I needed some modeling clay the other day (wow, that totally rhymed). I am using this clay for checking clearances on some mechanical parts. I go into the local arts and crafts store, you know, the type that should have a "no boys allowed" sign out front. Which is to say, this arts and crafts store is really a fabric store that has a smidgen of art supplies to qualify putting "art supplies" on the sign. First gripe: no modeling clay! Fhat the wuck? I got pissed off and left the store.
I had to get my damn modeling clay!
I thought of Walmart--too easy. Try harder, Grunt. There's a Dollar Store! I go in there and start checking out all the kids toys. For awhile I was doing fine, but then a lady comes down the aisle. For some reason, I start feeling stupid. I did this to myself. I mean, it's not like she knows one way or another that I don't have kids and that shouldn't matter. If I want a damn kid's toy, Imma gettin' it! And I found what I was looking for, some kind of off brand Play-Dough, two jar pack for a buck.
I took that one item up to the counter and I almost did the thing where you get a bunch of other items to somehow hide the thing that you really want to buy, say, condoms when you're a teen or tampons for your woman. I caught myself about to to do this, but then decided that I was being a total jabroni about it. I went right up to the counter, put my kiddie clay right up to the checker lady and said, "Just this, please." She gave me this look like, What the fuck are you buying this for? I sent her a psychic telegram that said, Because Play-Dough, that's what the fuck for! I think she totally got my telegram. Now don't bother me. I'm going to make rude sculptures with this stuff before I have to use it for what I needed it in the first place.
What is the only thing that can save us from this evil combover?
Why it's our friend Gay Toupee!
I know that technically speaking that this is a wig, but Trump's hair needs a lot of help, just as our country will need if he is elected president. But if Trump gets outfitted with TIGF!!! level hair, he might come to his senses, drop out of the race for the Republican presidential nomination, leave his wife, and save John Travolta from Scientology, which I believe robbed him of both his dignity and his hair.
Trumpvolta would be the ultimate power couple, far greater than the Clintons. Trumpvolta doesn't have to be a sexual partnership, just a TIGF!!! one. Once Trumpvolta is under the guidance of the Gay Toupee, they will be unstoppable. Trump will broker the deals, boss people around and Travolta will create sensible policies and programs to benefit the American people. This is how the Travolta half of Trumpvolta would deal with terrorists: I think it could work.
A couple of recent posts of mine would seem to indicate that I am typing this post from beyond, while my beautiful corpse was rotting inside the Rubbermaid shed in my backyard (I'm a big Robin Williams fan). Not so, my friends! I have triumphantly overcome my sad place and turned it upside down into a happy place. The problem is that when I turned my sad place upside down, all the furniture got ruined in the process. Dammit! Well, I suppose a trip to IKEA might be in order. They say that Valhalla awaits those who die while assembling flat-pack Swedish furniture. I can't wait to meet Conan the Barbarian. I'm pretty sure he'll be blown away by my tales of putting tab "A" into tab "B" and twisting fasteners with just the right flick of the wrist. Don't worry that none of this made any sense. Just be happy for me that I feel good today.
I've been feeling a bit paranoid today. Why am I feeling this way? Well, it probably has to do with the fact that I think that people are on to me. The thing is that I'm really not up to anything, but I have people that used to be closer to me drop out of my life. It's like they are picking up on a vibe and subconsciously distancing themselves from me. Or, maybe, I am withdrawing from them. Whatever greener pastures that I see them drifting off to in my paranoia, I am not exactly protesting; rather, I lament the growing distance.
Someday I could serve some kind of purpose for them: a reference point and an example to buttress their reality at my own expense. At what point do the hands of friends and family close? They don't, really, but I've seen mine become wobbly and reluctant when I could not accept the reality of another. That person is gone now.
I checked into that person's reality and found out why open arms only led back to the reasons for checking out in the first place. So, I go about my reality forming carefully now. I watch and see who is trending on me and who is flaking. What matters is who is sticking with me, regardless of where my life journey goes. Because, I can't settle for comfort or for salve. I cannot partake of prosperity served in a dog dish, either. But, I also do need to get over myself and lighten up.
It's a balance that I am after. It's becoming more aware of the Dharma in the world, but not forgetting I'm a white guy who loves Jesus and shooting clay pigeons. It's allowing people to be different from me and still love them. Mostly, though, it's about allowing myself to be different from those that I love and not hating myself.
Sometimes I feel like I'm left holding the bag of my mother and father's inadequate parenting. I have no idea what I am going to do about my older brother. He is a mess in so many ways that it is absolutely breaking my heart. I feel almost powerless to help him. I already watched one of my sisters kill herself with alcohol. My brother hasn't taken care of himself, is morbidly obese, can't even work a part-time job without physical and emotional issues. I've pretty much resigned myself to being his caretaker for the rest of his/my life. This will pretty much insure that I will have no progeny. It's hard to fix 'em when they're adults. Somewhere along the line my parents just stopped looking for answers for my brother. Oh, they wondered, but it never went as far as trying to get him help. I think my mother probably just kept putting his name in the temple prayer rolls, hoping that Jesus would come down in his magic spaceship and fix him for her. My dad did his best at never having meaningful interaction with him, only sporadic outbursts of aggressive demands and cut downs. It blows my mind. F to the uck.
I was watching the movie "Grease" tonight and in the opening animated credits I saw something interesting. Rizzo, in her still image in the mirror, looks like a Hobbit. If she is in fact a Hobbit, well what kind of Hobbit would she be? A slut Hobbit? Was Rizzo a slut? I don't think so. She was just an assertive, catty woman...er, a bitch. But I like that sort of thing, so let's go with that. She's a badass, bitch Hobbit, the one that all the teen Hobbits try to bang, but never end up being able to handle her kind of tough love.
What would Rizzo's Hobbit name be? Baggins? Proudfoot? Nah, I'm thinking it's something like Rizzo Firesnatch or Rizzo Tumblenhay. Something tells me she wouldn't be the type of Hobbit that would stick 'round the Shire, either. I think she's a big city Hobbit with big dreams and a tight ass.
I could totally see her and Gandalf having a one night stand. Yeah and all the other Fellowship Hobbits would be hanging around making things awkward between her and Gandalf, like they're going to get some sloppy seconds. In true Rizzo style, she'd quip, "Whaddya fellas think this is, a gang bang? Scram!" My kind of Hobbit lady. Anyway, if she and Gandalf had a baby it would explain people like Jesus. I mean, the kid would end up being human size, but all magical and hungry 'n' shit. That's why Jesus was always turning water into wine and food into more food--it was freakin' elevensies--time to nosh! Anyway, there probably is a Pink Ladies chapter in the Shire. It was just cut out of the movies. I'm sure that it is in the books, somewhere in the middle, perhaps. Yep.