And the winner is??

What.

The.

Fuck???

I’ve struggled with sleep lately, but there are moments when my inability to catch my winks at night has the potential to create future nightmares of epic proportions.  So it is when I get to channel surfing and see a massive disaster like Toddlers and Tiaras.

When is it ever okay to dress up a four year-old like a hooker (fake eyelashes and heavy eyeliner, low-cutting, short-skirted dresses, and big, crazy, 80’s slutty-girl hair) and send her out on stage to win a supposed “beauty pageant”?

Crazy stage moms (and dads)?  They are in ample supply here, folks.  Many of them not that attractive themselves, you can see they are trying to vicariously live out their own pageant dreams through their way too young to be told to “shake your butt, but not like a stripper” children. 

Seriously??  Should a four year-old even know what a stripper is let alone know how she should shake her booty just right so the kid won’t cross that invisible boundary of decorum and good taste??

Look.  I’m not completely against the whole pageant thing.  I did the Junior Miss thing back in the day.  Thing is I was a junior…in HIGH SCHOOL.  There were scholarships involved.  But the point is that I was old enough to apply my own fake lashes, and I actually had real boobies and nice gams to put in the dress I borrowed from my friend Jill.  Oh, and let’s not forget that it actually was the 1980’s, so my big ole poof hair was era appropriate.

My problem isn’t the pageant idea; it’s when you take a toddler and dress her like a hoochiemama and try to pretend that the whole sitch isn’t a very messed up train wreck.  Let her look like a kid and have her do kid things because, well, she IS one.

Alaska just finished her striptease routine where she rips her jacket off and swings it around her head, all the while spinning and shaking her booty, but, naturally NOT like a stripper—even though she technically is acting out that role, all in front of the many grown males in the audience.  My mouth is agape.  (Not sure if this is because of the striptease or the fact that her name is perfect for the stripper she is playing out at the moment.  *shakes head*  I’m at a loss here.)

Yeah, then I started thinking.  What are these little girls going to be like when they reach adulthood?  Will they ever believe that it’s okay to walk through their world without wearing make-up?  Will they figure that they have to use their looks/sex to get what they want in life?  Or worse, that what is important is how you look not who you are, particularly as a woman?  As a card carrying member of NOW, I find the whole thing most disturbing.

Well, I gotta flip channels again for my own sanity and safety.  Maybe comedy channel has something on that will make the disgust fade away, though I doubt it…

Brain cells? We don't need no stinkin' brain cells...

I lost brain cells last night, of this I am sure.

Okay, I should explain.  It wasn’t because I over-served myself (although in all honesty I did, in fact, drink a little wine—red, natch).  No. In my effort to transform into the ultimate corpulent, dumpy, slacker-loser, I have developed an addiction to watching inane television.  Why read a book and learn something when you can sit your ass all potato-style, drooling in front of the dummy box?  Make mine mashed oozing with sharp cheddar and butter (keep your damn healthy broccoli) these days.

My latest greatest distraction from participating in the real world is my weekly dose of “The Bachelorette”.  I’m so irritatingly invested in this stupid show that I sometimes find myself actually screaming at Ashley on TV, which we all know is not even remotely helpful since she can’t hear me.  I’ve even coaxed my honey into watching with me.  And while, if I’m being honest, he probably plays along because he wants to spend time with me (reads: he wants to get laid when the show is over), he does get hooked into my mental measurements over Ashley’s very poor judgment, too.

So there we sit, pooled in spit, when the realization hits that not only am I invested in the psychology of what is going on, but I have to own up to having a fave guy, though all I know about him is that he makes wine (which I’m not sure says the right thing about me…or maybe says exactly the right thing about me, depending upon how you look at it).  Don’t even know the guys name.  Heh.  Maybe I’m not as devoted a fan as I previously thought.  Gee.  What a relief.

What a variety of guys; all with some level of hotness, some smoking, but all playing a game.  Ash, sweetheart, I don’t know if you know this or not because you’re only, like, twelve years old, but guys like to compete.  Especially with each other.  Super-duper especially when it’s against each other for a girl’s affections.  But here’s the rub, darlin’…I don’t know many guys that aren’t almost more into the chase than the catch.  

You’re all concerned, Ash sweetie, (and you should be if you’re taking this whole bit seriously) that these guys aren’t being honest about their intentions and that they’re playing a game, which they are.  Duh.  So how in the world can you truly think that one of these men is seriously into you? 

Yes, they all want to woo and win you, but I’m betting that it has more to do with beating each other out of the opportunity to be the winner winner chicken dinner than it has to do with banging you for the rest of their lives. 

Honey, just deal with the historical facts.  Oh, sure, maybe one of these guys is excited to become Mr. Ashley, but if we’re being realists here, there’s a better chance of getting hit by lightening. 

Twice. 

On a sunny day.

It.

Is.

A.

Game.  *smirks*

When you look at all of the bachelor/ette shows, have any actually worked out?  Maybe that one way in the beginning.  I say take your fifteen minutes of fame and go the way that others have gone: pretend that you can act or something.  You’re pretty enough to make it on Lifetime or SciFi channel, I guess, and why reinvent the wheel with trying to become the next reality star?  Oh, wait.  You did that already.  Nevermind.

And for God’s sake, ditch this whole Bentley idea.  You think there’s a connection??  Really?  (Why are the young ones so bloomin' dense?)  Yes, I know that I get to see all the details of his extensive douchebaggery that you were unaware of, and he’s definitely a master manipulator, but come on.  The man is plant food.  Go with the wine maker guy (what the hell is his name??  Now I’m going to have to go look that up).

You know folks, all of it still leaves me at a serious loss though.  Not because I’m concerned about which guy Ashley will end up with, because who gives a shit?  It’s not like she’ll stay with the guy for longer than it takes to start a new season anyway, but because I’ve developed the horrible habit of wasting two hours every week on this dumb show instead of doing something productive, like reading or writing or doing my laundry.

Right now I’m write-avoiding by watching “The Voice”, but only after watching “America’s Got Talent” (though I find the title of the latter show somewhat misleading).  Point is that I keep doing things that keep me from doing the things that I want to be doing…or rather say that I want to be doing.

This got me thinking, which outside of drooling in front of the boob-tube is something I seem to be doing a lot of lately.  Maybe I don’t really want to be doing what I say I want to be doing.  But then what?  I could go for becoming a professional wine drinker, on account of the fact that I like my red, but I’d really like to keep the liver I’ve got because I’m kind of attached to it.  Transplants can be so…sketchy, and dialysis doesn’t really seem to be the way to go.

Television critic?  Lord knows I distract myself with enough of it these days.  Internet surf queen?  I’m beyond pro in that department, too.  See?  Now this is requiring WAY too much thinking and the confusion is impeding my ability to enjoy “The Voice” so I’d better shut up shutting up and get back to it.   

I mean, I have far more pressing matters to consider than my future anyway.  Rumor has it Bentley (the guy with a name fit for the dog that he is) is coming back.  Wonder what will happen?  If she lets him back and I was the nameless wine maker, I’d ditch her and go looking for his true match—a married woman in Wisconsin (or at least that’s what I’ve heard). 

You hear me, Ash? 

Don’t fuck up your chance to be with one of the guys who is sincerely pretending like you’re “the one” for the guy that’s pretending like he’s “the one”, except anytime he’s in front of a camera. 

Besides, FREE WINE, girl.  How can you go wrong with anything that’s free?  The fact that it’s wine…mmm…

A word about writing...

Writer’s block sucks.

Okay, that’s probably not news for the writers out there, and there’re a lot worse things in the world, but it is—at the very least—a tremendous pain in the ass.  And while I am a fan of whining (clearly, and not to be confused with “wining”, which I am also quite fond of), I’d really not like to have to whine about not being able to write.  (Wow.  Two glasses of wine and I can barely understand that last sentence.  Apparently I became a lightweight when the block set in?  *grumble*)

Wouldn’t it be MUCH more fun to whine about not getting enough sex?  Or to bellyache about the cost of gas?  Or that I have gas?  (Ate soy today.  Sorry, honey.)

Needless to say, I’ve got nothing to say.  No.  That isn’t exactly true.  I have LOTS to say, but my words won’t come.  I have whole movies playing repeatedly in my head, and they’re truncated by my own ineptitude in expressing clear thoughts without reading them back to myself and thinking, “AUGH!!!!  Awful!”  I can’t make the English fit the mind-film, so to speak.

Perhaps I should write in Spanish?  Yes, it’s true that it’s helpful to be fluent in a language if you plan to create in it, and I’m not…exactly, but I was thinking maybe the extra challenge would take my mind off of how bad I suck at this art, and how the words sometimes don’t find their way to the page, and that’s frustrating.  Sigh.

Okay, back to writing fiction.  Maybe.  Or maybe I’ll just go play on facebook for a while instead, drinking the rest of this glass of vino, and then go to bed. 

All I know is writer’s block bites ass…

Where, oh, where has my discipline gone...

Remember when I was single-mindedly focused, disciplined and motivated??

Yeah, me neither.  Seems it’s been such a long-assed time since I saw my old friend Discipline that I’ve developed an inability to look down and see my own feet as of late.

Okay, maybe my newest friend, Eggs Agerator, has taken over here.  Or perhaps it's my other friend Miss Taken.  My food baby has grown plump, but I can still see my shoes…when they’re sitting on the steps across the room, and I’m not too far from the stairs (my eyesight’s failing a bit these days).  And I can still button my pants, albeit barely, though a belt is completely unnecessary at the moment.

You’d think that the ole workhorse Mo Tivator would step in to help me give birth to this food baby by forcing me to eat raw veggies and hit the workouts instead of munching down the little bowl of potato chips I’m thinking of refilling as we speak.  (Uh, isn’t it considered exercise to walk all the way to the kitchen to fill the bowl and then all the way back here to the recliner in the living room??  Hmph.)  “Put the chips down, and get on the damned exercise bike, you lazy cow!!”  That’s what Mo would say, if A. Pathy wasn’t pinning him down on the floor, helped out by Dee Pressed’s hand held tight over Mo’s mouth.

It’s not that I’m a lazy personality.  Or maybe, it’s not that I wasn’t a lazy personality…damn, those double negatives are nastiness.  What I mean to say is once upon a time, laziness would not have been a characteristic that one would have attached to the picture of me in a dictionary.  (In truth, my picture would be on the page where one finds the word “unphotogenic”, but I digress…)

Energetic.  That’s how I would have characterized myself back in the day.  Then life happened.  Again.  And again.  And again.  Yeah, life sure kicks the crap out of you, and the past ten years, give or take, I’ve been taking more than my share of beatings.  Not as many as some, but more than my energetic system can recover from.  (Shit.  Remember when I cared enough about written English that I didn’t end a sentence with a preposition?  *waxes nostalgic* Yeah, those were the days.)  Point is: perpetual emotional pain drains the life right out of you.

All I know is that, somehow, I’d better figure it out before I make it as Biggest Loser (on so very many levels) material.  With Jillian gone in the upcoming seasons, who would tell me that puking isn’t an excuse to get off the treadmill to go hide and feel all sorry for myself??  Nope.  I’m going to have to ride my own ass here, people.  Get up and get going, recliner potato!!  Tired?!?  So is everyone else on the planet, you big whiiiner!!

Well, chip bowl is empty.  It’s a war of wills.  Me against Myself and I.  Now to figure out which side says, “Fill the bowl!!”, and TAKE. IT. OUT…

…for sushi.  Sushi’s healthy, right?  *sighs, shaking head* Just pathetic…

Bed bugs, bed bugs, whatcha gonna do...whatcha gonna do when they come for you??

Remember the good ole days?  When you were admitted to the hospital and all you had to worry about was dying from some random, careless act of malpractice?  You know, a cotton gauze sewn into your gut during an emergency surgery that spirals into a fatal infection?  Or a flesh eating nosocomial one from someone neglecting to observe the “sterile environment” rules?  Or the newest antibiotic resistant disease?

Yeah.  Good ole days.  But no more, kiddies.  Now we have something even more insidious to deal with in our local hospitals…

http://bedbugger.com/2010/11/17/milwaukee-hospital-quarantines-suspected-bed-bug-victims-based-on-suspected-bite-marks-alone/

Itchy all of a sudden?  Me, too.  In fact, just typing the words makes me itchy-scratchy all over, and even though I probably wouldn’t die from them I am highly allergic to any buggies that bite me. *scratches arm*

If you’ve ever had the misfortune of dealing with these little bastards, you know that they will be here long after the roaches, rats and Keith Richards float off to the Big Party in the sky.  Oh yes.  Yes, they will.  They will be laughing at those stupid roaches.  Cause even though roaches are rather hardy, they can be squished.  Granted, you may have to use your car to do it (everything's bigger in Texas), at least they crunch. 

Ever try to squish a teeeeeny bed bug?  Impossible is the word that comes to mind.  And they’re the size that can sneak into and hide…well, everywhere.  *scratches leg*

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that the little buggars have found their way into hospitals.  I mean, if you travel at all, you put yourself at risk of bringing home a few “souveniers” that will keep the love giving and giving and giving.  But unless you’re getting a fantastic boob job, hospitals aren’t exactly the end all be all vacation, right?  All the same, you’re there, in an environment where many others convene so the risk factor is high.  *scratches knee*

However, when you leave the hospital, I think the only thing you should be bringing home with you is total health (and maybe a med or two).  What. The. Fuck?  *starts scratching all over*

I mean…YUCK.  Yuck, yuck, yuck.  Yuck.  Did I mention yuck?  *scratches buttcheek* 

What is it about bugs that make it worse than any other possible fatal disease?  Creepy crawliness?  Ugh.  Especially those really little ones.  *continues scratching furiously*

Well, I’d love to sit and chat about gross things like this, but perhaps I should go and investigate mattress cracks and crevasses.  (EEEEWWWW…)  I don’t live that far from hospitals.  Don’t work that far from one where those icky things were found.  Creepy-crawly days.  *blech*  Anyway, wish me luck.  *scratches at head*  Hopefully there isn’t anything to see here folks.  *tries to scratch back*  (Not finding bites so hopefully that’s a good sign.)  *scratches bottom of foot*

Shit.  It occurs to me that I’m traveling to my beloved NOLA soon.  Let’s hope that seriously drunken bed bugs get lost on their way to my clothes and suitcase so that they don’t find their way back to my home sweet home.  I’m willing to drink more to take home less.  “Souvs” of that variety?  Who needs those??  *scratches wildly*  I say the food and music alone should be enough for those nasties to stay right were they are.  But just in case, little bedbug, do you really want to party hardy all summer just to freeze come September?  (Yes, I know that the bitter cold doesn’t really come till a bit later, but shhhh…*whispers*  work with me here, people.)

Did I mention yuck?  *double shudder*

A New, Better Prayer

Okay, sometimes when you ask for trouble, you actually get it.  I stupidly forgot about that.  So before we move on to anything else, please call off the smiting, Goddess.  Call. It. Off.  Please?

Here’s the thing…I’m not overly afraid of death (You know that, for the most part, my spirit has never fully integrated in this body anyway) although I guess given the choice, I would prefer to not kick the bucket and give up this human form yet.  What I do know is that I don’t want to see others—innocent or no—be taken out.  So in this whole smiting request thingy, well, somewhere along the line, a few well-worded thoughts from others got me considering things differently.  (Thank you to those with better, kinder, more loving ideas.)  I managed to figure some things out about fear and love.  And smiting, while it seemed like a really good idea at the time, is not such a good idea after all.  That original request for planetary death and destruction?  Yeah, cancel that, please.

Instead, I have a better idea.  A way better idea.  I few small favors that I am sure You won’t mind fulfilling:

Favor number one:  If I am only allowed one request, this is the one I’m most looking to fulfill, okay?  Please, stop the nuclear problems that the Japanese are dealing with right now.  Actually, stop all of the problems they are experiencing.  Please.  The huge earthquake was bad; the ginormous tsunami was horrible.  The continued barrage on this area of the world is over the top.  These people have suffered enough.  Too much, actually.  So if You wouldn’t mind getting those powerful Hands in there, please, stop the issues, particularly the nuclear ones.  Save these people, please.

Favor number two:  Please inspire us human beings to start interacting with each other and our world from a state of love and empathy.  Allow us to see the world from each others’ spaces.  Allow us to release our own victimhood so that we can stop feeling sorry for ourselves, which always results in the attempts to undermine each other.  Let us feel sincere and complete gratitude.  Help us to work together.  Show us that polarization serves no one and that the only way peace can happen is if we all compromise, that there is no weakness in negotiation.  Help us to see that we all gain if we pull each other up and give instead of ripping away from the other—whether we're talking the material, emotional or spiritual.  Bring those who suffer from greed to a new understanding about their wealth; help those with everything realize that their wealth has immense responsibility.  Forgive those who just don’t seem to get that and bring them to the fullest understanding.  Allow us all to see our hypocrisies, but even more, to strive for complete authenticity.  In essence, help us to realize our fullest potential, and to be grateful for it.

Favor number three:  Please continue to love, support and forgive us.  We need Your positive Divine influence, in whatever way it’s best seen by each and every person (even to those who don’t know You—they see Your magic; they just label it differently).  Allow us to see our mistakes clearly.  Inspire us to be better humans.  Allow Your hand to guide this “art project” with more involvement.  (But feel free to let us think it's our idea.  You know how we humans love to think we're the ones in control.)

Okay, I think that does it for now.  I’ll let You know if I think of anything else.  Remember, it’d be really great if You’d be a good Sport and put the kibosh on the smiting thing.  Especially the Japan issue.  We need You to step in on that and stop it super-stat, please.  (I don’t mean to sound pushy-You know how I get, but things are getting to a point where very bad things are happening.  Seriously.)

And please, remember, I am just a stupid human like everyone else.  It may have taken me some time, but I see the error in the thought process of that original request.  *raises right hand and puts left on a wrestling puppy pile* I promise to try to be a better person and to make a stronger effort to have a positive affect on the world around me.  Maybe I’m not deserving, but hopefully You’ll see me worthy enough of forgiveness of my ignorance and arrogance anyway.

Oh, and Lady?  Thank You in advance...

A Simple Prayer

Dear Goddess,

In my most humble manner I ask that You come, now, and hear my prayer, please.

I know You’ve been watching us, but know that I have been, too.

There are too many of us who cannot get along.  We’ve lost our ability to see each other in one another.  We’ve become victims, jealous of what another has, instead of being excited that our brother or sister has more that they can and will share with us.  As victims, we stifle each others voices in the name of greed, not caring if our morals are left on the curb, in order to succeed at our deviousness.  We sadly try to drag each other down instead of joyously pulling each other up.

We allow ourselves to believe that others, who have been equally victimized, are our enemies, instead of holding those who are truly responsible for our pain, who laugh their way to the bank with our monies and our human rights, to be held accountable.  Then we judge those most in need of repentance rather than embracing forgiveness of them.  We allow our fears to fuel our hate, and we allow our hate to justify our actions. 

We allow ourselves to believe that You pick sides, and want US to pick sides, too, when it comes to race, religion, sex or sexual orientation.  We have forgotten that You have created ALL of us and love us most completely, unconditionally, and EQUALLY.

We destroy our planet for the almighty dollar, my Lady.  We do.  We pollute indiscriminately.  We bitch that our gasoline prices are too high, but we do nothing to improve our public transportation.  We do little in the lines of developing more eco-friendly energy sources that would be more appreciative of our beautiful home so that we can allow a select 2% of our entire planet garner all the wealth regardless of the health of our precious Earth.  We don’t shop locally, but have our food shipped in from all over the globe.  Then we allow our food to spoil in our refrigerators while simultaneously our poor go hungry.  We are shamefully wasteful and hypocritical.

We toss our poor and our meek to the curb to live out the cold winters in cardboard boxes or worse while our rich live luxuriously and extravagantly.  We shun our neighbors who have fallen upon hard times instead of offering all that we have to help them.  We think ourselves more important than our brothers and sisters on this planet, dear Goddess. 

We abuse the animals here for food and clothes, and perform abusive scientific studies on them for superficial things like cosmetics.  We glorify those whose main goal is materialism instead of lauding those focusing on relationship development, and not just development with each other as a species but with our fellow beings on this planet. 

Our traditions and honor have slipped into an irreparable state.  We lie.  We lie and we cheat and we steal.  We use our victimhood as our justification for being the vilest and most base of your species.

We hide our heads in the sand even though we see injustice.  We deny these insults exist because we cannot tolerate the personal pain that comes with having to admit if they do that we have a personal responsibility to do something to rectify them, and we find ourselves unwilling or unable to do.  We simply move on with our lives, ignoring someone else has been wronged.  We tell ourselves “if it doesn’t directly affect me, why should I care so much?”  Or “yeah, it affects me, but I’m too busy.”  We’ve forgotten how to say "what can I do?" and “I’m sorry, and I love you” when we've done all we can but it isn't enough.

But You and I know that what is done to one, is done to All.  On some level, I believe we all know that.  We disconnect from each other because it feels safer.  And we—arguably the most fearful, superstitious creatures on the planet—need to feel safe.  Sadly, we’ve just forgotten that all we need do is look to You, and we’ll have all the safety and security we need.

It isn’t just that we’ve lost our way, our behavior has become far worse than that.  We spiraled onto a path toward destruction of all around us.  We have lost our ability to empathize and show simple though profound kindness to one another.  We’ve stopped listening to one another because it isn’t always what we want to hear.  Maybe this fear, hate, and divisiveness have been caused by our disconnection to You, which means to each other as well?  Or maybe it’s just because we’ve all been hardwired in a way that is just a little bit off and needs repair that only You can offer?

I know I haven’t come close to covering all the despicableness that we are, that we have become in the years since our original genesis on this planet.  You see, this request has already become far more complex and lengthy than originally intended.  I sincerely apologize for that.

All I know is this:  I have lost hope and faith in humankind.  And unless, in Your magnificence, You can show me cause to feel otherwise, I have but one humble, simple request that I tearfully ask of You in earnest.  

Come smite the human inhabitants on this planet, Goddess.  Destroy us, if You will.  We do not deserve the beautiful and magical gift of this planet or the pureness of sharing our truest selves.  We have stopped earning the right to be here when we stopped respecting and loving this place and all of its inhabitants.  We stopped earning that right when we put our selfish ego needs ahead of the good of the whole, when we forgot how to share ourselves, when we forgot how to prioritize in a way that we all win.

Smite us with Your fiercest hand, bring us Home, and maybe someday (should You see fit) You might try the human experiment again.

In deepest gratitude, tortured sincerity, and most genuine Love I say this simple prayer,

:)k