Everyone in my life needs an adult diaper and a helmet...

That really is how it feels sometimes. I know there are plenty of reasonably healthy people in my life. But for whatever reason, I also seem to attract a lot of people who seemingly have no interest in being well. Some just pass through, but others get under my skin, for better or worse. Both my therapist and a very smart, sober friend of mine think part of me enjoys feeling superior to others. Maybe. One of my friends thought what we dubbed my “Anne Frank Quality,” or my uncanny ability to see there is some good in everyone, was to blame. Maybe. I have put up with some insane nonsense.

It’s funny to me how I do tend to associate with people who drink a lot. Although it still makes me angry sometimes, I have accepted that I shouldn’t drink. For the rest of my life. Understood. And I do have sober friends. I just also have drunk ones. Just a few days ago I was asked, “How can you stand this? How do you just laugh and roll along with the drunkenness?” I replied, “At least if you’re drunk I know why you’re an asshole.”

That might be the most honest statement I’ve ever made. I didn’t even think about it, and although it came out as a joke, we all know there is always a bit of truth to a joke.

Life is a journey to get well. That statement makes complete sense or no sense at all. Ultimately, I guess we’re all where we’re at and that’s just how you have to take people. There are a lot of people walking around this planet unconscious. It’s a shame that the wonder and beauty of this existence is so lost on people who are so focused on form.

We’re all just a bunch of atoms, formed in a star so many years ago. A star just like our sun. A star died so here we are. Something is always giving life so something else may live. That is simply the transitory nature of existence.

So do we owe the universe? Do we have some sort of karmic debt to repay? I’m thinking almost like paying rent for our existence. I know there are religions that believe good works or gaining followers will buy one a ticket to eternity. But paying rent seems like such a misnomer since you, as in your form right now, wouldn’t really know if the landlord ever came calling for it.

I don’t even know what I’m getting at here. Adult diapers are made of atoms? As an alcoholic, I have a karmic debt to help others? Should I just sell all my shit and live in the mountains with the bitches until we die from exposure?

It’s a bitch trying to be well but also feeling so negative. I guess it’s just a moment, so I should get over it and try to focus on sleep and a better tomorrow. I promise I’ll share diaper and helmet stories someday.

Because there are better things to do while sitting on the toilet...

It's been a long time. Too damned long, really. I was letting life get me all out of whack and not really sure which way was up. I know you've felt that way yourself. And since I've been all about trying to be a better, more-centered person and not letting my ego run the show anymore, I made a fateful decision.



Last Thursday, I gave up Facebook for 30 days.



Since it was my primary form of contact with a lot of people, it was a little scary to me. I mean, how would I know who was blaming who for what, or who was knocked up, or who hates his/her ________ (insert job/boss/significant other/best friend/parent)? How would I be able to see what all the anti-choice crazies are up to this week without those status updates that alternately sent chills down my spine or made my blood boil?



It started as an innocent little wager with Man Friend. He was always giving me shit for being on my phone all the time. "You Facebooking?" or "You on the Book?" seemed to be the most popular question at my house. And, although I must admit that the amount of asking, while annoying, really made me think about how I was spending my time.



I would check it first thing in the morning. Like while I was peeing and before I made coffee. I would check it at stoplights. I would check it when I was bored at work. I would check it on my break from work. I would check it on commercial breaks while I was watching TV. I would take reading breaks to check it. I would bring my phone everywhere just so I could check the damned Book. And it certainly was the last thing I would check before I went to sleep at night, the bright little screen jacking with my brain just before my head hit the pillow.



A little obsessive, definitely. And a little crazy for a woman who has no trouble admitting that she's an alcoholic and really shouldn't have a drink for the rest of her days on this earth.



There have been many moments in which I had to tell myself to put down the phone and take a couple of breaths. Then I remind myself that ultimately, the universe will tell me the things that I need to hear. The rest is just noise...

The F Word..

Last night, I couldn’t get to sleep at all. And I wasn’t busy writing a pop song. It wasn’t like when I was little and I was sure that Russian tanks would be rolling down Main Street or a nuclear bomb would blow us all to hell. It wasn’t that type of fear-induced worry where you sweat yourself into a bad dream. It was more of a mind racing from one thing to another that kept me landing on the same question. Is feminism dying?

I was all worked up because I was thinking about how female politicians that I admire like Barbara Boxer and Diane Feinstein are getting older. Who is gonna step up and take the lead? It’s scary to me how many people, including women, there are who are willing to back someone as blatantly anti-woman as Rick Santorum. Coincidentally, he was in a small Minnesota town, not far from where I’m typing, last night. I noticed a few Facebook posts regarding his visit and one response to a post mentioned how nice it was that someone was interested in a rural part of the country. TOO BAD HE THINKS HALF THE FUCKING PEOPLE LIVING IN SAID AREA AREN’T FIT TO LEAD AND SHOULDN’T HAVE AUTONOMY OVER THEIR BODIES.

I’ve never really understood why more women (and men) in rural areas haven’t embraced the title of feminist. All you’re affirming is you believe that regardless of what’s between one’s legs, everyone should be treated equally politically, socially, and economically. Rural women have worked raising families and doing farm work as long as there have been farms. At least that’s the way it was explained to me, by my grandmas, who both lived on farms and raised children. Why is wanting to be equal such a threat?

And insert whatever you want about religion here. Religion definitely has something to do with the weird patriarchal society that often prevails in rural areas. My favorite rural people are the Libertarians who just don’t want to be bothered. That makes so much more sense to me that trying to compartmentalize a person because of a (perceived) lack of a cock.

I understand that oppressors need someone to oppress. A bully has no identity or access if s/he has no one to beat. Historically, I realize we aren’t very far removed from segregated schools and women being denied voting rights. It’s just mind blowing to me how sexist, racist, classist, and homophobic this country still really is. Greg Brown talks about how bad change comes so quickly and good change takes so long in one of his songs. I have to cling to that sometimes.

I used to not use the “f word.” That word being feminist, since it often got a snide reaction out of people, varying from allegations of misandry to bra burner to whatever derogative they used for lesbian. I don’t hate men, own many bras, and love lesbians, but that is seriously a whole other blog that culminates in deciding whether Tabatha or Rachel is my ultimate celebrity chick crush.

I originally pondered if feminism was dead, but I was probably just being a dramatic, hysterical female. (Pause for hysterical drama.) I think it’s something fluid, like the law, open to interpretation and changing as the times change. I do think it’s important for women and girls to grasp the importance of what has changed and what work still needs to be done. It’s a different ball game for women of color and women of different economic situations. To me, one of the most important issues is getting more men to identify as feminists. Crazy? Maybe, but I think they are out there.

The first night I ever really talked to Man Friend, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “You know, I’m a misogynist.”

I didn’t know him well enough to know if he was full of shit, trying to get my goat, serious as a heart attack, or trying to find out the extent of my vocabulary.

My response?

“Well, I’m a feminist, so this could get interesting.”

Gettin' the Ring, Get in the Ring...

SPOILER ALERT: THE FOLLOWING IS OVERTLY HETEROSEXIST AND WESTERN-CENTRIC. THE WRITER, HERSELF, IS NOT.

Yesterday, a friend posed the question if there was anything on Earth more stupid than a promise ring? My favorite response was yes, an abstinence ring, but contemplating why fake marrying one’s father will keep someone from having pre-marital sex is a whole other realm of bizarro than I care to get into this evening. I must admit, I did always think promise rings were pretty stupid. A way of saying, “I think I like you enough that I will want to marry you someday.” Don’t overthink it, stupid, you’ll know or you won’t, right? And no sense worrying about possible outcomes that don’t have any bearing on the present moment. Ring or not, she’s gonna be faithful or unfaithful on her own accord.

Of course I decided to Google promise rings and see if there is some historical significance to the practice. Talk of betrothals just makes me want to vomit. But the few sites I managed to peruse without losing my smoothie, I did learn a few things. Apparently, not everyone considers a promise ring to be a pre-cursor to an engagement one. Some people consider the previously mentioned purity or abstinence ring as a promise ring. And I guess Tiffany recorded a song about one? After Playboy. Also, there appeared to be no consensus that a promise ring had to be strictly for a lady. Probably more of a nod to the more religious variety than to our gay friends, but I’ll take it none the less.

I guess I never really understood the point of a ring generally. Okay, so a wedding band makes sense as a symbol of your commitment. If it’s something you agree to and can afford, I think that’s pretty cool. I have witnessed people slipping their rings off, which kind of makes me want to puke, but makes me more thankful to not be married to a douche that would do that. Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone loved his/her spouse so much they claimed and celebrated him/her, instead of hiding it? Oh the sanctity.

I just giggled when I realized that I typed “tit.” Beavis.

But back to the pre-marriage rings, why do women wear a ring and men don’t? It’s almost like men are pissing on their turf or marking her off the market. Not to mention the absurd amount of money that these rings can cost. I did nearly eject my smoothie after reading that the average engagement ring cost $5,200 and 12% of American couples spend in excess of $8,000 (http://www.jckonline.com/2011/09/02/average-engagement-ring-costs-5200-says-survey-knot ) . And this is less than a few years ago. Cuz he loves you more if it costs more? Cuz you can stare at it and think how pretty it is when you realize you were more concerned with what the ring was like than being concerned with what being married would be like?

Don’t get me wrong, I know people who are happily married. I don’ t know how much they spent on rings. Some of my friends don’t have any rings. I just think $5,200 plus more for wedding bands is a pretty gnarly investment for a 50/50 shot at success. And what happens to the rings if you get divorced anyway? I may have put up this ad on eBay to try and get rid of a ring I was given…

This ring needs a new home and new kharma, meaning a giver who wants to refer to the receiver as his/her fiance, not his/her roommate. It’s perfect for the pragmatic gal who loves you more than your money. Sized 6½ wedding set, originally purchased in 2004 for $450. It’s white gold and the diamonds are, “perfect even though they’re not that big,” according to a friend of mine who’s into that stuff. Carrots are something I eat and jewelry stores make me want to vomit. The prongs on the engagement band will need to be re-done within the next year or two.

It didn’t sell so I gave it to one of the line cooks at work. I wonder what ever happened to it?

I guess I would be suspect of anyone who expected an engagement ring. Carrots, indeed, are something I eat. Let the hate mail begin…

Untitled rambling...

This town is pretty drunk. I know there are plenty of drunk towns the world over, but sometimes the dominant factor that alcohol is around here is almost suffocating. Drink cuz you’re happy, drunk cuz you’re sad, drink cuz you’re bored. Better bring beer to the softball game. Of course we’re going to the bar after the funeral. Naturally the volleyball league is at the bar. Somebody posted a list of the 20 Most Hungover Cities in America on the Book a couple of weeks ago and the last 15 years of my life was listed, so maybe I’m not completely crazy in my feelings. It’s just the overall attitude about alcohol around here that is troubling. A DUI arrest is like a right of passage around here. I actually heard someone say it was just her turn since everybody does it. I know people who willingly ride with people who are shitfaced drunk because there appeared to be no other way to get home. Balls.

Don’t get me wrong. I still like to enjoy a Buckler. I still like to go out and socialize sometimes. I make a living by serving people and plenty of what I serve includes alcohol. This isn’t a rant about banning booze. I promise. There is a place in some people’s lives for a glass of wine with dinner or a drink after work. I accepted long ago that I wasn’t one of those people and I would have to learn to live in their world.

The interesting part about being a sober person that hangs out in bars is witnessing the pervasive, nasty way that chronic alcoholism has a hold on some people. I am well aware that I could hit the door at any time. And sometimes I have to because sometimes it’s just too much, like the anger I feel building when I see someone laughing at a woman who is so drunk she pissed her pants. Just another day for the bartender. I guess we all have our own normal. I couldn’t help but wonder if that wouldn’t have been me if I had stayed on my path. There but for the grace of something divine I am still trying to fathom.

But this rambling does have a point. Sometimes you have to stay close to the monster, just so you remember that it bites.

There were moments this fall when I was ready to say fuck it. Drinking is just so much easier. It’s less interesting, less rewarding, more disappointing, more expensive, well you get the point, but it’s easier in that moment. That’s sort of what drinking was for me, an easy way to say fuck it and not have to deal with anything. I don’t question why I was lucky enough to learn to live without booze at a relatively young age. Sometimes I wonder how, but always decide it’s a fruitless convo and I should put the energy into being grateful I am where I am right now.

I have had more conversations with old drunks that I can count. Those people have some damned regrets. Things they wanted to do with their lives, messed up marriages, you fill in the blanks. The thread that is always woven into the story is the loneliness. The 60 year old always wants to go back and tell the 30 year old to not let that girl get away. The 60 year old can’t get back the time with the kids since the kids are grown up now and learned to get along without. I guess in the end all we want is to be loved.

I think you gotta let your soul shine, as Chef Boy would say, in order to really be loved. Too much of anything will hide that light, my friends. The key here is hide, not extinguish. I don’t think anyone is ever a lost cause. Sure, the habits do get harder to dissolve the longer they go on, but then I’m just back to hope. ☺

What's up, bitches?

I’ve been called out a few times recently for my love of using the word “bitch.” Sigh. It’s a little amazing what some people let knot up their panties.

Obviously it’s a word I use a lot. I’m not one to be easily offended by words, after all, words only have the power you give them. To me, the offensiveness of a word lies more in the tone that the speaker uses. If I walk up to a group of my friends (mixed gender expression) and say, “Hey bitches!” I’ll bet you American dollars they won’t care. Or if am telling a story about my fur babies that starts with, “You’ll never guess what the bitches did today,” I promise it will be the same story. You, dear reader, certainly don’t care, as you’ve chosen to read this blog. It isn’t like the time when I worked at an after-school program and a first grader, whose parents were going through a rough divorce, referred to me as a “fucking bitch” as he threw a block at me.

But my whole point here is that most of the time when I am using the word, it is in reference to the female canines that live with me. Perhaps technically, they are altered females, since I decided they wouldn’t be mommas and had them spayed. But I think that is sort of like telling a woman who had a hysterectomy that she is no longer really a woman. Alli and Joey will always be bitches to me. Bitches. The plural of bitch, which, I am using correctly according to Merriam Webster’s website: www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/bitch .

Definition of BITCH
1
: the female of the dog or some other carnivorous mammals
2
a : a lewd or immoral woman b : a malicious, spiteful, or overbearing woman —sometimes used as a generalized term of abuse
3
: something that is extremely difficult, objectionable, or unpleasant
4
: complaint
See bitch defined for English-language learners »
See bitch defined for kids »

Examples of BITCH
1. That word is a bitch to spell.
2.

Origin of BITCH
Middle English bicche, from Old English bicce
First Known Use: before 12th century

Related to BITCH
Synonyms: beef, complaint, bleat, carp, fuss, grievance, gripe, grouch, grouse, grumble, holler, kvetch, lament, miserere, moan, murmur, plaint, squawk, wail, whimper, whine, whinge [British], yammer


So all the synonyms are related to the verb. I guess they didn’t want to put in slut, hussy, or any of the thousands of women of historical/intellectual/spiritual importance from Eve to Hilary Clinton who have had to bear the brunt of its negative meaning.

Interestingly, if you click on the definition of bitch for kids… drumroll…



One entry found for bitch.

Main Entry: bitch
Pronunciation: bich
Function: noun
: a female dog


I guess kids only get to know that a bitch is a girl dog. I couldn’t imagine where they would possibly learn about definitions of bitch other than a student dictionary anyway. I almost want to ask some of those super sheltered, home-schooled kids, like a pack of the Duggars and ask them what a bitch is. They might be on my side…

It isn’t my fault that society has taken a word and made it insulting or negative. I am probably overbearing and immoral to many people, so call me a bitch. I’d wear that title with pride since the same aggressiveness or moral code would make me someone else’s hero.

And you don’t need to call me out, yes, the blog title is a little tongue in cheek. I’m one of those people that should be taken with a shaker of salt at times. My use of bitch is at times playful, at times serious, and most of the time, literal.

So bitches, it’s colder than a bitch tonight, and it’s time for me to go snuggle up with my bitches.

Pan and Scan...

I was flipping channels the other day, which anymore seems like checking out the same edition of SportsCenter or avoiding The Jersey Shore or some reincarnation of The Kardashians, and actually came upon something about which I had nearly forgotten. Turner Classic Movies. I’m no expert on cinema, nor am I some type of Luddite longing for the days of yore. Over the years, TMC has reminded me that there are so many great old movies, especially musicals, and last Sunday, it taught me a bit about life.

There was a short feature, probably only 12 to 15 minutes, in which several well-known directors such as Curtis Hanson and Martin Scorsese discussed the film editing technique known as “pan and scan.” Since movies were always shot in the wide-screen format for play in the theater, the directors made the cuts and edits in a way in which their stories unfolded across the width of the screen. Pan and scan came into play to make movies fit onto television screens. The issue the directors had with it was that it altered the original composition of the film as the pan and scan editor could lose over 40% of the original image as they focused on what their perceptions of the most important part of the image. It was really eye opening to see the wide-screen images of classic movies, like “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers,” with the pan and scan image highlighted over the original wide-screen image. So much of the choreography was lost, which had a definite impact on the story.

It dawned on me that a lot of us live our lives in a pan and scan format. We all have big stories about the places and people that move in and out of our lives. We really do. I don’t care if you’ve travelled the world or barely left the county in which you grew up. The stories are there. What is interesting is how we edit them. It’s how we perceive the truths around us. Living in pan and scan is probably the ultimate story of missing the forest for the trees. Maybe editing yourself to try and keep the focus on your best parts is a nice safety net. And of course there are some things you don’t need to share with the world. But for my money, the most interesting things are often tucked away in the corners, just waiting to be explored.