everyone is the worst

WDd3HiY

Things That Suck Today
(things that suck big hairy sweaty balls, to be specific)

– thinking that those pesky periods have finally stopped and then – nope
– when you notice the nope in a yoga class in light colored yoga pants
– when you’re not quite over that recent inconvenient yoga pants fail and then … nope happens
– when you’re still stiff from that damn Bar class that you can’t do a damn thing without falling over in yoga class
– when you keep falling over in yoga class, and then notice the nope

– when there are no goddamn cookies in the house, and all you want is just a little bit of sugary goodness, is that too much to ask for?
– when there are no lemon tarts, no coffeecake, no scones in the house either
– when you end up eating gluten free cookies and sugar-free chocolate
– when you realize that what you are grumpy about is a beyond superficial first world problem, and still decide to stay grumpy

– when that guy honked at you, for no good reason, okay maybe the very slightest and unimportant reason, but really there was no need for honking. honestly

L24IaWs– when you go solo to a couples party of 90% young hot 30somethings
– when you weren’t planing on going solo, but the date you chose doesn’t show
– when you almost asked a good friend to be your date, but then decided to ‘go for it’ and ask the ‘great at no showing’ guy, when you should have bloody well known better than to even consider him
– when you’re having a great hair day and get stood up
– when you wore the cute short dress with the boots, and still got stood up
– when you even put on motherfucking eyeliner and lipstick, and still got stood up
– when every one at the super fun party was snuggly with their date and you get super tight with the dessert table and then almost aspirate on a cupcake
– when you sit there and seriously wonder why you even try and really seriously consider that future that involves cats, housecoats, and crazy hair
– when you say forget cats, I’m getting chickens to peck at anyone who tries to visit me, and then you say forget chickens, I’m getting Emus. I’m getting Emus with the worst possible attitudes and I’m keeping them in my front yard.

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-when you get a Starbucks card and it has Year of the Monkey on it and you start crying in front of the kind gift giver, because your brother was a Monkey
– when you realize that this year of the Monkey would have been your brother’s year

l1iHINO– when you’re happily sitting as far away from other people as you can manage at church and they make the announcement to stand up and greet the people around and you realize that you didn’t get far enough away and you have to chat with people

 

– David Bowie is dead
– Alan Rickman is dead
– and just fuck all things about that, but especially idiots who say mean shit about mourning some celebrity you didn’t know
fuck those people

– when you can’t format bullet points and have to use “-”

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Charles Bulowski

– when Bukowski sums it up best

year of the monkey

buddha-grief-quoteDear Johnny,

It’s funny the things that make me think of you, like today, on a Year of Monkey card someone gave me, your year.

This was suppose to be your year, and then again tonight, while I was bowling for the first time since we took our kids years ago, I thought of you and how we scored our game, the jokes we told, and how you won. I’m pretty sure you won, I’ve never been much good at bowling, and you could always pick up anything you put your mind to. That used to  make me crazy you know. I had to work hard to be good at anything, and all you had to do was incline your mind in whatever direction you wanted and then master whatever it was.

It was a staff party, tonight, with bowling, arcade games,  bocce ball and all sorts of great food. I even wore a dress, a short one, with my tall boots. I put a bit of effort into the whole outfit, hair and makeup thing, Lizz gave it a resounding ‘meh’ when asked what she thought, still, I thought I looked nice, maybe even slightly better than my average (which is no makeup, no boots, no dress, and yoga clothes).  And then I got stood up, dress, boots, makeup, hair and all. Stood up, without even an insincere “sorry, I’m not going to make it” text, an ‘all my messages completely ignored’ kind of stood up. Party full of people who have someone to share  their nachos with, someone to ask them what they wanted to drink, someone to sit with, but hey, I manage. I even put away my phone so I wouldn’t make a pathetic show of constantly checking it (not that there were any messages). I managed, put on my party face, and mingled. You were always better at that sort of thing than me, and you would have made fun of my little pity party tonight. You were the life of the party kind of guy. We would all bask in your wit, charm and banter and laugh and be thoroughly entertained. It’s been awhile since you made anyone laugh, and now I just have a recording of your voice.

I’ve been left enough, been left, or told I wasn’t wanted enough, that I think I should be better at it, but it still stings. Maybe this is good? I don’t know. I do maintain an intact game face throughout, one must keep up appearances after all. I don’t feel surprise, or anger, or much more than resignation anymore. It’s relief really, the other shoe finally falling kind of feeling. So, tonight, being stood up, not a surprise, no anger, just resignation.

Even so, I remain ill equipped to cope with your leaving. It took so long, and was so awful for so long before, you’d think I would have been better prepared, that all that pain for all those years would have counted as credit against the pain of finally completely losing you. Maybe it is, or was.

I don’t mean this to sound morose  Johnny, but I do miss you. I miss us. I miss what we once were, at our best, the times that we could have ruled the world. I miss those times.

I still wear your pj bottoms, and your blue vest when it’s cold. Graham wears your work boots every day. And I still talk to you most days, especially today.

And I miss you Johnny.

Goodnight.