a breath. I felt somehow responsible for this loss of small, new life. I knew the rabbits were in the yard. I knew there was at least one newborn. And yet, I’d done nothing to protect it from the two dogs who share the same grass.
Yeah. I know, survival of the fittest, and all that.
“…deal with it.”
Life happens. Death, in all varieties, inevitably comes. People, animals, relationships... At some point the time to coddle, coo, and be hopeful passes and you’re left with the lifeless remains of something that “used to be.”
Somebody hand me my grown-up panties. If you need me, I’ll be figuring out how to “deal with it” on my own.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Weinergate... Keep it in Your Pants
Thus far it’s a pretty slow summer so I’ve been thinking a lot about Weinergate. I mean, I haven’t been thinking specifically about Weiner’s wiener; more it’s been about where we draw the line between online flirting and straight-up infidelity. And what about any associated “privacy issues?”
Now, I know we all want to stand up and wave the freedom of speech flag – even those who are completely appalled by Weiner’s behavior. Certainly none of us wants the government legislating what we do – however inappropriate – in our private time, assuming of course we’re directing this to the activities of consenting adults. Hey, I’m in the front row with a placard of my own, crawling onto some stranger’s shoulders to scream through my megaphone, “No one is going to tell ME what I can and cannot write, say, or photograph! I will not be silenced by The Man!”
Here’s the thing: that’s not really what we’re talking about – or more specifically, not talking about. The penis in the room isn’t about freedom of speech or what consenting adults can or cannot do. No, no, no. The penis in the room is about what consenting adults should or should not do.
*senses guilty people shifting uncomfortably in their chairs*
I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that the appropriateness of sexting or the exchanging nudie pics is pretty much dependent on your relationship status. If you’re single – single as in you don’t have the same person regularly sleeping next to you – I say do what you like! Go craaaazy! Sow your wild oats! Take all the photographs or sex videos, and send all the racy text messages you like! Grab life by your balls! Who cares?!?!?
[Caution: your current or future employer might care should these surface so I’d think this through without the throbbing sexual desire before proceeding. Also note that the ban on “bad naked” has not been lifted.]
Now that we’ve established I’m not from the Christian right, or any kind of prude for that matter, let’s get to the meat of this. Here’s a primer for those of you who apparently can’t function within the general confines of decency:
1. If you are married; if you are in a “committed relationship,” or if your part-time partner thinks your liaison is monogamous, you’re just a skeevy asshole for sexting, emailing, or taking “self-portraits” with or for someone else.
2. That’s it. Re-read number one.
I’m sure by now a few of you are mentally composing what you believe to be a compelling yet scathing argument, albeit “anonymously,” to leave in this post’s Comments. Compose away, I say! But before you click Submit ask yourself this: are you going to share it with your significant other? No? Chickenshit… What do you suppose that says about you? That, oh I dunno, maybe you shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing? If you have to hide it, you know it’s wrong. And don’t go trying to hide behind lame excuses, attempt to make it less than it is, or turn the tables on the person you’re supposed to be sharing a relationship or your life with by flinging accusations about invasion of privacy.
First, if we’ve learned nothing else from Tony Weiner, it’s that when you lie or make excuses to cover-up your behavior, you will be caught and the fallout will be even more dangerous to life, “limb” or reputation. You never really know how crazy or vindictive someone can be until they’re the last to know they’ve been being made a fool of – publically or privately.
I’ve recently heard this kind of Weiner-tastic carrying-on referred to as “flirting.” Are you fucking kidding me? I have an idea, how about we take a moment to look that word up.
According to Merriam-Webster online, flirting is:
a. To behave amorously without serious intent
b. To show superficial or casual interest or liking
c. To come close to reaching or experiencing something
Behavior check, anyone?
Now, because I rarely take a position based on one resource, I pulled out my Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, and my trusty old Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language (college edition and yes, it’s just that old) and nowhere did I see any mention of sexting or bawdy photographs discussed or described in those additional definitions of flirting. So what have we learned? We’ve learned this: no, jackass, you do NOT get to call your behavior “flirting!”
As for the privacy portion of your wheedling, what the hell kind of “relationship” are you carrying on if you’re worried about what your spouse might uncover if he or she were to use your computer because it’s right there, or use your cell to send a text to a mutual friend? Or! Even if he or she was just being nosey, the point here is that if you’re having an honest relationship, there’d be nothing to hide and privacy would not even be an issue!
Maybe reality television has skewed the public’s definition of appropriate relationship behavior. All those loud-mouthed girls chasing after whore-boys; people sneaking around doing who knows what with it doesn’t matter who… When did it become “acceptable” to partake in extracurricular activities? And why are those who are the most hurt by it – the spouses and significant others of the offenders – be expected to get onboard with the idea that this isn’t infidelity? That no apology is necessary because there wasn’t actual sex?
I have a yardstick of sorts I use when I’m not really onboard with my own behavior. I ask myself whether my grandparents would be ashamed of me. Feel free to consider that your takeaway.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Blank Pages
I’ve recently self-determined that I’m not funny anymore. Oh sure, there are still the occasional snarky one-liners, but where anything more than that is required, there are pet shop parrots with more interesting things to say.
It occurs to me that maybe I ought to try something new. Something … exhilarating.
It’s no secret that I like to limit my physical activity to things that give me immediate results - like hauling the giant vodka bottle down from its cabinet. Don’t judge. This exercise also employs the use of extreme bicep strength in order to remove the freezer-burned ice cubes trapped in their trays.
Safe to say that there’s no situation whereby I’ll find myself jumping out of an airplane naked like my girlfriend JG, swimming with actual sharks, or freezing my ass off in an Iditarod. I thought briefly about rock climbing… the kind you do indoors with thick mats and a super hot trainer. I just worry about how my ass will look squished out the bottom of a harness. That view can’t be good from below… So where that idea is concerned, I’ve decided that perhaps the only rocks I’ll be conquering will remain those in a 4oz glass, ungraciously blocking me from the last of my liquor.
I think the problem is that I’m unbearably bored. I’ve gone from having entirely too much, to having only a moderate amount to occupy my days. I suppose I should work on The Book That Will Never Be Finished, or refresh my political point of view, but really? Why? To either. I’ve never actually finished anything – which obviously isn’t a record I plan to break this late in the game; and outside of Weinergate, the wind has left my sails now that Washington has gone home for summer vacation.
[sidebar: you can bet that given the events of this week, many a Republican and Democrat of both genders is giving their computer and cell phone a good “scrubbing.” Here’s some food for thought: if you’re hiding it, you know you shouldn’t be doing it.]
I feel a privacy rant coming on so I think I’ll collect my rocks see if that thought takes us somewhere exhilarating.
It occurs to me that maybe I ought to try something new. Something … exhilarating.
It’s no secret that I like to limit my physical activity to things that give me immediate results - like hauling the giant vodka bottle down from its cabinet. Don’t judge. This exercise also employs the use of extreme bicep strength in order to remove the freezer-burned ice cubes trapped in their trays.
Safe to say that there’s no situation whereby I’ll find myself jumping out of an airplane naked like my girlfriend JG, swimming with actual sharks, or freezing my ass off in an Iditarod. I thought briefly about rock climbing… the kind you do indoors with thick mats and a super hot trainer. I just worry about how my ass will look squished out the bottom of a harness. That view can’t be good from below… So where that idea is concerned, I’ve decided that perhaps the only rocks I’ll be conquering will remain those in a 4oz glass, ungraciously blocking me from the last of my liquor.
I think the problem is that I’m unbearably bored. I’ve gone from having entirely too much, to having only a moderate amount to occupy my days. I suppose I should work on The Book That Will Never Be Finished, or refresh my political point of view, but really? Why? To either. I’ve never actually finished anything – which obviously isn’t a record I plan to break this late in the game; and outside of Weinergate, the wind has left my sails now that Washington has gone home for summer vacation.
[sidebar: you can bet that given the events of this week, many a Republican and Democrat of both genders is giving their computer and cell phone a good “scrubbing.” Here’s some food for thought: if you’re hiding it, you know you shouldn’t be doing it.]
I feel a privacy rant coming on so I think I’ll collect my rocks see if that thought takes us somewhere exhilarating.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Invisible Ink
Bet you thought one of the elephants from the circus of my life ate me, eh?
I know, I know... It's been a long time between entries. I am writing, but for the moment my "talent" is being abused... I mean used... for pay. Yeah. I'm whoring myself out to The Man for mortgage money. Don't judge. *glares* Anyway, by the end of a day full of corporate nonsense and forcing my mouth shut for a paycheck, I can't string three words together coherently, let alone scare up any snarky reparte. Mostly I just blink...
The "good" news (though for whom I'm unclear) is that I'll be out of a job and back on the dole in just a matter of weeks, so there's bound to be a flood of words you can actually see coming soon. Of course, if you'd like to employ me, I'll happily shift the blame for my continued shunning of this site... and I'm okay with that!
I need a sign...
Will compromise morals and jounalistic integrity for cash.
I know, I know... It's been a long time between entries. I am writing, but for the moment my "talent" is being abused... I mean used... for pay. Yeah. I'm whoring myself out to The Man for mortgage money. Don't judge. *glares* Anyway, by the end of a day full of corporate nonsense and forcing my mouth shut for a paycheck, I can't string three words together coherently, let alone scare up any snarky reparte. Mostly I just blink...
The "good" news (though for whom I'm unclear) is that I'll be out of a job and back on the dole in just a matter of weeks, so there's bound to be a flood of words you can actually see coming soon. Of course, if you'd like to employ me, I'll happily shift the blame for my continued shunning of this site... and I'm okay with that!
I need a sign...
Will compromise morals and jounalistic integrity for cash.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Crazy
The first thing we need to remember is that you can’t fix crazy.
Take a hard look at your Crazy vs. Not So Crazy Relationship Ratio. Are you trending toward “what the hell is wrong with my decision-making processes?” I don’t know about y’all but I’ve been with Crazy and, as thrilling a rollercoaster as it is, eventually you have to get off and head for a 3-day bender to restore your sanity. Stay with Crazy long enough and it starts to resemble Normal – whatever that is exactly.
There are varying degrees of Crazy; some you can live with, some will suffocate you while you’re passed out drunk on the sofa. These two ends of the spectrum aren’t really what I’m talking about though. The crazy that will make you crazy is the bit in the middle; the bit that makes you wonder if you’re imagining it. The bit that you ignore when you wanna get laid.
In my ongoing effort to convince some of my guy friends to step away from the crazy, I’ve developed the following scale for determining whether or not having sex is eventually going to get them killed, or just damage their reputation a little more. Remember, crazy doesn’t wear an identifying t-shirt.
Crazy Range 1-3:
Every woman has a little crazy in her somewhere. If you think yours falls into the 1-3 category, perhaps you should take your eyes off her boobs and watch her face when there are other women around. It's possible she doesn't lean toward crazy behavior at all. It’s also possible that this one is a master of deceit. I wouldn’t lay poker with her.
Crazy Range 4-6:
Women in this range are probably as close to “normal” as you’re going to find. Sure, she may occasionally exhibit meltdowns or manifest moderate amounts of random craziness, but I would venture to say that these are manageable and most likely the direct result of scheduled hormonal fluctuations... if you know what I mean.
Crazy Range 7-8:
She’s broken. Broadly speaking, she’s wholly aware of this and in her defense, she’ll make every effort to hide it from prying public eyes. If you have a hankering to jump out of a plane or train lions, she’ll not only agree to go with you, she’ll probably suggest it first. Still, she’s likely to go off the deep end when least provoked so be sure to check your parachute.
Nutcase 9 or above (because there is a 12… I’ve met her):
There’s no telling what could happen on any given day, in any given hour. She “seems” like a 4 or 5 when you first meet her… and that should scare you. The real trouble with this one is that she’s almost always a freak in the rack. This is why you keep going back. But what does it get you, my friend? I’ll tell you. It gets you weeks and weeks of 1,000s of text messages, “coincidental” meetings out, messages left in shaving cream on your car, and calls to your mother even if they’ve never met. Dude, walk away… quietly. Consider witness protection because you’ll never really be rid of her. Ever.
I suppose I should probably attempt to deflect the hate mail by saying yes, I’m fully aware that crazy comes in the form of penis owners, too. The thing is, their attention span is so freakishly short that the episodes of crazy rarely last long enough to be worth writing about. And of course, it’s rarely inventive or fresh because, again, the short attention span.
I wish I had the answer to dealing with crazy. I’d write a book, make my millions, and retire to some place sunny. I can only suggest that you take solace in the fact that there are plenty of nearly crazy-free women in the world. I think I met one once…
Take a hard look at your Crazy vs. Not So Crazy Relationship Ratio. Are you trending toward “what the hell is wrong with my decision-making processes?” I don’t know about y’all but I’ve been with Crazy and, as thrilling a rollercoaster as it is, eventually you have to get off and head for a 3-day bender to restore your sanity. Stay with Crazy long enough and it starts to resemble Normal – whatever that is exactly.
There are varying degrees of Crazy; some you can live with, some will suffocate you while you’re passed out drunk on the sofa. These two ends of the spectrum aren’t really what I’m talking about though. The crazy that will make you crazy is the bit in the middle; the bit that makes you wonder if you’re imagining it. The bit that you ignore when you wanna get laid.
In my ongoing effort to convince some of my guy friends to step away from the crazy, I’ve developed the following scale for determining whether or not having sex is eventually going to get them killed, or just damage their reputation a little more. Remember, crazy doesn’t wear an identifying t-shirt.
Crazy Range 1-3:
Every woman has a little crazy in her somewhere. If you think yours falls into the 1-3 category, perhaps you should take your eyes off her boobs and watch her face when there are other women around. It's possible she doesn't lean toward crazy behavior at all. It’s also possible that this one is a master of deceit. I wouldn’t lay poker with her.
Crazy Range 4-6:
Women in this range are probably as close to “normal” as you’re going to find. Sure, she may occasionally exhibit meltdowns or manifest moderate amounts of random craziness, but I would venture to say that these are manageable and most likely the direct result of scheduled hormonal fluctuations... if you know what I mean.
Crazy Range 7-8:
She’s broken. Broadly speaking, she’s wholly aware of this and in her defense, she’ll make every effort to hide it from prying public eyes. If you have a hankering to jump out of a plane or train lions, she’ll not only agree to go with you, she’ll probably suggest it first. Still, she’s likely to go off the deep end when least provoked so be sure to check your parachute.
Nutcase 9 or above (because there is a 12… I’ve met her):
There’s no telling what could happen on any given day, in any given hour. She “seems” like a 4 or 5 when you first meet her… and that should scare you. The real trouble with this one is that she’s almost always a freak in the rack. This is why you keep going back. But what does it get you, my friend? I’ll tell you. It gets you weeks and weeks of 1,000s of text messages, “coincidental” meetings out, messages left in shaving cream on your car, and calls to your mother even if they’ve never met. Dude, walk away… quietly. Consider witness protection because you’ll never really be rid of her. Ever.
I suppose I should probably attempt to deflect the hate mail by saying yes, I’m fully aware that crazy comes in the form of penis owners, too. The thing is, their attention span is so freakishly short that the episodes of crazy rarely last long enough to be worth writing about. And of course, it’s rarely inventive or fresh because, again, the short attention span.
I wish I had the answer to dealing with crazy. I’d write a book, make my millions, and retire to some place sunny. I can only suggest that you take solace in the fact that there are plenty of nearly crazy-free women in the world. I think I met one once…
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
What Did You Just Say?
And then there’s the deceit...
Here’s the thing about that; let’s just call it what it is: lying.
Whether by omission, distortion, or boldfaced storytelling, it’s all the same.
I know this girl (though not very well I suppose), who lies about pretty much everything. From what she’s doing, to what she ate for lunch. I can only assume this is a defense mechanism to keep from facing the fact that she’s basically miserable. Or maybe she knows, but she’s trying to hide it from everyone else. Whatever the reason, it’s totally transparent… to everyone…which is embarrassing. One of her friends should talk to her about this…
*looks around*
So, I was chatting with some girlfriends, trying to sort out why so many people give lip-service to “loving everyone just the way they are” then behaving in such a way as to prove that’s total bullshit. We got sidetracked with margaritas so there was never a resolution reached… but the drinks were fantastic, no one lied about anything, and we nearly managed to solve the Libyan crisis.
Still, out of that tequila-fueled conversation came our humble opinion:
Most non-cover-story lying is based in some distorted sense of competition. I have to admit that, given my completely fucked up life (hey, I own it… leave it alone), I’m always caught a little off guard when it happens to me. Y'all are already one up on me... no need to compete for the Most Fucked Up Life title! Besides, if there were something here to compete with, I’d be exploiting the hell out of it.
Here's what I want to know:
Whatever happened to The Sisterhood?
What about supporting one another, instead of belittling another's accomplishments or happiness with a misguided, self-congratulatory tale of superiority?
Where is the kinship that ties us together in mutual love and respect?
Where is the genuine happiness for something good that happens in someone else’s life?
When did all of that get replaced with lying about how you did the same thing only better?
Do those women understand how little the rest of us want to be around that behavior?
It’s a special relationship among women who have the kind of honest communication that sisterhood deserves, free of competitive bullshit and “what are you wearing so I can be sure to look cuter” crap. I’m very lucky to have a few girls in my life who are, like me, too busy, grown-up, disinterested, or damaged to make time for that behavior. Gesh, imagine how unnerving it would be to discover one of “those girls” within your inner circle of confidants.
We should probably consider a stricter friendship application form...
Here’s the thing about that; let’s just call it what it is: lying.
Whether by omission, distortion, or boldfaced storytelling, it’s all the same.
I know this girl (though not very well I suppose), who lies about pretty much everything. From what she’s doing, to what she ate for lunch. I can only assume this is a defense mechanism to keep from facing the fact that she’s basically miserable. Or maybe she knows, but she’s trying to hide it from everyone else. Whatever the reason, it’s totally transparent… to everyone…which is embarrassing. One of her friends should talk to her about this…
*looks around*
So, I was chatting with some girlfriends, trying to sort out why so many people give lip-service to “loving everyone just the way they are” then behaving in such a way as to prove that’s total bullshit. We got sidetracked with margaritas so there was never a resolution reached… but the drinks were fantastic, no one lied about anything, and we nearly managed to solve the Libyan crisis.
Still, out of that tequila-fueled conversation came our humble opinion:
Most non-cover-story lying is based in some distorted sense of competition. I have to admit that, given my completely fucked up life (hey, I own it… leave it alone), I’m always caught a little off guard when it happens to me. Y'all are already one up on me... no need to compete for the Most Fucked Up Life title! Besides, if there were something here to compete with, I’d be exploiting the hell out of it.
Here's what I want to know:
Whatever happened to The Sisterhood?
What about supporting one another, instead of belittling another's accomplishments or happiness with a misguided, self-congratulatory tale of superiority?
Where is the kinship that ties us together in mutual love and respect?
Where is the genuine happiness for something good that happens in someone else’s life?
When did all of that get replaced with lying about how you did the same thing only better?
Do those women understand how little the rest of us want to be around that behavior?
It’s a special relationship among women who have the kind of honest communication that sisterhood deserves, free of competitive bullshit and “what are you wearing so I can be sure to look cuter” crap. I’m very lucky to have a few girls in my life who are, like me, too busy, grown-up, disinterested, or damaged to make time for that behavior. Gesh, imagine how unnerving it would be to discover one of “those girls” within your inner circle of confidants.
We should probably consider a stricter friendship application form...
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
We Don't Talk Anymore
Oh, there are words leaving mouths at breakneck speed, but no one seems to be saying anything of decipherable relevance.
I think we have two very opposite social groups participating in this phenomenon. One seems to be so afraid of ruffling feathers or being perceived as actually taking a stand in opposition of someone else, that nothing is being said when the words are finally uttered. I’m exhausted from trying to figure where these people stand; trying to ferret out meaning from a stream of “politically correct” euphemisms and random acronyms or abbreviations.
The other is compiled of sneaks, schemers, and social-climbers who are talking non-stop about anything and everything that has absolutely nothing to do with them. Gossip, innuendo, half-truths, and brazenly made up bullshit fabricated or passed along in an effort for the teller to feel or appear important in their crowd. Sadly, from time to time you will discover a supposed friend in this mix. I did. It sucks.
*sighs and shrugs*
I do not gossip. Oh I enjoy a laughter-filled round of speculation over a shared bottle of wine as much as the next girl, but I’d never try to pass it off as truth.
I do not tell other people’s stories.
Just so we’re clear, there are many, many times I’ve been absolutely giddy with the opportunity to share a scandalous piece of verifiable information with the world because someone involved kicked my Universe in the ribs.
But I don’t.
Not because I consider myself above that sort of behavior or think I’m better than any other schmoe. Neither of these is true! My reasoning is more selfish.
I used to wonder why so few people are willing to take a defiant stand in solidarity of truth and friendship; and the gross number who remain “neutral” when unfortunate circumstances befall their friends. Are these people so self-involved that they don’t see how in not taking a stand, they are taking one?
But I’m past the marveling.
Now I say, so what? The Neutrals have to live with themselves as spineless followers and that’s enough for me. As for the rest, I can’t change the weak-willed and silent conformists. I can only leave them behind.
I think we have two very opposite social groups participating in this phenomenon. One seems to be so afraid of ruffling feathers or being perceived as actually taking a stand in opposition of someone else, that nothing is being said when the words are finally uttered. I’m exhausted from trying to figure where these people stand; trying to ferret out meaning from a stream of “politically correct” euphemisms and random acronyms or abbreviations.
The other is compiled of sneaks, schemers, and social-climbers who are talking non-stop about anything and everything that has absolutely nothing to do with them. Gossip, innuendo, half-truths, and brazenly made up bullshit fabricated or passed along in an effort for the teller to feel or appear important in their crowd. Sadly, from time to time you will discover a supposed friend in this mix. I did. It sucks.
*sighs and shrugs*
I do not gossip. Oh I enjoy a laughter-filled round of speculation over a shared bottle of wine as much as the next girl, but I’d never try to pass it off as truth.
I do not tell other people’s stories.
Just so we’re clear, there are many, many times I’ve been absolutely giddy with the opportunity to share a scandalous piece of verifiable information with the world because someone involved kicked my Universe in the ribs.
But I don’t.
Not because I consider myself above that sort of behavior or think I’m better than any other schmoe. Neither of these is true! My reasoning is more selfish.
- I know that if I sit on something for just a little while, I’ll discover I really don’t care, so why get involved?
- I don’t have much more than a passing interest in people who don’t affect me.
- If they do affect me, it’s much more interesting to watch The Universe take out its own revenge rather than get all dirty myself.
I used to wonder why so few people are willing to take a defiant stand in solidarity of truth and friendship; and the gross number who remain “neutral” when unfortunate circumstances befall their friends. Are these people so self-involved that they don’t see how in not taking a stand, they are taking one?
But I’m past the marveling.
Now I say, so what? The Neutrals have to live with themselves as spineless followers and that’s enough for me. As for the rest, I can’t change the weak-willed and silent conformists. I can only leave them behind.
Friday, February 25, 2011
TNR: Trap, Neuter, Release
You know how “they” say that death comes in threes? Well, apparently bad relationships do, too – though maybe that’s redundant.
Historically, I go three bad, then one so good I panic and fuck it up…immediately returning to the first of three bad. It’s a vicious cycle really. One would think I’d be dizzy by now and maybe, oh I dunno, get off the ride!
Speaking of threes, I also have three friends currently embroiled in relationships that are speeding toward Dead Ends-ville and not one of them will look it in the eye. I’m not judging. I’ve been there.
I think what we need is a new approach to getting involved in relationships altogether. I’m just spitballin’ here, but how about this…
TNR: Trap – Neuter – Release.
The premise is that we could save others from inevitable misery by identifying those who will mess with your head, or fuck you over because they’re all fucked up. We could do our brethren a solid by making these people readily recognizable, preferably to the naked eye.
Trap
It sounds worse than it is. This is the act of entertaining a relationship with the object of your affection/lust. Assessment should begin post-haste so that the “cute” things (read: crazy or sociopathic behaviors) don’t get overlooked early. This is an important phase in the project as you’re coloring the impression of your partner for all those to come. I recommend going with your gut. It’s better equipped to deal with the truth than your heart or throbbing genitalia.
Note: Even if you’re not particularly interested in an actual relationship, you’re welcome to participate in this objective for sport. Think of it as a community service.
Neuter
We need some boundaries here. I’m neither advocating nor suggesting the maiming or removal of actual reproductive organs… that would be illegal no matter how attractive the idea or how much it would benefit the world's gene pool. When I say “neuter” I mean to permanently identify as less-than-desirable, thus limiting the opportunities for reproduction.
Okay. So you’ve discovered some horrible personality trait or habitual behavior during your Trap Assessment that should not be inflicted on others of your gender or sexual orientation. As I ponder the execution of this step, it occurs to me that there are certainly plenty of options – from a drunken trip to the tattoo studio for the secret ink, to tagging the ear with your pre-registered Trapper number. I probably need to sort that bit out before wide release of TNR v1.1. All suggestions are welcomed.
Release
In theory, this should be the easy part; however, let’s remember what we’re dealing with here. There’s always the possibility that some of us might have to change our phone number, quit our job, or move to another state and assume an alias – so there’s that to consider before participating in this much needed social experiment.
Since you don’t want to send your newly neutered prey over the edge, I suggest implementing the liquor-lubricated band-aid Release methodology so as to delay any possible repercussions when you deliver back into the wild. No explanation for this action is required. If you’d care to offer up one though, might I suggest “it’s not me, it’s you.”
Once the bugs are worked out, I’m pretty sure that widespread use of TNR could be the next great advancement in dating. Ultimately, a National Registry with open online viewing access would be a useful tool, complete with a BOLO page for those slippery ones that get away without the requisite tagging.
*smiles contently*
How great to know that someone else has already determined a level of undesirable behavior or crazy significant enough to deem warning-worthy to the rest of the world. Of course, it’s subjective… I mean, one man’s crazy is another man’s delightfully kinky.
Historically, I go three bad, then one so good I panic and fuck it up…immediately returning to the first of three bad. It’s a vicious cycle really. One would think I’d be dizzy by now and maybe, oh I dunno, get off the ride!
Speaking of threes, I also have three friends currently embroiled in relationships that are speeding toward Dead Ends-ville and not one of them will look it in the eye. I’m not judging. I’ve been there.
I think what we need is a new approach to getting involved in relationships altogether. I’m just spitballin’ here, but how about this…
TNR: Trap – Neuter – Release.
The premise is that we could save others from inevitable misery by identifying those who will mess with your head, or fuck you over because they’re all fucked up. We could do our brethren a solid by making these people readily recognizable, preferably to the naked eye.
Trap
It sounds worse than it is. This is the act of entertaining a relationship with the object of your affection/lust. Assessment should begin post-haste so that the “cute” things (read: crazy or sociopathic behaviors) don’t get overlooked early. This is an important phase in the project as you’re coloring the impression of your partner for all those to come. I recommend going with your gut. It’s better equipped to deal with the truth than your heart or throbbing genitalia.
Note: Even if you’re not particularly interested in an actual relationship, you’re welcome to participate in this objective for sport. Think of it as a community service.
Neuter
We need some boundaries here. I’m neither advocating nor suggesting the maiming or removal of actual reproductive organs… that would be illegal no matter how attractive the idea or how much it would benefit the world's gene pool. When I say “neuter” I mean to permanently identify as less-than-desirable, thus limiting the opportunities for reproduction.
Okay. So you’ve discovered some horrible personality trait or habitual behavior during your Trap Assessment that should not be inflicted on others of your gender or sexual orientation. As I ponder the execution of this step, it occurs to me that there are certainly plenty of options – from a drunken trip to the tattoo studio for the secret ink, to tagging the ear with your pre-registered Trapper number. I probably need to sort that bit out before wide release of TNR v1.1. All suggestions are welcomed.
Release
In theory, this should be the easy part; however, let’s remember what we’re dealing with here. There’s always the possibility that some of us might have to change our phone number, quit our job, or move to another state and assume an alias – so there’s that to consider before participating in this much needed social experiment.
Since you don’t want to send your newly neutered prey over the edge, I suggest implementing the liquor-lubricated band-aid Release methodology so as to delay any possible repercussions when you deliver back into the wild. No explanation for this action is required. If you’d care to offer up one though, might I suggest “it’s not me, it’s you.”
Once the bugs are worked out, I’m pretty sure that widespread use of TNR could be the next great advancement in dating. Ultimately, a National Registry with open online viewing access would be a useful tool, complete with a BOLO page for those slippery ones that get away without the requisite tagging.
*smiles contently*
How great to know that someone else has already determined a level of undesirable behavior or crazy significant enough to deem warning-worthy to the rest of the world. Of course, it’s subjective… I mean, one man’s crazy is another man’s delightfully kinky.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The Meaning of Life According to M. Thurzo
*stares at blinking cursor on blank page*
*sighs*
People send me video clips. I don’t know why really, they just do. So while I’m very busy self-censoring, I thought I’d share this one… mostly because it was on top. It’s not that I don’t think you, Dear Reader, are worth rooting around for something hysterical – you totally are. But I’m feeling introspective since I’ve had to duct tape my mouth shut. I’m hoping during this period of forced silence I’ll get blind-sided by a ton of ridiculous thoughts I have to share. Until then, mull.
*sighs*
People send me video clips. I don’t know why really, they just do. So while I’m very busy self-censoring, I thought I’d share this one… mostly because it was on top. It’s not that I don’t think you, Dear Reader, are worth rooting around for something hysterical – you totally are. But I’m feeling introspective since I’ve had to duct tape my mouth shut. I’m hoping during this period of forced silence I’ll get blind-sided by a ton of ridiculous thoughts I have to share. Until then, mull.
Many thanks to Martin Thurzo
Monday, February 14, 2011
Heart This!
Ahh, Valentine's Day.
Cupids, flowers, singing telegrams, dinner reservations, last minute gifts, and sex. If ever a holiday were invented solely to make people feel bad about their relationship status, this is it.
From my single friends' perspective, I'm a traitor and a rat. For one day I am no longer "one of them." Men and women alike get that resentful glare/smile that makes me feel worse than the hours leading up to midnight on New Year's Eve. If you're single and don't want to be, perhaps you should assess your "bar." Or, find a new bar...
As for the "marrieds" - it's a ridiculous competition of who go what "little gift" from the Husband. They flit about showing off new diamonds or other precious gems and gushing about whatever else "the most wonderful man in the world" did.
*eyeroll*
Me thinks thou overstates...
Last year Mr. Man skipped this particular celebration. He claimed that he never believed in the Hallmark holidays. WHAT? Since when? This declaration forced me to my brassiere drawer where I'd stashed 7 years worth of Valentine's Day cards.
Factoid: approximately 1 billion Valentine's Day cards are exchanged annually worldwide. You'd think I coulda gotten at least one.
I'm still not sure why I got all riled up about it unless it was because once again the gold crown of Hallmark made sure that no matter how little regard I gave the date, I inevitably set myself up for disappointment. Admittedly, not as disappointed as the significant others of the victims of the St. Valentine's Day massacre, but frankly I blame prohibition for that mess. They shoulda seen it coming.
Cupids, flowers, singing telegrams, dinner reservations, last minute gifts, and sex. If ever a holiday were invented solely to make people feel bad about their relationship status, this is it.
From my single friends' perspective, I'm a traitor and a rat. For one day I am no longer "one of them." Men and women alike get that resentful glare/smile that makes me feel worse than the hours leading up to midnight on New Year's Eve. If you're single and don't want to be, perhaps you should assess your "bar." Or, find a new bar...
As for the "marrieds" - it's a ridiculous competition of who go what "little gift" from the Husband. They flit about showing off new diamonds or other precious gems and gushing about whatever else "the most wonderful man in the world" did.
*eyeroll*
Me thinks thou overstates...
Last year Mr. Man skipped this particular celebration. He claimed that he never believed in the Hallmark holidays. WHAT? Since when? This declaration forced me to my brassiere drawer where I'd stashed 7 years worth of Valentine's Day cards.
Factoid: approximately 1 billion Valentine's Day cards are exchanged annually worldwide. You'd think I coulda gotten at least one.
I'm still not sure why I got all riled up about it unless it was because once again the gold crown of Hallmark made sure that no matter how little regard I gave the date, I inevitably set myself up for disappointment. Admittedly, not as disappointed as the significant others of the victims of the St. Valentine's Day massacre, but frankly I blame prohibition for that mess. They shoulda seen it coming.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Yo y Mi Circunstancia (Me and My Circumstance)
A dear friend of mine shared this maxim recently and it really stuck. Here’s the gist, no one – and I mean no one – can actually understand your situation when you’re making the hard decisions. It’s you and your circumstances; not them and theirs.
I really hate the phrase “trust me” when someone is offering up their opinion or advice. Perhaps in their situation, the decision they made was right for them. But that does not automatically mean, should you find yourself in similar circumstances, that their course of action – or inaction – is right or appropriate for yours. You’re a completely different person with a completely different dynamic and energy.
Butt out.
It’s really none of your business.
You don’t exist in the circumstance.
I really hate the phrase “trust me” when someone is offering up their opinion or advice. Perhaps in their situation, the decision they made was right for them. But that does not automatically mean, should you find yourself in similar circumstances, that their course of action – or inaction – is right or appropriate for yours. You’re a completely different person with a completely different dynamic and energy.
Butt out.
It’s really none of your business.
You don’t exist in the circumstance.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Life Truths: A Guide to 2011
It's that time again... the time when I like to remind my readers that there are some things unavoidable; things which need to be addressed, managed and otherwise dealt with... or not.
It occurs to me that as we head into the new year full of our latest resolutions (aka personal promises which set us up for failure), it would be a good idea to re-arm with a few basic Life Truths on decorum and ownership. This, of course, is in effort not to repeat some of the more unsavory and sometimes tawdry moments witnessed last year.
That's it. An updated version of my annual reminder - in no particular order! Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.
It occurs to me that as we head into the new year full of our latest resolutions (aka personal promises which set us up for failure), it would be a good idea to re-arm with a few basic Life Truths on decorum and ownership. This, of course, is in effort not to repeat some of the more unsavory and sometimes tawdry moments witnessed last year.
- You are where you are because that, my friend, is where you put yourself. Do not blame your Higher Power, The Universe, or the people around you for your ill-conceived decisions.
- The Universe is trying to move you in the direction of your life path. Quit acting like you know everything. You don't. So how about you just go ahead and get out of your own way?
- Life is a "Bring Your Own Water Wings" affair so stop annoying the rest of us with your bitching about how you've been done oh-so-wrong and paddle already.
- Just because you want it does not mean it's yours to have.
- You always have a choice. Take the route that will make your grandmother proud.
- Yes. You're fat. I think I am, too. Now can we please stop having that conversation? Get off your ass and do something about it.
- Your true friends will say the things you don't want to hear because they love you... and because they have faith that you already know the truth.
- Beware false allies and those who try too hard. Therein you will one day discover ulterior motive.
- When saying no - to anyone for any reason - it absolutely is not necessary to offer an explanation.
- From Image Consultant and old friend, Beth Newman: "Do not participate in 'big, bad, bold behavior.'" It's unseemly and frankly, déclassé. http://www.newmanimage.info/
- Do not shampoo your hair every day - no matter what.
- Stop fighting The Universe and you'll stop making stupid mistakes.
- One minute of your time - especially when you don't "have" it - is worth hours to someone who needs it.
- Pay attention. This will solve almost all of your "problems."
- Take heed: a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts.
- People are going to talk. Your choice is whether or not to give them something to talk about!
- We all humiliate ourselves. Get over it. These are the stories of our life's winter.
- If you think any part of this (or my blog in general) is directed at you, it probably is... I just don't know it. Examine why you do.
- Do not lie. To me or yourself.
- Your behavior in all situations is 100% on you. Own it or change it. These are the only options.
- Ladies: If a man wants to be with you, he will always find a way to make that happen. I suppose the same can be said conversely.
- Choosing not to engage means forfeiting your right to defend yourself against what others say. Know that, ultimately, this is still the best course of action.
That's it. An updated version of my annual reminder - in no particular order! Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.
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