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 |   Life is rough...I have to write it out. |
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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 6 Prompt: Copy and paste the following letter in an email, then send it to a Writing.com acquaintance, who is NOT in this competition. Wait for a reply to your email, then share your reply and your blog entry with us. I asked lizco252 .... Oooo! Big mistake! > > But I'll give you a couple of choices... > > There has been a sighting of, perhaps, Bigfoot, or Skunk Ape as it's called in > Florida. > > http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/01/bigfoot-re-emerges-from-florida-swamp_n... > > Or, how about the Pigeon Pageant! > > http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/04/pigeon-pageant-california_n_6614944.htm... > > Or, finally (and this one is my favorite), the 9 year old kid who was suspended from > school because he told his friend he had the One Ring from Lord of the Rings and would > make his friend disappear. They accused him of making a terrorist threat. > > http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/02/one-ring-suspended-from-school-jason-st... > > I know you're thinking...WTF, Wytch! > I AM thinking that. I am thinking…..what the fuck, Wytch, get out of my head. I ADORE the Lord of the Rings story but I find that I desire not to focus on one of the three kick-ass news stories, but rather, to integrate them into one thing. I will say the following things though: Story A. The Skunk Ape. I absolutely had to find out why they call it a Skunk Ape. Ehhh…because it looks like an ape and smells bad. Not as great as I wanted. I do love a good cryptid, but I am not loving skunk ape. Don’t mess with his cousin though. [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Story B. The 60 year old historian’s quote: "kids aren't much interested in breeding anymore." That’s just awesome. The first time I went to time out it wasn’t my fault, The ring had my mind, I was under assault. I didn’t want to color; I was so fucking bored, Besides, I gave my green to that crayon whore. I secretly put on the ring and away I slipped, Suddenly being tested on my oarsmanship. Though the swamp may stink, the odor was foul, And something to my right was on the prowl. It seemed like a bear, or possibly an ape, But really it had a distinct human shape. Slightly creeped out, I rowed back to shore, It just wasn’t enough. I wanted so much more. So I took off the ring and was suddenly back in class, But I had brought back the odor of that nasty hairy ass. I began my usual march to the carpet, pissy as hell, Satisfied that the class couldn’t escape the smell. But this one jerk just wouldn’t shut his trap, I grabbed his arm, “I’m done with your crap!” Donning my armor, I wanted to zap him to hell, But the ring’s GPS must not have been working well. Since then we were surrounded by weird little birds, And weird little people whose crazy lines were blurred. Glorious drag had exploded on Trafalgar Square, And oddly enough, Mike Tyson was there. Flapping and chirping bounced all around the room, Fucking Elementary Jones and the Pigeons of Doom. Cuz then Mike switched his focus from ears to his nose, He yelled, “What’th that thmell?” And everyone froze. He pointed at us, realizing we were what stank, Then he swung into action, tightening ranks. Snapping his fingers he cried, “Ladieth take your platheth,” Then a missile of feathered cotton dove straight for our faces. We turned to run then I remembered my trick, Except… I really didn’t want to save that little dick. So I waited another moment, to let some birds follow through, Not really thinking of what they were destined to do. The plan was as much of a failure as I could get, Now I had to clean erasers AND all that bird shit. My apologies that none of that will make sense unless you read all three stories. 
It’s like one minute into the day and I am gonna do this now because….I have not yet become unhappy for the day. It’s a rare moment. Because I don’t hate Husband A right now. Because my children are heavy mother fucking sleepers and I can play it loud like it was meant to be played. Because after a few drinks this one just flows through you. It makes me so happy. Longing makes me happy. Longing means….hope and desire. It means something would fill a hole that is growing within you. A hole which has made you feel both inadequate yet meaningful. Longing is wonderful. Otis is wonderful. Oh Otis...descend with me to longing. [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] When I play this one (and I play the shit out of this one) Kid A says it should be the song at her wedding. Not her wedding in the future. The wedding she will have with her current fiancé. So……yeah. |
Day 5 Prompt: Knowing what you now know about 'Deep Thoughts' and 'Fun Facts' Write a few of your own. Write as many as you want, but try to write at least two of each. Deep Thoughts by skeason.... Have you ever seen ducks gathered at a law office and wondered....was their doctor a quack? If your pants were on fire wouldn't you be a hot piece of ash? Fun Fact #1: If you pick something up and put it away you WILL NOT perish. Fun Fact #2: Thinking that slowing down to a crawl simply because I am riding your ass will make me back off is so very misguided. Perhaps you weren't sure but I am such a good tailgater that I can regale you with my escapades from your backseat jerk-off, yep - it's me - I am still right the fuck back here. I was riding your ass to begin with, why would I want to stop now? Fun Fact #3: If you are an employee in a store that sells video games and are also female you really really do not need to overcompensate for my husband, nor do you need to puff your shit up for me. Here is the thing. You are a girl gamer - cool. You work here in the video game section wearing your "I'm a gamer girl clothes" - cool. You know what games just came out - awesome. And damn look at you girl - you know where these games are located in the store - you rock. I am a gamer too - I don't NEED you to know it. I have on these "I'm a grown up clothes" - I don't NEED to prove I can play a video game. I know what games just came out - I too can read. I know where things are located in this store - again, I can read these huge signs everywhere. My husband doesn't give two shits if you are a "cool girl gamer" and he really doesn't care if you were playing Call of Duty the other day. All he is thinking about is the game I just kicked his ass at. (And here is where, to avoid disparaging his good PlayStation name, I say that my blog-beaten husband is a killer game player.) You don't intimidate me because you are twenty years old and assume I am some old geezer who still plays on her Texas Instrument or Commodore 64. Ohhhhhhh you don't know what that is huh? Maybe I should throw on those clothes and act like sniping people out online makes me hot. Otherwise back the fuck off of us.....we are completely capable of shopping at fucking Best Buy without supervision.
My daughter listens to some highly age inappropriate music. I have my opinions on what she hears, watches, and reads. But I have 23 more days in February - that feels like a whole entry of it's own. Her iPod is filled with some stuff that garners me the worst death looks. Fuck you - it's my kid. We talk about the things she doesn't understand. We talk about the things she does understand. Yesterday Kid A went to a function at her old preschool. A very religious preschool. Like a church preschool. Now...in this town there were ONLY church preschools to choose from. Until last year - her kindergarten year - of course. This one though....it's not a typical preschool in a church - it was a church preschool. They went to service and shit. How does this not make me a full monty hypocrite? Well it does. But oh well. (Remember my little blue Hypocrite SL? Get used to her.) BUT - we were gonna home school, then we moved. She was months from starting kindergarten and I had done her this huge disservice by not exposing her to a classroom setting before immersing her in one. I knew the woman who ran the preschool and they agreed to take her for the final four months of school - to start kindergarten there at the church in six months with everyone else. (yes, yes, skeason obediently nods her head, knowing full well Kid A was NOT going to attend kindergarten at an altar) It began a great many conversations about god that we had not really previously had. She knew about all kinds of religions but these were some specific ass questions. It was......kinda annoying. She was (and is) in love with Katy Perry. She went to this extremely religious place and started asking about Katy Perry. So what you might ask? Well that's what I ask as well - but some of the people there didn't even know who Katy Perry was so....... She ended preschool with a small VBS obsession. We started kindergarten (not at church) and all that was all pushed aside. She keeps getting asked to attend the function before school where they meet and pray. She tells people it's just not her thing. I always wondered what started this shift in her but have never asked. Last night I found out why in a moment of total embarrassment and sheer pride. This fucking function. They were all gonna stand up and answer a generic question about Jesus. You know - like...."okay someone else's Kid A why does Jesus love you?" I was kinda nervous as to what answer my kid was going to give to whatever question she was asked anyway but the closer they came to her the more nervous I became. I am certain the sly smiles of nervous excitement she kept shooting me were not helping. Then came her turn. I recorded this of course so here we go word for word........... Pastor What'shisname: "Kid A - why is everyone who loves Jesus equal?" (first of all - what the fuck???? Are you kidding me with that question? First - it is a shitty fucking question. Second - it is a shitty fucking question to ask a seven year old. And third - they could not have set her up any better. Lob it up there and Kid A is gonna knock it out of the park. If it hadn't been my kid I might have thought it was staged.) Kid A: "He doesn't think that." Pastor What'shisname: "Who doesn't?" Kid A: "Jesus. He doesn't think that." Pastor What'shisname: "Jesus doesn't think what? Kid A: "That everyone is equal." (My heart sank and soared. I KNEW what was coming) Pastor What'shisname: "Kid A why would you say that?" Kid A: "Because the people here told me people can't get married." Pastor What'shisname: Laughing in an ...oh you silly child way. Kid A hates that. "Oh no - the preschoolers here are waaaay too young to get married. They were right and I think Jesus would agree." Kid A: "No. They told me that if I loved a girl I couldn't marry her or even love her." She looks at him and smiles. "They told me that if YOU loved a boy YOU couldn't marry him or even love him." Shakes her head. "They told me that if Katy Perry did kiss a girl then she should NOT have liked it." Pastor What'shisname: "Well.....Jesus doesn't approve of that. When you fall in love and marry someone it is a boy who marries a girl." (After getting the dowry from her father of course) Kid A: "That can't be right. Jesus loves me right? He would STOP loving me if I loved her?" And my little rock star points at the kid next to her. "That's not equal." Pastor What'shisname: "Well...he would want to help you get to the right path." Kid A: "Yeeeeaaaaahhhhhh, that's why this isn't my thing." And then she sits down. If she had access to a mic she would have dropped that shit. Can you give standing ovations in church? Now that is a descent into satisfaction. So in honor of my little outspoken, comfortable with herself, right on mother fucking rock star.....I choose..... [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] |
Day 4 Prompt: Scientists discover a new material that can ... If this prompt doesn't float your boat, write about - What does. OR... spend your time smack talking your opposing team. OR... All of the above. Scientists discovered a new material that can....float my boat. The minute I step onto my boat the heaviness of my scorn immediately begins the slow sink. It’s like I spend way too much time scooping buckets of water out of the bottom and then I take a break and drill a few more holes. I lost my oars so long ago and every time I put up my sail the wind abandons me. Now all I have to do is rub this shit on the bottom of my boat and I am on Eternal Float. I can pass the day away lying back basking in some sunshine, rather than leaning over the side furiously paddling. Instead of the ups and downs and choppy waters of an unbalanced boat, I can rest easy knowing that now I can navigate the waters seamlessly. Dramamine (yeah that’s what we’ll go with) no more, because now the unnerving sensation of scooping, drilling and still keeping it all afloat has gone overboard. The oars are still gone because it’s Eternal Float not Eternal Gratification but the wind is always blowing, not to mention my cigarettes stay dry.
Ahhhh….I have a very busy few days coming up. Guess it’s probably pretty good that I don’t have my computer right now. I guess. This weekend I have two cakes to make. One for a friend which means cost of supplies only – a decision I always regret, yet always make. The other one I undercharged because I was mad at the first girl. Every cake I make begins with a day or two of incessantly thinking about said cake. And I do mean incessant. Non-stop. I am thinking about it right now. They aren’t hard cakes, but I just don’t want to do it. Everything I put on a cake is edible, which means I often sculpt things from chocolate, melt down jolly ranchers, always making fondant. Marshmallows, M&M’s, Tootsie Rolls, any kind of strip style candy….all of these things are quite common in my kitchen. So today’s descent, today’s eyes closed, faith-I-don’t-posses filled leap, is into the world of chocolate Bubble Guppies, glittery caramel trees, and a rice krispsie Thomas in his tunnel. And because really there is nothing bad to be found in neither a land of candy nor Sammy…I have to choose: [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Kid weigh-in: “You shouldn’t have chosen another black and white one mom. If it’s about the cake you should have just done Bubble Guppies. Jeez.” Sooooo….everybody line up, line up, line up….. [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] |
Day 3 Prompt: Do you have a muse? Tell us about your muse. How does he/she/it help you write and create? If you don't have a muse, try and generate one. You may need your muse to help you out down the road in this competition. Of course I have a muse. She is a little red-haired girl. She is super skinny and dresses like a total square. She has glasses and is never without a book. She has zero friends and likes all kinds of oddball shit. She can be a fucking rag and also sweet as pie. She wants what she wants and will not allow me to do otherwise. She thinks she knows what is best at all times, and it doesn't really matter if it's true. She fucking rocks. She helps me write and create many things because creativity should come from what you know. Even if you prepare first with research or practice or some fucking osmosis...the act of creating should always grow from dirt that is yours. This bitch is my dirt. This is what I know.
So...day three and I already want to write about something that does not fit in the theme. MY theme. I am fine dancing on the boundaries of a prompt...but a theme?? You play around within a theme, not with it. So I suppose I will make my wants fit into my needs. How else am I to get em? My mom is a good mom. She is a little whack-a-do, as we are all want to be. She is a little judgmental, as we are all want to be. She can really make me feel like shit, as we mothers are want to do. Today was a gold star day for my mom and her accusations. Today's descent is a descent into childhood. And it is a descent. I was not a happy child. No way, right?!?! I was not abused, neglected, or mistreated in any way whatsoever. But that doesn't mean I was happy. Cynical is cynical and mistrusting is mistrusting and if these were apparent in me at age ten then they are clearly inherent to my being. Boy did my mom and I sing though (not well). There are a handful of artists which instantly transport me to a family room filled with late seventies decor and a little dog I don't remember liking. I don't remember disliking her, yet I don't remember indifference either. The chihuahua of mystery. Hall and Oates is definitely one of these. But they deserve a day more like....well...not this day. So I am gonna go with this one: [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] This is the only song I remember singing in the car rather than the family room. A song I still love. A song I still understand...though that makes it kinda sad since it isn't really a feeling for a child to get. But hey - yesterday I broke my pencil. Yep. End of the world. And for the record.....both Kid A and Kid B vote this one sucky. |
Day 2 Prompt: Do They Know it's Groundhog Day? Does your part of the world have such a weather related tradition? Are there any weather related traditions (actual or completely bogus) you observe? Tell us about the weather conditions in your part of the world. Sooooo....I can't let this pass without mentioning that my personal weather tradition is to immediately tell anyone I talk to that I saw my shadow. Six more weeks of winter assholes. So just go ahead and NOT ask me the question, swallow that shit even if it chokes you. Yep. I was born today. Yep. It's Groundhog Day. I actually am much less hairy though and last time I checked my name wasn't Phil. Not to mention if I was going to get picked up and squeezed by a man I would have other choices in mind. Don't be sticking your hand in my hole jerk. I live in a tornado zone so nothing is what we do. Nothing. Because what are you to do really? Let's grab the baby Ma and hunker down in the bathtub. Grab us a blanket and the Spam. So sure...we can do that. Let's all go get in that tiny bathtub. Then if the tornado hits us we can all fly around holding hands in the tub. I will take first shift watching for that bitch on her bike.
Today I choose this because.....well because it is my birthday. Soundtrack of my life and all that jazz. The descent ....typically you'd think the obvious path would be the descent into old age or the descent to death...something shitty and morbid. But I have weirdo views about death and so that doesn't fit inside me quite right. It is more of a descent into....wisdom? No...that's too....commercially cheesy. The descent into quietude. The descent into reflection. Because damn doesn't this girl love her some reflection. [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Before you know it I am going to be talking about the good ole days (wait, didn't I do that already?), and the crappy music and movies nowadays (oh shit....didn't I do that too?). And just like.....two fucking days ago I said I have no time for people acting like kids. Might as well have waved my shotgun from my rocking chair. I mean, damn, get off my lawn. Here's the card I should have gotten today: It may be your birthday but don't fall for the hype, There's still messes to clean and asses to wipe. So here's to surviving yet another shitty year, But after you read this, we need you over here. |
| It's February, and so it all begins. Another month of shit not to win.  Really though....I am gonna start this month off with my usual smiling disposition. Spread some fucking joy. Today I dropped my computer. I had been sitting there finishing up one of my other challenge entries, feeling all good and head-starty, stood up and fucking dropped it right on the ground. In the garage. On the concrete. It was DOA. So that was awesome. So now I have three non-keyboard items in front of me trying to type out this other stuff. Two for reference and my phone. So that is awesome too. When oh when will I replace said computer? I dunno....when I am not buying diapers and wipes because at the moment my disposable income is literally disposable. So....as for the sunshine coursing through my veins.....
Day 1 Prompt: Write a blog entry stating your enthusiasm for this contest and this group. Let your potential team mates know what skills and level of commitment to the contest you possess. (Are you along for the ride or are you in it to win it?) You also must include an invitation to others to join the contest. I really want to write a poem about not liking this prompt but yesterday's was a poem and I am trying to fit that shit into a nice little pattern. I'm not really the widespread often recommended kind so publicity type of stuff is like....ten or twelve wheelhouses down from mine. I can however take a moment to say that, even though this is only the third "daily" challenge I have done..it's fun. Everyone should do it because it's hard. Really hard. Just because you write everyday doesn't mean you can write what you are told every day. Welllllll......yes, actually it does mean that, but it doesn't mean it is easy. Sometimes I really gotta power top my way through. But when it's done you want someone to pin a rose on your fucking nose because you did it. And the harder ones are always better.....and not just in the rooms of WDC. Cue the clowns and elephants: Come one, come all to the 30DBCESFBC... Step right up and submit your entry... A nickel a prompt....just one nickel to change your story forever.... You sir! Yes.....you! Follow me here: "Invalid Item"  by A Guest Visitor and sign right up!!!!
My theme (attempted theme that is) is gonna be "The Descent". It is an emotional phenomenon that I understand. It means many things to me but for today, for this moment it means sadness. [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] You will need to excuse the cheesy pictures that play but I really am not one who enjoys watching a recording of a concert. Not to mention looking at the Black Crowes doesn't really please me that much either. I get this because, well, because I get this. I love this descent. The one that follows the mania. Not oh..I've got the blues. And not...I am just so unhappy. The absolute free fall into your own shadow. It's great. But then again, I am good at my particular brand of sadness. Very very good. It's where I am most comfortable. The worse the sadness the more at home I feel. Kicking my feet right on up and shit, like I never even left. And in return the despair hugs me. Wraps its huge arms around me and envelopes me in its icky nasty thought-fucking darkness. And I smile the whole time. The thing is - the line: "Have mercy baby, I'm descending again." You know....the opening line. When you do take this wild ride down there is no one that has any goddamn mercy. It's like a plea from the desperate corners of a shrinking soul. People want to say they understand or they are here for you or to call if you need anything but that's all bullshit. We all know it. And that's okay. My job in life isn't to make you feel better. I am happy to try but since I know that you cannot give me the will to not go full on hermit, I do not falsely believe I can do it for you. They wanna suggest things. Things they have convinced themselves will solve it all. Not just my piddly bullshit but world hunger as well. As if not having a full hamper will suddenly....change things. Ehh....probably not so much. Anyway. When I hear this song, I cry. Maybe because I remember times of sadness, maybe because I remember that I enjoy that more than happiness. Probably half for the latter and half because that's pretty fucked up. And if you don't get sadness well Kid B certifies this one as an absolute must for your kitchen karaoke kollection. It absolutely brings down the house in conjunction with the wooden spoon mic. |
Day 31 Prompt: Creation Saturday: Rework your previous blog entry into a (minimum) twelve line poem in any form. What time are you coming? I ask with a sigh, She says "When I get out of work I will run by." But what time is that, when the fuck are you done? "Well (she's thinking) I will leave work and then I'll come." What time do you get off work? Do you get it that way? "I can't come there til I'm all done here for the day." The next one will be hard to answer I'd guess, With my hands around your throat, relieving my stress. But let's give a try, my faith in you is strong, Just any answer, who gives a fuck if it's wrong? There's a thing.... on the wall... it goes tickety-tock, It tells us things are happening, some call it a clock. There is a big hand and a small hand and they go all around, And....this is where it probably gets too profound... They run from the tiny guy and tell us the time, But it can be hard, so here's a little rhyme.... Hickory Dickory Dock. Bitch...learn to read a clock. You are older than four and so I implore Bitch...learn to read a clock. So...now, let us conquer this goal, I'll be the grown-up, and well, you know your role. When you put on your wittle mittens and grab your wunchbox, What are the numbers on the big fucking clock? "Well, I can't leave until the other girl gets back, So I will be ready to go and see you after that." |
Day 30 Prompt: Funny Friday: Voltaire once said, “I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it.". Has someone ever upset you to the point that it was actually funny? The short, yet truthful, answer is....nope. I have a great many shades of upset, not even the worst of them involves laughter. Oh Funny Friday...you formidable foe, fuck you. There is one thing I can think of that even comes close to trying to fit the prompt. And it isn't even an old story. Nor is it short. ***Side note: Having a working keyboard verges on wet panty territory right now. U's and I's and A's and W's and even T's aplenty. Some for everyone. Annnnnyyyyyway. I don't really do the friend thing. I am a loner and I like it that way. I don't get sad about having no friends because I don't want friends. People bug me. I tell people when they bug me. People don't like to be told they are annoying. That's okay- move on. You are bugging me anyway. So, when my daughter became school age and started making friends and doing activities I knew I had to at least socialize with these other bitches. Awesome. I live in a little town of horrors. Awful, bigoted, religious horrors. The Stepford wives of my town play the political pussy game all of the time. You know - like the PTO election means so much more than it actually does. And don't misunderstand me - I do these things. I am on the PTO. I am a softball mom. I lead a Girl Scout troop. I do many things. I do not play politics with these bitches because I don't need to. I am not competing with them for anything. They can think whatever they want. I do not want to be lumped into the category of "Anonymous Bigot Town Mom". I remember them from when I was a kid. No thank you. However - all of these things do not really add up to ....."Hey, let's be friends" Last year, actually almost one year ago exactly, my daughter started playing softball in a different league. This is when I met "The World's Smartest Girl"....and that is not my let's remain unknown speak...that is actually what I call her. She is ten years younger than me. Strike one. I don't have time for fucking people who ACT like kids. I am trying too hard to be an adult, not necessarily successfully, but damn hard. She is such a loud mouth. Not like....running her mouth type of loud mouth because clearly that is okay with me, but actual volume. Strike two. You are lucky am I talking to you chick, it's just not something I do, if I wanted everyone in a two mile radius to hear about it I would use a different format than your fucking ass. She's really......not smart. Just really...not. Strike three. I fucking hate that. I just fucking hate it. You don't need to be smart, just don't be stupid. However, she was new to "Bigot Town" and I felt bad for her. It's a tiny place, yes I know him. And her. And them. And yes, them too. I have been here for 35 years, but so has everyone else. We all know him. And her. And them. Them too. Strike four - she's parasitic. Like immediately. Her mom died when she was 15 and now she is using me to fill some sort of role that isn't quite full. Different people in her life have filled little parts of her mom's silhouette, but there was a little space left for her to shove me into. Perfect....I was looking to adopt an adult. I am a texter or emailer. You are welcome to call me (if you can get my phone number that is) but I will not answer. You are welcome to leave a voice mail. I will never hear it, nor would I ever return it. I tell people this, it is no secret. You want to talk to me....text. But this girl....this girl. She makes those maddening mistakes. I seen that the other day. You know husband at gas station? Rediculous. Oh, I got one of them shirts. And on and on. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I mirror back. She says I seen that the other day and I say....Oh yeah I saw that the other day too. She says that is rediculous. I say yes very ridiculous. But it doesn't matter. She has no use for personal pronouns and quite often entire verb tenses. I am smart. I maintain my intelligence. I have always been smart. I took my lumps for it in school just like most nerds. I came to accept and embrace it with such ferocity that I can now stand up and say. Fuck you....I don't need you to like that I am smart. I can argue and argue and argue with someone and feel fine with them walking away thinking they won. Later when they do come upon the realization that they were wrong....they will know I was right and that is good enough for me. Better than good enough actually. It's killer. Right now, as we speak, someone somewhere could be realizing I was right. Oh man - now THAT is some wet panty territory. Anyway....I can generally be very patient with this sort of thing. I like to write. Words are vital to my very existence. They turn me on, they turn me off. They make me cry or smile or both together. That is not true for everyone. I get it - you don't have a grasp of third grade English and well.....for right now that can be okay. It's your issue. Whatever. Whoa, can this girl push the limits with me though. She doesn't understand the most basic of things. It actually comes to a point sometimes where I have no idea of any other way to try to explain something. We may have passed ten or twelve tries thirty minutes ago and I am just out of ways. I am now speaking to you in two word sentences and you are still not getting it? Well that shit just can't be my fucking problem. I'm out. A couple months ago, after a very very long three days of wondering just how much hair I could pull out before it was noticeable, I was within a short hair of telling her I can't even talk to her anymore because she is just making me homicidal. Suicidal. Both! I am taking it out on my husband by picking fights so I could have something legit to yell about. I mean how fucking realistic is it to be screaming in the garage in between cigarettes about the correct usage of is/are? How realistic is it to pick a fight for selfish reasons you might ask? At my house it IS the reality. (sadness, ensues) But it was close. Close like....my thoughts had prewritten the text. The text that would hurt her feelings and could never be taken back. My favorite kind. The text that told her she could once again text me only after she had a rudimentary grasp on the grammar skills required to hold a conversation. That if she really needed help I was more than certain my first grader would tutor her for cheap. Video game money is all it would take for her to be able to converse with other adults. That if she didn’t stop texting me every three seconds with some other maddening thing so that I didn’t get to properly respond to the original idiotic message I was going to fucking kill her. That I am not her mommy, I don’t care what she does with her violent ass kid, we are not besties, and that no I do not want to do a million things nor answer a million questions for her. To take her slightly racist fucking loud mouth and go shout her bullshit into someone else’s inbox because I couldn't take another fucking second of her. Not one. Then I get a text that says…. “This is weird but I have been meaning to tell you for almost a year now. You have been spelling hopping wrong this whole time. You have been putting hoping.” No. No way. It just couldn't be real. I have bitten my tongue for a year. I have not said a single fucking word about how to make a word plural and she wants to tell me that??!!? That!? Oh my. Nope. It cracked me up. One of those, look up and the other people in the room are looking at you like the idiot who is laughing to herself, because you are the idiot who is laughing to herself. Really bitch? This whole time I have been hopping you would let me know when I made a grammar mistake. I wasn't sure from your own texts, but I hopped that you would be able to pick them out and notify me. Let me fix that in my internal dictionary, I will hope right to it. And while I do that, I was hopping you might hope on over there and fuck off. |
Day 29 Prompt: Opinion Thursday: Is there ever justification for revenge? Has vengeance ever paid off for you personally? I have actually been all crunchy and said “An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind” to people before as my little heart dripped blood all over my liberal agenda. I do believe this. And sometimes I have said to people (more than likely some of the same people from above) to not underestimate the lengths I will go to. This is also true. Cuz that’s how I roll. I throw my shit in the trunk of my Hypocrite SL and drive back and forth between the two. By the way, it’s a blue Hypocrite SL and I had to buy it pre-owned so it was already road tired…it’s sensitive. And since this blog is basically my daily reminder of personal short-comings and ways I keep my life in the eye of the shitstorm, (shouldn't that upset me?) it too, will take the hypocrite path. I guess I will start with the unexpected. Revenge is…foolish. Though it can always be justified (trust me, I can justify ANYTHING) never in the history of the world has justification equaled correct. We don’t have the right to take from someone just because they took from us. Whatever it might have been. A physical possession, a person, our goddamn dignity…..it’s just not a right we have. Can we just start minding our own business? Worry about yourself. Take responsibility for your personal role in the situation, because there are NO situations that involve you where you had no role, and let life give the other person what’s coming to them, just as it will you. Who are we to punish another person? Grow up. Do you want another person to punish you? No! And, putting all of that aside, who doesn't want to be the bigger person. Lettin’ it go like a boss and shit. Now… Revenge is….fun. Revenge is very satisfying. I adore revenge, it calms me. There are times I hate myself or my life or those around me to such a degree that my evil soul will create the situation for which I must avenge. And I am good at it. Don’t fuck with me if you don’t want me to fuck with you, I have so few pleasures. And you know how I always have to win? Oh that’s also been bugging you? Well buckle up because I’mma win this too. Revenge is a nice outlet for things I shouldn't inflict on my family (yeah, yeah, I shouldn't inflict them on anyone. Rainbows, cartwheels, candy) because I don’t give a shit what the recipient thinks or wants at that point anyway. Apparently at my house revenge is very much a ….do as I say, not as I do, or else….situation. Is there a parenting Merit Badge someone can send me?? |
Day 28 Prompt: Name a totally useless possession and tell us how you came to acquire it. In high school I found this thing in the hallway. It seemed cool and I couldn't believe it was just there. I picked it up and declared it mine. Just like hoping the owner doesn't respond to your lost dog posters, I was disappointed when someone else said it was actually theirs. I stood my ground, backed fully by the principle of finders keepers. Don’t leave your shit just out for me to have then. It has really taken a beating from my use over the years. It has gone from my parents’ house, to my first apartment, to three more apartments, a teeny tiny house and landed with me here at the current abode. As expected, it hasn't changed much other than it functioned when I first Gollum’d it, but not really so much anymore. It might actually do what it is supposed to do once in a blue moon, but I can’t get rid of it. It’s so pretty and I love how happy it makes me. Keeping it with me has definitely influenced many thoughts and decisions I have made, in both good and awful fucking ways. I love it. And again, it’s so pretty. If you didn't guess, my useless possession for this prompt was my poor blog-beaten husband. |
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