Boo

Feel the clock beat on your back
As you pack your bag
You wonder if your sanity
Is something you ever had

And you wonder how the darkness
Panting at your door
Could drive a man to turn his back
And run for other shores

Pull your coat around your throat
But you just can’t fight them back
The guns, the tears, the whistling fears
As the future fades to black

And the things you love begin to fade
Though you try to hold on
As you grip the sands with aging hands
Til all that’s left is gone

--"Song of Sacrifice" by Scythian

Just how I'm feeling now. Not sure why I decided to post something after a year of not posting a thing.

My Best Friend Died This Week

What do you do when you lose the one person who you would call to talk about these things?

In my case, I guess you blog about it since I have no one that I feel will give me an answer that makes sense because the one person who always made sense is fucking dead.

I've known John Madden since I was a bratty 15 year old. He was a regular at a coffee shop that I also frequented. That coffee shop became my home away from home--somewhere I could go to smoke, cuss, and bitch about all my 15 year old problems. And John Madden listened even when the other coffee shop regulars- who ranged in age from early 20s to 40s- rolled their eyes at me.

I remember originally thinking John was poor. He use to always say "Heather, I'm on food stamps!" It wasn't until many months later that I realized he was not on food stamps at all. It was a joke. He was not poor--he was by no means rich either--but he worked hard and had a honest job laying tile for the higher income Floridians.

John was the kind of guy you probably thought was gay when you first met him. He was one of the best interior decorators I will ever meet and his voice sounded a bit feminine.  He was, by all means, what they refer to as "Metro Sexual" but John was far from gay. He loved women. He might have loved them too much because he had a knack for dating women who would walk all over him. I always told him he was too damn nice.

John was a proud man. He knew what he wanted and he usually got it. I will never forget one Valentine's day when we decided to all go have dinner together at Makotos, a local hibachi restaurant. I called to make reservations the day before Valentine's day (Which is a bad idea) and they told me the earliest reservation available was 9 pm. Before I could confirm the reservation, John grabbed the phone from me:

"Hello, this is John Madden. I want reservations for 7pm." he exclaimed to the poor hibachi hostess on the other side of the phone

"We only have 9pm available sir" she retorted

"But this is John Madden. I want reservations for 7."

"I'm sorry. We have no availability at 7. Only 9"

"I'M JOHN MADDEN."

There was a moment of silence as the hostess tried to process what was going on.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Madden. How about 7:30? Will 7:30 work?"

And so at 7:30 on Valentine's day John, his daughter Chloe, Bill, and myself sat down for a nice dinner at Makotos.

Now before you start thinking that the poor girl on the phone thought he was the famous football player, remember that his voice was very high and feminine. No one thought he was the football John Madden. But John spoke with such a matter-of-fact attitude that it scared people into thinking he was someone important. John Madden always got his way. John Madden was important.

I watched John do this more times then I can count over the years and I started deploying this same strategy in my own life. It really does work as long as you believe that you are honestly "the shit."

John was a proud man but he was also a very humble man. His door was always open to just about anyone who needed a place to stay. He often had different friends and family members, including myself, staying with him. He would give you money if you needed it--even when he didn't have it to give. He could talk some shit if you pissed him off well enough but most of the time he gave you the benefit of the doubt and was very kind. Far more kind then I am. Sometimes it amazed me that we were even friends since I have a pension for talking shit and he always saw the good in people.

I always took John's advice. Always. He is the person I call when I am sad, lonely, upset, need to know how to stain the cabinets in my bathroom, what the best window company is, or how the hell to cure constipation. He always knew what I should do. He always had an answer. He was John Madden after all.

And now I feel awful. Every time I talked to him, I felt better about my problems but then I would always realize that we had just talked on the phone for the last 3 hours about only me. We said very little about him or his mom or his family or the things going on in his life--although we did dedicate some time to talk about Chloe. Overall though, It was always about me. And he always listened and always remembered and always asked questions. I would hang up the phone and feel satisfied that I got what I needed but I was never satisfied that he got what he needed from me. Now I will never get the chance to feel like I gave him that satisfaction. I often wondered if our friendship was one sided or if I am just being paranoid about not being a good friend. You see, I don't have many close friends and I often get anxiety that I am not treating the few close friends I have with enough respect.

Not to mention John eerily "knew" when I was super upset. He would always call me when I was in the worst places in my life. I would answer the phone and he would immediately respond with "What's wrong?". He said he always knew when his friends were sad--even when they lived hundreds of miles away.

John saw me through all my worst moments: Drug abuse, breakups, opiate addiction, chronic bladder problems, depression, job loss, job gain, sudden hearing loss, and many others. He watched me grow up and become the women I am today--and I am proud to say he had a lot to do with who I have become.

But now I also feel like I stole something. His daughter Chloe is only 18 years old. I feel like I got all the years with John that she deserves so much more then I do. Age 18 - 24 were the hardest years on me and the years I leaned on John the most. Dear sweet Chloe will not get that crutch from her daddy that I was able to so gratefully have. I feel like a thief.

John, I honestly don't know what I am going to do without you. I don't know what to do now. I feel like my flashlight has gone out in a very dark tunnel with no exit in sight. I know this is so incredibly selfish for me to say but you left without answering the one question I now need more than any others: WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITHOUT YOU?

He was my best friend and I will miss him dearly

My blog is going to suck from now on. That is a promise.

It's been awhile since I have posted anything but badly drawn MS paint pictures (Which were super-de-duper fantastic I might add). The main reason for my discretion is because I have been writing for everyone else and not myself.

Once my blog started getting bigger (and by bigger I mean 10 more people started reading it and most of them were family), people kept throwing ideas at me about what I should write about. I stopped writing for me and instead wrote for everyone else. Whenever I actually wrote something for me, I would get phone calls and emails from people asking if I was alright because what I posted "scared" them. Well, apparently you don't know this but I am a completely scary person.

Now that I am going to write things that I want to write about, you will probably find me to be justifiably egocentric and/or clinically insane. I assure you that I am both.

I no longer care how much I fucking swear and whose feelings I might hurt. I no longer care what the fuck you think and, most importantly, IF I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT MURDERING PENGUINS, DOTS SWIMMING IN MY HEAD, AND HOW YOU SHOULD BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT THEN I AM GOING TO FUCKING TURN MY COMPUTER ON AND WRITE IT. Then I am going to post it. Then you will be influenced by my neurosis. Then you, in turn, might one day become as neurotic as I am. I like to call it the circle of absurdity. <Insert Lion King theme music here>

I also like to ramble. A lot.

Lastly, I no longer care about your fucking grammar. If you want to be a grammar Nazi, then by all means do so, but do it to someone who fucking gives a shit. Oh wait, I give a shit-- I give a shit on the hood of your car.

So no more bullshit. This is all me. Naked, uncensored, uncut, and overly provoked by stupid fucking people. And that is a promise.

.........And I really will shit on the hood of your car if you tempt me.

Heathercentricism

Forget what your teachers taught you. This is the way it really works.

A message to my boss

I sent this picture to my boss tonight after I had to work late. I thought it was funny so I figured I would share.

Suicidal Snowman

My dog is addicted to frog

Sunday:

Monday:

Tuesday:

Wednesday:

Thursday:

Friday:

Saturday:

Later that Day......

Don't let this be you. Talk to your dog about the dangers of frog.

Damn you Thermodynamics. I like it when it's cold.

 This is what I look like when my husband brings home my favorite white wine:

And this is what I look like when I realize he forgot to buy the white wine that was already cold:

The End.

I want to murder a penguin

Earlier this week I wrote about a rare and powerful day when I felt adorable.  No one liked it. 

So I thought I would go back to the dark humored Heather that you all know and love. Darkside has been tuned in. Enjoy.

____________________________

Have you ever had one of those days where you are fed up with the way things are going and you feel like the only way to make yourself feel better is to murder something as cute as a penguin?

Because I feel this way all the time.

Penguins are so delightful and cuddly which is exact opposite of how I feel right now. For some reason, my reaction to this contradictory existence is to murder a penguin in the hopes that its death will somehow make me feel cute, cuddly, delightful, or maybe even warm and fuzzy inside.

Common sense unfortunately tells me that by no means would I feel warm and fuzzy after killing a penguin. I also don't want to find out what would happen to an inmate who is imprisoned for penguin murder.

But day after day I am haunted with thoughts of brutally murdering an adorable, wild animal. Something will always upset me and I will think, "I'm so angry I could...

 

OR

AND POSSIBLY

OR EVEN

 

I think about murdering a cute and furry creature so much that I might be considered psychotic at this point. I know murdering woodland and seafaring creatures is bad but I just can't help myself . They always seem so damn happy. I have tried to erase these kinds of thoughts....After all, I am a huge animal lover.

But the next time my computer crashes.....

Or the next time I get a papercut.....

And possibly the next time my husband forgets to bring home milk....

Or even the next time my mother calls.....

Killing imaginary wild animals by violent and awful means is fun!  Try it the next time you're angry!

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Psoriasis is adorable and so am I!

Sometimes you just have those days when you wake up and you're like

But not today

And it's not because I ate a whole pie for breakfast

And it's not because I drank 2 bottles of wine all by myself.

It's because I woke up this morning and realized

That's right. I am adorable on the inside and out.

Even though I have psoriasis on my chest,

spider veins on my legs,

and the mouth of a sailor,

I'm still adorable despite these shortcomings. In fact, my shortcomings are what make me adorable. If you would like to argue with my new found enlightenment, then you can

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I Like Pie

I like pie. (Pie with an E. Although I like Pi too as the header to my blog suggests)

I like chocolate, lemon meringue, banana cream, apple, berry, cookies & cream, pumpkin, pecan, and key lime pie. In fact, I like any type of pie.


 One time I had pie in the desert. I called it dessert in the desert. It was fun.

This is a picture of me & my hubby just minutes after eating my dessert in the desert.

I like pie so much that my female dog is nicknamed "Pea-Pie":

Pea-Pie

and my male dog is nicknamed "Poo-Pie":

Poo-Pie

Poo-Pie does poo a lot but he doesn't actually poo in pie. (Thank goodness!)

If I could eat pie everyday, then I would. My entire fridge would have nothing but pie in it.... And maybe a gallon of milk because milk goes good with pie.

Even though my teeth would rot and my weight would increase drastically, I would still love to eat pie three times a day.

I would marry pie if I could. However, I would not defile pie like they did in the movie "American Pie".

I hate that movie.....

There is a special place in hell for people who do this.

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