Poop Knife

Ok fam. Real talk.

Have you ever heard of a poop knife? Seriously. I'm not shitting you. Barum barum tss.

Poop knife. Two words I never thought I'd ever read or say aloud together.

I'm part of a strange and fun Facebook group, Weird Secondhand Finds, and one day someone posted a cool metal object. It looked like an antique letter opener but wasn't sharp or pointed enough and had a loop at the top. The poster said they weren't sure what it was but bought it because of the cool ram/calf head on it (see below).

Curious what people said the item was, I went into the black hole of comments and practically every post called the not-a-knife a "poop knife".

I couldn't help it. I had to know what the fuck a poop knife was.

Turns out there's a Reddit article that went viral, opening everyone's brown eye to the wonder of a butt blade.

https://www.reddit.com/r/confession/comments/7p8puq/light_i_was_22_years_old_when_i_learned_that_not/?st=JCCSBP5T&sh=f591af5f

Anyone who says they haven't looked down at the porcelain throne, curiosity turned shocked turned impressed, at the sheer size of what their behind is capable of is lying to themselves. Enter the poop knife.

I want to tell you more about it but honestly you should read about it yourself. It's not just about laying big turds and having to chop them up for the toilet to suck them down.

There's so much more silly shit. Literally.

You Outta Know

This post definitely isn't an Alanis Morissette song.

You outta know, all my unsubscribed readers, that I've been away. Duh.

I needed some time off.

Without my big vacation getaway, aka Burning Man aka most people's worst nightmare, I was left wonton for some time off work. Time off from working out and watching what I eat all the time and some time on with people I usually only see at the burn.

I also feel it's only fair that I share with you that My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") and I went our separate ways prior to my absence.

Shit happens. Sometimes love isn't enough but we loved deeply regardless. Sometimes something is so good in half of your life but completely devoid and inept in the other half. That's how it was for us; perfectly brilliant at home in our downtime but on completely different pages socially. The dichotomy was boggling and eventually created a sink hole.

As I told him, I'll tell you. I'm so utterly grateful and thankful for the time we spent together. He was my first subscribed reader lol!  I thoroughly enjoyed our time together, much of it filled with laughter. He is a wonderful guy that made me feel so loved and special. I'm in the unique position of being happy of our time together, rather than feeling used, embittered, and hurt. I never was one of those people that would write a social media "thank you Dear John letter" for everyone to read, to show how brave and bold and spiritually woke I was to dealing with life's disappointments and bullshit, but here I am. No one was wrong. No one did anything reprehensible. 

MSMF was a constant source of entertaining posts so I don't know what the hell I'm going to do now. 

I'll probably need to regale you with boring stories of my own stupidity or the idiocracy of good friends and family as I've done on occasion. Ya'll are just going to have to bare with me.

And while another man friend may come into my life he won't be MSMF. He'll be known to you all as someone else but he won't be My Special Man Friend. He gets to reserve that special title and I am forever appreciative for the time he spent with me and for inspiring this silly blog that I oddly care so much about.

Thank you.

But Do You Love Me?

It's great to be you. You know, you. All of you.

All the things you don't apologize for and frankly all the things you do.

But do you love you? All of you? And can you expect or hope that someone else will love you?

All of you?

Is it fair?

I have been loved when I shouldn't have. Loved someone else when I shouldn't have. Hated myself and hated others in the name of love.

But when you ask yourself or ask someone else - do you love me? Inevitability the answer is... yes?

Frankly, love is either born out of obligation - family - because we've abused each other enough years to warrant loving someone so long they can't quit you or love is born out of will - self/another - because we've abused ourselves enough to warrant the respect it takes to not quit, to lose is to fail and that is not an option.

I've been me for 40 years. And facing my 41st year all I can say is it has come at a price.

A price seemingly everyone else around me for the most part has been willing to pay.

I have always thought I knew sacrifice, commitment, love, affection, partnership... but apparently I don't.  I'm reminded each time I get it wrong that I didn't know what the fuck I was doing from the get-go. I know so many people around me, friends and family that have "figured it out", but my silly ass is still blowing out in the breeze.

The cruel irony of my life is all I've ever wanted is to be loved. For my love to be enough for someone else.

To be the one. The one. Enough for some one. To change. To be changed. To fall in line. The same line.

They tell you you have to be enough for yourself but the truth is I've been enough for myself for a long time. I grew up poor and alone and I'm sick of it. It's been long enough, scraping and fighting for scraps of love and affection and acceptance. I'm tired of it. 

I've made myself into this fit, beautiful, accomplished woman but to what end? At what price?

I endeavor to love me.

But do you love me?

Another One Bites The Dust

There hasn't been anything silly said or done recently. Sometimes life just isn't funny.

I've been known for finding humor even in the most inappropriate situations. But lately I've got nothin'.

So I'll regale you with an oldie but goodie story.

About 8 years ago my dear aunt's father passed away. I was never close to him personally but I attended the funeral to support my aunt as well as my cousin, who's more like a sister. As we walked out to our cars after the service, the heaviness and sadness of the day started to take a toll on my cousin. By the time we reached our respective car doors my cousin was borderline hysterical, sobbing and cough crying. I couldn't understand much of what the poor thing was saying, so I just stood there nodding, "mhmm-ing" and "I know-ing" through her meltdown.

In the distance you could hear an ambulance.

Barely audible at first but as the sound of the wailing sirens increased so too did the wailing of my cousin. Soon she was drowned out by the deafening sound of the approaching ambulance. We both stared in silence as the ominous and foreboding presence of the ambulance screamed past us. Now silenced we just stared at each other. I don't know what came over me but this is what I said and did next...

Head bobbing back and forth, I sang out "Mm mm mm. Another one bites the dust."

With her face red and eyes swollen my cousin's mouth dropped open. In shock. In horror. I'm not too sure.

The crying and hurt and sadness that filled the parking lot seconds before turned into inappropriate cackling. We fucking died laughing. We were now crying from laughing too hard. All of it was just so surreal; death of a family member, the ambulance flying down the street toward someone's fate, and then me - singing Queen. It was so terribly inappropriate and awful of me but so damn fitting. And funny. It brought my cousin out of a deep well of sadness and that's all that mattered to me. Offensive or not, it worked.

We still laugh about it to this day.

Sometimes life just isn't funny. But you can die trying to make it funny.