Posts Tagged ‘ Just sayin’

This Program Is Brought To You By Assholes…

Posted on March 9, 2009

I Survive Without It. You Should Too...

I Survive Without It. You Should Too...

So here’s the thing… I care not at all how Others spend their free time.

I am simply far too busy procrastinating, judging myself and then being “sooooo busy,” as I hurry to catch up on all that shit I put off, to be concerned with what the rest of the populace is up to.

I take exception with regard to Reality Television. I can’t rail hard enough against it.

Lemme get this straight…

Little brother of has-been R&B star gives golden shower to socialite and then dates ex-crackhead, and now has 14 hookers competing for his “love” on basic cable?

Mormon brother-lover and Nutri-System huckster, Marie Osmond learns to fox trot and we as a nation foam at the effing mouth?

Tyra Banks selects psycho girls to live in a rad loft and talk shit about one another’s eating disorders, in hopes of finding the next, um… Tyra.

We, as a nation, are pathetic.

And while I have never claimed to be the poster child for pious integrity, I cannot and will not feel OK about any of this.

I JUDGE YOU, American Viewing Public! I do. And no, you should not care at all what I think, because it doesn’t matter even a little…

And I’m sure you judge me because I refuse to watch the news.

But let me posit this: I neither allow the outside world and all of its ills to effect my soul, brain and innards nor do I experience the “benign” pleasure of watching a cad run a “Rose Ceremony,” so that I might bear witness to the systematic decimation of the hopes and dreams of women who have hitched their proverbial wagons to the next ‘fifteen minutes.’

Just observing…

We now return to your regularly scheduled neuron-ic atrophy, already in progress…

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It’s Over. And I’m Taking the Bounty…

Posted on February 24, 2009

Over and Out

Over and Out

When did taking the contact solution become the solution to mending a broken heart?
When did even division of the bulk toothpaste you purchased together, make separating any easier?

Some months ago, my sister-in-law left my brother-in-law.
I mean “left” in the truest sense of the word. She wrote a note, took half the money from the bank account, 6 rolls of toilet paper from the “Economy Size” package they’d purchased at Costco the week before, and called it a day on their 15-month marriage.

When I heard the story, the thing that struck me as the most bizarre was not the “taking half of the money.”
If you are silly enough to have a joint bank account with your Other in the first place, I think it’s wise to take half on your way out the door and risk having to give some back later should the court demand it, than fight for months just to get what was yours all along.
So the money thing, I was fine with.

In terms of the note, I thought it was moderately heinous and disrespectful, but if things were as deteriorated as I understood them to be, perhaps she felt it was the only way. Plus, she was 19 when they married. Emotional maturity hasn’t exactly peaked at this point.

The thing that struck me as peculiar was actually the toilet paper. I understand that breaking up is hard and, you know, expensive, but really? The paper products??? You took exactly half of everything that wasn’t nailed down; you can’t relax on the Charmin?

Still, I chalked it up to a “mid-west thing” and hadn’t given it much thought since.

Until the other day.
I sit with Lady Earth, (I swear I’d have given her a better name if I’d known that I’d be speaking of her situation so often) discussing her big move.
Yes, she is, in fact, moving out of the apartment she and Gentleman Earth shared, putting her things in storage and skipping town for awhile.
But she isn’t gone yet and she is currently mid-crisis on the “what to take” debate.
Or as she cleverly puts it, the “Mean Vs. Mine Conundrum.”
Their arrangement had been that he paid a bit more in rent, but she took care of the groceries and household purchases, to compensate.
So now, she feels entitled to what is “hers.”
She speaks of the hand soap in the kitchen that is ¾ full and the unopened shampoo that she just bought. She says they obviously fall into the “Mine” category. She concedes that leaving the half full contact solution in case he is out when he returns home from his 6-week shoot is the right thing to do.
Because, apparently dry contacts are just “Mean.”
She asks me my thoughts on taking the Salt.
I tell her that she should certainly take my opinions with only a grain of it, but that I think the whole debate is a huge song and dance around the reality. And the reality is that this is sad. And that she never wanted this to get here. She wanted to save their relationship. And she’s now hoping that he’ll walk into their place after having been gone for so long and the weight of his choice will hit him in the gut and he’ll realize he has no option but to beg her back.
I remind her that “anger” is a far easier emotion than “pain and sadness,” and that if he’s angry because he has no condiments, “sadness” is going to be trumped and the “begging back” will be far less likely.
Not that I think that it’s highly likely anyway, but I stop myself before I get there.

I do point out that she is leaving and has no need for spices or cleaning products anyway.
Perhaps, if she was immediately getting a new apartment and would have imminent need for household items, the dish detergent debate would feel more valid, but at this point it just feels trivial.

I suppose I have my gypsy blood to thank, but I’ve personally never wanted any THING after a break-up.

I could never be bothered.
I’ve always just wanted out. Clean. Neat.
With as little blood spatter and the lowest body count as possible.
I’ve had awareness that no amount of mouthwash or Q-Tips would repair the hurt of lost love.

Which is not to say I’m above the fray.

To the contrary, I can be petty as hell; I’ll just surrender the tissue before I start hanging out with your best friend.

“I prefer women with a past. They’re always so demmed amusing to talk to.”
Oscar Wilde

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On Sex…

Posted on January 14, 2009

See? Now you're thinking about it too...

See? Now you're thinking about it too...

The Girl loves the word. The Girl loves the act. The Girl loves the physical, the emotional, the set-up, the breakdown, and the aftermath. Fuck. Sex is awesome.
But sex has caused a major rift in my life.
You see, I am seriously considering disowning my gender.
Who are these women who constantly misrepresenting red-blooded American Girls like myself and participating in these “studies” where they get to “report” THEIR opinions on acts of corporal pleasure as those of all of womankind?!
Why must they speak out regarding the fact that they “rarely” think about sex (I think about it constantly) and how porn makes them uncomfortable (porn can be hot, as long as it’s not that gnarly, illegal stuff.)?
Here’s the thing, if you are feeling like sex is not important to you, whatever, but kindly shut up. Don’t share with your friendly neighborhood scientist. You are fucking with the curve. Trust me, contrary to the study that my “people” apparently “reported” to, 67% of us would NOT be happy having sex “less than 12 times a year.” Honestly.
Let’s use basic tricks of the trade, so that we can stand united on this stuff, ladies.
If you’ve started dating someone and you are playing the “courting” game, would you offer up the fact that you would rather go to the movies than have sex? No, no you would not. Thus, perhaps you should not be divulging these tidbits to published studies. Besides, who elected YOU the voice of a gender?
Please, let’s tow the company line on this. Do it for your sisters who are willing to admit and embrace their slightly more deviant sides.
Sincere apologies (not really) to anyone reading this who feels the Girl is merely being “provocative” for the sake of the thing, but this is a very real issue that threatens my membership within a gender group that I have always been very welcome in.
I’m sure we’ll come to some form of conclusion, but I for one am staid in my opinion on this one…
In the meanwhile, the Girl will totally see the 15-year-old boy next door’s daily number of sexually oriented thoughts and raise his number of fantasies.

Not at all obscene or depraved,
The Girl

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When the Naked Truth Is Just Too Much…

Posted on December 20, 2008

Yes, this is MUCH too much...

Yes, this is MUCH too much...

I have oft used this space to say things which I hope are meaningful, if not entirely what I mean. Unfettered honesty is actually not as poetic in practice as it idealistically seems.
Thus, I frequently grab the hand of my dear friend the metaphor, and proceed into the dark and gnarly undertow of my thoughts in attempt to depict some sense through the chaos.
I select my words with exacting precision and try to avoid writing after taking Ambien (which seems to be my 29 year old answer to the drunk dial.)

I find that song lyrics are an infinite source of inspiration while attempting to express through writing. I have long classified myself as a lyricist (as opposed to a beat-head).
By my definition, a “lyricist” is one whose ultimate allegiance to a song, is based on the lyrically inspired journey the mind embarks upon while listening.
I am forever amazed by the depth of situational emotional encoding a meaningful verse can sear into my brain. I can say with much certainty that I will always know which tracks to turn to when I want to indulge my own broodiness (or end said broody behavior), when I am mid-mull on an issue, when I want resolution, or when I just want to say fuck it…
And I am guaranteed to get what I want, even if it isn’t exactly what I need.
I once hatched a plan to write a story using only song lyrics, but decided it would be more challenging to use the line that comes directly before the line I am getting at. For instance, to illustrate this admittedly convoluted idea with a current obsession, were I to desire to incorporate the line from Ladytron’s “Ghosts” which states that I “made you a prisoner inside your own frequency” I would WRITE the line just before it lyrically, which is “made a trail of a thousand tears.”
In the end, the story would be a jumble of lyrics which appear completely incongruous and discordant but upon “decoding”, would equal a completely linear thought process.
Yeah, I’m sure I was high when I came up with it. The idea totally necessitates that a reader really like Google, care enough about the author’s point of view to get to the bottom of it and (to a degree) dig similar music and/or be in a similar state of mind as the writer. Hmph. That’s a lot of requirements.
It could be argued that a more straightforward approach to speaking one’s mind might be more efficient. But maybe I just feel that those who aren’t willing to examine, don’t really deserve the truth. We are always saying something. Perhaps, there is a modicum of honour and integrity in the systematic selection of the souls we allow to dissect our truest intentions.

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Public Service Announcement From The Girl…

Posted on December 6, 2008

Oh dear God, will somebody please tell me where we got the idea that adult couples should dress alike? Young children dressed similar to their siblings, I see, but let’s cap it there, shall we?

Truly, if you are past age 14, there is just no excuse. Is this flag football? Shirts vs. Skins?

Do we need to identify our Other lest we lose them in the crowd?

“Excuse me, Officer, I’m looking for my husband. About 50 years old, Gray hair, same exact clothing as I am wearing…”


Of all the silly things we do to tether ourselves to anOther, this is hands down the stupidest.

Additionally, innate physical differences between a man and a woman dictate that the bright orange, wool, turtleneck sweater that totally works on him, is simply NOT going to make a woman look her best.

Let’s just try a little harder next time we dare to think that just because you love your Other in that white collar shirt and khakis, that he is going to swoon over you if you’re wearing the same get-up.

Let’s be Ladies, ladies.

And let’s all remember that the only time you REALLY look sexy in his clothing, is the next morning…

Nuff said.

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“You Are Not Your Job…”

Posted on December 3, 2008

"Bartender, Get Us a Shot!"

"Bartender, Get Us a Shot!"

“You are not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis.”~ Tyler Durden

We live in a socially inept society. To a degree we are all discomfited by new people and things, but when did we learn to fill this space with absolutely meaningless conversations? We should just be quiet. Seriously. The beauty in awkward silence is underestimated.
Guy walks into a bar. Focuses on girl. Starts conversation which will lead nowhere unless either or both participants are exceedingly inebriated. He digs in and speaks.
He: “Hey”
She: “What’s up?”
He: “Uh, nothing. How was your day”?
She: “Fine… thanks”
He: “So… what do you do?”
She: “Something completely banal that you’ll feign interest in until I agree to go home with you, so why don’t we save ourselves the next three hours and horrid hangover and go to my place… it’s just round the corner.”

Ok, so it doesn’t really go like that… but what if it did?

I kind of hate what I “do” and it has little to do with who I actually am, so I’ve started trying out new responses.

“I’m a dilettante” Blank stare… “A dabbler in the arts”
“I’m a socialite” Slight Intrigue… then the heartbreak of me copping to the lie.
“I’m in people” Huh? “I’m an observer. I’m observing your idiocy as we speak”

Hmph. Not winning many friends. I’m cool with that.

I get it. We are seeking. Common ground. A starting point. A loose end to grab onto and move forward…
But I am now urging anyone who is remotely interested in being slightly better than the drooling Amstel dude in the bar to flip it next time you get an opportunity. Holler at me with an opinion. An idea. Something real to hold onto. I promise that common ground is going to get you “round the corner” far more expediently than the trite career query, which will only encourage people like me to tell you that I am “an ex-convict who is celebrating my third acquittal this evening.”
Food for thought.

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“Waifish Little Wanderer”

Posted on November 26, 2008



My Mother signed off of our phone conversation today by affectionately calling me her “waifish little wanderer.”

She has no idea.

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Just Sayin’

Posted on September 4, 2008

I dig John McCain and all, but his did his awkward wave during Sarah Palin’s acceptance speech seem scarily Papal to anyone else?

Filed Under The GOP | Leave a Comment

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