Day 5 of 21

Today's post about my post isn't a post of any importance, but I put it here to keep myself on track.  I did write tonight, but it is a rather personal issue that I'm not ready to discuss quite yet.  I know that at some point when I get some further clarification I'll be more than happy to write about it (in my usual sarcastic manner).

But so you aren't too disappointed that I haven't imparted my wisdom to you (yes, I am rolling my eyes), you have to watch this video first, then scroll down to find out what the Kiddo deadpanned:

"Mom, her song stinks worse than my poop." 

Not the most eloquent child on the block, but may have a future in comedy.

Hard Times + Drugs=Death....Not a Very Good Equation

Reading the Sunday paper this past weekend, I happened upon an article about an American facing the death penalty for participating in a drug smuggling ring.  Frank Amado lives in Jakarta, Indonesia where he decided to turn to drug trafficking when his business went belly up and his girlfriend left him. I admit, it is a sad story especially when I read about the Frank's mother using up most of her savings to try and hire a lawyer to defend her son. 

But, and I know this sounds harsh, I don't have any pity for Frank.  His mother, yes, for she will have to live the remainder of her life knowing that her son was executed millions of miles away from her and that she couldn't do anything to change that.  A parent's worse fear is that their child will die before them.  In this case, Frank could have spared his mother an future filled with sorrow and anger, but instead, he acted like a selfish prick.  I know, I sound like a heartless jackass.

Hear me out. 

First of all, Frank chose to live in a country, beautiful though it is, has very harsh laws against drug use/selling/trafficking.  For Indonesia to take such a hard stance against drugs, they do have lower crime rates than many of their Western counterpoints.   (Charlie Sheen, Lindsey Lohan don't plan on visiting Jakarta anytime soon.  I can guarantee you won't see the light of day again, no matter how good of a publicist you have.)

When Frank fell on 'hard times,' rather than dust himself off, work one or more jobs to cover his living expenses, or even call mom and ask for air fare back home, he decided to take a short cut.  The saying when you play with fire you'll get burned isn't a joke. 

This is why I have no pity for Frank.  I, along with millions of others in the US today, have fallen on 'hard times.'  When I lost my job back in June, I was devastated, but I began scrounging around to find any work I could.  I cleaned a few houses, babysat, moved furniture, and sold some of my meager possessions.  In addition to my own personal expenses, I am raising a child which adds a whole other layer of complexities.

But did I decide that it would be a better choice to run drugs or turn tricks at the local strip bars to support me and my child?

Ummmmm....NO.

Granted, my ego has taken a huge bruising at times, having to ask the landlord if I can split up my rent payments throughout the month, relying on the generosity of others to help make ends meet when the crops froze up for three weeks, and asking to eat at my parent's house a few too many times because I didn't even have milk in the house. 

The point that I am making here is that I didn't wimp out.  And I've still survived.  Certainly more humbled than before and more understanding to the plight of others who are in far worse condition than me.  Frank Amado, sorry as he may be for his crime, screwed up in the first place by trying to take the easy way out and secondly choosing to live in a society knowing fully well of the consequences he might face. 

I'm Not Down on Love, But I Abhore Valentine's Day

I make no bones about being unlucky in love making piss poor choices in men.  I've had my heart stomped on a good three times, but yet I still believe in love.  Despite listening to more than enough angry, depressing, had-my-life-shattered-by-you songs (yes, thank you Breaking Benjamin for being the soundtrack to my last relationship.  I can't hear the opening chords of any of your depressing-ass songs without becoming physically repulsed) I am still optimistic.

I'll admit it took me a good 2 years of Disturbed, Eminem, Framing Hanley, Ludacris,and Linkin Park (except their latest album which all I can say is ewww.  The edge is gone since they've all sobered/dried up.  But that's a good thing for them, just not their music) to get over my hurt.  Recently my mellowed music selections include plenty of Mozart, Beethoven, Jack Johnson's Brushfire Fairytales, Louis Armstrong, Weezer and these two bands:

When I hear either of these songs, I'm encouraged to believe that there is someone out there who is looking for someone like me.  I tell myself that I am a good person, full of life, love, and energy, but the right one to share that with hasn't come along yet, but he will some day.  While it might be 20 years from now, somewhere a complimentary awaits me.  I'll still hold on to hope.

So when I say emphatically that I. HATE. VALENTINE'S. DAY. it's not because I am a warped, twisted hag.  What I hate is that right after Christmas, Hallmark and De Beers become street level drug love pushers.  One day has been singled out of the entire years to make a grand romantic gesture to prove that you really love the person you are with.  And heaven help you if you don't come through.  Some people view Valentine's Day as the make-or-break test of their relationship.     

I say to hell with it.  If you are with someone who can't or doesn't chose to express their love for you in any manner outside of the holidays, than maybe you're with the wrong person.  I'd rather receive a hand full of midday-heat wilting wildflowers in the middle of July or a pine cone in early November, than overpriced roses on Valentine's Day.  I want to know everyday that I am loved, not just on February 14th.

But I'll still eat the chocolate.      

PS--This is post 3 in my 21 days bet, so I'm still winning.  I've been at this for more than 30 minutes like the bet originally was set at but that's my fault.  When you get on YouTube, it sucks you in like a black star.

PSsquared--I'm suggesting if you'd like a better understand my true feelings for Valentine's Day, go to YouTube and search for Non-Holiday Special: Foamy the Squirrel.  I warn however, that if your sense of humor/propriety maybe far different than mine, you don't want to go there.  Foamy is a foul-mouthed critic.  The V-Day rant begins at 1:12 of 2:30.   

Things You Don't Say To Me

Fact: I am single.

Fact: Some days I will have more stress in my life.  I may be cranky at moments, but I will be able to function just fine. 

Fact: I will think you are a rude, insensitive, crude, and lowbrow troll if you dare to make nasty remarks about me needing a sex life.

Do not ask if I was up all night with B.O.B. when I yawn.  (I was so embarrassed when I realized it meant battery operated boyfriend.)

Do not tell the 19 y.o. who works in the afternoon that I will be a happier person if he "slings some my way."

My lack of marital/dating status does not give you a carte blanche to openly mock me.  I have standards, I have feelings, and I am more than a impulse driven being.  Impulse control separates man from the beasts.

I'm so pissed.   

(This is day 2 of 21, but I don't feel like this is a victory on my part.  I may have written for 30 mins but I don't have any real direction.  Tomorrow, I write when I am less cranky, more rested.)

Day 1 of 21

I'm supposed to be writing for 30 minutes each day.  It's a bet I made with my shrink.   But I've got nothing so far.  I have no idea what to write about.  In fact, I've already trashed a piece that I worked on for about 20 minutes b/c I felt that it rambled.  Much like this. 

Probably watching Arrested Development in conjunction with attempting to make sense of my drek-like ramblings tonight is not going to help.  So I'm off to bed.  Day one, points go to the shrink.  Maybe I'll have more in me tomorrow.   

I wish AD was still on the air. Stupid Fox.