Category Archives: political bull shit

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I feel like lately I have been asked some strange questions that you don’t get asked before you are 40. I’ve been asked if I’m working out more than before, because you know… Metabolism. I’ve been asked if my husband is okay with the extra pounds that forty gave me. I’ve been asked about potty habits and if I’m sad because I’m too old now… To you know… (Hushed voice) have babies.

First of all, NO, I don’t fucking work out more, I don’t work out at all because frankly, I don’t have time. I actually work. Like a job. You know, that place you go to earn money so you can have a roof over your head, and food on your plate, and blankets on your bed and all the techno gadgets that keep you connected to the people you may not even want to talk to but do anyway because… life! And if you are lucky, you have programmed the gadgets (by you I mean the smart tech peoples) not to tell you what the cheeto said this week that is slowly making you cray-town. Otherwise you may throw said gadget and cause yourself to have to work at said job more than you already do. When I find time to work out, I’ll let someone know, and they will find me on the beach where the cabana boy will be bringing me a series of tasty adult beverages and I will be doing some lifts- of those drinks to my mouth.

Second, I don’t have a fucking husband! I am happily NOT married, for ten years, to an amazing, difficult, handsome, exceedingly intelligent, ridiculously emotionally unkempt, absolutely perfectly imperfect human. He loves me in spite of myself. I love him sometimes to spite myself and other times to keep myself sane because he may be the only reason I am. And (third, if we are counting) he hasn’t pressured me to have crotch fruit. He doesn’t need a fuck trophy to mark the decade he’s put up with my crazy ass. He didn’t ask for one at the 5 year mark even though he may have thought they might be a fun adventure. If he does want a trophy- I will totally allow some breeding with a hot sars stand in. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was handsome. Chicks propo him him on the daily (look at me using current jargon) but he doesn’t even give them a second. He comes home and snuggles up… to his not wife (who doesn’t work out). The not wife who has stayed for ten years of things. The things no one else can know. And that is what matters.

Finally… don’t even fucking start with the potty habits. You have no idea what this bitch has been through. I have been sliced and diced and teased about the the cauliflower and apertures… If you haven’t had your brother and your best girl photo texting you pics of things that may look worse than your ass to make you feel better about the sate of your union, well… you can’t step to potty talk with this bitch. So go get yourself a Squatty Potty and call me when you understand how life changing that shit is (oh, yeah… I said that!).

‘Till we next…

Loser of Fuck Trophies

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Most times I feel secure, really secure in who I am. It’s taken me so many years to come inch by inch to the place where I am now. I have crawled through miles of abuse of many kinds. But we don’t grow or become who we are without crawling through the shit right? Right. None of this is new and it certainly isn’t a new topic for me. But as Mother’s Day approaches I find myself deeper in thought about well, the shit that made me decide I didn’t want to be an actual mother. There may be times I act like your mother, everyone’s mother, and even a motherfucker but whatever… At this point in my life, I have been with the same man for a decade. He is rather amazing. I don’t bring him up in this forum much as he is a private person and I respect that. Yes.. more than I respect you. He fosters a feeling of confidence that lets me know that no matter what choice we make about our future it’s okay- it’s ours together, fuck everyone else.

Speaking of decisions, children… It’s kind-of a big deal. I have never borne children – that I did not drop off at the pool. (That’s for my brother… he loves me extra right now and if I call him drunk, like my own personal Uber he might not complain- might not.) And I have never been pregnant, no, really, I promise… yes I’m in my forties and have been married and divorced and in a ten year relationship and I still promise I have never been pregnant. (Also I am capable. Yes, I promise. I have had this checked as well even though I did not want to have children. Maybe we’ll talk about that some other time.) Yet I act like everyone’s mom. In her oh so kind and loving way, my sister likes to remind me – I have never “birthed a child through my loins”, thus I cannot know what it is like. But then I question the “what”… What “what” is like??? To be parental? To be responsible? To take care of a persons’ physical, emotional and financial needs? Because I do and I have and I am… But yet, I have to chosen remain childfree, childless, sans-children, without offspring, spawn-less, barren of crotch-fruit… winless of fuck trophies. Yes. I, just said that. I have never been accused of being politically correct and don’t think I’m trying to start a trend here. I’m also not saying to my real life friends with fertility issues (who know who they are- and probably reading this laughing) that I don’t empathize with their struggle. This is not about them and they know it. And that is my point… it is their struggle, it is their hand to play . We each go through our own struggle. We each have to play the hand we are given by the fucked up clown of a dealer called life. That douche is laughing at ALL of us without mercy. They (It?) give(s) zero fucks whatsoever whether we call it childless, childfree, spawn-less, barren, spoiled-fruit-of-the-loins, loser-of-the-fuck-trophy or just plain winner of the money train… There are zero fucks given by that dude. As far as he’s concerned, it is initially up to us. Maybe not every single one of us, but most of us. I know that there are some.. but duh, exception to every rule.

I read an article that reminded me that I am lucky to have a friend circle that includes very few that give me shit about this choice… Childfree? Or just me? It was in Bust Magazine- unashamedly feminist but sometimes so poignant that I save the bookmark, share and even print the article… like ‘childfree’. When you are in your forties and have been saying you don’t want kids since you were fifteen… this is a badge. People have been trying to convince me since I was sixteen that I was going through a phase. I would change my mind when I met the right man (and if they weren’t sure – like in my late twenties, the right woman) but always they were certain I was wrong and they were right. Very few people had the courage to sit and have the conversation with me… to ask me why I didn’t want to have children, why I was so certain. Those few people walked away with a different perspective and most understood, whether they agreed or not, why I made my choice.

So whatever your choice this Mother’s Day, embrace it. Be strong in the choice and give zero fucks what anyone else thinks. They don’t have to live your life.

Words Words Words

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When you sit and try to write to old friends after a really long time it’s a daunting task. And you are friends of a sort. I’ve shared my darkest moments and my triumphs with you and I’ve shared some of your darks and dawns as well. And we’ve all fallen off the radar at one time or another. Some of us because we had real life happening- we had adulting to do and adulting gets in the way every time. Some of us were opening new chapters in our lives, and that chapter didn’t include the space that was created here. Maybe it was a new space, maybe there was no space for “us” at all. That’s okay. Who am I to judge your lives? I hope you aren’t judging mine. I’ve sat at this keyboard (a totally different iteration than the little netbook at the beer bar of old) a good 25 times and tried to write a love letter or a holiday update or just a funny postcard and gotten no where.  It’s too late for a New Years update… That would be forced and awkward. A ketsup post would just drone on and on and insult you. Frankly I don’t think either of us wants that. So where do I start? What do I say to tell you I’ve missed you and I want you and I have things to say that you want to hear… 

Do I just launch into a tirade about the current political bullshit (and by bullshit I mean Trump, in case you forgot who I was) or do I talk about the retarded zealous parents who think they are making informed decisions by are not vaccinating their children (yes, this is still relevant)? Do I give in to the desire to throw verbal shitbags at the fucktards and their ridiculous over the top 2nd Amendment insanity? Do I go postal on the wing nuts that are literally shortening our collective lifespan as a species by plowing through acres and acres of rain forest a day? Hell not just our species but all the species! Or do I forget for a moment that human beings are completely fucked and talk about how awesome my life is. After several years in a hole of crazy coworkers (we are talkin batshit, not just “a bit off” but completely fucking nutter) and under appreciation, bad meds, weight gain and loss (let’s be real, mostly gain), and a lot of uncertainty to be sure… I am in a good place. I am more happy than sad, more loved than lost, more up than down. I think this has definitely caused some creative frustration. Let’s be real, wait… I hate that phrase… I’m calling myself out on using it because if I’m not being real what the fuck am I doing???? So let me restart that: It’s pretty clear from studies by actual doctors and observation of my own past practices (you miss me talkin out my ass.. admit it!!) that depression and trauma breed creativity. At least they do in my case. So I’ve been stunted. Add to that the fact that people I sometimes write about in a not so favorable way have figured out that I sometimes write about them… in a not so favorable way, and you have a constantly blank screen. 

So here I sit with words words words. After weeks of pondering how to start, fuck it. I am just going to. I’ll start with a short list of things that I’m pretty sure of. Some of them may be different than the last time I listed things and some may be the same, I’ll leave it to you to do the homework.

I’m pretty sure that…

… I love my nephew more every time I see him and I didn’t think that was possible

… As Aunt’s go, I am the best. 

… I didn’t realize how life changing It would be to have met my female soulmate, my yang, my forever friend

… for the first time in my life my ratio of friends tips more to the female than the male side

… I don’t know how I feel about that 

… Turning 40 has had more positives than negatives, especially the wine thing, I love the wine thing

… Beer is proof that Gus loves us and wants us to be happy

… adult coloring books have always been around, we just didn’t like crayons, so someone decided to sell one with colored pencils or markers and now… $$$$

… Uggs with a skirt is still not okay

… My job is kick ass and I am awesome at it… I may talk about that a lot more, as I’m trying to decide whether Bourbon or Vodka is better

… I can’t decide if I like Bourbon or Vodka better so I just bring both to the party… It’s one of the many Gemini perks

… Bacon still wins

… yep, still not okay

… Donald Trump is a fucking idiot 

… Pot should be legal. I don’t use it (smoke it, whatever) but I think it would help in so many ways

… Technology has made us retarded for real and shortened our attention- LOOK! A Squirrel!

… I love any kind of music except, poppy country, something that tells me to rape my sister (cringe) and fucking Nickelback. I will take Creed over Nickelback, maybe, shit. Can I stab my eardrums out?

… anyone that would vote for Donald Trump is a bigger fucking idiot

…. I have a lot to say about a lot of things and I will

… Clowns are creepy

… anyone that reads my posts and would vote for Trump should send me a very detailed email about why and expect a very expletive filled response about why those reasons are so not enough

… I should post this shit already so I can move on to the next topic

get ya some!

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I am not overly political. I don’t go on waxing poetic about my candidate for whatever and how they are gonna save us from the latest crisis. I usually vote my heart and choose the one that is, quite frankly, the lesser of the evils.  I look for the one who promises or well says in his ads is going to (or seems like it because politics and truth are not usually bedfellows) take the least amount of money from education and the one who is going to allow women the ability to decide what happens to their own body and the one who doesn’t think being gay is a choice and a sin (another post… a long one). Basically I want the one who will rape the least amount of people. This often proves a difficult choice. And sometimes I probably cancel myself out…. I’m okay with that. But… talking about my choices in an election is certainly not enough to bring my fingers out of hibernation and hammer the shit out of my writers block. No, today it’s a few news stories in particular. Though I could end up with political blog vomit and a mess will ensue. Without further intro… I will just launch into my tirade…

Why do we give a shit if a politician cheats (on his spouse, not like in college where you fuck anything with legs and shit)? Does that affect his legislative abilities? Probably! But it most likely effects them positively… It is scientific (really, look it up) that people getting laid regularly are happier, healthier, more clear headed and live longer. (serious… look. it. up.) So it stands to reason if there are issues at home (or you are a sex addict, whatever, I don’t judge) and are under abnormal amounts of stress at work (that is where the “I don’t condone” comes in. – this is another post, so again don’t judge email me..) then they are gonna look to some pretty little thing to make them feel better. If they were drunk or stoned or high I would have a completely different approach to this subject. Getting laid does not (in my humble, yet loud opinion) mean you are incapable of making important decisions… no. In fact I say get laid! But don’t be drunk and/or high, well not on my time anyway… On your own time if you get stoned or drink a nice Lagavalin do I give a fuck???? No. I do not. But do, for the love of Whitney Houston, leave the crack and shit alone.. learn from Marion Barry yo. When it comes to decision making and the greater good, I want the people running shit to be relaxed and happy. So if they are getting laid, in a way I agree with or not, whatever. Make good choices. By choices I mean decisions that affect our country.

I have more shit to vent about, but not tonight. I wanted to do this shit in list form because well, I learned from Thoughtsy that lists are awesome, but frankly… I’m just stoked I was pissed inspired enough to get some drivel thing out there.