GENERATIONAL FATIGUE

FROM YOUTUBE OF COURSE

They were all making snarky comments over there calling Amber’s lawyer a “Karen,” so I was forceed to jump in:

Could someone please explain the official criteria for being a “Karen?” No one has ever been able to, and unfortunately I have aged into what might be considered official “Karen Territory.” Fortunately, it DOES beat the alternative.

Bonus points if you can name all the generation names because I haven’t got a clue! I thought Millennials were anyone born after the Millennium (aka “teenagers”), so somebody please school me on this topic.

I’d hate to be a Karen without knowing it.

WHY I AM NOT A MURDERER


After watching a true crime video (YouTube know where) about Murder-For-Hire as an Industry, I have some newly-acquired information to share.

The main Victims are The Spouse and The Top Motives are:

1) Life Insurance Policy and
2) He doesn’t want to be with Her anymore [for whatever reason].

I used to actually think about Getting Married Again, even up until a maybe a year ago. Don’t tell anybody because I don’t anymore.

However, if someone SWEPT ME OFF MY FEET, I would insist on the getting the following Pre-Nuptial Agreement SIGNED & NOTARIZED FIRST:

1. NEVER take out a life insurance policy on Me. EVER. I have contracted with the following Reporting Agency which will alert me if a life insurance policy is ever taken out in my name, and
2. Have the guts to tell me you want to kill me rather than actually kill me. Please. I will promise the same in return.

Do keep in mind, Murder-for-Hire levels the playing field and there are some angry females out here. TRUST me.

Most of us, according to the video, don’t act on it. The ones who get “stung” trying to order a hit from an undercover cop are positively CHILLING.

The main reason Murdering Someone isn’t an option for me? There was a term We used to get pretty riled up about Last Millennium called “Mutually Assured Destruction.” I think it describes what happens to both the Murder Victim, the MurderER, and Both Parties’ respective “Loved Ones” (even though I don’t currently have any right now).

I’d ask you if you’ve heard of MAD, but I’m pretty sure the term was disarmed from our Collective Lexicon 20-30 years ago.

My Shiny Rusted Face

MY SHINY RUSTED FACE

I thought it must be Squeaky Clean
The World I Shined for All To See
My Truth a Lie of base Identity:
I’d scraped off all the Ugly Parts,
Burned out both the moles and warts.
I bleached my Soul; I bleached my Hair;
The smallest effort never spared.
I took comfort that you Envied Me,
For once you thought you glimpsed in me
Something; All I sought to seek
Willing to Not Seek a Thing
If I could only Feel Again,
No Lengths Too Far
To Steal Your Trust
I’ll Sell You Gold
And Leave You Rust.

INDUSTRY

I don’t care; don’t give a shit
I’ve begged and prayed for years to get
A decent offer of a job.
12 years I’ve spent jerking off
Receivers of my Resume,
My words designed to woo and sway.
It never did an ounce of good
As I must now get stamps for food.
But even if I don’t,
It doesn’t change a single thing:
I’m well aware that Industry
Gives not the slightest whit ‘bout Me.
“We Seek Individuality,
And Pride on our Diversity,”
Claim they with much Dishonesty,
While lying through their front eye teeth.

Getting a Clue

Given the rise in popularity of the “True Crime” genre of entertainment, I decided to improve the Clue board game.

It didn’t seem – to ME, at least – that the theoretical mansion was particularly large or the theoretical murderers particularly adept. I decided to improve your play by adding new rooms (“crime scenes”) and killing objects (“murder weapons”). My generosity isn’t endless, however, so you’re still stuck with Miss Scarlet and Colonel Mustard.

CRIME SCENES:
Attic
Breakfast Room
Cabaña
Den
Eat-in kitchen
Family Room
Gym
Hobby Room
Indoor Pool
Java [the] Hut
Kitchen
Laundry
Media Room
Nursery
Office
Pantry
Quarters
Rumpus Room
Sunroom
Toilet
Underground Pool
Vault
Walk-in Closet
Xylophone Jam Room
Yard, Front/Back/Side/Prison
Zen Garden


MURDER WEAPONS:
Antifreeze
Bare hands
Candelabra
Dagger
Electricity
Fire
Glass
Heroin
Icepick / Innuendo
Jackknife
Kill Kit / Kindness
Louisville Slugger
Mixed Martial Arts
Necktie
Overdose
Plutonium
Quill
Rattlesnake
Sword
Talons/ Taser
Uzzi
Vibrator, X-tra Large
Water
X-acto
Y-incision
Ziplock Bag

P.S. You’re welcome!!

April’s Full of Fools


I took the liberty of renaming our 2022 holidays so that they rhyme. I’ll state up front that the list isn’t comprehensive, and it may seem like I’ve been exclusive or racist in not including every faith’s celebrations on my calendar below. I assure you I have not been those things and will gladly add the holiday of your choice provided YOU come up with a pattern-appropriate rhyming name for said holiday. I’ll even fact-check the date for you.

Begin Year Anew: 01/01/22
Blacks are Dreamers, Too: 01/17/22
Say That “I Love You”: 02/14/22
Irish Beer Is Good: 03/17/22
April’s Full of Fools: 04/01/21
Bloody Cross of Wood: 04/15/22
Look, an Empty Tomb!: 04/17/22
Died for Red•White•Blue: 05/30/22
Free From British Rule: 07/04/22
Kids Go Back to School: [varied]
Labor’s Been Improved: 09/05/22
“Sail the Ocean Blue”: 10/10/22
Night of Ghosts & Ghouls: 10/31/22
War Is Finally Through: 11/11/22
Stuff Yourself with Food: 11/24/22
Seasons of the Yule:
a. Birth in Crumbling Zoo….12/25/22
b. 8 Days for the Jew….12/19-12/26/22
c. All Faiths Must Include….[varied]
Kiss the Year Adieu: 12/31/22

(Thanks @debby.mch for the photo)


Building a Fire

I want you
to want me
with a feral ferocity.

I have already captured your fascination. I’m a fixture in your fantasies.

Full of fervor, you already feel me inside you.

You wonder if I could relieve you of the relentless, arid flatness that desiccates you.

I could.

But I fight fire with fire.

So…

When we are one,
spark will mate with oxygen,
birthing fire.

My baby tendrils of blaze will lick you into a frenzy,
while our fresh, fecund flame
fuels, feeds, and feasts at
the greedy, unquenchable mouth
leading to the earth’s core.

I Was Wrong (Once)!

I need to apologize to my father because I thought there were no photos of just the two of us. There are many, but my ex-husband had them for the last 13 years.

It turns out he has had, in his possession, the only set of our wedding photos (that I paid for at the time!) for the last 13 years.

Why didn’t I badger him about them? I was just trying to get by, brothers and sisters. Those were “one foot in front of the other” days. Surely you’ve experienced those?

Also, to be fair, I somehow forgot about them. Forgot about the complete and utter existence of these photos. Or possibly even thought I had forgotten them. It happens. A 9-year-marriage full of heartache followed by a 250-mile move, 13 years of silence between us, and a bunch of new heartache will leave gaps in a person’s memory (thank goodness).

Anyway, said ex-husband was decent enough to scan and copy a set of the photos for me. I could make lots of snarky little comments here, but honestly, I’m so grateful for the photos, my “higher self” is taking over.

It makes me tear up a little to see the images of my father and me, smiling and happy that day. They actually make me miss him and the way he almost used to be.

You can’t deny he was handsome. I can’t say “he was so nice,” “he loved me so much,” or “we shared such great times.” But I can definitively say “he was a nice-looking man!”

So, maybe that’s where I got it? Only partially, if I’m honest. The photos of my Mom prove it was definitely a team effort.

I think these images also demonstrate what a “normal”, outwardly-together, seemingly-privileged person I used to be.

I don’t know whether to celebrate or not, but those days have definitely passed.

My Dad & Me
DNA all over my face
My mother and father
Bride and siblings, stepmother
The bride and her Grandaddy

Actually, I’m thankful. Now is better than Then, even though it doesn’t always feel like it. Now has to be better than Then, or else how would we keep going?

It Makes Me Mad my Bride Price has Dropped…

I get mad when people mistake self-deprecating humor and vulnerability for weakness instead strength.

What kind of insecurity places a bullseye on itself? Projection is the preferred ego defense of the “unexamined mind.”

When I make fun of myself or “tell on myself” (as some say in the South), I’m usually doing it to put my companion[s] at ease. It comes out of a desire to magnify the other; to make them feel confident about themselves. I’m an empath, and I pick up on a lot of what others are saying and showing, even if I don’t directly mention it.

Instead, I try to take what stressors I perceive they’re feeling and try to make them “un feel” them by communicating my understanding of their suffering.

I confess that I used to have to be the smartest person in the room. I wouldn’t stop until everybody knew it (or, one time at a business conference in Switzerland, until one fellow British VP thought I was a complete asshole!).

This behavior is from my striving, highly “successful” period – when my “bride price” was probably much higher than it is now.

I think I’ve finally learned, grown, and realized I prefer underpromising and overdelivering to showing off.

Sadly, despite all the work (mental, interpersonal, emotional) I had to do to get to this, my wisest and strongest place in life, I sense I’m perceived as the Chauncey Gardner/Peter Sellers character in Being There. Without the incorrect recognition of “his genius.”

So my question is this:

Am I full of bullshit, still desperately needing to be the smartest person in the room by complaining I feel misunderstood since no one realizes I’m the smartest person in the room anymore (even though I know I still clearly am)?

#isthisnarcissism?

🤦🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

“Broken Bad?” and Recent Weight Loss

So I break laws (take my mother’s estrogen patches) and defy the universe to even try to fuck with me again on that lame old score (breast cancer).

Cause that bitch done already been paid over and over and over again. In a million different ways. She owes ME at this point. Besides, she wouldn’t recognize me anymore.

Why? Oddly enough and without trying, I think I’ve mastered [and all inaccuracies and ignorances are mine here, especially since I’ve never read it] “the subtle art of not giving a fuck.”

Because:

Isn’t it a little presumptuous of anyone to assume ANY of us will be here tonight, tomorrow, or 3 months from now? In fact, I nearly laughed out loud just now making a 3-month follow-up appointment with my migraine doctor.

I don’t know what kind of/if any philosophy my views might reflect. I only know this is how I feel/what I think: who knows, I’m always getting the two confused, anyway.

At least this is what I feel-think today. That could change tomorrow. I can’t commit to much of anything at this point, you see. So I’m sorry/not sorry. You’ll just have to deal with it.

What does this look like, practically speaking? I can (of course) only speak for myself. But…

I do stupid things like: I go off and leave personal belongings at the doctor’s office, then have to drive THE WHOLE WAY BACK to retrieve them. Yeah…why weren’t they the kind of personal belongings I wouldn’t have been allowed to exit the building without? If I’d left my mask, I know I wouldn’t have gotten far.

I’ve also become a terrible judge of character, turning Ignorant Assholes into Prince Charmings with NO DATA WHATSOEVER TO SUPPORT THESE CONCLUSIONS!!

Thank goodness I seem capable from learning from my mistakes in that department. This week at least.

I sing karaoke too much, smoke weed too much, forget to feed myself, refuse to clean my room, and spend far too much of my discretionary income on my hair [because I intend to look good for the duration].

Maybe I’m a little fixated on my hair because I’m so glad it grew back? I don’t know if this theory holds water because I also spend money on my sexy fake fingernails.

So… no news to you, my friends, but I’m not being particularly responsible these days. [Visitors: don’t get excited thinking you’re going to scam me; I’m not a sucker anymore, sucker – and even when I was, you couldn’t squeeze me.]

For my subscribers, who have suffered through at least one of my posts, we need to collectively face reality: I suck at karaoke. Yes, it’s true and I know it’s true. Y’all are just being sweet, but I know I suck.

Yet… I still don’t care!! Maybe because there’s no one left to embarrass but my mom, and no one would dare inform her of her adult daughter’s colossal lapses in judgment (out of respect for my mom).

I don’t know if it’s the weed or an existential crisis or even a POST-existential crisis. I only know I’m both a Total Flake and an Utter Mess.

At least that’s the look I’m shooting for.

This week.

How am I doing?

Teenagers‼️

Why does my heart bleed for teenagers when I never had any of my own? I try to give them (probably misguided) advice – see my reply to a young girl’s comment. I know: wisdom from the woman known as Karaoke Konnection on YouTube. It’s laughable.

Then, please tell me if it’s misguided. Because I really need to know. It’s profoundly, remarkably, achingly important to me that my words never damage these young people. I want them to excel and to thrive and to keep Humanity alive!

More than anything…

Please Watch if You Love a Teenager

I’m 54, and I feel like you’re telling my story. I know it feels like your father has betrayed all of you (because he did) and everything that once seemed so certain now seems terribly uncertain. And you don’t even get to be mad because you’re being such a little adult, keeping up your end of the deal, while the adults are abandoning their roles as if they never existed in the first place. I’m so sorry that the pressure has fallen on you during this time. My only advice for all of you teenagers who are hurting now is:
Please never bury the real and unique you that burns inside. You know your dreams and your passions and your heart in a way no other person does. Your circumstances will change frequently throughout your life, but your essence, your personhood, won’t. Please don’t EVER bury yourselves so much in your efforts to make others happy that you extinguish the beautiful flame that burns in each one of you❣️

P.S. Tell your parents a lady older than them said so‼️

My Kinda Lover

The real reason I love Karaoke so much?

Most of the songs are from the early ‘80s, when I was a very young teenager.

I don’t know if my brain was in an “imprinting” cycle, but it amazes me when lyrics of songs from this period tumble out of me when I hear that song audibly.

This experience is especially profound when I hear a song I haven’t heard in decades.

The jolt back to the years when I felt most alive is why I’m so besotted with my beloved Karaoke.

WORD ALERT MALFUNCTION‼️

Apparently I’m as “out of touch” as ever!

My friend Robi told me I had been using the term “Millennial” incorrectly all this time.

I thought it meant “people born after the Millenium,” aka: anyone 21 and under.

Though Robi couldn’t tell me what a Millennial actually is (”older” was his one-word explanation), could you save me the effort of having to go back and swap out “Millenials” for “teenagers” and just retrofit all of my comments about them in your brains?

And could someone do me a solid and let me know what people born after 2000 are called?

I make a big enough ass out of myself without “Semantics issues” increasing my public humiliation.

Thank you in advance❣️

[Thank you Sigmund for the use of your photograph].❤️

I Thought the Traumas Aged Me

I thought my traumas aged me.

All the childhood crap, the losing of all my pregnancies, the searing betrayals, the fights with death and disease, the ongoing fights with death and disease, and the psychological fallout from all of the above.

Yada, yada, yada.

But no: nothing ages a person like wearing her (or his) heart completely exposed and unprotected on the prosaic sleeve; aware of the devastating effects of every tiny particle of dust and vaporous breeze that touches and then and has no choice but to scar it.

At which point you’re trying to fly low behind the radar, attempting to allude Cosmic Scrutiny and trying hard not to attract more pain than is unsurvivable.

Multiplied by the number of children you have.

That’s the Crucible that turns Ordinary Sitizens into Old Souls.

When You’ve Got a Hammer

When you’ve got a hammer

All you see are nails

Welcome to the way that

It feels to be fe-male’

Cause when you’ve got a hammer

You’re looking for a hole

You like to force the rage out

That percolates below

And when you take your hammer

You shatter someone’s glass

It could have been my own date

Now grabbing at my ass!

We all can use our hammers

To put each other down

You even ditched your woman

To play “Man About Town

The one who stood beside you

When things in life got tough

The one who always loved you

And thought you were enough

She even liked your hammer

When it no longer worked

So why’d you end up treating

Her like such a jerk?

Now here it’s ten years later

You’re acting quite the creep

You think a beer will buy me

Dude: I don’t come that cheap

The only way I’ll date you

Is Payment in Advance

And with no invitation:

Keep your hammer in your pants!

These are the second set of lyrics (poem?) I’ve written according to the beat of another song. Essentially, my tool for stimulating creativity. #ShapeSong