Michigan Sky Blue and Me.

So, as I begin this new post, I think about all of my "to do blogs." Ugh. So much to do, so little time. What a cliche!

This post has NOTHING to do with my to-dos. It's just random... and necessary.

Today, at the age of 45...

(I think that's how old I am... seriously, I cannot keep count, I think I am EVEN numbered when my babies are ODD [19, 25, 27], so yes, I will be 46 in August... omg. It's utterly frightful to look at that number...)

I went for a mani/pedi with my forever friend. What a glorious morning, even though it was IN FACT... MORNING. As I age, I find that I slip more and more into my default self. Really though? It is actually quite freeing, in a sense, to finally have the balls to be... ME. However, it's a complete shame that most people (especially women), do not have the balls to be THEMSELVES until their face begins to wrinkle, boobs begin to sag, ass begins to grow stupidly, and those damn joints begin to ache. Damn you, Mother Time.

In any case, HERE I AM. I am aging and I am present. But mostly, this day made me realize that what I like and what makes me feel RIGHT actually matters.

That being said...

( I once had an accounting professor that always said, "That being said..." which I loved because it meant, ding, ding, TIME TO MAKE THE POINT, and lemme tell you how many other professors have marked that term in the many papers I have written as, "unnecessary"! )

Mofos, I had my fingernails and toenails painted sky blue today. Yeah. That's right, sky blue (Michigan sky blue, not Colorado sky blue)! How fun to swerve from the stupid slut red or neutrals that I have always felt comfy with and go with a color that I normally detest. BLUE. BLUE? C'mon, peeps, blue is a faded, bleached version of purple, which is my all-time favorite, and yet, I still went with blue. I went with sky blue on my bedroom accent walls, as well. It's a mid-life-crisis-phase, I tell you! But it feels just fine! 🙂

So that's the point of this post; paint your nails whatever color makes you happy. I asked the clinictian, as she was grinding at my toes and calouses (I work a lot, you know, and even Alegria shoes can not prevent the signs of hard work) if "I was too OLD for the color." She said no, of course (OF COURSE she would say whatever pleases her client!), but I did it anyway. Blue, peeps!

Just live. That's what people need to focus on. Not petty issues like politics or "do these pants make my butt look bigger." Focus on what's valuable, like... people who are in your life, regardless of your mistakes, and stupid nail polish that makes you feel HAPPY! Do it, peeps, but harm none. Yeah. The first law of life should be "harm none."

Harm none.

Duuuuumb Bitch: Liposuction

Oh daaaaang…

lip·o·suc·tion
ˈlipōˌsəkSH(ə)n,ˈlīpōˌsəkSH(ə)n
noun
  1. a technique in cosmetic surgery for removing excess fat from under the skin by suction.
lipo-
combining form
  1. relating to fat or other lipids.
    “liposuction”

Mmm k. So let’s talk about Duuuuumb Bitch #3, aka, Duuuuumb Bitch: Liposuction.

So, so… this one time, a long, long time ago, I had a friend. I will not disclose her real name because that would suck, so we’ll just refer to her as #3.

So this friend, #3, we met through a mutual acquaintance (of sorts) and we related quickly. She had a great sense of humor, I have a great sense of humor, she liked to drink, I like to drink, she was smart, I am smart, she liked cats, I love cats, she was educated, I dreamed of being educated, and, most profoundly, I returned, to her, her stolen tent (that’s another story, I dunno when I’ll go there.)

Oh… she thought I was grand for returning her stolen tent to her, such an honest deed! And lemme tell you, I felt honored to be worshipped by someone such as her (Howver, to type that now makes me want to vomit in my mouth).

We continued to connect. We would exercise together, go to bars together, attempt one-night-stands together (no, not with each other, shit-head, ‘nother story, ‘nother time), she would buy gifts for my children, I would buy gifts for her cats and help her decorate her house (that’s my thing), but overall, I would sit there, like a fuckin’ idiot, and let her think she was better than me. I never caught on. Yeah. How’s THAT for a me-duuuuumb bitch??

Ok, so that all might sound haughty and gangsta-like. Like, I wanna fight and blame the world for my dumbness. But no. I was dumb then (‘nother story, ‘nother time) for not seeing through her bullshit (BS) sooner.  So, anyway, here’s the point of the story…

… one day we were both getting ready to go out (to the bar, of all places, of course). We were in my bathroom (my kids were away for their fathers’ weekend) doing our primping. Granted, neither her nor I were big into dressing slutty, but we wanted to be fresh, clean, and ready to conquer. You know, feeling good about how you look gives you confidence… and I was plucking my eyebrows. #3 watched me for a minute and stated, “Girl, I believe in being real, I let mine grow all natural!” No biggie. Her brows were fine “all natural.” My uni-brow would not be fine. We went out and had fun.

A few days or weeks later, we were working out together. We were running up and down her condo stairs, working our gluts and thighs. We were both huffing, puffing, sweating, but only I was swearing. I was always a pace behind her (I knew this is where I should stay, ‘nother story, ‘nother time) and as we were nearing the end of our workout, we were both struggling and our true colors (and profanity) were seeping through. Neither of us minded this, but I couldn’t help but notice how, as we would struggle with taking the stairs two at a time, she would grab her saddle-bags and exclaim, “Uhg! YES! Work it, RIGHT HERE!! RIGHT THERE! R – I – G- H – T      T- H – E – R – E!!” I was too tired, at the time, to care and I barely registered it. However, later? Later (as I visualize her saddle-bags, which were bad, but I’ve seen worse and never have really been judgey about body flaws such as that), I laugh. I laugh at that Duuuuumb Bitch.

She told me, sometime after that workout, that she loves running stairs because it works her saddlebags. She said she strives to build muscle there because that’s right, that’s WHERE SHE HAD LIPOSUCTION w/out skin removal.

Again, no biggie, until a forever friend of mine pointed out the time she scoffed at my plucking of the eyebrows, claiming she was into “all natural”….

WTF, #3… Duuuuumb Bitch! Liposuction? How the fuck is THAT all natural?!?

#ourworldisfucked, #duuuuumbbitch

 

Duuuuumb Bitch: Spider & Barbie

So, let's start with Duuuuumb Bitch #1, aka, Duuuuumb Bitch & the Spider:

  • Duuuuumb Bitch #1 was talking to me, at a social gathering. We were getting along just fine, in fact, we (at least I was) were finding conversation easy and fruitful. We were chuckling over small-time atrocities (like husbands) and relating on levels that young moms do. Then, hubby came up behind me and smack-picked at my back and said, "Poochie, there was a huge spider on your back! I got it!" I was appalled, of course, because who doesn't suffer on some level from arachnophobia, and exclaimed (probably) with a colorful freak-out of profanity. Duuuuumb Bitch #1 observed this fiasco and then calmly replied to me (us), in between stuffy giggles, "Oh yes! I watched that spider crawl into your hair!" WTF, Duuuuumb Bitch?!? Regardless of what level you are on with a person, wouldn't MOST people take a stand against those that crawl on eight legs??? Needless to say, the evening ended with me paying attention to my husband, which is a rarity. Damn you, Duuuuumb Bitch #1... 

And there's Duuuuumb Bitch #2, aka Duuuuumb Bitch & Barbie:

  • Duuuuumb Bitch #2 and I, waaaay back in late 1970's, early 1980's, were playing Barbies, outside of the trailer I lived in, at the picnic table. She and I would always trade Barbie clothes, which I loved to do with her because she almost always had the better Barbie apparel. This was expected, of course, because her mother could afford a double-wide trailer and a generic Camaro (My mother drove a Buick Skylark). In any case, there we were, trading away. And though we were only 8 and 9 years old, Duuuuumb Bitch #2 would always make Barbie and Ken have sex. Rowdy, loud, ridiculous sex, that made me uncomfortable because I was afraid that the neighbors would hear and figure out what she was making Barbie and Ken do (my Ken and Barbie would only have sex in private). I told her to "Sssshhhh!" indicating my discomfort over people hearing what she was doing. Duuuuumb Bitch #2 stopped slamming Ken and Barbie together and looked at me with her eyes that peered out from beneath her huge, square, forehead. She shrugged and began throwing her dolls into her Barbie case. As she was doing this, she said, "You're so stupid. Even they..." (she indicated the brown with white trimmed single-wide across the street from my house) ..."say you're stupid. They watch you after you get off the bus, look around all secretly before you grab the hidden key from underneath the eaves on your shed.... You do it everyday, and they already know where your key is. They can get into your house anytime they want. They're right; you're so stupid." With that, she sauntered off on her tip-toes (because she always walked that way, which I now associate with a certain degree of A.D.D.) swinging her exquisite Barbie case and disappearing around the front of my white with brown trim single-wide trailer. I felt funny, watching her leave, because what she said was true, I did that, everyday, trying to be James Bondie about getting into my home, but also relieved because she held true to our trade and left the Barbie clothes that we'd exchanged. Funny (but not funny, peculiar) how we simply can not forget certain things... Of course her and I played together again after that, but her sister would always ash her fucking cigarettes into my hair at the bus stop in the mornings. Nobody would tell her to stop. Everybody at the bus stop would laugh and I would stand there... wishing to disappear. I would later shake my hair out, when nobody could see me.  Bus stop bully. I guess the sister could qualify as a Duuuuumb Bitch, but I never bothered to think about her enough. You know... she was so awful, I simply blocked her out. Duuuuumb Bitch.

Duuuuumb Bitch #3:

 

 

 

 

Just… own your shit.

Yeah. So, own it.

Own it if you’re a bitch. Don’t write it off as, “l’m sorry, my period’s coming.” No. Humans (unless they’re sociopathic and if that’s the case, we’ll need to cover those details in another post), CHOOSE THEIR BEHAVIOR. Don’t talk shit prematurely. If you do, and regret it, OWN IT. Please, bitches, don’t blame bad behavior on “periods” or “hormones” or, FOR GAWDS SAKE, “the baby kept me up all night and I am tired…”

There is never an excuse for bad behavior. And, though I would not consider myself a hardcore feminist, the above excuses simply hand MEN yet another reason to write off our needs as transient and less legitimate.

Ahh. So you find that you can not control your bitchiness (lol… join the club!)?? So then ACKNOWLEDGE it. Just like that. Own it. Your bitchiness is out of control. There is no shame in admitting to a self perceived weakness (thanks, Society), and accepting help. Whether it be therapy, yoga, healthy eating and exercise, structured play dates, better sex, or, FOR GAWDS SAKE, Prozac and coffee that boosts you towards a more powerful you, then… you do you! I mean, literally, Prozac and coffee, not just my .org.

Oh “blah, blah.” Maybe you’re offended by what I’ve stated here. Sorry, not sorry. Prozac & Coffee, that’s the name of the site. So. Luv it or leave it, but for GAWDS SAKE, give me credit for owning that I start everyday (legitimately) with Prozac and coffee. Black. It’s my life line. Admitting my “weakness” only helps me accomplish getting closer to the person I want to identify with.

I’m owning my shit.

Life is what you make it. So. Make it.

Yeah. So let’s post this from a qwerty keyboard on an iPhone. Damn! For an oldie like me, this is phenomenal!

”Phenomenal.” Now that’s a funny word because years ago an old friend mocked her sister for using “phenomenal” in an everyday convo… But here I am. I am using the word with all seriousness! ?

And lemme tell you… the drunker I get, the better life is and TRUST ME, life is already good because I have learned to appreciate my mess and know that the mess of others is MUCH worse! A quote I heard one time (so sorry, I cannot quote to give credit because I do not remember where I read the original  impression): “Attend a bonfire with many other people. Throw all of your “problems” into the fire, looking closely at what everyone else throws in as well. As an “almost guarantee, you will eagerly burn your hands to grab your own problems back.”

Meaning:  Be glad you’re you. Shut the fuck up already… and love what you’ve got.

’nuff said.