I got to thinking about the continuation of this blog, starting up again and trying to differentiate the person that was and the person that is. I made the executive decision that this blog can no longer sustain the person that is going through this transitional period. The sass versus the mysticism, the crass versus the kind, the loathing versus the loving. See what I mean?
I've got this way of ruminating over my past writings that makes me kind of crazy...or maybe kind of conceited (as I mentioned before). So out with the old, as they say, and onto a platform that can contain the sheer magnitude of this momentous occasion of the self-crowning of a new age divorcee. (I'll keep the chanting to a minimum, I promise).
www.thebrillianceofresilience.blogspot.com
The name? Kind of hokey, I know, but at my women's retreat a wonderful and quite spiritual crone relayed that message to the newly crowned sister crones and I've repeated those words ad nauseum. AD NAUSEUM!
I’ve wanted to get back to the ‘ole blog so many times since
I last stopped writing that it is almost painful to start up again. I would
think about it from time-to-time and I would try to understand the myriad of
things that has happened to me in the last nine-ish months that would prompt a
cathartic writing process. I’ve been told countless times by my therapist that
journaling is a way that so many people deal with the stressors of their lives
and they find great solace in reading their words during less depressed or
manic times and they take pride in understand how they got through it. I guess
it hasn’t really hit me until this very moment that that would probably work
for me, as my little conceited self likes to look back at what I’ve written
with pride. Hey, it beats heroin, right?
I think that I’ve struggled so deeply in the last nine
months to try to understand what is going on in my life that a public display
of emotion is something that will help my stars align, so to speak, and will
help me understand that my feelings can be those that are shared by other
people…or with other people.
So for anyone reading this that doesn’t know me personally
(or maybe you do know me personally and we just haven’t had the chance to catch
up), you’re probably wondering…what the heck is going on in her life? Well,
most first and most notably I’ve separated from my husband after nine years of
being together and almost five years of marriage, and I’ll tell you…NO ONE told
me how painful that would be. Even in the face of a time of unhappiness
garnished by an event that threw me over the edge, I still had no idea that a
separation could be so innately soul-crushing even while you’re trying to put
on a face of bravery and ease. No one told me how dealing with the un-twining
of an intertwined life could be so weird and foreign, and how losing a
lifestyle could be so insanely liberating and so insanely death-defying all at
once. Yeah, I’ve known lots of people that have separated/divorced, including
my maternal grandmother that divorced when it wasn’t cool and lived most of her
life as an independent single woman, but even the women that I’ve been closer
with than anyone in my life couldn’t have prepared me for how I’d feel about
the whole thing. I guess this is the kind of feeling that people say you just
have to experience. Let’s never do that again, okay? Secondly, I’ve moved back
home with my parents. At first (and admittedly from time-to-time), I’ve looked
at this situation as a sign of stepping backward or defeat or whatever this
country has conditioned me to feel about returning to the womb, but I’ve
decided to take the approach heralded by so many other countries and look at
living with my family as an opportunity to get to know them better and to have
a shared experience. Let’s face it…living with your parents can be extremely
fun. Living with your parents can also be extremely bizarre as an adult, but
these days, I’m choosing to look at this glass as half full because looking at
it half empty has never gotten me anywhere. Thirdly, I’ve completely fallen off
the wagon of exercise and diet. Let’s face it…I had other fish to fry at that
point, and though there are some women that find it really easy to hunker down
and stick to their diets even more through a series of unfortunate events, I’m
not one of them. I’m not proud of this truth, but it is my truth, and the
sooner that I deal with it, the sooner that I can begin again. I feel as though I’ve let the biggest sigh
escape from my body and that maybe this is the beginning of the newest part of
my life. All because of a little blog not unlike a bazillion blogs out there
that women are writing to explore every facet of what it’s like to be woman.
It’s pretty cool that this would happen to me today, as I am
slated to go to a weekend-long women’s retreat this evening and I’m pretty darn
excited about it. The line-up of activities and speakers looks great and the
ability to know that there are other women in my space that could help me heal
is incredibly uplifting…even in its prospect.
I think I secretly knew better than to schedule a trip to Hershey, PA to see the tour that coincided with the tenth studio album of one Mister Stephen Patrick Morrissey. Not that I'm particularly prone to psychic revelations or anything, but after a less-than-adequate (ahem) touring record, the news that he would not be gracing the stage of the town o' chocolate did not come as any kind of shock. Crisis and broken heart averted, I eagerly received World Peace is None of Your Business from my husband and step-daughter as a present.
Morrissey's touring woes aside, the live performances that did go on and the albums that were released were always top-notch. I vividly remember closing my eyes during his recreation of, "Death of a Disco Dancer," on the Ringleader of the Tormentors tour and feeling as though I were transported through time to a lithe and Smiths-backed Morrissey youthfully debuting his creation for the first time. I unabashedly cried both times I saw his entrance onto stage because I knew that each time could be the last time...each album could be the last album before retirement. To receive WPINOYB was doubling thrilling.
After 2009's Years of Refusal, I was so pleased with the stride that Morrissey had hit. Unlike so many aging artists that release albums that grasp at the straws of times gone by, his lyrics were relevant and charming while still having the sting of his acerbic wit. How then, could we fail with this 2014 release?
I don't know, ask him.
WPINOYB is musically terribly boring, lyrically flippant (even for Morrissey) and socially irritating. To add insult to injury, he's had the unmitigated GALL to feature Kristeen Young on backing vocal for several songs. THE Kristeen Young whom he blamed for making him so ill that he had to cancel his tour. When I saw Kristeen Young perform I have to say that I felt ill as well, not to mention having the complete hankering to throw rotten tomatoes on the stage.
Admittedly, I listened to the album for the first time in the car and chalked up my feelings to not paying attention to lyrics and musical subtlety. I tried it again just today (and a third time as I type) from beginning to blessed end, and I felt strongly enough to blog about it's utter stinkosity. TO BLOG ABOUT IT, PEOPLE.
Although his voice is as angelic as ever, getting through things like rhyming "fool" with "fool," and using the couplet "Beef-a-ronie/ah but lonely," stunk of painted-on-cleverness that used to flow so effortlessly from a man that I would consider a lyrical genius. In the track that features the aforementioned couplet("I'm Not a Man"), he croons about being a man in some kind of, as Dustin put it, finger-wagging way. In fact, Morrissey's finger wags into goddamned some kind of constantly-repeating oblivion.
Earth is the loneliest planet of all
Earth is the loneliest planet of all
day after day you say "one day"
day after day you say "one day"
but you're in the wrong place
and you've got the wrong face
and humans are not really very humane
and Earth is the loneliest planet of all
Rolling Stone said something like, this album is stronger than Morrissey fans anticipated...which, doesn't really mean anything except that the music industry thinks that Morrissey is old and superimposes that opinion on Morrissey fans who were coming off the high of Years of Refusal and were hungry for more. Rolling Stone also said that the two "stunning" tracks on this album were "Mountjoy" and "Oboe Concerto," so I give them an extra listen just now and find a bit of solace in lyrics that show shades of Morrissey,
A swagger hides the fear in here
by this rule we all breathe
and there is no one upon this earth
whom I'd feel sad to leave
And music that haunts me a bit like maybe "Suffer Little Children" or, as I mentioned before, "Death of a Disco Dancer."
One of the last lines of the closing track, "Oboe Concerto," references his drinking to absent friends and it makes me a little heartbroken that this may be his swansong. If this is the last studio album, please let there be a cache of unreleased material that doesn't feature a fifteen minute version of "Kiss Me A lot."
It's Sunday afternoon and I'm dreading work again...so what better way to pass the time between loads of laundry than to read a zillion blog posts on tumblr about the Hobby Lobby decision. To add another layer of emotion on an already fragile psyche, I suppose, I must write something about this ruling before I burst.
There are countless people citing religious freedom as the reason that Hobby Lobby is a purveyor of unmitigated righteousness. There are, also, countless photos of "morally upstanding" people picketing for the craft store's freedom to run their business with as much Bible-thumping as they want. In fact, I'm sure that Hobby Lobby will go down in history with the likes of Chick-fil-a and Curves as businesses that, to some, are on the "right" side of freedom for the American people and Capitalism.
I was probably a little more than shocked by the SCOTUS decision to allow Hobby Lobby to cease coverage of certain types of birth control in favor of their Religious proclivities. Not because I'm Pro-Choice, not because I'm a Feminist and not because I'm not a Christian. ONLY because I have a basic understanding of the law of precedence.
This ruling opens the door for every zealot citing religious freedom and business to pick and choose what medical procedures they choose to cover based upon their own teachings and belief systems. Is are the Justices not cognizant of this fact? Are they not aware of the legal door that they've opened?
Without sounding like a disrespectful non-believer, I'm having a hard time wondering where the courts will draw the line. Serpent-handling? Prayer in opposition to all modern medicinal treatment? These are viable options to some religious groups and frightening prospect to potential employees of religiously convicted employers.
As I read through the tumblr posts, a lot of those (conservatives) that sided with HL stated that if an employee wanted to use the types of birth control that were not to be covered, they could either buy the contraceptives out of pocket, or they could find a job with an employer that would cover said contraceptives.
The first point is something that flies in the face of the basic principle of "One Nation, Under God." I suppose it's really only one nation if you believe the same things and have the same moral ideals as those that have been self-appointed to the path of total and unequivocal religious truth. There's no room for differences here, folks, either you believe what I do, or you're some kind of flag-burning faggot, right?
The second point is probably my favorite. As a nation that hovers just a few points away from ten percent of it's population being unemployed, I love that just finding another job is even on the radar as a viable option for those that just want their own reproductive decisions to be respected and valued. Conservatives often whip out this philosophy to try to imply that those that want tolerance and justice for their own moral beliefs are just too lazy and willing to take hand-outs from the government. You know, like medications being covered by their insurance policies that they help to pay for with their own income.
One question that burns in my mind is, what if Hobby Lobby was owned by a Muslim that wanted to impose the basic beliefs of the Quran on those employees that may not share the same religious belief system? I can venture to bet that the same zealots would come to the aid of those employees that wanted freedom from their "oppressor," citing the same rhetoric that now bars women from having the right to choose the method of birth control that is right for them.
As the Fourth of July weekend comes to a close, I'm left to wonder what will happen next. What retrograde policies will ensnare this country in the name of freedom?
I did something that I thought I would never do: I made a New Year's Resolution. In February. It's a typical one.
This year, I said to myself, I'm really going to start thinking about my weight and what I can do to become a healthier person.
I've never made a "real" New Year's Resolution before, especially as late as February first. I've always long forgotten about them and settled into a state of complacency with comfort food and general winter lethargy that comes with Post-Christmas snow and cold. While warmth worshipers are counting the days until the Equinox and the buds on the trees, I'm relishing in the general hibernation that comes with January, February and early March. With this state of mind, I must say that the state of my pants cutting off my circulation became a clear reality. I bought some new pants with a bit of shame and resignation, and told no one that I'd graduated into another size of plus.
I didn't tell my therapist, which went against my general rule of sharing everything with her. I felt like the grade-schooler that hid and ate crackers out of my parents' eyes or the teen that made a sandwich and then secretly fed it to the dog while harboring a case of anorexia that lead to rapid weight loss between my junior and senior year of high school. Everyone was so proud of the weight that I'd lost then. What an accomplishment, they said. The weight crept back on, and the difficulties crept back up: the back aches, the knee aches, the trouble climbing the stairs without being winded, the inability to find clothes that fit my frame...the list goes on ad nauseum. Now weighing more than I'd ever weighed in my life, the "secret" was clearly out in every photo, scale, and shirt I tried.
I read a book in January, "The Four Agreements," by don Miguel Ruiz. Each Agreement is simple and succinct:
1. Be Impeccable With Your Word 2. Don't Take Anything Personally 3. Don't Make Assumptions 4. Always Do Your Best
Each Agreement, too, weighed heavy on my heart as I tried to incorporate them into my everyday life. Each stuck with me and still does, but...Always Do Your Best. What was my best?
What I was doing with my life wasn't my best.
With this realization, came what seemed like a chance to change my life. I guess it's so much more than a resolution, but a complete paradigm shift that started with my relationship with food and exercise. It also became a very public shift that added a sense of accountability that I'd never had before. I decided to stop living to eat and start eating to live. I made the decision to move my body and really...fight for my life.
It's only been a month, but the changes are great and my body is really starting to catch up with my mind and for once, I feel like I can do this. I can stop making excuses and share my thinly-veiled secrets.
Recently, apparently, there's been a lot of news surrounding a possible name change for the Washington Redskins football team after both President Obama and Bob Costas have made public statements about how racially offensive the name was to Native Americans. Honestly, I had to read up on this phenomena because NPR had their fall member campaign this last week and they've been a little less-than-informative with their breaking-news coverage. Don't scold me either, I've donated to NPR...I've got a window cling to prove it.
I didn't even realize that the Washington Redskins were even still a thing. Not only am I not a football fan, I also live in Pittsburgh, so lord knows that football journalists in this town bleed black and gold or they're run out of town by pitchfork-wielding yinzers. But still, that level of racially offensive nickname went out with the slow-talking, pelt wearing "Kemosabe" of the fifties western television show, right? I guess with Johnny Depp (of all people) green-lighting that kind of racism in the summer flop "The Lone Ranger," I should know that anything is possible. How did I come to all of this now, miles behind everyone else? I got a text today from my husband with his coworkers' reaction to the Redskins debacle,
"It's those goddamned pussy-ass liberals that are ruining this country!"
My first reaction was to think that changing the name of a football team doesn't ruin America does it? No one can possibly think that! But alas, my reading set me straight: the term Redskins is a "tradition." The term traditional in America could easily be interchanged with patriotic for many citizens, despite the fact that these terms are nowhere near the same. I'd say that indoor plumbing isn't necessarily traditionally American, but we still seem to have really embraced it over the last few decades. Miley Cyrus isn't exactly the kind of woman that Susan B. Anthony was talking about when she fought for women's suffrage, but it seems that a lot of Americans can't get enough of the skank. Tradition is a two-way street, America.
It's weird how we've progressed as a society to a point where we're completely disconnected from our food, our land, and our sense of personal morality, but we're certain that the way that things used to be are much better than the way things are now. We simply must use the newest cell phone on the market and we pay someone to let us park our car in a garage, but we're certain that those racially and socially oppressive and offensive nicknames are totally legit by claiming their status as traditional in American lexicon. To say that they weren't would just leave you subject to your own offensive and oppressive slur...that of the "pussy-ass liberal."
I don't consider myself tied to any particular political group as I'm too apathetic and cynical to really care about our "government," but even I'm slightly charged to turn a mirror upon the face of American traditionalism/patriotism and demand to know where in the history books it was ever, "The Polarized States of America?" Where was it ever intended to be what once was should always be?
It is by its very definition that American is the land of progression, whether it be through Washington's plea for Americans not to be pulled down by any political party (well, we fucked that up), Dr. King's racially tolerant rhetoric (we fucked that up, too), or even Lee Greenwood's shitty song about being an American because at least he knows he's free. Feh.
The Washington Redskins. The Atlanta Braves. The Notre Dame Fighting Irish. All of these fall under the label of offensive monikers seen as traditional by the eye of an angry and threatened beholders. Beholders that love the newest Hemi in their truck, the newest reality show on TLC or the best factory-farmed hamburger their hard-earned money can buy.
Progression is a blame game when it can no longer be sustained by a polarized country. That's not what this is really about though...it's about football.
So yesterday was Pie Day. I think that the majority of people that read this blog are also friends with me on Facebook, so they've seen the official Pie Day photo:
Please stand back from the glow of Pie Day, because its radiance may burn you.
Pie Day consisted of making pie crusts, cutting up vegetables for chicken pot pie (the best food in the world), making copious amounts of pumpkin filling for one GIANT pumpkin pie, and of course eating pie and drinking too much black coffee. I don't have a pie and coffee tattoo for nothing kids:
To be truthful, I have a pie and coffee tattoo because I love "Twin Peaks," pie, and coffee, but for the intent and purpose of this blog post as well as those that don't know of the show, this is just a bangin' representation of my love affair with the pastry and filling arts.
The first day of Autumn seems like the perfect time to celebrate a day like this, but it was totally accidental. My husband and my parents were bringing in wood for the furnace, and I'm MUCH too fragile to do something like that, so I was in charge of the pie crusts and beginning to make pot pie. I was wearing a sweater, it was slightly brisk and there were big and fluffy autumn clouds in the sky that replaced the haze of the humid summer sun. It was the perfect time to fire up the oven and bring back the pie-making season from it's sticky-summer hiatus. I hadn't made crusts in a while, so I felt a little rusty, but by batch two, I could easily have made a dozen more batches. I read somewhere that decent bakers are born and not made, but I feel like with this recipe the former doesn't always have to be the case (thankfully for the rest of us that must get by with our Grams' recipes and a nanobyte of their talent and patience).
My Gram gave me her love for pie and all things tasty, some skill with which to create these tasty things, and she gave me her figure (gee thanks, lady.) Something else she gave me, though, was a pie crust recipe that cannot be beat by anything that I've ever seen. The woman lived by this recipe and it's ability to create a pie crust that will not get tough no matter how much you handle the dough. It's genius. It's divinely-inspired. It might be slightly satanic (okay...it's not), but it's also the secret to any pie that I've ever made in my life. The fillings are the fillings, but the crust...honey chile, that's what makes a pie more than pudding or stewed fruit.
If I share this recipe, you have to promise to use it. No excuses and don't argue with the directions.
"Fool"Proof Pie Crust
4 Cups Flour
1 3/4 cup Crisco (regular or butter flavored...if you like butter, use the butter flavored)
2 teaspoons salt
1 Tablespoon sugar
1 Tablespoon vinegar
1 egg
1/2 Cup cold water
Mix together the flour, salt and sugar. Cut in Crisco until crumbly (use a pastry blender if you're averse to getting your hands dirty, but I've been watching way too much "Two Fat Ladies," lately and I want to do everything by hand). In a separate bowl, whisk egg, then add vinegar and water and mix together. Add wet ingredients to dry ingredients and mix until you get a big ole pastry ball. Flatten it out and cut into four equal parts, then make those parts into pastry patties. Freeze for a heck of a long time...or at least chill in the fridge for half an hour before using. The waiting is the hardest part...Tom Petty said so.
There you have it. Make your own "Damn Fine" Pie Day.
A Buzzfeed Community member posted the 10 funniest Smiths' lyrics on September 12. I read it. I laughed and I tsk'ed at the lack of some obviously devilishly funny lyrics that were left off the list. Buzzfeed has a weird way of being so hilarious at times and being so completely off the mark at others that I wonder if there are any kind of checks and balances to the writing. If no, how do I get a job there? I felt it only my natural right to post my thoughts on the Smiths' (or is the Smiths's? I don't like the idea of it grammatically being the SMITHSES...ugh, but I also don't like the idea of not putting anything there. There has to be something there, right? These are the things that keep me up at night. That and all of the psychopharmaceuticals). Without further psychobabble or ado, here are my funniest Smiths' (Smiths's) lyrics in no particular order: 1. "I didn't realize that you wrote poetry. I didn't realize you wrote such really awful poetry." from Frankly, Mr. Shankly, which by itself...could fill a list of ten hilarious lyrics. I have special meaning with this one...because there are so many bad poets out there that fancy themselves deep and mysterious when really they're just, "flatulent pain in the ass(es)." 2. "Hand in glove. The sun shines out of our behinds. No, it's not like any other love, this one is different because it's us." from Hand in Glove. Maybe there's a double-entendre here that I'm missing, but I find that most couples feel this way about their relationships in the very beginning and Morrissey is poking fun at how nauseating it can really be. 3. "A scanty bit of a thing with a decorative ring that wouldn't cover the head of a goose. As Rose collects the money in the canister, who comes sliding down the banister, but Vicar in a tutu. It's not strange. He just wants to live his life this way." from Vicar in a Tutu. How this did not make the list is beyond me. It's about a cross-dressing Vicar for Chrissakes. 4. "This is the last night of the fair, and the grease in the hair of a speedway operator is all a tremulous heart requires. A schoolgirl is denied, she said : "How quickly would I die if I jumped from the top of the parachutes ?" from Rusholme Ruffians (one of my favorites). This is a bit darker, but just as amusing...the seriousness of the teenager and her unrequited love. 5. "...And when I'm lying in bed. I think about life and I think about death, and neither one particularly appeals to me." from Nowhere fast. There are a lot of darkly funny lyrics in this ("I am a man of means, of slender means."), but I really enjoy Morrissey being able to poke fun at his own "meh," and I think that that's what a lot of Morrissey critics miss. He made fun of himself as much as he did everyone else. 6. "I've come to wish you an unhappy birthday (x2). 'Cause you're evil and you lie and if you should die I may feel slightly sad, (but I won't cry.)" from Unhappy Birthday. How many people can admit that they've never felt this way about someone in their life. Don't even try it. 7. " I don't dream about anyone...except myself." from William, It was Really Nothing. Classic Morrissey. 8. "I was looking for a job and then I found a job. And Heaven knows I'm miserable now!" from Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now. This is another song that has tons of funny lyrics, but I find this one to be the most charmingly clever...or rather, is it that I find this one to be the most relevant? 9. "Keats and Yates are on your side, while Wilde is on mine." from Cemetary Gates. This is another lovely song that isn't necessarily funny, but this is such a cheeky line. What exactly are you trying to say, Morrissey, hmmm? 10. "Past the Pub who saps your body, and the church who'll snatch your money." from The Queen is Dead. This is a bitter, bitter line, but so true and so clever. Morrissey's solo stuff is full of really clever lines as well, but that's another post for another time when I'm feeling especially energetic. Ta!
When Dustin was in Iraq, he got paid on the 10th of every month. It was hard, at first, to only get paid once a month and honestly I hated the 9th more than any day of the month. After a while, though, it was easy to fall into a routine of paying the bills on the 10th, putting so much into the savings account (a laughable thought now) and knowing that I had so many dollars until the 10th rolled around again. I grew to love that routine. I grew to cherish my ability to make it work to the point where the 9th became my most loved day of the month, because there was still plenty of money left to live, or to put away, or to possibly spend on something frivolous (what?!).
After 18 months of Dustin's contract in Iraq, we had amassed some wares that we had only dreamed of: a car that actually ran, bedroom furniture that wasn't broken and older than me, a digital camera from this decade, a basic-level e-reader, and a mediocre laptop that allowed Dustin to stay in touch with me from the desert and prevented him from completely going batshit crazy whilst confined to a base in the middle of a war-torn country. These things aren't luxuries to most people, but when I get up every morning and see a new wardrobe in my bedroom, I'm still slightly amazed that I was fiscally able and actually allowed to go to a store, pick out what I wanted, and buy it with cash that I had in my checking account. Since I struck out on my own with Dustin, I was sure that something as seemingly small as this would be for other people, as if Ikea was a place for us to buy candles and lingonberries, but nothing else. This is the stuff of which American dreams are made, right?
These are not crazy credit purchases like my the people my age are making: houses that are too large for their families with mortgages that they can barely afford, cars that are shiny status symbols with names like Audi, Saab or Acura, and clothes and bedding from Pottery Barn and Jack and Jill for their toddlers that are too young to know the difference (or care) between items from these overpriced chain boutiques and those that came from the Salvation Army's half-price day (the greatest day of the week, by the way). I felt a little smug about my own sense of restraint at my age: about paying our credit cards (fixtures of time when money was completely gone) down instead of racking them up, paying over on my student loan bills so that maybe I could have them paid off before I retired, working full-time at a temp job that I hated when I didn't technically "need," to because money was okay for once.
I felt like a real adult singing, "you're going to make it after all!"
When Dustin got home from Iraq, he was on unemployment for a decent amount of time, but it was okay. The savings was there, he made as much as one could make on unemployment and we were living modestly and even managed to pay off one of Dustin's student loans in this time (hooray!). Then Dustin got a job with a company that repairs large pieces of equipment for an hourly sum that was laughable to someone with his skill and experience. It was okay, though, they assured him, it wouldn't always be like this and they could see him rising through the ranks of the company, and let's face it, no one was beating down the door to give him a job that paid what he deserved. I got hired on full-time at my temp job and got a "raise," that made our pays about equal. We lived, but I could feel myself drilling down, down and further down into the seemingly endless depths of depression (a result of a job that I loathed) that only a fierce cocktail of psychopharmaceuticals rescue me from. I had doctor's co-pays, hospital bills, pharmacy co-pay after co-pay and the 70% of nothing that comes from a three week stint of Short-Term Disability. The first weeks of this year were a mess...a mess that I'm not sure we'll ever recover from.
The late winter was rough but the summer seems to be rougher. The savings is low now, a result of buying groceries, paying credit card bills, and having a fussy feline that needed 1,000 dollars worth of medical care and now requires prescription food and a eagle-eye to make sure that he doesn't die.I got a new job within my company, but it pays less when you factor in all of the overtime I'm not working. But I should be glad, right? My time is so valuable that I should cherish not working thirteen hour days and crying at my desk, RIGHT?!
Let's face reality: my time has become increasingly less valuable as these hot months roll on and by back-to-school, I may be hocking school shoes or bookbags three nights a week at some crappy retail job to compensate. Who needs sleep anyway?
Maybe I should've bought a bunch of things that I couldn't afford so that at least I'd have the things to fall back on instead of having a stack of bills that have a decent chunk taken from them, but are nowhere near paid-off. Maybe my age group has it all right: buy now, figure it out later and leave the debt for your toddlers.
Maybe I shouldn't have treated myself to that makeup two years ago.
The choices that I have to make now for Dustin and I are those that two people that make well above minimum wage should never have to make. How long can I go without that prescription? What happens if we consistently eat carbohydrates because they're cheaper than vegetables and fruit? That medical procedure isn't absolutely necessary, is it? I'm more inclined to believe that this really is the stuff of which American Dreams are made.
Today I did something that I'm not proud of (that is, besides ending this sentence in a preposition).
I was in the company bathroom and a woman right beside me had deodorant lines completely marking the sides of her perfectly pressed black skirt, like little wispy roads. No one had told her. I could tell. She went about washing her hands and drying them complacently without a care in the world as to the marring of her suit. This smart suit with black hose, black patent pumps and a crispy white shirt. A bob-do settled atop her middle-aged head with a smartness (again) that comes with many years of hassling with ponytails and long locks. She was just. so. smart.
Too smart.
Just looking at her face filled me with a rage that comes with seeing someone just too smug for their own good. A flood of thoughts raced through my mind in two seconds and deduced themselves into one action: I didn't tell her.
I didn't tell her.
I'm not proud. I should've taken the high road (cliche alert!) and whispered in her ear. I should've gone to her woman-to-woman and told her about her accidental faux pas. I should've "helped a sister out," but I didn't, and I'm sorry for it now.
Why do we, as human beings, look at a person and think that we know everything of their existence within one second? Why are we so mean? Strike that...why was I so mean?
A lazy Sunday afternoon watching a Futurama marathon
comprised of episodes I’ve seen fifty times isn’t exactly the most productive
way to spend a day, BUT there’s no shame in my game, yo.
During the commercials, the trailer for, “Identity Theft,”
appeared before for me for the first time. The basic premise is that a businessman’s
identity (Jason Bateman) is stolen by a harmless-looking woman (Melissa McCarthy
of “Mike and Molly,” fame) and shenanigans and chicanery ensue. Anyone who hasn’t been in a coma for the last
few years knows that, “Mike and Molly,” and thusly Melissa McCarthy have been
the target of ill-placed fame for being a show about “two fatties in love.” In fact, one journalist thought it her place to tell everyone in the world about how
disgusting it was that a show like this would portray fat people being happy
enough with themselves to love someone else.
Anyway, there's a spot in the trailer where the beautifully lithe dancer-looking girlfriend (you know, she doesn't look quite White, Black, Latino, Indian or Asian, but she's "hot," and totally sweet in a messy bun and leggings) compares McCarthy's character to a hobbit and Bateman so sassily quips, "I'm goin' after Bilbo." Et tu, McCarthy and Bateman? Another fat joke? Another wacky comedy at the expense of the fat lady?
I know that Krusty the Clown has made a career out of this kind of thing for Simpsons fans everywhere, but fat jokes are about as hilarious and cutting-edge as the flapping dickie or the The Three Stooges eye poke. Not only are they not funny because I'm fat, they're not funny in spite of the fact that I'm fat.
Fat jokes have become the easiest way to criticize someone's physical appearance without being seen as cruel or shallow. In fact, fat jokes have often been laid on the line as a way to "help," fat people realize that they're in the middle of a medical crisis. A newscaster in Minnesota or Wisconsin or somewhere cold and snowy got made an amazing rebuttal to a "concerned viewer," that thought that she was setting a bad example for her female viewers. It is my hope that women like Jennifer can stay as classy and respectful as she has in her rebuttal instead of lowering herself to the level of the redundant funny fat lady laughing with the bullies. It's no place to be, Melissa McCarthy.
The next time I see a girl wearing high heels, I'll remember to call her a disgusting street-walking prostitute out of concern for her foot health. I mean why not? It's the same thing.
Fat jokes don't hurt just the fat lady, they hurt the fat lady's husband/wife/partner, her children, her family and her friends. Fat jokes will usually get an eye roll from any fat lady that's confident enough in herself to realize how base and stupid they are, but fat jokes will invoke shame from those that aren't strong enough to see through to the heart of their maker.
Do you want to show a fat person some concern? Befriend them. Get to know their story and encourage whatever path to good health they may travel. Give a little love.
"It's so easy to laugh. It's so easy to hate. It takes strength to be gentle and kind."
So Facebook has this thang called the "50 Day song Challenge." Everyday you post a song that has a theme that is pre-designated by Mark Zuckerberg. That last part is a lie, but it's fun to make up lies.
Anyway, there's no reason that this shit needs to take 50 days. I can bang this out in a blog post or two.
I found a list that I liked better on www.musicfrombigpink.wordpress.com, and I stole it, but I didn't steal the songs, I promise.
Day 01 – A song from the first album you ever bought: "All that She Wants," by Ace of Base. This album was unstoppable. Act like you didn't own a copy. G'head. Impossible. Day 02 – Your favorite single anthem: "Take Off To The Great White North," by Geddy Lee. This is not an anthem per se, but it is a beacon of light for the people of Canada. Day 03 – Your favorite title track from an album: "First and Last and Always," by The Sisters of Mercy.
Day 04 – A song by a band or artist you’ve seen live: " Lonesome Train Whistle," by The Reverend Horton Heat. In fact, I just saw them on Thursday night and this song rocked my socks right off, along with their version of Faron Young's single (written by Willie Nelson), "Hello Walls." I'm currently a rock n' roll/rockabilly/psychobilly fanatic. Day 05 – A song from your childhood: "It's You I like," by Mister Rogers. This was going to be my wedding song for the longest time...until I got married without a wedding and became really goth (on the inside. No need to dress like a bat to be goth) and wanted Echo and the Bunnymen's, "Nocturnal Me." ha. Day 06 – A song by your favorite band/artist: "Still Ill," by The Smiths. This was the first Smiths' song that I fully connected with. That I said, "This bloke Morrissey is writing what I'm feeling." Day 07 – A favorite song that was used on a TV series: "The Christmas Song," by The Raveonettes. I hate the OC, but their Christmas albums are fantastic! Day 08 – Your most played song on iTunes: "Bring on the Dancing Horses," by Echo and the Bunnymen. *le sigh* it is so beautiful. Day 09 – Favorite new release: "Lights," by Ellie Goulding. At least, I think that that's her name. This song makes me want to dance my pants off.
Day 10 – An awesome driving song: "Breakin' the Law," by Judas Priest. I don't really have to explain why this is the best song to drive to, ever. Day 11 – A song that’s amazing live: I think that the only version of Bob Seger's, "Turn the Page," that anyone has ever heard is the live version. Is there a regular version? Does anyone care? A close second is, "Death of a Disco Dancer," by The Smiths. That is, at least when I saw Morrissey sing it in 2009. *swoon* Day 12 – A song that makes you laugh: "I'm just a Gigolo," by David Lee Roth. Mister Dustin and I have a very secret reason for liking this one, that still makes me lol, officially, when I hear this song. Day 13 – A song with incredible lyrics: "The Devil's Crayon," by Wild Beasts.
This truly is the devil's answer Carved from the tongue of this romancer This truly is the devil's answer The oldest children used to kiss
And we are so many clambering hands And we are so many clambering hands
Day 14 – A song off an album that has brilliant cover art: "Run to the Hills," by Iron Maiden's album The Number of the Beast. Which is probably one of the greatest Metal songs that has ever been crafted, with one of the most iconic metal characters that has ever been crafter. Bruce Dickinson is my favorite super hero. Day 15 –Your favorite TV theme tune Your favorite song from a movie soundtrack: "Danger Zone," by Kenny Loggins...as featured in the soundtrack for Top Gun. Yessssss... A close second was every song on the Hot Rod Soundtrack, which is basically Europe's, "The Final Countdown." Day 16 – A song that reminds you of a holiday: "Round and Round," by Ratt. This is probably my favorite holiday song because it was featured in the credits of "The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy's" Christmas Special. Day 17 – A song that makes you think of a family member: "Let Your Love Flow," By The Bellamy Brothers. We used the lyrics to this one on the remembrance cards at my Grandmother's Memorial Service. It was kind of her take on life. The contentment of the life that you've been dealt.
Just let your love flow like a mountain stream And let your love grow with the smallest of dreams And let your love show and you'll know what I mean It's the season
And let your love fly like a bird on the wing And let your love bind you to all living things And let your love shine and you'll know what I mean That's the reason
Day 18 – A song you never get sick of hearing Your favorite piece of classical music: Is this considered classical music? "Rhapsody in Blue," reminds me of a Special Lady and a special family and will be a classic for me for the rest of my life.
Day 19 – A guilty pleasure: "He Loves You Not," By Dream. Don't you judge me. I already hate myself. Day 20 – A song you can’t help but sing along to: Although the aforementioned song is pretty irresistible Every time that I hear Sweet's, "Ballroom Blitz," I tend to scream at the top of my lungs. you can't help but not. Day 21 – A song that reminds you of a close friend: "Summer Girls," By LFO. This is a shout-out to my good friend Vanessa. Day 22 –A song you play when you want to relaxYour favorite sad bastard song: "Fairytale of New York," by The Pogues. Dear lord, the tears just roll down my face when this one comes one. Day 23 – A song you play before a night out: When I was an young buck (was I a buck, no I suppose I was a young doe. Is that a term?) that went out on Saturday nights, I couldn't really afford to go, so we would heavily pre-game the evening and then drive as fast as we could to the bar at 11pm. The song that often played on the car radio? "Hey Mama," by The Black-Eyed Peas. I apologize for nothing! Day 24 – A song from a band/artist you’ve just ‘discovered’ A song from a band that no one's ever heard of: "Gay Bar," By The Electric Six. Alright, maybe five people have heard of it, but it's a thrill-ride of non-stop awesomeness. Day 25 – A song off of the last album you bought/ last track you downloaded: "Romance," by Wild Flag. That might not be the last album that I bought, but that song rules pretty darn hard and last year's Wild Flag album made the top of a lot of critics' lists last year. Day 26 – A song no one would expect you to love: "Ballroom Blitz," by Sweet. Normally, I'm not the biggest fan of Glam and Butt Rock, but this song is so insanely dancy that I want to FREAK OUT! I've referenced it in a previous post about songs that I dance to whilst driving. Day 27 – A song you would sing at a karaoke bar: A song that I HAVE sung at a karaoke bar is, "Milkshake," by Kelis. More than once, actually.
Day 28 - A song you love for its lyrics: I didn't realize that this song was XTC until Mister Dustin pointed it out to me. XTC has never really gotten the credit that they deserve for excellent song writing and excellent music. There are a lot of songs with lyrics that I can relate or connect to, but this one is just so poignant.
Dear God
Hope You get the letter
And I pray You can make it better
Down here
I don't mean a big reduction in the price of beer
But all the people that You made in your image
See them starving on their feet
'Cause they don't get enough to eat
From God
I can't believe in You
Dear God
Sorry to disturb
You but I feel that I should be heard
Loud and clear
We all need a big reduction in amount of tears
And all the people that You made in Your image
See them fighting in the street
'Cause they can't make opinions meet
About God
I can't believe in You
Did You make disease and the diamond blue?
Did You make mankind after we made You?
And the devil too?
Dear God
Don't know if you noticed
But Your name is on a lot of quotes in
This book
Us crazy humans wrote it, You should take a look
And all the people that You made in your image
Still believing that junk is true
Well I know it ain't, and so do You
Dear God
I can't believe in...
I don't believe...
I won't believe in heaven and hell
No saints, no sinners, no devil as well
No pearly gates, no thorny crown
You're always letting us humans down
The wars You bring, the babes You drown
Those lost at sea and never found
And it's the same the whole world 'round
The hurt I see helps to compound
That Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Is just somebody's unholy hoax
And if You're up there You'll perceive
That my heart's here upon my sleeve
If there's one thing I don't believe in
It's you
Dear God
That's a place to finish it up. There's nothing more to say.
Today is, "National Metal Day," according to VH1 classic. This has been celebrated by a countdown list that goes on for ten hours. TEN HOURS of a show being hosted by Fozzy (they're awful. Just awful. Don't believe me? You asked for it. Go ahead and watch that video) frontman and "Professional Wrestler," Chris Jericho. Feh.
When douchebag is finally coined by Merriam-Webster, there's going to be a picture of this asshole right next to Christian Audigier (to bring you up to speed, it's the guy that "designs," Ed Hardy clothing).
Anywho, much like every other list that VH1 classic cobbles together, I can't really manage to express via the written word how disappointed I am that this is the best that fans could come up with. Clearly if the electoral college needed to be established to tell voters who they wanted to for president, then clearly there should be some gate-keeping to keep people from themselves. In fact, I haven't even looked at the entire list until now, in hopes that I can express my initial discontent for two readers that might be interested in this (my husband being one of them).
I have a hard time understand what VH1 was classifying as, "Hard Rock." Is it because a guitar is involved? Is it because there would be a slightly chance that you'd bang your head? Clearly, some criterion must've been reached, and then the voters took a dump on them. I don't think that the complete list is out yet, but I did find one from 2009 that really grinds my gears.
Aside from yelling at the television (thanks Gram, I really needed to pick up that trait from you), I've also amassing things for my smash book.
Like a lot of the pen-palling paper-crazed crafters out there, I purchased a smash book, but unlike a lot of paper-crazed, pen-pallers out there, I seem to have no idea as to how to get started. Right now, I have a bunch of cards, postcards, letters, ticket stubs, fortunes, name cards, buttons that are sitting between the blank pages of this book, waiting to be inspiring for me, but I just can't seem to figure out how to put it all together. Being drawn in by all of the accessories and the doo-dads that go along with it is an easy slippery slope, but so far, I've just purchased the book and a few tags. There are entire sites dedicated to how to create a Smash book that emulates your personality or to show-off how amazing adorable some people are at smashing their lives into the pages of a book, but so far I suppose my smash book is a lot like my life, half-finished and bursting at the seams with all of the things that I wished I would've said and done to make everything pretty and witty and light.
My favorite line in Louisa May Alcott's, Little Women says, "I should've been a great many things, Mister Mayor."
It's already November 9th and I'm just putting up my Christmas decorations. My husband hates it, but in order to fully enjoy Christmas decorations, they have to be up at least two months. I didn't make the rule it just is what it is. As I say this, we are watching a documentary called, "This is Black Metal," and Celtic Frost is currently covered in blood and dirt and singing about metal-y things like flesh and guts. This marriage is about give and take. Black Metal and Christmas. Or Black Metal Christmas. If you've never heard King Diamond's, "No Presents for Christmas," you must run to the interwebs and download it this very instant.
For anyone that doesn't know me, I love to collect post-modern Christmas decorations. Basically the ugly, ugly plastic decorations that are most likely full of lead and pain that causes seizures and erectile dysfunction (although that second one hasn't really plagued me). Pairing these ugly items with the basic ugly items that litter my apartment throughout the rest of the year is probably one of my favorite activities. If you can believe it, the Infant of Prague stays and the creepy head looms all the live-long day.
Sharing my collection with six people on the internet is fun for sure, but much like my currently watching this back metal documentary, interspersing Dustin's interests with mine makes for a fun life together. Bottle brush trees and tiny robots go together swimmingly, anyway.
No holiday is complete with embarrassing your family whilst showcasing your super sweet plastic Christmas shovel .My parents really enjoyed when I forced them to wear someone else's clothes and pose for a picture in Gettysburg. ESPECIALLY my father. He wouldn't even wear rental bowling shoes when we were going bowling one time for my birthday. Admittedly, this is more about my perverse pleasure it distressing my father than it is about my Christmas shovel. Moving on...
This year I bought a champagne (it's pronounced cham-pag-in) glittery tree and covered it with totally twee bows. Personally, I blame Etsy for this. If it wasn't for that site, aqua wouldn't be such a big part of my life. Neither would birds or little doodads that make me squeal.
Garett's grandma had some of the coolest Christmas loot--including these awesome Santa candlesticks.
Don't miss the creepin' Santa head in the background.
Why do so many Santas look like Rummys?
I caught this grumpy cat under my Kitchen tree, or perhaps it should be called a Kitschen tree.
I've covered it in Norman Rockwell ornaments, teapot lights and sugarcube garland with the most adorablest button and corduroy tree skirt that ever lived.
That is, until the cats destroy it.
Christmastime is here. So that means its time for me to make a concerted effort to be a little nicer and be a little bit more human. Bill Murray will tell you all about it.
Mr. Obama has been re-elected as the President of the United States of America, and it's too late to talk about all of the superbly wonderful ways that Mittens would've waved a wand over this country and transformed it to the land of ever-flowing cash and rich, white people as your boss as far as the eye can see.
If social media is an indicator of the level of fucked that we are as a "United Nation," then I'd set that dial to, "totally." Concern for one has given way to lots of selfish bickering, finger-pointing, bible-thumping and conspiracy theories (like, FEMA's putting stickers on your mailboxes and we're all getting put in work camps conspiracies. Oh the humanity!).
It reminds me of a little ditty written by David Gray:
Wishing that something would happen
A change in this place
'cos I'm tearing off the fancy wrapping
Find an empty package
Take for a while
Your trumpet from your lip
Loosen your hold loosen your grip
On your old ways
That have fallen out of step
In a changing time
Hoist a new flag
Hoist a new flag
Angry sun burn down
Judging us all
Guilty of neglect and disrespect
And thinking small
And death by boredom
And death by greed
If we can't stop taking
More than we need
But across the fractured landscape
I see the same things
Tired ideas
Birds without wings
[ Lyrics from:
And these are just thoughts
Of lack lustre times
I've no interest
In excuses you can find
Like you've had a hard day
Now you're too tired to care
Now you're too tired to care
You've had a hard day
Well across the fractured landscape
I see the same things
Tired ideas broken values
Many with the notion
That to share is to lose
A hollow people bound by a lack
Of imagination and too much looking back
Without the courage to give a new thing a chance
Grounded by this ignorance
(and the cat comes)
We're just,
Birds without wings
We are a nation that has been transformed based upon the notion that, "to share is to lose," even though we grew strong as a nation with government programs like, "The New Deal's" three Rs (Relief, Recovery and Reform) and fiscal conservatism. Nationally, we're paying the middle class less, buy bigger things and putting up with a budget that would tank any household. We want to let the rich pay less taxes, and then we wonder why the deficit is so large.
This reminds me of another, by David Gray:
I beg to differ
To break the chain
To draw a line right through
Tomorrow
And cancel every claim
I've seen reflections
Beneath my skin
And drums beating for battle
In the eyes of children
And turning it over
Right down
Where the eye don't see no colour
Where the war don't make a sound
Ice on the shoulder
Noel
Praise the lord above
And sell sell sell
Oh violent flowers
You fill the screen
Betray your mother
And change your name
So tall and fickle
And blind as snow
Running headfirst for oblivion
Cause you've nowhere else to go
And turning it over
Right down
Where the eye don't see no colour
Where the war don't make a sound
Ice on the shoulder
Noel
Praise the lord above
And sell sell sell
In chill of winter
In dead of night
Each so familiar with the hunger
That they got no appetite
They talk of loving
I hear her say
That as fast as I can give it
He's taking it away
And turning it over
Right down
Where the eye don't see no colour
Where the war don't make a sound
Ice on the shoulder
Noel
Praise the lord above
And sell sell sell
And turning it over
Right down
Where the eye don't see no colour
Where the war don't make a sound
Ice on the shoulder
Noel
Praise the lord above
And sell sell sell
A weeping willow
The desert wind
So many learn to swallow
So few to understand
The deepest longing
This cup of faith
Where to put them in a world
Where no innocence is safe
If we don't, "beg to differ and break the chain," of hatred, greed and intolerance to usher in a new way to comprise, then we're all as doomed as the red-dotted mailbox dweller.
