Saturday, June 24, 2006

Honesty dichotomy

I've been thinking about this dilemma for awhile now. After encountering what seems like daily situations that call for some type of personality altering, unable to say what you really want to say but instead having to juggle 14 flaming bullshit balls and/or mustering from the deepest depth of the better, nicer part of your soul, restraint and a thin smile of control followed by a calm retort instead of the double fisted neck punch you'd rather wield, I ask you this;

Are we truly honest?

For those of us running around bragging about how we tell it like it is sistah friend z-snap! Do we really? Do we really offer up genuine frankness to family, friends, strangers alike or do we only think we do. Or an even better question, is it even fucking possible to do so? Can we, you, I, whatever, actually say what's scrolling on the message board in our heads? I don't know.

Mind you, I'm not talking about the runny verbal malaria that some people dribble down their falsely stoic chins that leave you saying, now was that fucking necessary? Or the inappropriate utterings that some people can't manage to keep inside their size 16 brains crammed into a size 4 skull, such as, my GOD your hair looks like a birds nest that was blown out of a tree in a class 4 hurricane then torn apart by wild hamsters right after a tribe of pygmy's shit on it. Because that would not be cool.

I'm talking about being able to, having the right to, is it alright to, state facts. Not to injure, but to alleviate the incredible amount of god damn bullshit we have to take in and dish out when in fact a nice hot steaming plate of candor would smell as sweet as summer roses in the sun. At least sometimes. Sweet jesus, just sometimes.

For instance, I recently had a conversation with a known dingbat at my company. This person has always been a dingbat and will forever be a dingbat. She used to send me paperwork that was never, ever correct. Fucking hell, how hard is it to remember to sign something? The first few times I always give someone a break, understanding that most people need to get into the swing of things. But after 4 SOLID YEARS of calling and correcting the dingbat I realized she gave much, much less than a cheeto-sized shit about any of it and my patience went out the window right with my kindness. Or my version of kindness which is the absence of irritation because I am a nice person. See?

Anyway, I saw her in the cafeteria and thought I'd stop and say hi. It was the first Tuesday of the month you see and that's the day I always set aside to be nice to one person for five minutes. We proceeded to have this strangely passive-aggressive chat where I'd say something like, "yea, I really prided myself in being the expert" and she'd reply with an uppity air about her, "oh yes, I had a whole list of things I had to do so I wouldn't get screamed at by Betty." ~snotty smile~

OK, first thing, I rarely if ever scream. If I did, people 2 states away would hear it and something would be mentioned on your local 5:00 news. Secondly, you smug slut, maybe if you bothered to read company policy or my directions oh, lets say, just one of the 17 thousand times I sent them to you you wouldn't have to get continually schooled by me after doing them consistently wrong for YEARS ON END. And please excuse me while I fantasize about shoving your dingbat face into your beef with broccoli until you're blowing meat bubbles through your nose.

This retardation went on for a few more minutes until I rolled my eyes and walked away. While thinking what a waste of time that crap was and why did I do that I also thought to myself, how awesome would it have been to have busted out with some unadulterated, pure honesty? I imagined putting my hand 2 inches from her nose in the universal sign for STOP and simply saying, "OK. This conversation is over. You are stupid and I don't like you. I've never liked you. You're kind of a bitch and we don't have to ever talk again. OK? OK." See? No blood shed, just an end to CRAP.

Calling someone to the carpet wouldn't have to be a throw-down all the time, but more like a revelation that we don't have to do that dance with each other any more. The relief would be palpable and the satisfaction sweet. But of course you can't do that, especially in the corporate world where things are run like a high school gym locker where you titter and gossip behind the head cheerleaders back that she's a drunken whore but you have to kiss her ass in person or your life is ruined. Come to think of it, that sounds like life in general.

I dream of a time when we'll all be able to tell some fucker on the other end of the phone who has some aspect of your life in their hands that they need to stop talking to you like you're a petulant child with the IQ of Paris Hilton minus the bank account. Oh, you wanted to see the doctor soon? Does 4:00 a.m. September 2015 work for you? Please hold.

But as it stands now, you can't call them on their ego trip because they can fuck you up. And trust me, many, many times I have verbally smacked someone around for being a dick and it's has come back to haunt me. Even when I had every right to tell the nasty piece of work that they were as ridiculous as a pig in a prom dress and save the attitude Mary, you're a RECEPTIONIST.

And don't even think that you can tell someone who's supposed to be your friend that they're shit-nut crazy and nearly every one of their personal crises are lame. That is impossible. Might as well tie yourself to a stake and light the match.

Years ago I took some American Sign Language classes and I was really interested to learn that deaf people don't have as many fiberglass walls of fabrication like the rest of us do. They just tell it like it is. I can't remember the genesis of that cultural difference but it made sense. They were naturally tougher skinned and it took a lot less time and effort to communicate with each other, especially if you were trying to eat a 1 pound super mega burrito or something. You'd need both hands.

But we're really not groomed to do that and in our world of the uber-PC, it's hardly possible. God forbid you tell someone the truth, they'll sue you for emotional bruising and I really think a large percentage of people have turned into control freaks and in this wacky world we live in people need to exert any tiny speck of control they can.

This is why the kid in customer service for your local cable company is such a god damn nasty assbusting shitstain smacking gum in your ear and audibly sighing with boredom when you call to complain that your internet connection has gone down for the 19th time and then "transfers" you to the repair department which ends up being a dial tone.

Furthermore, we women naturally get the short end of the stick in the honesty bizness since we are raised to just smile and look pretty, don't make waves dear, be a good girl. Or in other words, keep your mouth shut. Well, I say that's crap. We all need to carry a pair of balls in our Kate Spades and be brave enough to take them out and shake them in someone's face and speak up for ourselves when it's warranted.

But if you can't do this as often as you'd like, blog. For fuckssake, write about it.


I'd starting writing this slightly disjointed please forgive me I'm distracted post before I saw a great meme on my friend Kat's blog. She's a kick-ass chick with a chili pepper sense of humor and more brains than should be allowed. Go read her stuff when you have a chance. In the meantime, I'm taking her challenge.

The idea is to write 15 honest statements to anyone you want to, dead or alive, past or present, but no names. And I'd love it if you'd join me (all 4 of you) on your own blogs or better yet, say something in my comments. And remember, you can say anything you want to, just leave out the names, especially if you're writing about me.

Here are mine:

1. You should be banished to a small island with only enough food to keep you fed for a week at a time but you only get supplies once a month.

2. I think you're a really bad parent and shouldn't have had kids.

3. I purposefully manipulate your feelings because you fucked me over once, bad enough that you need to pay for it until I think you're done.

4. I knew you were bad from the start but I dove in anyway.

5. You were not as smart as I am and I respected you less because of it.

6. No, it was not good for me too. I looked at my watch over your shoulder the whole time.

7. I think you're stupid for letting him back into your life over and over and over.

8. We get along OK but really I think you're a creepy serial killer who probably has people buried under your house.

9. I don't read your blog because I'm seething with jealousy over your fan base and the attention you receive.

10. I know you've had a hard time loving me but I've learned you did the best you could.

11. I hate you for what you did and I'll never forgive you.

12. You are certifiably ca-razy.

13. I know you only come to me when you need something.

14. I'll always regret not having the guts to kiss you when I had the chance.

15. I. See. Right. Through. You.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Cooperation Please!

Today is my baby's birthday and it would be aces if anyone and everyone who cruises past my blog (all 3 of you) would go over to his and give him some good wishes and internet lovin'. He's the most super awesome person (even if he does leaves the fucking lights on all over the house) and he deserves an awesome birthday. So indulge me, please! Thanks!


Friday, June 16, 2006

Another One of My Very Good Ideas (patent pending)

I think all cars should come with a choice of horn honks. No, not the kind like the AAAOOOOOGAH crap that old men with handle bar mustaches dyed black as shoe polish put in their souped up "jalopies" that they drive in the Fourth of July parade while they toss the cheap Brach's candy at kids with painted faces and secretly ogle teenage girls boobs. I'm talking about a noticeable difference in pitch and tone and sound that will convey a clear and definite message to the asshole, I mean, driver you wish to communicate with.

Something like a friendly little beep beep that emits the auditory equivalent of Snow White singing her gentle song to the sparrows in the forest while smiling down on Bambi who's lovingly licking the forehead of Thumper and yes I know I'm cross-pollinating Disney epics here but stick with me. A sweet wee announcement made without causing anyone's heart to stop, anger to flare or handgun to be retrieved from the glove compartment to make the person in front of you aware that:

beep beep. The (fucking) light turned green like beep 10 seconds ago could you please (fucking) beep go now? Thanks!

And then there's also the need for a medium-level honk when you have to get a little more forceful in a situation that calls for something akin to asserting your rights without getting into a knock-down-drag-out like when stop for gas and go buy some water or whatever and the freak behind the counter keeps trying to talk you into a cookie and you don't want a cookie because you have raging fucking PMS and the current craving of the moment is for salt so you have to get a little forceful and raise your voice a little bit while still smiling so he'll fucking shut up about it and ring up your mini can of cheese pringles before you shove them up his grimy ass.

Hoooonk, hey buddy, you're gettin' a little close there hooonk get back over in your fucking hoooonk lane don't make me hoooonk come over there. Thanks!

And clearly we need a signal bigger and badder than regular cars have now for those times when a grievous injustice has been served upon you and the gloves are off baby I'll take you down, down to China town like when your less than three-year-old gas water heater inexplicably dies on a Friday night and the bitch who's so fucking lucky is not within reaching distance that you get on the phone to ask about the warranty keeps telling you that it's your responsibility to take the damn thing apart and check for dust bunnies before she'll give you the info when there's no way you're ever touching a gas appliance and she is so fucking snotty that you finally scream EAT SHIT into the phone and hang up.


Anyone have Honda's phone number? I think this could work.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Rest in peace, P

She passed away last week...

It's amazing how 5 little words can shake your foundation like a 7.2 quake and when you live in tremor-land you know how earth shattering that can be. Leaving jittery knees, a deep frown and an instant plunge down memory lane while it shoves the mirror of your own life right into your face for a good, hard look.

I'd only been at work for a short time this morning when I saw the little yellow envelope alerting me to a new message. I'd just cleared out my inbox and was curious and excited since I don't get many e-mails any more, (you'd think that would be a good thing but fuckshit I'm bored.) My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I saw the name, an old friend and co-worker I'd lost touch with and carried just a bit of animosity for since she was one that actually got pissed at me for getting cancer. Yes, I know that sounds retarded but it's true. Well, she might not have been pissed at me for getting sick but she railed my ass for how I told her and I was equally pissed at that reaction and we haven't talked since but I'm getting off track.

I was trepidatious to open the e-mail since I had no idea what it might say, and since I talked a little shit about her a few weeks ago to another mutual friend I was anticipitating a potential thrashing but so be it. What I read couldn't have been farther from what I thought it was going to be.

And there were those 5 little words.

She passed away last week. My breath got caught in my chest and I had to read it again. Then again. Then once again. But this can't be right. She wasn't that old, maybe late fifties, younger than my own mother for sure, and one of the orneriest bitches I've ever known. Surely I'd read something wrong. If only that were true.

She was not only the kick-ass mom of some high-school friends I was pretty damn tight with for a few years but she was the woman responsible for taking me out of retail hell when the lame, fake marketing company I had been working for went belly-up and didn't pay me my last months wages. She saw me working a counter at Nordstrom, stomped across the carpet right over to me and shoved her business card in my hand while saying "What the hell are you doing? We need to get your ass out of here, now!" She hired me the next week.

In my shock I managed to pick up the phone and call another old co-worker to get the details. A massive stroke. She made it about a week then her body couldn't hold on any longer. She'd never really taken care of her health and had been battling a host of problems in the last few years and this is why she didn't make it. Needless to say, that fact has scared the shit out of me today.

For those of us left to mourn, we find solace in the fact that she died with her family around her. Unfortnately it was the same day as her only grand-baby's first birthday but we all agree she'd want it that way so no one ever fucking forgets her. She was never one to pass an opportunity to be the center of attention and I know she's laughing over that karmic joke.

I have a lot of mixed feelings about this today because to be brutally honest, she was fucking mean. She was one of the most nasty people I've ever known. I worked with her for almost 8 years and saw her routinely scare the piss out of people for the fun of it. She was so passive aggressive she used to walk up to me, size up my outfit and say something like, "Wow, Betty, it's amazing how you can look so good in such an ugly color."

I used to say her heart was made of a small lump of coal but you know what? That lump had a diamond in the middle of it and she'd be the first one to tell you the karat weight. She was smart, really smart, and dealt with a Mt. Everest pile of shit in her life and never, EVER let anyone see her sweat. She worked for a mother fucker for years and made it work. She would eat glass before she'd let you see a tear roll down her face. I admire that. I really fucking admire that. I wish I was like that.

She intimidated the hell out of people and pushed you to grow a thicker skin. She wanted you to show your strengths and not your weaknesses, she just made you bleed a little first. She'd also listen to you and hug you when you cried and laugh so loud it would rattle your brain and if you were lucky she'd throw you a compliment and you knew she meant it. She was honest to a fault and took life by the balls.

I believe some people come in and out of your life for a reason. We can't possibly remember everyone but some make an idelible mark. She was one of those people. If it wasn't for her I wouldn't be where I am today, wherever that is, or have the career I have, as much as I hate it, but the roads I've traveled have led me here and this is where I'm supposed to be. I learned a lot from her and I hope my crappy memory doesn't fail me so I can reminisce all of the good times in the 20 + years I've known this incredible lady.

She was only 61. She was too young to die. She was a character and a half. And I'll miss her.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Holy Crap!!

Is it June already? Seriously. JUNE? As in, almost half-way through the year? The start of yet another summer where I will swelter and swear and swoon in the sun, and fuck, I haven't even written my New Year's resolutions yet.

And don't you just hate it when people are all like, oh my stars, is it really ~insert random date and/or holiday~ and you're all, yes, dumbass, it is, time marches on you know, the calender doesn't wait for you so stop living with your head up your ass and pay attention!

Unless of course I say it then you must nod in agreeance and say, yes, yes Betty, it's unbelievable that it's already June. I hadn't even thought about it until you, in your brilliant wisdom, pointed it out. Thank you for making me realize that I've been living in a fog of my own retardation. You are smart and pretty.

And speaking of foggy retardation...

I've had severe writers block lately. And conversation block. And now that I mention it, my shitter ain't workin' neither. But then it never does. I can't even tell you how annoying it is when your entire lower half has a mind of it's own and a devilish sense of humor. Hmm, today you have 3.2 seconds to get to the bathroom! HA HA, almost didn't make it, did ya? Tomorrow you'll take a seat in el baƱo with cramping and pain but nothing will happen! Nyah nyah, gotcha! And I even ate that salad that one day so there was fiber! WTF?

I could say that I don't really know what's going on, but I do. Unfortunately I know exactly what I'm doing, or rather, not doing. I'm in EXIST mode. I'm not necessarily depressed, at least I don't feel depressed, but I don't want to do, well, anything. I'm still super bored at work and feeling like I'm contributing jackdiddlydoodleshit to the universe, still hating my commute and not enjoying my passive-aggresive beasts from beyond co-workers, but hell, you can pay me XX a year to play 10 games of spider solitaire every day and surf the net.

Or is it really a bad thing? Am I making things worse by staying here? And I'm not moving forward because it's comfortable? Fuck. I don't know.

I don't feel like writing or reading much or stepping foot out of the house. I'd rather lay in bed all day and flip through 275 channels of crap and snuggle with Boo when she's not crabbing at me to leave her the fuck alone. I'm just friggen tired and never feel good. Ever.

I don't want to think about dishes or laundry or paying bills, which I don't do until the thumb breakers call me and say, would you like to give us some money or would you prefer to cook your dinner by butane torch? I drove past my chiropractors office the other day, skipping my appointment, and didn't even care. And I don't want to make the hundredjillion doctors appointments I should be making.

I have a lot of interests and ideas and pontential goals, but I've stepped into quicksand and simply shrugged my shoulders about it. And this is all not fair to anyone, especially the love of my life who deserves more than a chronically migrainy ailing sloth in yoga pants who doesn't have the energy or will to warm her cooked the night before scrambled eggs with spinach and onions in the microwave and eats them cold and dewey with a dirty spoon from the bottom of her desk drawer.

I've always been high on wants and low on motivation, but this is rigoddamndiculous. I'm not the kind of person who should take it easy. Cruising through life for me means wasting oodles of time doing nothing, and that's where I am right now. I know that I could never work full-time at home because if that was the case I wouldn't even shower every day and most likely spend the majority of the day napping and whacking off and those are things you're only supposed to do on Sunday.

It's important to have goals. To think about them then set them then strive for them and one day achieve them. Shit, they taught us that in fucking first grade, you'd think by now I would have believed it, because if you don't, then you become complacent and apathetic and LAZY. Just like me. And dammit, now I'm kinda depressed!!


On a lighter note. I'm obsessed with The Dog Whisperer. I'm talking stalker-level unhealthy I want to be him for Halloween please don't shoot me if I show up at your front door obsessed. He's a genius, has some questionable taste in shirts, but a GENIUS. He can fix any dog with any problem 99% of the time by taking it for a walk. A walk! That's it? Yes! A walk.

It doesn't matter if the dog is a killer pitbull who ate your great grandmother last Thanksgiving or a chihuahua that humps your dress shoes. A walk is the cure. Got a mutt who's afraid of it's own shadow? Take it for a walk. Does your poodle piddle? Get the leash.

It really is amazing how he can teach people to fix unwanted and super f-d up behaviors in such a short time and with what ends up being simple techniques. And it's equally amazing how many dog owners don't know fuckshit about dogs or how to treat them. I'd rather these people have another screaming child the world has to endure than someone who's ruined an innocent puppy by letting it lick their ballsac because they think it's cute.

It would change my life forever if I could do what he does, train dogs and rehabilitate people. I'd be an awesome pack leeeeeder. But that would take effort and we all know I'm a quart and a half low on that.

Maybe I need to go for a walk.