%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   Life is rough...I have to write it out. |
|
I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I guess it is a good thing I didn't actually hold my breath. |
Day 18 Prompt:From the War Chest... You have to learn a new skill. Do you prefer to read about it, watch someone else do it, hear someone describe it, or try it yourself? If I need to learn something new I need to read it. You can show me and I will understand. You can tell me and I will understand. However, if you show me or tell me then the minute you walk away I will more than likely tweak it to be the way I want. There is a chance I will still do that when I read what to do but it is so much more….instructional and legit that way. Plus the annoyance factor of interacting with another person makes me hate their way anyway. If I have to teach someone something then the ONLY way for that to be done is it I write it. I have absolutely zero patience for teaching someone something in person. No no. I will be pissed off soooo fast. Move the fuck out of the way and let me fucking do it. I don’t need you telling me in your way. I don’t need you slow talking me through the steps I took before I even asked you. I don’t need you on the other end of the phone asking me if I see it…do I see it? Do I? I also don’t need to tell you things in your way. I don’t want to slow talk you through steps I feel like should have already been taken. I don’t need to ask you if you see something knowing full well you are not doing what you need to. Just let me read it. Let me write it. These are the only ways. Although….I am thinking that the BEST way would be not to need to teach me or learn from me ever. |
Day 17 Prompt:Two-fer Tuesdays: Share an item or blog entry from any of the eligible competitors this month. Include a review link for bonus points. Changin' things up today. It's St. Patrick's Day, so let's talk about your shenanigans. Tell us a story...best one gets the equivalent of a green beer merit badge (ooohhh! Temptations!). Flog your shillelagh! I can’t even begin to write about this prompt. I haven’t been part of any shenanigans in at least…fifteen years. And even back then…my shenanigans were more like instances of law breaking. If I could go get into trouble though….. Well there would of course be booze galore. Line em up barkeep, tonight’s plan is to become a distant memory. I don’t believe I will be leaving this bar of my own free will. I am thinking you are going to have to force my removal due to my refusal to stop being a disturbance. There would be some slutting it up. Something awful and regretful. Something so nasty I feel I must hold it secret for eternity. Wonder if I could find a little person who would dress up like a leprechaun and climb all over me….for free. Not for nothing…I could certainly play along, but for free. I would be loud, rude, crude, disregarding, and a million other super annoying shitty things. And I would need to steal. As a …..non-practicing kleptomaniac…truly fun shenanigans would include stealing something. Not like…some shit from the store. Although, a bump when you want a line can be quite awesome, I would prefer something that would fit into the sentence: “There is no way you will steal ____.” If I were to get caught I would either take the opportunity to actually display aggression and not hear a familiar voice, or let a little bit of my whack-a-doo out and let them restrain me to a bed. Either way, I wouldn’t be cooking, cleaning, or being responsible for other people. My striped shirt wouldn’t say Mother #19458726. And I would hope that there would at least be some pot at the end of the rainbow. |
Day 16 Prompt: Wildcard Monday! What does the phrase "March Madness" mean to you? So…March so far has left me…downtrodden, and it is only fucking half over. That’s all kinds of prophetic shit, and not just the self-fulfilling kind. "Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at! Up above the world you fly, Like a tea tray in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at!" Sometimes when the mad hatter recites this little poem it is not just light-hearted, bat shit crazy, it is more of a dark, fucked up insanity. Some visual versions can be pretty goddamn skeevy. It is wonderful. If you find a version that has a skeevy mad hatter AND that fucking little pig baby….well….jackpot. Home run. TKO. Zip it, zip it, little brats! Before I give those mouths a smack! Up my ass you spend all day, What the fuck is left to say? Zip it, zip it, little brats! Before I give those mouths a smack! |
Day 15 Prompt: The Sunday News! This news story is not all that important; it’s not even that great. But, BUT, there is one little tiny part that makes me bubble over with happy imagery. It makes the entire thing worth it. http://news.yahoo.com/chinese-man-wins-payout-over-panda-bite-lawyer-042131037.h... There is much wrong with this. If Pandas are extra bitey then why is anyone living in a village where they just come down to visit? Is $83,000 really enough compensation for 7 hours worth of surgery after simply walking down the road? I mean, is it? Will this man ever be able to play a pan flute? Will he ever be able to visit a zoo for fuck’s sake? Shit…will his children be allowed to see Kung Fu Panda now? There might have been some serious damage. My favorite part though, is this line; “"I saw a panda jump out in front of me, its body completely covered in mud," he told the newspaper.” Followed by this line; “The panda escaped.” Here is what I think simply must have happened. Tired and war weary, this panda wandered into the village, bamboo on his back. All he really wanted was to pass through. To be on his way. But this guy, he ran the town, and he didn’t want the poor guy to stay, or to be on his way. He had a big dick power trip and he was mean to the panda.  . The panda, having just fought his way to the top of the tree, and still plagued by the memories of those who had fallen to his quest, did not feel like being fucked with…suck my bamboo became the attitude of the day and then it went a little like this:** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
Day 14 Prompt: Creation Saturday! Make a "Top 10" list...on any topic of your choosing. Why is #1 your #1? Top Ten Reasons women should never be equal in the workplace… 10. Tits. 9. God…all those fucking emotions. Having not been taught that expressing them makes one weak, women just let that shit flow freely. Their emotions have a voice and that is not proper locker room behavior. 8. Sitting on the couch eating bonbons and watching stories will never be as challenging as sitting in a chair playing Farmville. Never. 7. Pussies. 6. Because men do things women are just not capable of. Example: sitting in a chair playing Farmville. 5. It has been proven that the idea of being equal in the workplace prevents them from having hot meals on the table when we get home from a long day of farming. 4. If women are out there being all equal in society and shit then they will clearly sleep with other men. 3. There will be one week every month that those bitches be crazy. You won’t be able to trust them, for their minds transform into agents of darkness. 2. They do this thing…they grow other lives. And then, they bring forth these lives through blood, sweat, and pain. God they act like they need the whole week off and shit. So annoying. After that they will need to go to these little things when the shits show their co-dependency by doing some selfish shit like vomit. 1. Their obvious next step would be supremacy. Number 1 is my Number 1 because... really now...women already reign supreme.  |
Day 13 Prompt:In honor of Friday The 13th, tell us about a time when something went so horribly wrong that all you could do about it was laugh. Will Funny Friday forever plague me? Will there ever come a glorious end to the week that I don’t have a moment of … ‘fucking great’ (okay, you got me; it is waaaay more than one moment.) When I was a little girl I thought it would be fucking killer to go to clown college or to be an anthropologist. Do NOT misunderstand me; I will stab a clown in the eye before the first evil laugh can escape him. I liked the idea of secretly or silently observing (hence the anthropologist). I still like this idea and would not hesitate to become a clown. I think I possess the right amount of menace to be just the right amount of skeevy. I am not one for confronting my fears necessarily, but I could get behind scaring some kids. These things don’t happen to me. Like the two last month – a time I tried to help but made things worse and a time I look back on and laugh….these damn prompts leave me speechless. I suppose that makes these the ideal posts for me – the ones that are targeting a spot I should work on. But 24 hours does not a seasoned professional make, so….. ….before I make a weak ass attempt at fulfilling this prompt…I admit that all day I have had two things on my mind. How to fulfill the prompt when I have nothing to write about, and the fact that I have nothing to write about. It isn’t that I don’t help people. It certainly isn’t that things don’t go horribly wrong. Honestly, I think it is a fifty-fifty combo. One, I think I don’t laugh as much as I guess I should. What the fuck is that? Why the fuck is that? And, two, I am quite fatalistic (who knew?) and so “horribly wrong” means shit to me. That’s an old hat. That’s some everyday bullshit and I promise I am not laughing myself to sleep at night. I am surly and mean and infuse everything with a big heaping dose of “ain’t nuttin good enough” so when something goes wrong I don’t laugh…I am the asshole who says she isn’t surprised because everything is always fucked up. Therefore… While digging some graves, one day at work, I fell in the hole and was seriously hurt. My bones lay around, having popped right out, Then they reassembled and began to jerk about. But something wasn’t right, the order was wrong, There was a breast as a foot and an arm was too long. One fucking bone simply refused to join his friends, But without him, that one wrist just wouldn’t bend. He taunted his fellows with mean jokes and tricks, Acting too big and too bad-ass… like he was a dick. The nerve of that ulna, thinking it was such a funny bone, I couldn’t help but laugh as I oozed my way home. |
Day 12 Prompt: Opinion Thursday! According to this article (http://www.washingtonsblog.com/2015/02/america-war-93-time-222-239-years-since-1...), the United States has been "at war" approximately 93% of its entire existence. Does war solve anything? I don’t really find this surprising. We are cavemen. We need to be the fittest to survive. War accomplishes that, at least with us because we don’t “war”, we “dominate”. Gotta love the freedoms forced upon you. Do you even think about the logistics of the war anymore? After 14 years? Nope. They get to spend what they want, or say they have, and then use foolish young lives as leverage to twist our balls in the direction they see fit. And, while it’s not surprising, it IS sad, and considering our societal and technological evolution it should be scary. I think the worst part is at the end. Where it says we have launched most of the military operations and that the world views us at the number one threat to peace. They are not wrong. We ARE the number one threat to peace because we only seem to want our own brand of peace. No generic store brand bullshit over here man. Bonafide ‘Merican Peace. Everyone needs it. Collectively, we should be ashamed. The fact that so many people can’t admit this shame earns us the dunce cap as well. I am more of a calculated strike type of girl. I think we could accomplish all the same things that we do with war if we had …well…sanctioned assassins. And while it would be fucking awesome to have Altair jumping off buildings into hay bales before he slices someone’s throat, I would settle for someone that could sneak in and get it done. Fuck it – they don’t even have to sneak. |
Day 11 Prompt: War Chest Wednesday! Do you have a lucky number, and if so, why is it special to you? If you don't have a lucky number, is there a trinket or similar object that carries a special lucky significance for you? When I was sixteen years old Husband A saw me crying in the library. The reason is both not important and stupid so we will leave it in the past. However, he was with his friend who would not long after, commit suicide. Husband A used to have this safety pin on his coat. An old style baby safety pin. Large with the yellow tip. It had three beads on it. I am sure they each meant something to him, I don’t recall. He never took it off and I incessantly joked for him to give it to me. The reason I was crying was well known to people, especially certain people, and Husband A’s friend was one of those people. He was angry and he mentioned to Husband A to piss people off by “marking me”. (This was the stage of skeason and Husband A where all of our friends knew we liked each other but neither they nor we recognized such.) He gave me is safety pin if I stopped crying. When his friend committed suicide, Husband A was still not…..mine. (Ha! Who are we kidding, that fool has ALWAYS been mine. Always.) It wasn’t long after that though that we were together. I had a long-distance friend at the time that I talked to online…and she always claimed that her husband was psychic. She always weaseled her way out of proving it though. Back then, I was the me you see before you today and I still didn’t give people information. You might interact with me in real life, but you still don’t KNOW me. You don’t get information from me. That is my business. I am my business. So, while this friend knew the….seventh grade skeason (as well as she was allowed) she had no idea anything that was happening with me. We were more of the philosophical and feelings chit chatters. We used to talk in actual chat rooms. Privately created chat rooms. Remember those? Do people still do that? One day, while chatting her husband logged on from another computer. He typed this sentence: “Never take the pink bead off the pin. Pete is watching you for Husband A.” So weird. So weird. I carried the safety pin until the bitch fell apart. Turns out it was already 22 years old when he gave it to me, so I am thinking roughly 35 years for the lifespan of a safety pin is quite good. I don’t know if my friend’s husband was psychic, I don’t give a shit. It was some freaky fucking crap and I have no desire to ruin that with annoying things like….facts. |
Man I have been sucking it up as far as commenting on my fellow competitors’ blogs. I will get on that. Leaving little profound nuggets all around….sounds like me huh?
Day 10 Prompt: Two-fer Tuesdays: Share an item or blog entry from any of the eligible competitors this month. Include a review link for bonus points (if you choose to share an item). I checked out this because Erotica/Romance is my favorite form of escapism and right now I can only think of ways to escape.
And here is the review: Review of "Class: Introduction to Erotica "  |
Man. When daily bullshit gets in the way of your life it is annoying as hell. Life is leaving me speechless and, well, that never happens.
Day 9 Prompt: Saturday night parts of the world had to set their clocks ahead one hour to account for Daylight Savings Time. Did you have to, and if so, did it affect you at all? According to this link (http://www.weather.com/health/news/daylight-saving-time-spring-forward-health-ef...) researchers think the switch to DST every year impacts our health. What do you think? We recently went back to DST here in Indiana. It was such a long drawn out decision. It’s daylight savings people, not the apocalypse. All of the people in my actual life who cannot shut their fucking faces about the myriad of detriments they are being punched with, to you I say the following things….. Shut the fuck up. Did you go to bed an hour early Saturday night? Oh no? Thaaaat’s right, there were important religious and/or republican memes you had to share with us late at night before we woke up. You couldn’t adjust your schedule by one hour, you were busy, and the fucking universe needs to adjust for you. Or maybe the government. Goddamn big government. They want you to wear your seatbelt, they won’t let you have a semi-automatic assault rifle, and now, NOW, they are regulating time? Just pretend you got up an hour early. Pretend you overslept. Pretend you were up late ranting about the president. Any number of things that could have fucked with the following day. Where are your fucking complaints when we fall back rather than spring forward? Of course it's not easy and it messes with schedules. So what? That happens. We don't all stop and dry your goddamn tears. As for it fucking with our health…..what in the hell don’t they say fucks with our health anymore. Give it a week. DST will make us immortal and oxygen will be poisonous. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
No judgement!! Welcome back!!
