Sunday, December 31, 2017

Buh bye, 2017...

Okeedokee, 2017. I'd like to say I'm going to miss you when you're gone, but then I'd be a liar. You sucked. Big time. But the bright note is that you're almost over. The bright note is, barring any horrifying event ending in my demise, I get a bright shiny new year to start with tomorrow. Last year, I expected you to be horrible and way-too-challenging, and you were, 2017. You could have proved me wrong but you didn't. Thanks bunches for that, you jerk. So tonight, as the ball drops and I stand hand in hand with my beautiful mate, niece and nephew, I am going to kick you to the Philly curb and welcome 2018 with open arms.

Yes, 2018!! The year of wonder. The year of renewed discipline. The year of returned creativity. The year of kindness for kindness' sake. The year of refilled spirituality. The year of mended hearts and souls.

Believe me, 2017, I know better than most that it's okay to not be people's favorite. I know that the best lessons are often learned through the harshest means. I honor you for the taskmaster you've been. 

But...I'll be overjoyed when 2018 arrives. My expectations for 2018 look wildly, and most pleasantly, different. You've got a lot to live up to, 2018, that's true. But I'm not worried. I believe in you.

May everyone have a safe last day of crappy 2017 and the most glorious day one of the year of living and loving magically! Welcome, 2018, my newest best friend!

Until next time...

Sunday, December 3, 2017

A super moon?

On this full moon, after spending time with people I thought were intimate with me, I realized that they are intimate with each other--these women, and I no longer belong with them.

I am a woman without a tribe.

It's a weird and scary feeling to be that alone.

On this full moon, I'm not sure what to do other than to release what I knew myself within the context of this group and keep faith that Divine will bring me to my new tribe.

But in the meantime, I mourn.

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

The thing about ideas...

Sometimes they are gifted.
Most times they are stolen.
Be careful though.
The latter teaches brutally painful lessons.

Sunday, July 30, 2017

Oy.

When it comes to all things Gerard Butler, Pamela Swain, aka GFW, et al, wins the cuckoo crazypants contest.

Hopefully tomorrow I have the time to tell you why.

Stay tuned...

Saturday, June 10, 2017

It was a gator...

Sometimes, when you sign up to do something, it seems like the greatest, smartest thing you could possibly do.

Then when it comes to the follow through, you realize your folly-filled thinking. Well, I was signed up for the half, but going to try to bust out a quarter marathon anyway...on a broken toe (hope they don't have to remove it)...up 25 pounds from my last one...bloated and out-of-shape from all of life's amazing, middle-aged stressors.

*shrugs

When I die, at least they've say, "She's got spunk!"

That, or "What an idiot!"

Potayto. Potahto.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Score one for Love...

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Well, I've been busy...a relatively recent family death...dealing with odd psychic experiences with a celebrity drama along with dealing with that celebrity's WEIRD fan base...aging parent issues...but those are blogs for another time (stay tuned). Maybe you're asking what could possibly get me writing again after a year and a half hiatus? What news could be THAT mootivating?

Seriously important stuff. Joyously life-changing. Let me explain...

Just (what seems like) a short while ago, my very best friend Patty​ (you remember her? MY Patty?) and I sat talking about marriage...how she could never let herself think about what that would look like because we didn't live in a world where she could even imagine being married to her longtime partner, Pat. That the people of this country would never let that happen, at least not in her lifetime.

I remembered feeling violently angry on her behalf...on the behalf of every wonderful person I knew that loved someone with whom they "knew" they could never allow themselves to imagine "till death do us part" legally. People who loved a lifetime, but at end of life were locked out of hospital rooms and funeral parlors and probate meetings...who were told marriage had conditions and that Love had nothing to do with any of it. It was so wrong my anger was visceral.

I was furious with the folks who played some <enter in whatever bullshit justification you think gives you a right to treat others with an unfair, heinous disrespect> card to oppress those who love differently than they do. I never understood the argument that someone else's relationship had any bearing on mine, so in my mind this "if gay people are allowed to get married, that minimizes my marriage" bit really says that person's marriage is shit anyway. Seriously, if a total stranger's marriage (same-sex or straight) can minimize yours, perhaps you need to rethink your relationship. But, I digress. (You remember my rants now, don't you?)

Me. Patty. Chatting. I vaguely remember telling her I believed that things could change, that there were more of us straight folks out there who believed in true equality and LOVE, that ever-elusive experience that we should embrace however it shows up on our doorstep. I told her I had faith that someday in the not so distant future, I would call Pat her "wife". I explained that my son, Eric, told me that things were changing because his generation thought differently...that his "aunts" Pat and Patty shouldn't lose hope.

Last June, the most remarkable thing happened. After a hard-won fight by some very brave people, Wisconsin made same-sex marriage legal. Other states were passing similar laws, but not without legal battles won by fearless vanguards. Eric was proving that his argument, that equality being closer than farther off, was right. Thing was, the woman who used to sing the Black Sock song to him and his older sister couldn't allow herself to be fully happy for herself because she still had friends imprisoned by backwards laws in other states who weren't allowed to imagine being married yet. She was crushed that there were those who were trapped in states that still said, "Liberty and Justice for ALL...well, except you."

That brings us to today. I sit here typing at my desk...weeping. Happy tears, yes, but relieved tears, too. Relieved that the SCOTUS got it right. Many thanks to all the brave folks who refused to be told they were less than citizens simply because of how Love looked when it knocked on their door. You are true heroes. I honor your fearlessness in fighting for what is right.

And my bestie, Patty? She and Pat were married last June. I attended the most gorgeous reception ever for them last December.

But, my dearest Patricia, it's today that I truly congratulate you both. Today you're married anywhere you go in this country. Finally. Today we all celebrate. I love you, guys.

Until next time, kiddies...

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

MEMO


MEMO

To: All Arachnids far and wide, but mostly the super-venomous ones that live in Brazil
From: The world’s most dedicated arachnophobe EVER
Subject: Get the fuck out of my banana
CC: God and everyone

It has come to my attention that you have decided to take up residence in people’s bananas.  What the hell is wrong with you?  Wasn’t it enough that you hide out in closets, under beds, in shoes, in basements and in every other damn “jump out and scare us (or worse, bite us)” place?

You can’t just drop in our pieholes while we’re mouth-agape sleeping??  You have to hide out in our bananas now?  What?  You got bored with the typical angle for spider attacks?  And aren’t there enough animals in Brazil to take down?  You have to resort to traveling to foreign countries to git ‘er done, you obnoxious overachievers??

You need to get the fuck out of my banana, mmmkay?  And by getting the fuck out, what I mean to say is…don’t get the fuck in it in the first place, not get the fuck out by hatching your brood all over my kitchen table.

No hurt feelings, okay?  I don’t hate you or anything like that.  Just…stay in Brazil…where I never have to visit.  Thanks.


MEMO
To: All people far and wide, but mostly the people who buy Brazilian bananas
From: A crabby crabberton
Subject: The importance of buying local
CC: Anyone who will listen, Brazilian wandering spiders

Buy local and this shit will only happen to people who are already familiar with dealing with super-venomous spiders that live in Brazil...AKA: Brazilians.  I'm just glad I don’t live in the UK.

The end.

PS. If you’re Brazilian and a wandering spider, remember what Dorothy said?  If you ever go looking for your heart's desire again, don’t look any further than your own backyard; because if it isn't there, you should, respectfully, stay the fuck out of foreigners’ bananas…well, or something like that...