Friday's Random Thoughts - Hellbound Edition

Happy birthday, Edward Gorey

Somebody Needs Killin'

Yesterday I read that Bill O'Reilly has a deal for yet another book in his "killing history and literature" series. This time he's going to write a book titled Killing Jesus. This will follow his inexplicably successful books Killing Lincoln and Killing Kennedy.

I would like to volunteer to write Killing Bill O'Reilly. I seriously have never seen a face more smug and asking to be punched. Ever.

I think it's a good time to watch this:

America, you get the books you deserve.

Somebody Needs a Break

In other book news, I sent out my last book proposal this week. Maybe not forever, but definitely for the immediate future. Maybe for this entire year.

I've been thinking a lot about the idea of giving up versus the idea of moving on. When I printed out the proposal and put it into its black folder, I felt relieved. I think it's a good book and I think it's worthwhile, but I'm pretty sick of my need for validation. I keep thinking, "Yes, a very bad thing happened, but I am so much more than this very bad thing."

And I don't need to be validated, dammit.

The purpose of the book, for me, was to tell a story that has not been told because I was unable to find the book I needed, the one by a person who witnessed a suicide and lived to tell the tale. The purpose was to illustrate that you can witness something horrific, you can lose someone important in a second of violence, you can blame yourself and him and cry in the dark, and then you can figure out how to love yourself and him and you can keep seeking the light. You can survive. Not just survive. You can thrive.

Even on the most difficult days you can play some Luda and cuss in the car, or you can watch George Clooney movies and imagine just how much he'd laugh at all your jokes, or you can take a road trip with your amazing children and sing Mr. Blue Sky really loudly in the car because that's your tiny family's theme song.

That was the point. And the thing is I'm ready to live that point more fully. I'm ready to slide this story onto a shelf and maybe have a new story.

It's OK for me to say, "Enough."

The Stupid, It Burns

In other news, someone in Alabama said something stupid. Again. This week it was Alabama GOP lawmaker Mary Sue McClurkin, whose grasp of science is like my grasp on math: Nonexistent and worthy of tears. McClurkin is pushing legislation that would place restrictions on abortion clinics. In her argument, she said that when a doctor performs an abortion he or she removes the "largest organ in a body...You don't have any other organs in your body that are bigger than that."

What in the fuckety fuck is this woman talking about?

(Your skin is actually the body's largest organ, but whatever. Why bother yourself with facts?)



I find it rather delightful that Mary Sue's little argument actually undermines the "personhood" bull shit that GOP lawmakers keep trying to push on us. Organs are removed from the body every day and nobody is shrieking about their eternal souls. For instance, right now, my gall bladder is likely burning in hell next to Hitler's spleen. Poor gall bladder.

I have an idea that would make this whole thing much easier. How about people mind their own damn business? How about if you don't agree with abortion then YOU don't have one? (The funny thing that is not actually funny is that many people who claim to be against them have abortions because "the only moral abortion is my abortion." )

I have this thing about people who are concerned with the immortal souls of other people: Calm the fuck down. If the heaven you believe in is so great, then you won't care that your atheist son or your agnostic daughter or your Jewish best friend isn't there. If you do care and it tears you up inside your angel costume, then it's not all that heavenly, is it?

See You in Hell

Recently a woman wrote an essay on CNN.com about how she is raising her children without religion. It got some attention and people commented that this woman was the reason this country is going to hell.

The only thing unusual about this person is that she wrote an essay on the Internet. There are PLENTY of people raising their children without religion. I am one of them.

Sometimes I wonder if people actually believe I'm a bad person for doing so. I tell my children, when it comes up, that they are certainly free to do and believe what they want. If they'd like to go to church, they can. I will help them make that happen. If they want to pray, they can. If they want to question the world and its many and varied belief systems, do it, I say. We make jokes about the Flying Spaghetti Monster and His Noodly Appendage. We discuss the universe and its incomprehensible breadth. I do not tell them what to believe. I do not intentionally lie to them about what I believe or don't believe. I do not pretend that I know the answers to questions when I don't.

When each of them in turn, around 5 or 6 years old, asked me if Santa Claus was real, I said, "What do you think?" Because I am raising them to think. And each of them said, "I think...no." And I said, "But it's fun to pretend, isn't it?"

I am not raising children. I am raising adults. There is a vast difference.

The three of us are good people, with or without a religion that you deem to be valid or invalid based on your own upbringing. I don't choose to love people or forgive them or offer them kindness because some book tells me to or so I can get my heavenly reward. I do it because it feels better than being a hateful jerk. I do it because this world is a better place with love and forgiveness and kindness.

No day goes by without my children telling me at least once that they love me. Not a day passes when they don't demonstrate their capacity for compassion and kindness.

When my children and I need comfort about the loss of someone we loved, I don't tell them, "You'll see him again one day" and I don't give them some story about "mysterious ways" because that does not comfort someone here and now. (And there is nothing mysterious about why an addict dies. It's not a mystery. The reason things happen resides in the past and a lot of us would do well to look at our pasts and try to learn from them.)

I tell them, "You have so many wonderful memories. Hey, remember that time your dad let you stay home from school for no reason? Remember that time dad did a dance to Ice Ice Baby in front of your friends?" I say, when the moment is right, "You did that just like your dad. You are so good at math, just like your dad. Your eyes are just like your dad's."

Because they are here and they are now and that is what matters to me.

Because the love you feel for someone is always with you and you can feel it whenever you want. That is what matters.

If someone thinks I am the reason this country is going to hell, so be it. But since I don't believe in hell, it seems like a whole lot of fuss over nothing.

A Date with My Pretend Boyfriend

The Academy Awards are Sunday and I am super excited about it because my social life is pathetic. I like to see who gives the best speech, who creates the most secondhand embarrassment, and how many women wear dresses that make me think about their boobs.

Awards shows are all about making people think about boobs.

Are her boobs going to stay in that dress? 
Is her boob about to pop out? 
Why won't this boob wrap up his boring speech and move along? 

My pretend boyfriend George will be there in all his tuxedo-ed glory since he is one of the producers of Argo, so I'll end today's post with some photos of George doing awards shows right.

Happy Friday, my friends.

She's lovely, but there's just something not right about this.

There. That's better.

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Friday's Random Thoughts by Nicholas Sparks

(Updated to remove dumb thing about Fox News)

Inspired by Valentine's Day and all the phony baloney romance of the week, today's thoughts are brought to you based on Nicholas Sparks' successful formula of cliche, predictability, and hot bods in bikinis.

Nicholas Sparks Novel/Movie Characteristic #1: Oceanside scenery/bikinis

This week, some of the perfect people of the Internet called Kate Upton fat.

Kate Upton is the model on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. The fact that people still talk about this annual magazine when the Internet offers a bevy of half-naked and naked women for ogling everyday is surprising.

This is what Kate Upton looks like in a bikini.

 Yes, it's like a bloat of hippopotami up in here.

What is wrong with people?

Obviously I'm not a man, but if I had the choice of snuggling up against this woman and being in bed with some no-flesh-having bag of hangers, I'd take Kate Upton.

Nicholas Sparks Novel/Movie Characteristic #2: Romantic stargazing

Forget stars! The sky is falling in Russia! Holy meteorite!

Nicholas Sparks Novel/Movie Characteristic #3: Someone dies.

This week's worst death was that of Marco Rubio while giving the Republican response to the SOTU. It was so painful that I couldn't even feel the schadenfreude. And I love to feel the schadenfreude!

The secondhand embarrassment made me cringe. The subsequent edit of all his dry mouth sounds into one long clip makes me want to cry.

I'm starting to wonder if the purpose of the Republican response to the SOTU is to kill someone's political momentum (i.e. Bobby Jindal).

I don't always respond to the SOTU,
but when I do I stay thirsty, my friends. 

Nicholas Sparks Novel/Movie Characteristic #4: Fornication of some kind (usually up against a wall or tree)

I read yet another story about the Boy Scouts this week and, while the Boy Scouts might change their stance on allowing "known or avowed homosexuals" in their organization, they probably will not be doing the same for agnostics or atheists.

If you're someone who lies about what you believe or what you question, you're still welcome!

Also, felony convictions are not an automatic bar to employment.

Fuck the Boy Scouts.
Again.

Nicholas Sparks Novel/Movie Characteristic #5: Some watered down/vanilla spirituality that doesn't actually stop the characters from doing whatever they want to do.

So, here's something that exists somewhere:

How much can you lift, bro?

Nicholas Sparks Novel/Movie Characteristic #6: Someone ends up with his/her soul mate.

Kate and Jacob finally got iPhones yesterday. I believe it's true love. They can't take their eyes off them.

Am I going to regret this?

Happy Friday, my friends! Stay thirsty!

Related links:
What Kind of Person Thinks Kate Upton is Fat?
A blog post from last year written by a crazy, mean person

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Friday's Random Thoughts - Life Lessons from the News

1. Don't make a big deal about unflattering photos of yourself. 

You've probably heard that Beyonce's publicist sent out a letter to various photo organizations asking that certain unflattering photographs from the Super Bowl Halftime Show be removed from the Internet.

Isn't that adorable? "Removed from the Internet" is not a thing, people. This is why, unless you want your grandma and grandpa to see photos of your Bartles and Jaymes, you shouldn't ever, ever, ever take naked photos of yourself. Ever.

Once the people of the Internet heard this, they went wild. Congratulations, Beyonce, you are now an Internet meme. Try to enjoy it. Try not to take yourself so seriously that you think every single photo of you should be perfectly lit and display you only as a flawless goddess. We all know you normally look like this and, yes, I will have your babies.

But right now, don't try to be a goddess. Simply be a human being. Laugh at yourself. Say this: Yes, I make crazy faces when I dance, but ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!

And send your publicist to training classes on the culture of the Internet.

The Cliffs Notes version is this: The Internet, collectively, is a classroom full of 12-year-old boys ready to torment you until the end of time for accidentally calling the math teacher "Mommy." The best thing you can do for yourself is laugh along and then call everyone "Mommy" from then on out. You are IN on the joke, now. You own it. It is yours. Period. You are now the guy who struts through the cafeteria line and says to the lunch lady, "Hey, Mommy, make sure you pile those mashed potatoes high on my plate!" and everyone laughs because you're hilarious.

Never show weakness.

Because when you do, you get this:

2. Don't name your child Shadrack. 

This week, Alabama State Sen. Shadrack McGill said he plans to reintroduce a bill that would grant legal personhood rights to a human fertilized egg and ban abortion at all stages. He also compared abortion to destroying an eagle egg. "Did you know that you can be charged up to $250,000 for destroying an eagle egg, but you can destroy babies in the womb?" 

OK, Shadrack, I'll try to explain this slowly. 

Your...

Comparison....

Is...

Meaningless...

Crap...

If YOU made the decision to abort a fetus in another person's body, you would, indeed, be charged with a crime, too, moron. This is about women and their autonomy over their own bodies. 

If an eagle destroys her own egg, shall we put her to death? 

Did you have eggs for breakfast?

Not to mention that the law about eagle eggs has to do with endangered species. Would you like to apply rules of population growth to humanity? Because I'm pretty sure there are plenty of people on this planet. 

The bible from which you love to pick and choose states that if a man causes a woman to miscarry, he will be fined. He has violated her autonomy. If the woman dies, he will be put to death. This seems to clearly indicate the woman's life is more valued than the fetus. 

Also, I like how you base your beliefs on a passage in the bible that says God knew you before you were placed in your mother's womb (Jeremiah 1:5), but you ignore the numerous passages that equate life's beginning with breath. (Genesis 2:7; Job 33:4; Ezekiel 37:5 and 37:6). 

Also, in Jeremiah 1:5, the "you" God was talking about was Jeremiah. It reads "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations." 

Shadrack, I'm pretty certain you are not a prophet to the nations, dude.

You also asked where aborted fetuses go: Heaven or Hell? Well, what of the estimated HALF of pregnancies that end in miscarriage?

Also, maybe we could stop using the bible to attempt to justify every law and action. Because, I don't know if you've read it, but it's full of contradictions and fun rules about how I need to kill my neighbor for working on Sunday (Exodus 35:2).

Seriously, Shadrack, your Cafeteria-style Christianity makes me tired.

A little background: Shadrack also supports meaningless and unproductive bills like one that would make it legal to display the Ten Commandments on state property and in public schools.

And he's the ever-so-delightful douchebag who said that paying teachers more is not biblically-supported.

"If you pay teachers more, it might attract people who otherwise wouldn't do the job," he said early last year. "If you double a teacher's pay scale, you'll attract people who aren't called to teach...and these teachers that are called to teach, regardless of the pay scale, they would teach. It's just in them to do it. It's the ability that God give 'em."

..."give 'em." The person who was called to teach young Shadrack might have skipped a lesson or two. 

3. Don't pressure your children to continue your legacy.

This week, a hacker was able to get his hands on interesting images of what former President George W. Bush is doing with his free time. Read more here.

And I, for one, find it flipping adorable.

My first thought was that I bet W. is so much happier now that he doesn't have to be president. I bet he wishes every day that he could have been baseball commissioner like he wanted to be, instead of carrying on some political legacy and becoming the puppet of neoconservatives. I bet Laura Bush is way happier having him around the house, hanging out with Ralph Lauren, cracking corny jokes, and giving everyone nicknames like "Sunshine" and "Jimbo" and Half-Pint."

I bet he's having a grand old time painting naked pictures of himself. I'm no art critic, but I think they're not half bad. And, hell, maybe they symbolize W.'s sincere wish to cleanse himself of the guilt of starting a bullshit war based on a lie. That and he's probably symbolically rinsing off the grody grossness of Dick Cheney's cooties.

4. Don't be a Boy Scout. 

Texas Governor and noted asshat Rick Perry said that the Boy Scout organization should not bend to the "whims of popular culture" and allow openly gay members. (Happy news: Secretly gay folks are still welcome everywhere! Oh yeah! It's like that time that openly black people couldn't use the same water fountain as white folks, but secretly black people totally could.)

People being gay is not a whim of popular culture. Supporting human rights is not a whim of popular culture.

Ol' Rick thinks gay folks should stay out because "Gay activism is central to their lives, it would unavoidably be a topic of conversation within a Scout troop. This would distract from the mission of scouting: character building, not sex education."

Yep, gay folks do nothing but talk, talk, talk all day and night about gay this and gay that, one gay, two gays, red gay, blue gay all the livelong day. I know when I'm around my gay friends I'm like, "Dude, your activism is distracting me from our important mission of discussing the Beyonce meme."

I don't understand how someone being gay instantly means there is "sex education" involved. Heterosexuals openly like people of the opposite sex. Does having boys in the scouts who like girls not distract and require sex education?

Also, when your child asks you what being gay means, do you instantly hit him up with an illustrated guide to gay sex?

When your child asks why Susie is marrying Bill, do you pull out the illustrated guide to  heterosexual sex and say, "Because she wants to have sex with him regularly and give him blow jobs on his birthday and other very rare special occasions"?

Or do you say, "Susie and Bill love one another."

Do you simply say: "Sometimes men are attracted to men. Sometimes women are attracted to women."

You know what your kid says then, "Oh, OK." And then he runs off and plays because he DOES NOT GIVE A SHIT UNLESS YOU TEACH HIM IT'S WRONG.

The thing that makes me so sad about this entire issue is that when most boys join the Boy Scouts, they have no clue who they are sexually. Their parents sign them up when they are six and barely know on which side of the Dora vs. Swiper fence they are, much less where they are on the sexuality spectrum.

So it is only after they have grown up with the organization that they begin to mature sexually and, if they are gay, begin to realize that they are no longer welcome in a group of people who once welcomed them for campouts and stock car races and selling Christmas trees in the lot beside the highway across from Walgreen's.

Fuck the Boy Scouts for making boys feel bad about who they are.


5. Growing a beard is totally sexy. 

George Clooney in Berlin 

Please learn from the lessons of this week's newsmakers, my friends. And have a wonderful weekend!

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Friday's Random Thoughts - Quotes from Famous People*

*not really

If I had to sum up the past week in my typically eloquent way, I would say, "This is some bull shit."

Despite my many attempts to beat it into submission with strong doses of denial and regular spoonfuls of Tylenol Cold & Flu, it's time to admit that I have a cold.

In the spirit of kicking a girl while she's down, the universe also delivered to me not one but two rejections. One came from an agent, the other from a small publisher. Both were full of compliments:

"Your story is incredibly moving, and I really enjoyed your style. You are a very talented writer. You tackled a difficult subject honestly and skillfully. Unfortunately..."

 "It’s an incredible and painful story and you tell it well.  But the problem is, I honestly don’t think I could be successful finding you a publisher." 

One of them suggested I concentrate on building my blog audience so I would have a large base of potential readers. This is just more of what I've been hearing for a year and a half. I do not have a built-in audience. No one cares about this book because no one knows who I am.

Which brings me to this. Nearly every single day on Facebook, someone posts a photo of a famous person with a quote attributed to him or her. It's always something that confirms the poster's world view, like how poor people are the WORST or liberals are the WORST or people who support background checks on gun purchases are the WORST.

I've noticed almost all of these quotes are falsely attributed. For instance, this week I saw AGAIN an entire long essay about a Christian student who schools an atheist professor in faith and, big reveal at the end, that Christian student was Albert Einstein.

No, dummies, it wasn't. Albert Einstein was raised by secular Jews and was an agnostic. If your story doesn't work without attaching a big lie to it, then your story doesn't work.

Another essay was a long piece on conservative values and how, among other things, poor people suck. It was attributed to Bill Cosby. Just ignore the fact that Bill Cosby put an announcement on his Web site that he did not write this "viral" essay and disagrees with the "ugly" opinions contained within it. Nope, doesn't matter. Just spread it.

Maybe it's the journalist in me, but I believe in fact checking. Don't intentionally spread false information. Don't be part of the problem.

I realize now, in my cold medicine-induced haze, that this is just silly. Get on board with the way the world actually works.

Nothing matters unless a famous person says it. My book doesn't matter to publishers because I'm a big nobody and who the hell is going to buy a book by a nobody who hasn't even had the good sense to make a sex tape.

I feel like I'm going crazy. I have read so many memoirs by people I couldn't identify in a line-up. I NEVER read memoirs by celebrities. I'm also just shaking my head that a book on a topic that affects millions of people wouldn't find some kind of an audience. Every year the rate of suicide increases in this country and every day the people who are left behind go looking for something that speaks to their experience.

But what do I know? I have clearly misjudged everything about the book publishing industry.

I know I sound bitter. I've actually been doing so much better with this stuff, but I've had a little setback in the attitude department. I'll get past it (maybe around 5 tonight when I fix a cocktail and chase it with some cold medicine).

So I'm getting on board the crazy train! I agree with you, world. Everything sounds better if a famous person says it. Even better if that famous person is dead! Then they can't deny that they ever said it.

So here are a bunch of things that famous people have said, according to me:

Happy motherfucking Friday, friends!

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Friday's Random Thoughts - Deceptions and Dancing Edition

All the talk this week about the evil scourge that is lip-syncing got me thinking about some other famous lip-syncers.

Watch this video and tell me we weren't complicit in our own deception.

Come the fuck on, Bridget!

Those deep voices are not coming from those two men and you know it. I think we knew it back then but we wanted to believe in those beautiful, long braids swinging hypnotically around those lovely faces. Blame it on the rain. Blame it on the shallow demands of the music industry. But blame it on us, too. We knew something didn't add up and we didn't care.

Lately, I've been thinking we are almost always complicit in our own deception. We choose to believe what we want to believe. If people didn't do that, Fox News wouldn't have any viewers and douchebags would never convince women to date them or let them in their beds.


I don't watch American Idol but I have watched some of the clips of Mariah Carey and Nicki Minaj sniping at one another and my only observation is this: I imagine Keith Urban calling Nicole Kidman each night and saying, "Crikey! What the hell have I gotten myself into?"*

*Apologies for assuming all Australians say "crikey." 


Did you hear? Mad Men returns in April. Here's what I remember about where we left off:

Don Draper had a toothache.
Sally Draper got her period.
Roger Sterling was standing around naked in front of a window.
Joan is officially a hooker.
Megan died in a tragic hang-gliding accident.

I might be wrong about the last one, but it's time for her to go. I like my Don Draper unmarried, day-drunk, and screwing inappropriate women. So get back to it, please.


Last night, my teenage son told me I am lame and I can't dance.

To which I responded thusly:



Happy Friday, friends. I hope you bust out your lame dance moves this weekend.

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Friday's Random Thoughts - Hope Springs Edition

No. 1 Hope Springs is a lovely, funny movie and totally worth your time.

No. 2 That is not actually the point of the title of today's FRT.

The actual point is that I am in a good mood.

I feel like this is worth noting after several days of darkness and a pitiful lack of perspective up in here.

I hate when I get that way. And yes I get that way at least once a month, and YES I KNOW WHY and no I am not yelling at you because it's that time of the month, dammit, but OK, maybe that's why, but you should never ever acknowledge it, you jackass.

Sometimes I am the personification of this quote from one of my favorite books from childhood, Sylvester and the Magic Pebble: "Being helpless, he felt hopeless."

My mom says that quote a lot and has my whole life, because really the book is one of her favorites and then she indoctrinated me into loving it, too. (This is far superior to being indoctrinated into something like Scientology or the world of beauty pageants.)

Side note: The other story she made me love is an English fairy tale titled Master of all Masters. I read it often enough as a child that, even now as an adult, the phrase "Unless you get some pondalorum high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum" just pops into my head for no good reason.

Anyway, this week has been all about me moaning and groaning about how my dreams have gone up in hot cockalorum and asking myself what exactly is the point of ever leaving high topper mountain or putting on my squibs and crackers ever again.

But today the sun is shining. I got up and put on my pants.

And I do not feel helpless or hopeless.

The story of Sylvester is that he found a magic pebble but, before he could wish for something grand and exciting, he came across a lion and, in his fear, he wished to become a rock. This way he could remain still and silent while the danger passed him by. But when he became a rock he lost his ability to hold onto the magic pebble and so he was unable to change back into what he was before. He was paralyzed by his fear.

And there right beside him was the magic pebble, the key to setting him free.

But when you are stuck in your stillness, in your silent place where you have hidden because of fear, the answer can be right next to you but you just can't reach it. The thing you have used to protect yourself from the world can also leave you apart from the world.

That's as far as I'll go with my analogy about how I am a donkey who has turned herself into a rock out of fear.

Today, the sun came out and it is just a fact that I am made for sunshine. I'm pretty sure in an alternate universe I live at the beach and I am a bartender at an outdoor bar at some resort and I can do all sorts of tricks by flinging the bottles into the air.

I might be confusing Alternate Universe Me with Tom Cruise in Cocktail.

You don't realize how lovely hope is until it returns to you, swiftly and unexpectedly, after a long time spent in the dark believing that nothing good will ever happen again.

I got up and I got dressed and I went to lunch with my friend Jen, who is one of the many answers I land on when I go searching for good reasons to keep writing for this blog, when I wander around muttering, "What's the point?" Jen is one of the people in the Weirdly Positive Zombie Treehouse and I wouldn't have found her friendship if not for the blog.

Meeting a friend for lunch on a Friday and talking for three hours is one of life's many joys.

Earlier today I told my mom about something that might happen but looks like it won't (this is the story of my life lately), and I said, "For today, I'm really OK with it if it doesn't work out."

Now, tomorrow I might not be. In 28 days, I might cry about all the things that aren't working out like it's the end of the world.

But for today, hope is alive. I remember what it feels like to believe good things aren't just possible, but probable.

Keep moving. Don't wish yourself into stillness. Put that magic pebble in your pocket and grasp it in your hand when it gets dark and rainy and you find yourself forgetting how to hope.

 Life is full of good things if you put on your damn pants and get out of the house and into the sunshine.

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Friday's Random Thoughts - Fuzzy Head Edition

I'm sick.

Every hair on my head hurts. My entire body is achy. I'm freezing cold and sweating at the same time.

Good times.

The kids are at their grandparents' and I had big plans to get a lot of stuff done while I was here alone for two days. Instead, I'm sitting around in pajamas, coughing, and doing a lot of pathetic moaning.

I managed to get the ornaments off the tree, but then I had to lie down. Next I'm going to take down the lights and, afterward, I'll take an hour-long nap.

--

Last night I saw Django Unchained and it is about an hour longer than it needs to be.

--
Things you should not attempt to do while sick:

• Figure out people and why they do the things they do. You can't figure it out sober, much less drugged up on Nyquil. 
• Figure out yourself and why you do the things you do. You can't figure it out sober, much less drugged up on Nyquil.
• Watch movies that make you cry. You will cry more than usual because your head is full of crap. 
• Take down the Christmas tree. You will fail. Then the Christmas tree will taunt you all day while you lie on the sofa doing this: 

Things you should do:

• Put whiskey in your hot tea.

OK, I tried. This is all I can muster up today.

Happy Friday.

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Friday's Random Thoughts - Am I The Only One?

I've noticed that, in the comments beneath almost any story ever published online, at least one commenter will begin with this: "Am I the only one..."

The person is then likely to launch into some observation such as:

"Am I the only one who doesn't think George Clooney is all that?"

"Am I the only one who has never been interested in Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit?"

"Am I the only one who knows exactly how to raise children to be perfectly behaved, knows exactly what I'd do in any given crisis, knows exactly how to fix the problems of every person to ever make a mistake? In other words, am I the only one who is perfect?"

The perfect people of the Internet strike again. And again and again and again.

Answers to the above:

Yes.

No.

Yes, you are a perfectly sanctimonious douchestocking.*

*Merry Christmas.

People are desperate to belong. Am I the only one who feels this way? I'm the only one, right? I'm all alone! OH MY GOD, I'M THE ONLY ONE.

(No, friends. Melissa Etheridge is the only one. You are one of many.)

It certainly does feel that way sometimes, but please calm down, little ones. There's not one of us out here who has feelings that are unique. Even serial killers are not alone. There's a whole bunch of them. Doesn't that make you feel better?

This lack of uniqueness is why comedy works, because people can turn to each other and say, "Ha! That's hilarious because it's TRUE!"

That's also why drama works, in books or on the screen. We have all felt the feelings. You are not alone.

But, in the spirit of Internet commentary, today's FRT is all about seeking solidarity. In other words, do you feel me, brother?

You're the only one who understands me.

Am I the only one who thinks Big Bang Theory is a shitty show? It was nominated for a Golden Globe. Now, I understand Golden Globe nominations don't actually mean anything (remember that time The Tourist was nominated), but seriously? Big Bang Theory is one of the best shows on TV? I think not. It's one notch less moronic and boring than Two and a Half Men.

Am I the only one who can't believe Parks & Recreation gets no awards-show love? COME ON!


Am I the only one who lied about actually finishing The Hobbit in my high school English class?

Am I the only one who thinks anyone who begins a sentence with the words, "I'm not a gynecologist..." should then proceed to shut the fuck up about women's issues he knows nothing about? Am I the only one who read this story and felt like my head was going to explode? If you don't want to read the story - and you don't - here's what this complete asshat of a judge said: “I’m not a gynecologist, but I can tell you something. If someone doesn’t want to have sexual intercourse, the body shuts down. The body will not permit that to happen unless a lot of damage in inflicted, and we heard nothing about that in this case. That tells me that the victim in this case, although she wasn’t necessarily willing, she didn’t put up a fight.”

What? WHAT?

If you read the story, you find out the assailant threatened to mutilate the victim's face and vagina with a heated screwdriver.

So, Judge Derek G. Johnson, this woman likely didn't fight back because the ASSAILANT THREATENED TO MUTILATE HER FACE AND VAGINA WITH A HEATED SCREWDRIVER.

Am I the only one who wonders what schools are teaching people? Where is this "shuts down" shit being taught to boys? Boys who then grow into the most astoundingly ignorant men?

Am I the only one who wants to do this?


Am I the only one who wants this song to play on a loudspeaker while I walk down the street?

Am I the only one who cannot really handle all the gun talk? My counselor once asked me what I would do if I ever had to hear a shotgun going off again. I said that I didn't really know, but I didn't think my reaction would be a good one. Turns out I don't need the sound. The nonstop mention of guns is too much. My post-traumatic stress cannot handle it. Am I the only one who wants everyone to please shut up?

Am I the only one who is tired of all the blame being thrown around for last Friday? I'll share a story. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I did to cause August 3, 2009. "A lot of time" is an understatement. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I could have done to prevent it. One day, I said to my counselor that if it was my fault that would also mean that I was in control. A large part of why I blamed myself was because I wanted to feel like I could control what happened to me. "But if it's not my fault," I said to her, "then that means I have no control. It means that at any time a man with a gun can trap you in a room and make you watch him die." And she said, not unkindly, "That's right."

Am I the only one who needs desperately for people to understand this?

Am I the only one who thinks that maybe what everyone should be rushing out to buy, instead of guns, are books? That's right. Read a little more. Learn what other people's lives are like. Begin to understand that humanity is complex. Begin to learn that empathy is key. Begin to understand the difference between your and you're.

Am I the only one who is sincerely exhausted by the abundant stupidity on display day after day? Do these idiots seriously not know the difference between wrapping and raping?!

Am I the only one who cries like a broken-hearted teenage girl whenever I hear this song? The other day, Tina said, "Why do Christmas songs make you cry?" I said, "Because they're fucking sad, that's why!"

Am I the only one who uses the F word way too often and pretends to feel ashamed of it? But I don't. No shame.

Am I the only one who is sick to death of getting to the end of a year and saying, "Next year has to be better"?

Am I the only one who seriously needs that to be true?

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Friday's Random Thoughts

I was working on something for today's blog post, but I just can't. It seems ridiculous.

I can't stop thinking about the parents of these children at Sandy Hook Elementary School. I keep picturing them sending their children off to school on this sunny Friday morning in Connecticut. They probably sent them off with hugs and kisses or maybe a reminder to turn in homework or make their lunches.

And they had no idea that, with all the ridiculous talk about the world ending, it was actually going to happen. Everything they knew to be true about their world would come to a violent and horrific end.

I really want to go get my children from school and hold them tight.


"Close your eyes and hold hands."

That's what they told the lines of children being led out of the school in Connecticut.

Maybe that's what all of us need to do.

But I honestly don't know.

I just don't know.

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Friday's Random Thoughts - Someone's In A Bad Mood On My Son's Birthday

"What else can I be [but cross] when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, and not an hour richer, a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presently dead against you? If I could work my will," said Scrooge, indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!" - Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol

Someone alert Fox News! Boiled in pudding? A stake of holly through the heart? That's a war on Christmas.

I do not like this time of year and I never will. Nope. Maybe I liked it when I was a kid. I must have. Kids like Christmas. But it's difficult to remember that time, because now December is my least favorite month.

It's not all because of Christmas. I don't like winter. If Christmas was in July, I might be more on board.  And even though the temperature has been extremely mild so far, I still know it's winter. It's like when you bump into someone you have legitimate reasons to dislike and the person acts surprisingly nice. You really must stay on guard because you know that, deep down, she's still a bitch.

So if Christmas didn't happen in the last month of the year, I might be on board.

Maybe.

There's just so much bullshit involved in this season. Black Friday which is now Black Thursday Night.

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And don't even get me started on those ridiculous elves.

Here's a question: If the elves are sent to watch over your kids so they can report their behavior to Santa, WHY do the elves act like such degenerates the whole time? (Click the link for something hilarious.) It's like sending criminals to report on the behavior of other criminals or sending strippers to tell other women to keep their clothes on or sending Lindsay Lohan to report on the behavior of Amanda Bynes.

There's also the Christmas movies and songs that are FULL OF CRAP. Actually, this sort of thing brought about one of my favorite holiday traditions, which is listening to Patton Oswalt's comedy routine about the song Christmas Shoes.

"Someone's in a bad mood on my son's birthday?"

Sacrilicious.

I wrote my mom about the possibility of some new thing that could happen (sorry for being vague). My mom said yesterday that she will pray for it to happen if that's what I want.

And all I could think is what the hell does it matter what I want anymore?

She said she's afraid that I'm letting rejection eat me alive.


Trust me, I'm not happy about my lack of optimism. I feel guilty that I'm not grateful enough for all I have so that my gratefulness will counteract my disappointment in things.

Maybe I'm not as great and strong as people want me to be.

I was trying to think of ways to get out of my 2012 slump and to adopt a new attitude.

When I worked at the newspaper in Shreveport 10 years ago, I participated in a leadership program. I remember the person running it asked, "What do you want your life to look like?"

It seems like a small question, but it's huge. I thought about it then and my first thought was, "Well, I don't want to be here anymore!"

Shortly after that, I turned 30. I quit my job, got a new job at Southern Living, moved from Louisiana to Alabama, and I changed my life.

Side note: My father-in-law always said the 30s were the hardest years and, damn, was he ever right. Biblically hard. Swarm-of-locusts hard.

I'm going to turn 40 in 2013 and I'm wondering what I want my life to look like.

First thought: Well, I don't want to be here anymore.

The thing is that I don't know what I mean by "here."

In this house?

In this red state?

In this cycle of hope and rejection?

In this bad mood?

Bah humbug.

Maybe I'm buying into the Mayan hype, but I think life as we know it has to change in 2013.

What do you want your life to look like?

That's something I'm going to have to think about, but I'll begin with this:

FRT Shout-Out: While I've moaned and groaned about things, BFF Tina has listened and been there for me. Every single day. That's an amazing thing. Sometimes you go through hard times and you figure out that a lot of people are only friends with you if it's easy for them. But there are people who, for 20-plus years, stick by you, comfort you, commiserate with you, and when someone does you wrong she says, "You fuck with Amy B., then you fuck with me."

Thanks, my friend.

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Friday's Random Thoughts - VCC Lexicon Edition

THIS IS THE WEEKEND I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!

Today, Jacob, Todd, my brother Tim, and I are driving to Athens to see Louis C.K perform at the Classic Center. The Great Chris Talley™ and his wife The Great Heather Talley™are also going and we're all meeting up for dinner beforehand.

As you might know, Louis C.K. is runner-up to George Clooney for position of pretend boyfriend. I believe this is proof that I am not shallow and only looking for the dreamboat. I also like slightly overweight, balding gingers.

It's really all about the personality. When I was in college, a guy approached my friend Liz and asked the best way to get my interest. (This is back in the day when guys in bars wanted me to be interested. Sigh. Those were the days. I believe this is why I now feel put out if I have to pay for my own drinks.)

Liz said, "Make her laugh."

I have been to Athens once before and when I told my mother about it, she said, "Oh! You were conceived there! In the Callaway Gardens apartment complex."

Good to know, Mom.

Sunday night, I'm going to see Duncan Sheik at Workplay. Oh Duncan, how I love thee!

I will also spend part of the weekend shopping at the 7th Annual Holiday Craft Bazaar. The event is held at several locations, such as Naked Art and Avondale Brewery. I highly recommend you stop by Bottletree, 3719 3rd Ave South, and buy something from my friend Chris Davis. Get his autograph while you're there. He's famous. 

Chris and I are excited to be in the same issue of Weld this week and writing for our former coworker Nick Patterson. (You can take the folks out of Southern Living...)

Come Monday...well, I guess I'm done. I will proceed to fall into a long winter's nap. Wake me on March 1, please.

Speaking of taking the folks out...

Did you hear the news that Jenna Bush Hager is the new editor-at-large for Southern Living?

As my spirit animal Tina Fey once said, "I want you to pay attention to the following over-the-top eye roll."


I know I shouldn't take it personally. Two years ago, when I got the news that I could no longer write essays for the magazine's back page because Rick Bragg would be doing them every month, I dealt with it with class and dignity.


No, I'm thankful to have yet another example of what matters in publishing. I was starting to forget how 15-plus literary agents have told me that, no matter how good my book might be, I don't have a platform. I'm not famous. I don't have a famous dad. I'm not the most amateurish  interviewer on the Today Show EVER. (Speaking of Today, this headline made me laugh: Matt Lauer Will Be Fired If Today Show Continues to Suck.)

Say What Now? 

Last night after reading my blog, Todd said that we must add "Go home, Lindsay Lohan" to our lexicon.

Todd and I have our own vocabulary. Yes, we're those people. We like to say things and crack up, and  other people don't have a clue what the hell we mean by "banana and pear."

So here's a little VCC vocabulary lesson.

Go home, Lindsay Lohan: You're drunk, dude. Seriously, go home.


Sacrilicious: This is my favorite descriptive word for all religion-based jokes, including the irreverent  things I write about Bad Boyfriend Jesus.

Shut up, Carrie Underwood: One day I was telling Todd about how I'd watched Soul Surfer, the inspirational movie about a girl who loses her arm in a shark attack. Carrie Underwood plays a do-gooder friend who, at some point, gives the girl who lost her arm a little lecture about healing, moving on, and trusting in God. As I was telling Todd about this scene, I said, "Oh shut up, Carrie Underwood!"

"Shut up, Carrie Underwood" is shorthand for indicating a person who does not understand shit about your situation but feels the need to tell you how to deal with it anyway.

You and Mark Twain: Todd wrote a story that I edited. I told him to remove an exclamation mark from one sentence. I said, "You know, Mark Twain said using an exclamation mark is like laughing at your own joke."

"Well," Todd said, "You and Mark Twain can suck it."

If one of us says "you and Mark Twain," that means you can suck it.
*Mark Twain didn't actually say this. It was F. Scott Fitzgerald. I blame the movie Marley & Me for misleading me. 

Banana and pear: In the car on the way to lunch several years ago, our friend Rob was complaining about all the dumb jokes people send nonstop via email. During his rant, he threw out this gem: "'What did the banana say to the pear?' Fuck you!" We cracked up. So if we say "banana and pear," it means "Fuck you."

Now, next time you hear us say one of these things, you will know what we mean and will be appropriately offended. You're welcome.

The VCC Mailbox

Hey kids, let's go to the mailbox!

This week was a stellar week for mail up in here.

Tina has been unpacking boxes that had been in storage for quite some time. She found a card addressed to me that she never mailed. She didn't open it. She sent it to me and it arrived Tuesday. It reads "Sorry this is so tardy! Happy belated birthday and Mother's Day!"

I don't know what year it's from, but I guess it was that year she never told me happy birthday, dammit.

Tina also sent me a Thanksgiving card with $5 for a latte. Awesome friend is awesome.

Also in the mailbox: a package from my cousin Richard. The packaged contained this amazing little book:

Sacrilicious!

I can't wait to try out all my new "miraculous moves." I hope you'll join me in The Apostolic Conga Line.

Last but certainly not least, I got an amazing note from someone who reads my blog. He sent me a Starbucks card to fuel Friday's Random Thoughts!


I don't think I say it enough, but thank you all for reading and supporting my rants and random thoughts. It means the absolute world to me. I'm not just saying that. Without you, I'd just be a girl with a dream sitting here talking to herself. I mean, I am sitting here talking to myself, but let's just pretend I'm talking to the cats.

Happy Friday, friends!

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