The wrong side of 48

“Buttercup took the dirt nap.”

I'll be turning 48 in March, which means I’m now officially on the countdown to 50. I really don’t care about the number, because I believe it’s about how old you feel. Unfortunately I have days where I feel like I’m 90 and others where I feel 17 and that I’m old enough to know better, but the reality is that I know jack shit. The only problem is that I don’t know that I know jack shit. I think I know more than I really know. Ya know what I mean? Probably not. Moving on…


I’m not gonna blow sunshine up your ass (or anywhere else) and say that my life has been awesome, because it hasn’t. On the plus side, I’ve never been on Cops and I’ve never lived in a trailer park or in a state in which the Confederate Flag flies from every liquor store, bait shack and gun shop. So I’ve got that going for me.
My daughter (A.K.A. Drama Queen) has turned out much better than she should have and I’m constantly amazed by that. She has a mom who has been mostly non-existent in her life and is stuck with a douche bag for a dad. When Her Majesty was five, she had a rough six month period. Her “Papa” (ex's dad) died of colon cancer, her mom moved out and her hamster died.
The hamster was named Buttercup, not because it’s the type of name a five-year-old girl chooses. It’s not that easy with my daughter. “Why did you name her Buttercup?” I asked on the day we bought her. “Because,” she said with hands on her hips and an eye roll. “Buttercup is my favorite Power Puff Girl because she has a bad attitude.” That’s my angel. I vividly remember the day Buttercup left this world.
After I broke the news that her furry friend was taking what’s called, “The dirt nap”, D.Q. asked if we could bury Buttercup next to Papa. My  ex's dad was cremated and his ashes are buried in a family burial plot. There were some flowers in the plot and I said we could bury Buttercup with my ex's dad. “Buttercup is family,” my angel told me. An hour later I walked down the hall and I heard my daughter crying and talking.
Walking into her room, I noted that she wasn’t there, so I listened closer. It was coming from my bedroom and I crept down the hall as quietly as I could and peeked in the door. What I witnessed made me retreat to my den and cry. My daughter was sitting at the sliding glass door and had it cracked open just enough to get the dog’s nose in the door. “Lucy?” Drama Queen cried to the pet she received as a birthday gift seven months before. “Papa left me, mommy left me and now Buttercup left me. Please don’t leave me Lucy.” I cried like a baby at that one.
I’ve been thinking about my daughter a lot lately and I’m proud of the way she’s turned out. In her younger days I dated a couple of women who weren’t the nicest to her and I stayed in those relationships longer than I should have. It was never abusive, but wasn’t cool. Like any parent, I make mistakes, but I tend to keep revisiting mine and breaking them down in intricate detail. That drives me up the wall.

There’s a rad chick in my life who listens to me whine and then helps me chill da fuck out. I keep telling her she can do way better than me, but apparently she’s under the delusion that I’m the shiz. I keep telling her she’s wrong, but she won’t listen. “What the hell does she see?” I ask myself. I’ve got no clue, but I’ll hang around as long as she lets me.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing and my life as a writer. When I was in high school I was on the school paper staff, but had an adviser who was less than nurturing. She thought my writing wasn’t any good and I barely got in the paper. To be honest, that criticism knocked myself confidence as a writer down to zero. It was almost 20 years later that I had the balls to pursue writing again and when I did, it was pretty good.

I honestly believe that I’ve gotten better with age. I’m way cooler than I was in my teens-mid 30′s and even though I’m having a momentary self-esteem crisis, I kn0w I feel better about myself than I probably ever did. I’m also going to go out and fire up a New York steak, some Pacifico and red velvet cupcakes courtesy of my Muse. See. More cool shit I don’t deserve.


P.S. I put Butercup in foil and Ziploc bag before shoving her into the bottom of the freezer. That would preserve the body so we could bury the damn hamster the next afternoon. My daughter wanted to go back a few days later to pay her respects and I eventually gave in. We got there and the spot I buried the rodent had been dug up and my daughter asked what happened. “When hamsters go to heaven,” I said. “This is what happens. Buttercup went to be with Papa.” For some reason she actually bought it. Apparently the cemetery has cats. And I’m probably going to hell for telling my daughter that.
P.S.S. The day after this happened, the kindergarten teacher wanted to talk with me after school. Apparently she didn’t appreciate that my daughter shared with the class that, “Buttercup took the dirt nap.” I don’t know why not…

Coffee addiction is a bitch

Every morning I long to hold you.. I need you, I want you, I have to have you... your warmth, your smell, your taste...ohhh coffee, I love you (o:

HISTORICAL GLASS MUSEUM HISTORY

HISTORICAL GLASS MUSEUM HISTORY, a photo by benjamin_valadez on Flickr.

The museum located in a restored 1905 Victorian house and is Redlands Historical Resource #107.
The Historical Glass Museum Foundation was founded in 1976, to preserve specimens of American
glass from artists and factories that were becoming extinct, as well as those currently
producing glass. Dixie Huckabee, her husband, Dee Huckabee, and many volunteers spent
numerous hours restoring the 1905 Victorian house museum to its original look, both inside
and out. Thanks to their efforts, the museum received the Heritage Award from the Redlands Area
Historical Society in 1995. This award is given each year to acknowledge well-maintained
structures in Redlands that are at least 75 years old.

In 2004, several HGMF members refurbished every room in the museum's interior, while two
members voluntarily repaired and painted the entire exterior of the museum.

On August 2, 2005 the Historical Glass Museum was dedicated as Redlands Historical
Resource #107.

The home that houses the museum was constructed by Jerome E. Seymour, a Redlands builder and
architect. Seymour purchased the lot in 1903 and built the home in 1905 for a total of
$1,000. Seymour started the Seymour Planing Mill in 1886 with his brother, Howard. Jerome
built the home for his family. His daughter, Emma Cryer, lived there after her parents'
deaths, and until her death in 1977. Jerome Seymour died in Redlands in 1917 during the
influenza epidemic.

According to historical data available, the home was constructed from wood from the
historic J.D.B. Stillman Winery, which was located where the University of Redlands is
today. Inside the home you will find beautiful dark woodwork. The rooms in the
museum all have high ceilings and tall, double-hung windows. A very ornate and
fretwork wood archway still stands between the front room and dining room.



Most of the museum's funding comes from affiliated glass clubs, fundraisers, member's dues, and the museum's wonderful two-room Antique and Gift Shop.

Dancing mailmen and other assorted nonsense

My daughter is 19. This is stuff I need to know.

I was watching the Raiders game on Sunday morning, when it went to commercial. It looked like I was in someone’s house and I noticed the front door was open. Suddenly, Without any warning. The mailman came leaping in the door and proceeded to dance like a fairy on PCP. I sat there with my mouth open as I watched this guy completely make an ass of himself.

The only thing I took from that commercial is that Dish Network thinks it’s OK for the mailman to waltz into your castle and act like a dick. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only stupid thing I saw this weekend. My TV was filled with funny moments that weren’t supposed to be funny.
Beginning Saturday with the Arkansas football game on CBS, I heard a lot of interesting comments made by the announcers. Brent Musburger (Saturday night) and Solomon Wilcots (Sunday morning) both said things which indicated they were coming out on air. What did they say? I’ll get to that in a moment. I know commercials exist to inform us of something or to get us to shell out our hard earned cash for their shiz. I totally get that, but I don’t think it’s too big a deal to get things grammatically correct.
A commercial for the NCAA had a guy saying, “Team is plural.” Uh….no it’s not. It’s singular. “Teams” is plural. Now, I know the point they were trying to make, but is, “A team is a family,” really too difficult for the actor to remember? If so, he may not be the right guy for the gig. Whoever wrote that line and approved it needs to be fired and sent back to third grade English. Seriously. “Team is plural?” I’m giving the commercial a D+.
Early in the first quarter of the Arkansas v Mississippi State game, a commercial appeared on my screen. It was the T-Mobile chick and she was with some elf dude. The elf called her, “Naughty” and the first thing that went through my mind was, “I bet you wish she was naughty. She’s probably the first tall chick you’ve seen in years. Whatcha gonna do? Whip up some of your special ‘nog for her?” I reminded myself that everything didn’t have to be about sex and the very next commercial easily put the T-Mobile hottie out of my mind.
The next commercial showed an old lady hocking Depends. Yeah. Adult diapers. I have no clue what she said at the end of the spot, because once I realized what it was for, I kept watching her body language and facial expressions to see if she was relieving herself while she filmed the commercial. I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she wet herself. At this point, you probably think I’m a dick for making fun of incontinent adults. I’m not making fun of the problem, just the commercial. If I’m ever in adult diapers, you have my permission to mock me constantly.
Shortly after halftime, I was treated to a lesson in feminine hygiene. Apparently, Stayfree maxipads wik away moisture. I did not know that. I guess I’m gonna go ahead and ask the obvious question. “Where does it wik to?” Am I to understand that a woman’s period blood will somehow dissipate into the atmosphere if only she sticks a Stayfree maxi pad between her legs? My daughter is 14. This is stuff I need to know.
I guess CBS was calling this their “Chick commercial break” because the next ad was for some medicine a doctor can prescribe to make wrinkles go away. I knew I could believe what they were saying because of the caption at the bottom of the screen. “NOT ACTUAL USERS”, is what it said. Is their snake oil so crappy that they can’t even find four women who look decent after using it? Probably not. To tell the truth, the actresses all looked a little rough. Oh well.
Finally it was time for USC and Oregon. As I watched the opening, I wondered aloud (even though I was alone) why Brent Musburger wasn’t wearing a bib. “Dude is blowing USC big time,” I noted. Musburger couldn’t understand how anyone would think #4 Oregon could actually beat USC, (unranked in the BCS because Pete Carroll is a pussy who cheated, then ran to the NFL, but #18 in the AP poll). Brent needed the bib because at the rate he was going, the whole team would erupt shortly before halftime.
Musburger donned his cardinal and gold knee pads and slurped away as he told America how Matt Barklay was the next great NFL quarterback and how Lane Kiffin was an offensive genius. Of course his dad, Monty Kiffin is the greatest defensive mind in the game today. Watching it made me want to take a shower. I felt that dirty.
Somehow, color analyst Kirk Herbstreit was able to interrupt the orgy and uttered the first funny line. Of one of the Oregon players, Herbie said he, “Weighs 195 and has a low center of gravity.” I looked at the kid and laughed out loud. Yeah. He probably does weigh 195 and has a low center of gravity. That’s because he’s short and fat. Nice phrasing Kirk. Seriously. I’m gonna use that line sometime.
I tossed a couple pistachios in my mouth and almost choked on them because of what Musburger said next. He told everyone watching that the running back was, “swallowed” by the cornerback. I swear to God. That was my first clue that Brent may be coming out on air, but i was still willing to give the veteran broadcaster the benefit of the doubt. It was hard to cut him some slack, because he spent the rest of the first half saying things like, “The receiver was swallowed on the play.” Also, “Here’s Kenyon Marner to give him a blow.” A hummer? really? What exactly is the penalty for that? I would think 15 yards and automatic first down, but I’m not sure.
Sunday morning I turned on the Raiders and swore out loud as the Silver and Black took stupid penalty after stupid penalty. My favorite moment was when Michael Huff clotheslined Percy Harvin and evaded the flag. Nicely done, bro. Al would be proud.
Near the end of the first quarter I watched as some guy walked out of the grocery store with a paper bag, not a reusable one (I thought Honda was all about going green). Dude also had a gallon of milk, which he dropped once his van caught fire. He pressed his remote and suddenly the whole thing turned into a black light 70′s metal thing, complete with a black panther, rocker with long hair and a headband, plus Godzilla breathing fire on the DVD entertainment system. “The van beckons like no van before,” said the announcer in a very creepy voice.
As soon as I heard the phrase, “The van beckons” I immediately pictured a black panel van (owned by a rapist, of course) sitting in a dark alley. I don’t think, “This is the perfect vehicle to haul my kids around in.” Sorry Honda, but you might want to rethink that spot. After that I tweeted: “When did Honda become the official van of child molesters?”
As he half came to a close, I heard Solomon Wilcots say, “I love me some John Kuhn.” I bet you do, Solomon. And now everyone who watched the game knows it too. I’m not sure how often those two get to hook up, but I think it’s nice that CBS lets Wilcots call Kuhn’s games.
Finally, I close this out with something that’s funny because of what was said, but also the fact that the player had no clue that what he said was stupid. We were told this guy was cut by the Lions last offseason, but was recently re-signed by the team and he played today. When asked why he thought the Lions signed him, the genius had this to say.
“Well, if you have talent and you’re available, you’ll play. If you’re not available, you won’t.” Wow. I wonder when (if ever) he’ll realize that he said the only reason he’s on the Lions is because he was available to play. My guess is the 12th of Never. Anyone want to take that bet?

Phantom Turkey

Being goofy in the turkey trailor...

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Musical Families for $200, Alex

This is what you get when you cross Jeopardy with one of those, “Hardhitting” VH-1 Rockumentaries.
The other day I was doing some writing with iTunes in full shuffle mode. About an hour in, I heard Wilson Phillips. A couple songs later, The Wallflowers oozed into my headphones. For some reason, this started me thinking about the fact that these two groups feature children of parents with Rock and Roll Hall of Fame credentials.

“How many other singers are there with parents who rocked out?” I asked myself. I immediately eliminated Kelly Osbourne because, lets face it, the chick sings slightly better than I do and I sing like shit. Mulling this over in my head, I spontaneously began inventing questions in a Jeopardy sort of way. Here’s what my brain spewed forth:
ALEX TREBEK: Welcome to Jeopardy. Poindexter, as our returning champion, you have the honor of selecting first.
POINDEXTER: [said with a very strong nasal tone] Thanks, Alex. I’d like Musical Families for $100
ALEX: Dad will have an achey-breaky heart when this child gets arrested Lohan-style.
BEN: Who is Miley Cyrus.
ALEX: Correct.
BEN: I know. That’s why I said it. Musical Families for $200
ALEX: This is what you get when you take two daughters of a crazy, drug addicted over eater and cross them with a blond chick whose parents worked with a woman who died from a ham sandwich.
BEN: Who are Wilson Phillips.
ALEX: Correct. Choose again.
BEN: Musical Families for $300
ALEX: He can pronounce his words. His father? Not so much.
BEN: Oh. Who is Jakob Dylan. Musical Families for $400.
ALEX: This pop star had a pop who hung out with a redneck hippie.
BEN: Oh…Uh…who is, um…Enrique Iglesias?
ALEX: You’re on a roll.
BEN: Thanks bro. Lets close out this thing. I’ll take Musical Families for $500.
ALEX: This drug addicted singer came from musical “ROYALTY”, but had a very forgettable career.
BEN: [Getting more worked up than I probably should] Who is Natalie Cole!
During the next break, the guy on the end said my knowledge of current music was fascinating. “How do you know all that?” He inquired. “Easy,” I said. “I have a life. There’s more than living in mom’s basement and creeping out the patrons at your local library.” The director guy counted us down and Alex went into full on ass-kissing mode. “First we have our returning champion. Say hello to Poindexter McDorkus. Poindexter has won over $200,000, and has yet to kiss a girl.” The audience giggled, while I just rolled my eyes. “VIRGIN,” I coughed in a non-discreet way. After getting a nasty glare from the host, I looked at the chick next to me.
“Welcome our first challenger, Sally DaProody. Sally has a PhD. in Library Science and spends her free time at the Library of Congress.” With that, Alex turned to me and said, “Finally, we have Benjamin Valadez. Benjamin, it says here that you’re a single father, a budding blogger and a part-time douche bag. How do you find time for all that?” I looked past him and straight into the camera. “I’ll tell you Alex,” I said, as I leaned on the podium. “It’s taken me a while to learn this, but I’ve found if you put a little extra effort into the douchiness, the rest just kind of falls into place.” Ten seconds later, the director cleared his throat loudly, waking Alex out of his stupor.
ALEX: Ben It’s your board.
BEN: Damn straight. Let’s take Musical Families for $200.
[Yeah. I know they don't use the same category in both rounds, but it's my imagination. Plus, I had more than five I wanted to mock.]
ALEX: This crackhead has an aunt who talks to ghosts.
BEN: [snorting] Uh…who is Whitney Houston.
ALEX: That’s right. Her aunt is, of course, Dionne Warwick.
BEN: Yeah, yeah. Let’s keep going. Musical Families for $400.
ALEX: This family featured a teen idol, high powered lawyer and a guy who picked up a trannie.
BEN: Who are the Partridge Family. Excuse me, but when do the hard ones start?
ALEX: Musical Families for $600?
 BEN: Duh.
ALEX: This child’s father died while pushing one out.
BEN: Who is Lisa Marie Presley. [Under my breath] BOOM!
ALEX: Musical Families for $800. This singer must have…excuse me. Is there a problem?
BEN: Huh? Oh. My bad. I was just asking Library of Congress over here, what she was looking at. Then I told her I was running the table because I listen to music written after 1600. Please continue.
ALEX: As I was saying, This singer mush have been “HIGH” when he wrote his one “HIT”.
BEN: [Rubbing my scalp fervently]
ALEX: We need an answer please.
BEN: [Light bulb goes off in head] Snap. Who is Tal Bachman.
ALEX: That’s correct. Son of Canuck Randy Bachman of Bachman-Turner Overdrive, eh.
BEN: Whatever. Let’s get to the money shot.
ALEX: Uh…yeah. For One thousand dollars, If 3/4 of this band were in bed with you, it would definitely leave you breathless.
BEN [Staring straight into the red light on top of the camera.] Who. Are. The Corrs.
ALEX: That’s correct. And you are tonight’s new champion. [Again, I know it's not like real Jeopardy, but I figured this post was long enough]
BEN: Thanks Alex. I have a quick question. When will I get my check? The reason I ask, is I want to get this guy a medium quality prostitute before he leaves town. You know. To celebrate his reign on top.
ALEX: Join us tomorrow, on Jeopardy.
BEN: I’ll be back, biznitches. Peace.

Let the Porn Star Read

PORN STAR DEFENDS READING TO ELEMENTARY SCHOOL CHILDREN AFTER PARENT OUTRAGE

               Adult film star Sash Grey read to Los Angeles elementary school students.       

Hal Jordan and His Merry Men

I’ll be straight with you. When I saw Van Wilder jacking off a dog, I never imagined the ring would choose him. That was some sick shit.


It’s probably obvious from the caption above that I just saw Green Lantern starring Van Wilder hisself, Mr. Ryan Reynolds. Friday late afternoon, I’m chillin in my
writing space
hovel, when I remembered I have two promo codes from Redbox. I hopped on the computer, located the flick at a partially-convenient location outside a nearby Walgreens, and boom. Ten minutes later it was wham, bam, thank you Redbox.


I returned home where I took Shadow (Our dog) out to do her biz. After leaving the present for my daughter, I poured a bowl of Fritos and grabbed the chipotle salsa. After that it was time to settle back in my chair and press play.
Please don’t judge me for my choice of snack. My selection was limited to Pop Corn and a half bottle of water. The Fritos was unopened and thus had the most to offer the situation. For the record, Drama Queen is in the mountains with her mom. It’s just me, the dog, Fritos and a 1/2 bag of pop corn, no ice and no Diet Coke..

Here’s my first question. There may be more, but I’m not sure. I’m using the force with this blog post and letting The Big Kahuna guide me. Aloha everyone.
I’m not a huge Tim Robbins fan, so when I saw him get sucked into that black, firey cloud guy, I was all, “Hell yeah!” Does that make me an ass? I mean, it’s only a character and not the real Tim Robbins, so it’s probably OK that I found pleasure in his demise.
I think the next movie should be Hal Jordan with the red dude, the pug on steroids and the fish. They look like a ragtag bunch and lets face it, who doesn’t like a ragtag bunch. These four have the power to be bigger and better than Hellboy and his crew, so they need a cool name. Hal Jordan and His Merry Men sounds kind of, uh, you know. I would go with the Green Team, but that sounds too environmental. Whatever. It’s not my problem.
The girl who played his squeeze was pretty cute too. I’m not sure who she is, but she’s definitely worth saving. At this point you’re probably asking yourself why I said I wasn’t sure who she is. Yeah, I could Google, “Green Lantern cast,” but frankly, I’m lazy and don’t feel like taking my hands off the keyboard to use the track pad. You probably feel let down at my sloth, and for that I apologize. I promise to try and make it up to you.
As Hal Jordan was getting his ass kicked by the pug and the red dude, I began realizing that I’m a lot like Hal Jordan. On the inside. On the outside he blows me away, plus he has a killer job and a lot of cash. Hal Jordan’s life was a show. He pretended to be fearless, but his peeps saw through it.
I’m scared. A lot. Scared for my health. Scared that I’m not raising my daughter the best way. Scared that one night a skunk will wander into my hovel and unload on my bed. But most of all, I’m afraid that I will be a success. How fucked up is that?
BTW, I cannot believe that I’m somehow turning this into a sentimental, inspirational thing. That wasn’t my intent at the outset. You have my apologies. Considering the bottle is now empty, it’s most likely The Big Kahuna talking. Back to playing Siskel and Ebert. Does anyone know how Siskel could die before Ebert? I mean, that guy was a heart attack in a jacket and slacks.
I was told by several people that the movie was crap. Others told me it was pretty good, while yet a third group told me it was OK. I’d say it was a pretty decent flick. Nice eye candy, without the gratoutious cleavage. That’s both a positive and a negative. Reynolds was pretty good and I really liked the pug, fish and red dude. It’s definitely worth $1.20 (plus tax).

Do you think Hal Jordan ever harnessed the power of the ring when he was with his chick. I figure he had to try it at least once. What do you think?                                                                                                          

My Two Cents–Penn State

I apologize in advance if this gets, uh, animated. It could possibly be the best 4:45 of your day. Or maybe not. I guess you’ll have to look and find out.

Douche of the Week–Soccer

All the Euros and soccer honks can sit back down. I’m not dissing the world’s most popular game. Please continue to read and I’m pretty sure you’ll be as appalled as I am.







VICTORVILLE, CA:
Saturday morning I was on Twitter when @VirtualMom tweeted about her kids soccer games being an hour late because someone stole the goals. Yes, you read that correctly. Someone stole the goals from a soccer field. Word from the snack bar is apparently that the a-holes in question also hit another local field.
I want to know first off, who does shit like this? It takes a special kind of douchebag to steal goals from a kids soccer field. The next thing I want to know is, why? What purpose would they have for doing it? Was it just to be dicks or is it the parents of some middle school soccer phenom and they needed some goal posts in their backyard so Junior can get better? Finally, where do you hide them without attracting any unwanted attention?
It obviously takes more than one person to jack some goalposts off a field, which is why I use the word, “They” and not, “Him”. Or her. It could be a chick. If it is a woman, I bet her ex played on those fields and she’s likely on her period, which COULD (not WILL) make her irrational. Using that implausible scenario you can see how it could possibly be a woman. I don’t know that for sure, it’s just a theory. I mean, I’m not ready to take it to the cops or anything, but I could see it happening.
Please join me in raising a glass to the people who stole fun and much needed exercise to many little tykes who dwell in the I.E. (That’s Inland Empire, or Inbred Empire, depending on who you ask) When they find you I hope they let a bunch of soccer hooligans go all World Cup on your ass. You totally deserve it.



P.S. Big thanks to Virtual Mom using her sources in the snack bar to break this story. There’s not a Pulitzer on the line, but I will give her a hearty fist-bump. With a, “Pow” at the end.

The Middle

Live right now.
Yeah, just be yourself.
It doesn’t matter if it’s good enough for someone else.

Saturday morning I was sitting down to see if I could write and, as I often do, I clicked on Pandora. I looked at the screen for a moment and perused my options. “Am I in a 90′s Alternative Grunge mood, or would Today’s Alternative Radio be better?” I pondered that question for a moment as I continued to look. I also had 80′s Alternative that seemed to be calling to me, but only from a distance. I could listen to my Zwan channel (a band Billy Corrgan of the Smashing Pumpkins put together between visits to rehab) or to my personal fav, Kick Ass Shit, but neither of those seemed right for the situation.
I decided I wanted something more current and clicked on the Today’s Alternative Radio button and I was off to the races. After the last few seconds of the Harvey Danger song I was last listening to, it kicked to a Vista Print ad, then a familiar song began to play. It was The Middle by Jimmy Eat World. I dig the song and I started listening as I opened Chapter 14 on my computer.
I’ve heard this song 1,000 times over the years, but I will admit that I never paid much attention to the lyrics. For some reason, this morning I really heard the lyrics and to use a tired cliche, “They spoke to me.” I know it sounds like a far-fetched tale, but I was moved by the lyrics of a band that I once called a, “One hit wonder.” To be fair, I called them that until they came out with Pain, then I said they were a two hit wonder. At that moment I was struck by a profound thought. Better to be a one hit wonder, than a no hit wonder.
As I said, I started listening to the lyrics and I was moved by their message. Seriously. I can take a break for a moment if you care to laugh out loud. [PAUSE] OK. Back to the blog post. The lyrics carry a message that I need to hear right now and I was struck by the timing of hearing the song.
Hey, don’t write yourself off yet
It’s only in your head you feel left out or looked down on.
Just try your best, try everything you can.
And don’t you worry what they tell themselves when you’re away.
I’m struggling with believing in myself, but I have to say I’ve been feeling much better lately. I’m actually a bit ahead of where I wanted to be on Sunday night and I’m on a roll that I don’t want to stop. I’ve also noticed that I don’t get down on myself as much as I used to. On occasion I will still ask myself, “What the hell was that?” But Its getting less frequent.
I finally feel like I’m back in my groove and that I’m starting to write like I know I can. It’s a cool feeling and one I hope stays around for a while. Be glad you can’t see me as I bounce around my mancave/hovel/writing area as I sing in my very shitty voice.
It just takes some time, little girl you’re in the middle of the ride.
Everything (everything) will be just fine, everything (everything) will be alright (alright).

P.S. I’m not calling myself a little girl. I’m just keeping it true to the lyrics and shit. Also, the fuzzy bear in the tightie whities is a nice touch.

Wordless Friday–Jesus loves the little children

Leave me your best caption for this picture.


















P.S. Before you judge me for this, remember that some company made this. A christian bookstore also stocked it and sold it. And some holy roller Christian or devout Catholic purchased it and very likely put it in the nursery. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.
P.S.S. I’m probably going to hell for this. What do you think? Am I getting off the hook or not?