If I could just pick up everything and move somewhere, with no concerns about money and whatnot, but it had to be somewhere I’ve never been, I’d probably go to Spain. I mean, it’s in a good location to get to so many places I would love to see. Plus, the hubby speaks Spanish so I wouldn’t have to worry about the communication part. Additionally, I have friends in Spain and the surrounding countries who I wouldn’t mind seeing again.
This almost isn’t even going to count as a blog post because it’s so short, and my phone just told me that Ted Cruz won the Wisconsin primary. This election year is the craziest shit, and yes, I mean SHIT that’s gone down in a while, no? Non? Quoi?
Y entonces, no tengo mas palabras. Adios. Au revoir. Peace, love, and chicken grease.
I’m gonna be hard pressed to find ten interesting things about myself. So, I’m gonna tell you ten things about whatever comes to mind.
After having a child and still having no boobs, topped with living in Miami making me feel insufficient, I got a boob job for myself for my 35th birthday. From 34A to 36D. Holla!
I have lived (if I slept there for more than 2 months, I count it) in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Florida, North Carolina, Colorado, Mexico, Turks & Caicos, and Tunisia.
No matter how hard I’ve tried, front splits have and continue to evade my broke ass hip ass.
Table manners are so. Fucking. IMPORTANT! I’m sure this is partly because of how big of a stickler my dad was. No elbows on the table, chew with your mouth closed, and don’t talk with your mouth full. Or I’ll want to kill you.
I prefer pro football to college but college basketball to pro. I know. I’m weird.
*knock on wood* I’ve never had a cavity nor have I broken a bone (because a toe just doesn’t count and I’m not even sure it was broken because there was no way I was going to the hospital just to be sure it was broken when there wasn’t even anything they could do about it.
Thanks to growing up country with many boys, I’m fairly car savvy. As in, I can change all of the tires, lights, fluids, filters, and in some cars, brakes. My not-so-secret dream is to own a place where pretty ladies do car maintenance. Boobs & Lubes. Ha!
Ugh, this is tedious. I don’t like water where I can’t control the temperature and sure as shit not where I can’t touch the bottom. I can swim well enough to get to the side of the pool I’ve just been thrown in for sassing the fuck out of a bartender who threw me in even though I told him I couldn’t swim (he left a friend to make sure since he had to get back behind the bar). Ocean City.
I am not and have never been concerned about going out alone. Dinner, movies, bar, wherever. I’ve met a ton of awesome people because I went out alone and talked to whomever didn’t look like a serial killer.
I can’t dance. I can’t sing. I don’t go to church. I don’t like watermelon. I don’t have big lips. I don’t run quickly. I know what you’re thinking. I’m an asshole.
Hey look! Today’s prompt is probably normal for most people, but I’m not most people and I’m certainly not normal. First kiss/first love.
Since there is no specification of whether or not that love was requited, and those would be different stories, I think I’ll pass on the first love story. To be honest, I don’t remember my first kiss. I imagine it was around the time I was 14 or so (it’s weird to be a late bloomer among older friends), but like I said, I don’t recall for sure.
But, how about I have a Tina Belcher moment and describe a first kiss full of teenage girl angst?
It’s my 14th birthday party and there are lots of people and music and a cake. And my own personal Jimmy Junior is there. I am, as I should be, the center of attention, surrounded by my worshippers friends. The party goes on for hours and I have the best time of my young life. Throughout the night, I look for my Jimmy Junior and I always see him just on the edge of the crowd. While I am having fun, I an’t help but to think about the only present I really want is my first kiss…from Jimmy Junior.
The party is winding down and people are starting to leave. I don’t know where the time has gone. I’ve danced, laughed, ate, drank – all the things one does at a party. Of course, I still am not fulfilled. There is an empty spot in my heart and on my lips. All but a handful of guests are left and I start to help to clean up. As the last of my friends leave, I feel the party was a success. I turn to get back to work and find myself face-to-face with Jimmy Junior. He takes a moment to look into my eyes before he grabs my hand and starts walking towards the door.
He walks us to a nearby bench and sits me down then takes the spot beside me. He places his hands on mine and wishes me a happy birthday. I can barely whisper out my thanks. And then, by the light of the full moon, Jimmy Junior leans in and gives me the best present ever – my first kiss.
Thank you, ladies a gentlemen! This has been a trademark violating probably Tina Belcher production!
The challenge says your earliest memory. Â I don’t think that really makes for a good story, so how about this one instead?
About a million years ago, I lived by the ‘be home before dark’ world. Winter time? Don’t even bother to leave the house after school. But in the summer? You just figure out how far you can push  your luck because even though it didn’t get dark until 9, I dare the bravest of you to stay out until 9. Not with my parents. Nope. Uh uh.
It was a small neighborhood. Fairly tight-knit. Mostly we gathered in one place and most parents knew that, including mine. (Thinking about this and laughing, I just realized that I think I can look back on the calendar and find the exact date this happened. More on why later.
There was a get-together going on in the gathering place and I was there until I figured I had pushed my luck far enough and that I should get home. Well, you know, this was a really good gathering going on and I was pretty bummed out that I had to go home. Of course, I immediately started formulating a plan on how I could go back. It seemed simple. Just wait until my parents went to bed and go out the window. It wasn’t even hard; my window literally opened onto the ground.
Which, yes, meant I was on ground level for bugs. Ugh! Once, when sleeping, I brushed my hand over my face because I felt a tickle. I’d say about .5 seconds later I jolted out of bed and turned on the light. Yep. Horrified. I woke up because a spider crawled across my face. (Something like a grass spider if you’re so inclined to look that up.) Better believe I didn’t go back to sleep for a while.
Which reminded me of more bugs. Two of the walls of my bedroom were 90% underground. On one of those walls, there was an electrical outlet. The faceplate on it either wasn’t straight or wasn’t flush, for whatever reason, there was a space between the wall and the faceplate. One day I was sitting in my room and I just happened to look over to that outlet to see black ants swarming in. After I stopped freaking out, I taped that motherfucker shut. Probably didn’t sleep in my room that night.
Back to the story at hand, I waited until they went to bed. And then I waited a little longer. When I thought I had waited long enough, as George Thorogood said, out the door I went. *guitar riff* I walked back to the gathering and continued talking and having a good time. After a while, I found my party pal over by the path to the gathering spot. We chatted a bit about nothing in general as I scanned the group. We struck up a conversation about how neither of us were supposed to be there. Not long thereafter, I saw her go pale like she had seen a ghost. She pointed and said the two words I never wanted to hear: Your. Mom.
FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK.
I knew I was dust. I started walking towards her, dejectedly. The walk home was torturous. Dead silence. Silence of a rural area when even the crickets have gone to sleep and you’re sucked into the vacuum of cold that is your mother’s anger. When we got back to the house, she followed me to my room. She told me that we were not going to tell my father about this because tomorrow was Father’s Day and we were going to the brunch buffet at Seven Springs and you are not going to ruin that for him GAWD DAMMIT!
Got it.
I got grounded. I’m sure it was at least two weeks. But much worse than the grounding was the fact that my mother had seen my pal there. She knew who wasn’t supposed to be there and she knew that included my pal. So in addition to being grounded, I had to call my pal’s PARENTS and rat her out. I thought surely she’d never talk to me again, but we got through it, grounded, together.
Now see? Isn’t that a better story than remembering a straight pin being pushed through a small piece of cardboard, lighting some hash, putting a glass over the hash and letting it fill up, then sipping the smoke from under the crack you get when you lift the glass up? BWAHAHAHAHA!! OLD SCHOOL!
I saw a post on Facebook a few days back that had writing prompts for the month of April in a sort of challenge form. Knowing that I needed to get back to writing to possibly kickstart actually writing something, this felt like something good to do. I’ve recruited some folks to play along (I think), just as I was pulled in. Here we go.
Five Problems with Social Media
How ironic, seeing that social media is where I found this challenge, but there’s plenty of them. Sorry this will be a bullet pointer rather than an actual blog.
Know-it-nothings: We’ve all run across this person, whether the person is on Facebook or sits next to you at work. He claims to know everything about every topic ever presented, but really just talks out of his ass (like Trump, you know?). And the KIN really hates to be called out on his bullshit. Facebook, and to a lesser extent, Twitter, is his playground. And Facebook is where he thrives because so many people will take everything they read there as fucking gospel and then spread that shit like the plague. KINs on Facebook are part of the dumbing down of our society.
Wizards: Not like the D&D kids, but fairly closely related to the KINs. These are the people who don’t care if they’re right or wrong, they’re gonna post that bullshit and stand behind it….on Facebook. If you met a wizard on the street, they’d likely be too chickenshit to spew their garbage to you in person, but, much like the Wizard in the Wizard of Oz, they have this great curtain to hide behind while telling themselves they’re tough or important or that their message should be heard. Fuck yinz guys.
Unicorns and Glitter: Â 100% honesty here, I am guilty of this. It doesn’t matter how I try to spin it to myself, I’m still guilty. I post the happy shit, the pleasant shit, the shit that makes you laugh or smile. Personally, I don’t think that my friends want to hear about my cramps or constipation or any other less than awesome thing that’s going on in my life. But life’s not perfect, folks, even though that’s what we portray to our friends. Remember life before social media? When you really talked to your friends face-to-face? So they knew that shit wasn’t perfect even without you changing your profile picture to the biggest fucking smile you have? Your FRIENDS. Not your Facebook friends. The real people who know you and care about if you’re having the best day ever or the worst day of your life and want to hear about both. Social media slowly but surely takes that away, if we let it, of course. Go call your BFF. Call, not text!
Savages: Again, keeping it 100, I’m not going to sit here and say that I haven’t laughed at a comment that was “savage”, but it’s like it’s become a goal. Let me see what I can say about this that is the most horrific and insulting thing that will still get a laugh because we’re all morally bankrupt. Why can’t our goal be to be the anti-savage? Let’s start saying things that lift people up instead of tearing them down. I know we won’t because we’re already 30 miles down that highway to hell and there’s no stopping us now.
Timesuck : I spend waaaaaaay too much time on social media. Time I could be using to read, or write, or work on the Mighty Methed Out Power Strippers (ha, look them up on Facebook), or doing yoga, or exercising or stretching, or so many other things. I look at Twitter every now and again, and Instagram less more and more, but Facebook, that fucker, just caresses my soul. One minute it’s 7:30 and the next minute it’s 9:00. I really should delete the app from my phone. Hey, maybe I will. For this month. If I can make it that long. I need rehab.
And none of this is April Fool’s. But this, my friends, is definitely the end of this post. See you tomorrow.