Wednesday, December 25, 2013

All I Want For Christmas Is A Fresh Start

statue of baby Jesus, c. 1685
The birth of that tiny, holy baby has me all wrapped up in the idea of new beginnings.

"What would an 'old beginning' look like? Do you even need to say 'new beginnings'? Wouldn't the 'new' be implied?"

"I don't know. People say 'new beginnings', don't they? OMG, just let me get back to my fucking story! You're ruining everything!"

As I was saying, a new beginning, like a baby being brought into the world to cleanse humanity of its iniquities*. A new lens in which to view an arduous road ahead. A new outlook to shoo away the grey clouds that have hovered over my existence for the last 2+ months.

Fifty Shades of Grey clouds, to be exact.

So my next door neighbor who I talk to over our fence about shitty men and divorce and whatnot told me to "hold on, I have something you might like to borrow!". She came back seconds later with the three-book set of Fifty Shades of Grey. I'm all like "uh.... thanks!" I was currently reading Nineteen Eighty-Four and hating every minute of it. Like I started really hating George Orwell**. I thought if he were alive today he'd be a 40-year-old skateboarder who stood for things I normally roll my eyes at. I finished the book though because I can't not finish a book. Honestly, after Orwell, I was so pissed at "real books" that I was eager to read Fifty Shades. Shit, I read all the Twilights, and this was supposed to be like the same thing with some kinky shit. I was down.

If I told you that these books were a huge waste of my time I'd be a liarliarpantsonfire. I'm a girl. I enjoy this shit. But three books?! OMFG, I am so glad that I am now over and done with this business. Dave bought me the 2013 re-issued FIRST NOVEL that Harlan Ellison ever wrote. THAT I am eager to devour. I also bought a small Kindle with my 2nd job Christmas Amazon gift card (thanks Activity Connection!!!) with which I will soon download the entire library of Sandman comics. And think about my new beginnings.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

*If you read this post before today, the 29th, you would have read "inEquities", and you would have thought, "What a moron!" Maybe you came back to see if I fixed it? But you have probably already told all your friends what a dumbass I am.

**I also really hated Animal Farm.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Our new dog, Winston, in the roughed-out background of one of my shadow boxes for The Columbus Museum of Art's Wonder Room project. Notice his enormous Johnson.

A few weeks have past since I last typed at you. It seems like forever. I think you might have grown a an inch? Maybe a little more? While we're on the subject of your appearance, you look good. Like REALLY good. Remind me to ask you about your regimen. It's apparently working well for you. Seriously.

I have been workingworkingworking 9 to 5 then 5 to 9. For like a while now. And you'd think I would say no to a few things. But no. Some things are hard to say no to. It's o.k. I like to stay busy. I just read on some Facebook link this thing where people say what they regret most on their deathbeds, and I think one was something like, "I wish I didn't work so hard." I think one of mine might be, "I didn't say yes to enough things." Some people are just wired weird.

But it's hard on those close to me. Saying yes to other things means saying no to important things. Family things. It tears me in two. I feel selfish. There is no win/win. There's sort of like an uncomfortable smile like in a group photo and a tarnished trophy. Neither seem worthwhile or valuable. But I can't stop myself. If I had a dime for every time I said, "After _______ I promise I'll be less busy." then I'd have a big container full of dimes. I life-size container. A heavy, heavy life-size container full of crappy dimes.

GARRRRHHHHH! And of course a fucking Radiohead song comes on while I'm typing this. And here's me without something sharp.

Just kidding.

OMG, we got a puppy!!! Not just any puppy. It's the cutest puppy in the whole world of puppies. I'm not a dog person, so I can make this judgement. Our puppy is the cutest. It's a Boston Terrier/French Bulldog mix. Which makes it the most perfect dog that is not a Pomeranian. And for whatever reason, he has a really large penis. I think that makes him like a superhero dog. Did you know that puppies like to pee and/or poop in heating vents? I just recently discovered this. Also, the best toy for a puppy? A Swiffer. You can clean while your puppy bites and/or rides on this cleaning supply. Who knew?

O.k., so one of the projects that has made me a crazy person for the last month is this commission for the Columbus Museum of Art's Wonder Room. I created two shadow boxes that will be installed in their interactive area for the next three years. And while that might sound impressive, it's actually 100% nepotism that allowed me to obtain this gig. But holy shit, this had been the NUMBER ONE MOST DIFFICULT PROJECT I HAVE EVER WORKED ON! You just cannot sketch a concept for this kind of work. I really felt close to my hero, Michael deMeng, during this process. He always mentions that he likes to just dump out all of his bits and pieces during the fabrication of his work. I couldn't really figure out any other way to do this. You know what sucks for a large-scale project such as this? Working on your dining room table. BUT IT'S FINISHED!!! It makes our dining room look so clean now! I am supposed to tell people that they can't come to see the Wonder Room until January 1st unless they are members. You'd think that there'd be some event to link you to for a project of this scale? Not at this time however. But the opening is this Saturday. But just for members. That much I am aware of?

Hey, this has gone on for a while. Who wants to read a bunch of stupid information in one post? Not you! You have more growing to do! Next post will be funnier I think. Thank you for being so patient. 

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Advice To Young Adults

Empty Nest

So lately I feel like every time I talk to my college kid I'm desperately pelting him with last minute advice that might not ever have been given or that might not have stuck. I just don't know. It feels so random. "DON'T SMOKE CRACK!" Or, "DON'T FORGET TO LAUGH!" Desperate doesn't even come close. You send these kids out unto the world and hope that they don't fuck up. You are helplessly helpless. Tied. All you can do is say rosaries and think, "Don't fuck up! DON'T FUCK UP!" Some things that I've pelted MY kid with seem to apply to most kids. Maybe YOUR kid?

Here goes...

Be funny, or at least be someone who laughs. 
Jesus, I went to a potluck at a hipster house one night. There were a couple of dozen people there. They were all talking about fracking or Republicans or some shit so I made a joke. You would have thought I took a big shit right there on the floor. It was like the commercial where everyone stops talking and looks at the smart dude who knows how to invest (ironic, because these people would probably hate that this reference involves investing). They had NO time for my humor. There was just "too much suffering in the world" for someone to make jest. I just could not wait to get the fuck out of there.

BE FUNNY! Be VERY funny. Life is so short. You could die tomorrow. Yes, you. Be the guy who made people laugh, not the guy who bummed everyone out at every public appearance. There will always be suffering. Be funny to the people around you today. Bring light. BE light. Even if you are feeling dark inside, you can be light for others. Do that. And if you are not someone who is naturally funny... laugh at those who are. Surround yourself in light.

Take chances.
I was originally going to call this, "Don't be a pussy!" Take a risk! Get good at failing! Fail a lot! Succeed occasionally. Just. Keep. Trying!!! Don't take no for an answer. Tip a table over if needed. Ask, ask, ask. It's true that "The worst they can say is no." Your ego will get bruised, but know that those that take chances are far more awesome than those who never tried. And know that failing is how great people have gotten to be great. Be great!

Don't be an asshole.
Believe in what you believe with all of your soul. But don't be an asshole. There will be a lot of people who don't understand you. There will be a lot of people who don't agree with you. There will be some people who will persecute you. Let them have their opinion. Yes, they are wrong. Yes, they do things we do not agree with, but we most likely will never change them. Should we take opportunities to educate? Sure, but be respectful. And if anyone ever physically hurts you, tell your mother. She will take care of them.

Pretend you care.
Be a good listener. Even if you truly don't care. Even if the person has told you the same story a dozen times. They need someone to listen. It is a very simple task that is worth a great deal to a person in need. You will be that person at some point. Be present for others.

Don't be a burden.
OMG, please be the one who occasionally buys coffee for a friend. Don't always be the guy with no money. You know what? Your parents would much rather transfer funds to your account than allow you to constantly scam off your friends. I speak for all parents.

Take some fucking initiative.
So you have a job. If you ask constantly, "What do you want me to do now?" your employers will hate you. I'm guessing by your first week you will have a pretty good handle on what gets done at your job. Show up and do that. And if you have time left THEN ask, "What else can I do?" You want to know how to piss off your employers? By having them constantly find shit for you to do. You know what would be nice? Looking around and finding stuff that might be helpful. The sink is gross. Clean it. The office supplies need restocking. Find out where they are kept and restock them. That stuff.

Manage your shit.
Don't wait for your parents to stalk your bank statements to notice that you have $1.34 in your checking account. Fix that shit. Or better yet, don't let that shit get to that state. If you don't have the money, don't buy it. It's not hard. You got into college, you should at least know that you can't get a tall mocha with $1.34. And you should clean your room. Like right now.

Stop scamming on crazies.
For the love of all things holy, stop dating people who need therapists. I mean, we all "need" therapists, but we don't all NEED therapists. Mothers just want their babies to be in stable relationships. We worry. You are too good for... Well, for everyone.

Call your fucking mother!
Remember when your step father bought you a new phone for graduation and jokingly said, "Call your mother!" And then you never called your mother? Our hearts break easily. Call your mother.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Spare Time


Geez, so we went shopping. I had some stuff to get.

"Do people usually make a shopping list for the antique store?"

"I had specific items I was looking for. I made a list. I put the located items in a basket. I went to check out."

BUT this time there was a sign on one of the cases by the cash register that said, "FOR RENT".

Hmmm...

Out of curiosity, I asked the guy how much. He said $25 a month.

HOLY SHIT! I was paying nearly that much for World of Warcraft back in the day (a few months ago)! So I could do what I do in my house in a public space for only $25 a month? That's like a hobby price. And there's a possibility that I could make a buck?

We went to have wieners to think it over then doubled back to pay the first month's rent.

Within the first week I've made enough for a couple of bags of groceries! And I love it!

PLEASE come visit the case! I know that sounds lame, "visit the case!" But it will slowly morph into a carefully curated, super tiny space filled with items that are selected to create a creepy Americana aesthetic for your home. I sell toys, dolls, collectibles, taxidermy items, oddities, and of course, puppets. You know, things you need!

I'll be adding periodic updates with cool-ass shit that's going in the case! This week I'm adding a puppet, a frog skeleton encased in resin, an ashtray (in amazing condition!) made out of an alligator paw, and a street map of Columbus from the 1960's.

YAY!

Monday, October 28, 2013

Goddamn Boots

I will never forsake you...

I swear it was like a science fiction movie backdrop. I was just trying to have a nice dinner with my man. A pleasant window seat at a decent restaurant. Upon the commencement of people watching we slowly became aware that almost every woman passing us was wearing boots. Like up-to-the-knee boots. Like maybe not every woman, but nearly. I think we estimated a reasonable 65%. And it would have for sure been over 85% if we took out women over 60 and the few ladies who were still clinging to their Tom's. Whoa! I started to look under the tables at our restaurant. OMG! They were in here too! Even the waitresses! Boot women have taken over the Short North! I started to laugh an internal maniacal laugh like in the movies where people are going crazy and they jerk their heads back and go, "HAHA-HA-HAAAA!!!"

Dave humored me with a chuckle at our analysis. He's a little more socially-savvy than I. I live under a rock. O.k., I don't  live under a rock, I just live on the outside of a rock placed in maybe a John Hughes film. Boots to me are Dr. Martens. Practical. Comfortable. Air-cushioned soles. And Jesus, they never go out of style.

Or so I thought.

Apparently I now need a pair of these goddamn boots that all of the ladies are wearing. I don't even know where to start. I know for sure that mine will not have heels. Fuck that! You can't make me wear your boots AND expect me to feel like I need crutches at the end of the evening. Here's another obstacle. All of these women are tucking their pants into their boots. Whaaaaaat??? What sort of magical pants are these? I won't do the skinny jeans. Fuck that too! I am 45 fucking years old. I am working my way toward a wardrobe of flow-y clothes, and I'm not about to go back to having my ladybits pinched just to stay fashionably current. I want to imagine that these ladies are wearing pants that stop just below the knee, and if they are not, I think there should be a market for that. I expect there to be an infomercial for pants made for these fucking boots.

I put off my boot dilemma for a bit while we watched the Julian Assange film with Benedict Cumberbatch. Screw the shitty reviews, I really liked this film. But I adore Benedict Cumberbatch. After the movie ended, we passed by the busy lobby filled predominately with Asian kids. I immediately looked at their shoes. Not one fucking knee boot. Not one. But I saw some of the coolest shoes of the whole evening. I am completely fascinated with what Asian kids wear. Is that racist? One time I asked my co-workers if it was racist to like a certain culture more than ours. They assured me that it was. I like to think that it's sort of not. Whatever.

Boots.

I really think boots should have a purpose. I'm pretty sure all of my shoes serve a purpose. Actually I think every stitch of clothing I own has a purpose. I go fucking crazytown with shit that you put on a mantle, but with clothing... I'm completely utilitarian. I have work gym-ers, casual gym-ers (which are also sometimes work gym-ers), warm shoes with wool shit inside, a couple of shoes to wear with skirts/dresses, and I've narrowed my Dr. Martens to one pair. Well, one shoe-pair, and one boot-pair. If I buy a pair of shoes, it's because something's happened to one of the others in the rotation. They take up a tiny amount of valuable closet space. Simple.

I'm not doing it. Screw those fucking boots.

Ladies, your feet have told me that they hate your boots. They understand that they make you feel pretty and confident, but they assure me that they will exact their revenge. Maybe it's via a sprained ankle, maybe it's via you walking around like you were punched in the knees by the end of an evening. Your boots have spoken. They think you need a pair of Dr. Martens. And that you need to watch anything with Benedict Cumberbatch in it! Who just so happens to look good in boots. But probably only has one pair. Maybe two if one happens to be waterproof.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Shit-ken, I Mean Chicken

Not even fucking kidding. No color adjustment.

What the fuck happened? I used to bring shit to potlucks and plop it down to oohs and ahhs. Eager faces would wait by the door with forks at the ready. What did she bring? Is it curry? Is it some awesome Italian shit? Is it something from some country we've never even HEARD of? And that shit's fucking VEGAN? WTF??? Is she some sort of goddamn WIZARD?

Flash forward.

I have a bunch of stuff going on now and jobs and whatnot. If dinner isn't either made by my amazing husband or cobbled together from leftover leftovers then it usually looks a lot like a bowl of cereal. Or pizza in a box. Or beers.

Sometimes it bothers me about not cooking. I used to really get a kick out of it. Creating things everybody gets to experience AND be nourished by... it's sort of better than art-making. If I look at all of the art I've ever made and all of the food I've ever cooked and compared the positive-reaction-rate. Well, let's just say that food's historically been a much better bet for this girl.

Until recently.

I tell stories to my husband about how I was once a really good cook. I've had a couple of successes which make me at least not look like I'm completely crazytown. But maybe he sort of feels sorry for me and "goes along with it".  "Yeah, this is really tasty! I'm sure if I was into _________ then this would TOTALLY be something I could make a meal of." He puts some in a bowl. He is very nice.

And then I think, "I'll make chicken and dumplings!!! What human does not like chicken and dumplings?" I don't even add vegetables to my recipe because I want everyone to be able to add what they like. I like peas. Mine should have peas.

Fuhhhhhck!!!

A normal cook can make chicken and dumplings from chicken and shit they have in their pantry. Unless you're me and you somehow manage to make the most unattractive greenish-gray gunge that just happens to be made out of food. "Herbed" dumplings, I thought.

Indeed.

Why God? Is it because you're mad at me for eating chickens? You seemed to be into the squash soup I made two weeks ago. That went over well with two whole people. Maybe you have cursed me to never again make anything good unless it's vegetarian. There are whole parts of the bible where people eat the shit out of animals. Why me? Why can't I cook animals?

Oh, because I've never actually cooked animals. I've pretty much only cooked not-animals for almost all of my cooking life. Animals are literally a "different animal". It's actually a lot harder. They are like adding a whole different medium to an art piece. Like making an oil painting into a sculpture.

But you know what's good? Chicken wings. You can get them at the store or at the places that make wings.

"Please don't try this at home, Sharon."

"I won't."

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Losing Grip

Photograph of mother and child tamarin by Hans Hillewaert
Suh-suh-suh-SUHNDAY!!!

Havin' some beers and mentally preparing for the week ahead. This is the week that I lose grip of one of the most solid things that I've had throughout my adult life. Every time I'm alone I cry. It's selfish of me to be so needy. I know this. I just can't help it. My mom said to me on the phone today,

"Now you know how I felt."

I love her, and I don't want to diminish what she went through, but I don't think it's the same. We were not close during my teen years. This was my doing. I was an asshole. It was the 80's. "No one understood me!" I didn't hang out with my parents. We did not share interests.

My oldest and I have a unique bond. There are so many intricacies that are tied up in our relationship. I don't think there is anyone that could say,

"I know how you feel."

"The big day" is Tuesday. I drop him off at college. At Antioch. It's an all-day affair, the drop-off day. I think there might even be a segment for "grieving parents" or some such thing. I am bringing a camera. I want to take pictures of other parents grieving. It needs to be more real. More raw. I want more evidence. Then I want to file it. I want to move on. And I want to grow accustomed to letting go.

Moving on.

I've been thinking about art in relation to my children. Neither of them think that they have intrinsic talent. I disagree. Everything that they do is art. They have so much talent that it is some day going to burst their skins. They'll need to reconcile what they do casually as true art. They live and breathe it. Both of them. In very different, but very apparent ways. In ways that I for sure did not exhibit at such a young age. So much potential. I pray that there is a magical funnel for them. A magical wizard who will help them along their paths.

But seriously, moving on.

I am trying to think of this kinda/sorta death as an opportunity. I used to love making music when I was younger. I wasn't much older than my oldest child when I learned how to play. My tiny amp and guitar have been dusted off and are propped up next to my bed. I don't plan anything other than to touch them. To maybe write a song.

I'd very much like it if my first song could be to my children. A song of hope, with a dark reality that their hopes and dreams are waiting on the other side of a thick fog... Or maybe Mordor. But that they have access to the one ring that will make it all o.k.

This quickly turned pretty nerdy.

"This was a pretty heavy blog post, Sharon. You owe us a little levity."

O.k., here's a funny story...

You know how I am all ate up about Arcade Fire? It's true. They are one of my favorite bands. I posted the Reflektor video on Facebook because I wanted people to know that I liked that video because of reasons I thought were very cool - namely the paper mache heads and it being directed by Anton Corbijn, the dude who made the Control movie. That's what people do on Facebook. They try to make people know "who they are" by telling them what they ate, where they spent time, or what video they watched. I really liked the video. My SISTER totally Facebook dissed it. Like within minutes of the posting. And that SHOULD be fine. She's entitled to her opinion. Except that she ALSO dissed Arcade Fire in ANOTHER post of ANOTHER video that I posted about a year ago. WEIRD. Like the woman REALLY hates Arcade Fire. I sort of don't understand. They are a pretty easy band to like. What does my sister have against Arcade Fire? Does she hate Canada? Does she hate bands that have a ton of people in them? Does she just have questionable taste? We used to like a lot of the same bands. What happened?

Bottom line. The world is pretty fucked up. Then we go to college. We post of Facebook. We work. Then we die.
 
But it’s just a Reflektor.
Will I see you on the other side?

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Sweet Dreams


Yay, Fall! I mean like hooray, accessories, but HOLY SHIT I am QUAKING with coldness. Like the kind of shivering that accompanies finding a dead body and maybe recognizing said body. Like the body is that of a mom that you used to see at home school functions who used to talk about her husband's "anger issues". She used to talk about him throwing things around the house, "A dish thrower." she used to say. Often accompanied by nervous laughter.

I will power through this though. Even with the fingers a-jitterin' on the keyboard. Hmmm... I think it's time for some hot toddies? Cold beers are certainly not helping.


O.k., so I have been having CRAZY dreams. And I sleep like the dead. And I never remember dreams. But I have had TWO fucked-up dreams that I can't be rid of. Have I mentioned that I never remember dreams? Seriously, I never remember dreams.


The first features a kid from my high school in his grown-up, Facebook-friends version who, in my dream, died of AIDS. Do I ever think about this person? I do not. Do I have any idea why he would show up in a dream? I do not. 


I fully expected to wake up and see that on Facebook so-and-so died. That he fought the good fight and was brave right up to the end. That he kept his sickness secret because he didn't want false sympathy while he went about reconnecting with his old friends.


But I went on Facebook to see that he commented today on a mutual friend's post about the recent Bengal's game. For sure not dead. And I would have to guess by his zealous nature, not sick.


SOOOOO... I went on-line to interpret this bit of nonsense.


To dream that someone else has AIDS signifies your need to be more compassionate and sympathetic to others. 


Oh, I'm sure that's it. Because working every weekday with adults with disabilities isn't enough. WHO ARE YOU??? Who is this person I need to be more compassionate towards??? Just tell me. Tell me.

"Sharon, it's just an on-line dream interpretation resource. It may mean nothing."

"Oh, fuck you, voice in my head. Read on..."

And then I dreamed ALL NIGHT LONG LIKE I COULDN'T WAKE UP TO THINK OF HOT VAMPIRES OR CHILDREN'S BOOKS OR PURSES, I just dreamed all night long that I had a baby. Oh dear, sweet-baby-Jesus. And not just a regular baby. It was like a random, very thin baby that just showed up off and on and I was holding it. And I didn't have any supplies for it. Like I was at the airport (or maybe the hospital?) and I really needed to get somewhere, but I didn't have a car seat. I didn't even have a diaper. The baby was very limp. I thought it was dead, but it was actually just very chill. At some point I tried to breast feed it because I felt guilty about having nothing else for it. It seemed pretty happy though. It didn't seem upset that I'd forgotten about it.

Fuuuuuuhhhhhhhk!

I immediately woke up feeling like an AWFUL parent. I was absolutely sure that this meant that I was a failure. My children were starving for some something, and I was too inattentive to notice. But they were o.k. with everything. Because they were fucking used to it. That's what I thought this dream meant. 

Well, according to the dream people, this is the verdict..

If you dream that you forgot you had a baby, then it suggests that you are trying hide your own vulnerabilities; you do not want to let others know of your weaknesses. Alternatively, forgetting about a baby represents an aspect of yourself that you have abandoned or put aside due to life's changing circumstances. To dream about a starving baby represents your dependence on others. You are experiencing some deficiency in your life that needs immediate attention and gratification.   

She-yewwwww! I'm not a fucked-up parent! I'm just like YOU! As long as you're a slightly co-dependent, overworked, creative type. Yeah, just like you. 

Samesies! 

So maybe I'll be thinking about YOU tonight, my shitty friend. 

Except that if I DO, it means that my teeth are about to fall out. I'm pretty sure that's it. OR that we both have cancer. 


Friday, September 20, 2013

Reflektor - Can't Wait!!!

Graffiti featuring the name of the new album
The release is a little over a month away...


This video (a teaser) is absolutely stunning. Anton Corbijn, paper mache heads, a coffin, some dolls. Arcade Fire. What more could a girl want?

Friday, September 13, 2013

Beers, Squirrels, etc.


Here's a thing that happens. I drink a few beers then think about something that touches me emotionally, then I share that in a blog post. Usually it's about something that only applies to a small subset of persons that include me, maybe a guy who manages a comic book store, and that guy who always comes by himself to Ladies 80's.

Then I usually decide to delete the post the next morning (or to heavily edit at least).

But I've only had a COUPLE of beers, and I've been thinking about this book off and on all day (my co-worker Allison lent it to me). I've always been a David Sedaris fan, but this book in particular has been especially entertaining. It's written like a dark, twisted, miserable version of Aesop's Fables with often questionable admonitions. So far my favorite is the story about the two rats. I won't give anything away, but it doesn't end well. Most of the stories don't. And I think that is what I love the most. Real stories about real life. Told from the point of view of animals. Sort of.

Pick it up. I promise it is worth it. Mom, I think you'd like it.

Oh, and sort of related... Because this book made us think of the greater Sedaris family, Dave and I looked up old clips of Amy Sedaris on YouTube. THIS one was our favorite by far.

Monday, September 2, 2013

Happy Labor Day!

original sketch by Charles Alston
Happy Labor Day! I hope you did SOMEthing relaxing and non-laborious. Ironically, I chose to benefit from the labor of others and used my 20% off everything coupon from Michael's to get items for a super-exciting project that I'm working on that I'll tell you about some other time. It's one of the 100 things that keep me grinding my teeth at night, but this one is totally worth it!

Welp, I put a motherforking video on the YouTube. OMG, it was a treacherous journey. Think of this scenario: You wake up groggy and there's no electricity in your house and you have to figure out how to make coffee. And you've never operated a coffee maker. And you're a baby. That's what it felt like. BUT I learned so much in the process. I feel like Louis learned a lot too. I want to keep working at it. I figure if teenagers have this shit down, I should be able to cobble something together. The next one will be better. And so on...

"The sound/video quality was total shit, Sharon."

"I know. I'll take that into consideration for the next time. I have pretty archaic equipment though. I have to make do with what I have."

"Louis wasn't even looking at the camera for MOST of the video."

"I am aware of that. We will try harder next time. This was his first time performing in front of a camera."

"Can you make it funnier? What's the point of doing a puppet show if it's not going to be funny?"

"I want it to be funny as well. Louis is very contemplative though. We'll see what he comes up with for the next time."

Subject change...

Hey, pre-holiday shoppers, my friend Judah's partner recently suffered a stroke, and he's putting together an Etsy shop called Charlie's Spot to help with hospital bills and whatnot. If you are someone who needs gifts, please check out the goods (but check now AND later as he's gonna be putting stuff in there all week). It's a super big win/win!!!


Now, to get back to cramming as much relaxation into the next hour or so before I check out before I check in.

Friday, August 30, 2013

THE FIRST VIDEO - HERE'S LOUIS!


So there's SOOOOOO many things wrong with this first video, but the point was to MAKE A FIRST VIDEO!!!

Hopefully, things will get less shitty, and less shitty, and less shitty. Louis had a blast! He wants to make another one soon. Hopefully it will be better. He's not sure. He doesn't care.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Coming Soon! YouTube Debut - Louis!


OMG! Louis will NOT shut up! He's been listening from the other room to all of the YouTube videos that I've been watching about iMovie editing.

"Excuse me, but I am not getting any younger. Do you know what the average lifespan is for a rabbit?"

"I am working on it!!! This week! I promise! No lie!"

I had mentioned in my last post that I was going to make a video. The camera is charging! It's going to happen!

This feels so right. I can't believe I haven't done this until now.

"A-hem... I hate to be a bother by asking this, but why haven't you tried to make a video until now?"

"Good question, Louis. Let me explain..."

I hate to fail.

That's really it. I wish I was not shallow. I wish I did not care, but truth be told, I really desire to limit the amount of shitty things that I make. There's stuff that I know things about, but film-making is for sure not one of them.

"A-hem... It's me, Louis again... Don't you spend a lot of time looking at cat videos? I'm not sure that the cat owners who post those videos know a lot about film-making. They just put those on the internet, and then you watch them. I don't mean to be a critic, but some of them do not look like they have been edited at all. I think I can do at least as good as the cat ones. I have been practicing my speeches while you are at work. I am ready for this. Please, you should just give me a chance."

"This week, Louis! Your debut."


Sunday, August 4, 2013

Die Trying?

Let's get right down to it. How's your list going? Your bucket list? I've been thinking a lot about THIS post and feeling like a complete schmuck. I've done little to nothing about checking off the big "to do's" It's been over a year. I have no excuses. I am a failure.

Have you learned how to work ANY type of movie camera then edit such an amount of video? Shit, Sharon, even babies know how to do that now! Like everyone in your household knows how to do that. What the fuck have you been doing that you can't eek out an hour to learn how to do that in over a YEAR? Is this REALLY important to you? Is this REALLY something you've wanted to do your whole life? You have a really shitty way of showing it. Bucket list? Maybe fuck-it list is more like it.

OMG, Universe!!! I've had so much shit to do. Won't you please back off?

What "shit to do?" You've had NORMAL amounts of shit to do. You have NO excuse for not learning how to edit a fucking video. You have two... TWO video cameras in your house. You have TWO people close to you who have edited and uploaded fairly quality videos. These people will teach you for free. You do not have to sign up for a class. You do not have to drive to a location. They live with you.

You're right, Universe... I cannot cross over to that other plane of existence until I make a small film. I feel it's in "the contract".  I will put it on my calendar. I will make sure the camera is charged. I will make sure there is ample room on my computer's hard drive (whatever that is). I will make a contract with my readers. I will say that by the end of October I will upload a small, edited film to YouTube.

It might not be great.

But then I can die. Or die trying.



Sunday, July 28, 2013

Making Cornelia

Welp, time to bury some less than stellar blog posts with something cute named Cornelia (get it?) that has zero to do with drinking and debauchery. Besides my day job, I design projects for an online resource for activity professionals. One of the projects I recently finished required corn husks. I got a big bag from the Mexican grocery down the street ($5.49). I had TONS left over, so today I decided to make a corn husk doll. Most of the instructions online were for more traditional dolls. I wanted my doll to look like "the kids today" so I did some editing. I've written down the process I used so that you can make one, and then our dolls can be best friends! I made mine into a puppet by ramming a 12" bamboo skewer up her bottom. You can do that too if you like.

Materials:
  • 7 intact corn husks
  • Paper towels
  • Twine
  • Scissors, ruler
Optional materials:
  • 12" bamboo skewer
  • Apoxie Sculpt
  • Craft paint, painting supplies (brushes, water, paper towels)
  • Hot glue
How to do it:
  1. Soak the corn husks in warm water for a bit to get them nice and soft. Maybe you should do that now while you're reading this. Or maybe while you're making dinner. Like that amount of time. Maybe a half hour. When you're ready to rock and roll, take them out and blot them on some paper towels.
  2. Cut twenty 10" pieces of twine. Gather them together and make a huge knot at one end. This is going to be your doll's skull and hair. O.k., you know how all of the corn husks have a tapered end and a wide end? Well, take four of the corn husks and like wrap them around the twine bundle like the picture down below. The tapered ends go at the knot end. After your twine bundle is "burrito-ed" in the four corn husks, wrap a piece of twine tightly around the "neck".
  3. Now peel down the four husks like a banana so that the nicely wrapped head and the twine hair is emancipated. Tie another piece of neck-making twine. I swear this is the last time I'll tell you to make a neck with twine.
  4. O.k., you're going to do this next part three times, so listen up. With the three remaining husks, tear lengthwise into three equal pieces (so you'll have a pile of nine pieces). Take three pieces (bundle them without all wides on one side or all tapered on one side, like mix that up). Use a piece of twine and tie one end, braid those pieces, then tie another piece of twine on the other end. I should have told you to cut six small pieces of twine to begin with so you're not holding your braid and trying to cut a piece of twine. Live and learn. So do that three times. One is for the arms, and the other two are legs. Maybe I should have included a photo of that step, but really, it's just braiding three strips of husk and tying twine on each end. You'll figure it out.
  5. Sandwich one of the braids between the body husks to make arms (like two lengths of body husk should be in front of the arms and two behind). Now, this part is a little bit trickier. You're going to tie an end of each leg braid to one of the inner lengths of body husk. You can sort of shove them up in there and burrito the body husks around the legs. The photo sort of shows what I'm talking about.
  6. Dude, you're almost finished! Now all you have to do is tie one last piece of twine around the waist. Look at that! You made a corn husk doll with an updated outfit! You can braid the hair if you want or make a fine hat. Dress it up. Make her fancy.
  7. ORRRRR if you're never satisfied with mediocre, you can take some Apoxie Sculpt and make a lovely face. When that's cured, you can glue it on and paint the whole shebang. Yeah, that's not at ALL creepy. THEN if you're sort of obsessed with puppets, stick a skewer up the butt of your doll to make it a puppet. Maybe if I get enough feedback, I'll make a short video. That's up to you. No big deal.

Friday, July 26, 2013

Fuck Yeah, Underwear!

Here's the goods! Super nice packaging!
So if you blog long enough maybe someone will come along and ask you to review a product in exchange for getting to keep the product. Like a free thing. Like you get to have something and it's free. Like you didn't have to pay for it. That's me and my new best friend, Rounderwear. Dear sweet baby Jesus, go there at once and just LOOK at the models that they have on their website! You know how you take your kids to shop at H & M and you "let them stand in line" while you go look at the David Beckham underwear display? Well THIS is so much better!

(Pause for you clicking the link above. I know, right?)

Maybe I asked my family every day if my free stuff arrived in the mail. Maybe I assumed my free stuff was stolen by porch-package thieves. Maybe I had given up hope of anything good ever happening to me.

Then it arrived.

For one whole day, I just looked at it. I looked at the cardboard container it came in and I looked at the amazing plastic packaging encasing it.

Then I took it out.

I stroked it gently with my fingers. I examined all of its soft curves. It succumbed to my gentle touch. Our anatomies were waiting to be connected in the most intimate of ways.
Yeah, this AND your business? Oh, snap!


But first. Some planning.

I made a point to do some "much needed 'scaping" as I assumed "the young" do before embarking on fancy-garment-involving, butt-lifting activities. An event was decided upon at which to present my new silhouette. Maybe the event involved Wang Chung, maybe it didn't (no, it totally did, but the show is Saturday, and I have nothing to do tonight, so I did a trial run so that I could post early).

OMG! This shit is crazy!!! Think of a bra for your butt. I'm 45 years of age. I have some "business to attend to." ALL of that shit was contained. ALL. OF. THAT. SHIT. My husband has a vomit-mouthed list of amazing things to say about my my butt in these underwear. And according to David, you could almost get away with wearing a pants size smaller because, "All of your stuff is contained right in the middle of the target area." Not too high. Not too low. Just right. If you order a pair for yourself, consider going larger than your normal size. While mine fit pretty well, there's a tiny bit of "sausage leg".

I looked at similar products (namely Spanx), and their prices were CRAZY higher than the prices of these products. And Rounderwear's things are way more attractive. I will FOR SURE be wearing my new undergarment to my 80's extravaganza. You know... Stretch pants... Eye liner... Shoulder exposed...

BUTT FROM THE 80'S...

THANK YOU ROUNDERWEAR!!! I assure you, it will be a fun night. A Wang Chung night!

Sunday, July 7, 2013

How Having Our Shit Stolen Has Helped Me To Make "Lemonade"

Love this photo! It's shot by a guy on Wikimedia Commons named Paul Keller.
O.k. just because I wanted to have some sort of reference to the title of this post, I looked this phrase up on Wikipedia. WAY more awesome than anything I could have made up (I'm assuming that Wikipedia is some super, well-written fiction project. No?). So here it goes:

"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade" is a proverbial phrase used to encourage optimism and a can-do attitude in the face of adversity or misfortune. "Lemons" in this expression is used in the informal sense of the word, to indicate an unfortunate or inadequate situation, a meaning which probably stems from the sour and acidic taste of unsweetened lemon. "Lemonade" on the other hand, is a sweetened form of this same acerbic fruit, and so in the context of this expression, conveys the potential for pleasure and opportunity in seemingly bad situations.

The phrase was initially coined by Christian anarchist writer Elbert Hubbard in a 1915 obituary he penned and published for dwarf actor Marshall P. Wilder. The obituary, entitled The King of Jesters, praises Wilder's optimistic attitude and achievements in the face of his disabilities:
"He was a walking refutation of that dogmatic statement, Mens sana in corpore sano. His was a sound mind in an unsound body. He proved the eternal paradox of things. He cashed in on his disabilities. He picked up the lemons that Fate had sent him and started a lemonade-stand."
Damn! That shit almost made me cry!

The lemonade proverb is one that pretty much everyone thinks of subconsciously whenever something crap happens to them. Most of the time we hear those words in our heads with the voice of a shitty community helper or a puss coworker or some such person. It grates on us and we hate the say-er of the words. We imagine ourselves punching the mouth or neck or maybe the temple of the say-er. "Say 'lemonade' one more time, motherfucker!" goes the scenario in our head as we beat the shit out of this fictional person. We punch for the trite comment and we punch for the person(s) who wronged us and we punch for the universe who made us be born. This happens in our head. Maybe it happens once. Maybe more than once.

So we got robbed two-ish weeks ago. Among the shit stolen was my low-tech phone. Not sure what the reasoning was for taking such a phone. A baby wouldn't have even played with this phone. Like I don't think it even would be deemed worthy of gumming. But anyway: Phone gone. My kid got an iPhone from his amazingly awesome step-father for graduation and so had an extra phone. It was an Android-type phone. With the INTERNET! Holy shit! The internet on A PHONE! You can take pictures AND E-MAIL THEM TO PEOPLE!

So I moved up in the world of technology.

And then I downloaded MyFitnessPal.

It started with my co-worker Allison. She's lost a ton of weight with this system. She was/is doing so well. I didn't want her do this all by herself (She wasn't doing it by herself, Sharon. She was doing it with a friend. Not with you. Because maybe you are super competitive and a little bit crazy. Maybe she ACCIDENTALLY told you about it. Maybe now she sort of regrets letting that slip.) ANYway, so I had a rocky start with some days where I was kind of hallucinating and quasi gagging on diet food, but NOW it's like MAGIC! Like I can eat just enough to have THREE BEERS as long as I do a little exercise. But who doesn't like to dance a little when they're drinking THREE BEERS? Is it a little like a cult? OMG, it TOTALLY is a cult. The forums are super crazy. Like there are actually crazy people posting on there. But HOLY SHIT, they look great!!!

So when life gives me lemons, I make lemonade, except now it's Crystal Light.

Get it?


Sunday, June 30, 2013

Like a thief in the night...


OMG, hi!

(pause for virtual hugs)

It's been, what... like two weeks? Like three weeks? How ARE you? How's that one thing that you've been working on? OMG, that's great! You look amazing! Have you been doing something different? Maybe with your hair? Do you even AGE anymore? Are you a wizard?

Oh, me? I've been great! Well, I got robbed last weekend, but no bigs. Yeah, just a couple grand worth of stuff, mostly gaming stuff and wallets and whatnot. Were we home? Well SURE we were home, but we were sleeping. I KNOW! We slept through the whole thing! And our bedroom was like RIGHT next to the living and dining rooms where they hit. It seems like it all went rather smoothly though. Thank God!

Oh no, I'm totally fine! I mean, I DO make sure everything important I own is near my pillow before I go to bed, and I have hiding spots around the house for everyone's belongings, and I go around and turn lights on in different places every night, and I wake up periodically to look out the window, and I have the cactus with googly eyes guarding the window that the robbers came in through. But yeah, everything's fine!

Insurance? Oh yeah, we have really GOOD insurance. Well, no, they can't really help much in this case because of the way they go about replacing items versus our deductible. But we didn't really need all that stuff.

Oh I know! I'm so glad no one got hurt. And I'm REALLY glad I decided to not sleep without pants that night. Can you even imagine? The robbers would have been completely grossed out, lol!

...

Even if you live in a shitty neighborhood where being robbed is not a shocking occurrence, realize that there will be some emotional fallout and/or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder following a break in. Whether the robbers came in while you were away or while you were at home, having your safe place violated is a deeply disturbing thing. Take time to talk about it, take stock of what matters most, and watch a shitload of funny movies and YouTube videos.

Next week will be better!

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

I JUST LOVE HIM!!!


How fucking cliche for a chick in her 40's with dyed-black hair and a predominately black wardrobe who happens to be tenaciously yet romantically stuck in the 80's to count Neil Gaiman as one of her #1 heroes?

Blechhh. Puke.

Oh, I mean SUCK IT!

Neil Gaiman is a genius! Everything, EVERYTHING he has ever written and/or collaborated on is pure gold.

On his blog he re-posted a message that he made to the graduates of the University of the Arts, Class of 2012. Because I have a recent high school graduate, and that graduate is also a big fan, we watched this together last night. It is awesome and amazing and WELL worth your time (meaning you should watch it too!). Please click the link above and listen and be inspired...

Then also know that he has a new book (reviewed as his "best yet!") coming out SOON!


Saturday, June 8, 2013

I work at a place.

http://sheepgomoo.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/388763_10151527993195795_1307149477_n.jpg

Pfpfpffffftttt...

I'm trying to type the thing that happens when you're like exhausted and you do that thing where you blow out through your lips and it's all like pffffffpppppfffffftttttsssffffpsss. What are the letters for that?

Just got back from an art opening. It was an art opening at the place where I work. Lots of stuff sold. It was awesome. I worked the food/wine table. I love the vantage point from that area. Safe.

This was a weird one. It was perhaps the last event that my very good friend/sister-wife Cat is going to work.

Pause for tears....

Pause for more tears that I was joking about but then was surprised that I could not control and made me take a break to purchase the new Daft Punk album...

O.k., while I try to get myself together lets talk about beer. I recently made my first growler purchase. Yesterday. I'm not sure if that makes me a dickhead or not. I want to think that it makes me a frugal beer purchaser, but I sort of feel like I got beer molested. There's a future blog post in the works...

O.k. My job... And Cat's job opening...

So many people have applied. SOOOOOOOOO many people. Like normal people and famous people and people each one of us know.

No one can ever fill the void that Cat will leave behind. She is one of a kind. She is unique. She is a piece of love that we will hold in our hearts forever.

I love you Cat!

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

I am one proud motherfucker!


Holy shit! This is a week that I'm glad my job is sorta a clusterfuck so that I have no brain capacity to be an emotional wreck. You see, I have a kid graduating from high school.

I have a kid graduating from high school!!!

Deep breath...

O.k....

One more deep breath...

I can barely write two words without my eyes tearing up so I'll just power through this like Bruce Willis*. Alex has been a rock for me in ways no teen should need to be. And it's not like he didn't have his own shit to deal with. If there was an award for "Weathering Questionable Parenting and Coming Out Of It Like a BOSS!" it should be given to this person. And that's just the tip of the iceberg, STS (so to speak**). I cannot say enough amazing things about Alex in one blog post. It would be so many computers long. All of your mebs and kebs would be depleted.

Oh, did I mention that Alex is a Horace Mann Fellow which is the equivalent of full paid tuition to Antioch College? There's that.

But wait, that's not all!


Nora is "graduating" from eighth grade! It sort of sucks that Alex's thing upstages Nora's thing, but if I can take a minute to tell you about the person that started at GEMS and the person that is ending at GEMS then you would say, "No way, that is not the same person!" Nora has surprised us in ways that we couldn't have even imagined. She started the program as a "special ed" kid and has emerged as one of the best students at the school. Her test scores in some areas are even ABOVE the state averages. She has worked her ass off and has impressed the shit out of everyone. I am proud of her beyond measure. She makes teachers weep***!


O.k, Wallace is Peck is not a spawn of mine, but I have worked very closely with him for years and he is one of my best friends. I am so proud of him, and I cannot WAIT until Friday when I get to accompany him to his opening at Lindsay Gallery where he will smile (a smile that will melt your soul) at his fans and be humble and be charming and be amazing.

Did I mention that he's sold SIX paintings so far and the show has yet to begin!!!???




*There are ZERO Bruce Willis films that sucked. Die Hard #1 opened me up to a genre of films that I previously was uninterested in. He is a hero.

**Is STS a thing yet? I mean, aren't shithead fake literary people using "so to speak" like ALL THE TIME? I think if YOLO is a thing then STS should be a thing.

***This is a true story. At one of her teacher meetings one of her teachers was in actual tears explaining how awesome Nora was.

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Graduation and Lumbar Support

Dollar Tree, mothereffers!


Have you ever been so physically tired that even beers didn't sound good? Like not the ones you drank DURING the physical activity. Those were good beers. I mean the, "Damn, what a DAY! I could really use a couple of beers!" beers? And I thought that maybe some ice cream would be a good replacement reward for a day of grueling labor. I even got up and made it half way to the kitchen, looked at the freezer, then sat back down. Then I just stared at the computer. Then I thought about going to the bathroom. Then, since I'm having trouble moving my limbs and I'm pretty sure that soon my finger muscles will seize, I decided to log a quick post to announce a wonderful purchase I made today.

But first some back story (pardon the pun that you'll get if you keep reading).

My oldest is graduating from high school on Saturday (note: My youngest is graduating too. From middle school. And while I'm sure she is a little miffed that we are not making a huge deal of it, she is going from the 8th grade to the 9th grade. But I told the bakery to put her name on the cake. But I told them to make it smaller.). So everyone is coming back here after the ceremony for food and festivities. Like my mom, my kid's other grandparents, other ex-family. So mainly people with nice homes. Is it just me or does everyone wait until days before they plan to have "people who might judge them" (who actually probably won't) come over to TOTALLY overhaul their house and yard? Yesterday and today we re-dug and re-stacked a fire pit, re-concreted the stairs, dug up old pavers and re-stacked the wood pile, moved one pile of wood waste and one pile of rock waste to another part of the yard, tidied up the compost area, filled lawn bags, weeded the yard, burnt off old wood (including one and one half Christmas trees), moved pavers to the rock waste pile, filled more lawn bags, dug up an old planter, mopped the vinyl siding on the front of the house. AND I went to Dollar Tree to buy supplies for the party. AND because I really like to see all the things one can buy for a dollar, I went through every aisle. AND I found an item made by wizards (see above photo) that I'm using right now. I'm going to go back and get one for the car (probably two for the car), one for work, and one "just in case". I Googled "mesh back support" and there were some exactly like the one at Dollar Tree that were much more than a dollar.

Ahhh...




Monday, May 20, 2013

Rosie the Riv-frigerator!



"Sharon, why has it been so long? We long for your funny way of looking at the world!"

"OMG! I have shit to do! And I've been cutting back on the beers, and this blog has a 3+ beer posting rule.*

But seriously. The refrigerator.

So for weeks our refrigerator has been like a rainforest. Like leftovers have become saturated in mysterious fluids. The crisper bins have been swimming pools for forgotten produce. Everything coated in packaging has become like old lady tits in a thick, soaking, polyester bathing suit.

Not good.

I really want to live like normal people who take care of things. The knowledge is out there. I can do this. I can fix things.

I looked ALLLLLLL OVER the internet for instructions with pictures on how to fix my problem. THIS LINK solved everything. The only interjection I have is that I did NOT have to remove the back panel at all. Just the bottom panel. Which is two small bolts which I removed with shitty needle-nose pliers. Then I poured hot tap water down the hole a bit... Went next door to hang out with the adorable gay couple for a bit... Came back and BAM! The thing was clear!

Summary: Spend a lot of time on the internet and hang out with gay people.



*Often posts are deleted the next morning due to the 3+ posting rule.

Saturday, May 11, 2013

The Waiting

photograph by Russell Lee (1903-1986)
She was up to nine cars. She had been counting cars for the last 23 minutes and 32 seconds. At 12 minutes and 14 seconds, she saw her friend Jane go by in the fifth car with her mother. She waved frantically from behind the window, jumping like a chimpanzee on the couch. She knew there was little hope at gaining her friend’s attention, but it gave her something to do while she waited.


Ten cars.


She was looking out for her mother’s car. A van, to be specific. A Ford van, to be even more specific. They were a Ford family. Her dad worked at Ford. They only bought Fords. Before car manufacturing became a grey area of global “fingers in the pie” Ford families thought that to buy un-American cars meant that you were un-American. Those were different times.


Eleven cars.


She kneeled backwards on the couch with her nose pressed to the window and began to daydream. Her mother occupied a space in her mind reserved for deities. She was sure that there was no other mother as beautiful as hers. Her mother took time to make her hair fancy and to watch her put on makeup was like one watching Michelangelo put the finishing touches on the Sistine Chapel. She was confident that her mother was an artist of unique skill. Her mother could sew and could make dresses and even pants for her children. And her mother could cook. Her mother could perform magic in the kitchen and conjure the tastiest lasagna from some mystical plane. She imagined her mother dressed like Glenda the Good Witch and making dinner float to the table using her wand.


Twelve cars.


The anticipation was comforting. She lived for this time of the day. The waiting. The excitement of being the first to see her mother was such a joy to her, and her mother’s smile was a treasure that she tucked into secret spaces in her heart. She stood up and examined the pattern that the couch fabric pressed into her knees. She liked the bumpy texture and ran her fingers back and forth over them as she waited.


A thirteenth car. No, it was bigger than a car. It might be a van. It IS a van. It’s her mother’s van! Her mother is getting closer. Her mother is pulling in the driveway. Her mother is getting out and walking up the sidewalk. Oh, what’s that her mother is carrying? She gets to the door just before her mother and holds it open for her as if she’s preparing an entrance for royalty. Her mother smiles at her and bends down to give her a kiss. The smile is tucked away into her heart’s secret spaces.


“Look what I brought you!”


She looks with excitement at the Sesame Street Magazine as her mother slips it into her small hands. It is like the most sparkly diamond. A treasure. A gift bestowed from a goddess. Contentment wraps her as if with a warm blanket. She is loved.


HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

Sunday, April 28, 2013

You Sick Bastard

You posted something on Facebook and NO ONE has liked it. You thought that there might be people on Facebook early on a Sunday. You thought that you had friends who woke up pretty early. You're friends with a LOT of parents. Parents wake up pretty early. Like most of your Facebook friends are parents because you have your friends that you've shared family life with in Columbus and those that you've shared a past with who now have kids. You thought THOSE people might be on Facebook on a Sunday morning. Like really, it's Sunday morning. Why don't they like your status update? Are they all pulling away from you? Are you on an island? Do they hate you? Are you invisible?

"Oh, I'm sure that's just you, Sharon."

Is it?

If you're like some super unstable people you spend a lot of your time worrying about what other people think of you. You might even lean over your desk to your co-worker and ask, "Do you hate me?" They look at you sideways and tell you that they are trying to get the newsletter out on time.

"Oh, I'm sure that's just you, Sharon."

Is it?

O.k. you sick bastard... Breathe in... Breathe out...

Let's pretend for a minute that no one was ever again capable of giving a complement, of responding to a good deed, of telling you that what you thought mattered...

...Of responding in any way...

...

Are you o.k. with that?

Are you comfortable with yourself? Do YOU think you are a good person? Do YOU think that what you contribute matters? Do YOU want to leave this world a better place? Do YOU care if others even notice? Are you REALLY o.k. if NO ONE notices? Would you STILL want to make the world a better place? Would you???

Of course you would. Don't be stupid.

And spend less time on Facebook.






Saturday, April 13, 2013

Life is...


She has a pet unicorn.

Life is ___________.

So what's that mean for you today? If I could see into the mind(s) of all of you reader(s), I'd venture to guess (although I'd like to ADventure to guess) that the fill-ins would be about half...

negative-ish:
Life is shitty.
Life is unfair.
Life is a glass half empty.
Life is a black swamp of despair in which I tread with my face tilted toward the silent sky, nose and mouth pressing above the waterline, struggling for tainted breath. Until I sink into the darkness. And I succumb. Struggling no more.

... and half...

positive-ish:
Life is good.
Life is a bowl of cherries.
Life is a game, and today I am winning.
Life is like a unicorn sliding down a rainbow into a marshmallow cloud. And the cloud rains chocolate drops, but the kind that melt in your mouth and not in your hand and also have marshmallow INSIDE of them (which makes sense because they come out of a marshmallow cloud). And you get to keep the unicorn as a pet, but it doesn't cost anything to feed and it never needs to go to the vet. Do you understand what I am saying? It's like the best pet ever... and it's totally FREE!

Depending on who you are, where you are, when you are, whathaveyou, your pie chart no doubt fluctuates a bit.

some examples:
you accidentally ate your tooth... 68% negative-ish
You just got a raise... 72% positive-ish
But now you have to work on Saturdays... 77% negative-ish

You are probably aware that nothing in life is guaranteed. Just at the moment when your Karma waitress comes by your table with a huge, steaming shit sandwich with a side of train wreck you find out that your buddy over there has cancer or their husband cheated on them on their birthday. Their black swamp of despair causes you to adjust your percentages. You don't have it THAT bad. Really, if you think about it, even in your darkest moments you're not quite the mess that you sometimes imagine that you are.

So smile, you lucky bastard! You get to live another day!

Nothing in life is guaranteed... Except your ultimate demise. Now that you're relatively happy with your situation, take some time to plan for your death.

"Holy shit, Sharon! This is how you're going to end this post?"

Dude, you could die before you even finish reading this. Does anyone besides yourself know any of your passwords? Do you know where the photos are that you'd like to use for your slideshow? Does anyone know whether you want to be buried or cremated? And who's paying for that stuff? Have you even STARTED sculpting the statue that will hold your cremains?

What if you planned it all yourself? Now! What if your slideshow was funny and had all of the cat memes inserted at random intervals. And have you EVER liked funeral homes? Maybe you could plan another venue. Maybe start an envelope with cash that someone can use to pay for everything. Put your important documents in one place.

You COULD guarantee that everyone at your funeral come away with a small gift that you create while you are alive. You COULD guarantee that there is a menu planned for the snack table with all of your favorite treats and beverages. You COULD guarantee that you have a will. And maybe life insurance.

Do that.

Life is short.

Friday, April 5, 2013

Well, ain't that sexy? And why you should get a bra at Victoria's Secret.

Things were getting a little strange up there. I kept saying things like this to my husband...

"Does it look like I have four boobs?"

YOU know what I'm talking about. Like your REGULAR boobs AAAND the ones that come out the top of your bra. The pudding boobs. Was this whole deal my boob's fault or my intimate wear's? I was starting to think that it had something to do with my semi-annual trip to Target's underwear section and purchasing sub-standard goods. I'm pretty sure that this was a full-blown bra dilemma. Damn you, Target! You are so limited in your awesomeness!

Maybe there are others who've got this boob thing licked (ha ha). Maybe having my business in all the right places isn't such a far fetched idea. I started threads on lists, I did some research on-line. The consensus was that I needed to take a trip to Victoria's Secret. I was fully on board with spending a fortune on bras as long as they solved all of my life's problems. "Fuel the jet!" I said. "We're going to the mall!"

I picked a few bras in what I thought were my size and took them back to the dressing room. The lady who showed me my dressing room was beautiful, and she said...

"Have you been measured in the last six months?"

I said "no" which wasn't a lie since I've never been in a Victoria's Secret's dressing room. I put the "let's start here" bra on as instructed and pushed the button for her to come. This lovely lady came into my private area and proceeded to wrap the measuring tape around me in several areas, and then she decreed what my size is in real life.

Ask me if it was anywhere near what I've been wearing for the last few decades.

"Sharon, was her bra decree anywhere near what you've been wearing for the last few decades?"

No, it was not.

Holy shit! She came back with A DRA-WER full of items to try on, each more awesome than the next. I didn't know what to think. It was mind-blowing.

After like a half-hour I found the most awesome thing in the world, laid out 52bucks, and went home with perfection.

Ask me if everyone's all like, "Damn, girl. Nice tits!"

"Well? Are they?"

In my head, they all are.