24 July 2012

The Lies I Tell... Everyone

I lie to people.
All the time.
Bosses, friends, coworkers... children, mine and other peoples, and also random strangers.
So just in case anyone has ever believed a word that I've said...

I am not now, nor have I ever been, on a methamphetamine and laxative diet.

While snorting drugs does make them work faster, I don't actually snort my daily vitamins.
Or anything else that I have claimed works better if you snort it, including but not limited to, zinc, magnesium,  tobacco, tequila or bologna.

I was not, in fact, born a poor black child. 


I do not really believe we should arm small children to make classrooms safer. 



I don't use bath salts.
I just like to say "bath salts". 
At ridiculous random moments.
I also like to yell "MEDIC" and "GET OFF THE X!" when it's busy at work.

"That" did not actually also happen to me once. Whatever "that" may be at a particular moment.

Any statement that is immediately followed by the words, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," should never be considered actual advice.
Ever.

My dad was also not born a poor black child.

My husband was born in the USA. So he really doesn't have a green card, but it is not because he is an illegal alien from Mexico.

We do have running water and electricity at my house.

I did not lose a leg in any war that I did not go to.

I do not handcuff my children together when they fight.
I want to, but I'm pretty sure DCFAS would frown on it.
I also do not discipline them with a stun gun.
I really don't discipline them at all, they are all heathens.

I do buy shoes for the babies in the summertime.

I was not there when Kennedy was killed.
Obviously I was not the guy on the grassy knoll. 

I do not let the dog clean the kids off instead of bathing them.
Unless they puke.
Shit.
That's a lie also.


I did not, at any time, apply nail polish with a paint roller.
It looks like I do, but I didn't.



My balls did not, in fact, drop well after puberty.
They did not drop at all.
I don't have testicles.







19 July 2012

Rest Easy

We were kids together.
The four us, mostly, because Jay was so much older.
Road trips with Grandma.
God, we must have driven her insane.
Those damn trees, remember?
"Look at the pretty trees..."
She talked about them the whole way down to Indy.
Payback probably for the bouncy balls and the gum in her car's carpet.
For the cigarette butts behind her garage.
Remember how she always knew when we had been smoking pot?
I still don't know how she knew.

Christmas Eve and Easter Day.
Coloring eggs.
You stapled my finger.
You tried to shoot me with the nail gun when we were doing the roof.
We had the whole damn world in front us.

Your brother's wedding.
All those boys, and finally that baby girl you were so enamored with.
We joked about taking a collection in the family to pay for a vasectomy for you.
I'm sorry now.
For not understanding.
For judging you.
For not realizing that you weren't you anymore.

You made it easy, all those things you did wrong.
Immoral and illegal.
Chasing that motherfucking dragon.
Anything for the drug.
I didn't understand.
You had demons I couldn't see.
Wouldn't have understood them if I had.
I didn't understand, then, what that drug did to people.
How it changes you.
Controls you.

That last high.
I won't pretend to understand it.
Seems so simple to me, you had so much going for you again.
Seemed like you were gonna make it this time.
You didn't.

So here we all are, grieving for you.
For all that you were and all that you could have been.
All of your children, fatherless now.
Your mother, devastated by the loss of her firstborn.
Your brother.
God, your brother.
You two were inseparable for so long.
Your dad.
Grandma.
She's heartbroken.
One should never have to bury a child, a grandchild.
It happens, I know.
That doesn't make it better, easier.

I wish you'd known how much you were loved.
I wish you hadn't gone back to that dark place.
Where you were all alone.
And you couldn't see a way out, except for that high.
Just a few years ago, we all expected this day.
It would have hurt, but it wouldn't have shocked so many people.
We all had faith that you'd make it this time.
Makes it so much harder to accept.

At least you're out of the darkness now.
Rest easy, Cousin.
I pray you find the peace in death that you couldn't find in life.

18 July 2012

Missing Girls

No funny right now.

These two little girls have been missing for six days now. I don't know if any one from Iowa reads this blog... but they could be anywhere by now, so I figured it couldn't hurt to post this.
More info is available at KCRG.com
Photo via KCRG.com

Investigators are continuing the search and ask anyone with any ideas on what could have happened to the girls to call the police at 319-232-6682.

14 July 2012

Hey. Jack Off...Just keep your tip.

#1. Again, with the drugs... What you do is your own business. Since you appear to be missing some vital connections in your brain, I'm gonna let you in on the fact that not everyone appreciates being approached and asked if they would like to buy some prescription drugs.
Fucking really.
Why the fuck would you ask someone you don't know if they want to buy drugs?
I don't like seeing anyone go to jail... but just once? I'd like to see someone whip a badge out and simply grin. 
Plus? If you are going to sell drugs? Sell fucking drugs. Nothing says "I grew up in an upper middle class bubble" more that selling fucking loritabs for $4.00 a pop.
Grow some balls and sell heroine or something.
Jack off.

#2 If you throw up? If you fall asleep? If you can not walk, talk or even gesture?
Go. 
The.
 Fuck.
 Home.
 Why do you want to drink more? 

#3. Do not act like twelve year old children on lunch hour. 
I don't mind cleaning up when you leave, but at least pretend to be a grown up for the few hours that you are in the bar.
If you insist on throwing beer and ice and water and whatever else?
If you want to get in goddamn food fights inside the bar?
CLEAN IT THE FUCK UP.
If you insist on leaving a god awful mess when you leave every time you come in?
I am going to ask you to leave when you start your bullshit. 
Trust me, it's worth your two dollar fucking tip to not have to stay an extra hour cleaning up your mess.
Jack off.

04 July 2012

A Parade, by any other name is still drunken debauchery...

The midnight parade in Porter Indiana probably has some great story behind it.
I don't know what it is, but I'm sure there is one.

What ever it began as, it went from a parade to a "let's get hammered outside and pee on the railroad tracks... minors welcome..." event.

The last parade I went to featured a fire truck and three drunk guys driving pick up trucks down the street... I think.
IF there was more to it, I was too drunk to really notice.
They canceled the parade for a few years, unable to control minor consumption of alcohol and open containers on the road when the event swelled to over 5000 spectators.
And by spectators I mean drunk people.

Anyway... the parade resumed this year.
There are three bars on a three block stretch on the main street of Porter.
People hop from bar to bar, stop for twenty minutes to watch the parade and then resume hopping.
Non stop.

The bar I work at happens to be smack dab in the center of the strip.

I thought we were well prepared, beer stocked, entertainment, servers on the floor and a beer girl in the back. 
We underestimated the attendance, I think.

First of all, the hose fell off the bottom of the ice machine and flooded behind the bar.
I thought it was just ice and pop and stuff being sloshed on the floor.
It was fun for a while, sliding through the water on the ceramic tile, but the water just kept spreading.
On three separate occasions, I damn near bit it, falling once to my knees without spilling the shot I was serving.

People apparently were unaware of the beer girl in the back of the bar, no matter how many times we announced it.

Other people got drunk way before the parade and apparently only came to the bar to push their way through other people and frantically wave at the bartender and then ask for either ice water or pop.
No, no these people did not tip.

People kept asking for their drinks VERY slowly, or one at a time.
Yes, I did want to kill them.
At the far end on the bar, a guy says, "Lemme get a Miller Light."
So I do, at the other end of the bar, and I bring it to him, sliding my way through an inch of water.
He then asks me for two more Miller lights, because apparently the thought of ordering all the beer at the same did not occur to him.
And it wasn't just that guy.
People did that shit ALL NIGHT LONG!

I was soaked in sweat, pressing ice against the small of my back. When we took a break, I stood outside, double-fisting ice water and then wearing the ice as I smoked my cigarette.
The break came just in time, as I was reasonably sure the next request for fucking ice water was going to end in a homicide charge.
Photo via my boss lady's facebook.


Some kid actually asked me what kind of whiskey we had.
At that point in the evening I just gave him a blank stare and gestured to the bar,
all that, kid, pick one.

And then? In the middle of this pandemonium? A god damn frog hops over my foot.
Behind the bar.
For a moment, I thought that was it.
I thought I was obviously too hot and too tired because I was fucking hallucinating.
I was not.
The frog was real, thank God... but for a moment there?
I thought I had finally lost it.

02 July 2012

The moon is in the 7th House of Jack Off this month.

My horoscope says that the moon is entering my 7th House of Others.
I don't know what the fuck that means.
But I am reasonably sure that when the moon is in such a house, it is a bad sign for bartenders everywhere.

Every random thing I have ranted about on this blog?
Every random behavior?
Had them all in the last week, I think.
Must be the planetary alignment.
Or?
People have read these blogs and are going out of their way to be featured in them.
While no one actually had  sex in the bathroom?
They intended to and were interrupted.
No one left their tampon on the floor, but they left the wrapper.
The guy that wants a beer, and doesn't care which kind and them bitches because "Budweiser is the worst beer ever..." Guess he'll know what he wants next time, huh?
The "I don't know what I want, make me something fruity..."
The I am going to run your ass off ALL NIGHT LONG and not tip you a single fucking time.
The jackoff that wants to get involved in someone else's shit and then tell customers he knows the boss and will have them barred.
The "Can you actually put some liquor in my drink please..."
GUM in the ashtray, tobacco spit and cigarette butts in bottles.
And just when I was thinking, at least I didn't have to clean up puke... I did.
And then some I haven't bitched about yet....

"Hey! I gave you a fifty and you didn't give me my change."
Hmm. No, drunkass you did not give me a fifty. I mean normally, I am willing to consider than I saw it wrong and gave the wrong change...but there isn't a single fifty dollar bill in the drawer.
 Not one.
Also, you've been dropping your money all over the god damn floor and hopping from one bar to the other all night long, so I would assume that you spent it elsewhere.
When you wake up sober in the morning?
You will realize that you are a Jackoff.

Hey, that whatever that I ordered... I don't have any money, so just throw that on my tab, okay? I'll pay it later."
No, jackass.
First of all, no, just no. 
Second, you now owe me $10.00.

"I drank a whole bottle of rum before I got here!"
Fucking super, kid.
Go the fuck home.

The younger kids, screaming over the band.
Wrestling, yelling and just being overly obnoxious?
Please be aware of your environment.
You have every right to enjoy yourselves, but try to have a little respect.
If the band asks for a moment to make an announcement?
Lower your noise level a few octaves.
You don't have to listen and you don't have to care what they are announcing, but you should have the respect to let the announcement be heard by the rest of the bar.

Tip the band.
Yes, they get paid to perform.
But then, I get paid to sell beer.
Waitresses get paid to serve food.
If you like them?
If you listen to them all night, request songs and enjoy yourselves?
Give credit where it is due and throw a five or ten in the tip bucket.
A dollar even.
Tips keep us above the poverty line.
Barely.

"I know you called last call, but can a get a...."
No, it is 3:15 in the morning.
That is the fucking point of last call.

"How much is a ...."
$5
"$4.00?"
No, five dollars.
"4.00?"
I don't have time to barter the shit.
I'm agreeing and paying the extra dollar just to get you to shut up.

"Do you have Smirnoff White Grape vodka?"
And then a roll of the eyes and I hear you bitching about your service...
Go the fuck home.
It is not my fault we do not have that particular flavor of vodka.
I don't order the shit.
We have at least twenty fucking flavored vodkas, pick a different one.
Furthermore?
You're a jack off.

That's all for now.
Venting complete for the day.
I think.

We learned the Golden Rule in Kindergarten for God's Sake...

I try to be a good person.
I'm honest.
I don't fuck people over.
I do not steal from people.
I do not expect a god damn thing that I don't work for.
I do not believe that I am entitled to a fucking thing.
If I like you, if I believe in you, I will do any and every thing possible to help you.
I am a fiercely loyal person when I believe in something.
In someone.
I do not expect people to believe that about me when they don't know me.

I expect people to question my motives.
The sad but true fact is that people pretty much suck.
A lot of people will lie, steal and cheat if it benefits them.
I am not one of them.
I do not believe that true success, happiness or contentment can be acheived by stepping on the faces of people around you.
But only time can prove that.
There is no secret way of determining whether someone is worthy of your trust.
So, while I know that I am doing the right thing, I expect people to wonder about my motives and morals for a time.
It does not hurt my feelings.
People can test me.
Question me.
And I will answer and not be the slightest bit offended by the scrutiny.

To a point.

I will not continue to prove myself indefinitely.
I am sick and goddamn tired of placing my faith and my energy into people that are either unwilling or incapable of recognizing it.
It is exhausting.
And stressful.
And, simply put, it's unfair.
I will gladly give people everything I have and expect very little back...for a time.
After a good amount of time, though, not knowing where you stand with a person is pretty goddamned discouraging.

At some point, when you continue to give someone the benefit of the doubt, and they don't do the same, you  simply have to quit.
When I begin to feel taken advantage of, lied about or to...
When someone wonders about my motives consistently , either silently or to a third party without questioning me face to face...
When the, Jesus Christ what the fuck do I have to do to show you that I am who I am and not what you fear I am hits?
To hell with it.

There's no point in feeling constantly insecure and scrutinized.
If by that point, you can not see me for who I am?
Fuck off.

You have now lost my trust and I give it freely.
Some people believe that makes me naive, my willingness to take people at face value and give them my trust and my loyalty.
To accept and forgive their distrust.
The expectation that time will prove truth.
I am not naive.
I recognize a lost cause when I see one.
It saddens me, but it doesn't change the way I treat other people.
I won't let it.

I will continue to treat people the way that I want them to treat me.
I will be honest and upfront, because that's how people should be.
Many of them are not, but I will continue to believe they are until they have shown me otherwise.



01 July 2012

The associations that my brain makes baffle me sometimes



"Have you ever felt like you are in a dark tunnel with no way out and you can't even see the light?" Someone asked me the other day.

I nodded and said, "God yes. Yes I do." 

And then I ordered shots because I am not the best person to have in depth conversations with.

Ever.

Any advice I may offer will probably be followed with the statement: " and then fuck them if they can't take a joke anyway." 
Which pretty much means you should do the exact opposite of anything I may suggest.
Obviously.

In any case, the question made me think about how small children are more likely to survive being lost in the wilderness than an adult is. 
That really makes no sense at all unless you live in my brain. 
It's a fucked up confusing world in there.

A small child, lost in the wilderness, will sleep when he is tired, eat when he hungry and drink when he is thirsty. 
He will seek shelter and stay still to keep warm. 
An adult, or an older child, in the same circumstance will push himself past exhaustion and risk exposure to the elements and death, in an effort to be found again.
They will panic and may even run across roads or paths that would have led to help without noticing.

I think that's how I got out of that dark metaphorical tunnel.
I went back to the basics.
I stopped running.
Ate when I was hungry and slept when I was tired.
Sort of living on auto pilot.
One foot at a time.
One breath at a time.

This last year has been the worst time in my life.
Really.
It was Hell. 

There was a point that I simply could not even fathom an end to the tunnel.
Life sucked. 
I couldn't imagine that anything would ever be anything close to okay again.
I thought that I simply could not take anymore of anything. That if even one more small thing was placed on my shoulders, I would simply die.
Just lay down and die.

This is called stress overload, by the way. 
It's bad.
It's Hell on your mind and your body. I didn't sleep, I forgot to eat, my muscles ached and my heart raced. I was broken and lost and terrified and so much more. So, I climbed trees, painted walls, did ridiculous things at ridiculous hours of the night, cleaned stupid shit and drank entirely too much tequila, desperate to just keep moving, with no destination or reference point.

This is obviously a bad fucking idea.

At some point, a friend held my shoulders and told me to breathe, just fucking breathe. I think I babbled out something about how bad it was.
How really, really, fucking bad it was. 

He told me, quite simply, that there was nothing broken that could not be fixed. 
Nothing lost that could not be replaced. 
He said that even if the worst possible things I could imagine happened...
If Husband never got better, if we lost the house, the car, if we couldn't fix this marriage and the dog ran away? 
Even though it felt like we were in Hell? 
I was alive, my kids were alive, and somehow, someday, we would be okay.

I thought about it, which is weird for me, because I usually tell him to shove his irritating optimism up his ass.
I decided that he had a point, and found a little bit of hope again.

And then, things went from bad to worse and then from worse to "why does God hate me?" 
And then some jack off stole my minivan from behind the gun store.

I called my annoyingly optimistic friend and told him that I was probably a serial killer in my last life because Karma fucking hated me. 

I told him I quit. 
I was broken and lost and I didn't have enough strength to care anymore... and then I hung up before he could shove any more feel-good, don't-worry bullshit at me.

And I quit.
I stopped running around in circles.
Stopped cleaning dumb shit and painting walls.
I slept when I was tired, ate when I was hungry. I got up, fed the kids, went to work, came home, fed the kids and went to bed. 
One foot at a time. 
One breath at a time.

And somehow, without me really noticing it happening, the tunnel became a little less dark and scary.

Somehow, when I stopped running and trying to be found?

I found me. 

So I guess, if I were the sort of person to offer advice, or involve myself in deep meaningful conversation?

I would have told my friend that everyone gets broken, that we all get lost in that tunnel, and that sometimes all you can do is breath.
That sometimes, when if feels like there is nothing you can do to get out of the darkness?
Nothing may be the best thing to do.
Back to basics.
Eat.
Sleep.
Breathe.

Or?
One can always self-medicate with meth-amphetamines and vodka, sell your kids to gypsies and become a hooker.