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...

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...

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.

Monday, April 1, 2013



You know when you e-mail your spouse several times a day to see if he still loves you and you have candy for dinner and you harbor hatred so intense for a specific human that you're sure that he must, via some sort of juju, be suffering in some part of his body and you feel like there is an alien in your stomach, no, your lower bowel region, no, your liver, no, it's really cancer and you need to start giving away your stuff to your co-workers and bid them a final farewell as you leave work and tell them that you love them and that you might never see them again. Maybe you secretly wish Allison would volunteer to create your funeral slide show because she's really good at that kind of stuff. You hope that they make good use of all of your leftover art supplies. I should write down all of my passwords.

And I'm not even close to menopause!!! I'm just at the "Let's have a period every few weeks, I mean days, I mean months, and let's make it extra shitty and let's maybe release The Kraken inside there somewhere to jiggle all of the organs and maybe pull out some pipes, maybe make a balloon animal" stage.

That's fair (sarcasm).

Hey, female person who's mid 40's who has two teenagers with interesting-to-deal-with situations with one about to go to college and one who is hell-bent on making things hell-bent and who also maybe works at a non-profit making a shitty salary doing things that people often say "I could never do that!" about and who constantly regrets most of her choices made from ages 18-24, no 18-30, no 14-42.

What the shit?

"So Sharon, you're always so happy, I mean, you always appear so happy, I mean, you're often smiling... sort of... well now, is that really a smile? What's that she's doing with her eyes?"

Well, there's a method to the madness! I could not get work or personal shit done if I showed up wielding sharp items screaming banshee cries (or COULD I?).

"What do you do, Sharon, to be so awesome all of the time?

I drink beer!* O.k., maybe not before work, but if I know there's some cold ones somewhere at some time waiting for me, well then, that is enough to keep me smiling.

"Uhhh... Seriously? You solve all of your problems with beer?"

Yes, yes I do. Just beer. Hard liquor creates more problems than it solves. Wine is disgusting. Beer is comfortable. It is a warm blanket. It never cheats on you. You can always count on it. It is your friend.

Unless it is not your friend, in which case I recommend Netflix.

*and I have a a very awesome husband.