The Bad Example

Showing You A Life Lived Through Bad Examples


Okay, well, if you haven’t noticed, the last few weeks have been a little rough for me.  I thought by staying off of this blog for a period of time would help me get through this little rough patch without announcing to the world that I am close to a nervous breakdown. But the lure of journaling reeled me back in. Apparently, though, the tone of my last couple of blogs have caused concern with a few close friends so I am thinking it is time to switch gears.

I have decided to start drinking.

Not the sloppy, fall down drunk type of drinking; just the cool, taking-life-one-sip-at-a-time type.  And I will walk around my condo with one of those ginormous wine glasses alternating between lounging on my furniture in a flowy MuuMuu and swirling my swill while taking on an Irish accent. Or maybe I will have bourbon. Hmmmm ….. life does seem so much more easy thinking of it that way.

I remember when I was a wee lass my little gang and I would pass the time pretending that we were drinking. Yes, that is how fucked up my childhood was.  We used to put butterscotch candies in a small glass of water and pretend we were drinking Scotch. And those little barrel root beer candies in water and stagger around the house acting drunk on beer. Ah, good times.

But in my life now, I just can’t see myself swirling or lounging; it would probably be more like chugging and hurling.  You see, I have never been much of a drinker in my life. Never could develop a taste for beer. And now that I think about it, maybe it was because it really doesn’t taste like watered down root beer candy.  I barely know the difference between white and rose wine. In fact, if I hadn’t have watched a few seasons of Housewives of New York, I don’t think I would even know what Pinot was. Thank you, Ramona!

I do love Amaretto Stone Sours though. Mmm mmm mmm. Actually just thinking about one of those makes my mouth water. My boys and hubby would argue that even when I am drinking one of those I don’t have any real fear of blowing .08 for a copper. See, the way I make my A-S-S’s, the orange juice is the main ingredient, not the splash.  But who cares, at least I have decided upon a path to happiness and I am not sitting around crying and bitching anymore. And although some people would say that it isn’t right to turn to the drink to ease one’s pain, what is the difference between drinking liquor and eating a Big Mac? How do other people get through these patches?

Yes, there is the Lord, but obviously, He hasn’t been listening to me and my pleas since, well, EVER. Weed isn’t legal in my state yet and exercising my frustrations away just makes me more frustrated thinking about it. Should I start meditating? I can’t even clear my mind enough to go to sleep at night let alone sit quietly for 20 minutes thinking of nothing but my breathing.

So sipping a cool alcoholic beverage sounds absolutely divine right now. And maybe I will start experimenting with my drink.  Something fruity, or maybe I should check out Pinterest.  There is always some type of watermelon fizz vodka concoction recipe there I can turn to. And if all else fails, I could always drop a Watermelon Jolly Rancher into a glass of water and call it a day. Ooh, a spark of excitement has already crept into my otherwise dark life.

Maybe I have more of a drinker in me than I thought!!

Wish me luck.






Let’s talk a minute about passive-aggressive people. Or what I really wanted to say there was “Let’s beat the shit out of passive-aggressive people.”

Now I have to tread lightly here because my betrothed reads this, well, he usually does after I ask him if he did; so maybe I am okay here after all. I just won’t ask him today.

Anyway, his passive-aggressiveness is one of the things about my hubby that reminds me daily that I love him so much; because if I didn’t I would already have buried his body somewhere. Deep. In a wooded area.

You see the best way to spot a P-A person is the questions.  “Why are you folding your clothes like that?” or “Why didn’t you turn the light on when you went into the kitchen?” Those ridiculously wide open questions that to be answered properly one would have to go into detail of their preferences and long-standing habits. Those types of questions tell me that what he really wants to say is “Hey Dumbass, don’t fold the clothes like that.” or “Dipshit, turn the light on in the kitchen when you go in there; you will be able to see better.”

And the thing that makes my teeth ache is that they are my clothes I am folding, not his, what the fuck does it matter how I fold them. You see, I consider myself a half-way decently smart person. I have a Masters Degree for fuck’s sake. And I know there is a difference between book smarts and street smarts. But take my word for it; if both my husband and I somehow survived a deadly virus that ended the world as we know it; I can guarantee you that I would have already utilized my street smarts and sold him for canned goods. He would still be wanting me around for the sex. So.

So why is this the topic of my blog today? Well, he just passive-aggressively pissed me off. And now that I think about it, I guess I am turning the tables on him and really getting him back on his own terms. By telling him off, with a strongly worded blog, how much more passive-aggressive can I get?

Take that bucko!


You know, whenever life hands you shit, what are you supposed to do with that?

Accept it? Be thankful that it wasn’t worse? Get used to it? That just isn’t me. Nope, when life throws shit my way I seem to take that opportunity to put on a good old fashioned shit show.

These last two weeks have been one crappy thing happening after another.  And believe me, I know that there are people out there that have a lot more serious problems than I have but it doesn’t make getting through my day any easier. Think about that for a second, if the thought that someone else was having a more horrific day than you made you smile, well, that would make you an asshole, not lucky.

Nope, in my world, it just seemed like there were so many things being thrown at me. And although I did see my doctor, who by the way is a total dick with no bedside manner to speak of, and he did prescribe some new medication for me, it only made me nauseous and my lazy eye even lazier; it didn’t help.  So at that point, my body, mind, and spirit just kicked into autopilot and decided to take over my whole personality. And it hasn’t been pretty.

Let me give you a little example.  Early Saturday morning, when I talked myself into getting out of bed and doing some physical activity, I discovered that a homeless person had taken a humongous dump in the alley right next to the dog run for our building, where I might add, I was trying to sit in zen-like silence with my two pups and breathe in the beautiful morning air. Besides scaring my dogs by its size and girth, the whole pile just pissed me off and put me over the edge.

Now, probably at any other point in my life, when things had been going better on a day-to-day basis, I would have shaken my head in disgust, cleaned it up and quietly pondered on the question of how low does a person have to be to go into an alley and poop. But, nope, that time was long gone.  I snapped. I had reached my limit.

I marched right over to the closest park bench where several seedy-looking characters were sitting and was very close to making each one of them give me a stool sample when Neighbor Nancy came by and happened to chirp Good Morning to me.  That pissed me off too. After telling her about the foul deed that had been done to all of us in the building, and getting her smug, sympathetic response of “Well, that’s what we get for not having public bathrooms downtown” I think my head actually exploded. It was at this point that I informed Neighbor Nancy that the next time I saw the Mysterious Pooper starting to take a squat in the alley, I would graciously bring him up to her door so that he had a softer area to shit on. The look on her face …. well, let’s just say that it did me a lot more good than that crappy medicine my doctor prescribed.

I am not sure what this week is going to bring for me. I hope better stuff than last week, and the week before that, if we are being honest. But if it doesn’t, I know one thing; the shit show will go on.

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