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Happy Holi-Shit-Days

A few things as we delve right into the holiday season (and beyond) from North Prairie, WI.

  • I just wrote something I titled, “Flaming Bag of Shit” and I am not sorry. This may be a bigger bag of shit, but we’ll see.
  • I haven’t figured out how to adjust to a “his family”, “my family”, and “our family” lifestyle.  I spent 20 years where “my family” wasn’t a realistic option and I’m completely done with that.

You all know I hated the holidays, in general, for the past 19 years.  Being home is wonderful and fantastical and…

I still hate the holidays.  The parts I’m going to love will be when it’s me, my three boys, and that’s all.  No offense to family, but here’s the thing:

If we’re with his family, once again, I’m not with my family.

If we’re with my family, he’s not with his family.

If we try to split the time, it can’t always work.  You know, people eat the important meal at the same time, or exchange gifts at the same time.  Or do whatever it is they do at the same time as someone else is doing whatever they do.  Someone, somewhere will always be pissed off.  We’ll be tired and frustrated at the end of the day and all of the enjoyment will have been sucked out of every last thing.  People are going to be short-tempered, and there will always be one person who thinks you didn’t stay long enough with them.  Or that you didn’t get to see so-and-so.  And you’ll want to compensate by having a drink or two, but wait!  You couldn’t have much of anything because you had to drive 3 other people around all day and by the time you get home, you’re too tired to lift a glass to your mouth, so you just go to bed. Trust me, I KNOW.

 

  • If one more person tells me I have to do this or that for my wedding, I’m just taking him/her off of the guest list. You know who gets to have a “have to” list?  I do.  Chuck does.  That’s pretty much it.  I mean, unless you think I have to have something specific AND you’re going to pay for it.  Because here’s the thing(s) and people need to get over it (them):

a.  I didn’t want anything big – I’ve already done that and it was a complete waste of money. Understand that I originally wanted a grand total of MAYBE 30 people for this wedding.  Just those who are extremely close to me in my daily life.  Those who make an honest difference.  I’m also understanding of the fact that Chuck has family and friends in excess of that, so I have to bend a bit.  I’m not necessarily thrilled about that, but it’s what you do, because it’s a big deal to get married, and you both get to have some say in how it happens and who is with you.   This is directly related to b:

b.  I don’t have a whole lot of extra money just lying around. So, if I had planned on spending $1,000 on my guests when there were going to be 30 of them, understand I’m still just spending that $1,000, even if there’s 200 people.  And you know what? I don’t care.  You know why?  Just look at c:

c. We can always just elope, so fuck you.

  • Let’s talk about holiday gift giving. Kids – yes.  The man who sleeps next to me every night and puts up with my shit – yes.  My mom?  Depends on how big the electric bill is this month and if I can find a sale on winter items for both me and my son as we haven’t needed winter things so are woefully unprepared for anything less than 32 degrees on a regular basis.   Anyone else, not likely.  I don’t do much gift giving and I’d prefer you don’t include me in yours.  If you feel that strongly about a gift for me, make a donation to the National MS Society in my name.  I have more shit than I know what to do with.  I really don’t need more.  I appreciate you for what you add to my life on a daily basis.  That’s enough for me.  Please let it be enough.  Now, if I was willingly involved in some sort of Secret Santa or name exchange, that’s different.  But I’m not, so you know.
  • Still have zero regrets about leaving Virginia. Well, I do miss the ocean and the pool and the warmer weather.  But those aren’t regrets, those are things I miss.  Along with Jenna.  And Lisa.  And all of the breweries being so close to each other.  But I’d rather miss those people and things than miss my mom.  Or my sister.  Or my niece and nephew.  Or Chuck.  And that’s the bottom line (cuz Stone Cold said so.  Or something like that).
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Happiness – It’s Not Elusive After All

I used to have a personal rule that whenever I felt something, I would write.  It didn’t matter if I was happy, sad, excited, angry, lonely, horny, confused, lost, scared, proud, whatever.  I’d sit down and write about it.  No, I didn’t always write about what made me feel those things, but I think whatever I was feeling in the time was fairly well conveyed through the tone and words I had chosen.  I never really cared what other people thought of me, because it didn’t matter as long as I was following my happy and not hurting anyone in the process.  I liked myself and the people who accepted me got a front-row seat to my life.  And damn it, I was good at living.

If you’ve played along with me, you’ll know that somewhere around September of 2010, that all changed quite drastically.  Writing was no longer a priority.  It wasn’t something I’d do to just convey whatever it was I was feeling.  Instead, it became how I dealt with my anger of being traded in for a quick high; how I felt with being left alone with a 6-year-old and no family to help me; how it felt having to lie to my son because I didn’t want him to ever feel the way his father made me feel – like we just were disposable.  I look back at the things I wrote during that time and everything was so full of anger and sadness.  It was probably a huge cry for help in a world of people who viewed me as almost super-human and able to handle whatever life tossed my way.  The thing is – I handled it.  But it cost me, and it cost me a lot.

I closed myself off to the majority of the people around me.  I kept friends and tried dating, but I never really let anyone else who wasn’t already on the inside anywhere near.  I got hurt and I’m sure I hurt some people in the process of locking myself away, so sure there wouldn’t be anything anyone could do to convince me that it was OK to just be whoever I was in any given moment.

It started to really matter to me what other people thought, and I found myself doing things completely out of character that I’d later come to regret, such as no longer caring about what I wanted.  It was comforting to push everything aside and have no feelings.  I mean if you don’t have feelings, you can’t really be hurt.  And if you did things that seemed to make other people happy or even envious of the life you’re living, well that’s even better.  The thing about this kind of life is that eventually you start to believe in it.  You think this is the way it was meant to be and you fool yourself into thinking you’re happy, when really you’re just swimming in a bunch of shit, happy that you brought a snorkel.

I spent a really long time telling myself none of it mattered.  That I was ok just being a mom and…well, that’s it really.  I mean I have friends, some truly amazing friends, but at the end of the day it was me and my son and that was all.  It was enough, but fuck it was lonely. There were relationships and every one of them fell short somewhere of something I convinced myself I needed in order to get over this feeling of indifference.  Sure, maybe the things I thought were missing were nothing more than excuses to keep myself insulated from hurt, but at some point it all felt like giving up some part of me that I just didn’t want to give away.

I’m not sure, exactly, when I got tired of that.  Maybe it was time.  Maybe it was space.  Maybe it was that I was tired of things that were “good enough” and was open to something more.  I don’t really know and can’t really tell you.  What I do know is that when it happened, it happened in a big way.

I wasn’t looking for it.  I wasn’t expecting it.  I didn’t think anything of it at first.  I mean, he was just a guy doing a thing, just like every other guy doing every other thing.  But there was a difference.  He stayed on my mind long after he should have.  So, we talked.  We talked a lot and then talked some more.  We made plans to see each other and waited and talked some more.  We got together, said goodbye, and talked some more.  We talked about life and what we wanted out of it and how this is all so crazy and doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense.  We made more plans to see each other again and talked and waited and talked until he was here and everything was as it should be.  He’s gone again and we just keep on talking, keep on planning, and keep on waiting for the day we don’t have to plan or wait or stand in an airport handing out sad good-byes.  I’m pretty sure I’ve learned more about him through all of this talking than I ever learned about any other person, ever.  He makes me happy and whole.  That’s what you need to know.

As hard as it is sometimes, it’s not anything I’d trade because after all of this time, I don’t want to not care about my own feelings anymore.  I’m not meant to ignore feelings, I never was.  I love fiercely.  I care deeply.  I am loyal to a fault.  I don’t know when to quit.  I don’t believe in just giving up because something is hard. Most importantly, I don’t really care what anyone thinks of that because I’m following my happy.

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Zero Fuck Thirty

If you present me with a physical challenge, 9 times out of 10 I will give it a shot. Most of the time, I’ll meet that challenge and the rest of the time I’ll fail miserably while laughing so hysterically, you’d be convinced that I love failure (please see my love life if you’d like supporting evidence of my love of failure). Not trying something physical (unless it has a high probability of resulting in death) just doesn’t seem to be in my playbook. My favorite is when someone tells me that I can’t do something. When that happens, I’ll do it until I succeed. Then, I’ll do it a few more times just to be sure you’ve tasted every drop of my success. That’s what he said.

Sadly, the majority of struggles in my life aren’t physical ones, they’re emotional ones. I talk a lot about not giving many fucks, but that’s not really true. I just choose what it is I’m going to give a fuck about fairly carefully.  This results in an awful lot of things that won’t matter in 5 years being tossed to the “no fucks given” pile without a second thought.

notebook

So when I find something that matters to me, I’m going to give all of the fucks necessary to hold on to it. I will give and give until I reach into my fuck tote and discover it is empty. Let me tell you, this is a terrible, terrible plan. Here’s why.

It’s very rare to find someone else who thinks a lot like I do. Now, we can be on the same page on a lot of different things, but when it comes right down to it, we’re not putting the same things into the same sorting piles. When that happens, it becomes a matter of who can hold on to their pile of fucks the longest. I tend to willingly hand all of mine over to the other person and so I’m left with no fucks at the end of the journey. In my mind, if I don’t give my all, then I’m really not trying.

What this leaves me with is a broken spirit and the belief that I am not falling in love ever again, nor will I ever be considered emotionally well-adjusted. Before you say that sounds pretty jaded and negative, let me assure you that I’ve tried, many many times. At 45, it has always turned out poorly and the fucks I have left to give in that area are few and far between.

flying.jpg

It has become apparent to me that the fucks I have to give are not infinite. You can’t continually plow through them time and time again, and expect them all to be replenished. So, you blow your load of fucks on this one shiny thing that you just have to have. It probably goes well for a while, and you dish out your allotted fucks over time. Sometimes, they’re replenished as you go. But if you’re using up more than you’re getting back, what you’re going to end up with is a sore, dry pussy, which always results in zero fucks. At that point, you’re just waiting for the next time he tries to sneak it in there, but lo and behold, you have no fucks left. THE END.

in a box

When I was younger, my fuck stash lasted me about 4 years in a shitty relationship. My first few lasted about that long before they crashed and burned in a fiery glory where I believe I declared, “I just don’t give a fuck anymore.” Then, I got married. In total, we were together for 12 years. Somewhere in there, I obviously received more fucks than I gave away. That would likely be the first 4 1/2 years or so. Nothing else explains making it past that 4-year fuck giving threshold.
Shortly before my son was born, the fuck pile began dwindling and at some point, he stopped giving them back. I started throwing them out there everywhere I could because I didn’t want to fail. With that came a dissolution of anything that resembled love and by year #7 the only thing I gave a shit about was my kid. I stuck it out for 3 more years, thinking that he’d throw something in the fucking well, but no.

After that, it was a series of part time things that I tried giving various amounts of fucks to, but here I am almost 6 years after leaving my marriage and when I look in my bag, I’ve only got about 4 fucks in there for dating and intimate relationships. There’s a fairly unlimited supply for my child, but that’s fully replenished with every “I love you, Mom.” There are a ton of fucks for my friends who have always been there for me – you know – those who consistently make me feel like I’m important in some way to their lives. These people are giving every fuck I give right back to me and so it seems like I’m on a good roll there.

Four fucks. That’s all I’ve got for dating and relationships, people. So if I give you one, you better sure as shit give it right back. Otherwise, I’m not giving you another one and you’ll become “One Fuck Chuck”, and I have zero reservations about that.
By now you’ve probably figured out that I am currently out of my four relationship fucks. Until I get one or two back, I’m sure as hell not giving any more away. I’ve gotten used to being alone and doing it all my way. That’s what vibrators are for. And if you have a problem with that, please remember that I don’t give a fuck.

box 2

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Ah, Twitter…

I’ve long been a fan of social media.  Back in the days of MySpace, I used to write every single day.  I was kind of a big deal over there and was often ranked in the top ten blogs daily.  I made some amazing friends, many of whom I’m still close to today.

I was reluctant to move to FaceBook because the blogging interface was different and the “comments” section just didn’t hold up to what I was used to.  But I moved anyway and tried blogging here and there, posting links and trying to get my friends to come over to the other side of the fence.  I found it was easier to make a comment on FB and respond back and forth via comments there than in a blog somewhere.  However, because of the more personal side of FB, I wasn’t able to meet new people and bring more into my “inner circle”, and no, I’m not talking about my vagina.

What you need to understand about me is that I have HUGE amounts of social anxiety.  While I have a need to interact with people, I also have a need to be alone, in my own space, having conversations on my own timeline.  It’s what helps me stay connected to the world outside of my own front door.

This is where Twitter came in.  I had so much fun just reading other people’s thoughts and sharing my own.  I found some really funny people.  I found some really smart people.  I found some like-minded people.  I also found some complete assholes, but that’s not the point.  Twitter filled that need for me to meet new people, share thoughts, and laughter and whatnot.  It was my saving grace as a socially awkward introvert who wants interaction with others.  Until recently…

Somewhere along the line, Twitter stopped being fun.  I’ve met some really fabulous people, several of whom I chat with every day.  Those are the people who saw some sort of value in the silliness I offered up on there and they made the effort to say hi.  Of course, I said hi back and we’ve all been together since.  However, more and more I’m seeing people using Twitter for something other than what I use it for.  I see politics and social policy and opinions about everything under the sun have taken over.  And yes, everyone can use Twitter for however they see fit.  But when I first started following these people, it wasn’t like this at all.  It was light.  It was fun.  It was pure silliness and I ate all of that up.

Suffice it to say as they got more and more serious, I felt left behind.  Not because I don’t have opinions.  Not because I didn’t feel I couldn’t keep up.  No, I can blow nearly everyone away in those areas if I chose to.  I felt left behind because all I want from Twitter is fun and interaction.  I thought I had found that with this wacky group of people and then, for the most part, it was all gone.

That’s when I knew it was time to leave it behind.  Take the true friends I had made with me on email and instant messaging programs, some even on FaceBook, and walk away from the Twitter life, at least for a while. I’m sure I’ll eventually sign back on, which is why I didn’t delete the account. However, for now?  I like my world to be happy and bright.  There’s enough arguing and drama in my own day-to-day life.  I don’t need to read it where I go to laugh.

So, whatever.  I’ll miss the Twitter, but perhaps I’ll find more time to spend talking to the people I like – who actually make an effort to like me back.  If that’s you, thank you.  I’m always around, somewhere.

XO

 

 

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Leap Day Isn’t a Real Day

This project is turning out to be harder than I previously thought. I had to write up my review of The Walking Dead, then I spent the extra day being anxious over whether it was good enough for my liking. I also don’t care for Leap Day.  It’s just an extra day in the year to fuck even more shit up.  Then there was the whole “I have to vote tomorrow!” thing. While I’m on that subject:

If you live in a state where your primary is today, go vote. People died to give you that right. The most responsible thing you can do is to show up and vote for someone. Remember that shitty politicians are elected by people who don’t vote, so you really do make a difference.

Just be sure whoever you’re voting for is someone you wouldn’t mind dating if looks were of no importance to you. I say that because there’s not one single attractive person in this election. If you couldn’t see yourself dating any of them, you still need to vote. Maybe look at who you could imagine giving your eulogy at your funeral. If that doesn’t work, print out their pictures, play spin the dildo, and see who it lands on.

The point is, get out there and vote. It matters, even in the primaries. Someone, somewhere died so that you could do so. You kind of owe it to him/her. Also, if you ask nicely, perhaps their spirit will guide that dildo to a really super candidate who wins and make a huge positive difference in all of our lives. You never know.

 

LEARN

Because I didn’t have much time to delve into anything yesterday, I took the time to think up some questions for my smart phone. Let’s see what kinds of answers I get, shall we? I’m not even going to fact-check these things.

  • The air from a human sneeze travels at an average of 100 miles per hour more.
  • Air leaves your body during a cough at up to 50 miles per hour.
  • The average erect human penis is 5.6” long with a 4.8” circumference. Oh.  Here’s to dating above-average men!
  • Ejaculate travels at an average of 10 miles per hour.

That’s all I could think to ask it last night as I sat in the bathtub with my beer, pondering the next stage of my game and who I was going to vote for.

 

TRY

Trying new things is going to be limited mostly to products during the week and last night was no different. I know it’s not exciting, but I’m just a regular girl with a regular life. Maybe I’ll buy a new vibrator this week and we can have something fun to discuss.

I have naturally curly hair. If I don’t put any product in it at all, I wind up with hair similar to Gilda Radner’s Rosanna Rosannadanna.

Gilda-1

If I put too much in it, it’s crunchy and wiry. If I flat iron it, it just kind of sits there. If I flat iron then use a big curling iron, it takes forever, but it looks decent and it’s soft, but it’s so much work, and truthfully, I’m too lazy for that unless there’s a chance I might get laid.

I have always used mousse, but I bought something I thought I’d try out and see how it went. So, I bought this:

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Marc Anthony True Professional Strictly Curls Curl Enhancing Styling Foam

First of all, this smells like lemons! It’s a fantastic scent and it made me want vodka. Don’t judge me. Vodka with lemonade is one of the greatest gifts int his world. It certainly would have improved my evening.  Anyway… I learned very quickly that you need less than ¼ of the amount you’d use of this shit if it was mousse. It’s really thick and coats your hair pretty completely.  I will admit to being a bit unsettled by how thick it was.  (Not the first time I’ve ever thought that either). I did my usual, scrunch, tossle, go about my evening.   Every now and again, I scrunched while on the move. I didn’t bother to look at it because I’d be going to bed shortly and I’d see it when I went to brush my teeth.

When I finally got in front of the mirror, I was shocked. Strictly curls? Curl enhancing? No. This wasn’t even curly. It was kind of wavy, yet frizzy with no real shape and just not right. It’s a damn good thing I’m sleeping alone these days.  I put it up in my usual pony tail and climbed into bed. I’d check it out in the morning.

I get up. It’s primary election day. I don’t have a lot of time here and…Oh, what the fuck? I now look like I have a poodle who’s been stuck in the rain living on my head. I take a deep breath and get out my little spray bottle. This has some fancy mixture in it that works like Febreze for my hair and refreshes the product so I can restyle in about 45 seconds. NOT TODAY. This shit in my hair was like cement. I couldn’t even get my fingers through it. I was trying so hard to get out of the house early so that I could vote and here I was going to have to wash my hair again. I didn’t prepare enough coffee for this.

Needless to say, I won’t buy this again. I’ll try using it differently, maybe more, maybe less. Maybe I’ll have to blow dry it. But I’m telling you, if you want carefree and easy, this shit isn’t it. You’d have better luck getting a guy to jizz in your hair several times and… No, wait. Don’t do that.  That’s an entirely different kind of cement in your hair and you don’t want that either. Back to the drawing board.

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45

If you had asked 15-year-old me what my life would be like in 30 years, I would have probably painted you a picture of a single woman, no kids, living in a small cabin in the woods on a lake, somewhere in Northern Wisconsin. I would have told you that my favorite company would be my books and a few dogs and that I would be happy just being alive. Obviously, I would have been very wrong – except for the single part.

 

I don’t mind getting older. I think that the past 15 years or so have been the most interesting and educational. Marriage, parenthood, finishing college (at 40!), divorce, dating (and failing miserably), still parenting, being broke, being scared, finding my own footing, learning to like myself again, and being unapologetic for who I am. It’s a lot, so I’ll take it in smaller chunks and look at the past 5 years. I’ve learned way more about myself since leaving a shitty marriage and trying to rebuild a life on my own terms.

 

Here’s some of what I’ve learned:

 

  • If you are strong, people will think you’re a bitch. They’ll also think that you have no feelings. They will also fail to be there for you on most every level, maybe because they believe that you’ve got everything handled. Luckily I have a couple of really amazing friends who know better than to think that I walk through shit unscathed. I wouldn’t be anywhere without them and I know it. I know their value. I can’t fall apart in front of the world, but I can in front of those people and they will listen, tell me to get my shit together, and help me stand back up. Then, they’ll slap me on the ass and say, “go get ‘em tiger!”   It works for me.

 

  • Being a single parent is kind of amazing, but it also fucks you over. You’re always the good guy, but you’re also always the bad guy. You don’t have a whole lot of time for yourself and you don’t have a whole lot of time for other people. As far as being fulfilling because you’re working on raising an amazing human with a fantastic heart – CHECK! As far as fulfilling in that you get to have adult company, build new relationships and what-not? Not so much. I mean sure, if you’re the every-other-weekend parent you get to do that kind of shit, but not when you’re the 26-days per month parent. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve met some incredible people who I’ve had to let go because I simply didn’t have the time to give them much more. So while I’m rarely alone because of my son, I’m pretty fucking lonely most of the time. I get that’s what I signed up for when I left with my kid. But I don’t have to be content with it. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but I can’t have it both ways, so for now I’ll take the parenting and enjoy other people as I can fit them in without destroying my balance.

 

  • I’ve learned that there are very few people in this world who actually mean what they say. It’s hard to speak your mind sometimes, because it very well might hurt someone’s feelings. You have to learn to do that with kindness. A little hurt up front is worth avoiding a shit-storm of hurt down the road. The other problem with this is that everyone assumes that you don’t mean what you say because no one else does. The old, “if a woman tells you nothing is wrong, you should run” is stereotypical bullshit, which proves my point. If a woman tells you nothing is wrong, she god damn well better mean that nothing is wrong. All of you bitches out there with the mixed signals really ruin things for those of us who don’t sugar coat that shit. I want – no, I NEED for my words to be taken at face-value. I don’t want people to fuck that all up anymore, and yet it’s always going to happen.

 

  • The most important thing in any kind of relationship – family, friends, intimate, whatever, is knowing how to set limits and how to enforce them. This actually goes with #3. So many people are surprised when I say, “if you do that shit again, I’m not going to be your friend anymore”, they do that shit again, and I walk away. Limits. Set them. Enforce them. Understand them. Don’t be an asshole.

 

  • You can be happy with your life, even if you’re lonely. You can be happy with your life if you go without sex. You can be happy with your life if you fail at a lot of the things you do. You can be happy with your life if you’re broke. But you can’t be happy if you give up who you are, so don’t do that.

 

I’m so far out of my comfort zone these days that I generally don’t recognize myself anymore. I’m ok with that because it’s personal growth and that’s what the entirety of one’s life is – evolving and changing with whatever life throws your way. You’re just trying to get to a place where you are content without being so rigid that you can’t bend a little when you figure out something new. Here’s to the end of 45 years of life and the start of the next 45.

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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.