Placing Faces

Faces of Orlando Victims

I DID NOT want to click on this link.
I DID NOT want to let the reality sink in.
I DID NOT want to start my week off with this.
I DID NOT want to think about this as I start back to work after surgery.
I DID NOT want this to affect me fully.
I DID NOT want to deal with this after such a beautiful day of Pride yesterday.
I DID NOT want to put faces to this tragedy.
I DID NOT want to cry.
But I did. I did all of these things.
And as I sit here sobbing, because many of these faces remind me of people I know and love, I admitted the big picture to myself.
i did not want to share this post.

Faces of Orlando Victims

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Anchor

it’s amazing how quickly life can change in a week.  i felt like i was on a good path, finally getting my shit together, enjoying the glimmer of a light at the end of the ol’ proverbial tunnel- and then this week?  good hell.  i feel like crying and throwing expensive things around the house.

my son’s girlfriend of 4 years broke up with him on sunday- out of nowhere- and he is devastated.  i’m heartbroken for him, because she was his entire world.  something is rotten in denmark- i don’t believe she acted on her own i’m sure her parents kind of forced this.

i also got news that someone i knew just had a heart attack and died out of nowhere, leaving his partner and everyone else in total shock.  i just talked to him days before about wedding plans…. it’s so crazy.

there are a bunch of other messy little details in my life that seem to be unraveling when only days ago i was making a lot of forward progress…

the only constant is my partner.  even at our eye-rolling-est snippiest prickly times he makes me smile.  i look to putting a hand on his back as i am falling asleep.  even though he works until 2 am, i can always text him; my lifeline to him.

i was feeling so insecure this weekend and almost effortlessly, he fixed my brain hurt.  this is a new occurrence.  he kissed away my self doubt and i love him all the more for it.  our ten year anniversary is coming up next month and it’s amazing how much our relationship has evolved.  i love him every second of every day and am thankful to have him as an anchor.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/18/daily-prompt-thats-amore/

Conversation With Myself

it’s been awhile since i did a mental check up/life evaluation and i said i would make sure to take time to keep myself focused on myself during this whole transition thing- it’s overdue.

i’ve been so busy writing advocate pieces and throwing articles to different sites that i just haven’t even had a chance to braindump in a very long time.   i made and donated a few mosaic pieces to an art show at the GLCC- and succumbed to peer pressure to start an Etsy site.  now i need to do a logo and Pinterest that- and all of that social media hullaballoo for that.  my laptop had a wicked rotten virus, but, i actually fixed things myself- that NEVER happens!  i’m pretty excited about it!  we did a whole bunch of new (to us) things with the different GLBTQ groups, including a FASHION SWAP, trans partner support group and a lecture on HATE CRIMES.   i set up a Gofundme account for bf’s top surgery and have been working on a bunch of fundraisers for that.  Sonnyboy got a job- thank god- so that stress is FINALLY off my shoulders and i FINALLY feel like i can relax a tiny bit.  i’ve been filling out a lot of apps and going on stupid interviews with places that i don’t belong… it’s been horrible.  but through it all, i keep looking towards better days- credit cards gone, car paid off, vacation, breathing room……. *sigh*

i certainly haven’t gone to the gym enough and working out at home is usually ignored- but i’m working on that…. it just always seems the easiest thing to fall by the wayside, when meanwhile it should be the most important…  in fact i think i’m going to go crawl onto the couch and fall asleep.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/category/daily-prompts/

It’s Your Job Now, D’ya Hear Me?

to doi’m not sure if it’s the three cups of coffee or just a week’s worth of pent up guilt, but i’m twitchy enough to get my ass in gear and start crossing stuff off of THE GI-NORMOUS TO DO LIST OF DOOM… i’d like to thank my friends for peer pressuring me into starting six more projects and this cold February weather for my incredibly flaky DEFCON TWO-level itchy dry skin.

i’m giving myself ONE WEEK to finish everything on the aforementioned GI-NORMOUS TO DO LIST.  one.  ONE.  that’s it.  JUST ONE GODDAMN WEEK.  i can’t take it anymore.  it’s me or THE DAMNED LIST.   if i don’t finish it all, you have my permission make that, THE OBLIGATION to pitch me off of the front of a boat,  Jack-from-the-Titanic-style…. just chuck me right off.  i’m not even joking.  i don’t even care if i’m on fire and running from a pack of rabid, poorly dressed drag queens, if by next Monday the 24, i don’t have every single thing on my list done- it is YOUR RESPONSIBILITY, dear reader, to throw me the fuck off a boat…(or cliff, whichever is more convenient for you.)

throw

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/17/daily-prompt-with-or-without-you/

My Face Isn’t Red, But My Fridge is GROSS

  1. i unapologetically love The Bee Gees.
  2. i shovel the sidewalk, get the mail and scrape ice off my car in snowman pajamas.
  3. i have spent lots of time at “clothing optional” campgrounds and i am a big ol fat girl.
  4. i often eat cereal for dinner.
  5. i didn’t learn how to drive or get my license until i was 25 years old.
  6. i used to work at an “adult bookstore” and helped people buy vibrators and porn.
  7. i now clean houses for a living.
  8. i hated being pregnant. all nine months and didn’t think childbirth was beautiful or magical.
  9. i still have to look at the keys sometimes to type.
  10. i cry when i do my taxes because i hate math so much.
  11. i graduated from art school but can’t draw very well.
  12. i lie and say that i am paying attention to people when try and give me directions, when really i’m ignoring them and just go and google it.
  13. i despise shopping and would rather get my clothes from a thrift store, department stores make my skin crawl.
  14. i am openly bisexual.
  15. i don’t believe in ghosts even though my mother was an ordained Spirtualist minister, claimed to be psychic, and performed exorcisms out of our house.
  16. i tinkle when i laugh too hard on occasion. ok. i do it all of the time
  17. I LOATHE baby showers and wedding showers WITH A PASSION.
  18. i very rarely pay attention to names in books, so, a lot of times near the end, i have absolutely NO CLUE what is happening to people.  i’m like a toddler.
  19. i cuss like a truck driving-sailor.
  20. i hate my neighbors so much that i secretly wish bad things will happen to them when they park in our spots…. *giggles and hides from karma)

having said all of this, i am embarrassed by very little, however, that if you looked in my refrigerator right now, i would be horrified.

bee gees

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/05/daily-prompt-red/

With Desired Effects…

this weekend was legendary.  friday’s work was hard and annoying- mice turds, scummy tubs and christmas tree removal.  fears of last weekend’s blowout still ringing through my brain.  not one to be dissolved into misery, not anymore at least, i pasted a waxy smile to my face and reminded myself how short life is, and cautiously stepped into Friday Night.

when your partner of ten years takes mood altering medication, you never know what face you will see at the end of the day.  one weekend smiles.  next weekend you are homeless.  one weekend is hot and heavy, sex, sex, sex.  the next weekend you are face down on the floor, sobbing.  with the uncertainty of days of wine and song, or nights of hyperventilating sobs, weekends can be a scary place, and have lost most of the glittery dancing, cocktail clubbing,  Thank God It’s Friday-ing times i used to live for.  so it was with supreme eggshell-walking i planned on not planning out how my weekend would go and with trepidation i watched the clock.  i crafted.  i cleaned.  i failed at crochet again.  i wrote.  i read.  i texted.  i went to the gym.  i ate.  i filled time.  i was.  i sat.  i thought.  i worried.  i chewed my nails.  i picked my cuticles.  i texted.  i snacked.  i ate mindlessly.  i worried some more.  i panicked.  i flipped out.  i cancelled plans with friends.  i texted.  i pretended.  i faked that nothing was wrong.  i stared out the window until 2 AM when i saw his car pull up.  i froze.

clumpy snowy steel toed boots walked in.  boots came off.  wooly-socked little feet.  a “hey baby, how are you?” and a kiss.  i smiled, cautiously.  the weekend had officially begun.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/03/daily-prompt-copies/

Message in a Bacardi Bottle

i would have to think that if i was laying on the beach and a bottle washed up that the ONLY possible reason i was there would be working as a maid at some swanky resort in the tropics.  so basically, this scenario sucks ass.

i clean for a living, the disgusting crusty remains of dirty dishes, unspeakable toilets, endless pet hair, constant stuff everywhere, every day.  it’s like not leaving home. it’s like picking up everyone’s bath towels and putting the toilet paper ONTO the dispenser- about thirty times a week and it’s wiping ramen noodle spice packet dust and coffee residue from six or seven counters weekly.  countless shoes and pillows put in their correct places, endless crevices to be vacuumed, cobwebs galore, constantly and all week.  so, it might seem that moving all of this “fun” to someplace seaside or tropical might be nice.

pina coladai imagine, i’m there in my hawaiian print shirt and turquoise cotton work pants, wandering the beach side cabanas, cleaning up after honeymooners and spoiled people that don’t know how much i’d like to break one of the resorts hurricane glasses and shank them with it.  these lovey dovey couples don’t realize just HOW CLOSE they are to me bashing them in the head with the bar’s novelty coconut shells. they are making out and dropping drink umbrellas, cherry stems and condom wrappers all over the place for me to clean up.COCONUT

i can hear them giggling and grunting and groaning, not hidden by the bamboo “privacy screens” as i fold the seven thousandth bleached beach towel into yet another fucking swan.  i pick up trays of half eaten strawberries and pretend these jerks aren’t sucking each other’s faces like an octopus sucks mollusks from their shells.  i walk quiety by leathery brown tourists snapping their fingers for more champagne and fruit platters, squirting each other with cocoa butter and KY like NO ONE has to clean that crap up.  i replace the newly folded swan towel next to a dry-humping, drunk couple that are feeding each other chunks of pineapple, and the couple immediately picks up the towel to sop the runny juice from their faces, giggling, only to then drop it to the ground to  possibly later to use a rag for their “love juices.”  yuck.

the heat is getting to me as well as the squeals and ecstatic giggling, so i wander away from the cabanas and notice trash in the water.  i walk towards it expecting more condom wrappers or even the usual bikini bottom and realize that it’s just a bottle.  from as far away as i am, i can’t tell if it’s an empty bottle of lube or booze; either way, as “Housekeeping”, it’s my damn job to pick up litter like i’m some golden garbageman in paradise.

Bacardi_Light_Rum_1_75_L_1_75Li make my way  through the honey colored sand, littered with bits of shells, ground up pieces of old hotel guests’ credit cards, and porsche glass, and stop to pick up the bottle, ready to chuck into the jewel encrusted trash bucket i’m carrying.

“what’s this, i ask to myself,  “a cliche’d message in a bottle?  who’da thunk?  how novel!”  i glance around nervously before i open the dirty old bacardi bottle, wondering what hotel protocol is for “lost beach articles.”   i chomp-pull out the crammed in cork with my teeth like a pirate, uncaring what people might say if they saw.  i pull out the rolled up note and park myself on a nearby lounge chair, figuring it will be some gag from one of the local kids.  as jaded as i am, i’m still excitedly curious and unroll the note, expecting a Target receipt, an expired Dunkin Donut coupon or at best, a menu from Polly’s Tropicano Pizza Hut.

i slowly read the note, and then read it again, this time, out loud, not believing the scrawly inky words that are in front of me.  it is a will.  “Last Will and Testament of Sir Bubbaloo DePaulo“, the island’s richest resident and he has written that he will bestow the entire island along with all of his riches and money to the finder of this note.  !!!!  i cannot believe it!!!  some luck for once! i dance through the sand, kicking up waves lapping my feet.  i am ecstatic!  i turn and head towards one of the vacationers that is yelling at me for more Rum Runners and dump the ice bucket right on his pretentious asshole head.

“FUCK THIS SHIT!  I’M RICH! and i am OUT OF HERE!”  i yell to his startled and sputtering wife, who just happens to be the color of a bucket of extra crispy KFC. i tear off my uniform, hideous turquoise scrub bottoms and all, leaving me in just my hole-y zebra print underpants and matching ill-fitting bra to run like hell back to the hotel.  i can’t believe my luck, my new fantastic life is about to begin!

“I OWN THIS FUCKING ISLAND, YOU DIPSHIT OVERPRIVELEDGED SNOTTY ASSHOLES!  so get the FUCK off my beach and get real jobs!”   laughing, i grab a pitcher of pina coladas off of serving tray and chug the whole damn thing!

i jubilantly run and run—- (A SPLASH!) a bucket of ice water is dumped onto my head, snapping me back to reality.

“Hey! Lady?  are you okay? ” someone asks.

i look around and see that i’m laying in the sand, probably drunk off the pitcher of pina coladas.  no matter, I’M RICH and drunk on the pina coladas from the ISLAND THAT I OWN, mother fuckers!!!!  a circle of people are gathered and staring at me as if i was a rabid animal and worried that i might strike again.

i look down and someone hands me a towel to cover up my nonsensical and unsexy zebra print under-garments.  i start to yell at everyone to get away from the new queen of the island when my boss wanders up, looking super pissed.

he starts yelling at me in his broken english “Mister Morales say you make fun of wife and dump ice on head. You are fired, yoong lady! get OUT!”

i pull myself up and start to yell at him about the newsflash he obviously missed, about me being the new SUPREME RULER of the island, when i reach up to touch a horrible swelling spot on my forehead.  looking down i notice a bacardi bottle, the note missing, just as a plate of crab claws, shrimp tails and lemon wedges rains down onto my head, courtesy of Ms. Bucket of KFC, Extra Crispy.  cocktail sauce oozes down the side of my face as my coworker explains to me that i suffered some sort of heatstroke and flipped out on Mr Morales and his fried chicken-colored wife, so he cracked me in the head with a bacardi bottle and i passed out.

soooooooooo apparently, i guess, it’s back to cleaning toilets in pittsburgh, no thanks to Sir Bubbaloo DePaulo, which may or may not be the name of my friend’s pomeranian and NOT the richest man on an island somewhere.

 http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/31/daily-prompt-water/