“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?

Not that anyone cares

This is “It” and I at our absolutely most annoying, irritating, and obnoxious. And our most intoxicated (to the point of forgetting we were recording at multiple times during the evening).

Yeah, I wouldn’t introduce me to your kids, either! I’m a terrible influence on everyone around me. And It is just as bad – if not WORSE‼️

Only if you like eavesdropping on two people who can’t keep their mouths shut for more than ten seconds could you even potentially find this video entertaining…

P.S. It [the video] has a false finish, like all of my favorite karaoke songs. This one’s not over until we’re finally “parched.”

PROOF‼️

The tears, the prayers

The tears?

The ones on my knees, when I was pleading with you to let the baby stay?

The prayers?

The relentless, always-in-pursuit-but-unable-to-escape guilt?

The kind I couldn’t exorcise, no matter how I tried?

The feeling like less than a slug for decades?

I think it was “dirty menstrual rags” you equated my beauty to?

The believing I had only to speak the words and have the faith of a child to make my dreams come to pass?

The dreams which never, EVER came to pass?

Even when I was a child (therefore having the “faith of a child”)?

If it was in your sovereign will for me?

Without ever telling me what your sovereign will for me was in the first place?

Well, it never did me an ounce of good.

So, thanks for that kindness, too.

If you’d been a plain old debased human, I would’ve cut you off years ago.

Then again, I happen to have a fondness for brokenness.

I don’t get all mad and wrathful trying to beat the sin out of the sinners you so brilliantly and beautifully designed.

So: your goodness and mercy never cease to let me down.

If you’re as omniscient as you claim, I’ll assume you picked up on the sarcasm in my last sentence.

If not: go ahead and insert dark, jaded, broken-down, angry, disappointed, soul-crushed sarcasm all throughout the fabric of my last 3 posts.

It’s intentional.

I think it’s obvious, but:

I’m pretty sure, if you even do exist, you stopped caring about what we humans had to say centuries ago.

We haven’t killed enough people in your name lately, so I guess you moved on to angrier people.

That was your mistake.

Because I’m probably the Angriest Bitch you’ll come across for a long time.

In fact, I’m so angry, if you had the guts to face me:

I’d probably kill you myself.

If you weren’t already dead.

[At least to me]

And why…

And why…

In your Absolute Sovereignty,

Did you allow us NO sovereignty to help allay the constant suffering which marks the human condition?

While subsequently labeling any “human pleasures” which allay that suffering as

SIN-full and EVIL?

I played by your rules my Whole Fucking Life.

And mostly?

I’m just mad about all the years I wasted.

In fact, I’m:

Really fucking pissed off.





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.

I Want to Scream

Sometimes I want to go stand in the streets and yell:

“Don’t you realize how quickly time is running out??!!

If you want to love again, pick your love and begin loving as soon as possible!

Don’t assume there will always be another chance:

The only guarantee is that there is no guarantee, so do it all NOW!!”

But no one would listen.

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].❤️

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

The Kind of Love That Doesn’t Exist

You’re always there, you never let me down.

When I feel used and beaten and spit back out from the underbelly of a cockroach carcass, your presence comforts me.

It draws me out of my pain; up from down; in from out.

It elevates me and makes me better a better woman and a better human being. Just because you listen to me.

Because you held me when I shed all of those tears that I just needed to shed in front of a man. I always had my mother, but I never had my father. I’m comfortable opening up amongst women, but I’ve never had many platonic male friendships,

You knew that about me. And since you’d done your own therapy and self-reflection, you were the first man who brought emotional weight and awareness to the negotiation table.

I ended up winning the lottery when I met you. I knew it when you let me cry in your presence.

The first time we met, you let me cry.

It didn’t scare you off. You were man enough to handle it. You knew that women cry sometimes. You knew that little girls who were told to stop crying still cried on the inside.

And still needed to be comforted.

Even when they found themselves in a grown woman’s body. They still need to be comforted.

For what felt like the first time for me, you loved me first. You somehow knew I needed that. That for this final go-around, I needed that.

That I needed to be courted and treasured; that just once, I needed to feel like a princess.

I needed to be one person’s “one person.” One person’s Greatest Love; First Choice; Deepest Bond.

Since I was always a second wife, you stepped up and loved me with an Adult Love.

The way a Grown Man loves his Greatest Treasure.

Only your criteria for what defined a “treasure” (a “gem”) was different than most men’s criteria: you complimented me on my physical attributes, but your love wasn’t skin-deep. You had eyes that saw me at my best; at my most radiant.

You loved The Lover in me, The Fighter in me, The Child in me, The Woman in me, and The Mother in me to (you told me that my 3 pregnancies made me a mother and that one day, I would be reunited with my children).

You also loved the Daughter in me, the Friend in me, the Cheerleader (with official cheerleading outfit) in me, and the Soul Mate in me.

You said it didn’t matter that we were meeting late in life; that a few years of what we had cancelled out any prior misery,

You said we could still redeem and restore each other, even if we only have a few years.

Your love enhanced me rather than diminished me; it radiated rather than obscured me; grabbed me close rather than pushed me away.

I had already done most of my mourning, so I was free to love you from a better place. But your love and acceptance energized and catalyzed me in a way I deemed impossible – at least for me.

You did all this just by being there. And listening. When I woke you up in the middle because I had to talk to you, you didn’t mind.

Our love was also a laughter kind of love. We laughed so damned much! I don’t think I laughed that much in all of the preceding years combined.

You let me be all of the things I needed to be when I needed to be them.

You never shamed or judged me. You accepted me. Welcomed me. Desired me. Just me and Only me. You wanted No One But Me. Ever again.

You said I was more than enough. That even if we only had five years together, that would be enough.

That we could die happy and fulfilled.

I had been so lost. Not in a bad way; just in a “lost my bearings” sort of way. You were my Lighthouse. My Horizon Line.

Thank you for Loving Me First.

Because you did, I was able to love you from my purest, unfiltered place. From my reserves. I went to my wine cellar and brought out my best and most expensive Cabernet for you. I carved, scraped, toiled and mined to find my Ruby-Sapphire love for you.

Rubies for passion and sapphires for loyalty. All for you.

My purest, most extreme, and most terrifying (for me) private love, I gave to you. Loving you made me a better human being and a better spiritual being.

All because,

From your core:

You loved me first.

When You’re Old But Your Parents are Still Worried About You

Because I’m growing up… and out again. It’s time,

Thanks to Pops and Honey

For loaning me and helping me with my money.

I know my actions often appear quite “funny,”

And my presentation’s not always sunny,

But please don’t worry,

Don’t worry about my hurry,

I know it might look rather blurry,

But the winds of change have stirred me,

Into a better place.

And because of God’s and your grace,

I don’t plan to exit planet-space.

My goal’s now to finish This Race.

I can’t promise you no disgrace.

But I can promise you I’ll be okay.

Post Script for my Untrusteds:

I hate to mar this sweet post to my parents with ridiculous disclaimers that “there is no money.” How does a person get real and not alert people with less than admirable intentions that they only carry their exact lunch money? Because I’m being relentlessly stalked online and getting fed up with your evil intentions towards me. It’s not conjecture; it’s objectively true, and it makes me very sad. While raising my simmering ire in equal measure.

The Recipe for Disaster

You start with a perfectly decent heart and a perfectly decent mind and a perfectly decent body

And then…

your perfectly decent heart

and your perfectly decent mind

and your perfectly decent body

all

‼️BREAK‼️

Over…

And Over…

And Over…

Again.

And you wonder why I don’t take things seriously anymore?