vacation was a low key masterpiece. somehow, in spite of the mullets and pegged jeans, northern Michigan is ah-maze-ing. 4 days felt like a week. it was just what we both needed. boats, wave runners, hammock, quads. and a golf cart. you know, to get from the cabin to the lake...because, let's face it, on vacation i just shouldn't have to walk the 100 yards on the lush grass. i won't bore you with the blissful nothingness that went on, but rest assured i didn't break out this computer, and cell phone signal is scarce. it's alpena... they're still catching up. they have CB's. cory did have an incident with the jet ski and some land. and a tree. too much watching of "nitro circus" played a part in this, I'm certain.
getting back into routine life.. (up north really does take you out of the loop... even for a few days) i was stopped by a post from a dear friend of mine from high school..one of those guys that you should have known better, because he was an "old soul" in his teenage years. one of those guys who i am privileged (honestly)to know now. i thank you for this eye opener and give a half-assed apology for stealing it from you.
pay attention kids.... 1:08.
"You think my life turned out the way I wanted because I live in this house? You think every time I look in the mirror I shout 'Gee I'm glad I'm me and not some 19-year-old billionaire rockstar with the body of an athlete and a 24-hour erection!' No I don't! So just excuse the shit out of me!"
i now steal (er... borrow. with correct bibliography given) the rest of mr. old soul high school..let's call him, uh, "James"... (i promise this is going somewhere)
delicious diatribe. "Am I a soulless shell of a man because I've accepted that most of my hopes and ambitions won't come about and I look forward to a football game, a beer, and a clean home in a safe neighborhood? That's the stability that allows me to directly and indirectly support literally hundreds of people, many of whom who don't have the guts to be responsible for themselves or take on the obligations I have.
I've taken my chances, made my gambles, screwed up royally on more than one occasion, and things haven't turned out as I hoped. I simply haven't got the credit lines to go ba...ck and try it all again. But I don't blame anyone, I'm paying off my debts, and I enjoy what little I've earned without obsessing over what I don't have.
Some people have the luxury of freaking out or weeping over being unfulfilled or misunderstood. So long as they're attractive and can be labeled "sensitive" or "passionate", they get a revolving door free pass at that shit. But when you're the stable, hardworking grown-up providing mental and physical stability, one slip up is an unforgivable crime.
A video post on Facebook with a short tirade is all the freaking out I'm allowed."
mad props and a heartfelt 'well played, sir. well played" in effect to "James". see? old soul then... genius now. i wish i woulda thought of something profound. but that's not really my calling. i'd rather be making fun of the masses for being spoonfed dumb asses with my razor sharp tongue. that's not true. i'd rather make fun of them like THIS... while wearing a smoking jacket, maribu heels, and sipping an 18 year old scotch. but you get me -probably wearing a tigers t-shirt, tore up levis, and drinking jack daniels. trust.
so goes my attention deficit-ed mind. look, i make up words. (read my first disclosure post) the above said tigers t, levis, and jack ISN'T an exaggeration. if you know me AT ALL, you're not shocked. and i appreciate you loving me for that (in spite of ? i digress) . here's the problem. i don't make a very good girl. there are a few exceptions here, but all in all.. i really am a guy inside. this isn't a gender thing, and it's NOT A FREUD thing. i am 100% female... it's pretty obvious. but my logic is mostly male. i'm not *exactly* a tomboy... i get my hair done and eyebrows waxed, i like make up and pedicures, and i have a thing for pink. like my pink adidas, and my pink converse, and my pink vans. do you see where this is going? and i really like purses. but i'd rather be playing softball, and i'd rather be outside and dirty. and i'd really rather be shooting something and reloading ammo. i hate watching football, i'd rather play. i've never golfed, my boobs get in the way. i'd rather talk your ear off about baseball, as opposed to you watching me in the fit of world series meltdown that ive done for the last 13 years. i'd rather drink whiskey than stupid skinny martinis or vodka and cranberry. i'd rather smoke a cigar with my whiskey, than some dumb 120 suckerstick cigarette. i'm slightly jealous of the girly girls. who always look like they just walked out of the salon and got a full body make over. never a hair in their eye, or mascara smeared ala Tammy Faye Baker look that i seemed to have perfected. i don't have the patience, i don't have the time, i won't stop to ask for directions, i'll change my own oil in the garage how dare you for thinking i cant.
it's me. i'm ok with it. it's fun. i laugh a lot. i'm loved for WHO i am. and i guess that's all that matters.
ps. remember earlier when i promised that i was going somewhere? it made sense in my mind. sorry to keep you waiting for the fireworks.
