Just a Bunch of Desperados (or Dumping a Dude in a Pirate Vest)

I think every single one of us relates to Desperado in one way or another. With the recent loss of Glenn Frey, the song is certainly worth a revisit. I like the version posted above.

Gender, age, status are of no consequence in the face of such gentle lyrics. Like all great songs, Desperado's appeal is timeless; it's just as relevant to the public and private heart today -- and perhaps even more so -- than back in 1973, the year of its release.

At each stage of life we're "not getting any younger," but the older we get, the more painful it is to search our personal inventories. Our actions, our mistakes haunt us, and our souls keep us restless. If we try and look away, we grow emotionally frail. We feel increasingly hollow.  We grow bitter.

Over the past few years, I've learned that some pain is never meant to go away. To be human means that we don't recover from a major loss like it's a stomach bug. It's not possible to walk away without wounds. And rather than feel the pain, we often jump into the next relationship, usually with our eyes closed. We add nothing to our toolbox before we meet the next tool.


I've wasted a lot of time over the past 30 years looking for someone to think I'm awesome when awesome would be the last word I'd use to describe myself. I forewent personal growth for the personal ads and wound up causing myself a ridiculous amount of heartbreak. During a particularly fragile period in my mid-20s, instead of going to ...I don't know...a meditation group...swimming....therapy, I met a guy "Randy" who wore pirate vests, and actually dated him for a couple of weeks. It didn't last long due to the vests distance. Also, as far as I could tell, Randy had an anger problem. Recently, I Googled him out of curiosity and found that he had been arrested for setting fire to his fiance's wedding dress. When the cops asked for his ID, he came back out toting a rifle. Upon arresting him, the other cop went into his apartment and found guns and ammo everywhere. Clearly, Randy didn't go swimming either.


It should come as no surprise, then, when our relationships crumble, we can't get out of bed. We're still hungry. We don't care for ourselves any more than we had before. Unless we take a look at ourselves and admit we've got some work to do (and stop focusing on every else's behavior), we will find ourselves with fresh wounds when we hadn't even put Neosporin on the one before.

Same shit, different day and different person. Same box of Ding Dongs, different Circle K.


When we choose denial, we also choose to keep repeating the same crappy experiences. How can we not loose hope? How can we not feel depressed? At this point, we grab a bottle to excess. We cut ourselves. We abuse others due to our frustration. We stay involved in abusive relationships. We shirk our individuality and  attach ourselves to an ideology  or idea, and let it consume our individuality. We desperately want to belong to someone or something. How many rejections can we take?

Anyhow, I'm so tired, but I wanted to share some thoughts. Nothing hurts worse than not liking yourself. Just like the IRS, you will follow you everywhere.



(Interestingly enough, Don Henley regrets his vocal performance on Desperado. He isn't happy with his performance, which shows his own battle with "never enoughness." Perhaps his own vulnerability adds to the song's particular longings.)

Kim Kardashian's 2016 Resolutions, I Mean Small Goals

Last summer, I started Skrapping Kim. I'm new to the scrapbook world, but went to Michael's and found the most plastic, blank book I could find and a whole lot of Rub Ons.

And, what great timing: the announcement of her 2nd pregnancy came along like a blast of shit from a cow's behind.

No one thought a second child would happen.  Months before Kim had shared, "The doctors said he thinks I'm having sex too much. He said one time is more powerful…so we've tried everything."

And, Lord she struggled.

She complained, "I'm really not complaining, I'm just being honest about [it]. I hate it...I'm not going to sit here and lie and act like it's the most blissful experience. It's awful..."It [Pregnancy] is the worst experience of my life."

It blows because these comments must sting a lot of people. Kim, a woman who has had to mount Kanye West 15 times a day, looking at his misery face while matching her rhythm to the slap of his chest medallions, should understand the agony of women who would do anything to have a child --  women who pee on sticks until dehydration in hope of pregnancy.

Due to exhaustion, she is setting small goals, though she concedes that "Long-term goals (like saving money or learning a new language) are important, too."

Most of her followers can't find the time to learn Igbo, though I call BS anyway. Can you see Kim ordering Rosetta Stone off late night TV?

And we poor slobs saving money? Ha. My sister can't even patch the hole in the roof so her kids stop tripping over buckets.


Here are Kim's officially released "small goals":

1. Dumping the weight that Saint "caused" (and Saint on the ugliest, fattest nanny she could find) is the "number one thing [she] wants to accomplish!"

2.  At some point it will be time for Kim to take on her 20 million dollar mansion.  Designers will bust ass to make it homey and less like a factory full of tuning forks.

3.  "I'd like to do some really cool photo shoots for my Web site."  I just can't.

4. She wants "a few more fun weekend trips" with her followers. Shit. Now I have to decide between fun weekend trips with Kim and fixing my kid's cleft palate.

5.  "I also want to plan a West family vacation—it’s a project in itself to find the time!"

*That ass mounting a jet ski? I have a fat ass, but as least I would't submerge my craft under a blast of silicone.

6. Lastly, she wants to learn "how to do the splits!"  My brain's clogged with comments, so I'm just gonna wrap up this post.


She's an overachiever and I now feel like a loser.

Not really, though. While I do have goals, my mental and physical issues keep me living one day at a time. I find when I make goals, or promise family or friends that I'll attend a party or meet them at the gross Olive Garden, I take the chance of letting them down. Then, I feel really guilty. If it's a holiday celebration, and for whatever reason I just don't feel that I can handle the day, I'm leaving myself open to a day alone - especially while knowing others are together, laughing, being "normal," and having fun -- and that may make me feel worse.

Then, I feel emptier, more alone, and like I will never fit. I consider what they think of me, and why I rarely attend events. Maybe they think I'm Rudolph and have a bulbous red nose, so logically, they think I'm at an AA meeting. "Wow," they raise their glasses, "she's really making healthy choices!"


By the way, I don't drink..but, I do like Captain Crunch with Berries and I'm 44 years old.



H.




*we all know that twat was repaired before she even saw the kid

If You're Fighting a Brain Disorder Like Depression, Bipolar Disorder, Acute Anxiety - Remember this:

Your life is not a sob story; it's a SURVIVAL story.

How on Earth do You Pull it Off?' 

Do you know how strong you are to battle depression, or any mental illness? If not, let me tell you. 

You're braver than you realize. Your walk is tougher than anyone without mental illness can imagine. You hang in there because of your loved ones, but also because inside you're solid as a rock. 

I salute you! I recognize your strength. I'm in awe of how hard you fight to put one foot in front of the other. Don't let anyone ever tell you that you're "complaining" about nothing. 

Bullfreakingshit.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

Brave on, fierce warrior!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

My Life is a Yardsale and Everything Must Go: 2:00 AM Randoms

Some Thoughts as We Begins Our Travels

• I hate the word slacks
• The word pud is funny.
• I have never worn jorts.

• Psychiatric treatment floors or facilities are usually filled with coloring books and containers of broken crayons, word search books, puzzles of all kinds, Popsicles and pudding cups, suicide blankets, too many pills, asshole doctors, and nurses, some wonderful, whose shifts seem to rotate at all points of the sun. The "counselors" (floor staff) are really just babysitters. They usually sit behind the front desk, gossip, shop online and make fun of the crazies. I hate them.

• When I was 5 years old, I had my first ballet and tap recital.  In the class were twin boys who wore matching black leotards without tights. Their thighs were white and meaty. One of them was my recital partner. He peed all over me, then ran off the stage crying. It was my big break so I kept dancing until the teacher came out with paper towels to wipe the pee off the stage.  A few parents clapped. It was really awkward, and It was my last recital.

• I wish that I had lost my virginity in the back of a steamy stagecoach with a wimpy dude in suspenders and a bowl cut. I honestly don't remember exactly where I lost mine, but it definitely wasn't as sexy.

• Ever have Bok Choy hanging off the end of your nose at an office function, and no one cares to tell you?

• When I was really little, I saw two lizards having sex on a crowded mini-golf course. I pointed and yelled to my Dad, "Look! He's giving the other one a piggy back ride!" He didn't correct me, which is too bad. I believe in teaching sexuality in a healthy, open manner - like doing it behind dumpsters in the psych ward and filming it for documentary purposes.

• I was 8 when the bumper of my mother’s Camaro fell off when we hit a pothole on I-95. I cried non-stop for two days.  It was a tragedy of immense proportions and almost inconceivable that something so horrible could happen. I have always had emotional responses disproportionate to the original incident. I drove my parents crazy. And, myself, though someone had already given me a ride there. Who? Why?

• If you fold a Land O' Lakes butter carton just right it looks like the Native American lady has rosy nipples. I swear it was done on purpose.

• The first year I taught 7th grade we had a particularly horrid student named JR. He mooned me daily. One afternoon I sent him to the office for throwing a desk at a girl. He was super pissed at me because it was his last strike before suspension. Running from the room, he called back over his shoulder "Go fornicate yourself!" It was his greatest insult. I don't miss JR.

• When my mania was untreated, I'd travel night after night on dark highways to meet people I'd spoken to online for an hour or less. Along the way, I'd buy bottles of cheap-ass vodka, cigarettes, condoms -  self destruction kits. I am lucky to be alive.

• I believe in body memories. Or soul memories. Something like that.

• I used to play Marco Polo by myself in the pool. "Marco!" I'd yell, then swim to the other side of the pool. "Polo!" I'd answer. Does it get more embarrassing? (Also, does that mean I played with myself in the pool?)

• My then 70 year old mother sold her 1978 metal single wide trailer because she couldn't swing the small mortgage, lot rent, transportation, medical care, utilities and food on $750.00 a month in social security. When I hear "trailer trash," I think about all of the people who'd lop off an arm to even get into a trailer.

• I was less than a hair width's close to having 6 weeks of Electro-Convulsive Therapy (ECT) when I was 25 years old. The drug Lamictal saved me from the brain fry. I remember waking up one morning after being on Lamictal for a week. I felt like a deaf person hearing sound for the first time.

• When I was a kid, I loved riding around with my Dad on Saturday mornings. He was gone all week working, so this was my only hang out time with him. In summer, he'd put the top down on the convertible and I remember looking up at the green canopy. Butterflies flew around us like confetti. Since this was the 70s, everyone pretty much drove around drinking. My dad always had a can of Bud stationed between his legs. I loved when he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to "Help me, Rhonda.” I miss feeling that carefree. I can't remember the last time I felt anything close to those mornings.

• Hair clippings can be used to deter snails from your favorite gardener's prize-winning zucchinis or a healthy green lawn. Once I donated my hair to a garden that was struggling to survive against ravenous snails. It didn't work. What a waste of good herr.

• A few years ago I passed out in Borders. The contents of my totebag spilled everywhere, and since I'd just returned from a weekend "away" it was filled with an array of items including a pair of Hello Kitty underwear, a forgotten about half-full carton of McDonald's fries, several medication bottles, dirty socks and a bunch of tampons and maxi pads, one of which somehow lodged itself between the boots of a life-sized, cardboard display of Annie Lennox. You should have seen the manager trying to wrangle the pad before other shoppers came upon the spectacle.

• I almost dropped out of college to become a police officer...and a hairdresser. Both would have cool, but I wonder which would one have been part time? A Policing Hairdresser or a Hairdressing Officer?

• I live a few minutes from Steven King's house. The gates are really cool. I wish talent ran in the water. Money would be better though so I don't have to do the work. 

• When I adopted my now 12 year old cat, Mikey Likes It, he was just a baby. I came upon him in a pawn shop where he was sleeping in a gigantic gold birdcage. Talk about a role reversal. And, how completely odd come to think that he was in a bird cage. In a pawn shop. And why was I in the pawnshop? When did I ever have anything to pawn except for my VHS Richard Simmons Dancing to the Oldies collection? OK, it's my neighbors, but she won't notice. I borrowed them last year and I'm still massive so she's probably like "Oh, the poor dear..."

• I live in Maine and despise all sea food, especially lobster. I just don't get it, but really wish I did. I will never sit at the cool kids' table as long as I live in this state.

• In my opinion, the best poem I have ever written was inspired by Rob Thomas' neck.

• Finally, these lyrics from the 1977 hit, "Never Been to Me..."

• I have been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me...I did, however, move like Harlow in Monte Carlo and showed ‘em what I’ve got..."

• What exactly does it really mean to show 'em what you got? Got how? In the mail? With an STD?