You’d think of all days, a Trypolar rant would be a sure thing today, but it’s not. I’ve been in this foggy haze all day and even find myself responding to happy valentine’s well wishers with a lighthearted “You too!”
Huh?
Like HUH?
WHAT THE FUCK?
I promise, I’m not high! Well I’m not high to the extent that would cause this kind of nauseating behaviour, honest!
Calm down Diane. Just calm the fuck down!
I’m still okay, yep, I’m still fine.
I think I know where this clueless behaviour comes from. It's not that I'm suddenly accepting Vday or now think it’s a super awesome holiday. My principles are still there and as strong as ever. The reason I’m not all angst filled is that I don’t feel the need to preach ALL THAT IS PURE SUCKAGE. Those who recognize Vday don’t infuriate me like they once did. Sure I think they’re missing the goddamn point and if you have that special someone in your life, every day should be special blah blah blah. Regardless, I will always have an issue with today and I just hope that that doesn't need explaination.
So with my size 10’s drilled deep into the sand I'll stand here with my arms crossed in complete defiance, which is usually the only time I grace the beach anyway. Yes I have size 10 feet. If I was a man I’d be hung like a Shetland Pony so fuck off.
PHEW!!!!!! Ya know, for a moment there, I actually thought I was going soft! Phew, WHAT A FUCKING RELIEF! PHEW!
So in honour of this joyous, and most sacred of holy days, I thought it appropriate to share my most romantic and heartfelt song, sung by Louise Beuvink who has the voice of an absolute angel. Please enjoy and HAPPY VALENTINES DAY TO ONE AND ALL. IN THE NAME OF THE MUTHA, THE FUCKER, AND THE HOLY SHIT, A'WOMEN.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Marbles
I need to set loose some of the little somethings in my head or they'll bounce around in there causing havoc and mayhem and I just can't have that, ya know...
Here's one of those marbles that needs freedom:
Is it just special coincidence that every single man I've come to know over the years, the failure of their prior relationship was never their fault?
Hmmmmmmm...
The word 'Conundrum' suddenly popped into my head. Arrgghhhh!!!
This may be the first time I have ever used that word let alone typed it out.
Oh the above excludes any men that read this. Teeheehee
(I'm allowed to do stupid shit too ya know! This post is most likely one of them.)
Here's one of those marbles that needs freedom:
Is it just special coincidence that every single man I've come to know over the years, the failure of their prior relationship was never their fault?
The word 'Conundrum' suddenly popped into my head. Arrgghhhh!!!
This may be the first time I have ever used that word let alone typed it out.
Oh the above excludes any men that read this. Teeheehee
(I'm allowed to do stupid shit too ya know! This post is most likely one of them.)
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Say No to Grandma Fighting
So I’m doing the usual “what’s going on in the world today” thing and low and behold I come across this story and like a baby that has short stubby arms that are just outta reach of the cookie jar, I am brought tears. Relax, unlike in the babies case, mine are happy tears :P Okay, so if you look closely at the bottom right of the video you can see her way down the street and she runs like a bat outta hell with her purse at the ready and full of whoop-ass and pixie dust to seriously bash some jewel thieving butt. Are you fucking kidding me??? Oh how I would love to meet this woman as it would definitely be one of the highlights of my life and I would genuinely be humbled by her presence while no typical celebrity could possibly rouse. These are the people I respect and adore so thank you Ann Timson, you are my hero. Hmmmm, I wonder, do you think it's possible she’d accept a bounty on my ex? I would just love to see him get smacked and slapped around by ‘The Lady in Red.’ ;) Nothing like a humongous dose of humiliation to the biggest bully I know, feeds ma soul. ;)
However, on the opposite side of the spectrum there is a cruel reminder of the exploitation of perfectly good Grandmas all over the world and I strongly feel that underground Grandma Fighting definitely needs to be outlawed. In places where Grandma Fighting is outlawed, its clandestine culture is believed to be directly related to other crimes and to community violence. Peripheral criminal activities that sometimes occur at a Grandma fight include illegal gambling, racketeering, drug trafficking, prostitution and gang violence. Grandma advocates also cite desensitization to violence and Grandma cruelty as an unwelcome corollary of Grandma fighting, particularly among child spectators. I am very proud to say that I am a passionate supporter of the humane treatment of Grandmas everywhere.
WARNING: Video below may be offensive to some viewers. 18+ only
However, on the opposite side of the spectrum there is a cruel reminder of the exploitation of perfectly good Grandmas all over the world and I strongly feel that underground Grandma Fighting definitely needs to be outlawed. In places where Grandma Fighting is outlawed, its clandestine culture is believed to be directly related to other crimes and to community violence. Peripheral criminal activities that sometimes occur at a Grandma fight include illegal gambling, racketeering, drug trafficking, prostitution and gang violence. Grandma advocates also cite desensitization to violence and Grandma cruelty as an unwelcome corollary of Grandma fighting, particularly among child spectators. I am very proud to say that I am a passionate supporter of the humane treatment of Grandmas everywhere.
WARNING: Video below may be offensive to some viewers. 18+ only
Monday, February 7, 2011
Polkaroo & Gary Gnu
"Oh Polkaroo! You certainly had a good trip!"
This definitely answers a lot of questions I've had about myself.
Yep, for sure it's 80's childrens television that has created the unstable pot head no good hippy I am today. Thanks for that!
31 Days from when?
Normally I don’t take notice of the shaggy haired mailman that brings the abundance of shitty junk mail that floods my mail box, but for some unexplained reason today I found myself reaching in that creaky box for what was inside. A sharp pain in my gut like a psychic slap to the face compelled me to check it which is something I haven’t done in months. There was never a need to since whatever worth acknowledging was sent to me electronically such as bills and statements. I actually found myself avoiding the mail box for fear of getting furious because some place I humored years ago would still send me their shitty surveys even though I’ve reamed out every representative within their customer service department. The envelope was thick and there was my address written in that basic printing that never advanced past a grade school level, a vaguely familiar printing that I immediately recognized. I knew, I just knew what this was and for a brief moment I was unsure of my feelings. Should I be upset? Finality. Just a short time ago I would have at least cried a little but surprisingly I was reacting to these divorce papers as I would have one of those annoying surveys or maybe even less. It’s been over for years yet I sit here not knowing how to react. Would it be so wrong if I didn’t feel anything at all? Immediately I went to an extreme since that’s always been my schtick over the years, testing a situation by throwing it into the most extreme emotion I can muster. I thought to myself “What if this was a notice that he’s dead? Would that bring any unresolved feelings to the surface? Would I grieve, would I cry?" The answer was raw and matter of fact. I would’nt feel a fucking thing! How could that be? Is that what moving on is? What the X does, is or has, no longer affects me in an emotional way? It’s a strange feeling really. This person whom I once would take a bullet for, whom I’d dragged myself through the mud for, put my body through hell and back to have his children for and which I still pay for to this day from residual sicknesses that inevitably surfaced, now he means less to me than ummm my mechanic! Well fuck, it’s hard to find a
mechanic that doesn’t tack on a little extra here and there so ease up on the judging ok! Sure I’m not the softest gal but I’m no emotional cripple, I appreciate my mechanic and tell him regularly. So here I am typing this shit out again hoping to alleviate this icky feeling that I wasn’t prepared for, the feeling of not feeling anything at all. Bizarre huh? I’m complaining and confused because I don’t really feel much at all. I genuinely don’t care and I’m wondering if I should be worried about this aloof reaction. What if this new place I’m in is too hard and cold, even for me? I know I’m definitely not the poster child for ‘super affection gal’ and hugging me can sometimes seem like a eunuch getting an intense lap grinding from Scarlett Johansson but I can assure you, in my head I’m hugging you back big time. :P
Ah fuck! It may have something to do with not being hugged as a child or that my dad who I loved very much, may he rest in peace, was the all powerful Supreme Dick of the land of Dickdom, but I try not to focus on that since it sounds incredibly weak and that doesn’t support the bad-ass, unshakable persona I like to uphold. ;) I suppose I am my father, but that’s as far as that goes because, well I’ve been through over a decade of serious therapy and frankly I’m just tired of beating this dead horse. Makes me feel I at least owe that horses loved ones something of an apology for mutilating their poor majestic Black Beauty. I too struggle with acceptance so please forgive my stubbornness. If it’s any consolation, my foot is fucking killing me and I'm pretty nauseated from the stench of rotten meat.
So..... yeah, ummm, well..... that’s that I guess. Tuck those papers into the overflowing ‘to be filed’ environmentally conscious canvas bag that’s behind my washroom door and be done with it. There's no cliche papers that need to be signed which is totally cool with me since the effort it took to open the envelope was more than I'd like to invest in this painful memory. No need to analyze this, it’s already taken up a better part of my morning and I really can’t squeeze anymore compelling or
philosophical shit from it and even if I could, I have more interesting useless information to ponder and share in my own spastic, childish way. Oh yeah, one more thing I found a little amusing. The divorce document says that in 31 days I can send them $19 bucks and receive a formal piece of paper that states what I’ve known for a very long time, that I am no longer his. Well thank you so much for the closure my faithful and supportive government but you can keep that lovely document, I have tendency to burn shit like that anyway so why break a Twenty. Besides, I’ve decided to treat myself to some Miso soup, Spicy Salmon Maki and a Soft Shell Crab Roll instead. Do you think this falls along the same lines as pawning my engagement ring and using the money to buy The Burning Crusade expansion and epic surround sound for my Macbook Pro?
Ah fuck! It may have something to do with not being hugged as a child or that my dad who I loved very much, may he rest in peace, was the all powerful Supreme Dick of the land of Dickdom, but I try not to focus on that since it sounds incredibly weak and that doesn’t support the bad-ass, unshakable persona I like to uphold. ;) I suppose I am my father, but that’s as far as that goes because, well I’ve been through over a decade of serious therapy and frankly I’m just tired of beating this dead horse. Makes me feel I at least owe that horses loved ones something of an apology for mutilating their poor majestic Black Beauty. I too struggle with acceptance so please forgive my stubbornness. If it’s any consolation, my foot is fucking killing me and I'm pretty nauseated from the stench of rotten meat.
So..... yeah, ummm, well..... that’s that I guess. Tuck those papers into the overflowing ‘to be filed’ environmentally conscious canvas bag that’s behind my washroom door and be done with it. There's no cliche papers that need to be signed which is totally cool with me since the effort it took to open the envelope was more than I'd like to invest in this painful memory. No need to analyze this, it’s already taken up a better part of my morning and I really can’t squeeze anymore compelling or
Friday, February 4, 2011
Forgive me Gandalf for I have sinned and purchased the super sizes once again
Sometime during the Summer of 2010 in the wee hours of the morning:
I’ve just spent better part of the evening and most of the early morning perusing YouTube.com for stand up comedy stuff because I was and still am in desperate need of a good laugh. First it was Lewis Black then Russell Peters and then Comics Without Borders on Showtime. Some funny stuff, some meh not so much. Unfortunately most of it was sub par and although I lol’d a couple times, none of my laughter was stomach ache funny. I laughed more when I jumped into my car at 11pm to pick up a pack of smokes and I witnessed my older sisters friend on her short walk home after an eventful evening of heavy bong smokeage and drinky poos.
The pretty sun dress wearing, blond Pebbles hairdo sporting cougar was so severely trashed that the curb became a hazardous obstacle instead of the safety road border it usually provides. But I saw right through that mean sour glare she shot me and knew it was a brave face and that this woman who currently graced my driveway chose to battle her journey home, alone. Woman to woman, we said so much yet not a single word was uttered. I was truly humbled, I never really noticed her value until that very moment. As I drove by this strong and independent woman my humility took hold and I felt compelled to lower my head in silent appreciation of this ‘special, special’ gal. Warm, dry and safely tucked within the comfort of my car, my heart soared from an abundance of admiration. Suddenly I remembered Mrs. Andersons escape artist psycho Jack Russel that lived 2 houses down but I refrained from sharing that info with her as I'm sure it would have only offended her by suggesting she couldn't handle herself. And as I gazed into my rear view mirror and saw her drunken silhouette stumbling playfully with good ole Rusty Anderson, an almost inaudible whisper escaped my lips. "Go forth and conquer fellow Cougar. Make us all proud."
Okay, so back to the comedians. I realized a couple things in regards to comedians and what separates the fucking hilarious from the "Yeah I guess he is okay but he’s no fucking Carlin", not that that would ever happen pssssh. They got to be able to make fun of anyone and not feel that they need to justify it. No one is untouchable and a comedian should never 'half ass' anything. They need to own it 100%. If at any time the comedian feels they won’t be able to carry whatever comes out of their mouth, they’re most likely finished. I think they have to be ready for the consequences whatever they may be. After whatever they just said sinks into the crowd, they have to stand solid no matter what the outcome otherwise they’ll end up like Andrew Dice Clay balling his eyes out on national television and begging the world for forgiveness. (I looked for this video and can't seem to find it. Did this really happen or is it just my imagination? I could swear I remember ADC being interviewed and apologizing for his behaviour while crying but there are no clips of this.) Listen to me all high and mighty know it all, when in reality I don’t have a goddamn clue. Fuck it, it’s my blog so I can be the expert here if I want, you go be the expert on your own blog. This is my twisted reality, so get your own. I was going to use the “That said,” transitional expression here but I remembered I despise that phrase.
My god, it’s almost 4:30am and I’m not even tired! Fuck me sideways! What the hell is the matter with me? Suddenly I feel the need to slap myself. Hey have you ever literally slapped yourself or has always been strictly
What I know for sure?
- That I watch the food network because most television pisses me off so I mute it and only occasionally look up to watch the pictures flashing by. I find that for the most part I can’t tell the difference between the actual show and it’s commercials. I feel if I’m going to be bullshitted, I prefer it be upfront and consistent instead of being force fed a false sense of truth while it slowly grinds at my soul in a clueless and naive manner.
- That the Food Channel makes me extremely hungry and as a result, I constantly crave Truffles which is quite odd since I’ve never eaten one let alone support the plural version of them. Regardless I don’t have a fucking clue what they taste like and could very likely be disappointed when the day comes that I actually do. I guess I will need to sit in my puddle of Truffle ignorance for the rest of my days and just avoid that potential let down.
- That the extent that I relate to Frodo Baggins, especially in the last of the three movies is extremely mentally unhealthy.
Frodo: “There are some things we just don’t get past. How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep… that have taken hold. It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam. It's never really healed."
I truly believe in my heart that the above scene of Frodo explaining his healing process or lack thereof was in fact directed to me personally and was some cosmic, magical message. How’s that for arrogance. If there was a LOTR church and religion I would frequent mass on a weekly if not daily basis. My faith would be unwavering and I’d preach the good word of Tolkien like a Jehovah Witness with a severe case of OCD.
- That I’m not marriage material let alone relationship material. Apparently I need to love myself if I am to be genuinely loved by another, so to sum it up, I’m fucked. Well not literally but that should go without saying. It’s been so long that I now get the signs & symptoms of a bladder infection simply by using Super Absorbency Tampons as opposed to the Regular size. Lets just be honest here, I’m pretty sure I buy the supers just because they’re the biggest in the Tampon family anyway. There is a slight possibility I’m going to regret that last bit of information I just shared with you but it’s too late now. I’m too lazy to hit the backspace that many times. (I was going to post a pic of a super size but opted not to.
Bedtime now. Oh I so look forward to having the usual calm and peaceful 3 hour sleep I’m so accustomed to. Sweet dreams oh vast and spacious WWW universe, till tomorrow.
The Learning Corner
This useless piece of knowledge is brought to you by Trypolar,
your friendly neighbourhood spaz &
Sponsored by Josh’s Hemporama - Where Chill’in is Cheap and Hippy’s are a'Plenty!
In my search for a cool photos of Truffles I came across many pictures, some of the fungus version and some of the chocolate version. So now I understand why high quality chocolate that’s rolled into little balls and dusted with cocoa is called Truffles. They look pretty similar huh!
I’ve just spent better part of the evening and most of the early morning perusing YouTube.com for stand up comedy stuff because I was and still am in desperate need of a good laugh. First it was Lewis Black then Russell Peters and then Comics Without Borders on Showtime. Some funny stuff, some meh not so much. Unfortunately most of it was sub par and although I lol’d a couple times, none of my laughter was stomach ache funny. I laughed more when I jumped into my car at 11pm to pick up a pack of smokes and I witnessed my older sisters friend on her short walk home after an eventful evening of heavy bong smokeage and drinky poos.
The pretty sun dress wearing, blond Pebbles hairdo sporting cougar was so severely trashed that the curb became a hazardous obstacle instead of the safety road border it usually provides. But I saw right through that mean sour glare she shot me and knew it was a brave face and that this woman who currently graced my driveway chose to battle her journey home, alone. Woman to woman, we said so much yet not a single word was uttered. I was truly humbled, I never really noticed her value until that very moment. As I drove by this strong and independent woman my humility took hold and I felt compelled to lower my head in silent appreciation of this ‘special, special’ gal. Warm, dry and safely tucked within the comfort of my car, my heart soared from an abundance of admiration. Suddenly I remembered Mrs. Andersons escape artist psycho Jack Russel that lived 2 houses down but I refrained from sharing that info with her as I'm sure it would have only offended her by suggesting she couldn't handle herself. And as I gazed into my rear view mirror and saw her drunken silhouette stumbling playfully with good ole Rusty Anderson, an almost inaudible whisper escaped my lips. "Go forth and conquer fellow Cougar. Make us all proud."
Okay, so back to the comedians. I realized a couple things in regards to comedians and what separates the fucking hilarious from the "Yeah I guess he is okay but he’s no fucking Carlin", not that that would ever happen pssssh. They got to be able to make fun of anyone and not feel that they need to justify it. No one is untouchable and a comedian should never 'half ass' anything. They need to own it 100%. If at any time the comedian feels they won’t be able to carry whatever comes out of their mouth, they’re most likely finished. I think they have to be ready for the consequences whatever they may be. After whatever they just said sinks into the crowd, they have to stand solid no matter what the outcome otherwise they’ll end up like Andrew Dice Clay balling his eyes out on national television and begging the world for forgiveness. (I looked for this video and can't seem to find it. Did this really happen or is it just my imagination? I could swear I remember ADC being interviewed and apologizing for his behaviour while crying but there are no clips of this.) Listen to me all high and mighty know it all, when in reality I don’t have a goddamn clue. Fuck it, it’s my blog so I can be the expert here if I want, you go be the expert on your own blog. This is my twisted reality, so get your own. I was going to use the “That said,” transitional expression here but I remembered I despise that phrase.
My god, it’s almost 4:30am and I’m not even tired! Fuck me sideways! What the hell is the matter with me? Suddenly I feel the need to slap myself. Hey have you ever literally slapped yourself or has always been strictly
What I know for sure?
- That I watch the food network because most television pisses me off so I mute it and only occasionally look up to watch the pictures flashing by. I find that for the most part I can’t tell the difference between the actual show and it’s commercials. I feel if I’m going to be bullshitted, I prefer it be upfront and consistent instead of being force fed a false sense of truth while it slowly grinds at my soul in a clueless and naive manner.
- That the Food Channel makes me extremely hungry and as a result, I constantly crave Truffles which is quite odd since I’ve never eaten one let alone support the plural version of them. Regardless I don’t have a fucking clue what they taste like and could very likely be disappointed when the day comes that I actually do. I guess I will need to sit in my puddle of Truffle ignorance for the rest of my days and just avoid that potential let down.
- That the extent that I relate to Frodo Baggins, especially in the last of the three movies is extremely mentally unhealthy.
Frodo: “There are some things we just don’t get past. How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep… that have taken hold. It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam. It's never really healed."
I truly believe in my heart that the above scene of Frodo explaining his healing process or lack thereof was in fact directed to me personally and was some cosmic, magical message. How’s that for arrogance. If there was a LOTR church and religion I would frequent mass on a weekly if not daily basis. My faith would be unwavering and I’d preach the good word of Tolkien like a Jehovah Witness with a severe case of OCD.
- That I’m not marriage material let alone relationship material. Apparently I need to love myself if I am to be genuinely loved by another, so to sum it up, I’m fucked. Well not literally but that should go without saying. It’s been so long that I now get the signs & symptoms of a bladder infection simply by using Super Absorbency Tampons as opposed to the Regular size. Lets just be honest here, I’m pretty sure I buy the supers just because they’re the biggest in the Tampon family anyway. There is a slight possibility I’m going to regret that last bit of information I just shared with you but it’s too late now. I’m too lazy to hit the backspace that many times. (I was going to post a pic of a super size but opted not to.
Bedtime now. Oh I so look forward to having the usual calm and peaceful 3 hour sleep I’m so accustomed to. Sweet dreams oh vast and spacious WWW universe, till tomorrow.
The Learning Corner
This useless piece of knowledge is brought to you by Trypolar,
your friendly neighbourhood spaz &
Sponsored by Josh’s Hemporama - Where Chill’in is Cheap and Hippy’s are a'Plenty!
In my search for a cool photos of Truffles I came across many pictures, some of the fungus version and some of the chocolate version. So now I understand why high quality chocolate that’s rolled into little balls and dusted with cocoa is called Truffles. They look pretty similar huh!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Support New Fresh Musak Beeyatches
You think TBaby and her pimp posse are safe in da D? Naaaa uhhhhh she ain't! According to Kelly Dodsons brother Antoine, nobody's safe!!!
Fucks, Shits, Tits and Assholes
Okay, so this is long overdue and I hadn't had much time or motivation to edit the pile of shit below. To be honest, I still don't so if it sucks, sorry. I promise to try harder next time.
Maybe
Sorta
Kinda
Fuck! Who am I kidding, probably not
The below was supposed to be sort of a response to Mr. T and the post I made last week that I titled 'Shitty Pickles' in which I attempted to blog rape what I thought to be an epic online dating douchebag. Not sure if it makes sense but regardless please know that this is a direct result of mixing THC, NyQuil, Gravol, Tylenol 3 and the occasional Clorazepam.
I felt a little tinge of guilt when I talked to the BFF the other night. She read my blog post to Mr. T and seemed pretty charged as a result. Comments like “OMG, he better have good medical insurance to cover the intense therapy and high dosages of Paxil and Ativan” and “Hope he doesn’t have access to rope and rafters” flew from her mouth. On first impression one might get the sense that I’m a tad cruel but if given the chance and if the reader pushes on, I’m hoping he/she realizes that behind all the fucks, shits, tits and assholes, I actually do give a shit. You are right Mr. T, I was defending my BFF. I found myself going back to that charming email of yours which she forwarded to me, and getting all the more fucking pissed after each reading. Thing is, I was under extreme duress from lack of sleep and several bouts of emotional volatility since I was nearing the tail end of a merciless PMS cycle. Although my initial intent was to defend my awesome friends awesomeness and beat the bad dude down for shoving this exceptional woman into the proverbial pile of negative icky picky, rode hard and put away wet, hopeless gals, my own agenda kinda sorta ummm crept in. Not how you might think though, the brutal truth is that I just needed something to write about! I hadn’t come across anything that got my blood flowing and then she forwarded that email and WHAMMO BLAMO I found myself writing. So do y’all feel dirty and used now? No need to thank me all you closet masochists, this one is a freebie.
And now I’m sitting here staring at my Macbook, brutally aware of the difficulty I’m having describing my thoughts of the comments made here over the last couple days. I’ve always found it easy to fly off on my fucking tirades and although I’ve had my spells of ‘block’, I have never had difficulty expressing myself when the urge arose, until now. So Mr. T, consider this one of those rare occasions of almost miracle proportions and fucking milk this shit for everything it’s worth because ya kinda earned it ;). Among the occasional written blooper I am painfully aware of one obvious mistake I had made and that is, I underestimated you. Pretty bad fuck up considering I thrashed you for doing exactly that; making assumptions and not giving the TBOTD. I can honestly say that I in no way expected the response you put here and I was pleasantly surprised. This online thing is a real fucker ain’t it? I’ve sat here over the years and battled the ‘social network’ life and bared the constant conflict within me and the impact this technological social forum had on all of us. I fucking love the WWW, I really do! So many possibilities at my disposal just waiting for my fingers to hit the right keys, read the right articles, connect with the right guy, friends and facebook, online dating, news, ideas, creative outlets galore were all so easily attained. Almost instantly you could be transported to the street view of that ex boyfriends house and wondering who owned that silver Honda Accord in his driveway or Photoshop tweaking that one photo from the office Christmas party two years ago because that’s when I looked the thinnest. Thing is, then why am I so starved for REAL social interactions? Well, because this online stuff has gotten tired, that’s why. Laziness and choosing the easier path has made us all into self absorbed pussies who just don’t feel the need to invest or try and I fucking HATE THAT! I’m starving because I’m not fucking trying! I whine about not being swept off my feet but I know damn well why that’s not happening in the first place. The brutal truth, I won’t get that awesome life altering payout if I don’t put myself on the line. I suppose none of us really appreciate stuff if it comes too easy. The dating scene, people, the other half, are they really so different from me? They must want what I want! They must crave that emotional connection, they MUST! How fucking seriously egotistical for me to think I’m an exception. This goes beyond getting ones rocks off. We all can get our fuck on if we really wanted. Yeah, yeah guys, I know you’re shouting at the screen now saying “Maybe it's easy for chicks, but not guys.!” But if that urge rears it’s naughty little head and you need that release, a rub and tug or a drive downtown on those special streets can stir up someone to scratch that itch. “I don’t do that shit” you say? Okay, but at least you know it is an option and that provides some comfort right? Yikes, STOP FUCKING YELLING ALREADY SHEESH!!! I’m sensing a few ‘yeah buts’ bouncing around in your head? I dunno, pffffttt just a hunch. The fact remains, if we want to get our fuck on, we could make it happen. It might not be with Megan Fox and you’ll have to settle for a bootie call with the ex and her stalking you for the next 3 months afterwards before she finally got the hint, but it’s a fucking nonetheless. It’s that meaningful connection that’s much more difficult to come by and something I think we all crave.
And lately it seems more likely that I discover Sasquatch and we’d hang in his stud cave eating toasted bunny and communicating by grunts and hand signals. There I go whining again, it’s terribly unattractive isn’t it!
I’m really not pleased with myself at the moment knowing that just a little while ago my train of thought was that I was an exception and I was not a sheep, yet now I feel like constantly baaing and have a serious hankering for alfalfa (Is baaing a word? Pffft). If you could see the look on my face at this very moment, you’d see a squinty gal with unbrushed hair and a ‘I just ran over a raccoon’ vacant expression. At the risk of sounding AFTERSCHOOLSPECIALLY, I guess we all learned something here and that’s that we’re not so different after all. We just get tired of fighting the good fight and that sourness, jaded, bitter, whatever you want to call it negative cloud starts hovering over our heads and bringing with it a darkness that turns all the shit around us icky shades of grey, we all just need to look up and decide on a direction to make that leap of faith and try landing onto a brighter spot of happy happy and I’m okayness. I need to keep fucking jumping and not stay under this shitty cloud too long or I risk vitamin D deficiency and I just won’t bother looking up anymore. Fucking clouds! Fucking Radiohead soundtracked clouds! Start fucken leap’n people. Leap like your life depends on it. And if you get tired or need a minute to catch your breath, just let me know and I’ll do my best to send good karma bionics your way or just thrash you till you get pissed and fight back. Either way the result is the same, I would just enjoy the latter a heck of a lot more.
Holy fuckamoley, that was the most sappy piece of shit I have ever written I think I broke something in my brain or maybe I have a fever? I bet it’s a fever! Nothing the magic pipe can’t handle so don’t you worry your handsome big heads :P So when did I turn into this huge pile of sentimental gloopy mush? The tail end of PMS is fucking pathetic and I nauseate myself in spite of it. I’m so going to regret this later when I’m my good ole BitchMuthaFuckrStupidPeopleHate’nOpinionatedFortySomethingCynicalCougar self. I suddenly have the urge to kick puppies or something. Quick!!!! SOMEONE BRING ME A GODDAMN PUPPY!
Insert adorable puppy picture right here.
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww eh? Shaddup ya sap! I’m kicking him right this second so THERE! Teeheehee, the thought of someone getting all bent that I enjoy kicking puppies in my spare time still makes me smile but the smile is much more solid now that I have confirmation of the existence of some seriously special cool peeps out there in WWW land that know otherwise and that they don’t think twice when giving me TBOTD.
Maybe
Sorta
Kinda
Fuck! Who am I kidding, probably not
The below was supposed to be sort of a response to Mr. T and the post I made last week that I titled 'Shitty Pickles' in which I attempted to blog rape what I thought to be an epic online dating douchebag. Not sure if it makes sense but regardless please know that this is a direct result of mixing THC, NyQuil, Gravol, Tylenol 3 and the occasional Clorazepam.
I felt a little tinge of guilt when I talked to the BFF the other night. She read my blog post to Mr. T and seemed pretty charged as a result. Comments like “OMG, he better have good medical insurance to cover the intense therapy and high dosages of Paxil and Ativan” and “Hope he doesn’t have access to rope and rafters” flew from her mouth. On first impression one might get the sense that I’m a tad cruel but if given the chance and if the reader pushes on, I’m hoping he/she realizes that behind all the fucks, shits, tits and assholes, I actually do give a shit. You are right Mr. T, I was defending my BFF. I found myself going back to that charming email of yours which she forwarded to me, and getting all the more fucking pissed after each reading. Thing is, I was under extreme duress from lack of sleep and several bouts of emotional volatility since I was nearing the tail end of a merciless PMS cycle. Although my initial intent was to defend my awesome friends awesomeness and beat the bad dude down for shoving this exceptional woman into the proverbial pile of negative icky picky, rode hard and put away wet, hopeless gals, my own agenda kinda sorta ummm crept in. Not how you might think though, the brutal truth is that I just needed something to write about! I hadn’t come across anything that got my blood flowing and then she forwarded that email and WHAMMO BLAMO I found myself writing. So do y’all feel dirty and used now? No need to thank me all you closet masochists, this one is a freebie.
And now I’m sitting here staring at my Macbook, brutally aware of the difficulty I’m having describing my thoughts of the comments made here over the last couple days. I’ve always found it easy to fly off on my fucking tirades and although I’ve had my spells of ‘block’, I have never had difficulty expressing myself when the urge arose, until now. So Mr. T, consider this one of those rare occasions of almost miracle proportions and fucking milk this shit for everything it’s worth because ya kinda earned it ;). Among the occasional written blooper I am painfully aware of one obvious mistake I had made and that is, I underestimated you. Pretty bad fuck up considering I thrashed you for doing exactly that; making assumptions and not giving the TBOTD. I can honestly say that I in no way expected the response you put here and I was pleasantly surprised. This online thing is a real fucker ain’t it? I’ve sat here over the years and battled the ‘social network’ life and bared the constant conflict within me and the impact this technological social forum had on all of us. I fucking love the WWW, I really do! So many possibilities at my disposal just waiting for my fingers to hit the right keys, read the right articles, connect with the right guy, friends and facebook, online dating, news, ideas, creative outlets galore were all so easily attained. Almost instantly you could be transported to the street view of that ex boyfriends house and wondering who owned that silver Honda Accord in his driveway or Photoshop tweaking that one photo from the office Christmas party two years ago because that’s when I looked the thinnest. Thing is, then why am I so starved for REAL social interactions? Well, because this online stuff has gotten tired, that’s why. Laziness and choosing the easier path has made us all into self absorbed pussies who just don’t feel the need to invest or try and I fucking HATE THAT! I’m starving because I’m not fucking trying! I whine about not being swept off my feet but I know damn well why that’s not happening in the first place. The brutal truth, I won’t get that awesome life altering payout if I don’t put myself on the line. I suppose none of us really appreciate stuff if it comes too easy. The dating scene, people, the other half, are they really so different from me? They must want what I want! They must crave that emotional connection, they MUST! How fucking seriously egotistical for me to think I’m an exception. This goes beyond getting ones rocks off. We all can get our fuck on if we really wanted. Yeah, yeah guys, I know you’re shouting at the screen now saying “Maybe it's easy for chicks, but not guys.!” But if that urge rears it’s naughty little head and you need that release, a rub and tug or a drive downtown on those special streets can stir up someone to scratch that itch. “I don’t do that shit” you say? Okay, but at least you know it is an option and that provides some comfort right? Yikes, STOP FUCKING YELLING ALREADY SHEESH!!! I’m sensing a few ‘yeah buts’ bouncing around in your head? I dunno, pffffttt just a hunch. The fact remains, if we want to get our fuck on, we could make it happen. It might not be with Megan Fox and you’ll have to settle for a bootie call with the ex and her stalking you for the next 3 months afterwards before she finally got the hint, but it’s a fucking nonetheless. It’s that meaningful connection that’s much more difficult to come by and something I think we all crave.
I’m really not pleased with myself at the moment knowing that just a little while ago my train of thought was that I was an exception and I was not a sheep, yet now I feel like constantly baaing and have a serious hankering for alfalfa (Is baaing a word? Pffft). If you could see the look on my face at this very moment, you’d see a squinty gal with unbrushed hair and a ‘I just ran over a raccoon’ vacant expression. At the risk of sounding AFTERSCHOOLSPECIALLY, I guess we all learned something here and that’s that we’re not so different after all. We just get tired of fighting the good fight and that sourness, jaded, bitter, whatever you want to call it negative cloud starts hovering over our heads and bringing with it a darkness that turns all the shit around us icky shades of grey, we all just need to look up and decide on a direction to make that leap of faith and try landing onto a brighter spot of happy happy and I’m okayness. I need to keep fucking jumping and not stay under this shitty cloud too long or I risk vitamin D deficiency and I just won’t bother looking up anymore. Fucking clouds! Fucking Radiohead soundtracked clouds! Start fucken leap’n people. Leap like your life depends on it. And if you get tired or need a minute to catch your breath, just let me know and I’ll do my best to send good karma bionics your way or just thrash you till you get pissed and fight back. Either way the result is the same, I would just enjoy the latter a heck of a lot more.
Holy fuckamoley, that was the most sappy piece of shit I have ever written I think I broke something in my brain or maybe I have a fever? I bet it’s a fever! Nothing the magic pipe can’t handle so don’t you worry your handsome big heads :P So when did I turn into this huge pile of sentimental gloopy mush? The tail end of PMS is fucking pathetic and I nauseate myself in spite of it. I’m so going to regret this later when I’m my good ole BitchMuthaFuckrStupidPeopleHate’nOpinionatedFortySomethingCynicalCougar self. I suddenly have the urge to kick puppies or something. Quick!!!! SOMEONE BRING ME A GODDAMN PUPPY!
Insert adorable puppy picture right here.
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww eh? Shaddup ya sap! I’m kicking him right this second so THERE! Teeheehee, the thought of someone getting all bent that I enjoy kicking puppies in my spare time still makes me smile but the smile is much more solid now that I have confirmation of the existence of some seriously special cool peeps out there in WWW land that know otherwise and that they don’t think twice when giving me TBOTD.
Blessed Girlfriend
Another web series ... I'm noticing a pattern here I just don't understand how these talented people make money. Ads? Hmmmm
.... IN A FUCKING HANDBASKET
I was scrolling through stuff I'd written years ago and found this kinda funny, cool, whatever. If I remember correctly, I was on a religion/god questioning period. I had noticed that both my mother and sister were preparing fish for a big Good Friday family meal and I suddenly realized this wasn't just some coincidence. I was kindly informed that they had been practising this religious rule for the past 35 years of my life as well as prior to that. WTF (Weird that when referring to religion, the word practising is the verb chosen. You'd think they would've perfected it by now.)
DiAne: When did we start this no meat on Good Friday thing?
Mom & Sis: WE'VE always done this. DiAne, we have never eaten meat on Good Friday.
DiAne: We? WE?!? WEEEE????? Have you any idea how many fucking Swiss Chalet dinners and Happy Meals I now must atone for? Kerrrryst! Why am I only finding this out now at the age of 35 that our family does this shit? Did that memo get lost in the mail or something? I've been paving my path to hell for all these years and nobody thought it important to mention this little tidbit of info. Sigh...
My own God
April 17, 2006 - Around 7:30AM, mildly stoned and not the least bit tired…………
I don’t have a problem with God. I never have.
I actually resent the fact that when referring to him in writing, the proper address {supposedly} is ‘Him’ and/or ‘God’. I can somewhat understand the ‘God’ part because it could be interpreted as a name, but I refuse to accept the capitalizing of the word ‘Him’. Give me a fucking break. And the only time Her is capitalized is when it appears at the beginning of a god-dammed sentence! No one refers to ‘him’ as ‘Her’, however I believe it would be justified if they did.
I laugh to myself when I am witness to ones who blame ‘god’. The fact is, I cannot stage a war with someone or something that I believe does not exist. I cannot have conflict with anything that I feel is unreal. My problem is with mankind itself. Mothers, fathers, friends, enemies, and all that I know to be fact, truth and real because I have lived the proof and seen it with my own eyes. Many of these people use ‘god’ as a scapegoat to avoid taking responsibility for their own inhumanities. An elaborate story created so long ago, it stands as permanent immunity. How fucking brilliant! Whichever god/faith believed, is proclaimed as the creator of mankind, yet I feel it is mankind who has created him. A creation fuelled by the need to be validated and as a bonus, exempt from the wrong they will soon commit or have previously committed. The supreme denial, the ultimate excuse.
Weakness,,,,,,,,,,, excused
Sins,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, excused
Inferiority,,,,,,,,,,,,,, excused
Killing,,,,,,,,,,, excused
Ignorance,,,,,,, excused
Fear ,,,,,,,,,,,,, EXCUSED!!!!!!!!!!
Replace the word ‘FORGIVEN’ with the word ‘EXCUSED’ and you will see my point in its purest form.
When all others question “why oh why would god let such tragedies happen?” I look to myself. Blame, pride, guilt or praise, I look to myself. When others look to “god” for all the answers, I turn to myself, and the few special souls that grace my life. I look to the people, the REAL people. People I can touch, connect with, feel and experience with my body and heart. That is my truth. That is MY FAITH!
Let’s Google the definition shall we?
HOLY SHIT WHAT HAVE I DONE?…………… I merely typed ‘definition faith’ in the search bar and now I’m up against a shit-load of recruiters and the saved! (Note to self: Install pop up blocker) I mean, shit… what do you care if I have faith or not? Seems to me your the one in need of validation buddy. Better go back to the good book and read it again, yikes!
Anyway
Merriam-Webster Main Entry: 1faith
Pronunciation: 'fAth
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural faiths /'fAths, sometimes 'fA[th]z/
Etymology: Middle English feith, from Anglo-French feid, fei, from Latin fides; akin to Latin fidere to trust -- more at BIDE
1 a : allegiance to duty or a person : LOYALTY
b (1) : fidelity to one's promises (2) : sincerity of intentions
2 a (1) : belief and trust in and loyalty to God (2) : belief in the traditional doctrines of a religion
b (1) : firm belief in something for which there is no proof
(2) : complete trust
3 : something that is believed especially with strong conviction; especially : a system of religious beliefs
synonym see BELIEF - on faith : without question
I hear words like trust, duty, promises kept, intentions, god, religion blah blah fkn blah and then………… the clincher ‘firm belief in something for which there is no proof’ WHAT THE FUCK? Oh My God, I think I pulled something, OUCH! Remind me to never do that again. Not that it would help any, I am my own worst instigator.
He apparently died for OUR sins. I suppose the future has already been written for me and I’m expected to commit a truck load of wrongs. Well golly, thanks. I better get started then! Responsibility for ‘sins’ is forgiven in the end, however take part in a ‘blessing’ and that same responsibility is taken for granted by the glorifying of the act itself. Saints and heroes are testament to that. Mankind’s desperate pursuit of good and the constant struggle they endure to attain it, this, is usually NOT ‘automatic’. The forgiveness of sins is expected, yet the responsibility of good is not. Should we not be expected to do ‘the right thing’? Shouldn’t that be a given? That is a part of ‘being’ and the essence of being a human being, no? If the forgiveness of sins is an automatic expectation, then committing good deeds SHOULD also be an automatic expectation. There’s no need for medals, badges of honour or rewards. Just fucking do it because it’s the right thing to do!
According to him, I will never be justified. Born a sinner (not that I had any choice in that matter) to eventually die a sinner?
Isn’t this an utterly futile human existence and a pointless road to drive on?
According to me, I will never understand true judgment by not practising it within myself.
Then that same road seems to have hope and faith.
I like to think as the years go by I justify my life even more with each passing day. With the passage of time I’m closer to good, closer to innocence. Living to eventually die, finally having achieved the good person I have always strived to be. Born a blank slate, nor good, nor bad but with an endless supply of potential. Life doesn’t attack or destroy innocence, it asks your intentions and delivers the raw truth. It's your choice if you want to corrupt your climb towards innocence.
Be your own god. Be your own judge. Be accountable to yourself, answer to yourself first. Everyone can be impartial if they uphold the solid truth. You will see that it is almost impossible to do the wrong thing if your core intentions are in the right place. Unfortunately this can only be achieved if denial is avoided completely which means shedding the denial that most religions provide. A ‘Human Being’ is one who is living their adult life practising self-truth. Thing is, mankind has already been programmed to point the finger. It seems outrageous for me to even attempt to envision a people that challenge their faith and begin to rewrite their position, but I have faith. (lol)
So, god has and will continue to provide people with the permanent excuse, which allows them to evade self-condemnation, and THAT is a ‘temptation’ most have not resisted. Ingrained in the psyche of humanity is the ‘CHOICE’ to run instead of seeking the real truth. Some say it’s subconscious but I feel the subconscious in this case that has been used as a convenient excuse to uphold that ‘CHOICE’.
All right then, so what’s at the core? Doesn’t anyone care what the bare truth of the matter is? Am I chasing a mind fuck? Will this questioning journey be worth it or worthless? Will I arrive at the end of this exploration only to discover that it was all just an elaborate distraction concocted within the depths of my own mind and that really, mankind was right all along? Should I believe in something I have no proof of?
Assuming one has read the above, I’m sure he/she would agree that I don’t currently practice any typical religious faith. I wasn’t raised to believe in any one particular faith that exists in the world today. Somehow I was overlooked. All my early experiences with any of that ‘nonsense’ is limited to the lord’s Prayer being recited during morning services in junior and senior kindergarten, and occasionally flipping past religious programs on the television during Christmas and Easter time. Most have said this is a tragedy because they think I have nothing to believe in and no foundation or guidance to support me through my life. Translation, I don’t have a scapegoat. They would like me to believe without outwardly saying it that they feel pity for me that I was forgotten and that my mind was supposed to be molded as THEY see fit. But I like to believe that in fact, it is ‘nothing’ more than a mere ‘blessing’.
So I suppose I'm 'Going to hell in a handbasket.'
The origins of this idiom are kind of fascinating huh.
*****Meaning*****
To be 'going to hell in a handbasket' is to be rapidly deteriorating - on course for disaster.
*****Origin*****
It isn't at all obvious why 'handbasket' was chosen as the preferred vehicle to convey people to hell. One theory on the origin of the phrase is that it derives from the use of handbaskets in the guillotining method of capital punishment. If Hollywood films are to be believed, the decapitated heads were caught in baskets - the casualty presumably going straight to hell, without passing Go.
Me thinks me fucked. Hey, umm just curious but when does this 'giving head' transaction take place anyway?
DiAne: When did we start this no meat on Good Friday thing?
Mom & Sis: WE'VE always done this. DiAne, we have never eaten meat on Good Friday.
DiAne: We? WE?!? WEEEE????? Have you any idea how many fucking Swiss Chalet dinners and Happy Meals I now must atone for? Kerrrryst! Why am I only finding this out now at the age of 35 that our family does this shit? Did that memo get lost in the mail or something? I've been paving my path to hell for all these years and nobody thought it important to mention this little tidbit of info. Sigh...
My own God
April 17, 2006 - Around 7:30AM, mildly stoned and not the least bit tired…………
I don’t have a problem with God. I never have.
I actually resent the fact that when referring to him in writing, the proper address {supposedly} is ‘Him’ and/or ‘God’. I can somewhat understand the ‘God’ part because it could be interpreted as a name, but I refuse to accept the capitalizing of the word ‘Him’. Give me a fucking break. And the only time Her is capitalized is when it appears at the beginning of a god-dammed sentence! No one refers to ‘him’ as ‘Her’, however I believe it would be justified if they did.
I laugh to myself when I am witness to ones who blame ‘god’. The fact is, I cannot stage a war with someone or something that I believe does not exist. I cannot have conflict with anything that I feel is unreal. My problem is with mankind itself. Mothers, fathers, friends, enemies, and all that I know to be fact, truth and real because I have lived the proof and seen it with my own eyes. Many of these people use ‘god’ as a scapegoat to avoid taking responsibility for their own inhumanities. An elaborate story created so long ago, it stands as permanent immunity. How fucking brilliant! Whichever god/faith believed, is proclaimed as the creator of mankind, yet I feel it is mankind who has created him. A creation fuelled by the need to be validated and as a bonus, exempt from the wrong they will soon commit or have previously committed. The supreme denial, the ultimate excuse.
Weakness,,,,,,,,,,, excused
Sins,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, excused
Inferiority,,,,,,,,,,,,,, excused
Killing,,,,,,,,,,, excused
Ignorance,,,,,,, excused
Fear ,,,,,,,,,,,,, EXCUSED!!!!!!!!!!
Replace the word ‘FORGIVEN’ with the word ‘EXCUSED’ and you will see my point in its purest form.
When all others question “why oh why would god let such tragedies happen?” I look to myself. Blame, pride, guilt or praise, I look to myself. When others look to “god” for all the answers, I turn to myself, and the few special souls that grace my life. I look to the people, the REAL people. People I can touch, connect with, feel and experience with my body and heart. That is my truth. That is MY FAITH!
Let’s Google the definition shall we?
HOLY SHIT WHAT HAVE I DONE?…………… I merely typed ‘definition faith’ in the search bar and now I’m up against a shit-load of recruiters and the saved! (Note to self: Install pop up blocker) I mean, shit… what do you care if I have faith or not? Seems to me your the one in need of validation buddy. Better go back to the good book and read it again, yikes!
Anyway
Merriam-Webster Main Entry: 1faith
Pronunciation: 'fAth
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural faiths /'fAths, sometimes 'fA[th]z/
Etymology: Middle English feith, from Anglo-French feid, fei, from Latin fides; akin to Latin fidere to trust -- more at BIDE
1 a : allegiance to duty or a person : LOYALTY
b (1) : fidelity to one's promises (2) : sincerity of intentions
2 a (1) : belief and trust in and loyalty to God (2) : belief in the traditional doctrines of a religion
b (1) : firm belief in something for which there is no proof
(2) : complete trust
3 : something that is believed especially with strong conviction; especially : a system of religious beliefs
synonym see BELIEF - on faith : without question
I hear words like trust, duty, promises kept, intentions, god, religion blah blah fkn blah and then………… the clincher ‘firm belief in something for which there is no proof’ WHAT THE FUCK? Oh My God, I think I pulled something, OUCH! Remind me to never do that again. Not that it would help any, I am my own worst instigator.
He apparently died for OUR sins. I suppose the future has already been written for me and I’m expected to commit a truck load of wrongs. Well golly, thanks. I better get started then! Responsibility for ‘sins’ is forgiven in the end, however take part in a ‘blessing’ and that same responsibility is taken for granted by the glorifying of the act itself. Saints and heroes are testament to that. Mankind’s desperate pursuit of good and the constant struggle they endure to attain it, this, is usually NOT ‘automatic’. The forgiveness of sins is expected, yet the responsibility of good is not. Should we not be expected to do ‘the right thing’? Shouldn’t that be a given? That is a part of ‘being’ and the essence of being a human being, no? If the forgiveness of sins is an automatic expectation, then committing good deeds SHOULD also be an automatic expectation. There’s no need for medals, badges of honour or rewards. Just fucking do it because it’s the right thing to do!
According to him, I will never be justified. Born a sinner (not that I had any choice in that matter) to eventually die a sinner?
Isn’t this an utterly futile human existence and a pointless road to drive on?
According to me, I will never understand true judgment by not practising it within myself.
Then that same road seems to have hope and faith.
I like to think as the years go by I justify my life even more with each passing day. With the passage of time I’m closer to good, closer to innocence. Living to eventually die, finally having achieved the good person I have always strived to be. Born a blank slate, nor good, nor bad but with an endless supply of potential. Life doesn’t attack or destroy innocence, it asks your intentions and delivers the raw truth. It's your choice if you want to corrupt your climb towards innocence.
Be your own god. Be your own judge. Be accountable to yourself, answer to yourself first. Everyone can be impartial if they uphold the solid truth. You will see that it is almost impossible to do the wrong thing if your core intentions are in the right place. Unfortunately this can only be achieved if denial is avoided completely which means shedding the denial that most religions provide. A ‘Human Being’ is one who is living their adult life practising self-truth. Thing is, mankind has already been programmed to point the finger. It seems outrageous for me to even attempt to envision a people that challenge their faith and begin to rewrite their position, but I have faith. (lol)
So, god has and will continue to provide people with the permanent excuse, which allows them to evade self-condemnation, and THAT is a ‘temptation’ most have not resisted. Ingrained in the psyche of humanity is the ‘CHOICE’ to run instead of seeking the real truth. Some say it’s subconscious but I feel the subconscious in this case that has been used as a convenient excuse to uphold that ‘CHOICE’.
All right then, so what’s at the core? Doesn’t anyone care what the bare truth of the matter is? Am I chasing a mind fuck? Will this questioning journey be worth it or worthless? Will I arrive at the end of this exploration only to discover that it was all just an elaborate distraction concocted within the depths of my own mind and that really, mankind was right all along? Should I believe in something I have no proof of?
Assuming one has read the above, I’m sure he/she would agree that I don’t currently practice any typical religious faith. I wasn’t raised to believe in any one particular faith that exists in the world today. Somehow I was overlooked. All my early experiences with any of that ‘nonsense’ is limited to the lord’s Prayer being recited during morning services in junior and senior kindergarten, and occasionally flipping past religious programs on the television during Christmas and Easter time. Most have said this is a tragedy because they think I have nothing to believe in and no foundation or guidance to support me through my life. Translation, I don’t have a scapegoat. They would like me to believe without outwardly saying it that they feel pity for me that I was forgotten and that my mind was supposed to be molded as THEY see fit. But I like to believe that in fact, it is ‘nothing’ more than a mere ‘blessing’.
So I suppose I'm 'Going to hell in a handbasket.'
The origins of this idiom are kind of fascinating huh.
*****Meaning*****
To be 'going to hell in a handbasket' is to be rapidly deteriorating - on course for disaster.
*****Origin*****
It isn't at all obvious why 'handbasket' was chosen as the preferred vehicle to convey people to hell. One theory on the origin of the phrase is that it derives from the use of handbaskets in the guillotining method of capital punishment. If Hollywood films are to be believed, the decapitated heads were caught in baskets - the casualty presumably going straight to hell, without passing Go.
Me thinks me fucked. Hey, umm just curious but when does this 'giving head' transaction take place anyway?
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
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