Letters, Therapy and Music to Heal the Soul

Sometimes its just like that… you start out writing a letter to a friends kid and it ends up being to you.. and your friend and her kid… and maybe a few other people you know. Hell maybe a lot of people need it. But mostly it was about my struggle with resentment toward my dad, my inability to get past some shit I fully blame on him.

My missive started as a note about how we, as children, like many of the most amazing things in science, are not only what we appear to be. We are an amalgamation of intricate detail. We are made up of so many things. Some good, some beautiful, some complex, some completely incomprehensible, some ugly, some insincere, some repulsive and some that want to admit is part of us. But all those tids and bits are what makes us who we are. And we as a whole are greater than than the individual bits that make us. What does this have to do with anything and why am I writing this to someone elses child? She doesn’t like her dad. (I don’t blame her, he is a piece of shit and I know a bit about dads that are pieces of shit). He isn’t a good person. She and her siblings struggle with the same self loathing I and my siblings struggle with because our whole is made up of some bad parts.

Fortunately we are not our parts. Without an arm, we are still human. But we are not the same human we were with that arm.  That specific arm, no matter its state, formed part of who we are. So I wouldn’t be who I am without the contribution of my dad, however bad I may think it, and my friends daughter wouldn’t be the amazing person she is without all her components either.

My last therapy session started with a song… My therapist was rather speachless for a bit then reminded me I dedn’t really need to see him. I have a penchant for self analysis. I know this, yet I can’t fix the resentment and anger. So we talked about the words and the song and the singer. I’ve written about Austin Lucas before and how his songs have helped me through other things in my life. At the time I played this and talked about it with the shrikydink I hadn’t come to the realization I did when writing this. Nothing he did, said, or didn’t do or say can make me who I am… but it contributes to my whole. I like the whole. It is rough and needs constant work to keep from becoming a bag of shitty parts.

Somebody Loves You

Easy there, old man
I’ll drop you where you stand
You wear wings of white but I smell your hellfire
Cause I know who you are, a racist and a coward
And all you’ve got to show for life is dust

Cause you lay roses on the ground
And turn lies to common wisdom
You’re a good man when it suits you
Yes I know

But whatever good you’ve done
Is dwarfed by mountains made of wrong
And your savior may forgive you but I won’t

Oh but somebody loves you
I guess they don’t know better
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves you
Oh yeah somebody loves you
And how can it be true
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves you

It was from you I learned some men cannot be trusted
And from you I learned some friends do not inspire
Cause you were like my brother
But you filled my heart with anger
And I’ll thank you when those lessons have helped at all

Oh your stories gave me life and they flowed through me like wine
But they were darkest pitch-black arrows to my soul
Yes I was your true believer now my bones do shake and shiver
With a poison that does rot me to the core

Oh but I did once love you
I guess I knew no better
Yes I was once that fool
And I did love you
Oh yes I did once love you
And how can it be true
That I was once that fool
And I did love you

And like some ghastly phantom voice, lifelong companion
Or a devil on left shoulder, lashing tongue
I spit crescents, spite filled language like some drunkard
To the heavens, when to hell he knows his spirit’s surely bound

Yes I lay roses on the ground and deceive you beyond wisdom
There’s a good man in the shadows, so I’m told
But whatever good I’ve done
Is dwarfed by mountains made of wrong
And that truth comes cold to blacken out the sun

Oh but somebody loves me
I guess they don’t know better
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves me
Oh yeah somebody loves me
And how can it be true
That somebody loves me
Somebody loves you

 

Maybe I’m still resentful. Not as much as yesterday. And not nearly as much as when I last met with the shrinky dink. I still think this song speaks more about my relationship with my dad than I could ever write on my own, At least for now. But I’m working on that. 

And sometimes it’s just like that… you walk through a shadow and notice your own, and it isn’t as bad as you once thought it was. 

 

breaker one-nine come back, over

Tonight I’m trying to get the thoughts to flow onto the page. I’m sitting at the pub, listening to my favorite DJ’s The Ideals spin sixties vinyl. The pub has overwhelming amounts of inspiration but nothing I can fit into a lovely little flow. Maybe my expectations are too high and I shouldn’t expect my first real post in more than a year to be some epic soliloquy. I shouldn’t expect myself to be able to capture all that’s happened in my life the first time I sit down.

But I want to. I want all the ridiculously funny shit that has happened in the last howeverlong to just spill out as if I had never been blocked. Speaking of blocked… what the eff yo? I feel like my creative process is as dry as the sahara. Though it is not for lack of material… I have spent the last year and a half herding cats, I mean babysitting, I mean playing mom working with truckers. actual truckers.

Before you say ‘oh that sounds like fun’ bite your fucking tongue. really. Being responsible for let’s see… 40 tons x 12… um a lot, no a shitload, no a metric shit ton… as it rolls along at 7mpg (maybe, if we’re having a good day) is stressful. Making sure the drivers trips can be done within their D.O.T. regulated hours and that they are not exhausted is stressful. Taking their eleventeen hundred phone calls a day because they had to sit at a dock for two hours or someone cut in front of them on the 405 while they were doing 45 is stressful. It is like being mother to 12 grown-ass-men who all need your attention but, like most children, don’t simply say ‘hey I’m a little stressed here, can we talk for a few?’ they call and complain. But… I loved it. I loved my job. I loved my truckers. I loved that they respected me and counted on me and needed me. I miss them terribly. Maybe that’s why it is so hard to let the horrible, awesome, funny, ridiculous stories flow. Maybe it’s why I am sitting at the pub on a Thursday night writing about them. And maybe it’s why I am not ready to move forward to the next step. I need time. I need to grieve. I need to decide if I want to go through all that comes with the responsibility of caring as much as I do.

Sometimes, it’s just like that… you have a stressful, crazy job that you think is gonna be the death of you until it’s gone. And you miss the stressful craziness of it all.

(a really good) holiday challenge

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

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

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

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

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

posted from my tablet thingy

do not invoke the pop…

I do not like pop music. This may seem like a little thing, but it isn’t. For me pop encompasses a wide range of shit (really, SHIT) and none of it appeals to me. You can have all that candy coated teenage bull shit and I will take a hard driving baseline. I will have some Tool with a side of Iron Maiden and enjoy some Rage Against the fucking Machine for dessert. I’ll take some soul, some rock steady, old skool awesome shit to make me shake my groove thang. Some Ray Charles, some Etta James, some Al Green, some Otis with a side of the Specials, the Skatalites, Mighty Mighty Bosstones and some Gaylads (no pun intended) and Johnny Nash for a finisher. I will admit I have become a huge fan of Mumford & Sons, Florence and the Machine, The departed, and XX. But, you can keep your Bieber and Taylor Swift your Beyonce your bull shit boy bands and wanna be’s fakin’ the vibrato (I’l keep Justin Timberlake though. He’s fucking hot and well, do I need another reason?? okay, he’s talented too). I have tried to give this shit an honest go but I can’t do it. Give me Master of Puppets and some Zeppelin IV. I’ll take some Holy Diver, In the Absence of Truth, Mondo Bizaro and some Danzig. And anytime you can give me Tool, hit me hard.

Tool… Parabola
“…Twirling round with this familiar parable.
Spinning, weaving round each new experience.
Recognize this as a holy gift and celebrate this chance to be alive and breathing.

This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality.
Embrace this moment. Remember. We are eternal.
All this pain is an illusion.”

Had too.

How about some Otis too, because um, it fucking rules.

posted from my tablet thingy

…put a record on

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

confessions from Kevin’s couch

rainbows and kittens bitches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

or this… *sniffle* wipes nose on sleeve.

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

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

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

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

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

8. What’s your favorite season and why?

because you can do this in the summer

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

 

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

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

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

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

I believe in Bacon!

*attributed to Jonathan Swift

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

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

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

rainbows and kittens bitches

breathe, echoing the sound

I just want for you to be here to sit beside me.

I wish for the anxiety to be gone so my chest to relax and the shaking to stop.

I want to be held so the tears will stop and I’ll know its okay. I want the shaking to stop and I want to know its okay.

Today is a blue day.

The lenses in my glasses are blue. Not a dark kind of midnight blue but kind of a prussian blue. Seeing the world this way is very frustrating because I don’t like these glasses. They feel like I can’t take them off and change them out for my pretty pink ones. They feel like I can’t breathe. They make the little things look big and the easy things look hard and they make everything feel personal. The blue glasses put me on the roller coaster that takes me on the vortex ride and I fucking hate the vortex ride. I don’t know who designed that shit but they didn’t know what they were doing.

I try to be quiet and wait for the calm to come.

I try not to think about what I’m not doing and the mess piling up and the arguments I’m picking for no reason and the tears that I can’t stop. I can’t.

What’s to say, what’s to ask, I’ve no answer to give and even I probably don’t even want to hear the reality. So I sit and sniffle and wipe dry my tears and think about all the reasons that brought me here to this blue day. The reasons that matter and the ones that don’t.

Today is a blue day.

I just want for you to be here to sit beside me.

I wish for the anxiety to be gone so my chest to relax and the shaking to stop.

I want to be held so the tears will stop and I’ll know its okay. I want the shaking to stop and I want to know its okay.

 

[youtube]http://youtu.be/KAUF7e1GVrc[/youtube]

Ich Liebe Diche Auch

*sniffle*

*wipes nose with Kleenex (with lotion, duh)*

Since being put in the Assassin’s cross hairs it’s been a challenge to catch my breath. His many kindnesses have had me swooning (not to fear Mrs., just in ways that mean my ego needs to have a pin or two taken to it at strategic places). He hath bestowed upon me an Academy Liebster Award! In keeping with his format I offer the following blommit (thanks to whoever said that, I’ve stolen it and I love it, yay!) rather than the lengthy acceptance speech which I had been penning. It brought to light the many causes near and dear and of course thanked the magic baby, whom I have no idea why I was thanking but that’s what one does when accepting awards right? And hell If I’m gonna thank him I may as well thank the evil torcheress from the chamber of doom-wax… but neither of them shall be thanked.  Just you Assassin of all things socially inept, thwarter of skanks from continents away, protector of lady bloggesses and their right to bash on whomever they choose and desire to beat ex-abusers to a bloody pulp with whatever means feels right at the time! Killer of baby seals! (okay maybe not that last one but you know how you get going sometimes…) All the while being a loving husband and rockin, fire-breathin father, not to mention an amazing chef… all wrapped in a 6 foot 8 inch tall package of hot man. Sounds fantastic to me.

So I shall crumple my speech, throw it at those less fortunate and go “off the cuff”. Settle in, this may take a few. First and foremost, thank you Mrs Assassin, for encouraging your husband in his passion and being understanding of the time and boobalicious photo browsing it requires. Having a partner who realizes that writing, a true calling to write, is not a fad but part of our being, is the best gift this universe can bestow. You fucking rule Mrs.

And now you (don’t cower in the corner over there… you’re a foot and a half above the chair anyhow!) Get your ass over here for some lovin’. Mr. Assassin… or Kevin if I may, Ich liebe dich auch. Du nahmst meine Herausforderung und bestanden. Andere konnte es nicht. Sie sind die besten. (that’s right bitches… Deutsch. ha! and Shane, if its wrong – sue the interwebs*) But really, how could I not!!! Even if you hadn’t offered to make me eggs bennie, thus winning my heart for all time…You gave me 35 songs… with videos. Shit Son! I only asked for songs… Not videos. It was brilliant and challenged me to look up music I hadn’t heard for a long time and some of it never. It was nothing short of awesome. But even that is not why I stick around and read your blog. You are funny as shit, but not always gufaw funny, you are witty, intelligent, challenging to my brain. You give me pause to think about things from a perspective I may not have, and I like that. Plus you are fucking tall and well I loves me some tall lean man, especially one that loves music and cooking.  But not to fear Mrs., I have my own tall lean man (serious… 6’7″, loves music and cooks… its like bizaro blog) on my side of the planet so she and I can get together and dish about tall men and all the awesome that you are. Thank you for the support, love and leaving a cute little heart on my twitter feed. How decidedly un-punk rock of you.

Now that all the squishy shit is over, on to the liebing and award bestowing…

When I first started writing it really was just for myself. I had one reader (my best friend) and that was fine. Then it turned out that there was this “feed” thing people who were familiar with the interwebs used and I really had more like one-hundred readers. Holy shit-balls, who knew!!! so on and on and here I am 6 or 7 years of wirting. You know I still don’t have all that many readers (I don’t have N.F *wink* to tweet me and give me global recognition. But I digress as this is not about me. Back when I had no readers I was shocked one day to get a comment from someone I didn’t know. It was mind boggling! And now I’m feeling global love and getting a chance to say thanks to people who I enjoy the hell out of that you (my bloggity fam) may not know.

1. Why not start with the serious shit right?? When I stumbled on this ol’dog (whoever gave her that moniker should be put down, she’s fucking gorgeous!!! and um not old) with her sexy ta-ta’s, I couldn’t help but read. Too young to live through the shit she has, but fortunate to be surrounded by family, friends and a world wide network of people who genuinely wish her hope, love and healing. With all the cards she’s been dealt, she has a very funny take on her situation and whether you are down or not go see what’s up at Old Dog New Tits and you’ll be glad you did.

2. Several years ago I was trolling through images and one caught my eye. No I did not pirate it, but I did find out where it was from and where I could see more. And more I did. He doesn’t know I lieb him and it’s not stalkerish, but I’ve followed Mike’s journey from Utah and a tiny little paper to his new place in Berlin. Go check out whatever Π is up today. Then troll through the backlog. Several hours later you’ll be amazed and the clock will be well past where you thought it should be.

3. I love women. No I am neither lesbian, nor bi-sexual (get your mind out of the porn) but I think women are amazing. Strong, resiliant, tender, ferocious, frail, perplexing and extraordinary. For all these reasons and more, I love Brooke Farmer. I love her brash wit and bitter tears. I love her honesty about her struggles with life, love, and everything in between. I love her heart.

4. Sometimes a good story can be all you need to get cozy on a cold day. Sometimes you are sucked in by someones respectful tale of age and dignity where another author may leave none. Sometimes they aren’t stories but tales of true life adventure or non-adventure. When I read Siren Voices I sometimes laugh at the humour (see got British for ya there) or cry for the humanity shown by people just doing their jobs. Sometimes I can’t read because my eyes hurt and my heart and soul hurt too. But I go back always to listen to Siren Voices. I try to think of what Spence may sound like telling his stories. (thanks to his yule blog I now hear Kevin and well that’s as close as I’ll likely get). But I also try to hear their voices, those of the others that he comes to meet each day. And that is probably the point.

5. Last and certainly not least or he would have been first is Steve. Oh Steve.. You have aptly named your blog but I love, love, love reading it. It is my pleasure and I savor it for the times I need to laugh or cringe – I’m not sure which. Some of your photographs make me wonder but then again, they could only come From the Mind of a Madman.

There you have it… Now I’m tired from all the squishing….

*(I love you too. You took my challenge and passed. Others could not. You are the best.)

~posted from my tablet thingy~

whatmas?

So in browsing my comments, and all the other comments and shit I’m struggling to keep up with now that I follow so freakin many blogs, I saw a comment on “Monday Listicles”. I, being the mature woman that I am, did laugh and say ‘ppffftt….listicles….ha!” Wait, that must’ve someone else. ; ) No, I checked out what peeps were commenting on and there ya have it. Every Monday, new list. Sounds fun to me since copying conversations is difficult for me and the ones that can be safely shown to ye of puritanical mind you bitches are pretty much twitfodder. Anyhow, I decided what the hell… So I hop on over to where it all starts and think to myself… aw shit…. Well I picked a fanfuckingtastic week to start…

This week: the 10 things I hope for this christmas. Wow… This may prove a lofty task, seein’ as I don’t give much credence to the whole magic babies gettin yanked out a hoo-ha that’s never even had a bob or a well.. whatever, to give ‘er a lil stretch theory. Then this magic baby came out all perfect (of course) and and glowing and didn’t get tetnus or mad cow or whooping cough or even the croup from sleeping in a nasty food trough with half eaten hay for padding…. Oh, in musty shit filled, stank ass barn. And bythe-by who gives babies gold and perfume… on a camel? Those fuckers spit. Anyhow… Then there’s the super-stealth-ultrasonic-be-everywhere-at-once red rocket-sled that can haul a metric shit tons of toy and a giant fat dude packin enough alice-in-wonderland potion to get him in and out of every house in the world (chimney or not) with a kid in it……… I’m thinkin this could be tough for anyone, (that’s gotta burn some fierce calories!) but really? morbidly obese super hairy dude? with little people as his only help? (I know you’re thinkin it, its okay but be nice).

I think my aversion started mostly because every year my mom and sister ask me for a list. My sister usually asks me sometime in October because hers is ready and nothing on it is priced for adult sibling gift exchanging. Its usually made up of shit you should buy for yourself when you are an adult in your thirties, with a family and two stable incomes… but you know… gotta have priorities people. Oh! Its to make sure I know how much my doodle’s shit (I say shit because how many 3Ds’ does 1 child need?!?) is gonna cost… so you know I can get him a gift certificate to the proper giant chain store. And every year they get the same list from me: please, I don’t need anything. If you must have a list, I’d like to get together for Sunday for brunch. (I love a good eggs bene) It doesn’t go over well, but I don’t really care anymore. So to come up with my own list. I had to do some tweeking… But without further adieu here is my version of a 10 things I hope for this christmas list:

10 this I hope for in the Winter Solstice Season:

1. That I will actually get to spend time in the mountains this season and enjoy some of the amazing things you can only see when surrounded by a sea of white snow and the smell of fire places.
2. That the friendships I have made via the interwebs will continue and we will encourage each other to become better writers.
3. That I will improve myself as a human in a way that is marked and noticeable to others and not just myself…. Not because I seek attention or praise, but because I made a difference somehow or to someone.
4. That my brother will find someone… to share his music with.
5. That my my little pink car will slow the fuck down and allow me to rest (and that my blingy rose colored glasses will be found).
6. That I will learn to forgive myself for the bad decisions of the past, so the rippling can calm and I can find a still place to start changing the course from here.
7. That those I love and care for will know that unconditionally is the only way I know how… and that even if its been a while, still holds true.
8. That I treat others as I want to be treated and remember that it is my job to be the human I want others to be.
9. That my best friend will find a place of peace, if only for a moment… so he can know what that’s like and build from that place.
10. and of course…… to improve my shoe collection…

I probably won’t post this over on the “Listicles” but maybe next time the list will be a little more non-snarkster mom friendly.

[youtube]http://youtu.be/XW-6jKuHE1M[/youtube]

musical tourettes

I’m not sure about you, but anytime I sit down to write, or read, or cook, or clean, or pick my eeer um movie… anything for that matter, in my head there is a song… I call it (for those of you new to my world) my mindpod. And when the little jack thingy isn’t pushed in all the way, and random lyrics suddenly escape through my piehole as the chick drops off my pay stub -think Johnny Kemp ‘just got pay-ed, Friday ni-eet. Party’s jumpin.. Feelin riiite..’ yeah, totally went there. no. I really went there a couple weeks ago. And the best part is only one person in my office was old enought to have heard that song so I had to send a link to the youtube video to several of them (the ones I like enough anyway) So it then becomes musical tourettes without the odd twitching. Its a family thing the musical tourettes, my brother’s version has lots of obscure punk and my moms has a lot of Eagles, Mama’s & Papa’s, and Little River Band and my sister’s has a lot of well shit, yeah, not gonna lie, it has shit. Then I take a amalgamation of all of them, including the shit, and just spew lyrics at random all over you when you least expect it.

So the last few weeks, the mindpod has been on overtime. But in an I’m-gonna-shufle-you-into-the-recesses-of-shit-you-forgot way. Hence the Johnny Kemp. Today and as I made my way to the barstool, er writing desk, I found myself in a Tom Petty time warp. Nope, not Mary Jane, though maybe that would calm the shit in my head yo, and not American Girl, though I could use some lotion right now. Nooo, I had Refugee… nothing to do with anything at all!! I haven’t even heard that song in for-fucking-ever. Well, the mindpod doesn’t lie so maybe my bipolar sensibilities are trying to tell me something? Or maybe it’s ADD. Because just as I decided I needed to figure out why I was trying to live like a refugee, I no longer felt the need. What the fuck yo??? I need refuge! Shelter! Something, I certainly need calm, Xanax maybe? Is my prescription current? I was at the drugstore. hhmmm. then as soon as it came to my mind, the car was on (it actually started which was a feat in and of itself) and the pod did a mad shuffle and threw me into a totally different place entirely …

“Take a drive baby up the coast, yea highway 101
I’ll pass Ventura and Santa Barbara too, just as fast as my motor runs
Gotta pocket full of memories, some happy and some are sad
Gotta girl standin’ by my side through the good times and the bad
Follow the palm trees under the California sun
I believe in love now, I believe in love again”

Now that’s better. I need a break! Work, life, work. I need to get away and take a drive! Take refuge!!! Holy shit, I’m not crazy and my mindpod did not blow a fuse. Excellent!

See you had this fear I injured my funny bone in a freak pizza tossing accident or my sarcasm font had been disabled, Fear Not! I merely took a break from my usual ranting and shit to contemplate the direction my roller coaster has been veering. Its not always easy adjusting to the sudden gee force changes that come with the bi-polar express ticket. I’m going for a ride this weekend.

yay.