Black Friday

I don’t care what time of year it is, when I’m paying $5 for a cup of coffee, I want what I want and I want it however I ask for it. Do not raise your eyebrows at me little Miss Barista, when I politely tell you that I would like a venti, non-fat, no foam, almond, gingerbread latte, with an extra shot. This is America and I’m perversely self-entitled. It’s my prerogative. Much like my un-American boycott of Black Friday.

Clarification: Said boycott actually has less to do with the long reaching, economic predictor holiday arm than it does with an early life discovery that the bars are open and the bartenders are bored. Holiday spending and gift-giving probably does induce pre- and post-seasonal depression. I say it’s kinder to keep that overindulgence to yourself. It’s a different kind of holiday giving.

I think the whole Black Friday tradition of beating the hell out of people for 24 to 72 hours in an effort to procure bargains completely defies logic. What sane individual willingly leaves their home in a state of continued post-Thanksgiving lethargy, to get into a moving vehicle, negotiate traffic, circle endlessly in search of up front parking (because we don’t want to burn off any excess calories by parking at a distance from the destination), elbow mannerless other shoppers out of the way, and wait on endless lines all for the possibility of saving a few dollars, only to return home exhausted and further financially burdened?

NEWSFLASH: Most of these deals are also available online. I haven’t paid for shipping on anything in years. There’s a code for that…

I learned a long time ago that the whole of holiday shopping is something best done in the seclusion of my home office with a toddy. It’s been and will remain a perfect arrangement and my own personal holiday tradition.

If it’s the “spirit of the season” that forces you out of the house, I have an idea. Remember that bartender? Take your fancy phone with its fancy applications and web access and park yourself on a stool in front of him… or her. Now you not only have the comfort of a chair and a cocktail, you also have a shopping mate. Believe me when I say, some of my best, and most unusual, gift ideas have come from bartenders. Not only do they know stuff, they know people. They’re a wealth of information, from who hates what newest electronic gadget and why; to all the reasons you might reconsider purchasing that diamond solitaire based on last weekend’s shenanigans.

Disclaimer: If you have reason to believe that I know you were planning that diamond purchase and are now wondering what I know that you don’t – it purely coincidental. I don’t know anything about anyone. Move along, People. There’s no show here.

OK. That’s all I have on this. Drink and shop responsibly.

Ho! Ho! Hos!

I don’t know if anyone remembers this time last year (no, not due to alcohol consumption) when some “mother-like” group of fanatics pitched a fit over the term “ho, ho, ho”; taking us down a path that this wasn’t a jocular hee-haw but rather a mating call from Santa Claus for all the trashy girls to come pull his sleigh. Here were my thoughts on it. Seems nothing has changed.

Inasmuch as I'm bothered by the idea that anyone would consider "ho, ho, ho" offensive - "gangsta rap" instead of "kid lit" – to the point whereby Mall Santas are no longer allowed to use the longstanding and customary laugh of Jolly Saint Nick - I'm even more bothered by the pen to paper outdoor voice used to remind all of us that we're becoming a society so ridiculously caught up in not offending anyone (belying our true feelings) that we're offending everyone. We don't speak of this in polite company, of course.

Big talk for so little action really…When was the last time that, as a global power or as individuals, we were even brave enough to look the truth of our authentic beliefs in the eye. Oh, the horror!

I can't speak for anyone else's truth, but I know this truth about myself: no one has a right to be angry over hearsay. If you weren't there - if you did not actually hear Imus because you've honestly never listened to talk radio beyond traffic or weather – then bugger off. He's a comic. Now we're censoring laughter (refer to "ho, ho, ho)?

As for the “Family or “Holiday Tree”, we might as well throw in the menorah, red string, ribbons, bows, a bobbing dashboard figurine of the Mother Mary, and a burning bush for good measure. It's a Christmas tree. It is what it is, as it has always been. You can throw a blanket over it but it's still dropping pine needles all over the rug.

All of this political correctness isn’t creating equality. It’s merely a veiled precursor to further segregation. Why do we feel compelled to hide our truths? Are we afraid someone won't like us? Will our personal truths find us shunned, perhaps wearing various scarlet letters on our pinafores? We’re already in so much Big Brother trouble, why not go down saying what we think?

I think Santa should have all the Ho’s he wants. In fact, I think maybe I’ll mail him a couple of addresses! Only 21 days til Christmas, People!

Whose Universe Is It Anyway?

I find it somewhat interesting – if a little creepy – that so many people believe they’re an important and integral part of everyone else’s Universe. Perhaps this is unkind to type out loud, but the truth of the matter is, quite frankly, irrespective of what others may tell you, not everyone is important.

I was on the receiving end of quite a dressing down for having said that once before, but I don’t care. It’s the truth.

[sidebar: as it happens, the reason for that unpleasant exchange was that I unwittingly made the honest comment that this person was of little consequence generally and of no importance in my life. Who knew she was a “special friend”? *shrug*]

Back to topic. Thinking this through, if every single person in your life actually WERE important, then none of us would have time for what IS important: Me. You. Us. Most of us already shortchange ourselves in that area. ARGH!… rephrase: We adults (this description having nothing to do with actual age) shortchange ourselves in that area. We’re busy. We have careers to manage and families to tend. We put ourselves at the end of our long list of other responsibilities.

It’s okay to say this out loud: We do not have time for people who think the Universe is revolving around them – no matter what their story. Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not saying that just because someone has a sad tale to tell doesn’t mean we unilaterally regard this person as unimportant based on the amount of time they're going to suck out of an already dry well. I’m saying we have to pick our sad sacks carefully so as not to be taken in, thus losing precious time better spent with – that’s right – the important people in our lives.

If you were to cozy up with a legal pad and #2 Ticonderoga to list who is and isn’t truly an important part of your real life, I imagine you’d all be surprised at who “makes the cut.” People we’ve known for what seems a minute are sometimes the very people we run to for all things happy and sad. YES column. Best friends who know everything about us and love us anyway: DEFINITELY YES! People we’ve known our entire lives whose call we immediately click “ignore” to when their number appears on our cell because, well, <insert your reason here.> Not so much column.

In an effort to help all y’all sort out who’s who, I’ve devised this one-step, easy to remember criteria: if someone is disloyal, lies, creates drama, acts out, manipulates, or generally behaves as though they’re still in the 6^th grade, they are not important. Those are the noises and actions of someone without any sense of self and desperate for attention.

WARNING: Sometimes the ole softy in you will want to take this person in and “help,” but know this: This is a person who will eventually create a wholly unnecessary uproar in your life or the life of someone who actually matters to you – thus disrupting your newfound balance, not to mention leaving a mess behind for which you have precious little time to sweep up.

I don’t know about y’all, but I have too many real problems to be dealing with someone else’s imaginary ones. Return the pacifier and back slowly out of the room. Where there is one, there are more…

Winter Song

This is one of those entries you're just going to have to dig into to get to the point. My faithful readers know that I post everything I write... even the crap. So just go with me through the beginning. I promise there's a payoff.

I can’t stand silence. I find it particularly disarming when I’m trying to work. Not everyone can be productive surrounded by “noise.” I’m just the opposite. When I’m stressed out and behind, it’s classic 70s. I don’t know why. When I feel like I have a ton to do and it’s really just a matter of racing through it, it’s all 80s New Wave all the time!

As a rule, I’m great with lyrics. I can’t tell you who sings what song, but I can recite verse after verse for no apparent reason other than I think it just finds it’s way into my memory while I work.

Today I was feeling a bit frustrated. There was new information for a project that I couldn’t make complete sense of because I was missing the “historicals;” the things that happened pre-me and none of my usual music was helping me concentrate.

I read and reread the new documentation, put together a synopsis and yet, I felt I was still missing some critical point. How could I possibly not be “getting” this? After all, it's not like I'm saving lives or creating new ways to keep us "Green." It occurred to me that maybe what I was truly lacking was the right musical inspiration.

I browsed about until I found a new streaming station… at least new to me. I don’t know what it was exactly; some light new alternative – none of the songs had I ever heard. Perfect. Just the kind of white noise that would keep me focused.

I went back to work gathering my questions and putting together an email to get the information I was missing. As I read through the missive to ensure I had everything I needed, a snippet of a song crept into my head. I stopped working. What was I hearing??? What was she singing???

“Is love alive”?

“Is love a lie”?

Well! These are two very different questions! I actually said that out loud to an empty room. Interesting questions though, don’t you think?

I often wonder if love – the kind of love of books and movies – really is dead. Or worse, perhaps it never existed at all. I think we all want to believe in it, and maybe that’s why there’s so much theater and so many romance books focused on it. It’s something we really, really want… and sadly it might not even exist outside of our own imagination. So maybe it is a lie.

Maybe love is nothing more than the thing we make our relationships into in order to create a sense of importance; to give our lives meaning and reason in a Universe that is so often unreasonable.

Could it be that societal expectations are such that, in an effort to bring more meaning into our lives, we make choices about all of our relationships to rationalize what we know to be – or not to be – true so as to somehow elevate ourselves to a place where we can excuse or create our perceived behaviors of others?

Is love alive?

Is love a lie?

I’d like to believe in the first. It’s infinitely more painful to look at straight in the eye. But life is painful. It’s also joyful and ridiculous and luckily, its events are generally unexpected.

What I heard was Winter Song by Sara Bareilles. You decide…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67xr_KKPTHE

Don't Stand So Close to Me

Why does it suddenly seem like every time you turn around people are wrapping their arms around each other in what appear to be deep, meaningful embraces in public places? More and more it’s not just girls… it’s the boys, too. It begs the question: Are boys – as a gender – finally getting in touch with their sensitive side?

I blame all the boy-on-boy hugging we see on the television. I shudder to think that we’re becoming a society of touchy-feelies, quick to ignore or disregard personal space. Sure, I think it’s nice that boys seem to be letting go of their “mo-phobia” about touching and employing something more intimate than a handshake, but someone needs to have a chat with Miss Manners on the topic.

Picture it: one of those boys who runs around with the entirety of his underdrawers hanging out the back of his pants engages in one of these public embraces and, experiencing a “security breach,” is left with his skinny ass exposed in a now very awkward clutch. What’s the protocol here? No one wants to be a part of this sort of exposure.

Sadly, this new Freedom Touching isn’t as confined as some of us would have it. It’s going on everywhere! It’s happening between people who’ve only just met! I'd like to hang a sign behind the bar that clearly states that sitting side-by-side for the length of time it takes to consume a beverage does not mean we know one another! Oh! And being introduced by a mutual friend does not extend or transfer their well earned Touching Rights to you.

I can quickly count four girls in my life who, very un-stereotypically, will freeze in horror and possibly open disgust if hugged by someone outside their very immediate circle. It's a common phenomenon easily recognized by the completely immobile arms and an ass pushing backward in an effort to flee. I totally get this. It’s all about not wanting to be touched by “Randoms.” I’m immeasurably put out if you so much as brush past me in a hallway, or crowd me in an elevator.

Since apparently some sort of criteria needs to be set, here's the Rule of Thumb: If you haven’t slept with me, seen all or "parts" of me naked, gotten me unstuck from a hideous garment in a major department store dressing room, peed with me behind a bush, or are under the age of retirement, just don’t do it.

Not everyone thinks you’re a lovely person because you reached out and touched someone. In fact, my first thought is about germs; my second is how I’ll get the cloying reek of your perfume off of my shirt.

When it comes to same sex touching, respect the space, People! Respect the space!

Social Networking

This can't be happening to just me...

Lately I've been getting these random Facebook, LinkedIn, Classmates.com messages from people I haven't thought about in what feels like a bazillion years. Interestingly, it seems like more and more they're from boys. Boys I may or may not have dated during a previous life phase.

I don't know about y'all but I've always thought of skulking about on social networking websites as strictly "girl territory." What could this possibly mean? Are boys getting in touch with their feminine side? And if they are, why now?

Big surprise, I have a theory. I suspect that these boys have reached some random pinnacle in their lives when they discover they're no longer full of the old vim and vigor. They're starting to look around and wonder what they missed while they were busy being self-obsessed. If you read the books or watch reality television you probably know this behavior has historically been confined to the stereotypical Mid-Life Crisis - and we're generally comfortable with that. However, if you take a good look around, you'll realize too that it's happening in much younger boys than it used to. Young like 25-30 year olds! Now, somebody please tell me what they could possibly be having a crisis over...

Moving on.

So boys, though I can't help you with your new paunch (hey, step away from the trough), the receding hairline (plugs are never a good idea), or the post-collegiate realization that you ain't actually The Shit (buddy, you never really were - embrace it), I can say that Internet stalking, Ex-Girlfriend Googling, and mysterious posts on social networking sites are not the answer to whatever your damage is. And it's creepy. I can't imagine what you think you're going to get out of it but here are a few heart-felt responses to this activity:

1. No, I am not going to be so surprised and excited that I send you naked photos of myself.
2. No, I am not going to be so flattered by your sudden attention that I start sneaking about to have Dirty Talk Time with you.
3. No, I am not going to be so bowled over by your sweet remembrances of our time together that I meet you for drinks while your wife / girlfriend / mother is away.
4. No, I am not going to be so stupid as to think that if "we" meet "you" for dinner that you don't have ulterior motives - most of which you'll try to convey beneath the tablecloth and out of sight of our companions.

What are you up to, Creeps McGreeps? If any of the above applies to your sudden need to contact me, you should just slink away with the knowledge that I'm a suspicious, cynical girl and it's fairly unlikely you'll receive a response from me not laced ridicule.

*shrugs*

Move along, Pal. There's no show here today.

The One I Couldn't Title

"Spirit move me, every time I'm near you. Whirling like a cyclone in my mind..."
~ Barry Manilow

Don't judge my Barry Manilow lyric recitation. Everyone has an artist they're embarrassed to admit to knowing every lyric to every song said artist ever performed. Besides, I didn't post it as a jumping off place for ridicule - though I am rather in the mood for that. No, I opened with Barry because I miss that feeling. I miss that excitement. I miss the feeling of missing someone when we're apart. I miss the feeling of anticipation!

Some would say it's simply relationship evolution. They'd be right. It is. I've certainly been in enough of them to recognize the signs. In a drunken conversation with a girlfriend recently, she confessed to wishing she was through all of the "excitement" and moving squarely into where I am. In her head, the "security" of marriage is 1000% preferable to the waiting and wondering.

*sigh*  *eyeroll*

wtf... It's as if no one even reads me when I type... *shakes head in exasperation*

Even married, you will wait... and wonder... and suspect... and usually you'll be wrong but sometimes you'll be right. The only measurable difference is in the amount of laundry under foot and general disarray in your life.

Oh sure, for some the element of romance will live a lovely married life... for awhile. Frankly, I think marriage is overrated. It's really just a pot commitment and a fuckin' hassle to get out of. Sheer laziness keeps most of them alive. What? You don't want to believe me? Well, you watch too much television.

I think the true test of a relationship is how long you'll do the work to stay together when it's still so easy to walk away. How hard will you work at something that isn't mandatory? I love the idea of being in a relationship with someone who's there because they want to be; not because during a multi-month bender and associated whirlwind of newness, the choice was removed.

I haven't always been cynical on this topic. I used to be a believer in lasting romance, and marriage, and being a part of something bigger than one's self. BA! It's all bullshit perpetuated by glamorous actors appearing in slick programming designed to make you feel so shitty about yourself that you stay secreted away at home watching the television, thus making their sponsors happy and lining everyone's pocket except your own. You go to bed believing that tomorrow is The Day your life is going to become full of joy de vie, flowers and singing birds... but first you need to dash out for that age defying moisturizer, or new Blackberry, or whatever else it is you're lacking that stands between you and your ultimate happiness.

Wow. This is not where I anticipated going when I typed Barry's lyric. Somewhere in this disorganzed wreck of writings, I penned something about romance once. Oh right! It's "Don't Judge..." from March '09. What a difference half of a year makes...

*sighs*
I miss romance...

Ohhh, Yoga!

Super cute, shaggy-haired yoga instructor guy falls out of one-legged chair pose, laughs and says, "it's okay to fall. Balance is a day-to-day thing. Don't worry so much about it!"

Pretty sure when those words left his lips in an effort to cover the fact that he wasn't paying much more attention than the rest of us, he didn't realize what he was saying intinsically, or how it resonated in my head... or why after being incessantly coaxed and harangued to smile through yoga, I finally had a reason to.

My inner bitter skeptic immediately had a question, "is it then okay to assume that unbalance is a day-to-day thing as well?" After all, this could be really good news!

I would have asked out loud except only my dogs would have heard me since I've taken to doing yoga via cable television.

There are several reasons I quit going to an actual yoga class. Time, work, lack of dedication, my endless need to clean stuff, the "air of communal gas" that permeates the yoga studio and leaves me unable to hold poses due to sometimes uncontrollable laughter.

Yes. I laugh when people break wind. I don't care how old or sophisticated you become, it's still just funny. Made even more so by a room full of people doing it. In case you've not had this particular life experience, yoga works the muscles in such a way as to alleviate bodily gases - which is no laughing matter - until I start thinking about marching bands... woodwinds... tubas... an occasional toot from the brass section.

This combined with the fact that those people frown upon my ever-present coffee go-cup and ability to sip while in downward facing dog - well, it was all quite enough for me.

Besides, in my living room there are no witnesses to my day-to-day unbalance... which I've decided is okay even without confirmation from super cute, shaggy-haired yoga instructor guy!

Namaste!

Crosseyed and Painless

I'm not lazy about this writing thing. I'm not... contrary to how it may appear given my erratic at best efforts. No, you see, I have a problem.

Look at the masthead of this page. What do you see? You see me talking about how we all have this persona we present for public viewing and how it's really all just a big farce. The original premise was that here, on these pages, I would rant the truth about life and love and how fucked-up things and people can be. Oh, damnit! I'm trying to not type "fuck" anymore.

Here's the problem. As of late it seems a number of people with nothing better to do with their time are spending it.... WHOA!

*sits back with mouth agape, fingers still poised over keyboard*

I just had a Mack truck epiphany!

OK. I was about to tell the tale about how I can't seem to do this because I'm tired of people dragging my life around like it should be appearing on the cover of one of the trashier supermarket tabloid magazines so the whole world can know about my complete shit year of horror and they're going to make sure no one forgets by judging and talking and acting like they're still in the junior high school... when it struck me in that way that only a truly unexpected truth can: I really, honestly, wholly, and completely do not give a fuck what anyone thinks about how I handle MY LIFE!

*smiles broadly*
*slides dollar into Fuck Jar*

Weird thing is, I thought I did care. I thought I didn't want to fan anyone's imaginary fire; type something "offensive" (what???); or generally call attention to myself in any way. BA! Balderdash to that, I say!

*cranks up Talking Heads*

I almost can't believe I got so far into my own head that I would fuck myself out of so much fantastic material. We all know that some of my best work is borne of my own public humiliation.

*whew*

Well, this feels great! Thanks for being here so I could have this revelation! I'm so fucking happy right now! And I just paid myself $6 for it! Four more and there's a bottle of Woop Woop wine in it for me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Cheers!

Whimsy

I love whimsy.

That might come as a surprise to those of you who think I'm just an uptight control freak with abandonment issues. But it's true.

I think the Bedazzler was a fantastic idea; that chiffon should never go out of style; that there's room in everybody's life for crazy up-dos.

I think the best part of having a yard with trees is the autumn when I can rake up a big pile of leaves and jump into it like I'm still 7 years old.

I think that hats should be worn everyday by men and women.

And isn't it true that the best dates happen in unexpected, quiet places!

I love parades - of any type or magnitude; shivering in the snow eating an ice cream cone; wildly mismatched clothes; singing at the top of my lungs; and dancing alone in my living room letting the music rattle the windows.

I also happen to love doing things on the spur of the moment. Some of you might guffaw upon reading this, but that also happens to be true.

What I don't love is a surprise. I always seem to be wearing the wrong shoes...

09-09-09

Disclaimer: This may very well be the worst thing I've ever posted. But in the spirit of exposing myself, here it is nonetheless.

It’s the 9^th.

Not the 11^th. The 9^th.

Is it weird that 8 years later my stomach still drops at the sound of a military helicopter overhead? We don’t see many of those here, but it’s a gruesome reminder of that fateful day when it’s ALL we heard; the only thing breaking up the eerie silence.

I live 120 miles south of New York City; 108 miles north of Washington DC; and 199 miles east of Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I remember feeling surrounded by horror.

From the Ben Franklin Bridge, you could see the smoke rising from Lower Manhattan.
From my living room, you could hear the drone of military aircraft coming and going from Dover AFB and whatever that facility is just over the Delaware state line. This wasn’t happening on TV. This was happening in our yard.

Funny thing about the 11^th. I was on a plane on that day last year (read blog titled September 11, 2008) and never felt safer. Well, I say that… guess you’d have to read the blog to really know what I was feeling…

So today. Today I feel… like maybe I found my coffee limit; irritated because my data hasn’t shown up which is putting me behind; a bit like buying a chainsaw to take care of the newly downed tree out back; and more curious with every passing whirly-bird. I can’t help but wonder, why today? What’s going on in that secret government cave that it’s releasing low-flying aircraft again? Probably just routine exercises. Nonetheless, maybe I’ll take a drive up the street to the private airport.

Nostalgia

“Don’t have much to say,
Thought I’d call you up anyway.”
~ James Taylor

Nostalgia. It’s the classic example of “hurts so good.” I’ve been feeling rather nostalgic lately and I don’t know why. I do know I’ve been wallowing in it as if expecting some grand ROI for having done so...Yes, seems a little unbalanced.

Which of us is who we thought we’d be while playing “grown up” as a child? How many fulfilled the promise of that 6th grade essay question asking, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

When we started college, with our big plans and bigger dreams, did we believe for a moment that today we’d be looking back at that time wondering, “how could I possibly have been so naïve? So idealistic?”

And finally, during which drunk did that person completely disappear only to be replaced by this one? Not that there’s anything innately wrong with this one, it’s just… different.

What if…
… we went left instead of right?
… we’d said yes, instead of no?
… we’d said no, instead of yes?
… we’d thought it through?
… or not thought about it at all?
“There are faces I remember
From the places in my past
I said all the dead head miles
And insincere smiles
Sometimes I can laugh and cry
And I can’t remember why
But I still love those
Good times gone by
Hold on to them close or let them go
Oh no, I don’t know.” ~ James Taylor
I made one very definitive decision very early in my life – and it changed every aspect of my future. It’s the ultimate, “what if…” So since I’m waist deep in feeling nostalgic, the question to ponder over our collective cocktail is, “would I make that same decision again if I could?”

And what if I didn’t?
We all know how I feel about The Universe and it’s methodology for ensuring you end up exactly where you’re supposed to be, when you’re supposed to be there. Would it have made a difference? I’m looking for a genie in a lamp here. Or better yet, a visionary in my vodka.

Here’s something to mull: If a neutron can be in two places at one time, and it stands to reason then that an atom can also be in two places at one time, and since we are comprised of atoms, is it possible that in a Parallel Universe I am who I thought I’d be when I was so very young? Are you?

I think I’m going to go put on my “H-town uniform”; wonder at my White Tag Levi’s; open some wine; play some old CDs; read some letters; flip through some photos; then paw around in my still half full college satchel. Maybe I can get this out of my system.

“Things may always stay the way they are,
Still my head looks for a change from time to time.
I don’t really need to look that far.
Turn on the music, strike up the music
Let the music change my mind.”
~ James Taylor

A Word from Jimmy Sprinkles

So yous guys, here's da thing. She's takin' a break. Says she's gotta go buy back her dignity - whaddever dat means. Said somethin' else too but she's laughin' and I wasn't listenin'. Anyways, I checked in and she says she's got somethin' in the works - kinda dangerous but funny. I gotta tell ya's I ain't hearin' nuttin' in heres, but then it's kinda noisy.

How Quickly Time Passes

I had no idea that 15 days passed since my last musings. As always, my first reaction is to blame some external force for keeping me from employing my Gawd-given talent for amusing the masses. Truth is, Dear Readers, there's been nothing to say. I am not amused by anything.

*sings* Ja, ja, ja jaded

There's something about the perilous alignment of planets in conjunction with the solar eclipse that has sent The Universe - well, okay, MY Universe - into a tailspin... Now, I like to get dizzy as much as the next person, but I prefer it be from the vodka. That I can control... So in an attempt to regain some semblance of humor, interest, and an "Attitude of Gratitude," I'm going to make every effort today to locate a topic that will both rivet and amuse you. How hard could that be? After all, I AM going to the Wal-Mart...

Advice from Jimmy Sprinkles

1. Always sit with yer back to the wall. This is non-negotiable. Shit goes down, you should see it comin’.
2. Yer “family” is bigger than blood. Ya don’t screw your “family.”
3. Burn anything with blood on it. Ya just never know…
4. Buy a round at the bar.
5. Watch yer mouth in front of the ladies. Yer gonna wanna give one of ‘em the old ba-bing one day.
6. Don’t start no shit, there won’t be no shit.
7. Guys: ya want a one-night stand, buy it. That’s somebody’s daughter yer messin’ with.
8. Watch yer associations. Today’s odds-on favorite is tomorrow’s 20 to 1.
9. Learn to keep people’s secrets. Think of it as a long-term investment in body and soul.
10. Good wine ain’t always expensive. (That’s one of them euphemisms. Yous can figure it out.)
11. Just because ya don’t think yer caught don’t mean ya ain’t.
12. Keep yer money in yer mattress and yer consigliere in yer wallet.
13. The tip you leave today might buy ya somethin’ tomorrow.
14. Never trust the over-anxious. They got their reasons.
15. Eat dinner with friends. It’s good to break bread.

Loyalty

Loyalty (n): unswerving in allegiance: faithful to a private person to whom fidelity is due; faithful to a cause, ideal, custom, or institution
Disloyalty (n): opposite of above. Seems so very sad that a definition for these words is necessary.

I’ve been feeling nostalgic recently. Nostalgic for a time when principles mattered; when others were valued; when we held ourselves and our friends to a higher moral standard. When did we quit honoring our convictions? When did we become so accepting of things such as betrayal, disloyalty, and inappropriate public behavior? When did we decide as a society that airing the personal business of others is perfectly acceptable? When did preying on the sadness of another for personal gain ceased to be horrific, and become a sign of success or popularity? When did we start turning a blind eye to manipulation? What happened to “quality over quantity”?

I thought I had more on this topic, but I don’t except to say that we cannot control our environs – only ourselves within them.

Coming next: Advice from Jimmy Sprinkles!
Coming soon: Guest blog from another Southern girl

Random Whatnots - Part II

Here are more random thoughts that at one time or another I considered working into an actual entry. I think it speaks to my basic inability to entertain myself for very long.


On telephone interviews:
Can you tell me why, specifically, people who do not speak English well enough to conjugate the most basic verbs, are set about the task of following up on resume submissions? I just finished a phone call during which I may, or more probably may not, have answered questions which may or may not have been asked.


Odd Discoveries
11:27am: Just discovered that I’ve been wearing my shorts inside-out all day. That explains a few things…


On People Who Text without Vowels
I know a girl who does this. Apparently she doesn't realize it only serves to confirm that she IS, in fact, an idiot. Also ensures that her texts are easily discernable even from someone else’s phone. Did I say idiot already? Oh. Yes. Right. Well, some things bear repeating.


On My Instability
In an effort to maintain my very limited sanity, I move quickly. I suspect that if I were to slow down, everything would crumble like a stale Hostess snack cake. I’m generally just barely holding myself and my life together. If it weren't for coffee as a distraction, two or more of my personalities might have surfaced and really fucked things up today!


On Summer Footwear
I'm not hatin' on the flip-flops except to ask WHEN EXACTLY it became acceptable to wear them with, say, a cocktail dress? Or to an evening event? Or to a bridal shower??? They're shoes for the shower, not “shower shoes”, no matter HOW pretty they are. Backyard BBQ: yes. Checking the postbox: yes. Quick trip to the convenience store: I get it. Otherwise, why not try a pretty thong sandal?


On Facebook “Favs”
Favorite: (adj) one that is treated or regarded with particular liking or more highly regarded than others.
Fav: (adj) abbreviated version of the word favorite.
I said it one time and heard all about myself via Facebook, email, and in person. In retrospect, rightfully so. Had I thought about it sooner, I would have agreed and never typed it. Interesting turn throughout though; for once, I am not alone in an opinion! Here’s the little troublemaker: Using your FB “status” line to announce to your five bazillion “friends” that you’re hanging out or doing whatever with your “favs.” It insinuates that since absentee friends aren’t participating, they’re nothing more than merely stock for your stable in an attempt to increase your general popularity using Facebook numbers. Adding insult to injury, it really is in truly poor form. I adore my friends and to each I hang my head in shame. Please forgive me my gross departure from good manners.

2 Hours, 37 Minutes

2 hours, 37 minutes. That’s how long I could stand the sheer enjoyment of my own company. I always look forward to the rare stolen moments when I have the house to myself for a few hours. I make plans. BIG plans. I’m going to do at least one full workout or yoga, uninterrupted. I’m going to cook fish. I’m going to finally finish that book everyone was reading when I started it. I’m going to rifle through all those magazines beside my bed and actually throw some of them away. I don’t think I need to know what Debbie Allen made for Thanksgiving dinner… in 1996. I’m going to return all the messages on my voice mail and change the outgoing message on my cell phone. 2 hours, 37 minutes. I watched 4 sit-coms. I ate left over take-away Chinese. My nod to exercise turned out to be emptying the trash and downloading 4 new exercises for my hips and thighs. I nearly finished the TV Guide crossword puzzle. I ate an ice cream sandwich for dinner. 2 hours, 37 minutes. Couldn’t stand my own company a single moment longer. I called a pal and thankfully, his life is no more interesting than mine on a Thursday night filled with reruns. We’re meeting at the bar.

Summertime

That's my excuse for not posting. What's yours for not asking? Coming soon: Southern Belles

It's a Small, Small Town

To My Southern Sisters,
You know that I'm not the kind of girl who adjusts easily to country living. This is the kind of place where going to market is an undertaking; where dinner and a movie is a major excursion that requires actual planning. This is a place where shower shoes are considered acceptable footwear and women leave their homes without lipstick. And I'm not talking about putting it on in the car. I'm telling you that they leave the house without a lipstick! Not even in their pocketbook. Bare lipped! Well now, maybe I'm overstating it. A good number of them do wear Chap-stick...

[Disclaimer: Before some of my Northern Girls get all snarky, I should tell you my Southern Sisters, that I do have a handful of girlfriends who have been on the business end of the Clinique counter… thank the gods.]

I'm a Big City Girl living in a town where when you stop for coffee at the local convenience store, the Chief of Police greets you by name and inquires about your in-laws. It’s very Mayberry-esque, I know. In case you're wondering if the vodka has soaked my brain to the point that I actually believe I’ve moved into a 1950’s television program, you should know that there is a fair share of city-type crime to make me more comfortable in these surroundings! I remember it took 4 of our 6 police officers all summer to get to the bottom of which kid painted graffiti on the back of a mushroom truck two years ago...

I am wont to say to anyone who will listen that it's uncivilized to live like this. Obviously there are people who truly enjoy the "sense of community.” I gotta say the only sense I feel is that of someone's nose constantly shoved up my ass. Go ahead. Just try to enjoy one too many cocktails. Your neighbors will be whispering over the shrubbery that you're a lush by dawn.

*heavy sigh*
I miss the anonymity of living in a big city. Please send lipstick.

Scooby-dooby-doo, where are you?

Is my silence beguiling or unnoticed?

Purely unintentional, my dear Reader. I blame my friend, Jake. He made me promise to stop with the self-indulgent introspection and get back to, well, whatever else it is I write.

To that end, I've been painting my bathroom and mulling. So far I've only managed to scrape the surface of why we repeat behaviors that so obviously create discomfort. I do not enjoy painting. I'm not particularly good at it. I can't cut in a wall with a straight line across the ceiling. And yet, once again, I am rolling and wondering, "why do I always choose the hottest day to paint? Do I enjoy sweltering heat in a confined space? And is it the incessant rolling of sweat between my boobs, or perhaps the gross feeling of my shorts sticking to my ass that is so unmemorable that I haven't learned this lesson yet?"

Repeating behavior... y'all thought I was going to talk about booze, huh! Or maybe bad relationship choices! I suppose I could but frankly, it feels a little obvious. [Translation: I don't have the kind of time it would take for me to wade through my drunken debauchery or failed relationships even though they'd surely be great fodder for gossip and snickering - which is fun!]

So, then. I'll be getting back to it. If you need me, I'll be in the bathroom...

Comments, Comments, and “Is that Me?”

I wanna thank everyone who has submitted comments to the rantings I leave behind. I have to say that some of them are fuckin’ hysterical! That said, you may be wondering why those same comments never seem to appear in the Comments sections of each entry. The reason for this is simple. I figure if I “publish” one, then I’ll feel obligated to publish them all. See, along with the really funny and ridiculous missives, there are a few flattering ones. In my head, posting those just translates into public self-congratulations.

*shudder*

And then along came Lisa Jones… I always publish Lisa’s comments because she has so much to say that we all need to hear [and yet, she sits on her essay for this site like a stubborn brat hoarding her toys. (glares at friend)] I’m very lucky that Lisa has been a part of my life for so very many years because besides being a brilliant wrier, she’s a brilliant friend. I’m hoping that she’ll start sharing her stories and become a part of your life as well, dear Reader. Perhaps she’ll blog on her own; perhaps she will finally submit the guest blog here that she promised… Either way, she has a voice worth hearing. And she used to perform stand-up comedy… for beers.

So from y’all’s comments: here’s my favorite: There’s this guy. Well, I assume it’s a guy; I’m not trying to find out for sure by responding because I'm afraid he won't write again. Regarding the "Life Truths" post in January, he said it was like “bloody horse dick.” What??? I dunno, but it’s fuckin’ funny! Of course my first thought was that it's my friend Jonny, or maybe Gareth, in Leeds, England because they’d think that’s super funny, too. Either way, I love this guy. That was brilliant!

Then there’s this woman, KCares, who has apparently decided that I’m her psych patient or her project. To ALL readers, let me just say this: I’m not looking for advice or enlightenment or suggestions on self-help books. Thank you…. You’re very kind. But perhaps you could just save that. If I wanted help, I’d see my priest.

The purpose of this blog is to just be honest with myself and with all y’all. Sometimes I expect it will be embarrassing ("Don’t Judge" post); sometimes I’ll be angry and take all of you down a road of ugly with me. This is not about trying to impress anyone with my wordsmithing or prose. Cripes! I don’t even have a “theme” here and we all know that every good blogger needs one of those! It’s just about putting words on paper until such time as I can string together something Random House (or even Penguin!) would want to publish.

I’m not committing to publishing comments going forward. Maybe I will send up the really funny ones; but most likely I’ll continue to just read what you have to say then use you as material.

Speaking of, there’s no question that the most popular comment is, “are you writing about me?” I’ve tackled that topic before: if you think I am, I might be… I just don’t know it. Examine your behavior before you get all pissy because something I wrote struck a horribly sour and familiar cord in your life.

I got an anonymous comment shortly after the “Apologies” entry was published. This man, woman, it, used to be a goat – I dunno – sent a comment so scathing I nearly published it. In a nutshell the he, she, it, goat was outraged for whatever personal reason and said there would be repercussions if I didn’t stop writing about him, her, it! Oh no! Not repercussions!

*giggle*

There is a very real reason why I think that's funny. Those of you who have known me more than a minute know that it’s not unusual for me to publish here things that I’ve published on other sites. For instance, “Life’s Truths” gets republished twice every year just because. There was a request to republish "The Friendship Game – Parts 1 and 2." When I started publishing here, it was with all entries that were originally published somewhere else. Okay, so this is the best part. The Apologies entry that so enraged our dear Reader is a republish… from 1999, originally written in 1995. Probably only Lisa Jones knows for certain why that was composed and she ain’t talkin’! The thing that I love about this particular entry is how it demonstrates the consistency of my principles. What was true in 1995, stands true for me in 2009.

I know that some of my work is good, a lot of it is shit, and some of it probably leaves no actual impression whatsoever – the worst of all three. I’m not trying to write the next great American novel or solve societies woes. I’m simply looking around and reporting back on what I see. Love it or hate it – apparently you feel something. And I LOVE that some of y'all take this so personally that you think I thought of you. Excellent!

Until I can relocate my focus, ranting without purpose and typing without direction will be my “theme.” Think of it like fruit cake – no one really knows what’s in it, very few people like it, but everybody gets one anyway.

Sarcasm

It’s not my fault.
Sarcasm is my body’s natural reaction to stupidity.

What is my fault is not recognizing when I’ve inadvertently surrounded myself with people who provoke my sarcasm…

[Sidebar for clarification: there is a difference between stupidity and ignorance. Ignorance can be educated. Stupidity is apparently inbred.]

"The trouble with her is that she lacks the power of conversation but not the power of speech"
- George Bernard Shaw

While we’re clarifying things, I suppose we should define sarcasm. It is not random shittiness. It is not an eyeroll, a snort, or a snide look in someone’s general direction. That’s nothing more than snarky behavior not brave enough to string together an actual remark.

"You have delighted us long enough."
- Jane Austen

Sarcasm is smart. It leaves one wondering if a remark was complimentary, or maybe not so much. It has a basis not only in wit, but in use of language. It requires timing and an innate sense of delivery. For exquisite examples of this, watch any Katharine Hepburn movie. Just pick one. I would suggest The Philadelphia Story with Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart (1940) if you’re truly interested in the brilliance of sarcasm properly delivered.

C. K. Dexter Haven: Sometimes, for your own sake, Red, I think you should've stuck to me longer.
Tracy Lord: I thought it was for life, but the nice judge gave me a full pardon.

I’ll be the first to admit that there’s a time and place for snarky – primarily before you’ve lived enough life to separate what matters, from what does not. But sarcasm, aptly conveyed, is timeless!

Apologies

I will not apologize for being fucked over.
I will not apologize for my reaction to being fucked over.

Mine is a simple philosophy. It’s about accountability. It’s about being honest with yourself and the people around you. I own my actions – good or bad. I apologize when I fuck up. Interestingly enough, it doesn’t appear that a large percentage of the rest of the world feels this way. It appears as though most would prefer to get caught not apologizing, before admitting wrong doing.

Here are the basics: when you get called out and have to back pedal for your actions, do not point your self-righteous finger in someone else’s direction. Look only to yourself and your own behavior. That’s how you get into these messes in the first place. Intuitively we all know what we’re doing, when we’re doing it. If you think I’m wrong, you’re dealing with a denial issue bigger than this blog. These are not always proud moments, and admittedly not always premeditated… the first time. The real issue arises when the unchecked behavior becomes habitual. Now we’re talking about premeditation and frankly, that’s way too unseemly for me to contemplate.

There is never any reason for someone to apologize on behalf of another. If it needs to be said, it will be. To do this is to perpetrate one of the ultimate forms of disloyalty. If you take another’s reins into your own hands, you’re only guiding the situation down a self-serving path. Good intentions – or not. We each have a Path of Destiny. Don’t interfere. It would suck for The Universe to take it out on you, eh?

Lastly, do not apologize for your behavior when you’ve been victimized. I know. No one wants to fall into the “victim” category, but sometimes you just are, and there’s nothing you could have done to avoid it. Understand that you’ll get screwed over. Sometimes by strangers, sometimes by “friends.” Take your pound of flesh, or walk away and wait for the Universe to demand its retribution. I prefer the latter. It’s more fun to watch.

Make your own choice. Just don’t apologize for it.

Random Whatnots

The following is made up of things I was thinking I might turn into something one day. I still might, but for now, I figured I’d just put out something more lighthearted than The Naked Truth posted below. So here we go.

On Boys and Girls:
I know why Boys don’t like Girls. It’s not all of Us; it’s a few of Them. The whiney, sniveling, snarky, social-climbing, back-stabbing, lying, stalking, skulking, immature, crazy chicks that make Boys believe that all girls are the same.

Apparently this was written just over a year ago:
I was cleaning out my closet today in an effort to prepare for the move into my new house. I came across my satchel from college and in it, one single sheet of notes for a paper I was preparing for Sociology. Dated April 1995 (please stop doing the math) was the following: “Change: Religion retards social change.” This was followed by personal commentary: “Our rationality will put us in a cage.”

From his book:
Men cheat because there are so many women who will cheat with them. – Steve Harvey

From me again:
Though I have many more, they’re far enough along that if I’d get off my dead ass and go mow the lawn, I could get them finished. Yes, I do my best thinking during physical activity. For those men in our audience who would be in the position to ask themselves “that” question, yes, that may very well have been what I was doing! Hey! Don’t judge me! Judge yourself!

The Naked Truth

Loosely defined, this can be interpreted as “that which we don’t ACTUALLY want to hear.”

There is nothing more distasteful to me than people who spend their energy and the precious time of others with the phrase, “I don’t care what people think.” It’s bullshit. Everybody knows it’s bullshit. The question is why do so many people keep saying it?

Sometimes I think it’s because they can’t hear the hollow ring of dishonesty. This must take amazing commitment to practice, as well as a sincere dedication to denial. Other times I think people say it solely to drown out the voice in their own head asking the question, “seriously? What the hell are you thinking?”

Like it or not, we ARE our brother’s keeper. Naturally, in order not to hand over our personal power, we’ve given it a label: Friendship. By now you may be painfully well aware of the value I put on friendship and how high the bar is set. I like to maintain this as – for my part – friendship is built on trust, thoughtfulness, and oh yeah – the elusive honesty. Yes, I’m plenty honest when you ask. I find it interesting though that when tales are retold, the request for honesty is so often left out of the retelling in order to assure the Friend who asked doesn’t have to admit to already having heard The Naked Truth (refer to definition above) in their own head.

Being our brother’s keeper is the basis of our humanity. Outside of ridiculous friendships, it’s the thing that ensures our civility; the thing that keeps us at the top of the food chain; the thing that maintains our sense of order and decorum. So to all those who cannot hear The Naked Truth above your den of denial, I give you this: Stop asking questions you may not want to hear the answer to. Problem solved. Yes, your ass looks huge in those jeans. Yes, I do know factually that your “boyfriend” is cheating on you. Yes, I forgive you but no, you’re not really my Friend.

Oddities of The Universe

I don’t know if it’s because I tend not to learn The Lesson the first time, or out of a sheer desire to actually control my life, but every once in awhile, I find myself trying to force The Universe to do things my way – to see what I want and let me make it happen.

*heavy sigh*

Cripes. I really do know better than that. This is not the way The Universe works. For those of you still catching up with my philosophy surrounding the Higher Power of The Universe, here’s the crux of it. We have no power over other people’s actions. They will do what they please irrespective of how we try to “influence” them, often disregarding the collateral damage. The question then posed to each of us is, “what to do, what to do?” There’s only one real consideration when pondering the options, “what does The Universe already have planned?”

*evil eyebrow wiggle*

The Universe puts us exactly where we’re supposed to be exactly when we’re supposed to be there. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that most of the time, I have no idea why I am where I am, or what I’m doing here. For the most part I’m okay with this because I’m pretty sure The Universe has a sense of humor and I’m an easy target. This determination is based on the number of times The Universe has dropped something into my lap that made me really glad I was already sitting down.

Revelations generally take time for The Universe to divulge, and it would be a rare coincidence for me to still be idling about when that finally happens. Frankly, I rather like this. It’s my only true repeatable pattern. Maybe it’s that “unstoppable force of nature” thing of which they speak!

Nonetheless, let it be stated for the record that in all of my somewhat dodgy life, I’ve only ever intentionally interfered with The Universe for the cause of those I love who have suffered irreparable damage at the hand of another.

Well okay, and on my own behalf a couple of times, but remember, the criteria is irreparable damage!

Set the scene: Hypothetically, of course, say some ridiculous person were meddling about in one’s personal whatnots with true and total disregard for anything other than personal self-gratification, even though a child could easily see how inappropriate the behavior is and the stir it’s creating. Hmm…. What to do, what to do... Expose the culprit along with all the very damning and accidently accumulated evidence, thus ruining a reputation, such as it is? Or sit quietly, laying in wait for The Universe to take its inevitable action? (Rhetorical question, people!)

Now let’s assume we’re talking specifically about me – since I’m the only one over whom I have some semblance of control. It could be argued that The Universe would not put me in the place and position to receive said information if I weren’t supposed to have the knowledge. With knowledge comes the power to do something. Am I supposed to? What ramifications will the fallout of disclosure bring? And is that supposed to happen, as dictated by The Universe? What if The Universe gave me this to move on, and I don’t? Even more interesting to ponder, what if I DO?

I don’t actually have to answer these questions as ultimately there will be a shift. That’s the way it works. If I continue to mull it over, eventually The Universe will get bored with my musings and either decide for me in accordance with The Grand Plan, or give the information to someone else less hesitant. Either way, what is supposed to happen, will happen. And it doesn’t make any difference how you try to stop it.

Kinda makes you wanna be more careful, doesn’t it? The Universe is a bitch!

Force of Nature

I've recently been told by two people - who have nothing more than the most passing knowledge of one another - that I am like “an unstoppable force of nature.”

*blink* *blink*

I’m what?
The first time I heard it, it came with this sort-of explanation: “you have a way of making total fuck into something cool … You’re chaos and calm at the same time. It’s kinda weird to be around. Like, I think I want to run, but staying is gonna be so much better… so I do.”

The second time I heard it, the context was very different and meant to be much less flattering(?) than the first. It was delivered with something just barely this side of unconcealed malice. In this variation on the theme, it was said that I “race around with total disregard for anyone else’s feelings” but my own.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that part of my “charm” is my unpredictability. But even I’M not THAT bipolar. Frankly, both of these confuse me the hell out of me, though admittedly in some odd, fractional way, I can almost see both sides.

I do actually execute life plans most people can’t imagine – whimsically and with much haste. I do say things people don’t want to hear when they need to be said. These traits come naturally to me; as though I carry a freaky little chromosome that sets change in motion irrespective of whether or not anyone else is ready for it.

So, here’s my take on this madness. Though there may be some hidden validity in each, the comment comes from two very different places. I think the first sees a swath cut but appreciates that some people only exist for the briefest of moments, and with a purpose. It’s the purpose, not the person, which should be reckoned with.

I suppose the second might not be comfortable on a rocking boat, though doesn't seem to have any trouble pointing out when waves are being made. Keeping the peace and everyone in a specific place ensures that when life goes to hell, it’s easy to raise eyebrows at the appropriate person without the dirty hands. Seems like a good approach to me, in retrospect. Point a finger while wearing a glove. Wouldn’t want to dirty the hands by being caught standing on the side of a spoken truth.

Either way, they have this in common: both see exactly, and only, what they need to see, when they need to see it – for whatever reason. Life changes very quickly around any force of nature, and it’s impossible to predict the outcome. Does that make you nervous? Check the winds…

Fore-Play: A Guide For Men

We all knew the inevitable moment would come when the myth must be shattered for the man. I’m an advocate of employing the Band-Aid method to all painful situations, so here it is:

Contrary to the deeply-rooted and much worshipped belief, “Foreplay” does not include a set of golf clubs, two carts, three other friends, and a 30-pack of beer.

“WHAT?”

Just breathe… I know this is a big mind-fuck, so I’ll tread lightly to avoid panic. We’ll get through this together using our small words.

Okay.
First and foremost, remember that this is a Thinking Man’s game.

Reserving Your Tee Time
Reserving your tee time is not something you attempt to do an hour before you would like to take your first swing. No, it’s a process. First you have to contact your three friends, decide on a day, a time, and most importantly, select a course. There’s planning involved and, knowing this, it stands to reason that if you can plan a four-some at 8am on Sunday morning, you can certainly plan dinner reservations for a two-some at 8pm on Saturday night. To do this, simply apply the same methodology as the tee time.

Where to Play, Where to Play…
Every course is different and each requires a different skill-set. If you’re relatively new to the game, obviously you’ll want to stick to the “easier” courses. They require less agility and the bar for success is generally set pretty low. Added bonus: the players are younger so lack of experience or natural talent is less critical. For the experienced player, you’ll want to look for a more interesting challenge. There’s a big pay-off here because, if you take your time and focus on each hole, it will play you as well as you play it. It’s a win-win situation.

CAUTION: Over-estimating your abilities could quickly ruin your scoring potential, so do not rush all willy-nilly into your selection.

Hit the Driving Range
Warming up is an essential part of playing a good game. You take a few big swings; stroke a few putts – just to get your bearings and get the lay of your course. Same holds true for foreplay. What separates the good from the great is the warm-up. By the way, warming up should always start once the silent agreement has been reached to play through.

How Many Holes
Pacing yourself is key if you’re planning to tell your friends what a great round you played on Saturday. There are many considerations when making the decision about how many holes to play, and they should be made early. Additionally, ask yourself, do you want to walk the course and make a day of it, or grab a cart and do it all, only faster? If you’re only going for nine – a quickie, if you will – you definitely want to go full out early and consider the cart. After all, it’s just immediate gratification you’re looking for. And maybe bragging rights. Conversely, if you’re looking for a longer game, you don’t want to give too much too soon. Prepare for the many phases of the course and mind your timing. Compare it to drinking your whole 30-pack on front nine. Sure you can, but you're not going to play up to par on the back nine. 

Choose Your Club Wisely
Every hole is different. You have to know how to choose a club and accurately read the green. Obviously several different clubs are used to successfully navigate the course, so know where you’re going before you get there. And remember, this is a game of finesse. The Grope-Grope-Stroke-Then-Poke is not a successful combination; it’s a recipe for hitting dry sand. Sure, I can get you out of it, but most girls aren’t as good with a sand wedge.

If I weren’t already bored, I could take you through the whole game, down the long, straight fairways, in and out of the rough, through the crazy dog-leg, around the water hazards, and into The 19th Hole for drinks, but frankly, I’m not down with doing all the work. Besides, every player has his own style. Sometimes you're Phil Mickelson, sometimes Happy Gilmore. Either way, here are a few tips to improve your chances of success:

1. Rule of Thumb: Always address the ball with your brain first, instincts second.
2. Never, ever address the ball, your club, or the hole with that little kid voice. It’s not endearing and frankly, it’s creepy.
3. If you want to shave a few strokes by avoiding hazards, try streamlining yourself. It’s key to be as well groomed as the greens!
4. Check the winds regularly. Sometimes they change mid-game and you need to be prepared to accommodate or redirect.
5. Remember, everyone has an off day on the course. But this is about longevity so keep your head down and focus. It’s never too late to recover.

Still to Cum

I know, it ‘s a vulgar title… get over it.

Last night I did something I’ve never done, and heard something I’ve never heard. First, I handed “Fore-Play” over for editorial review. Normally I just write it, post it, and wait for the fallout – or lack thereof! Nonetheless, I’d completed the piece but still felt there was something inherently not quite spot on.

Now, I’m of the ilk that says, don’t ask for an opinion then get all shitty about what you hear. Still, like all writers, I went into the experience hoping I’d hear, “you’re brilliant!” but expecting… er… “critique.” So what did I hear?

For the very first time in my entire life I was told, “there’s not enough words.” WHAT?????? What do you MEAN not enough words? Not enough words you understand? Not enough material? Not enough what words?

Obviously I didn’t actually say any of that because he was really doing me a favor, and he’s relatively familiar with my work. Sadly and in truth, I knew he was right. Blast! I collected my piece and made some notes and now I’m going back at it. So…. Cumming Soon?

*groans*

Sorry. Since you’re already here, why not read something else? If you only have a few minutes, read the list of “Life Truths” posted last January. It still holds up well. Feeling like you really want to believe, click on March and read “Don’t Judge.” If you’re in a flying mood, there are entries written from 30,000 feet last fall. Click on 2008 to your left and read “September 11, 2008” or “Above Illinois.” I’m still receiving Comments and email regarding the question posed below so I’m going to leave it a bit longer. Cheers!

I Pose This to You....

...dear Reader. How do you react to being hurt by someone you care deeply about? I added the qualifier because we all react differently depending on the person who is causing the big ruckus. For instance, those few people who have actually known me for longer than a minute can all say with the same confidence that I shut down, shut up, and shut off. No, it's not healthy. I know that! But I need a few minutes of privacy in my head to ensure some semblance of civility. Now imagine me if I didn't take those few minutes... hours.... days. Yikes! OK. So comment below, or send me an email at PeaceOutCat2@aol.com for added privacy, though either way, I promise not to reveal my source. In the meantime, I'm going back to work on what I now consider The Blog Topic I Can't Ever Publish, and something else that came to me in the bed last night about sex and golf. Cheers!

I Hear You!

I do. I hear you.

And it's not that I've gone all lazy again... no, the lack of posts this week stems from my promise to find the hysterical side to all of life's events... Yeah. Not so funny, really. Right now I'm all-consumed with holding my tongue. I know a woman who publishes an eZine called, "Elegant." She recently posed the question, "how do you manage your elegance?" or something like that.

[Sidebar: much like I'm not always listening, I'm often not really reading either...]

I mulled for, oh I dunno, a second, then typed, "Think twice. Speak once."

Excuse me? Do y'all think I didn't just hear the guffaws? It's true that, generally speaking, I will say just about anything. In my own defense - or to my detriment - I DO hear it before I say it. But some things just need to be said. And yes, I'm working on my "tone," but sometimes you just need to hear it like I thought it.

While I work out my damage, I have a great bit of news! My dear friend and fellow writer, Lisa Jones, has agreed to guest blog here with me! We've been great friends for many, many years so I suspect you'll see some bit of similarity between us. I'll write a formal introduction once she submits. I sent the topic, now we're just waiting...

*drumming fingers*

So that's that. I won't keep you any longer.

Humiliation

Humiliation...
Oh, we’ve all done it. I’m not talking about the kind of humiliation brought on by a particularly stinky fart in an enclosed area where everyone knows that’s YOUR smelly ass. Not even the kind that requires an apology for your drunkenness the next day. No, I’m talking about the kind we’ve all voluntarily subjected ourselves to… Relationship Humiliation.

You can pretend like you have no IDEA what I’m talking about… and that’s okay. I’m not here to judge. How could I possibly? But like it or not, we’ve all done it. We’ve debased ourselves to the extent of putting all of “it” on the line. We say out loud the things we can barely even think to ourselves… and then we’re rebuffed. Oh, the horror. And it IS horrific. You go in thinking, “if I just gather my balls and say what I feel, SURELY the sentiment will be returned.” Let me take this opportunity to save you from yourself – IT PROBABLY WON’T.

And then there you are… There you are, with your heart on your sleeve, your dignity at your feet, saying the things you feel most deeply, only to be told, “it’ll pass,” or “what about when your feelings change in three months?” Well then, to this I say simply, “fuck you.” It takes a tremendous amount of courage to say what you feel, because saying it out loud means acknowledging the risk. Risk is huge. Not everyone is brave enough to take it and it’s horribly unfair that, when we do, we’re sometimes summarily dismissed.

Nonetheless, here's where I am with this whole phenomenon: ya might as well do it anyway.

Take the chance. What do you have to lose really? If you don’t do it, the open-ended question will fester in your head forever. And there’s no greater draw than the “what if.” It's a dangerous magnet it is. *nodding*

My only real words of caution:
1. Go in knowing that you may still leave the way you came.
2. Understand that, just because you want it doesn’t mean it’s yours to have.
3. And most importantly, set your personal boundary. Don’t keep going back to relive the humiliation over and over, because the result won’t change. Be prepared to walk away without sneaking a peek back over your shoulder. You did your part; your side of the street is clean.

I say, do it one time. Go ahead and humiliate yourself. Why not? Wallow in the feeling of total debasement. Then when you’re done, never, EVER try it again.

Every person we involve ourselves with deserves a shot of making a decision based on the facts. If… when… the answer is “no,” know that the only real recourse is to just sweep up what's left of your dignity, tuck your heart away, head up, shoulders back, and leave it. Irrespective of your situational interpretation, get that you’re weren’t that important. I know that’s harsh. I know that it’s extraordinarily difficult to digest. But you don’t have a choice. So collect your toothbrush, extra socks, and magazines then get the hell out.

One and done, people! One and done!

I Was Told I Was Wrong... Nice!

Only a few minutes had passed since I posted the blog below (The Friendship Game, Part 1 - The Girls), before I received an anonymous comment reminding me that I did, in fact, write somewhat of a Part 2, which I claim not to have done. So thank you Anonymous. I found that one after your shout out. Below is a reprint from May 8, 2008:


I started to write the “Boy’s” equivalent to The Friendship Game, as promised. I got through the It’s My Career Boy, the I’m Gay Boy, and the Relationship Gambler Boy but by the time I got to the It’s Not You It’s Me Boy (and by the way, it’s TOTALLY you; because you aren’t Her) I had a revelation. I’m writing away and thinking, “this is all complete crap. Boys just aren’t that complicated." At least not complicated enough to warrant more than a couple of short paragraphs of discussion.


So I’ve decided to keep this short enough that a Boy could get all the way through it before remembering that it’s been more than 6 minutes since the last time he had a beer, ate, thought about sex, masturbated, checked SportsCenter, or re-alphabetized his porn collection.


Though there are a few variations on the theme – minor additions that is, to the list – that’s all there is. For instance, a Boy plays sports so he thinks about that… which inevitably reminds him to check the scores on SportsCenter and, while switching the channel he spies the porn, which reminds him that the last movie he looked for he couldn’t find so now he’s thinking about porn and having sex. Post-masturbation, he requires a snack and a cool beverage, and now we’ve come full circle. It’s a simple process.


Boys are cool. They’re simple creatures. Work with the list and you can have whatever you want. Work against it and again, you’ll discover it really IS you.


Boys: go on about your business.
Girls: shut up.

The Friendship Game, Part I - The Girls

This afternoon, my friend and most faithful reader Lizzie, sent me a text asking what happened to a blog I wrote a long time ago about the different types of friends. As some of you know, my previous site collapsed and I lost quite a bit of work. I got to thinking that today was a good day to take action and see if I could find versions of these stashed away somewhere. So with the fire finally lit under my ass, I was able to lay hands on a few not completely shitty blogs. The following is not something I consider great work. This is being published at Lizzie's request and as she was, after all, the inspiration for the very last category, I could not deny her. (Lizzie, forgive me for divulging that.) This is a reprint from April 11, 2008:

The Friendship Game Part I – The Girls

Let me say right up front that I’m not good at this one. Oh, I get the friendship part; it’s the “game” bits that confuse me. Well, that and some of the players. By definition, friendship is something one begins voluntarily. One would think that one remains out of some sense of, I dunno, connectivity maybe? Loyalty? Yes. No. I mean, yes… right up until you feel the sting of a sharp knife between the shoulder blades. This, this is where my confusion usually begins. In an effort to sort out what I just don’t understand about girls and friendship, I’ve decided to categorize.

The Best Friend
She’s the one who will tell you ALL about yourself in a good dressing down for no reason other than someone has to be brave enough to tell you the truth… or because you’re embarrassing her in public. There’s no malice or personal gain involved. It’s as painful for her as it is for you… so she’s sure to have both a tissue and a cocktail at the ready. No other friend can do this.

The Sweet Girl
People are inexplicably drawn to her. She’s sweet, and she’s pretty, and she’s ever so wholesome. She usually possesses an underlying sense of sadness that drives a need to make her laugh. While that distracts you, know that she’s primarily interested in getting what she wants…. and it’s usually a Boy. She’s your friend as long as you have something she needs. Sadly, this is the most difficult type of friend to sort out, and once you get the read, it’s too late. She’s off with the Boy. Not to worry though. She’ll be back. She always is. He’s all she has.

The Pretty Girl
Admittedly, she’s a great chick to have around when you’re single because she’s sure to reel in a bevy of dateable boys. Unfortunately, no one ever told her that eventually her looks will fade and she’s going to HAVE to have something to say other than “how may I direct your call?” She doesn’t follow politics, the news, the weather or any current event that doesn’t occur on Facebook. She’s sweet and needy and you want to take care of her even though she can’t hold your attention for more than a few moments at a time. Be careful of her vacuous ways… It’s not unusual for The Pretty Girl to actually be The Master Manipulator in disguise.

The Master Manipulator
It’s sometimes hard to tell if she possesses an IQ of 82 or 160. She cries when it suits her ultimate goal. She watches and she waits. She seeks out the weak underbelly of her “friends.” It is singularly important that she always has the upper hand – in her own mind anyway – so that she can manage her own damage control just prior to her antics being revealed for all to witness and ridicule. She is incredibly insecure; hence, her need to be the center of everyone’s Universe… or the bar. Men forgive her because they think she’s just kinda dumb; harmless until she takes what she wants and leaves them in emotional or financial ruin.

The “I Love You” Girl
She says it to everyone… Everyone. People whose last name she doesn’t even know. She NEEDS people to love her – all people. She feels generally unworthy. It’s hard not to take her in; to help her; to tell her she really IS good enough. Caution is advised. She doesn’t love in actuality because she doesn’t know how. She only loves the feeling of love and will follow it down any dark path. The good news is, she’s basically harmless except to herself.

The Competitor
She wants your life and you can’t imagine why. She slides in under the guise of The Sweet Girl or The Pretty Girl… sometimes even the I Love You Girl, but that’s a hybrid. The Competitor has many, many faces. Unfortunately, it’s easy to miss the imaginary competition she brings to the inner circle in the beginning – easy to mistake it for enthusiasm or gratefulness. This girl is very dangerous because she’s not happy unless she’s “winning”… and she’s playing a game no one else knows about. Much like The Master Manipulator, she will pit friend against friend if she feels left out or overlooked. She doesn’t care who she hurts or whose relationships suffer. She just wants to wear the sash and the crown. Someone should tell her that the walk is done alone… But then, she’d need a Best Friend for that.

The *Shrug – Eyeroll* Girl
She is my absolute favorite! She truly, honestly, wholly, and completely could not possibly care any less about all y’all’s drama and life crap. I know three of these women. They make me laugh harder than anyone in the world, and wish I were heartless, too. Don’t misinterpret that. Underneath she’s soft and sensitive – but you’ll never find that out unless she decides she wants you to. She can keep a secret. She never reveals your personal conversations. This is partly because she doesn’t really care, and partly because in her heart she knows that it’s not her story to tell. She’ll happily sport a trench coat and Fedora to go on a recon mission with a 6-pack just because. She is the most trustworthy of friends. She doesn’t say “I love you” to anyone – until she does.

I’m sure every girl sees a bit of herself in a couple of these. Fortunately, some girls are simply 100% of one or another which is great material for me. I know each of these girls… These girls are my “friends.” Lucky me…! Next up: The Friendship Game Part II – The Boys

NOTE: Though it’s been a year since I wrote this and much has changed, I find it interesting that every one of these women still exist in my life. Some of the faces are new; some are not. Odd really, how well these held up. And in case you’re wondering, I still only know three *Shrug – Eyeroll* Girls… the same three… and that makes me very lucky indeed! And no, I never did write Part II.