Nutshell My Shitshow

Guys! I need me an aggressive A-Line bob haircut and complicated Starbucks order, stat. I became that person who complained to a company today. Honestly, it takes a great deal for me to do this.

To start out my wondrous day, the ticket clerk "greeted" me with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and immediately demanded "I.D." I figure, eh, everyone has shit moods. I totally get it. But no eye contact during the whole transaction, no "thank you", even after I smiled to try to spread some warmth and goodness – the most I could muster up after 4 hours sleep and a dusting of a wine hangover in my icy cold soul and was nothing but polite to her. Or at least patient without a scowl on my face. Dammit, I didn't even get a grunt from her!

Like Stephanie from Full House, dude! How rude!

This was in the preferred/priority customer line, BTW. I wasn't in security yet where sadly we've all kind of become immune/numb to all sorts of exciting and fun, borderline verbal abuse. Yaaay!

It was a mix of this as well as the pretty much ghetto surroundings that is now Delta's terminal in LAX that sunk my shit mood further into the shit abyss. Trash everywhere, ripped-up/nasty carpet, and, if I do a quick math scan, roughly 50% less seating than needed for the sheer number of passengers. Total recipe for low-grade depression. And, yes, I can scan my ticket myself to board the plane myself with your scanner thing, Patty with Delta who I’m sure you’re a delight at holiday parties and make a mean sonofabitch of a chocolate chip cookie and such, but no need to be a glaring cee-word about it. I just thought you kinda did that occasionally, sorry.

I dunno. I guess what really bugs me about all this is because, to me, this represents a much, much bigger problem that seems to be becoming the "new normal" in our society. And I just can't fuckin’ deal. I can’t let it slide anymore as it gets to be more and more of a problem. I'm a simpleton who doesn't want to live in a society where we just treat each other and our surroundings like utter trash.

Anyhow, it would be crazy-easy to pass this emotional shit-show on to others but I didn't, and it was an internal fight, dude. It was a difficult fucking mindful ass-fuck of a choice because emotions are tough to control. They ARE! That’s why everyone’s fucked up. And we’re all expected to know it all too (but that’s another rant for another time).

I wanted to sulk. I wanted to “teach strangers a lesson”. But, no. I continued on the day and let people in in front of me; I smiled at people (not in a creepy way hopefully) and just overall tried my mindfully-mindful-mindfulness not to spread the bad-juju-shit-funk-whatever you want to call it further in this world that needs a ginormous hug.

This is simply an attempt to explain the sort of mental exercise I try to practice on almost a minute-by-minute basis in life without getting all weird or witchy or new-agey or racist or insane or eat-too-many-avocado-and-sprout-sandwiches-because-I-still-like-eating-like-an-vegetarian-grandmother-from-the-70s or whatever label I’m sure to get flung at me.

Oh!!! I almost forgot my point because I’m senile.

I decided to actually Facebook message Delta with my complaints today. Much less words than this, of course, duh, but I tried to Nutshell My Shitshow as politely yet firm as possible.

Delta gets back to me within hours, apologizes, wanted more details, and credited a great deal of miles to my account for the inconvenience.

It’s a small thing, and it’s all corporate, and everything is awful, guys…I know. I KNOW.

But *try* to hang in there. We’re going to need a truly special and patient and weird blend of wonderful type of person to get through this all.

I have no idea what’s going to happen and I apologize for writing the worst long-winded horrid Shel Silverstein story ever but I’m not sure what else to do except love.

Look Where You're Going

If someone took me aside when I was a tiny lil' tot, and told me that, in 2017, when I was an adult and had to navigate my brain and body through public places like grocery stores or airports; that about 98% of adults apparently were never taught to:

LOOK. WHERE. THEY'RE. GOING, I miiiiiight've walked off a cliff.

Here's the deal. I'm getting tired of constantly having to get out of everyone's way whenever I have to have the unfortunate task of leaving my house. Is it a power move? It's not just the phone distraction thing, either. It's a full-blown out-of-it-ness due to perhaps Xanax, lobotomies, mood disturbances, day dreaming, super-powerful edibles...most likely a mix of all of the above. Add the phone on top of it and it's a miracle the remaining 2% of us that can somehow walk in a straight line still manage to be alive.

Lately I'm all about "the endgame" with all sorts of aspects about life and I think what I'm going to start to do is just let the 98% of folks do their thing and completely bump into/hit/walk through me. This will happen again and again, until I am left to die underneath a pile of humans who couldn't be bothered to look the hell up.

Ok. That's a terrible endgame.

Perhaps I'll just start windmilling everywhere with both arms going haywire as a protective move. This would be awesome because I also have this bizarre, freakish double-jointed shoulder deal where I can actually make both arms go completely over my head while both hands are locked together. I can also do this with the individual limbs and if I work my endurance long enough, I might be able to get to a point where this is just default. 

Imagine Townshead but BOTH arms flailing on an insane raven-haired chick.

Also, imagine the amount of calories I'd burn! My arms would be sick buff, dude.

But alas, I will inevitably hit a billion people and get sued a billion times.

Thus, in order to keep my survival in tact, I must be the one to move out of the way.

I'm wondering when it'll be my turn to not look where the hell I'm going! When is it Sharon's turn to bitch and whine and get offended by every single thing and also be that person that's becoming more and more prevalent on social media where they get angry not only at those who dare to disagree with them, but become venomous at those who AGREE with them?

Don't believe me? Oh, it'll be a phenomenon. It's part of the process where we're doing this whole Destroying-Ourselves business and we seem to really be into this business.

I'll save those musings for another time.

In the meantime please be an adult and look where the fuck you're going.

xo

Well, fuck. Just learned of the passing of Leonard Knight, whom most of you probably don't know. While it was probably time, it still doesn't make it any less of a bummer.

I'm not a religious person, really. "Spiritual", I guess. Seems that's the conclusion most folks our age kind of end up coming to, doesn't it? I've always joked that eventually maybe I'll find Jesus or Buddah or King David or whatever somewhere down the line that will help lift me up from my darkness and mind crud and daily struggles. Like finding whatever that is will just magically end all of that sort of human emotion, right? Like all of a sudden I'll be all on the perfect path and be one of those perfect people I hate so much. You know those assholes. The ones who always know the exact right thing to say, the ones who know exactly what games to play to "achieve", well, at least in the short term. The ones who always look so picture-perfect...not only on the social media outlets, but in real life too. And that's the real hard-core shit, because making oneself look totally completely RIGHTEOUS on social media is really quite easy. It's a totally different animal to continue that parade into "real life".

These last few months have probably been some of the most difficult of my life. Through it all I'm doing everything I can to not feel completely alone, to stay as strong as I can, while being supportive of everyone else, and there are times where I've completely lost it. Which is weird. I've cried harder than ever, wanted to die at times more than ever, yet still felt more than ever. "Totally losing it" was a somewhat familiar pattern years back...but, looking back, what was I acting out and "losing it" for? Kind of stupid, selfish, almost adolescent reasons, really. But that's all part of growth, isn't it? So now the feedback loop of the goddamn UNIVERSE has looped back to a similar place, but it's harsher. And way darker. It is a tad wiser, however. Hopefully. And all I can do is hope that somehow there's some sort of light at the end of the tunnel that will lead back into the more peaceful, chipper part of the universe feedback loop.

Can you dig that? Does that make sense? I won't go into specifics but hopefully you can [DIG!] on my stupid generalities.

Leonard's passing has sent my mind into overdrive, because I am reminded of a time about 5-6 years ago where I was going through a similar dark, shitty time. During this time there were some incredible souls that entered my life - some are gone, some remain, yadda yadda - who essentially saved me. We decided to head down to the Salton Sea one weekend because 1) we're weird, 2) one of us wanted to explore the deep appreciation of such a horrific place, and 3) one of us needed a weekend away to soul-search.

This was before I became a travel-bug. Simpler times, really. But, in actuality, shittier times. Any second away from the literal Asshole of Southern California that was the 101/405 interchange (some would argue Bakersfield...oh, and they're right. I digress. It's still pretty much being in an anus, though) was a second I lapped up like an eager puppy dog who'd been left out in the desert for a week without a drop of water. Anything away from that place somehow restored everything that was lost/sucked out on a daily/hourly basis...much like water, a life-sustaining...you know, life-sustaining type thing!

I'll let you research Salvation Mountain and Leonard and all the information that's out there if you care to. All I know is this place sent a surge of rejuvenation through my whole entire body I'd never felt before in my life. I'll never forget being lucky enough to see Leonard and having him give us the tour and showing us how he made all the trees and windy roads and flowers and all of the amazing, incredible, colorful, joyous subtleties that made this mountain pretty goddamn other-worldly. At the risk of sounding like a dramatic piece of crap, to this day I truly believe something about this place saved a part of my soul that day.

Thank you, Leonard, for everything that you did in your unique, bitchin', crazy life. May you rest in peace and enjoy all whatever the other side has to offer. I truly do hope that, in your words, it's eternally keeping things simple in letting love and letting (if you believe in it/him/her) God.

You're Not Allowed To Like Anything You Like...Ever.

I was originally going to post another 7-paragraph, intentionally-ranting, obnoxious Facebook status about this random, having-to-do-with-nothing memory that just popped in my head. Then I remembered I have a blog (and a podcast) that is intended for my inane ramblings, and this is a good thing, for passive-aggressive statuses screaming "Pssh, you old, retarded Fuck-A-Tron, Facebook isn't YOUR THERAPIST!!!" would likely follow, or I'd get one of those smart-alec comments underneath the oversharing status that end up getting more "likes" than your original post. That really is the Price Is Right fail horn of life, right there. 

Write or share enough of your soul so that family members will "unfollow" you and proclaim that you're just too weird or out there to understand, which is nice, although it's a-okay for them to air out super highly personal grievances into the ether once actual things start happening to them. But we're not here today for those kinds of niceties. Nope, I will once again focus on all things music, and try to pathetically wrap up in a big ol' virtual word tortilla on how my life tends to go. Because this incident happened years ago, yet it still feels like it's the main theme. The Main Theme. The Main Thing. You know? With everything. Relationships, work, (trying to) stay fit, starting to finally learn music theory...

Staying true to the "Fucking hell I'm an awkward dork-butt" theme, Rush became a huge part of my life in my early 20's. My early 20's were screwed up like anybody else's, but I didn't really outwardly look weird. Some would say I was once maybe-sorta kinda "cute". Meh. It's like trying to turn the universe inside-out when you tell a human being who feels like an extremely strange muppet-butt on the inside to look and feel "sexy"! That shit comes easy for some folks, and god bless them. I envy those people. It must be, like, relaxing, or free up your mind to focus on other shit, to be totally ok with who you are.

Anyhow, Rush. Oh, boy, did I go all out fangirl for them. Still do. I have a freakin' Rush tattoo on my arm that people tell me is supposedly there for the rest of my life. Huh. That's funny, because permanence was definitely not on my mind when inkin' up or walking down the aisle to get married. That's sarcasm, and if I have to tell you twice, go away, oh, but grab me a pineapple smoothie and a wheatgrass shot and an e-cigarette should you choose to come back, asswipe.

This was before their Beyond The Lighted Stage documentary that quickly ended up being everyone's favorite Saturday-morning-hangover film, because VH1 Classic replayed it like every Saturday for 387 Saturdays, or something, it might have been 784 Sundays. Things get mixed up. There was a tragic shortage of cool Rush gear, especially for chicks. So I'd end up making a lot of my own Rush merch, with iron-ons that you could print out through your computer. My favorite was this bad-ass Power Windows shirt I made, on a dark charcoal girlie tank with this supreme image on the front:






Then, one night, all proud, I stupidly wore it to the Rainbow. And proceeded to get the Lecture Of All Lectures about what is acceptable rock music to listen to and what's not. And, oh, my god. Butt metal gets enough crap, but it lives on and on and on and on and on forever and always will at the Rainbow Bar and Grill. So, for instance, a Bang Tango shirt would be acceptable. Prog is more artistically/critically acceptable to some degree, but in most normal social situations you'll be made fun of for that, too. I mean, it's not like you take a chick home and immediately put on like, Gentle Giant or Camel for the evening's love-making soundtrack. Can you imagine? I love butt metal, prog, shitty boy bands, and 70's AM pop hits, so my music defense armour is pretty darn thick. Plus, I just don't give a shit. Never really have, and this is getting worse with age.

So I'm outside on the patio, you know, stone-cold sober as it always was in those days, and this greaser-hipster dude starts talking to me. Then he noticed my uber bitchin' homemade Rush shirt and got, like, legitimately angry. Like, it really disturbed him. Which I guess is understandable. There's this cute young chick and BOOM! It's like the homemade Rush shirt was a scarlet letter of HURDEE-HURR-FUCKER-I-LISTEN-TO-MATH-ROCK-AND-PEE-THE-BED or something. This is more or less how The Anti-Prog Lecture of 2003 went:

Grease-Ass: "Rush?! Oh, my god...are you serious with that? What did you....did you pick that up at a thrift store? Please tell me you're being ironic."
Me: "Haha, actually, no. I legitimately like them, a lot."
Grease-Ass: "Do you have a problem listening to GOOD, ASS-KICKIN' rock and roll that's just in 4/4?!"
Me: "No, not at all, I..."
Grease-Ass: "WHY DOES EVERYTHING YOU LISTEN TO HAVE TO BE IN SOME FUCKED UP TIME SIGNATURE?!?!!"
Me: "Dude. No. Not at all. I just like...."
Grease-Ass (shouting at this point): "OH, HI, LET'S MAKE THE MOST COMPLICATED MUSIC EVER TO EXIST IT'S SO BAD! IT'S SO ROBOTIC!!! WHY DO YOU LIKE THIS?!"
Me: "Dude. I LOVE 4/4 rock n' roll, you have..."
Grease-Ass: "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH JUST 4 ON THE FLOOR ROCK AND ROLL!?!?!?!?!"
Me: "Nothing, dude. Calm..."

As he's screaming about 4/4 rock and roll, he harshly stomps his cowboy boot so hard on the ground, like Tommy Lee or Alex Van Halen would be TOTES JEL of the conviction and hard-core force this dude had, and I swear the concrete might have started cracking. Oh, and he was also clapping his 4/4 rock and roll, fuck-shit-fuck-shit rhythm like right in my face and looking me dead in the eye all intense, almost like he was on a mission to exorcise that asshole 19/4-loving demon in my soul OUT so I could just goddamn enjoy REAL ROCK AND FUCKING ROLL. I was buzzed and probably not as scared as I should've been. Never in my life had I wanted to laugh so fucking bad, but I knew that wouldn't be good news for the remainder of the night, so somehow I bit my lip and kept it in, as I'm getting a lecture about my horrific and offensive prog rock habits by this...dude.

Thankfully by this point I'm done with my cigarette and say, "Dude. I dig Sex Pistols and Aerosmith too," walked back inside, and the Grease-Ass, as far as I could tell, looked like I just slapped him in the face.




Some of my smarter friends have asked me why I used to frequent places like the Rainbow and Club Vodka and crap. "You're too smart for that," they'd kindly say, which I appreciate now, looking back. Since I feel like a complete moron 99.9% of my life.

Perhaps I was "too smart". I dunno. I'm glad I partook, though, because then where would stories about prog-hating Grease-Ass come from? A toad's butthole? A chipmunk's scrotum? A piper's fiddle? Pssh, I think not.

Stop Liking What I Don't Like!!!

For the first time in decades, I actually ended up getting into a popular television show. I'm usually about 5-6 years behind on the cool television shows, and honestly don't spend all that much time watching...well, "live" television, anyway. *self-satisfied sniff. joking. i'm joking.*

There's been many, many series I caught up on and appreciated later. Sex and the City, for one. Star Trek is another.

Now that everyone has access to everyone's thoughts and feelings and musings at every given second, it's basically just not okay to express any feelings, ever. Oh, but please don't be shy! BE YOURSELF. However, don't offend anybody. Yet, beeeeee yourself! Hey, you're awesome! Hey, you're an idiot. You're BEAUTIFUL. You're ugly as shit. No, but please...speak your mind! OH BUT I'M HURT BY WHAT YOU SAID!!!!

I honestly don't believe we, as human beings, are meant to process this strange, extreme state of constant info/opnion bombardment we've found ourselves in.

It's a good thing, to some extent, to live in such a critically-thinking world, but come off it with the passive-aggressive attacks towards people who might have enjoyed [breakingbad]. No, I apologize, I don't muse about what's going on in the government on the social media Interwebz. I don't post mushy shit about my family or my boobs or my stuffed monkey every second (although those are all wonderfully criticized, too).  Do we need yet another voice out there harping and lolly-gaggin' about shit that folks are already harping and lolly-gaggin' about in your blue and white daily scroll?

No, not really. Now I am a hypocrite. But we all freakin' are.

Thing is, if I, or Peter, or perhaps a little overly-excited Sally happened to fully enjoy the Breaking Bad series, and possibly made a comment or two (or a silly Bitstrip...oh yeah, but those are stupid, too...no, but they're HILARIOUS!) - get off our dicks about it. Get off a few dicks and perhaps focus on getting off your own, or your husband's, for the love of gawd.

It was one of those refreshing instances in where it was a complete sleeper that ended up becoming popular and widely-acclaimed because it...get this...1) actually lived up to the hype the whole way through, 2) had legitamtely great writing, 3) had really fantastic, talented, gifted acting and 4) hello, power-pop/unsung musical hero community - "Baby Blue" by Badfinger is now on the charts again thanks to this stupid show.

This was a soul-gripping adventure the entire way through. I'm probably wrong, but I believe it started around 2008 or so. I would propose a non-educated guess that 89% of folks weren't really aware of it until it was available streaming on Netflix. And guess what? We bit. And we enjoyed it. So, fuck us. Fuck us for liking something POPULAR!!!1one! for one goddamn instance in our lives.

That doesn't mean that I'm blinding myself to all the shit going on in this ridiculous, fucked-out world. If I don't post about all of my musings and political thoughts on the Information Super Highwayz, well, shit...I'm just another sheep like the rest of them, I guess. Please, please, PLEASE. Judge me entirely on what I post on the Facebagz.

So, seriously, guys - get off each other's dicks for a second. People are into what they're into. Leave it be. Some people are all about their pets. Some are all about their family. Some are all about pink elephants and circuses and midgets and really weird, fucked-up pornography. Some are all about cats in 80's sunglasses floating through space. Some are really, really, really into Alex Lifeson or pissing on Obama toilet seats in their spare time. People are weird.

Perhaps I might be better off exploding at some random person because they posted picture #45,285 of their cat, or child, or new home, or new car, or new wife. Or new commuter mug.

There's two groups of folks that have driven me insane with this whole thing. The "OMGZ NO SPOILERZZZZ!!!" folks who apparently don't know how to avert their eyeballs away from text on a screen. I get it, I'm always way behind on everything. I just don't look at the stuff. Why is that difficult?

And finally, the "OMGZ SHUT UP ABOUT BREAKING BAD UR SO STOOPIDZ!!!11" camp.

Shut up about your shutting up, to which I will say shut up to my ranting, and will tell myself to shut up. I encourage everyone to think this way.

It was just very, very refreshing to have an authentically well-crafted artform to escape and look forward to. Thus, I will ask again.

Get off our genital regions, because you're on them in a harsh, annoying way, about something we might have found ourselves enjoying. Because you post about shit that you enjoy - and, fuck - how DARE you enjoy ANYTHING in life?! Who do you think you are?!?!

Thank you.

Sexy Turtles?

I follow the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle van on facebook. It's pretty groovy. Not sure if it's a modified VW bus or what. I haven't been nerdy or motivated enough to research the specifics, but it's one of those things that makes you wonder why the world is still so fucked-out and messed up when something as bodacious as this exists in it.

Then there's the sexified ninja turtle scheme that's crept up over the last few years. With all my sexual deviancy and weirdness, there's something about cosplay that still creeps me the hell out, and I know that's going to make me sound ridiculously uptight.

I love looking at super-hot women just like anyone else who finally gets over being insecure, or someone who used to literally feel like a knife was being plummeted through my heart whenever I saw a body I perceived as "better" than mine. Oh, are those my issues? I'm sorry, I'll save those thoughts for therapy.

But yes, women turn me on, as should be the case with anyone with a pulse. But the ninja turtle thing is throwing my girl-boner off. Is it having random flashbacks of watching the cartoon on a Saturday morning in the 80's whilst munching on Mario vs. Zelda Nintendo bitchin'-kick-ass cereal? A random thought of the weird Baxter fly guy and how you used to totally think he had an intense child-molester vibe?

Or maybe it's this now-tramatic-to-look-at photo, when I obviously thought it was pretty BAD. FUCKIN'. ASS. At the time.

I obviously ponder very important, timely issues...the gears are churnin' here. Woman superheroes work perfect in the I'm-A-Woman-And-Will-Dress-Like-A-Slut-This-One-Day-Out-Of-The-Year Halloween realm. Wonder Woman, She-Ra. She-Hulk!

She-Hulk was my SUPERHERO JAM. Her comics were amazing. Shut up.

Well, as my grandfather used to say, I do believe it's as simple a formula as the Male Superhero not translating to the Woman Halloween Slut.

Yeah. So boning a girl dressed like a ninja turtle would be weird. I guess if she was hot enough, or you were drunk enough, or both, it wouldn't matter. What if she was dressed like a slutty Aquaman, though?

Halloween used to be a really big deal to me, and it still kind of is, but in a way, every day's kinda/sorta like Halloween in the Robinson abode and/or in my brain. In addition, we've been taking our annual vacation at the end of October the last few years...since I got a job that actually allows me to take vacations. It's a perfect time to - it's generally good weather, like, everywhere. It's to celebrate our wedding anniversary. And by this time of the year I'm usually beat to a pulp by the daily grind (or, life in general, let's be honest) and am one step closer to being put in a home. So, it's necessary.

We always come back the day before Halloween, so typically we're exhausted and don't really get into the spirit that much. Forget driving the 30 miles to LA (finding less and less reasons to go out there as the years pass - but that's another rant for another time) - no, I'm not doing it. It's horrible enough to spend 4 hours going 30 miles - not gonna spend 6 hours to basically masturbate in a bucket with parade people and THE BROS. Oh, my god, the BROS. There's so many. I can't handle one more popped collar bonerhead bopping around for the sole purpose of putting his penis in a vagina that evening.

We usually just get drunk on wine, bust out the Theramin and joke how it's going to "scare the kids!!!" HAHAHAHAHAHA. YOU KNOW. It sounds scary and funny! TEE-HEE!!! Stupid musician humor. We're all such a bunch of nerdy twats, when you really think about it. Seriously, go watch like any instructional video out there, by anybody. Plus, kids don't give a shit about anything.

Oh, and we watch ridiculous Halloween classics, and give candy to the 2 children that stop by our door. Then inevitably I'll want something "headier" because I'm obviously such a high-functioning intellectual person, and want to watch Clockwork Orange or some documentary about the mistreatment of the elves that have to hand-paint ALL the letters on ALL the keyboards of ALL the computers but it's Halloween so it's all hot women being killed at summercamp.

And you know what, it's always the best evening ever, because it's spent with the absolute bitchin'-est love of my life.

See? I'm not completely dead inside! I still have feels. Even though I attempt to kill them all.

Until next time.

Because I'm 13...

Put your iPod on shuffle and join the fun. And judge. JUDGE away!

LIFE STORY: In Hell - Peppermint Creeps
Opening Credits: Let It Roll - Velvet Revolver
Waking Up: Say When - Backyard Babies
First Day: Hot Girls In Good Moods - Butch Walker
Falling In Love: Rosanna - Toto
Fight Song: Lazy Gun - JET
Breaking Up: Peace On Earth (Little Drummer Boy) - David Bowie & Bing Crosby
Life's OK: On A Shelf - Johnny Monaco
Getting Back Together: Daylight Goes To Town - UFO
Wedding: Tonight, Tonight - Smashing Pumpkins
Birth of Child: Your Sweet 666 - H.I.M.
Final Battle: I Go Astray - Jason Falkner

I can't even begin to tell you how amazing all of these are. This was fun. I miss these silly lil' time-wasters.