Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Someone take my face, please

Thank you all so much for the kind words and most of all for the perspective you've given me this week. Diane told me at our visit in December that she was leaving this world without regret, then said she worried her mothering might not have always been the best which I disagreed with (anyone who cracks their 2 teenage daughters heads together when they're being bitches gets an A+ in my book), but I was glad to hear that she didn't have any monkeys hanging out on her back at the end of her life.

Thinking about my last day with her and from reading your comments (3 times each) it made me look at the subject of regret differently, since I've been beating my own ass pretty darn good the last couple of days. I've always thought that anyone without remorse or thoughts of self-accusation were lying to themselves. In fact, I still think it's dangerous to meet anyone who says they regret nothing they do because what stops them from perpetrating whatever harmful thing they want? They won't care so what's preventing them from eating a bag of puppies or worse? It's a scary thought, isn't it.

But perhaps there's a fine line between regret and truly letting go of things you cannot change. Maybe when you're on your death bed, or hell, in living your life too, it's not about fooling your own mind but accepting that things cannot be changed now. I know so many of us spend lifetimes kicking the shit out of ourselves over situations that happened a hundred million years ago. Circumstances beyond our control, or happenstances that took twists and turns and the universe was dictating the tides of change and whatever shit went down it's done and over with now. A bell cannot be unrung so stop squeezing it with all your might. You know?

Things happen the way they happen and it's time to stop staring backwards and pay attention to today while looking forward to tomorrow. Move on and savor every fucking minute you can. Of course, the threat of regret, having a moral compass and being a person who possesses sympathy and empathy keeps people from devouring that bag of puppies, but it's a waste of precious time and energy to wallow in the past. The most important thing is to learn from your mistakes or situations that went belly up but do not harbor regrets forever, dragging them around like invisible balls and chains. Eventually they'll weigh you down for real.

Life is too fucking short.

It's true. I didn't see her one last time. It just didn't work out. And if I'm in that situation again I won't let that happen, I'll do more, try harder. But we had a wonderful time on that Saturday afternoon and we both got say how much we loved each other, how much we meant to each other, and I was able to tell her how special she was to me. I was lucky to have had the 30 + years of experiences with her. And that's what I will now carry with me forever.


Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Still sick. Still with the hacking and sneezing and FREAKING NOSE TICKLE. This fucking cold has been like a week-long allergy attack with a hangover and constipation. Don't think I'm kidding about the constipation, either, stupid cold medicine. And (once again) thank you for all the nice comments you left. I was going to reply on that post but I don't want to get my viral germs all over you nice people.

By Saturday morning I knew my crud had taken a turn for the worse and I drove my snotting ass to urgent care where I witnessed a teenager sobbing and holding her guts with her mother staring in the opposite direction, lips pursed in disgust, knuckles white from clutching her handbag in anger. Me thinks the head cheerleader had more fun than I did on Friday night but ended up feeling much worse by the morning. I felt like shit but at least I hadn't puked peppermint Schnapps for 5 hours straight and I wasn't going to be grounded until the age of 25.

I was finally called back to the triage area and after I refused to step on the scale (nurse: but you have to, me smiling: no I don't) the doc spent a quality 4 minutes with me and diagnosed acute bronchitis of which I said, "Really? Was it my impersonation of an asthmatic sea lion that gave it away?" That did not get a laugh, can you believe that? Someone in the medical profession who doesn't possess a sense of humor. Shocking. I. Know.

I, in fact, was actually told I have asthma late last year so I guess this bronchitis thing is nothing to scoff at since I got a wide-eyed and poignant warning from Dr. Chuckles that THIS IS SERIOUS, YOUNG LADY, TAKE THE MEDICATION AND KEEP YOUR INHALER CLOSE BY. Jeez, doc, OK. Chill out. ~bark~

I went to the pharmacy and got a bottle of bright red prescription extra special cough syrup that was supposed to be jam-packed with codeine but let me tell you, not a fucking deine have I found. Not only does it taste like liquid asshole but it doesn't give me even a hint of a buzz. I get a better high from the Vick's Vapor rub I've been slathering all over my chest. What a rip.

While I was at the drugstore a poor little old lady in front of me was arguing that her "diabeetus" strips couldn't possible cost that much and there's no way she'll pay that amount and the little girl with the white coat said, I'm sorry ma'am, but you did pay that much last month and your insurance sets the price then the entire 4 sentence exchange was repeated again and again and again. I felt bad for the geezer but fucking hell, just call your insurance company and get the fuck out of my way before I cough up a lung.

Then some dude was trying to give everyone behind the counter shit about having to wait another 5 minutes for his toe-jam cream or whatever and launched into a tirade about why does it take so long it's never taken longer than 10 minutes before and finally I'd had enough of humans so I raised my raspy voice and said "it took longer because it's a Saturday morning at the height of cold and flu season SO STOP GIVING THEM SHIT!" He looked a little scared, grabbed his paper bag and left. Everyone behind the counter smiled at me except I sort of scared the kid ringing me up too. Sheesh, people are so sensitive. ~hack~

Since I was again loaded up with drugs and lots of free time with the sneezing and the pouting I picked up some movies to pass the time while I was consumed with consumption in bed. I decided to get flicks that I would consider chick-ish, or at least things whitey wouldn't be interested in seeing since he had still gone on our mini-vacation to vist his friend where he was busy having fun and NOT CALLING TO CHECK ON ME. Ahem. (Sorry, babe, but you deserve a little sac pinching over that one.)

Anyway, I picked up 4 movies that I will now warn you NOT to get because they were each exceptionally awful in their own unique ways.

Brain-sucking dung:

John Tucker Must Die. What a pile of teenage excrement. You could practically smell the beer and sliced carrots laced crap. Despite this fact this one was the by far the least offensive shitbag I watched, it was still nearly unbearable and I think I lost about 5 IQ points in 90 minutes. Unbelievable characters. Unbelievable circumstances. Unbelievable that I paid for it.

Someone on the IMDB message boards had the audacity to compare this brainless pile of poo to Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Of which I say, listen you uneducated panty-sniffing heathen. John Tucker couldn't share the same air in the same country on the same planet as Ferris Bueller. John Tucker isn't worth the tiny shreds of shed skin on the soap scum floating in the used bathwater of Ferris Bueller. John Tucker is not, never was, has no hopes in every layer of hell that exists, ever going to come close to the perfection that is, FBDO. So SUCK IT hottboi105. You are an idiot.

Next up and hide the sharp knives:

Friends With Money. Ugh. I didn't find out that this one was a Sundance submission until after I watched it or else I would have thrown it onto the ground of Hollywood video and run the other way. The story was like a book that had 100 chapters but every other page ended in a fragmented sentence with ellipses at the end and nothing was ever really resolved. I kept saying to myself, wha? Huh? What about? WHA? And the ending left more shit up in the air with also a way-too-convenient ending for Jennifer I Have The Acting Range Of A Turnip Aniston, which, glarg. Stupid.

And I could not get past Frances McDormands hair, which was actually part of the story-line but why bother? Her coif looks like wind-blown shit in every movie she does where she's just dialing it in (Laurel Canyon, Something's Gotta Give, North Country, Six Feet Under, need I go on?) I bet they had to add the story-line of her skanky hair into the movie after they started shooting because everyone was like, fucking A, Frankie, would you run a comb through that rats nest once and awhile? And she was like, I'm an Oscar winner and I went to Yale and I'm married to a Coen brother. I don't need to brush my hair. To which I say, yes, Frances, yes you do.

My biggest warning:

The Black Dahlia. This one really pissed me off. I was pissed that I didn't listen to my instincts and the few reviews that I had heard that is was just horrible and pissed that they took a mystery I happen to be fascinated with and trounced all over it like little nasty monkey children through a mud puddle. The first 20 seconds had me rolling my eyes when who's that kid, that kid some girls swoon over but he's fairly untalented and too skinny and also has hair issues? Oh yea, Josh Hartnett. When Josh was shown on screen swaggering about with his own voice doing a very bad imitation of a classic film noir movie from the 40's.

The storyline is confusing, the acting deplorable, the characters retarded, and it has virtually nothing to do with the original case. Well, it might have farther in but I couldn't take any more at about minute 31 and turned this piece of shite off. Anyone who gave this movie more than 2 stars on Netflix is not to be trusted. Just. Say. No.

I, um, can't explain why:

Step Up. I pretty much deserve everything I get for putting this into my DVD machine and hitting play. Be kind. I'm sick. ~hack~

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