Lasty of 2010

Last dedication of the year, not for lack of other worthy recipients, it's just the last day of the year and how 2010 rolled.

This song is for ME (selfish like that) and my brother-in-law. We've found ourselves in a very precarious life lately, something to tread lightly on and chew through our tongues until we can identify our blood type out of being properly raised and respect for the idiocy happening around us. That or the battle simply isn't fucking worth it's weight in ammunition. With any case of drama, the deep drama, the kind of drama that eventually decides how relationships go for the rest of all our lives not simple gossip but dra-mah, things become so retardedly askew and blown out of proportion that it twists into a game of telephone. He said, she said, and even if the fucking dog said - someone at the end of the day is pissed and making the decision of whether they can be pushed a little more or if they want to make the morning news.

Pride sucking is a shit fuck stain of resentment that I hate more than brussel sprouts. Yeah, that much. All I can really say to myself and my brother in law is that hopefully walking away is appreciated or at least acknowledged in time. Clever people don't like being hushed, but perhaps clever people are clever because they know when to shut up even if it results in the aforementioned stain.

So quietly, privately in my mind I will be a sparrow, a hammer, a quiet little lump of person taking up space, even if I'd love to unload my mind. I don't mind at all that a good many relatives think I'm a daft chunk of human, void, and otherwise unremarkable. It is like having a naughty secret, that when sneaks out is a curious time of "fucking stupids, I'm not a hair twirler." Not that hair twirling is to be put down, kind of fun actually.... if it's not the only thing you do in a day, baldness would ensue. Point is, sometimes not saying or doing anything isn't a weak man's path, it's the smartest route, even if perceived as not giving a shit. If one does give a shit, then it's taken as being overbearing and controlling. Which way would you like to be fucked sir, from the front or behind? No winning.

This song ultimately made the final cut because "I'd rather be a Forrest than a street" Bit abstract to readers out of my family, but ...... I'd rather be a Forrest too, as I've seen the street and it's done been driven into potholes with no intentions of funding repair.

Plus it's a happy damn song and the Russian and I had a lovely dance to it. He sang a little.



So to me, go me! To my brother in law, rockstar, I thank god you aren't a republican under such stress and a NRA club card. You're good people! We can't fix things but.... Yes we would, if we only could /she sings. Cheers.

-DM
aka Jen-Nay

Dedication 5 - Mr. Morgan

Still getting around to these. I feel more tackled and pack-muled than santa with all the holiday needies. Not that anyone here is giving a jingle to reply most of the time, but it's my bitching ground and I'll use it as I see fit. For all the nose up my ass swearing that I'm too funny to go unpaid, I would think I was funny enough to be missed or visited. THAT my friends, is cosmic irony.

Not to detract from my husband's dedication. There was a time, and it was an unplanned and unrehearsed moment, that a song came on at a family event, and not this song..... but we did this VERY thing. It was noticed, enjoyed and remarked upon before we even knew we'd done a solid synchronized head bob. I've caught Mister in the hallway many times, mid-jig on my part and he's hopped right in. We just are like that I guess.



And this because it's proof the head bob is Jesus on a wheat thin of salvation.




As for my dedication to Mister, I don't particularly love this song, but I like it's sentiment. I'm thankful you have given me early Christmas gifts, including bathtub paint.... that I read to be bath body paint and had doodled myself into what caused a fit of laughter I've not ever heard from you prior. You were quite pleased with my rendition of the pyramids over my breasts and some sort of sunset scene on my face and forehead. I was too, but the package didn't say to draw on the walls. I can do that outside of bathtime.... I guess I missed the idea but it was swell. Something a five year old would love, I appreciate you understanding my craving to not be old and boring and how much I really love things that sparkle, that simple little shit is grounds for tons of possibilities. And that you know sending me off with a tube a glitter brings me glee... but also know I'm not in need of mental peeking over it, awesome.

Your fish,

- DM

I can play all day....

Holiday parties. The potential for shit to go sideways, and the distinct probability of honesty falling out of mouths courtesy of drink tokens. Everything that makes for me becoming Pavlov's Dog.

Mr. Morgan wore a suit and I looked not unlike Jackie-fucking-O on his arm. All was proper. The younger chickens were already out front, smoking their angry minds out but I went in to greet the hosts, and Mr. Morgan's boss and wife, all the formalities a Jackie would do right? Of course two minutes later I joined the chickens, who were happy to have another to fold into the bitch circle. Not invited into chicken circle was the mom of that Simon eating dog. Still hasn't said sorry.

This lovely person I guess pissed off one of the main chickens, who is so damn cute I wanna poke her and see if she giggles. I bet she does. She also is balls out and young, will throw down to fisticuffs sort of girl after a few drinks. End of the night they did a white elephant thing and most people were sloshed or hoping to get there. We had a 45 minute drive home so... not us kids. I could have been, but it's an expensive restaurant and ... again Jackie factor for the boss's anyhow. Outside smoking area was fair game.

I had initially plotted to pack up the destroyed screen door for the dog eater's parents and present that as my white elephant gift, because I'm a dick like that and I don't like having to ask for reparations time and again. Just because I ask nicely doesn't mean I'm not dead serious.

Father of dog we fostered made a huge mistake of trying to fit in and approached my circle. He'd won a gift card, 25 shitty bucks and above mentioned chicken reallllly wanted it. His asshole bride said hello to no one all night and stood somewhere about ten feet back with the facial expression of Satan.

I told him to give chicken the card, in front of everyone. Went like this with that cocked asshole one brow raise I do when playing, ... chess? And knowing I was two moves from a win:

"She really wants it, and if you give it to her I'll get off your balls about replacing the screen door your dog destroyed after eating Simon"

I know that absolutely embarrassed him and pissed him off royal. Yes sir, welcome to my parlor.

"Did you think I forgot?"
"No, I know you haven't"
"Then give her card." many eye contact and I felt him trying to set my soul on fire.

I walked off. How easy can I make it? I know it seems trite perhaps, but I'm a pun? dog with a bone over this issue.

Solution -

1. Don't wait 3 days to ask if Simon is dead.
2. Fix or pay to repair my property.
3. Fork over the card. 25 bucks is about what the repair would be.

Any of the above saves me being on your ass, in public. I was done having wrecked his wedding, but two months later, saying he hadn't forgotten .. but no pay and his cunt wife still has said not a word to me and pissed off a fellow chicken. Don't make it so easy.

So, bad girl, and no he didn't give the card. Probably scared his wife would beat him if he had. It really was a great party though, that didn't damper it at all for me. I wasn't the uncomfortable person. Was the perfect opportunity to make right with people, guess they don't play a lot of dominoes.

How are your holidays coming along?

- DM

Icy Walk of Doom

Instant karma for the chick who can't stop laughing. As someone who falls often enough, there is no dignity or grace to taking an unexpected dive. Merry!



- DM

Dear John

I never thought I’d write a Dear John letter but today I do. A while back I mentioned a family tragedy I would eventually write about. Since the tragedy I cannot say I have kept a strict mental record, some intentional and some not simply because I am not the sort of person who keeps such a diary. It hasn’t been a reluctance to blurt my brain blathering, it’s out of been respect and timing. I am on a potential limb of direct shunnings and dirty looks for what I post here in this entry, at the end of my day I am little more than a daily muse, an artist and someone who writes things of observation. I will not apologize for any of those things. If I did it would completely contradict my person. I have republican parents, thick skinned be thy name.

So. A bit over a month ago my step father in law took his life. And not in a particularly shy fashion. Something that had I read in the news of a stranger I’d have said “damn!” but I wasn’t quite afforded that word and rather chose “oh my god!” because, it was personal. I have thought about it, pretty much every day, just as the rest of the family, going through the cycles of why, and every other thing that does no good. Some think they could have stopped it. I think – sure, that day. If it’s in ones’ mind to do such, they will. I had an Oncle who hung himself and his daughters found him, and they forever chewed into their stomachs with guilt. Many people say it’s wrong to call a suicide selfish, that the person was sick. Clearly. At the same time I disagree to an extent. (btw the way one cousin rides a pole at night and the other is a meth addict, way to go Oncle Charlie!)

We were recently provided with the last letter, five pages worth. The script admitted sorrow for those he knew were going to suffer. That’s my definition of selfish. Mentally unwell, yes, but selfish and self loathing too? To me, without question. I’d book a cruise. Tell everyone to fuck all and get myself proper. This man was not crazy, he had options. It’s something I do not understand, and in turn my reaction of sorrow is highlighted with anger sprinkles. Hearing my family and husband weep without a way to console them is … foreign.

Against the anger I am very sad and frustrated, mad... but I don't hate him. I liked the man. A good deal. Here is my simple (somewhat?) dedication. Can start the song and read, of all my dedications ever.... this one really is... mm hm, and it's kinda a hand-in-hand, need the song with the note.




Dear John,

Well. Yeah. So, there’s that huh.

I wish I’d known you more. Of all I will remember of you is being a house staple. Every holiday, every meal there you were with a camera, politely watching the family going ons. I watch people crisply, and you were always in the background, but visible, not quite smiling always but interested in being with your family yet not wanting to be the star of it. I’m not sure I saw you laugh very often, but it seemed a capability.

If I had to pluck an adjective John, I would say generous and soft. Last Christmas you gave all the children valuable coins and your eyes lit up with such pride that you had provided something that meant a great deal to you as you explained the worth and value, pointing out how each was different and that you hand selected them by the year of each child's birth. That is probably the most I ever heard you speak in one sitting.

That some of your personal coin collection is now boxed in my spare bedroom preparing to collect dust gives me more pause than I can ever express. I know how proud you were of them. It’s humbling, so I’ll just polish them lightly and scurry away.

More humbling was watching my husband put on one of your suits, your watch, your cufflinks and the tie I had bought for your Christmas gift months before to attend your memorial. You'll be glad to know he looked sharp as you always did, but the cloth weighed on him like an anvil.

I hope you don’t mind being referred to as a house staple, it’s really a compliment, much like hugging ones’ mother and smelling her perfume…. It’s always there and something one relies on, perhaps takes for granted. And then one day it isn’t there anymore. Time is so short and I am very glad that I don't feel we had unsaid words, you know I love you.

Take good care of Bruce.

Yours,

DM.

Moral of the story - don't squander! Never go to bed angry or forget to say something you later might not be able to.

(read below if need to perk up after that)

Sloppy Santa

I've done it, you've done it. Only difference is this Santa lacked a wing man to announce "What are you looking at? Never seen a person with narcolepsy and seizures before?" How to disclaim the pissing, I'd have to think on the fly there.



-DM