Train Wreck Tuesday

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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!

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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.

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do not invoke the pop…

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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.

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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.

I’m smiling next to you…

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Well, well, fancy meeting you here.  I know it’s me who’s been out of touch but I had a bunch of shit and you know there was that stuff with the ting and all that. You know how it goes. One day you have all this shit in your head to write about and the next day its two months later and where did all the time go? In my defense I’ve been training at work, planning baby showers, getting ready for vacation and you know… nursing the sick, giving hope to the desolate and leaping tall buildings in a single bound. It’s a tough job being me full time. There have been days when I have seriously wanted to trade with someone for a while. Just a couple days, nothing permanent and then something happens and I realize I have it easy. My life is wonderful. I am not sure how I stumbled into what I’ve got but I’m not going anywhere. That desire to switch lives dissolved in a moment when I remembered… I remembered I am treated with respect, like a person deserving of respect and spoken to in that same way. It is amazing how much that can change things. I realized that I am flawed, beautifully and unashamedly flawed, but I am me. I am not hiding behind a mask of insecurity pretending to be someone else… I have moments of crazy and moments of lucidity, moments of sheer joy and moments of despair, moments of wonder and impossible amazement at my fortune followed by selfish tantrums about what I don’t have that someone else does. But in all this, I am just me. More good than bad, more lucid than crazy, more joy, amazement and good fortune than not. I have friendship and laughter. I am loved and cared for. I am wanted. I am thankful.

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Tuesday Dare – For Liz: Time is On My Side

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When your daughter tells you “you have no time management skills” with a disapproving tone. Then requires you to “write down everything yo do for the next three days” to discuss upon her return, you are a busted bitch. No, I have not suddenly spawned a precocious, intelligent teenager. But my friend Liz is having some issues with her time management skills. In an effort to help adults thwart the wrath (or is that condescention) of their own children before they are actually adults…

Liz, here is a little tutorial in the basic ways to keep shit from falling into the abyss of lost time.

1. First locate the smart phone I know you have glued to your body in some fashion – you know know, the rectangular thing that lights up and probably has sparkly covers to match your mood and/or outfit (I know my girl). It also doubles as a texting device, camera and thing to check facebook and twitter on…

2. Find the calendar. (picture that looks like a one day calendar that used to be on your teacher’s desk in high school – but with less hidden profanities written by Johnny Jock.) Tap to open. This is typically an app that is in the start-up section, as it comes with every smart phone. If by chance you have moved it…

3. You want this to sync with you normal gmail account… NOT your public email account, lest someone decide you are inappropriately texting her mother and decide to hack your calendar and find out where the hubby is taking your for dinner. No Bueno. You do this by “managing accounts”. Believe it or not, your phone is smarter than me and will walk you through the steps to sync up.

4. This is important… settings. This is where you tell your calendar you are retarded and need it to tell you when to get ready to go places and what to do. I am going to suggest doing this at ye ol computer. It doesn’t matter whether you have a pc or mac, it is the same… in your settings you can tell your calendar (I like to talk to mine when I set things up, makes me feel better) I bow to your greatness and trust you to tell me when to be places…

Now put in your appointments and chello! They will magically appear on your phone. And each appointment lets you decide if you want one, two or ten reminders and if you want them by email text or pop-up on your computer. Those Google peeps are the SHIT! So now you can block out the Wednesday massage, and Tuesday husband makes dinner night and Thursday Daughter brings me tea and tells me how I’m the bomb diggity (see I’m respectful, I didn’t even say shit-diggity) time. You can even invite them via email so they get annoying reminders that they must take care of your every need. And if you really can’t figure it out with my amazeballs directions…. Google tells you how and so does Apple, because those people get paid the big money for a reason!

Now when you have a handle on all this big pimpin shiz, hit up me and Mrs Clark with an appointment invitation from your sparkly phone, that’s glued to your hand that you’ll be bringin vodka and expect good fixins on my table. (Give me warning so the smart one can clean the house… indeed)

For the rest of us.. my calendar says it almost the time to celebrate, Samhainn, all Hallows and the changing of the time. I have no fucking clue what a costume is and the days are closing in… I feel a panic attack coming.

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TriFecta of Gus

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Everyone has something they say all the time. A drop-line as it were (I just leaned that term, not gonna lie). Me, I just tend to swear… a lot. No really. A. Lot. Most of my friends would say my drop-line is (well, was) ‘Jesus H.’, ever since I read Christopher Moore’s Lamb. That man is a genius. Sometimes I’d go with the full name for umph, you know, like when your mom was pissed and used all three or five of your names, ‘Jesus H. Christ’. Then of course are the variations for effect… christ on a cracker, or christ on a fucking cracker or in a really good moment mutha-fukin-christ on a mutha-fukin-cracker. The christ on a cracker seems to have been adopted by several friends, as have choice other things… and that is an entirely different story.

This, this is really a story of a man named Brady. Okay no it isn’t, but that would be rad right!? Well, actually there is a dog named Brady… but I digress. So one fine eve at the beer drinkin’ writing spot, I was hangin out with Zimm and Grrr. We were discussing life and the finer points of beer as we are want to do over a fine Belgian, IPA or some other high alcohol content beer or six two, and a conversation started about my affinity toward the Jesus Candle. I don’t know if you heard about my love of the Jesus Candle or my quests to find the most amazing possible pieces for my collection but let’s just say the “finger puppet candle” has had a place in my home. As our discussions progressed it was noted that one of my favorite sayings (drop-line) had changed to “Gerald F.”. Probably because I had said it twenty times already and also they were tired of hearing it had no fucking clue where it came from. So I explained…

‘Well ya know how everyone says Jesus H. Christ?’
yeah
‘I was tired of dealing with the dirty looks and all the bullshit that the ‘thumpy peeps’ give plus you can’t just blurt out Jesus H. Christ in front of a bunch of kids so I needed something else to say. I was gonna go with ‘Buddy Christ’ but it doesn’t fix my problem, and frankly George Carlin giving a thumbs up isn’t the attitude I’m looking for… So I came up with ‘Gerald F.’! And to solve the kid-in-trouble action ‘Gerald F. McCracken.’

What??
‘Gerald F. McCraken’. I need a name with uh-thor-i-tie!

The looks of shock and awe were less shock and awesome… and more like – holy shit Sars, you have officially fallen off the deep end.

You haven’t fallen off the deep end and started a cult have you? Did you call Tom Cruise or Oprah Win-e-free and get approval from the MotherShip?? Is there poison in our beer?!?
‘No. I just needed a little word replacement therapy. Jesus H Christ gets a point across. And you know, runnin’ around sayin’ goddamnit all the time just “ain’t christian”.’
Peels of laughter and beer-spray… Um-Kay….
‘But it had to be something strong… with uh-thor-i-tie. ‘Gerald F. McCracken’

and a hush fell over the crowd…..

But then Zimm, my ever faithful beer chemist and friend said… so who are the rest?
‘what do you mean?’
Well you have ‘Gerald F. McCracken’ he’s kinda like “the son”, you know, it’s his title. So who are the rest in your little cult, sorry, group?

At that point I admit I hadn’t given it much thought but the idea was making me smile. I think we needed a Copola style ‘god father’ that would be his title. We started chatting, and it was all down hill from there… First was the decision that all names should start with the same letter.. and there should be three, (because you can’t have proper rock-paper-scissors tourney without three) but we couldn’t call it a trinity, (duh) and so the TriFecta of Gus was born.

‘With Gerald as “the son”, We needed “the father” and only the son has a middle initial. So I think Gus should be “the father”, I like Gus.. Let’s go with Gus. With Gus “the father” and Gerald F. McCracken, “the son”…’
Why Gus??

‘It’s a good name, and short. you know…’
But wait, who was Gerald’s mother?
‘the virgin Connie Swail of course’
mm-hhhmm, mm-hhmm, of course, duh.

Coming up with a third name was not nearly as easy, being mostly drunk didn’t help as much as you’d think. Gene didn’t sound ghostly and really, no one else could come up with any more in our thoroughly beered state, until I said…

‘What about Geoffrey, you know with a “G”? He could be all snooty and British sounding, Gee-off-ree’
What’s his title??
‘huh?’
I think he should be “the holy” Geoffrey. his title should be “the holy”
‘Sounds like a plan to me!!’

And thus it came to pass the TriFecta of Gus was born… Gus “the father”, Gerald F. McCracken ‘the son’ (born to the virgin Connie Swail), and “the holy” Geoffrey. It was glorious! We parted ways with a toast to Gus and felt as though all was right with the world. Maybe it was the 9% beers but I’m going with the holy Geoffrey.

About an hour later my cell rang… this never happens. It was Zimm and he had a question about our newly minted TriFecta that only Zimm & Grrr would come up with.

So Grr was wondering… is Gerald F. the Extra Crispy Saviour? Because you know, the original is already taken.
‘If Grr says it should be so, I’m gonna go with her instinct. I don’t think he’s “popcorn style”. So we revised… Gus “the father”, Gerald F. McCracken ‘the extra-crispy saviour’ (born to the virgin Connie Swail), and “the holy” Geoffrey.’

Great Gus I think I just peed….

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…put a record on

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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]

more badass than Jules

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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…

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not quite a .38 special

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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.