Recent studies have found that the average person stays around me for about two years.

 

 

There has never been a day in my life where I wasn't left wondering what it was about me that made people bounce, until recently.  I used to think it was a character flaw of mine; but, after doing everything right and still seeing the same outcome, I have put that belief to rest.  No, it seems as though I am simply a stepping stone for the weak. 

 

 

People are drawn to me for reasons beyond my comprehension.  I get confused here, mostly because the Rule of Mirrors states that we attract what we are.  Perhaps that means that I am ultimately weak inside, needing some sort of confirmation of my existence through helping others; but don't we all need that at the end of the day?  I suppose that's not the worst thing I could do.

 

 

However, there are other rules which I think play a huge role in how everything eventually goes down in my social life.  Aside from Murphy's Law, which seems to stick to me like boogers on a doorknob, I am subject to several preeminent policies, the likes of which I was not familiar with until I took the time to think about them.  My dad understood this, perhaps because he dealt with the same thing at some point.  He would call me a muse; and I never quite grasped how true that was.

 

 

People cling to me because I exude an innate strength, what my mother calls "an old soul."  The Rule of Mirrors does not apply here, or at the very least it becomes secondary.  I only get to attract like-minded people when I am not swarmed by lost souls, which has always been a cross I had to bear.  It seems as though I simply become the answer to mysterious questions that people don't even know they are asking.  At least I can do something right.

Eh, I don't feel much like writing right now.  I'll do it later . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feeling Pretty Nifty, thanks to you guys!

 

CHECK THIS SHIT OUT . . .

 

Well, it seems as though my new book is doing exceptionally well.  I have to say that I'm extremely happy to be ranked #65 on the Hot 100 list for Satire and Humor.  If I were a liar I'd say that I'm not surprised; but since I'm honest I have to say that I peed a little when I saw it.


It looks as though I am ranked higher than Mr. Kurt Vonnegut, poor fella.  If he gets upset about it, I'm going to blame all my fans for being so damn awesome.  You should all be expecting a phone call from his agent, especially now that I've picked up some momentum.


I couldn't have done ANY of this shit without you guys; or without J Darroll Hall, these Newport cigarettes, and my chocolate milk.  I want to take this time to thank you all; and to encourage you to keep kicking major ass.  It's difficult for a new author to gain notoriety as a serious writer, especially with so many seasoned and talent authors on the market.  Regardless it looks like we're making it happen; so consider yourselves bad-asses because you all have impeccable taste.


Let's take our seatbelts off and switch it into 5th gear.  Maybe then we will be able to read a Vonnegut blog about how he wishes he would write like Tiffany Grandstaff.  Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?


Anyway, I saw this the morning and it made me smile from ear-to-ear.  I don't think today could get much better; but we should all be willing to try.  Go ahead, make my day!

Liar, Liar, Why Won't your Pants Really Catch Fire?

One thing I can't fucking stand is someone who tells lies. 

 

Now I know that for the most part, human beings are prone to fibbing from time to time; and I have been guilty of it myself when I was younger and more brazen.  However, I think it's bullshit that our self-esteem and value system have been so jacked up that we continually make excuses for our impulses and shortcomings instead of embracing them, facing them, and growing alongside them, as is their purpose I believe. 

 

 

When lying you're subscribing to another person's standard of how your life should be or should have been.  You shouldn't apologize for what you wanted in the moment, but instead you should conduct yourself with some goddamn dignity so that you don't have anything to lie about in the first place.  After all, 

 

lying is just another form of apologizing for who you are. 

 

 

Now, that crap just isn't fair to the poor asshole that has to sift through your bullshit to find out who they are dealing with.  You should think about leveling the playing field a little, perhaps by telling the truth about yourself, your situation, your morals, and your intentions.  You don't have to show all your cards, but everyone at the table needs to know what game they are playing.  If you are justified in your actions, then why do you have anything to lie about?  And if you have something to lie about, then maybe you're just a fucking cunt who needs to rethink your priorities in life.

 

 

In addition, not being truthful with someone can be likened to giving that person power over you.  By lying or withholding information, you are basically telling that person that they are better than you, that you are wrong, that you are afraid of them, and that cannot face any of it.  And well, if you are wrong and if you can't face it, then ultimately they are better than you.  If you want to know how it feels to be hated, keep lying.  Habitual liars aren't very popular folks; and their actions are why the whole of the world would like them to become regular candidates for spontaneous combustion. 

 

 

It's true; you can float fairly well as a piece of shit,

 

 

but you won't be making any real friends as you twirl down the drain.  I have managed to sink to the bottom; but I have developed gills that help me breath under the waters of blatant and idiotic foolery.  I'm pretty sure that I don't have a fuckload of friends because I tell too much of the uncomfortable truth, and sometimes too harshly.  The pals I do have are aware of this fact, and they either don't lie, do it very well, or haven't been caught yet.  Because of this, I take everything people say at face value, never getting too attached to anything except the hidden chocolate in my dresser drawer.  I think I have a PhD in deciphering the hieroglyphs of bullshit at this point, or at least a finely-tuned radar - perhaps to the point of paranoia. 

 

 

However, I would rather have a scarcity of leaches who suck the marrow out of lies than a plethora of assholes who prefer fiction over truth.  In fact, I find that the small amount of people with whom I do associate are just about as cynical and backwards as I am, having been lied to several times themselves.  I like it this way just fine; and I am not accepting applications for new, potential dickheads to disappoint me in the end. 

 

 

What's more, when you lie to someone you are telling them, and the world, that you suck.  If you suck, then you need to fess up to it, get on with your miserable existence, and say you're sorry once in a while.  If you don't suck, then stop acting like a dumbass by fibbing.  You're making yourself look like an asshole. 

 

 

A man is only as good as his word, and you don't want to make yourself out to be a worthless fuck when you die.

 

 

I always liked that old saying, "Liar, Liar, pants on fire;" though I must say that I have always been quite disappointed by the apparently misleading plotline of it.  Never once have I seen a person burst into flames because they were a lying bastard.  It would come in handy when making friends, dating, negotiating with clients, and shit like that.  I mean, I don't have much cash, but I would pay good money to see that just one damn time before I croak.

Poker Face

You Know What Pisses Me Off?

The fact that people are only out for themselves anymore, bunch of self-serving bastards.

 

Blood, water, it never matters.  My biggest plight in life seems to be that I am always a victim of circumstance, losing friends and family left and right for reasons that were never quite clear to me, until today.  Luckily, my racing mind gets me out of the jams that are created by my anxious heart.

The Flop
 

On one hand, I have a cousin who just came into my life about a year ago, following a tumultuous divorce with a womanizing drug addict with whom she still wants to be.  She never had much to do with me our whole lives; and I almost forgot she existed until she needed someone's coat tails to ride here recently.  You see, I found out that her mother sent her to me for  what she called "Bitch Lessons," and boy did that girl become my star pupil.  Knowing this I did it still, feeling humbled by the mere notion of being needed.  I shouldn't have been such a dumbass. 


And I don't give a fuck if she reads this and gets ticked either.  My job as a teacher of "Bitch" doesn't end simply because she's done doing homework.  Had it not been for me, she would still be wallowing in obvious self-pity, instead of masking it with a slutty lifestyle and feigned strength through Facebook statuses.  Then again, I think she's still just as broken on the inside, having only picked up from me ways to appear as if she's mentally and emotionally stable.  Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, is it not?

 

 

One the other hand, I have a male friend with whom I'd grown rather close to in the recent months.  It was as if he was the male version of myself, or so I thought.  Some people are just really good at doing impressions in the mirror - jesters who sneak into my court to perform.  After a series of awkward moments, our once spotless friendship became more like something out of horror movie and less like something out of a comedy.  I still plan to have the last laugh. 


Instead of the emotionally closed-off bastard humbling himself to say that he was sorry after running his mouth, or instead of relinquishing the fact that he had developed feelings for me during our friendship, he decided to psychoanalyze me into the ground, to elevate himself above that pesky love thing.  Subtle Facebook jabs via his status, and cloaked attempts to start the argument again would follow, but by the time he reappeared on my radar, I was so over the bullshit that I couldn't care any less if I had either of those bitches in my life or not.  I figure 29 years without them, what's 29 more?
 

Meanwhile, I just finished writing my first book.   I'm so exited about it but I have nowhere to put my energy except for into this blog.  Neither of my parents seem to give a fuck about what their daughter is doing - I go months without hearing from them although I live 5 minutes from my mother and 30 minutes from my dad.  They both regularly see my other siblings though. 


I mean, I guess I took all the fun out of it when I stopped being a fuck up and started getting my shit in order.  Maybe they just don't feel needed anymore; or maybe I just need to stop needing them altogether.  Either way, I think they can both kiss my successful ass as I climb it to the top of my ladder of potential.
 

And what about the special man in my life, you ask?  Well, he snoozes more than a newborn kitten, treats me like a queen when he is awake, and never wants to fuck me . . . ever, unless of course I come on to him.  It's like he's afraid of the pussy or something; and I am not okay with chasing down the dick.  Can't I get a man who knows how to sweep a woman off her feet, but then also knows how to make her toes curl?  Is that too much to fucking ask for Christ's sakes?

The Turn
 

So here I sit, once the host of a weekly get-together, empty handed, looking for a new place to start, while wondering if I even want to start at all.  I suppose one of my biggest problems in life is that I give a shit when I know better; and that pisses me off to no end.  When I don't care, everything falls apart.  When I do care it still falls apart, only insult gets added to the inevitable injury.  It's enough to make a person question the value of their very existence. 

 

 

That pisses me off too - that someone, anyone, can have that kind of effect on what I had previously assumed to be a relatively strong psyche.  Letting someone get to you because they are an incomplete person is like cutting off a chunk of your life and handing it to them to burn.  They can't even manage their own shit; don't let them touch yours.
 

Damn this big, hopeful heart of mine; and damn those dickheads for being such cunts with it.  I tell myself I'll never do it again: I say "this is the year I will stop giving a damn about . . ."  But the denial tastes so delicious that I seem to devour it at every turn.  It's either that or I'm fucking insane.  But aren't we all insane just a little? 

The River
 

People want to say that life, love, friendship, and family are not games.  Still, it seems that the popular trend is for folks to treat these things like some sort of emotional lottery - a scratch-off ticket that can be thrown away when the reward isn't what you expect.  Modern society is like a bunch of old ladies at the bingo hall, buying pull-tabs by the handful, rubbing their charms for good luck, smoking themselves into the grave, and pissing me off while they do it. 
 

I'm thinking: if this is how I am supposed to approach relationships, then I better start learning how to play better poker.  My chips are getting low as hell, and I'm no longer interested in buying myself back into the game.  I'm at a table with a bunch of pussies anyway.  While I'm busy going all-in, everyone else is folding before the flop.