more badass than Jules

I  have the most random song in my head… I guess it’s my theme today.

“sometimes…. sometimes, bad is bad.
I stay cool as a rule, but sometimes bad is bad.”

Why fucking Huey Lewis???

I have this friend, I usually refer to her as half my OREO because standing next to her I glow in the dark. Add our MP friend and I become the center in the OREO. I’m the ass white bitch between two women who have no idea what SPF means and are determined to blend if they accidentally wake up in the congo.

oreo

see… I am ass white!

My friend sin is a total badass. She is that chick you want on your team when the zombie apocalypse comes. She will be all Tallahassee and shit and you will be standing behind her like the little bitch you are. She is a 46 year old gilf with the body of a 35 year old. Her work out regimen makes douchecanoe-frat boys bow and worship at her feet… and not just to get a better look at her DD’s, they want her secret. They want to know how she does it. Ya know what little man, it’s attitude. She just loves life. She has been dealt the worst possible hand so many times but she ended up with chips left on the the table because she is a badass. Sin works everyday with the worst humanity has to offer yet she reflects the best humanity can give.

well….. she did. Friday was her last day here. She didn’t know it and I think she’d have wanted it that way. She wouldn’t have wanted to sit around wasting time waiting for that stupid bitch to bring her a door…. She’d have hopped on her Harley and gone balls out until the sunset.

Sin had a philosiphy:

” Fear less, hope more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Hate less, love more; And all good things are yours.

…I’m a mother, a daughter, a sister, a grandmother, a girlfriend, a friend, a mentor a leader a local and someone everyone I know can look up too. I am proud, I am strong, I love hard and loose with dignity. I am a challenger and a supporter. I do what I believe in and I do it better than anyone else. I am here for anyone and everyone. I help those that can’t help themselves and I do it cause I can.”

This song just makes me think of her.. She loved country and dancing and country. And I can fully see her doing this.

[youtube]http://youtu.be/Gw7gNf_9njs[/youtube]

 

Sin was a badass and she rocked my world. Sometimes it’s just like that, you stay cool as a rule, but when your girl is a badass, well…

posted from my tablet thingy

not quite a .38 special

I know, I know… before you launch into a tirade about how I should be writing more, and it’s cathartic, and will cure whatever ails me.. piss off.

Okay, okay, I didn’t mean it. I want you here, but (and it’s a Star Jones pre-surgery sized butt) only if you are prepared for the older, not necessarily wiser, unfiltered, unadulterated, unashamed madness that is sars at 37. Because suddenly I found myself staring down the barrel of .38 trying to figure out where 37 years, a bunch of dreams and half my mind had gone. Shit (y’all). shit… Where the fuck did 37 years go? Why do I have all this shit to say causing me ocular leakage, filling my sinus’ and giving me a goddamned headache? Why indeed! I created my own fucking happy place and I intend to use this shit as I see fit. So the warning sign that some fucking hipster kicked over has been reinstalled in a concrete post hole and The Social Assassin has it in his sites (don’t fuck with him, he pulls no punches and will make you cry for years to come.). That being said, well… I don’t know, I make this shit up as I go. Long before the advent of pinterest or someecards or any of those places, I would quietly collect and share little quotes, words of wisdom with people through writing and correspondence. (and maybe the occasional framed card or something) You remember writing on paper don’t you? I am a walking pinterest board with all the quotes I have collected over the years. So as I stare at 38 I decided to share some shit, not necessarily just quotes, or some gold or some golden shit… whichever it may be. So without further adieu…

Buddha said “All life is suffering.” Y’all know I love me some Buddha. If I were Buddhist I may sit here and tell you how we should forgive all, trust everyone and allow ourselves to be in the moment and be one with our suffering because it is the way to achieve enlightenment. Horse. Shit. I do believe we should forgive, we should let go of the past – but (there is that but again) we have to learn whatever lesson we were supposed to from whatever shit hit our fan. Otherwise we suffered for no fucking reason. Because that Buddha, was right (again) when he said “Holding on to anger (or insert resentment – I do) is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at the one who wronged you. You are the one who gets burned.” I’m not saying forget everything… just move forward. It is important to remember… remember what we learned from the hurts we feel, remember the times we fall on our ass, remember the people we lost because we fucked up royally… equally as important is to remember the people who fucked up and hurt us, so we don’t fall for the same trick again. We should learn from our suffering because Buddha may have said that all life is suffering, but ya know… he never said you have to suffer to live. I think every time we move forward and learn from the mistakes of the past, maybe, we can prevent a little suffering in our future.

Facebook is not a substitute for life. If you are reading this you probably know that I hate Facebook. The only reason I am on there is guilt. I probably need to work on that to prevent some suffering. Anyhow… we are the age of technology rapidly becoming the age of completely connected. This sounds good on paper.. er.. screen, but we are losing touch with each other as human beings. We are becoming isolated, lonely, and forgetting that we need each other. Put the cellphones, iPads, tablets of another variety, laptops and netbooks away for a bit and have dinner with your spouse, significant other, kids and friends. Remind yourself and them, that reality is where you look at each other, touch, hold hands, hug, laugh, cry, scream, find out that things are happening because someone’s mouth spoke the words, not because someone random posted something they heard from the neighbor on facebook. Take an entire day without tech. Can you do it? Send a birthday card without posting a witty abbreviated message on their wall. I read a cover story for The Atlantic recently that dug in to the meat of this very topic. (there have been several articles disputing The Atlantic’s story, my opinion on these articles is they are written by people that do nothing but play on facebook, they don’t understand reality and personal contact.) It took deleting my facebook completely to realize who my real friends actually are, and it isn’t the people who tell my boyfriend how great I am but never bother to tell me to my face. I am more than the number of “likes” or +1’s that my post has. I am more than the number of views on my blog. I am less than the number of friends I have on Facebook, and that suits me just fine. Because at the end of the day ~when I find myself fading I close my eyes and realize, my friends are my energy.~ I said friends, not facebook… that would just sound dumb.

I had a more amazing nuggets of wisdom to impart, but I decided that it has taken me a month to post this so I may want to speed this along. Plus it gives me some shit to post over the next few days. I feel some blog vomit about to happen and it will not be for your children. Because sometimes it’s just like that, you look in the mirror and you aren’t 21 anymore. And it’s a good thing, at 21 you are afraid to say the word cunt.

confessions from Kevin’s couch

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

tanks mang

Who took the elephant?
You know the elephant, that was here.
It was right here!
It’s been sitting on my chest for months and even though there is still a Mastiff there now, I can tell it’s gone. The anxiety and stress and fear, well they aren’t all gone but they are in reprieve.

I have been patient, waiting, looking for something so I would be responsible. I didn’t want to pile on another bad decision. I didn’t want to disappoint everyone so I waited. And I shrunk. And the elephant got bigger and heavier and it was harder to breathe.

Sorry… I know this is a bullshit “rich first world issue”, but growing up where you have a car for every house (because lets face it, our public transit in most places is fucked) you learn the freedom that brings. I do realize how fortunate I am in every way. This is not about being thankful for that just now. That is a different grattitude for a different day. Today I am realizing just how oppressed I felt not having the ability to come and go as I please. I have great friends that would cart my ass and the most patient man ever who gave me cart blanche (for the most part) with his vehicle… but it wasn’t mine. I never felt okay, just going without asking. It wasn’t mine.

So the bullet was bitten and the purchase made. It was not the originally intended purchase, in fact far from. It will mean being a grown up and saying no sometimes. But everytime I have to say no to the movies this time, I’ll remember the elephant and how it felt to be released from it’s weight. I’ll do something else. I’ll remember the tears shed in lonliness and sadness and I will smile. It is okay. I am mine, I can go. I am free to choose where and when. It was a good decision. It was a smart decision.

Sometimes it takes removing one weight to notice there are more, but I can get to those. I can make my way to each, on my own, without asking anyone’s permission. I can give each one its turn and look… wouldn’t you know, that bastard was sitting on my confidenece. I knew it was here somewhere.

Lets dust it off, shall we?

HI-Larry-US!

I know I’ve said it a hundred times.. but I don’t want children. (spare me a lecture, I’m almost 40, I know I don’t want them) This may be an awesome shining example of why. Also, I love Louis CK. He makes me laugh and can pull me out of a funk faster than Xanax or Booze (though sometimes… kidding). To that end, I apologize in advance that this is a clip from the youtubes but will shamelessly plug that you can buy his newest vid for only $5 and download it right to your happy lil compy at home. I’ve seen it, and it is also funny.

But as I was saying… I don’t want to be a parent. Thanks Louie…

[youtube]http://youtu.be/s120QJv6Ikg[/youtube]

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]

this is not about you

If you build it, they will come….
If you sit and stare at it, words will appear…

That should work right? Okay lack of words is not the problem, it’s too many swirling in my head and not really knowing how to string them together in some coherent way that someone other than myself may want to read. Then again, is that the point? Well, it seems it’s become the point and that may be my issue. I seem to have lost that abandon with which I used to approach my writing. Back then I would sit at some random place with some random beer and write (yes with a pen) the skeleton of what would become my next blog. I continued writing merrily when the pen gave way to the portability of a 15# brick of a laptop. During the brick era is when I found I had readers. I panicked a little (someone reads my shit???) but trudged on affording protection to the guilty, only because I myself wished to remain anonymous. And then all shit hit the fan. I found out family read my shit. Maybe not regularly, maybe not even often, but they did.

well fuck.
The words in my head ceased to allow themselves out through my fingers. And before you say at least had a journal… uh no, the words weren’t hap-nin there either.

well fuck.
Periodically I’d be inspired by something and sorta safe writing would happen. I’d even had a brief reprieve from the verbal constipation while I changed up all my psych meds and had no filter (not a chance bitches, don’t even think it… you shut your pie hole or I will cut you). And on occasion I can still tap into that filter-less freedom. But not often.

Do you realize that when you write a blog it is basically a journal to which you’ve given the world a key. Like it or not anyone… that’s EH-KNEE-ONE can stumble upon your shit or troll for your shit if they really want. Even the most careful person leaves behind crumbs that someone could follow (note you’ve never seen my face and I’ve never said anyone’s name. And no, my parents were not angry activists or suffering from a trauma leaving their tongues partially paralyzed causing them to think hey… sars is a good name for a girl.). So when you start venting about your sister-cousin and her giant goiter… if she can operate her nubbin, she can read your shit. And when you got pissed because you had to lance mama’s boil for the sixth time because she didn’t want the hawt young Dr. Thibodaux to see she’d put on “some weight”… If she can get uncle LeRoy to show her how to find “Dr. Oz on the computer thang”, she can read your shit. Thus I filter. Though I have no sister-cousin or Uncle LeRoy, I do have this ‘I’m not catholic’ “Catholic Guilt” that plagues me. It tells me if I write about my mom or sister or a friend in a not so glowing light, they will read it and be offended. (They probably just felt me type that and will know they have to check my blog) I could just be good ‘ol fashioned venting, but they’ll never know and think it’s something different. And since my anonymity is shot there – my family and friends know who I am… ugh.

So I filter.
well fuck.
At this moment I have a head full of things ready to tumble out but I filter. BUTT… (that was a big butt for those still playing) I have things to say. Things I want, need to say.

I have touched on having a behavioral health disorder (the preferred term around here – I honestly don’t give a fuck what you call it, as long as after you find out you still call me friend) that has been “classified” Bipolar II (and even then, that is a label more for insurance than me). Basically (the super dumb version) is depression with periods of “hypomania” or not quite mania. For me this is linked to anxiety. (yay!) This is a tough topic to broach sometimes as there are those that don’t understand because its all “psycho-babble mumbo jumbo”. And when writing, I don’t preface with: ‘Warning this blog contains bipolar content or mom look away, I’m talkin’ about being fucking nutter right now!’ However, it gets across in a roundabout way sorta. Because I filter the fuck out of things when I am cycling instead of embracing the moment and letting my filter go. According to my besties, I am my funniest, do my best writing when I am anxious. Lots of jokes get made about being bipolar – I make jokes about being a Gemini and bipolar, but the reality is I got off easy because mania is a bitch. I will cut my tangent short here and save it for a depressed day.

Basically what I’m saying is my filter is clogged and I don’t want to pressure wash it. As Zimm said, I’d have to wring it out because you can’t stick that shit in the dryer it won’t fit anymore! So, I’m just gonna leave it at the curb. Let the er Engineers take it with them along with all the other waste. Filter-less writing is better writing.

Sometimes it’s just like that… you have to apologize in advance to the people you love because your intent is not to hurt their feelings. But you just need to say what you need to say, even though you have made clear before “if you don’t like it, don’t read my shit”. This time – it’s a pointed warning. So here it is, and you may never see it again:

 

~posted from my tablet thingy~

[youtube]http://youtu.be/TLjrD-oXkhA[/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~