The Bad Example

Showing You A Life Lived Through Bad Examples

Both

For several years I have been journaling my ass off each morning trying to get myself through rough patches with the hubby, two smart assed kids, a terrible job and the wonderful transformation of my body from a svelte 26-year-old head turner to a pudgy 50-year-old head turner (only the other way now).

I told myself that by journaling all of the bad decisions that I make and mistakes that I stumbled through, I could somehow forgive myself and move on with my life. Well, the time has come for me to finally accept something critical: fuck forgiveness. I don’t need it and I don’t want or yearn for it anymore.

It is about time that I, and now you too, stop analyzing every-fucking-thing that we do and dreamily plan for how we can be saved by someone else’s judgment and ultimately, forgiveness. I have slowly realized that by making these mistakes, I have really lived life. Sometimes my bad choices have caused me heartache and pain, but sometimes they have allowed me to laugh my ass off with truly wonderful and psychotic human beings that I call true friends.

If you choose to follow and read this blog, know that I am consciously making the bad choice to use profanity, along with course and sometimes gross descriptions. But that is life, not just my life, but a lot of other people out there in this great big screwed up world. I want to journal every day about how I have screwed up in life; what lessons I have learned and what lessons I am choosing to ignore.

Not sure about you, but I was one of those people who used to follow those bloggers named “Emily” and “Jessica” who blogged about how wonderful their homes looked and their blonde-haired blue-eyed babies seemed only to shit yellow hued daffodils that could then easily be turned into door wreaths.  Not anymore, that isn’t real life. Not my real life. But if it is yours, follow “Emily” and “Jessica” and not me. Or in other words, Fuck off.

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Although I have never been particularly fond of nicknames, or the name Howard for that matter, I have always secretly wanted to be called Baby by someone for all of my life.

To have that nickname though, or pet name of Baby to someone, that would mean my whole personality would have to be different. You see, even when I am at my lowest, when I am wallowing in a puddle of snot and tears, I still can’t help but be a strong person. And although there are others out there in this world that would love to have that strength, I am here to say that it can be quite the burden at times.

For those of you out there who know what I am talking about, you understand what I am saying.  And not to pull the feminist card, but I truly believe that this burden is felt deeper by us strong women.

It takes so much strength to mold children to be good human beings in life, to fix the little cracks that start to show as they age and hide the cracks that show up on ourselves as well. It is one thing to be a good mom as they are growing up, it is entirely different to remain one as they realize that you are just human.

Even more strength is needed day to day to find and excel at a 9 to 5 job to help pay the bills. But it is more than that. After wiping poopy butts and snotty noses day in and day out you have to be strong to find that job that helps show yourself and the world that you are more than just a wiper in life. It takes strength to recognize the intelligence that you have and even more to show others that you have it.

To keep it all together, and I mean all together, like your looks, your sense of humor, your home, your family, your finances, your friends, your neighbors …. this requires so much strength.  It is no wonder we break from time to time.

When I was younger, I would often daydream of Keanu Reeves being my boyfriend.  He wouldn’t say much, just look really sexy and wind blown. It is weird because now, I just daydream of my husband putting his strong arms around me and whispering “It is all going to be alright Baby, don’t worry, I will take care of it.”

But I am who I am.  I wouldn’t have it any other way, I guess. Not at this point in my life. Posting this today I didn’t intend to turn into some kind of Successories poster or to make myself out to be a female martyr, I think I just needed to get this out of my head and down onto paper.  That helps sometimes. And maybe I just needed to remind myself that I was that strong person that has gotten me through so much in life.

Being someone’s Baby in this lifetime is just not in the cards for me. But that’s okay. I am a strong woman, I can take it.

 

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Today’s entry is dedicated to Jon, The Bearded Ginger.

I have to give it to Jon, he can find and analyze the shit out of something. And weird stuff too. But a lot of times, he guides me in a direction with books and movies that I never would have gone before.

Case in point: The Unabomber’s Manifesto.

Never in a million years would I have ever thought I would have read that piece of dark history, but I ended up not only reading the document but then researching Teddy’s life just to get a glimpse into why he wrote and did what he did. Now if you haven’t already watched Manhunt: Unibomber, I suggest you do.  Great acting and the plot and storyline really pull you in.  And even though a quick Google search can give away the ending for you, the show somehow makes you ask some pretty dark questions. And this is where Ginger Jon shines; those dark questions.

You see, there is a scene in that show that I still cannot get out of my mind. Sam Worthington’s character, Jim Fitzgerald, is driving home very late one night and is the only car on the road. He comes to a red stop light and waits. The angle pans out and shows him sitting there, clearly able to see that no other cars are coming from the green light direction. Yet, he still waits. He obeys a law, a rule, that is manmade. Yes, a rule that was made to save lives and deter chaos but when there is clearly no chance for chaos or harm why do we still obey those rules? And that was the jist of Theodore’s manifesto.

These manmade rules are made by imperfect men. In a universe that has so many unanswered questions as to how we came to be, when we came to be, and where we go when we “be” no more, isn’t it ironic that those simple red light/green light rules are followed so religiously? And speaking of religion, you have people every day that lie, steal, cheat and murder; practically breaking every Commandment there seems to be yet they will sit at that red light for the entire time, even when no one else is around.

So, to me, the scariest thing about the Unibomber is that he had a point. And he made me ask myself, and maybe more importantly, remind myself that there really isn’t a manmade rule that can’t be broken. And that is a powerful thing to know and remember.

The next time you board a plane and are squeezed into your coach seat but have a view of an empty business class seat try asking the flight attendant if you can be reseated. Ask politely and let them know that you are the first to be bold enough to ask. You will still be told about the rules, won’t you? And what would happen if they let you change seats? Would the airline’s stock tumble? Would the rest of the passenger’s revolt? Nope, they would kick themselves in the ass for not thinking of it before you.

And even more interesting is what happens the next time you are sitting at that red light and no one else is around.  I mean no one.  You can clearly see that there is no one else coming from the green light direction.  And more importantly, no cops are coming from that direction! Are you still going to sit there through the entire light? How many times will you just about take your foot off the brakes? And believe me, just the feeling of possibly disobeying the red light/green light rule makes your head swim. No wonder Mr. Kaczynzki was certifiable.

What I am aiming for is just a little bit of anarchy because a little bit of anarchy in life is healthy. Just a little bit.

And we can all thank Ginger Jon for this. 🙂

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