I promised myself I would write tonight so I’m doing so out of obligation, not inspiration. Let’s get that straight right off the bat.
And I’ve been drinking. I think I hear Cat Stevens singing “Trouble” off in the background there.
Truth be told, this is one of those heavy-thinking anniversaries most of us maybe have. It’s not affecting me, not in a negative way anyhow. More in a “Fuck it! I’m only here once! I’m BUYING WINE!” kind of way, actually. That’s not so bad. Continue reading
Woe is You? Oh, ho! Woe is US!
I’m giving a few people a stay of execution on Twitter.
Soon, the unfollows will commence, as I seek to find new folks to fill my ADHD hours with.
Who’s in danger of getting the axe? Anyone who keeps whining.
See, I’ll bitch. Bitching’s good. I encourage rants and bitching. I even encourage being argumentative and incendiary. (Obviously. Look at me!)
But if all you’re doing is whining about how the latest inconvenience in your life is, well, an inconvenience, or you’re moaning about what a loser you are, or doing the whole existential pity-party “Why me?” bullshit, well, I could probably be filling my cyberspace better.
Why you? Because it’s your fucking turn. Like it was for me for 10 years. Because that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Because, for the REST OF YOUR LIFE, you will experience inconveniences, tragedies, and heartbreak. Because that’s life. Because it takes thick skin. Because you have to want it. Because you have to FIND the good shit in the middle of the tough shit. BECAUSE. Because. Continue reading
The Annual Anti-Valentine's Posting: 2009 Edition
Ahh, Valentine’s Day. Sigh. Swoon. Won’t you be mine? Won’t you be my lover?
[RECORD SCRATCHES]
Let’s back that shit up.
Every year, without fail, I’m forced to write yet another posting saying pretty much all the same things. Like, if you can’t be romantic all year, you don’t deserve a lover. If you can’t remember to live with passion daily, then you’re wasting oxygen.
Sure, you can say, “Yeah, well, Valentine’s Day is good for young couples who are too busy — ”
[RECORD SCRATCHES]
Too busy? What, for each other? For knocking each other’s socks of with a quaking orgasm or two here and there? Too busy for head? Too busy for a stolen kiss in the corner of the kitchen? Too busy for a random, well-timed grope? Too busy for a lusty note snuck into a work lunch? Continue reading
Doorknob Detours
I’m sitting here in my Chuck’s, with my suede carcoat on, my sunglasses, and even my courier bag slung around my shoulder, because I was literally turning my doorhandle and something hit me.
I realized my bike ride yesterday is literally one of maybe a half-dozen times I’ve really been able to just settle the fuck down and enjoy life in a physical-outdoors-active kind of way since early last September. Yes, five months. Continue reading
My Time of Paradox
Hormones. I hate them.
Periods are a necessary evil in every woman’s life. What can we do? It’s there. Monthly. Looming dangerously and tauntingly on every lunar cycle.
My time used to be the full moon. Now, for some reason, I’m magically on the waxing half-moon. Which means I got caught by surprise at work. On a Monday. So, yeah, that happened. Nothing horrible, thank goodness. Just “Well, this is five days early. That’s lovely. And fuck you too.”
I never had a cunty-phase, though. I always have a “cuntday” a couple days before my period, sometimes the day before. I generally always have one great “ranting” bog post a month. You do the math. Continue reading
Fakin' It, Baby
[I’ve had a strange week. I bought some wine Tuesday, finished in Wednesday night, and wrote this while under the influence. It’s long, rambling, but it’s also a good dose of in vino veritas.]
This year of mine will require tremendous courage and a willingness to fail on my part, because I’ll need to push through a whole lot of existential and emotional roadblocks that have always kept me from a few places I’ve needed to be.
It’s not like I’m not a confident person. I am. I’ve got a great personality. I can sell anything, argue anyone. I’m smart as hell. I like my writing. I’m funny. I’m kind. I’m generous. I’m creative. I’m dogged. I may even be invincible. I know these things. I know these things.
The trouble is believing them. Because I wasn’t always this way, and, before that, I wasn’t always that way. Continue reading
Saying What's Meant and Meaning What's Said
We, as a society, seem pretty lost on the subject of communicating these days.
Oh, sure, we’ve got the surfacing of it all down pat. We text each other. Email abounds. Blogging has given a voice to everyone we wish never had one. Twitter makes it possible to nanobroadcast your life. Coworkers instant message each other from their desks. Feet? Who needs ’em? We’re more in touch with each other without even moving than we’ve ever been.
Yet it’s like the end of communication’s been happening before our very eyes. Does anyone ever really SAY anything anymore? Does any of it ever really MEAN anything? Continue reading
Oh, Mr. President.
Take note men. Even the President gives his coat to his woman when she’s a little chilly. In this cute shot taken by the White House photographer on the way to a ball Inauguration night, Michelle’s given his coat because she’s a cold. I love this shot. Love, love, love.
Chivalry might be dead, but maybe, along with civic service, old-school national pride, and a possible economy, maybe it’ll be yet another thing given a healthy boost by Obama. Enter: The Era of Cool.
Sure as fuck beats the era of Blowhard we’re just exiting.
I like my men old-fashioned when it comes to etiquette. I want please and thank you. I want eye contact and a heavy dose of gratuitous complimenting when I put a tasty plate of pot pie before him. I want the door held open, and I want all the old-school manners I was taught in private school.
I want him to be able to be a little bad, too, but only after he’s held the door open for me, y’know what I’m saying? A nice well-timed dirty leer in the middle of a long night goes a long way sometimes.
Oh, Mr. President. I swoon for your community-organizing, big-word-speakin’, coat-givin’, wide-smilin’ ass. This is gonna be a lovely four years. I imagine it’ll be a while before I tire of the contrast between him and W.
Pride is Overrated: Of Muffins & Poisoning
There’s probably no greater equalizer of mankind than food poisoning. Everyone can remember That One Meal that left them a gut-churning shell of themselves for 24 to 48 hours.
I had my Lesson in Humility yesterday. I couldn’t even run up to the store for Pepto-Bismol because of the unpredictability of it all. I spent about 25 of 36 hours asleep.
It’s hard not to accept your humanity when some evil meal of shellfish is waging war upon you for an ungodly length of time.
But I believe these things are good. Food poisoning knows no age or class or race. It’s indiscriminate. So’s bad luck, adversity, broken hearts, and broke-ass syndrome. Continue reading
7 More Things You Maybe Didn't Know About Me
I got tagged for this meme for a second time, this time by JamieLD. The first time was here. And why not just brush it off and say “But I did it already?” Huh? Why?
Well, I’ll tell you. ‘Cos, like, there ARE 14 things about me you don’t know. How do ya like them apples? I know, you’re thinking, “Dude, this is one seriously vast chick.” We’re so on the same page. Here’s just some of that vastness, my fabulous minions:
1. Well, you know I’m funny. In fact, I’ve been told on occasion that I’m even, gasp, “really” funny. I’ll accept that answer. But you know what’s also funny? I don’t watch a lot of comedy. You scour my DVD collection and there are very, very few comedies. Maybe 10% of what I own can be classified as funny. Continue reading