There's a Big World Out There People

My facebook friends, largely still without power from Tropical Storm Irene, have been posting cell phone pictures of the (admittedly lovely) Sunset this evening.

Late Breaking News: Sunset happens - Every.Blessed.Day. Right about sunset, in fact. Shut off your TV and go outside! Marvels await you, I promise. At the very least, you'll be less depressed than if you stay inside watching the evening news.

In other developments, Sunrise happens with alarming regularity as well. In my life, the alarming happens before Sunrise, courtesy of Mooney, my puppy. If he fails to go off by 4:30, Insomnia, my rooster, has his back. They should perform a duet at the Met, country-style. People would flock to see it. (flock, rooster, get it?) So when my bleary-eyed self stops stumbling and cursing and leaves the warm nest to feed the inmates who run the asylum, my reward is the Sunrise. It doesn't eliminate the pain entirely, but it helps. A lot. So do farm-fresh eggs, by the way. Don't get me wrong, coffee is still the elixir of life, but coffee doesn't occur until well after Sunrise.

Here's where I get all preachy on your ass. Experiencing Sunrise and Sunset regularly helps regulate both mood and sleep. I know so very many people who could do with a large dose of Sunrise and Sunset. I'm the happiest and healthiest I've ever been since I lost my mind I mean moved here. Last winter was the first one in forever that I didn't get winter blues. Because I was - gasp - outside every frigid miserable freezing snowing blizzarding icy sleeting damp gorgeous day.

Thus Endeth the Sermon. Go Forth and Get Out-Of-Doors.

***Gratuitous Sunset Picture Deliberately Omitted. Go See It For Yourself!***

This should be self-explanatory but obviously isn't...

To my regular readers; those of you who read this blog because you care about me (in a good way), and read my words in order to encourage me on my journey, I love you all (Movie - blogger ate your comment when it went down last week - sorry!). Please bear with me for a short while, the below paragraph is not intended for you.

This is my blog. There are many like it, but this one is mine. If you don't like what I have to say, fuck off and stop coming back. This blog is where I express my opinions. My opinions are formed in the crucible of my personal experience. You factor negatively in that experience. This is your own doing. Your opinions and experiences are different. I don't care. If you can't comment here, it's because I don't want to hear from you. If you have something to say here, own it. If I think it has merit, I'll publish it, if it doesn't I will not. You are of course free to disagree with me. Do it elsewhere. Start your own blog. Rest assured I will never read it.

Really? You're even trashier than I thought.

Wondered why you'd been all over the blog again. Also wondered why the contact lenses that I ordered hadn't shown up. Turns out they were delivered two weeks ago. A brief hunt revealed the torn-open plastic bag they'd been dropped off in, tossed in the tall grass across the street. Happily, they'll be replaced at no charge. Apparently, pieces of shit like you do this all the time, the nice lady at the eye doctor's office was not in the least surprised. I guess if stealing contact lenses is the only way to pay for your dope, you've gotta do what you've gotta do, right? What a burnout loser you are. How many of those bandstand checks went right into your personal account? Methinks an audit is in order. Thanks for that friendly mailing with the other committee members' names. That's about to come in very handy! :)

Finally posting about you, so now you can be happily enraged, Ms. gajillion stat hits a day.

To my regular readers, I apologize in advance for this diversion. Regularly scheduled blog programming will resume shortly. In the meantime, perhaps this will clarify why I haven't updated lately, just when actual progress is being made around the farm.

Dear girlfriend of the man I am not fucking (although at this point I might as well start - if I'm dealing with the bullshit I might as well have some fun),

You are everything I have spent my entire life deliberately not becoming. You have nothing to offer the world other than your vagina. Why are you so surprised to learn that a vagina is not enough to keep a man to keep you? Furthermore, no matter how hard you try to make it, 2+2 will never equal 5, yet 5 is the answer you keep arriving at about he and I. Some fine day, you will come to the realization that you single-handedly destroyed your relationship. Over absolutely nothing.

Oh, and big liberal props (NOT!) for the fact that you publicly declare yourself a "straight ally" of national coming out day, yet insult you direct at me is "frankendike". Now I'm all kinds of confused. Am I gay, or am I fucking your man? Because the two are mutually exclusive. And it should, but obviously doesn't, go without saying that if you are in fact a straight ally, you should not be using homosexual slurs as insults. Gay Rights 101.

Here are a few handy hints for a better probability of success (marriage, as defined by you), in your next relationship:

1) Avoid calling him nasty names, cursing him out, and other repeated put-downs in front of people. That way, when he initially confides his unhappiness in the relationship, the next wrongly accused other woman ('cause god knows it could never be your fault), will be less sympathetic and far more surprised. In fact, avoid name-calling in general, it's juvenile.

2) Have a job, or better yet, a career. Leeching off men is not sexy.

3) Men love their mothers. If you can't genuinely like the woman, at least suck up your senseless venom and be polite.

4) Men love their children from their prior marriages. Don't piss them off either.

5) Fachrissake, having a(nother) kid is not going to net you a trip to the altar. If it didn't work the 1st time, and it didn't work the 2nd time, I guaran-goddamn-tee it won't work a 3rd time.

6) If you do make a(nother) kid, show a genuine interest in the little (s)pawn. Spend time with it. Interact with it. Kids like that.

7) Porn is not sexy. Feminism 101.

8) Jealousy is not attractive. Nor is envy, nor is need. Confidence is (case in point=me!). Relationship 101.

9) Drugs are not sexy. If you can't deal with your current reality, either change it or get a proper prescription, there's no shame in that. And if you do get a prescription, don't abuse it (I'd like to give a big shout-out here to my ex-fiance). If you're not happy with yourself, you'll never be able to make anybody else happy.

10) If you really hate men, do everyone a favor and avoid them. You can't change them. If you genuinely liked them, you wouldn't want to try.

Hope this helps you in your future relationship endeavors!!!!

Powerful Mean Streak

I just came to the realization that I truly love my PMS week. I'm sorry beyond words that I missed out on years of PMS by being on the pill for the vast majority of my adult life to date. Figuring one week per calendar month since I turned 18, that's approximately 192 solid weeks of lost butt-kicking, name-taking opportunities. 192 unopened cans of whoop-ass. At least 192 people who pissed me off and did not have to answer for it. I regret it extremely.

I think I'm fairly fortunate overall in the period department, but I really hit the gold mine with my PMS. I don't break out and I don't bloat, I just get mean. Not threat-to-the-general-populace mean, just the very best sort of "you don't really think I'm going to let you get away with that, do you?" kind of mean. Note to any frenemies out there - avoid me the week of the full moon. If you don't, you will lose. The other three weeks a month I might let your shit slide on by, depending on how busy I am with other aspects of my life, but this particular week, not just no, but Hell No, you are not going to get away with that, whatever "that" may be.

So the way I see it, the pill is just another patriarchal ploy, designed to eliminate not women's fertile times, but rather women's PMS times. And we all fell for it. Boy did we get taken, again. Every time someone says "I must be premenstrual" as though it's a bad thing, men win. Every time a woman chemically neuters herself, a misogynist gets his wings.

That's right, I'm talking to you

To the guy in the black ford ranger with the cap over the bed on Rt 27 in Stoughton at 7:30 this morning: Fuck.You. You pathetic Scott Brown wannabe. Keep on rollin' that glorified el camino. Next time you honk at me and flip me off for stopping while the light is still yellow you will find your high beams firmly embedded in my trunk. I roll company wheels pal, I don't give a fuck who hits me. In fact, I could really use the money and should have braked harder. My neck hurts just thinking about it.

FYI - This is a truck.












and you'd best hope I'm not driving it the next time I see you. 'Cause I'll put all 365 horses riding 660 lb-ft of torque directly into this matchbox.


It'll make a most gratifying splat.