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. 

How I Got Fired from the Local Newspaper over my Facebook Activity by: Tiffany Grandstaff

Gone are the days when our workers can have a personal life or an agenda outside that of their professional one. No, it seems as though because of things like Facebook, a professional can be sacked if their public (and private) posts are not conducive with the status quo of the business for which they work. This is apparently the case for freelance workers and writers as well, including me.

I’m a well-respected woman who is admired by numerous people. I advise folks from all walks of life on several matters, both mainstream and esoteric, with my quick wit and my ability to put things in such a way that really speaks to a person’s inner turmoil. I have the reputation of being somewhat sarcastic and controversial, yet empathetic and educated. This was all the case before I was became a writer; and it will continue to be the case even after things like this transpire:

How it all went Down

I recently got hired as a Features Reporter via an online search for writers done by editor of The Kokomo Herald, only to be less-than-professionally fired a month later for what I can only assume is because of my Facebook activity. It’s my mistake for adding my assumed “bosses” to my page, I suppose. Unfortunately, good writing and punctual service is not favored over less scrupulous writers who are neither willing nor able to push the proverbial envelope. In fact, the shoddy writing and careless undertaking of the other writers is precisely why I was told I was needed. I wonder if the other staff members know what is being said behind their backs.

The editor of the paper, Shannon Crouch, had asked me a few days after I had already started working to “clean up” my language on my personal Facebook page. A little taken aback, I agreed that I would curb how many times I dropped the F-bomb; but I made a point to mention that it was, in fact, my personal page and that I had several other projects going on simultaneously. Nothing more was said of it, but the daily conversation ceased between the editor and I, and my story load got shorter as each week passed.

Things I Should Mention

I suppose I should have paid more attention to the enormous Christian art displayed all over the walls of the office when I visited to meet the editor and her husband, Don Crouch, the Director of Sales and Marketing of the newspaper. He seemed to be very impressed by me, even making a point to message me several times before I showed up for our “meeting”, asking me if I would be interested in having some photos taken, telling me I was beautiful, asking me personal questions. In fact, he hit on me quite a bit via Facebook messaging; and he told me to erase the messages because his wife would kill him if she found out. I didn’t.

After I left the office on that day, he then sent me another message telling me how impressed he was with me. At this time, he told me that he was putting together a sales packet for a project we had discussed in his office, and he said that he would be in contact with me later about the details. I never heard another thing about it.

Also while I was there, his wife got a hold of me too. She had me call another local paper, The Kokomo Tribune, and pose as a customer asking about ad prices. I had to use an alternate email account of mine to receive and transmit the emails I got from the woman at the other office. I got a high five from the editor once I got off the phone; and I sat for a few moments to talk before making my leave.

The Shtick

Keep in mind the qualms which got me booted were not professional. I always got my assignments turned in within record time, often days before the paper went to print (and most of the time with only hours to complete the story). I didn’t complain when my payments were delayed by weeks. I never mentioned how imposing the beliefs of those in charge at the paper were upon my already established lifestyle. In fact, I praised them; and I even went so far as to send well wishes to them when their daughter was in the hospital – this required me to work longer hours to accommodate the editor’s picky and demeaning qualms with my writing.

I pressed on despite all this, always working with a smile and being proficient. The only releases I have are painting, writing and my Facebook page, which to this day is more or less my personal blog and fan page. Of course, with all of my other projects and my already established persona, I did not completely avoid using cuss words or speaking my opinion as is afforded to me by my Constitutional Bill of Rights. I did, however, take hours adjusting my privacy settings and even putting my colleagues on restriction. In addition, I turned my private alternative guest page into a free-for-all just so that I could continue to use Facebook as a means by which I decompress between assignments. I still have not heard a single word about why things have changed; and so, I am left with my own good sense to figure it out. How professional!

Eventually, the times between responses about stories became longer. Soon enough, the stories I was given were even worse than the ones I had received in the beginning. Let me backtrack and let you all know that this newspaper was a “positive news only” publication. Now, as awesome as that may sound, it really wasn’t; especially when you consider the fact that this so-called “news” paper had me reporting on things like anti-pro-choice establishments, Christian fundamentalist groups, and even some far-off historical society that got a grant for a train station restoration – in a city 20 miles away from where the paper is printed. It was crack reporting, I tell ya; real respectable shit. It definitely called for me to have a squeaky clean persona.

The Seed of my Confusion

I was told on my first visit to the office that the newspaper was trying to find a new voice, to appeal to a younger audience of a mostly modern female persuasion. However, my modern personality and well-read yet controversial persona was apparently not what the newspaper was looking for when they hired me. Funny, those qualities were never apparent in my interviews or articles. In fact, one of the people I conducted an interview on made a special trip to the office to gather papers for distribution because he was so pleased by my work. I still got the boot though. What a bunch of prudes!

Keep in mind that I haven’t even been officially fired. I just haven’t been paid for $350 worth of work, I have received no new assignments, and the editor, Shannon, removed me from her Facebook friends list after being the one to add me in the first place. Of course, the old pervert husband of hers didn't  I had to do that once I caught on to what was happening.

I suppose the days are gone when a gal can be herself, even in the land of the free, around Christians sworn not to judge, within her own community, and as a freelance writer. I felt like now was the time to report this as news, when the world is changing and we are all having our rights stripped from us by Big Brother. It’s news to me.

And yeah, I’ll stop dropping the word “fuck” just as soon as they get a fucking clue.