Posted in Uncategorized

For the Love of Money

Let’s talk for a minute about statistics. So many times in our lives, we play the “likelihood” game when deciding how to act in certain situations. Think about the questions you may ask when making life choices: “should I get married?” “Will I contract a disease?” Even, “should I play the lottery?”

There is a 0.0000005% chance I will win PowerBall. I’m feeling pretty lucky and I’ve purchased a ticket. Just one ticket with one chance to win it all.

What does this mean? It doesn’t mean jack shit. Maybe what you should be asking is what would I do with the money if I won it? Certainly my closest friends and family would never have to worry about things again, right? WRONG.

Hear me out. I believe in the value of hard work. I believe in learning life lessons through struggles and hardships, finding your way out of them and working through to better your situation. I think that kids born with silver spoons in their mouths are some of the worst people on this planet and I sure as hell am not going to give my kid or anyone I actually care about everything they’ve ever asked for. They can work for it like everyone else who is worth anything.

That’s not to say if by some shitty circumstances my son found himself in a horrible situation that he was struggling to get out of that I wouldn’t help him. I certainly would. But he’d work for it. He’d have to be worthy of it. I’m not looking to pay gambling debts, bail money, drug dealers, etc. so that there were no consequences for his actions. That wouldn’t teach him a thing, would it? I’d help him better himself and I’d give him the LEAST amount of help I possibly could – food, clothing, shelter (to an extent) because coming back from something awful isn’t a lasting accomplishment if it’s just handed to you. If you want it, you work toward it. You put your everything into it. If you’ve done that and you come up just a little short, Mom is going to help you make that goal, but don’t be looking for a fat envelope every time you get in trouble.

The fuck if I’ll contribute to the likes of an “affluenza teen”. I’m not saying he won’t be more comfortable, but he’ll be accountable. I have worked hard for the things that I have and damn it, so will he. So will my family, with ONE EXCEPTION: my Mom.

She can pretty much have anything she wants/needs because she’s worked hard for her entire life. As a single mom with zero support from my Dad, raising two daughters on her own, helping us when we needed it, often to the detriment of her own comfort. A true Grade A fuck yeah Mom. If she wants it, it’s hers.

Friends? I’ve had some that have helped me out of bad situations. I’ve had some that have simply given me things I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) give myself. For each of those people, I imagine myself finding a way to give that back to them. Whether it be paying off an outstanding bill, buying them a meaningful gift for no reason at all, or whatever it may be – something comparable to what they did for me. But when I say comparable, it’s going to involve WAY more than whatever their initial gesture was. Someone once gifted me plane tickets to go spend holidays with my family in Wisconsin. The initial outlay of cash to make that happen isn’t something I’d look to repay. I’d be looking to repay the incredible feeling that I had when I got those tickets. I’d be looking to do something for that person so that he would know, way past my words of gratitude, what he did for me that year. It might cost me $15, it might cost me $5,000. It’ll be grandest “Thank you” I can figure out, but it is not likely to be cash.

I also have friends who are extremely kind to pretty much everyone. They’re getting a little something too, because I get tired of waiting for karma to come reward those people who look out for others.

My last big gesture upon receiving the first check (because I’m taking the 30 years of payouts instead of one lump sum because I’m really smart like that) would be to go into a restaurant or bar and 1) buy shit for strangers for odd reasons. “I’ve got that dude’s beer because I hate his hat and would prefer he spend $10 on a new one.” “I’ll pay for her food because she looks like she hasn’t ever truly enjoyed a hamburger.” “A pitcher for that table because they’re talking about dildos in public.” And on and on and on. I would be ridiculous with my reasoning. “I like his shoelaces – FREE BEER!”

2) I’d tip every person who was working in the place at the time, as long as they smiled at me and said something genuine. I don’t have time for fake smiles and polite questions. I want genuine interactions with people, so if you’ve got it for me, you’re getting a tip. Servers, bus boys, chefs, bartenders, the guy holding the door who doesn’t work there but was being polite anyway, the band, the delivery guy – all of them. I’d tip them and I’d tip them well because smiles, kindness and genuine interactions rock my world. They turn me on and I’ll masturbate on those feelings for DAYS. Wait…

3) There is no three because I’d have that whole masturbation thing to get to.

Everyone else who would expect something from me or, at the very least, hope for something? Get in line. I’m sure I’d find friends that I didn’t realize I had (EYE ROLL). I’m certain people form my past would be in that line, trying to cash in on a memory. “Remember that time we went to see Metallica and I bought you that T-shirt?”   Hell, I may even pay some of them to go away, but it’d be like $5 and a coupon for a free shake at Wendy’s or something.
All in all, I’d probably not change a whole lot about my life, other than making it easier and finally getting the things I’ve been working for.

Posted in Uncategorized

Screw Lables

What kind of place would the world be if we left political, racial, sexual orientation and religious descriptors out of the media completely, unless absolutely necessary? Would we love more and hate less?  Would we be more or less at ease around our neighbors? Why do we fear what is different?  I blame the media because they’re giving out information in ways that fosters a sense of hate in this country. It’s really pretty disgusting, if you think about it.

Why does it matter what religion a person who shoots up a place is? Why does it matter what color they are? Why does it matter who they voted for in the last election? The fact of the matter is whoever they are, whatever description you give of them, they are an asshole. Just say that. “A complete asshole went on a shooting rampage today…” Or “A bunch of assholes decided to take over a federal building in Oregon”. Facts are facts. The rest doesn’t matter.

You have to realize that a majority of the people who think all Muslims are terrorists get this idea from the media, because that’s how it’s portrayed. Why did we ever need to know what religion a terrorist was in the first place? Call them terrorists. Call them jihadists, call them anything but a religious name.  You say it’s OK because you’re putting the term “radical” or “extremist” with it. I say people don’t hear those adjectives. They hear Muslim or Islam and that’s really all. Kind of like when I say to my kid, “if you get your chores done before 2:00 we’ll go have ice cream. You know what he hears? “At 2:00 we’ll go have ice cream.” This is not a new concept.

I don’t give a fuck if a person arrested for this crime or that crime is a white guy or an African American or Hispanic or anything else for that matter. I don’t really care about his religion.   Just tell me Jack Billings knocked over the liquor store and was arrested. THAT IS ALL I NEED TO KNOW. Now, if there’s a dangerous man or woman at large, then yes, I probably should know what race (s)he is.

Now, political affiliations. If you are stupid enough to believe that everyone who identifies with Republicans is a rich, religious person who hates gay people, you are a moron. Likewise if you think every person who identifies with Democrats is a lazy, bleeding heart who thinks they shouldn’t have to work hard for anything. I say we do away with these labels. I would like to be known as believing in individual concepts as opposed to all-encompassing labels. Something like, “I support the everyone should be treated equally and have the same opportunities and punishments as everyone else party”.

I guess I really just hate descriptive labels that don’t allow for variety. I don’t like being put into a box because I’m a white woman who tends to vote for Democratic candidates and am pretty much on the fence about religious things. And holy shit, I’m sorry I’m white, ok.

We need to be very careful with what kinds of attributes we’re assigning to people who are not shining examples of good Americans, because we’re starting to lock everyone into a pre-defined role in life due to their religion, political affiliation, race, sexual preference, gender identity and whether or not the liked Fifty Shades of Gray.

I am an unapologetic, democrat-leaning, white female who hated the fuck out of Fifty Shades of Gray. Having told you that, can you assume anything about me, how I live my life, or raise my son? Can you accurately say if I have a criminal record? Am I mean to people or kind? Do I think we should grant citizenship to every person who is currently in this country? What do I think of Syrian refugees? What do I think about bratwurst? Microbrew beer or macrobrewed? Do I like wine? Do I like getting pedicures? How do I feel about shoes? Makeup? Shopping? Who do I think is responsible for JFK’s assassination?

The point is, you don’t know. All of those earlier descriptions don’t matter – they don’t tell you one single thing about me. So, why do we let them form our opinions about complete strangers? Obviously, I’m irritated.

Posted in Uncategorized

DON’T

Don’t shit where you eat.

Don’t forget.

Don’t ignore.

Don’t take for granted.

Don’t be ambivalent.

Don’t be a dick.

Don’t lie.

Don’t belittle.

Don’t begrudge.

Don’t demean.

Don’t assume.

Don’t expect.

Don’t neglect.

Don’t forget to apologize.

Don’t hurt.

Don’t be indifferent.

Don’t act surprised…
There’s no other way this could have ended.

Posted in Uncategorized

Stupid Stories

What do these two things have in common?

 

 Source:  http://medcell.med.yale.edu/systems_cell_biology_old/female/images/female_reproductive_system_cartoon.jpg

 

 Source:  https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f6/AK-47_assault_rifle.jpg

 

While you’re thinking about that, I’ll tell you some non-sexual (SO SORRY) work stories from my glory days, then come back for a closing thought on what I just asked you.

I used to work at a call center for people who bought those swing set kits and had trouble putting them together. They’d call, I’d answer and I would, I shit you not, READ THEM THE DIRECTIONS, VERBATIM. Usually, it went something like this:

Customer: “Hi. I’m putting together set #324JBSlide. I can’t seem to figure out from the directions how to attach the slide to the top of the platform.”

Me (Reading from instruction manual): “Attach the slide with the bolts provided through the pre-drilled holes in the mounting flange.”

Customer: “Oh! That’s perfect. Thank you so much. You’re the best!”

I worked at Taco Bell for 4 hours in high school in the 80s. I walked out after being burned on the giant meat vat and the manager wouldn’t let me have five minutes to clean it up and put something on it. Ass. I called them up and told them I wouldn’t be back.

About 2 months later that same manager called me at home and asked, “Can you cover for Dan today? He’s out sick.” Of course I said, “sure!”, hung up and got in the car, headed to Alpine Valley for the Monsters of Rock concert.   I’m not sure who had the idea to call someone who didn’t even work there to cover a shift. Even funnier – I got a letter of termination in the mail a week later. Seriously.

I worked at a gas station/truck stop when I was in college. I called in drunk one time. It was St. Patrick’s Day and the bars…the bars opened at 3:30am man! How could I not go? I’d been 21 for not even a month and this was my chance to go and enjoy some green beer and laughter. Besides, I didn’t need to be at work until 3 in the afternoon, so I had plenty of time! I know there was way too much beer and way too many shots, and there was sumo wrestling…you know, where you put on the big sumo wrestler suit and run into each other and laugh because you’re drunk? Yeah, there was that. I also know that at some point I phoned in and let them know I’d be unable to come to work at all that day. I also know that at around 1pm, I was paged IN THE BAR – while on the floor in the big ole’ sumo suit. – there was a phone call for me.   Someone managed to help me up, I got to the phone, still in the sumo suit, and my manager was screaming. It was so loud. I was so wasted. I remember shouting into the phone, “I can’t get out of the suit and I can’t drive and I can’t even count right now!” The response was, “I’ll come get you.”

I might have said “OK”. I might have just laughed. What I do know is that I got out of that suit and left the bar only after joining in with the crowd on a rousing chorus of “Fishing in the Dark” by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.   I went to a different bar, to avoid being found by whoever was coming to get me. Two days later, I walked into the gas station like nothing ever happened. No discussion, no write up, no nothing. Just me and the truckers. Hey, at least I was sober.

Is there a moral to my story? Maybe that people are stupid? I don’t really know. What do I know? I know what those two pictures up there have in common.

  1. A whole lot of people are interested in somehow regulating (or not) both of those things.
  2. I’m concerned about who is touching either one of them.
  3. They can both kill you.

 

Posted in Uncategorized

You Asked For It

I recently asked some friends what I should write about.  They gave me some ideas and I combined them all into an accurate depiction of my life and the upside of re-purposing things that aren’t being used to their full potential. 

 

Most people know that I have a sex chair. It’s called the Tantra Chair and I got mine before they were mass-produced. Made of mahogany and covered in a white Italian silk, my chair is one-of-a-kind, since I picked the specific fabric myself. It’s a beautiful and amazing piece of furniture and I’m proud to own it.

 

Since becoming single, I use the chair in a variety of ways, not just incredibly comfortable bjs and being taken from behind. Below, the last 5 things I used my sex chair for that have very little to do with sex.

 

1) I really suck at hanging things up when I use them daily. A great example would be a bathrobe. I have 5 different robes ensuring that I have all of my cover-up needs met at any given moment. It is winter-ish, so I currently have my long, white, fluffy robe at the ready. I wear it every morning for anywhere from 15 minutes on a work day to 2 hours on a weekend. I really don’t have the desire to go over to the closet and hang it up every day. What’s a girl to do? Why, I’ve got a perfectly fine tantra chair in my bedroom at the foot of my bed! I’ll go ahead and drape that sucker right over it! It also generally holds my fuzzy pj pants, a hoodie and a scarf or two. Functional AND fucktional. Just go with my word choice here, ok?

 

2) It is a fabulously comfortable reading chair! I’ve recently read several books while reclining with my knees bent at the perfect angle for receiving oral sex. Some of the things I’ve read there in the past few months: “The Deadly Dozen: America’s 12 Worst Serial Killers”, “Bulger On Trial: Boston’s Most Notorious Gangster And The Pursuit Of Justice”, and “If You Lived Here, I’d Know Your Name: News from Small-Town Alaska”.

 

3) The other day, I didn’t feel like reading or playing Candy Crush. My couch is pretty uncomfortable, and so I made my way to the chair and sat with my headphones on, listening to music on my late-2000 model ipod nano with the music library from the 70s and 80s. Occasionally, something more modern makes its way on to it, but it really has to be a song that speaks to me.

 

4) I like to lay on it and ponder life & death and what makes it all worth-while. I also like to practice my Shakespeare recitation. Last week, I combined the two and worked on reciting the following, with passion:

 

“To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
–William Shakespeare, Hamlet

 

5) Of course, in thinking about life and death, one cannot ignore the frightening thoughts regarding nuclear proliferation and how it will affect future generations. How do we stop this? SHOULD we stop this? Does it really matter if we stop it? Certainly, we don’t want nuclear weapons in the hands of some crazed fool who would attempt to use the threat of nuclear strikes to coerce other nations into doing his (or her) bidding. Perhaps the truth of the matter is simply that those kinds of things are already happening, and it’s just like bullies on a playground.  “I see your nuke is as big as mine” adage, followed closely by, “Drop your cocks and grab your socks, boys! Look what I can do!”

“For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns…”

–William Shakespeare, Hamlet

 

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Goals

She wasn’t more than 9 or 10 when she knew exactly what she wanted to be when she grew up.  It wasn’t a career she longed for.  It wasn’t to be rich or famous.  It wasn’t to marry well and spend her days in a very comfortable home.  It wasn’t semi-yearly vacations wonderful destinations.  It had nothing to do with a car or a house or how many children she would have.

It didn’t depend on finding the right person.  It didn’t depend on finances.  It didn’t depend on where she spent the holidays or how many friends she had.  It didn’t depend on making all of the right decisions or mastering the fine art of perfect timing.  It certainly didn’t depend on luck.

It wouldn’t be measured by what she owned.  It wouldn’t be measured by how many people surrounded her.  It wouldn’t be measured by the amount of education she had.  It wouldn’t be measured by how many people she slept with.  It wouldn’t be measured by how big her TV was or how new her phone was.

It was simple and it was pure.  She wanted to be independent and happy.  She wanted to make her own choices and accept all of the consequences with grace.  She wanted to love and to be loved, not by many, but by quality people who were not there for moments, but the duration.

When she was in her 40s, she looked back to assess where she was in this long-term goal to be happy.  She had a job that she was good at, though it wasn’t anything she was necessarily proud of.  She wasn’t rich or famous.  She certainly didn’t marry well.  Her home was small, but it was better than where she had been a few months ago and most definitely better than what she had during that ill-fated marriage.  If for no other reason than it was hers.  It was all hers and she earned it.  She worked at that job she was good at and pushed through every day because this home was all hers and she intended to keep it that way.

She doesn’t go on vacations, doesn’t have a fancy car.  She’s single and finally comfortable in that designation. She has a son, and that’s enough.  Her timing sucks, her luck may be worse.  And she’s still here.

The things she has, she mostly bought for herself.  She’s often lonely.  She has a college education with only a mountain of debt to show for it.  She’s loved all of the wrong people, but she’s content with those choices because she chose to love them.  She chose to give them everything she had, even though she knew deep down that they’d never be able to return that love.  She has no regrets about who she’s loved, only how long she allowed them to hold a place in her heart.

On bad days, she worries that she’s not parenting well enough or that she can’t give him everything he deserves.  She longs for things to be easier so that the happy can take up permanent residence in her heart and soul.

On good days, she realizes that she has all of the things she wanted for herself when she was 9 or 10.  She is independent.  She is happy.  It is enough.

Posted in Humor, Life

Better, Stronger, Faster

“We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was. Better, stronger, faster.” – Oscar Goldman on The Six Million Dollar Man

 

Every year, millions of people make resolutions for the new year.  Most people will give their best effort and will fail miserably.  I’m no different.  I’m going to quit smoking, start running, eat healthier, be a better mom.  I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll give it my honest effort for a couple of weeks and then watch it all come crashing down.  Because life choices are not something you can simply decide to do differently.  They’re built on years of experience, bolstered by predictable outcomes and are ingrained in our psyches, forever steering us in a direction that we’re essentially destined to head.

This is not to say we cannot change, but I think when we point out particulars is when we get into trouble.  Saying “I’m going to eat healthier” is an admirable goal, but one that is so easy to drop the first time someone offers you a bacon cheeseburger and your favorite IPA.  I think a much better resolution would simply be to say, “this year, I’m going to make myself happier”.  This way, I’m not roped into changing one thing about myself, but can find success by stringing together some wins in various aspects of life.

So I’ve thought about things that make me happy and I’m going to try to do several of those things every day.  Some will be easy, like masturbating.  I can certainly do that just about every day!  Even on those days I’m pressed for time I can certainly spend 10 minutes at the end of the day pushing my own buttons in the proper order, at just the right pace.  I’m far better at that than anyone else I know, so I’ll give myself that.

Seriously, I’m not even sure what I was going to say here anymore, mostly because I took a nap and did item #1 on my easy happy list, then came back and couldn’t think of what I meant to say. Yes, it was THAT good.  So I read my fancy little block quote up there, and the only thing I could think of was what if I rewired my vibrator?  Found a new motor that was, you guessed it, better, stronger, faster?  Holy crap you guys, I think I’m on to something.  What if I use the same motor that is used in an electric sander?  Or a drill?  I’ll try this doing new happy things tomorrow.  Right now, I’m going to go buy a soldering iron and some other things from Lowes that may be used to, um, technologically improve my life.

Here’s to 2016!