I’m Pretty Sure That it’s Fucksox Friday

Did you know there is an actual thing called a whirly-gig? yeah… its that wooden thing they stake into your lawn that has hands or feet or something that “whirl” around…. I myself thought I was a whirly-gig but it turns out I was in fact wrong.

So for this Fucksox Friday I take my cue from her Snarkness, and instead of waxing on and on about whatever.

sooo I’m pretty sure that,

…Ben Franklin was right and beer is proof that god wants us to be happy.

…no one should ever be able to wear Hypercolor again. PERIOD.

…if what doesn’t kill is supposed to make us stronger – my neighbor deserves a bigger set of biceps and a rockhard fucking ass.

…you shouldn’t walk around lookin like a whore on holloween, with your child in tow… save that shit for the adult party.

…my boss has no idea whatsoever. none. I am so overqualified that in about a week I could make her obsolete.

…love is love no matter who is giving and who is receiving. It’s sad that a piece of paper has become so fucking important.

…living in a small ass college town for the last 18 years has caused me to look at women differently and pretty much think that all of them are whoores between the age of 18 and 22.

…living in a small ass college town for the last 18 years has caused me to look at men differently and pretty much think that all of them are whoores between the age of 28 and 42.

…I hate the color yellow.

…if I hadn’t been so frightened as a child by so many bad things I would be a complete stoner.

…Bret Michaels should not be allowed anywhere near a microphone. Ever.

…I married satan’s spawn when I was 20. He left scars that still open at the most inopportune times 12 years after we got divorced.

…if I didn’t have those scars, I’d probably be an ugly person.

…fuckin Chuck Norris is a gangster and could take out Steven Segal any day.

…that I have been very recently influenced, loved and cared for by some amazing women (and men) I have never met and it has reminded me that we as humans are really basically good and become bad through our own choices.

…my cell phone has retarded me, as have calculators and computers… really. Do you know all your family member’s phone number’s by heart or have them written on paper??? that’s what I thought.

…I would love a shot of Jameson right now but also sure it would be a bad idea.

…that I have not had a mindPod shuffle the entire time I’ve been writing this list.

…Clowns are fucking SCARY!!!!!!!!!!

…there are some things you can never unsee: your parents fucking, your grandparents fucking, scatporn, the cross fucking scene from the Exorcist, some of the crap on awkward family photos and Human Centepede.

…the Abe Lincoln is the best type of beard. (I’ll shank you over this)

…Sushi, should be Japanese, Thai food should be um Thai and Chinese food should not contain msg.

…I love TOOL and think Maynard is a genius but do not want to have his babies, lick his shoes or any of the other ridiculous things I have seen people offer just to meet him. He’s a human, talented, but human. whatever.

…my mindPod smells like teen spirit.

…I love all kinds of music but cringe when Lynerd Sknyrd comes on.

…you should not get married because you are knocked up. Even if her/your dad threatens you. It rarely works.

…there is love at first sight, sometimes the least likely couples actually have it figured out.

…you man can never be too good looking, your drink can never be too strong and you can NEVER have too many shoes.

WoW: FuckSox Friday on Wednesday

A Blank page is staring at me. It’s been this way for a week and it’s unnerving. There’s this unseen pressure about where to start and what to fill it with. So I go read other peoples pages… oops, not the best idea really… now there is a further desire to be funny or profound or informative or shit just funny… But I have a story and FuckSox Friday needs to have some stuff in it stockings. I have some crazy shit to share, shit that makes the track of my bipolar express, and this may be the push I need to do it. So I will attempt to make the page not blank. As always keep your rose colored glasses handy.

Becca had this lovely flow, this prose-esk way of writing her Familial Friday and starting with “I remember…” I love that. It took me with her back to her space, along with her to her memory. I don’t have anything quite so lovely, but I have something familiar. Sorry it’s not short, but then, we were told word count wasn’t the goal (yay for you!)

Write on Wednesday: Make it Better…

A FuckSox Friday piece on a Wednesday.

Sometimes it’s just like that… you’re almost 12 and your Mom is doing her best to embarrass you with her dead on Billy Martin impression. She’s screaming at the ump at home plate because the opposing catcher kicked you with her shin-guards in a futile attempt to keep you from scoring the winning run for your team. Little did miss catcher girl know that your 6′ tall mother, who was managing your team, would have no problem charging the field, picking you up and sitting your blubbering ass on the plate, before screaming at the ump with her thick and getting thicker Boston accent (this is California – they think you are making sexual advances when you just want to eat your lunch) about how little miss shin splints should be banned for life for unnecessary roughness. (um I think that’s a different sport ma, but thank you for playing) At this point you have gone into full asthmatic meltdown and the fact that you can’t breathe is barely enough to cover your shame ad embarrassment. Your mom is ejected from the field, your dad has no idea how to handle any of it and you are really thankful that someone’s mom knows that you put ice on a shin to keep it from swelling and had enough sense to find your inhaler.

This was pretty much the end of my oh-so-illustrious softball career. The point where I became known as “that lady’s daughter” or “hey, isn’t your mom the one that…” and my favorite… “dude, you got totally boned at home plate and your mom is a badass!” I admit I was not the greatest athlete, but I enjoyed the game. Over time when playing here and there, I even learned to deal with my nicknames having to be printed in a mini-font and taking the entire back of my jersey… I learned to embrace being her daughter.

As I’ve grown older I learned that Billy Martin Ma wasn’t reserved for the softball field. She is a protective bitch (probably the only time you will hear or see bitch and my mom in the same sentence and it is a respect thing). In fact being protective is a trait she passed down to me, kinda like being ‘her daughter’ would follow me always. Just like looking back on the incident that day, being her daughter isn’t a bad thing. It is a major part of what has shaped me. I don’t sit on the bench and watch those I love get kicked in the shins by some stupid bitch in plastic guards. I don’t give a shit if I get kicked out for saying what I think is right even if my voice is sometimes at the wrong tone. And even though I may not be in the best place with her at that moment, I am never ashamed to be introduced as her daughter. Because sometimes it’s just like that… you get totally boned by life one way or another only to realize your mom is still a badass.

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 18 – Look through your previous WoW posts (or select a short writing piece that you would like to work on). Read through your piece carefully and let’s attempt to make it better. Look for redundant words, clichés or overused phrases. Chop and change. This is not an exercise in word count; it’s not about simply whittling it down. Make it a better piece of writing. Post your original and edited piece. THEN, throw it to the*wolves. Ask for advice from WoWers. With  help you can make your writing shine. **

Original:

A Blank page is staring at me.

 

It’s been this way for a week and it’s unnerving. There’s this unseen pressure about where to start and what to fill it with. So I go read other peoples pages… oops, not the best idea really… now there is this pressure to be funny or profound or informative… But I told Becca last week on her post I wanted to steal Familial Friday. (Probably because if I called it FuckSox Friday no one would know what it was about… or think it about something else entirely! Maybe I don’t care and FuckSox Friday it shall be.) I have some crazy shit to share, beyond my normal bi-polar express, and this may be the push I need to do it. So I will attempt to make the page not blank. As always keep your rose colored glasses handy.

 

Sometimes it’s just like that… You’re goin on 12, and your Mom is doing her best Billy Martin impression with the ump at home plate because the opposing catcher kicked you with her shin-guards in a futile attempt to keep you from scoring (what would ultimately be) the winning run for your team. Little did she know that your 6′ tall mother, who was managing your team, would have no problem charging the field, picking you up, sitting your blubbering ass on the plate before screaming at the ump with her thick and getting thicker Boston accent (this is California – they think you are making sexual advances when you just want to eat your lunch) about little miss shin splints should be banned for life for unnecessary roughness. (um I think that’s a different sport, but thank you for playing) At this point you have gone into full asthmatic mode and can’t breathe, your mom is ejected from the field, your dad has no idea how to handle any of it and you are just thankful that someone’s mom knows that you put ice on a shin to keep it from swelling and found your inhaler.

This was close to the end of my oh-so-illustrious softball career. The point where I became known as “that lady’s daughter” or “hey, isn’t your mom the one that…” and my favorite… “dude, you got totally boned at home plate and your mom is a badass!” I admit I am not the greatest athlete, but I enjoyed the game. I even learned to deal with my nicknames having to be printed in a mini-font and taking the entire back of my jersey… I learned to embrace being her daughter.

As I grew older I learned that she was protective and that was a trait she passed down and that being her daughter would follow me always. In my adult life (oh yes, 20+ years later) I learned to get used to being introduced as “her daughter … Oh I just love your mom” or “Have you met sars? no? Oh, she’s her daughter. OH!”

Write On Wednesday