The Inevitable 2016 Election…

Oh, my sweet Lord. What has happened to this country?

Let me start off by saying, I don’t understand politics. (Or as I call it, “poo-litics.”)  Not one bit. I am not ignorant, nor am I uneducated. I have simply chosen to keep my nose out of political business, and to keep myself at arm’s length from all of the rigmarole. I don’t appreciate the views of one side more than the other, per se. I agree with some policies, and I disagree with others. I am not strictly Democratic or Republican. I am simply an American citizen, concerned as hell for the wellbeing of my country.

I am sick to death of all of the political B.S. (hence, poo-litics) that we are forced to see every single day, whether it’s presented to us via social media, television, or print. Don’t even get me started on bumper stickers. They’re the zits of the auto world – you don’t like to look at them, and heaven forbid we talk about them, but you just can’t look away. At any rate, we are force-fed others’ beliefs like livestock on a farm. We go through the political wringer against our will, and we are assaulted with the onslaught of political garbage 24/7, 365.

Now, some of it is actually helpful, informative. Thank you, strange writers and sharers of accurate memes, for informing and teaching. But most of it, and I’m talking the vast majority, the 99%, is just opinionated, rude, outrageous garbage. Absolute trash. This is where I draw the line of tolerance. I cannot sit here day in and day out and try to digest the “he-said-she-said” games and the finger pointing and the crossfire of hateful words and, mostly, lies that these hotheads use to try to persuade the ill-equipped citizens such as myself. I am ill-equipped because the sheer volume of fabricated political content is so overwhelming, and I don’t even know where to start weeding through it all to try and dig out even a shred of the truth.

So, I will sit here and let the smoke clear, sipping my wine, waiting for you all to finish making asses of yourselves. I am confident that the amount of you skulking away with your tails between your legs will be truly satisfying come November. I shall revel in that moment, and it shall be divine. This is my own white flag, my moment of surrender. I fear what is going to become of our beloved red, white and blue when this election is done draining this country of chutzpah, sisu, and all of the other spirited terminology. All we can do is hope that our votes count enough to keep us safe.

 

Advertisements

Drinking on a Work Night…Not Like it Used to Be!

Sitting at my desk at work today, pondering many of life’s greatest questions, my mind settled on one singular one that I am still having a hell of a time concluding.

How (and why?!) did we ever used to drink on school/work nights? How have we ever been able to function within the parameters of at least fifty percent normal, decent human behavior? To paint a bit of a background for this story… 

Last night, we had a work function to express our appreciation of some of our bigger clients. There was a wonderful meal, followed by cream puffs (note: this was my first run-in with a cream puff. How did I actually live over twenty freakin’ years and not eat at least one cream puff every day?!?!) and plenty of booze. One of our representatives from a wholesaler whom we purchase products from insisted that I try to keep up with him, one for one. As a seasoned vet of Liquor Land, he thought this was highly amusing. I, a stubborn female who, for some unknown reason, feels the need to say yes to everyone and uphold my imaginary reputation, accepted the challenge with the tenacity of a college student. 

When my five-thirty alarm rang this morning, I cried into my pillow. I’m not talking about a gentle tear that rolls down your cheek and nestles itself in your ear while you lay on your pillow and sigh. I’m talking about a full-blown, snot running down your face, hyperventilation, screaming to nobody in particular, “WhyYyYyYyYyYy?!?!?” 

Which, of course, begs the question: “Why?” 

Why was this fun for me when I was in high school? Because I couldn’t legally drink? Was it the thrill of the rebellion and the feeling I got when I was defying my parents’ wishes and the rules that “were meant to be broken?” Because I can’t give you a good reason right now for drinking when you have at least eight hours’ worth of obligations the following day. Hell, I don’t think I’d do it when I had more than two hours of work to do the next day. 

Why did we do it in college? Because you could function outside of your room in your pajamas and not get yelled at for it? Because nobody was going to notify your parents if you weren’t at school? Because you were your own damn boss and if you didn’t feel like writing that paper or going to that class you didn’t have to?

Secondly, how did we not die during the day? I cried at least twice today because I didn’t want to be at work anymore and I would much rather have been at home burying my sorrows in a jar of peanut butter. But tough shit, fellow adults. We’ve been conned. Long gone are the days where it was even mildly humorous to be hungover at work, joking with your friends about what a crazy night you had, and making plans to rehash the events of the night over another twelve pack of the shittiest, cheapest beer you could get your hands on. (BRB, gotta go puke.) 

Now all we have to look forward to is ibuprofen and monotonous conversations droning on with coworkers while we mentally beat the shit out of ourselves until the day is over. 

Who talked us into this, anyway?! I’ll mull it over while I drink water and lay in bed at 4:00 PM on a Wednesday.

It’s Time to Unplug

What is it with all of the technology nowadays? No, I’m not eighty. I understand that it is essential to surviving in this world and advancing in the workplace and basically knowing anything about anything in today’s society. *sigh*

I guess you could say I’m a bit of a romantic. I love getting letters in the mail and writing stuff down with my actual freaking hands. I’d rather my hands get sore writing down my sorrows, my joys, and professing my love to someone rather than watching them cramp up from tweeting and texting and hashtagging.

One of the worst offenses that this technology craze and the insane advancements we are making as a generation on a daily basis, is the fact that we plug in to tune out. We ignore those who love us, and turn our attention to our screens. We read the latest gossip instead of reading the looks on people’s faces, we study how to contour our makeup instead of studying the lines in the faces of our elders who have so much more to share with us than some Youtube video.

We are glued to our screens and miss out on some pretty beautiful stuff. I’m not saying that I don’t like technology; it is a way for me to finally publish some of my writing (woohoo!) and I don’t know where I would be without my phone (sidenote: have you SEEN the new Snapchat filter?! Obsessed! I’ve already taken, like, fifty selfies this morning). I love being in contact with people who I never get to see or talk to. My best friend moved to a different state, so, obviously, if I want to keep in touch with her it’s smart to have a phone.

But last night as I lay in bed, I was waiting for my boyfriend to, you know, make a move. I waited. I sighed. I rolled over a few times. As for him? He stared at his phone screen the entire time. But it didn’t stop there. After I had given up my lusty pursuit, I decided to strike up a conversation. With myself, apparently. I had spewed about an entire thought, and when I finished, all I heard was the sweet sounds of silence. You know, sweet when it’s supposed to be quiet. I looked at him and he didn’t take his eyes off of the screen.

“What? Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
There’s nothing that makes a woman feel less sexy than losing out intellectually and sexually to a freakin’ cell phone. With his eyes glued to the screen, he wasn’t listening to my voice or looking at my body. It actually hurt my feelings a lot. With a grunt, I rolled over and let my anger rock me to sleep.

We have all been guilty of this crime, and we have all fallen victim to it. It’s a two-sided coin, really. But it’s time that we take a moment to unplug and give our loved ones the attention that they deserve. I don’t want to look back on my life when I can’t do the move anymore and wish that I had done it more but wasted so many nights plugged into technology that I neglected the opportunity to make love. I don’t want us to look up from our phones one day and see that our faces have aged fifty years and wonder what happened to us.

So make sure you’re taking advantage of the time you have with your loved ones. Make sure that you unplug and really live. Life won’t wait around for you to pull your eyes away from the screen.

Mr. Fix It

You are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is youer than you. -Dr. Seuss

Ladies, there is so much truth and beauty in that statement. You are perfect. All of you. Each and every flaw, every mistake you’ve made, every temper tantrum, every single moment in your life is a part of who you are. Who you were meant to be. Whenever you feel ugly, what you don’t realize, my dear, is that you are more beautiful than ever. Because it’s who you are. Be unapologetically yourselves!

And I’m here to tell you, don’t you dare settle for anyone who wants to change you, or “fix” you. Those people are everywhere, and they are toxic. They sneak in and they ride the waves of your misery and self-loathing, and promise to pick you back up. They see a moment when you are vulnerable and pounce. They tell you they’ll take care of you and make everything okay. Spoiler alert: they won’t.

They’ll take you and break you down, strip you bare of everything you’ve learned to love about yourself. They feed your insecurities, and they let you believe the worst about yourself. They find little “areas of improvement” or “ways to grow” and nit pick those areas until there is nothing left. They warp your psyche until all you see when you look in the mirror is a flawed disappointment, a big project. You’ll see yourself with different eyes, eyes that aren’t your own; you’ll look at yourself with disdain and disgust.

You’ll never think you need another person. They’ll string you along just enough, making you desperate for their company. You’ll beg for their help. They make you believe that you need their guidance to function in everyday life. Their persona is the nice guy, the helper, the good friend.

One day you’ll wake up and be nothing more than a shell of who you once were. You won’t recognize the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You’ll be lost. Lost in all the bullshit. Lost in the idea of who you used to be, wondering where everything went wrong; wondering, “Why me?”

They’ll collapse your life and burn everything you’ve known and loved about yourself down to the ground. They’ll step away from the scene unscathed, leaving you to sort out what’s left. To let this happen is a crime. To let them do such damage without bearing an eye is disgusting.

For God’s sake, don’t ever let anyone tell you that any single part of you needs to be fixed. Because you are all perfect the way you are.

Mr. Fix It? More like Mr. Go F*** Yourself.

A Love Letter to My Ex

Dear ex,

I used to love you. I used to think that the world itself revolved around you, tilted on its very axis to bend to your will. I used to wake up in the morning, looking around our room for you; you weren’t there. I used to check my phone every five minutes to see if I’d missed you trying to reach me; I hadn’t. I used to think that you were all I needed to be happy in this chaotic world; you weren’t.

I love my smile. I love to test it out when I look in the mirror and recognize myself the way I looked before you existed in my world, before you ripped my world apart and closed the shades on an otherwise sunny life. Before you put up bars, blocking me from everything in this world that I love. I love to share this smile with people. I love to show this world that I am happy, that I am strong. I love to flash it at the love of my life when he’s watching me make dinner, when we’re walking down the street together, when he holds my hand in the car, when he simply says my name and holds in that one word without a doubt the promise that my world is complete and beautiful.

I love my talents. Although you never took the time to notice, I’m actually good at a lot of things. I love to show people the things that I can do with my own two hands, things that I’m not afraid to do anymore. Thinks I’m not ashamed of anymore. Things that I was born to do. Things I wasn’t brave enough to do until now. I love to share with others my writing, my singing, my creativity. I love knowing that I have something completely unique to offer this world. I love not being afraid to showcase what I’ve got, not anymore.

I love my quirks. I believe you used to call them “flaws,” or “problems.” Yeah, they’re not. I love the gap in my teeth and the weird, curly way that my hair does whatever it wants and doesn’t dry the way I’d imagined it would. I love my fair skin and my freckles. I love to let others see the real me, and see everything that I am. I love not living in fear and thinking that I’m going to upset you or that I’ll make a wrong move and expose too much of my real self. I love being unapologetically me.

I love my life. It’s now full of beautiful people and positive things and all of the good stuff a girl’s life is supposed to be full of. I love my boyfriend and my pets and my little house that I forget to clean sometimes. I love my wonderful family that worries about me too much and sometimes doesn’t understand me but loves me for who I am anyway. I am so deeply, truly, irrevocably in love with this life that I have. This life, that was reborn out of the ashes that you left behind when you finished burning me down and taking from me every last ounce of will that I could give you.

So yes, love. Love is about me and loving myself and letting the right people love me. So thank you for giving me the opportunity to show myself how strong I am. Thank you for letting me fall back in love with myself. If you hadn’t knocked me down so damn low, I wouldn’t have been able to rebuild myself. I wouldn’t have loved myself ever again. I wouldn’t have found the love of my life, and therefore wouldn’t have known what true love is.

I love me. More than you ever could.

What makes you tick?

I often envision my short temper much like a timer. I can feel each tick, tick, tick striking another nerve. My anxiety grows just waiting for that god-awful buzzer.

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.

I’m not proud of it, my temper. My boyfriend is a gem for putting up with it. I honestly don’t know how he does it sometimes. Some days I can’t even stand myself when I get mad. Although my time to anger has lengthened as of late (you’d be surprised at what a huge difference a change of kept company makes) my dad still swears up and down that I am just as hot-tempered as his father. Thanks, gramps.

So sitting here musing to myself while I may or may not have a desk full of work to do, I wondered: What is it that really grinds my gears?

What makes me tick?

I often don’t know exactly what it is that triggers my bursts of anger. It can happen at any given time. I actually used to wonder if I was possibly bipolar; that’s how bad my mood swings would be. But as I mentioned before, I made a few changes to the people that I decide to give my time to and it has made a world of difference! But I still haven’t been able to take care of the problem completely. And as my father has attributed me with his father’s short fuse, I don’t know that I ever will. Keeping these factors in mind, I have discovered a few key things that really light a fire under me.

  • Being interrupted. If I could pick one of the most annoying, hair raising, stomach churning occurrences, this would have to be it. When I’m mid-sentence and don’t have the opportunity to spit the rest of it out due to some ill-mannered a-hole, I see red. It makes me want to yell obscenities at them.
  • Bad grammar. Hence, the title of this blog. The amount of time I spend looking at social media amazes me because I’ve nearly thrown my phone at a wall on several occasions due to the severely illiterate posts of some ignoramuses.
  • People coughing/wiping their noses into their hands. Because, you know, immediately after this they are going to touch your pen or your desk or a door handle or a bus seat or really any other thing imaginable that can make my skin crawl for hours afterwards. There is not enough Lysol or Purell on this planet capable of consoling me after witnessing something like this.
  • New** My dog sitting next to me while I blog. As I was finishing this post up, my dog came and sat next to me and deleted half of what I had already written with his GIANT OBNOXIOUS PAW. This one’s for you, buddy. (Still love you, though.)

I don’t want this to turn into a huge rant sesh because we all know you’ve got better things to do than listen to me complain about my life, BUT I would love to hear from you guys about what makes you tick. What makes your stomach churn, your skin crawl, your insides burn with rage? Because I’ve proven to myself that at any given moment, one can feel all of these emotions collectively and the results are not that pretty. (LOLZ)

 

 

 

Asking for your help! A little V-Day inspiration!

Greetings to you on this loveliest of Valentine’s Days! Sitting here on my couch with the love of my life and our two dogs, binge-watching Netflix and eating MSG-loaded Chinese food (just the way we like it!) has got me thinking about how I got to this place. How the collection of all of the moments of my life have led up to this point. And I have never felt such a contentment.

Now, I know that every day we should appreciate our significant others and make sure that they know they are loved. But in the spirit of the holiday, I’ve begun to wonder: What is it that makes us each realize our true happiness? What is it that people who are out there looking for love are specifically hoping to find? What qualities make your heart skip a beat? What words to you need to hear to know you are loved? How do you know you’ve found the one?

So that’s what I’m here for today; to simply ask you what makes ‘the one’ the one.

Share your thoughts with me in honor of the gushy, feel-good, butterflies-in-your-tummy stuff.

And Happy Valentine’s Day to you and your special someone! Whether it be male, female, human, or your fur child, rock out the holiday in style! Even if you’re going it solo!