Words Words Words

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

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. 


All Aboard!

dear 2015I started writing a re-cap of 2014. Then I started writing a letter to 2014. Then I decided that all the self censoring is making it difficult to know where to start. So…. fuck it. I have closed the lid on 2014. I have given myself permission to let last year go. I have decided that I will not look back and rehash all the mistakes I made, even though some of them are super funny and blog worthy. I will not give in to the temptation to dwell in the negativity pool, even though its water is just the right temperature and they let you have tasty-fruity-boozy drinks, with little umbrellas, on your raft.

Instead I will welcome 2015. I will ride the express along it’s unknown path, but I will probably fasten my seatbelt for safety.  I will not be making any silly resolutions. (my fear of failure will only allow those I can keep with certainty anyway.) But I will make some plans. I will have some goals. And they will result in prizes that make achieving them a worth while endeavor. (I have not yet chosen the prizes but they will be awesome.) I will ride my bipolar express right in to 40’s inner circle and I will make it my bitch. (Why doesn’t 40 have a catchy rhyme, like dirty-thirty? Sporty-Forty doesn’t sound as fun to me… it sounds like work, and sweating and a spicegirl in business) I will embrace the gray hair and the wrinkles. I will embrace my inner cougar and the animal print accessories she forces upon me. Okay, to be honest, I probably won’t “embrace” the gray hair, I will continue to color it… But, not because I have gray hair. I will color it because I like my hair red, or plumb or stripey. But… I will not be upset when I see a new gray hair because frankly, I earned that shit.

This year, I will grow as a person. I will recognize that I have no control over the express train’s path, but I do have control over my reactions to the ride. I cannot control what other people think of me. But I can control how I treat other people. I cannot make my family understand me or my choices. I can’t make everyone happy. The only thing I can control is myself. If I want to be better in any way, I have to make it happen. And I will make things happen.

The bi-polar express is ready to roll. Please keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times for your own safety. Clothing is optional, however shoes are not.

follow the link to buy Erin Smith’s art… do it!


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

blame it on Nickelback. Or Creed. No, Nickelback.

As I sat here berating myself over how much I haven’t written I started to think about the why’s. There are probably many actual reasons that aren’t complete bullshit but the bottom line is pressure. I started putting all this pressure on myself to write things that were meaningful or had merit or even just made sense. I pressured myself to censor things because family or friends might read them and think that I was talking shit about them. They’d probably be right but I didn’t want to deal with it. I felt pressured to make sense and write coherently. I felt pressured to come up with new and exciting things. Al this is the opposite of why I started writing. I started writing because everyday little things were funny. I started writing because people around me do some really retarded shit and I can’t deflect people away from my retarded shit if I don’t write about some other person’s.

So Fuck It. Why should I fee pressure to keep the shit to myself when I’m pretty sure others (and by others I mean Mr. Social Assassin) will laugh at the shit that happens in my world.  Or maybe they will cry. But either way there will be no hatred or accusing me of outing people. And if someone does want to give me shit then well, well… truth strike a chord?  If you don’t like it – don’t read it. If you do read it and still feel the need, bitch in a comment. My friend is a sniper with words. I’ll give him permission to take people out.

So I will work on some amazing stories, or at least stories I find funny to captivate. If they suck – I will blame Nickelback. All shit is Nickelback’s fault. Test me. I thought it might have been Creed’s fault but decided they just don’t suck as much as Nickelback.

What I’m Listening to:


Why…because I can.

posted from my tablet thingy

in a blaze of glory

When I was Eighteen (and two weeks) I packed what little shit I had, plus some shit I may not have had, and left. I didn’t leave the country or anything (I may currently be regretting that choice but, not the point) but I did leave home. I may not have been born in this town, but I went to school there for 12 years, so for all intents and purposes, I am from there.

Packed in those bags were the few things that meant something to me. Mostly clothes and basics one needs to live. I hadn’t yet become the shoe whore I currently am, so the bags were light. Conspicuously missing… those vestiges of friendship you amass during your high school years. Sure I had a few friends I was close to, but I didn’t weep for the loss of proximity… to anyone. I wasn’t sad that seeing so-and-so would take planning or forethought. I didn’t miss her or him or that guy or my bff. I just left. After several years I finally ran into someone “I grew up with”. It was awkward to say the least. They acted like I was one of the cool kids they remembered (though I was never a cool kid), and I was the same as I ever was trying to figure out if they actually knew who I was or were really remembering my brother but seeing me instead. I had always just been there. That person no one really loved or hated (well there was that one girl, but that is another story completely), I wasn’t invited but I wasn’t excluded either, I was just me. In a time where all of life is measured by who you hang out with or sleep with or refuse… I just wasn’t. Lest you think I am waxing sentimental and sad, think again. Leaving town with what little I did and going to start a new life was the best thing I could have done. And over the years I have rarely returned. I don’t think I have been back enough to average out to once every couple years.

Then I got a message from my single remaining high school friend a couple days ago that our 20th reunion is this Saturday…. Wait, this Saturday? Yeah… and he and wifey would like me to go with them because they aren’t going to the whole shin-dig, just the after party. While the after party only sounded a bit better, than goin full early 90’s…

I don't know this person... but this was what the popular girls did to their hair back then.

I don’t know this person… but this was what the popular girls did to their hair back then.

I was not convinced. It took the nh and the besty a long while to get me to see why this could be good. First, I haven’t aged much. No really, I haven’t. I used to deny it and have a hard time taking the compliment then I realized that I really haven’t. I did find my first gray hair a month ago (finally, I earned that shit!) and have a hint of aging around my eyes. And by aging I mean bags, dark bags (have I mentioned I don’t sleep??). But for the most part I haven’t changed much except the length of my hair and it’s color. Second, I am not fat. Yes I have gained a few pounds over the years but not an excessive amount. And really, I gained most of it the last year because forty is a whore that hates you approaching her sanctum. Also, I have lived my life on my terms. I have fucked up and been in the best of places, but I chose. I fled what I could see becoming my life for somewhere new that held no preconceived notions. I chose to marry young and I chose to leave that marriage that I built with my tears and work, with nothing. I chose (actively) to be childless. I chose to stop going to school and live with the consequences of that choice. I chose to leave a job that was breaking me but stable for something uncertain. I chose to love unconditionally and am learning how truly freeing that choice is. I chose to leave my family and face the world and found out that while it may not be the easy choice it was the best choice. I love my life. I live where people vacation and I am surrounded by friends that love me and I love them because they are awesome humans. I ditch the shitty people because life is too short.

So, I am going to face the past and people I really don’t know but I have back-up. I am going with people I really enjoy and there is an agreement, an understanding… we are each other’s exit buddies. If one is miserable, all are and we bail the fuck out before permanent damage happens. Isn’t that what friends are for? I think so.

on my way to my reunion... any wonder why I never return???

on my way to my reunion… any wonder why I never return???


Here’s a treat, the top songs from the year I graduated…

posted from my tablet thingy

Train Wreck Tuesday

sars: ho-lee-shit. So I’m looking for a new writing spot, and watching a train wreck… This could be it! I am currently watching an Unambiguously Gay Duo “chat” with a couple of republijocks. It didn’t go full asshole until one of the UGD told republijock he is beautiful. Then asked if the lone female if she was married to her dude (republiijackass). They answered no, and UGD spokes-boy proceeded to tell them ‘we’re not married, but we’re okay with it for now. It’s been a year and we are solid’.  The looks from republijock make it almost too much to watch

bro-ho: Wha-what?!?!?!?! OMG… Too good not to sit and watch.

sars: I’m trying not to stare… so. many. stories.

bro-ho: Right?! I expect a full report.

sars: And now UGD spokes-boy is telling republijock all about how he’s never even kissed a girl, he’s known his entire life. The look on republicjock’s face is priceless! I don’t think he knew such a thing existed.

sars: There is a lot of hugging and high-fiving going on (read drunken mocking). UGD are so far out of their depth, I think they are just trying to tread water until republijock falls down and republijackass drags him out.

bro-ho: Hahahaha How do I miss all the good stuff?!?!

sars: So republijock/jackass have exited the building (with much coaxing fro Jackass’ girl). UGD are reeling.

bro-ho: Bahahaha

sars: Did I mention I know republijock? He stopped by my table to say hello  (admittedly, he is beautiful). But left one of his two or three partial fireball shots at my table after eating the bulk of my hummus & pita. (I’m surprised he didn’t drink my drink!) It did give me a chance to say hi to the bartender, who I know of course. I guess he was concerned because republijock kept hugging me and high-fiving me and eating my food.

bro-ho: Again… missing the good stuff!

sars: Turns out he put UGD’s drinks on republijocks tab… They deserve at least that!

bro-ho: Perfect!!!!

sars: Spokes-boy is ordering dinner for both, consoling his partner and being very reassuring that all will be well.

sars: Makes assigning roles difficult… for descriptive purposes (of course)

bro-ho: Meg… you never can tell.
bro-ho: Meh. Not Meg. Fucking autocorrect!

sars: Ha! I see now, ponytail is way-sted! He is leaning or is that laying, on the table. (could it be the rounds of fireball coupled with his Chardonnay??)  I believe I saw three rounds in the half hour I’ve been here.

bro-ho: Ahhh.  Laying Leaning… makes for good times!

sars: Indeed, but spokes-boy has been blowing kisses and fervently consoling ponytail.

bro-ho: Oh Dear!

sars: Aw, UGD are leaving and spokes-boy is leading (read coaxing) ponytail out of his seat to the taxi, but swing and a miss… ponytail is headed (staggering) to the bathroom. Spoke-boy insists he’s shy and just doesn’t want to be seen in public..

bro-ho: HAhahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

sars: ooohh, oooh this just walked in!


Some glitter and hair walk into a bar

bro-ho: Jesus H. Tell me you are joking.

sars: Nope!

bro-ho: Oh…. Shit…. Someone needs an intervention.

sars: Apparently she’s Canadian (does that matter?!?) or so she has said 5 times… And they are sidled up to a pair of ‘psychologists’  (self proclaimed) who have decided they need shots of Jamo. (which they have never had, possibly not heard of.)

bro-ho: OMG. Ouch.

sars: She asked ‘their story’ and they told her (the older of the two, probably 45? She’s maybe 23, I’m being generous) they are the ‘top sellers of wine bottles on the west coast’. Um, are they analyzing grapes?? I think not. Then they were chatting about wine and the older actually scolded and is lecturing her! Definately smell fava-beans.

bro-ho: Okay. Wow! Also, I am about to rock the pajamas to Target. (Yeah, I am awesome!)

sars: You are classy as fuck.

bro-ho: Well, the level of classy on my part is a given. Good thing Target is in a neighboring town.

sars: Um, she still thinks they are psychologists… Deserves to be Lecter’ed. She is getting dumber by the second and they are toying with her over-teased brain.

sars: I don’t think I can stay for this train-wreck. I have to go write this down… Because I too am classy as fuck.

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

get ya some!

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.