Category Archives: Uncategorized

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Be a friggin’ rebel, already.

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How did you get so bitter and cynical and so damned scared of your own shadow that you can’t even let the rest of the world take a breath? How did it happen? When did it happen? Was it a gradual thing or did society just suddenly plunge into stupidity and lose all common sense the way you lose your breath when you dive into cold water? It doesn’t matter. Not really, cause we’re already there. Everyone is scared stupid. Sincerely stupid.

It’s time for us all to be friggin’ rebels cause children can’t build tree houses in their front yards because – who cares why – they can’t and they should. There should be tree houses in all the trees and kids should be outside laughing – called me old fashioned – but that’s how it should be.

Are you with me yet? How about all the girls being kicked out school for shoulders and backs and dresses because it is somehow a woman’s responsibility to keep Juniors you-know-what in his pants. Because a woman can be blamed for her rape because she wore provacative clothing. And why wouldn’t she? Because all society tells us that sex is love and love is sex and they never mention personality or charm or what are those things called…oh BRAINS. Nope, they don’t mention that. So girls, you wear those dresses and show those shoulders and the next time Bilbo Dildo looks at you sideways, sucker punch him with a pipe to the special place and when they ask why you tell them he looked friggin’ shady.

Be a friggin’ rebel. The next time you see police about to shoot someone who looks like he maybe doesn’t deserve it – call 911, yell, scream, throw a damn rock, but do something besides video it. If fifty people are watching and no one says anything, you’re all friggin’ guilty. Risk your life for something other than a blunt, Weezy. Stand for something. Be something…other than a riot instigator (and I ain’t talking all about the black people, either).

The next time you see a child at a park playing alone. Keep an eye out for him and make sure no one kidnaps him, but leave him the friggin’ friggers alone. Don’t call the cops to come snatch him away. He’s a child and he’s learning responsibility and how to play and be brave and not be the jackass causing trouble for other parents. It’s called being a good neighbor and a good person and if everyone practices this, then the kidnappers won’t be able to kidnap them. Also, if you’re the police and you happen to come upon a child who has been allowed to play at a park alone, take the time to build relationships with said child – not make them fear you. Don’t let your own fear hurt you. Call the mom if you really need to, but don’t take the child away from where it is. Like a baby friggin’ duck. You leave the baby duck where it’s mommy left it.

So c’mon peeps. Be a friggin’ rebel. Don’t let society make us so dumb and so scared that we can’t move or think or say “Hey, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” I don’t know where the common sense went, but it’s lost and needs to be found. Rebel. Say NO. Be brave. Be brilliant. Exercise that brain juice and get on it, already.

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love yourself.

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Today, I read the fitness procedures and test material for an upcoming fitness exam. I’ve been avoiding this class since 2009. That’s about six years, I believe. Why? Because it’s taken me a long time to love myself. It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that my body shape is the way it is. It’s taken me hours and hours of pep-talking myself in the mirror to come to terms with the fact that skinny jeans and I will never be best friends. It’s taken me years and years and years and marriage to someone who loves me even when I’m naked to believe it’s okay to wear a bikini. I’ve tried it all – starving myself, throwing up, eat this or eat that, exercise more – and this is still me. It took forever for me to decide that I was beautiful even though I can’t fit into a size three or eight. It’s taken me a long time to look the world dead in the eye and say “fuck you.” I’m just as hypocritical as the rest of the world when it comes to body image. I won’t lie and say I’m not. I want to be that 125 I was in high school. The day I see those numbers on the scale, I will celebrate. And it’s going to take a while. I know that. I’ve been doing good though. Eating healthier, trying to exercise more. But it’s hard to take off those pounds you added while on birth control and getting married. I’d love to say that my confidence in myself is unshakable, but’s not. And the last thing I want is someone telling me that I’m overweight and fat and I need to work on it. Thanks, I already know. I know. I live in my body. Especially in front of other people.

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Human

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I recently changed my major to sociology. I actually thought about getting my masters in counseling for a brief time. It wasnt until my professor kept reiterating at if we were having problems we should go to be counling center. I couldn’t help but think “what are friends for?” Counseling can be a great thing, but in my opinion, I don’t think at it is necessary for every little thing. What happened to hanging out with a friend and just venting a little? Having a beer? I don’t think I can be a counselor. I’d rather be a friend. I’d rather be a validator, a hugger, a fighter, a lover, a friend, an advice giver. And I would rather have that for myself. I am not discounting therapy – don’t get me wrong. I think it’s great. I just think that there is more than one way to catch a tiger. I think that we have become so disconnected with the Internet and too many jobs and too many bills and too many people telling us what we should do, that we have forgotten how to be human beings.

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Just Normal

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I’m not extraordinary.
I’m not especially eccentric.
I’m emotional.
I eat, sleep, dream, die
Just like the rest of you.
I’m just normal.
And I like it that way.
I like the waking up
And the sleeping
And the dreaming.
The dying not so much.
Just words on a platform,
Trying to tell you how normal I am.
So you don’t think that
The thing I had destroyed me.
Or my sense of self-worth.
Or my hopes and dreams.
I still look in the mirror
And frown.
But only on occasion.
It’s not a defect,
I’m just normal.
That’s all I want to be.
Just normal.
Just normal.
Just normal.

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A Letter to God

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Today, I don’t believe in You. No, not today. Probably not tomorrow either.
But don’t tell anyone.
It’s a secret. It has to be.
I used to be SO close to you. I could feel you. It was almost like I could reach out and touch You. I almost felt that way yesterday, but in a moment it was gone. Like last summer, the day before, whispers in the night – You left me. Maybe You’re busy right now. Or maybe not. I’ll come back, I always do.
But it’s a secret. So don’t tell.
It’s been a long time since I really felt Your presence. As I’m writing this, I can ALMOST feel you here with me but when I turn to look you’ll be gone.
People talk all the time about how we’re supposed to do this or that and the other and laws and rules and inside, I’m struggling just to keep believing in You. They say we should just have faith, but do they even know how that hard is? Do they struggle like me?
I’ll keep waiting. I’ll keep trying.
But today…
Today, I don’t believe in You.

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Secrets

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I love to sing. 

And I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I sound pretty bad. Horrible, even. 

BUT.

When no one is home and I have a few spare minutes I sing like I’m Cassadee Pope or Reba. I sing with everything in my soul and there is nothing that compares to the happiness that comes over me. I love to sing. Anything. I make up my own songs, I record karaoke and then delete it before anyone can see how terrible I am. I sing loudly and proudly. I sing like I mean it. I love to sing. 

So there it is. I’m a closet singer. 

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We’re Only Human

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We screw up. We make mistakes. We are flawed beyond recognition. We’ve got scars on the outside, the inside, and in between. We look in the mirror and grimace at our reflection because we don’t like where we’ve been or where we’re going and we never realize that we’re only human. We place blame like magic candles on a birthday cake. We demand outright that we be treated as humans, as people, as individuals. We proclaim our own humanity like the second coming. “I’m only human” we say. Over. And over. And over. And over. Yet, the irony is that for as much as we demand and proclaim and repeat, we have no problem denying the humanity of another individual. We will condemn the criminal, we will hate the illegal immigrant, and we will deny the right to a human mistake, a human error, to anyone who we do not deem a suitable human being. The homeless, the addicted, the broken, the plagued, the suicides-to-be, the divorcees, the hurt, the “white trash,” the “niggers,” the gangbangers – we’re all human. We are ALL allowed to make mistakes. 

Let the small things stay small. Let the big things be big. Befriend the unfriendly. Give hope to the hopeless. Be a voice for the mute. Stand tall for those who cannot stand at all. 

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Invisible.

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I don’t have a picture today, so if you’re reading this I’m sorry. Today, I just don’t feel like pictures. Today I feel invisible. I feel very, very invisible. This invisibleness, it’s a story. I guess I’ll tell it today while I’m hiding in the bathroom listening to the shower run. Random fact: I actually like to write in the bathroom with the water running. It’s calm and peaceful and just what I need. So, I’m not going to feel awkward about hiding in the bathroom with my Chromebook and letting a few tears fall. That’s okay. It’s okay. 

So, this story begins with a little girl who loved to read. She walked the halls of her elementary school with her nose buried in a book everyday. She loved books, she loved reading, and she loved to write. She read Little Women in the third grade and her teachers thought she was nuts. Maybe a little gifted. Maybe not. Then in fourth grade she wrote her first poem. She had a teacher that year that let her read her poems in class. That teacher was awesome. The next year, teachers said she was a good writer. Then everything went downhill from there. She wrote lots of poems before she became invisible. She shared them with her father and he told her she was fabulous and a amazing writer. Somewhere, her grandmother still has her first poem, framed. 

Then the girl with the amazing imagination and great talent for writing started to fade. She was becoming invisible and no one even noticed it. Her writings weren’t lighthearted and cheery anymore. They were desperate and sometimes hopeful. With a stepmother who never told her she loved her and a father who was becoming invisible too, she started imagining how she wished life would be and then she wrote her first story. And her second. And her third. And they were desperate and sometimes hopeful. 

BY the time the little girl reached high school she was almost completely invisible. She wrote and she wrote and she wrote and she wrote, yet no one saw. No one saw her and no one heard her. Still, she kept writing and still, she kept fading. The end of high school came near and she was merely a shadow clinging to the walls of the school and her home. She hoped one day someone would discover her. That they would unfade her, that they would smile at her, make her uninvisible. Then one day, her words were heard. Then they thought she was crazy. This girl who had been slowly fading and becoming invisible even when she reached out for help and reassurance. Even when she begged someone to see her. Even then, when they thought she was crazy, she was still invisible. They couldn’t seem to find her because she had completely disappeared. 

Sometimes, the little girl still feels invisible. 

So remember to look for the people who are fading. 
Don’t let them become invisible. 

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BE NICE! It’s not complicated.

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I just finished reading an article about SJP and to be quite honest, while I can believe the mean things that people say, it also makes me angry. I like her. I think she’s pretty and successful and I have never seen her name in the middle of some scandal. Maybe it has been, but I haven’t seen it. Regardless, that’s not the point. The point is that while this woman is beautiful, successful, and “good” (for lack of a better word at this moment), people think that it is okay to say “she looks like a horse” or “why the long face” or “she’s one of the ugliest people I’ve ever seen.” If you are one of those people leaving comments like those, you should be ashamed of yourself! Completely, 100% ashamed. Sure, we have freedom of speech and I suppose that gives people the right to say whatever they want, even if it is mean. I imagine there are some underlying issues for the people that post such negative comments – maybe a bad day, maybe a bad life, maybe no one ever told them they were beautiful and so they go around casting those stones at people who can’t/won’t defend themselves — and I’m not just talking about SJP. If you don’t have something nice to say, then don’t say it. It’s that simple. Don’t say hurtful things just because she’s a celebrity and you think she won’t see what you say. Do you really think that she’s never heard or read or seen that people say she looks like a horse? Do you think she doesn’t have feelings? Even if she’s one of those people who just brushes it off, at least publicly, do you not think that maybe it does hurt her? And again, I’m not just talking about SJP here. Think before you post, people. To try and break someone, bring them down, ESPECIALLY for their looks is cruel. There’s enough cruelty out there without people spreading it like wildfire. The Golden Rule. Remember it. Act on it. 

 

***Photo courtesy of http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/03/sarah-jessica-parker-elle-fashion_n_1936099.html. Edited by, thenspeaksthesoul.

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Learning Curves

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Everyone has secrets, right? 
Well let me tell you one about me…
I’ve always been that girl. The one in the back of the class. I never liked group projects. I don’t like public speaking. Even now, I stutter sometimes and I can’t find the words I’d like to say but I can write anything. I can tell secrets in the written word that I’d never tell in person. Maybe that’s cowardly but I don’t care because that’s just how it is. I’m a writer, not a talker. But that’s not the secret.

The secret is that all my life the only thing I’ve ever really wanted was a stable family. A mommy and a daddy and the two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. I’ve always wanted to be married, to have someone who loves me, and to be that girl. The wife who bakes cookies and has everyones kids at her house all the time. I want to be my grandmother. I want to learn to play the piano like my mother did. I want to have the faith of my grandfather. I want to have the determination of my daddy. I want to be this amazing person and sometimes….I don’t know how. 

Sometimes, I feel lazy. I don’t want to do the dishes. I don’t want to cook. Sometimes I don’t want to walk my dog. Sometimes I don’t want to be this nice, sweet person. What I want to be is a lazy bitch who orders take out and has an occasional margarita at Applebee’s with a friend. Sometimes, I want peace and quiet and silence and I just want to be alone. Sometimes, I want to be late to work…on purpose. Sometimes, I just want to call in and pretend to be sick while I sit home on the couch and eat ice cream all day and do absolutely nothing. 

I started this blog because I wanted to inspire someone. Anyone. Maybe the person I needed to inspire was myself. I guess this is all just a learning curve. Mostly this is sort of anonymous. Probably one or two people reading this might actually know me. (Hey Andrew, if you’re reading this –I love you, unconditionally). 

In any case, I’m not out looking for advice, so please don’t give it. I’m looking to vent, to inspire, to check out my own learning curve, and to maybe just maybe, find out who I am and who I want to be.

Thanks for reading, beautiful people. 
Have a fabulous, fabulous day.