one more post tonight and I’m finished

Three is a good limit.  This one is short anyway.

King Cat comics is truly worthwhile entertainment.   And according to http://www.king-cat.net, there will be a new issue soon.  (Bear in mind that soon is a relative term.)

Don’t laugh.  This really is worth blogging about.  Actually, it’s worth celebrating.  I think the most appropriate way to do so would be with a list.

Top Ten Songs That Get Stuck in My Head (some of them make me angry)

1.  “Little Einsteins Theme Song”, Disney

2.  “Rehab”, Amy Winehouse

3.  “Burning Ring of Fire”, Johnny Cash (or whatever its called)

4.  “Box of Rain”, Grateful Dead

5.  “Seven Nation Army”, The White Stripes

6.  “I Will Possess Your Heart”, Death Cab for Cutie (?)

7.  “Creep”, Radiohead

8.  that song that I can never remember the name of

9.  “Benny and the Jets”, Elton John

10.  “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina”, Evita (don’t know if that’s the name or not)

Oh no, it’s the attack of That Guy!

You know who I’m talking about.  That guy.  No, not that guy.  That guy.  Yep, you see him now don’t you?  The one that keeps saying the same sentence until someone acknowledges him.  The one that passes on the right on the highway.  The one that re-bags his groceries because the cashier just can’t get it right.  The one that takes up three spaces at a general admission show and dances funny and steps on your toes.  That’s the one I’m talking about.  That guy just kept backing up and swaying sideways with his head nodding at a really funny angle.  I put my arms up to shield myself and when he backed into my elbow, It disappeared into his shoulder.  Do you think he took just half a step forward?  Not that guy.  At least he didn’t move back any more.

So how is it that seemingly normal men turn into that guy?  You can’t tell me they were born that way.  I’ve never heard of a baby whose mother would describe him as having “pulled a dick move” when he wanted a bottle or dirtied a diaper.  Some might say it does stem back almost that far though.  There comes a time in human development when our wants are no longer the same as our needs.  At this point, a parent has to maintain a difficult balance between spoiling and providing.  Could this be the crucial moment?  Well, it would be nice to blame all of our faults on our parents, but I have seen some pretty remarkable people with less that stellar parents and vice versa.  So I think I can rule that out simply based on observation.  Crappy parents do not create socially irresponsible (aka rude) people, although I’m sure they are probably a contributing factor.  There are a lot of factors, but I think they all boil down to a lack of personal responsibility.  (By the way please don’t get the impression that I’m a republican.  And while we’re on the subject of politics, I’m not a democrat either. I’m ranting for my own purposes, not to serve a political party which has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with gaining as much power as humanly possible.  There, I’m finished with that little sidebar.)  Actually, since I am ranting, modern politics is as much a part of/to blame for the current social condition as anything else.

Which really brings me to the point.  Any social ill you can name is just as much a part of our ailment as any other, because we each as individuals are to blame.  This is not a new concept–I only feel like I’m the first person to say it because every time it comes up, it’s dropped like a rock.  People (myself included) have no problem using the pronoun “I” to discuss positive things.  When topics like accountability and responsibility are mentioned though, the operative pronoun becomes “we.”  Well, we cannot accomplish anything positive without a lot of I’s all contributing to a common goal.  Nay-sayers may be using the same argument, but we really do have a lot in common as a society.  Finding common goals doesn’t take work.  It doesn’t even take that much communication.  You want to be happy?  You need others to treat you with courtesy and respect to be happy?  You want to coexist.  Most of us do.  I don’t think that’s so difficult to understand.

So now, I’ll get off my soapbox.  Thanks for reading.  Please take a moment to evaluate your life and see where you can change those ambiguous we’s to I’s.

top ten phrases that do not include the words “I’m Sorry” to say when someone isn’t speaking to you and it’s your fault

1.  “Let me know when you’re talking to me again.”

2.  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

3.  “I know you’re mad at me. Why don’t you just yell?”

4.  “So….I think it’s supposed to rain later…”

5.  “Fine. Don’t talk to me. Maybe I won’t talk to you. We’ll see how you like it.”

6.  “You know I’m not any good at this.”

7.  “So what, do you think you’re above all this?”

8.  “Hey, look what the cat just did!”

9.  “…um…I…nevermind…”

10.  “Look, I can’t even remember why we’re not talking.”

P.S.  It can be difficult sometimes, but there is no substitute for “I’m Sorry.”  (Of course, this list will do nicely in a pinch, so you may want to print off a copy or two for quick reference.)

Tips for Being a Successful Woman

[Yes, I know what the title sounds like. Bear with me. Every once in a while it's ok to be pretentious.]

First things first, let me define successful. Success is achieving a predetermined goal. There, that was simple. So, when I say “a successful woman” I don’t mean a business entrepreneur or a politician although many women are very successful doing those things in life. What I mean is an individual who has obtained success at being a woman.

Well thats a no-brainer, you may be saying. Really, it’s not. Having breasts does not make you a woman. Having a vagina does not make you a woman. Having two X chromosomes does not make you a woman. Those things qualify you as a female. Traditionally, the word “woman” describes a mature female of the human species. Some of us determine maturity by age, others by physiology, others by emotional and mental development. If you are convinced that you can be a woman simply by being a female and having reached a certain age or stage of physical development, then congratulations. You’re a woman. Now get off my page. For the rest of you, I’ve made a short list of what I consider the criteria for womanhood.

Before I start, I assume you’d probably like to know how I’m qualified to advise you. This part really is very simple. I was a loser. Now I’m not. I didn’t get anyone else’s help overcoming myself. I became myself. So, if you’re any less of a loser than I was maybe you don’t need this and you’re not interested. That’s fine. Maybe you’re reading this because you like to laugh at another’s expense. That’s fine too. There’s also the possibility that you’re reading this because you would like to hear what I have to say. That’s great. [Just don't expect an award or anything.]

No. 1

Femininity–Ok, so we really already covered this. If you are going to consider yourself a woman, you have to start with being female. Whether you were born that way or not isn’t any of my business. I also have to add a word about mystique and femininity. There has long been a cultural theme of the mysterious female. Mystique is like a transparent aura surrounding the female body, orbiting the hips. This is a myth, extending from infatuation and lust. It is perceived, but not actual. At some point, we all have felt that sickly sweet aroma wash over us. Get over it. We are real; there is nothing mythical about the female body.

No. 2

Strength–Being a woman distinguishes you from being a girl in a variety of ways. The most prominent of those is strength. Being strong comes from one thing and one thing alone. You have to do things for yourself. Be independent. Open your own pickle jar, physically and emotionally. That means everything from moving your own furniture to weathering your own crises to standing for your own beliefs. A strong woman will often have people leaning on her. Don’t let that weigh you down though. It’s a source for pride. Of course, if you can help someone to depend upon themselves rather than on you and others, thats a big plus for everyone involved.

No. 3

Sensibility–I know this is somewhat of an antiquated idea, but that doesn’t mean it’s lost all value. Think about the last time you really, really, really, really, really, really thought you were right about something. You made a big deal about it. A huge deal. You were wrong. Now it’s not like you can’t gracefully recover from something like that, but why make yourself feel like a fool? Keep your head on straight is all I’m saying here. There is always an objective viewpoint. Try to find it. Sometimes it’s amazingly easy and other times it’s excruciating.

No. 4

Beauty–You’ve heard this from all the do-gooders and tree-huggers. Now you’re hearing it from a bitch like me. That’s because it’s true. We are all beautiful as individuals. We are beautiful as women. Embrace you beauty. Embrace others’ beauty physically, emotionally, spiritually. That being said, we are not all hot. Now, this is definitely not the nicest thing I’ve said to you so far, but it is just as true as all the rest. Respecting yourself involves knowing your own limitations. I am very skinny & contrary to popular belief that does not translate automatically into having a killer body. I wear the clothes that I feel make me look best, not what I’d best like to wear, because we can’t all wear leather pants and oxford shirts. What I’m trying to say isn’t that you should sell yourself out to look good. It’s the exact opposite. I feel better when I think I look good. I really could give a damn what other people think of the way I look. On the other hand though, I’ve found that just a tiny bit of modesty is very sexy on me and also on a lot of other women. Don’t flaunt your body, flaunt your beauty.

I’ve Been Pretty Lazy Lately

It occurs to me periodically that I don’t actually have anything original to say or any clever way of saying it. The sheer pointlessness of what I’m doing is staring me right in the face. It’s glance is cool and calculating like the murderer in a paperback novel. It blinks twice. I stop typing. I’m not really saying anything anyway. I look away, start typing again. It starts whistling a soft wistful tune. I know then that I am finished. I never had a chance. I swallow hard and look up again, preparing. Then I close my eyes. The silence ensues. It is deep and sweet and feels like anything but the death I thought was coming. I am lost in this silence. I can swim in this noiseless void.

[four hours til i go to work]

Familiar Glow

So, for the past three weeks the weather has been warm enough for me to start looking for fireflies. I know before I say anything about it, or even before I look, that it’s too early. The thing is, I spend weeks looking and when they finally come out, I’m always taken by surprise. The feeling I get when I see the first firefly of summer is still that magical feeling I got when I was five.

There’s that sudden excitement and recognition at the impression that there is still wonder in this world. There’s that vision of deep blue sky and dark dewy grass meeting to form that beautiful horizon of a peaceful dusk–right when the silhouettes of the trees and the hills are darker than the sky. There’s that slow hum of the earth caught in the moments just between day and night. There was always a perfect balance to those moments and they gave me a sense of security like nothing else could. I waited for the fireflies, I looked for them, and they came. The way they would rise from the earth just during that brief time would instill in me such awe and curiosity. The very idea that they could lie in wait all day and come out only just at dusk to greet the world at its most peaceful time almost made me envious. It still does sometimes. I think I felt that they were coming out for me, to reassure me that all was still right with the world and that simple things can shine too. I used to imagine being a firefly. I’d have no troubles, no pains; I’d just lie and wait to be beautiful, to be some child’s hope.

I guess I still look to the fireflies to find my peace sometimes. That’s why I can never seem to wait for them to show up each summer. The anticipation of reliving those sanctified moments of my childhood gets the better of me. I know that they’re there all day waiting to fulfill my expectations, waiting to illuminate my dreary little life, waiting to remind me that I can find peace. I just have to wait.

Seriously, what’s so funny?

Am I the only one that seems to ask that question too often? I’m certainly asked that question pretty frequently, but that’s because I laugh at just about everything. So when I’m not laughing and other people are, it really makes me wonder. When I was a kid, people laughing around me were usually laughing at me (not in the haha isn’t she funny way either.) Nowadays, people don’t consider it necessary to make fun of me anymore, so that explanation is out. I guess I’m just not in the loop. What I never understood though is how to get in the loop. Do you just suck it up and start asking people the things you don’t know? Ride on some hipster’s coat tails until you’re noticed as part of the scene? Is it really worth it? Do I want to be a name dropper? Do I want to be laughing while the clueless give me yearning looks? I don’t think so. I have too much pride. I think maybe if I did want those things, it would be enough to induct me into the elite circle of posers. The desire for that kind of life would have driven my actions to an inevitable conclusion. But it didn’t. I can only assume I never wanted to be one of them. To be perfectly honest, I never understood the idea of separatism anyway. Or maybe, this is my way of finally tasting the sour grapes?