I consider myself an opinionated woman with an open mind. Some might use the term "know it all" or bitch...but this isn't an English lesson.
The "rant" you are about to read probably has absolutely NO basis in actual fact, but what I consider first hand experience. They are my thoughts on things and I have really wanted to blow some steam off on some of these topics. I also understand fully that I'm a bit dramatic and sometimes wholly inaccurate.
CRASH TEST DUMMIES
I would LOVE to "watch out for motorcycles". How about they NOT ride on the lane dividing line between traffic. Really? Inching your way up two or three car lengths at a stop light? or even better, zooming beside me and the other guy going well over the speed limit on the interstate to get through traffic? Who said they can do this? Maybe the bumper sticker should read Watch Our for MORONS who drive motorcycles. Tis the season for the low IQ to be out topless on a high speed piece of machinery. Some things really should have appropriate warning signs. Do not operate this machinary if you can't spell 401K.
NEXT!
The older I get, the more I realize that we will not be celebrating many more of those "50th Wedding Anniversary" events. It pisses me off that people judge someone based on their marital status, or lack there of. That there's this nostalgic and overly romantic ideal invisibly permeating every soul in this country, ridiculing us for- not sticking through the hard times, for giving up on our relationship, and sweet baby Jesus even forsaking our marriage vows. We're being brain washed to think that we don't have the "stuff" it takes to be successful in a marriage, and shame on us because of it. As if we are somehow lacking in personal strength and fortitude and have the values of a piece of plywood. I say..go fuck yourself. I'm going to get all Freakonomics on you now. Women could not get their own credit until 1975. My mother was married and had one child and it would have required her husband to get credit. That's not shit that happened on the Mayflower. That JUST happened. Women before that were married off by their parents (read: asshole fathers) for land, or hell maybe just a nice fat pig. Women had so little value in society, and even today do not always get equal pay as their male counterparts. So tell me, how is it that living and being married to a man for 50-60-70 years is romantic? Endearing? You can bet your sweet ass that alot of those husbands didn't think of their wives as equals or even care what kind of sexually transmitted diseases he brought home to her. Those husbands who could physically and mentally abuse those women for 5 and 6 decades. BRAIN WASHED. Women could not possibly imagine they had a choice to get out. Guess what? We do now. My marriages (yes 2 of them) taught me a lot about who I am, what I deserve, and what I kind of bullshit nonsense I will not endure. I want to thank my second husband for helping me to totally annhilate my credit. Men no longer get a free pass. Women are independent, successful, strong, and capable of being happy without some jackass trying to convince her otherwise. I'd gladly be married for 50 years, knowing full well that I can take care of myself if that train some how goes horribly off track. So please....take your passive aggressive guilt trip about how "they don't make 'em like that anymore" and shove it down someone else's throat.
ALIENS-
It seems so simple to me. Maybe it's just not as hard as everyone else is making it. I was having a conversation with a friend and the topic of moving to Europe came up. I immediately thought..that would take big bucks. You would need to have some serious cash to make that kind of move. I'm sure it would be amazing. Ah..the freedom we have to see the world and enrich our lives and our livers with yummy European culture. It's awesome that it is, in fact possible.
Open the GOD DAMN BORDERS and then regulate that shit. Let people come into our country and enrich their lives, better themselves as citizens of this world. Make it easier to get here and it will become easier to track people who are total ass wads and need to be deported. Imagine the 1 million people who would get the opportunity to pay taxes and apply for loans and start businesses. When those folks got off the Mayflower (really, twice in one blog?) they had no right to be here, but there wasn't any reason why they shouldn't be either. The locals didn't like us at that time..and look what happened to them...The Casino Industry. So I ask- what is the harm? Drug trafficing..seriously? Have you been to Southern Indiana? Pretty sure those entitled, white upstanding American citizens have done enough of that themselves. The more you build fences, the more you escalate what people will do to get here. Knock Knock??? Why, Jose! Nice to see you, come on in.
OBAMACARE
I am so far away from politics it's actually a shame, an embarrasing, uneducated shame. I just wanted to preface what I am about to say. I don't know the ins and outs of Obamacare or why everyone's in an uproar about the recent Supreme Court Ruling. What I know about healthcare is this......it's a dirty, money making racket. Hospitals and Doctors have historically been paid based on volume of services rendered. As you can imagine, the hospitals get bogged down with sick, chronically ill patients that end up getting hospitalized a few times a year. Can you say CHA CHING? Now. Being that a lot of people depend on some form of insurance, or government assistance, you can rest assured that those programs are not happy with $20,000 hospital visits (multiplied by millions and millions of visits). What is trying to be reformed is not only that everyone can get access to care, because it is a universal right, but that the care they do get is high quality and cost effective. You end up in the hospital and the surgeon cuts off the wrong body part..sure that's an impressive error. That is not what needs reformed (of course that should never happen, but it isn't what is spending our healthcare dollars.) What needs reformed is that patients who are hospitalized don't get sicker because of the very nature of being in the hospital. If that hospital wants to get reimbursed they had better get their A team out and make sure patients aren't laying in a bed of urine and feces, that there aren't a boat load of duplicated tests to find out the same information and that all patients get the minimum standard of good care. What we had WAS NOT WORKING. Sure Obamacare isn't perfect. It's flawed, there will be peaks and valleys while we all try to make it work. If you want to make a difference then put down your Big Mac and supersized Coke, walk your morbidly obese ass over to your computer and really start educating yourself on the health care crisis in this country, and THEN.. you run for President and change it. We need to be accountable for our own mentality of "I'm broken, now fix me". You didn't get to be overweight in the last month. Your smoking one cigarette didn't give you lung disease but the 30 years of smoking did, and the fact that your diet consists of all fast food all the time, is probably why you had to have bypass surgery at 45. It's not rocket science people. TAKE CARE OF YOUR BODY. Move it around once in awhile, eat things that are grown in a garden, and stop trying to embalm yourself with alcohol and preservatives (that last one was for me!).
That's all I have to say about that.
For Now.
I'm pretty sure I'll share more opinions later. I'm looking at you religion, plastic surgeons, and the welfare system.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
June 25, 2012
There I was...(coming up on almost 2 years ago now) living a life I was ready to leave. Some of you know this story, a personal period full of pain and anguish for me. I revisit it now for personal reasons. For reasons I can't explain in detail, but that the word smith in me feels the need to talk about it now.
Heavier than any feeling imaginable. Darker than any blackest night. My thoughts, my body, my life was unbearable. I tell you that breathing hurt because of the mental anguish of knowing another breath would follow the last one. I just needed it to end. I could not FEEL that way anymore. I've said it before...death would have been kinder, easier in fact. This hollow, hopeless shell of a soul was not me and therefore was no longer of any use to me. My choice was insulin and metoprolol (a medication that drops the blood pressure and the heart rate). I stood in front of the drug dispensing machine at work calculating what I would need. Ironically enough it was my depression that saved me in that moment. I was so hateful of myself that I assumed I would not even be able to kill myself properly and I would end up living through it and forever be known as the nurse who tried to kill herself with stolen drugs. I walked away. Less than 12 hours later I was institutionalized.
This is not a glamorous story. It has no funny anecdotes and there will not be praying tongue in cheek at the end of it.
This was a time of being broken. Of self loathing, hatred in fact, and burial. I sat there..in that institution, not being helped by any "groups". Biding my time and putting on a smiling face (a face that just didn't have tears running down it). My people loved me. I cried to my sisters, my parents, my dearest friend Suzanne. I cried at the loss they would feel when I would eventually be gone. I could not...not live..any longer. I was dead inside.
Hope is a funny thing. We find ourselves hoping for all manner of things..good weather, a raise, a tall dark and handsome man to sweep us off our feet. Frivolous, petty things. I fully believe we should be taught the proper art of being hopeful, not to mention a few other things like self worth, confidence, love, and feeling understood.
The sad and unfortunate matter is that my story has happened to so many people. Maybe you. Maybe your loved one. The space a soul stands in during the very deepest of depressions is unreachable for the most part. Nothing logical will do. It is wholly miraculous to make it out alive. What brings the saddened soul to the surface is not the out stretched hands of those that love them, so much as it is the graceful spirit within that knows you have been down long enough. Breathing faith into the livable life.
One must bury the shell of pain. Shed it and leave it to rot in the hell it created..and walk toward the beauty of being alive. It's not about huge mile stones or bucket lists. It's not about material possessions or fame and fortune. It's about the acceptance of being flawed, imperfect and lost. To embrace each day thankful for the ability to know oneself and ultimately be understood by that most important soul.
Love the people you will love. I beg of you to start with yourself first.
Heavier than any feeling imaginable. Darker than any blackest night. My thoughts, my body, my life was unbearable. I tell you that breathing hurt because of the mental anguish of knowing another breath would follow the last one. I just needed it to end. I could not FEEL that way anymore. I've said it before...death would have been kinder, easier in fact. This hollow, hopeless shell of a soul was not me and therefore was no longer of any use to me. My choice was insulin and metoprolol (a medication that drops the blood pressure and the heart rate). I stood in front of the drug dispensing machine at work calculating what I would need. Ironically enough it was my depression that saved me in that moment. I was so hateful of myself that I assumed I would not even be able to kill myself properly and I would end up living through it and forever be known as the nurse who tried to kill herself with stolen drugs. I walked away. Less than 12 hours later I was institutionalized.
This is not a glamorous story. It has no funny anecdotes and there will not be praying tongue in cheek at the end of it.
This was a time of being broken. Of self loathing, hatred in fact, and burial. I sat there..in that institution, not being helped by any "groups". Biding my time and putting on a smiling face (a face that just didn't have tears running down it). My people loved me. I cried to my sisters, my parents, my dearest friend Suzanne. I cried at the loss they would feel when I would eventually be gone. I could not...not live..any longer. I was dead inside.
Hope is a funny thing. We find ourselves hoping for all manner of things..good weather, a raise, a tall dark and handsome man to sweep us off our feet. Frivolous, petty things. I fully believe we should be taught the proper art of being hopeful, not to mention a few other things like self worth, confidence, love, and feeling understood.
The sad and unfortunate matter is that my story has happened to so many people. Maybe you. Maybe your loved one. The space a soul stands in during the very deepest of depressions is unreachable for the most part. Nothing logical will do. It is wholly miraculous to make it out alive. What brings the saddened soul to the surface is not the out stretched hands of those that love them, so much as it is the graceful spirit within that knows you have been down long enough. Breathing faith into the livable life.
One must bury the shell of pain. Shed it and leave it to rot in the hell it created..and walk toward the beauty of being alive. It's not about huge mile stones or bucket lists. It's not about material possessions or fame and fortune. It's about the acceptance of being flawed, imperfect and lost. To embrace each day thankful for the ability to know oneself and ultimately be understood by that most important soul.
Love the people you will love. I beg of you to start with yourself first.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
June 19, 2012
So there I was at THE country bar in Vegas, my first time and by myself of course. Now.. being that I lived in Nashville and that somehow makes me a superior judge of country bars, I was somewhat confused by the line dancing to hip hop and the enormous disco ball. I mean apparently "country" is different out west! Who knew!
I felt comfortable, even without cowboy boots or cutoff jean shorts. I was doing my thing..sitting back and taking it all in (read: smirking and judging the others). I have a fairly strict policy of not making eye contact with people who freak me out. You know the type. Out of the corner of your eye you might notice a guy limping, or an undesirable moving closer to you, and usually anyone in a cowboy hat and a belt buckle, but I had to let that slide here. These are the people you DO NOT make eye contact with. It didn't matter. The 5'3 Hispanic gentleman with a ten gallon hat on and I was still taller than him tapped me on the shoulder anyway. He pointed to the dance floor. I obviously assumed he didn't speak English. BUT NO! Not only did he not speak English, he could not speak at all. Or hear. Yes- a deaf and mute Mexican wanted to spin me around the dance floor (and really..how could he do that without being able to hear the music??? riddle me that!). Boy was I flattered..or not. The actual thought that went through my head was.."you're kidding me right?" I smiled and vehmenantly shook my head no and walked away. He obviously didn't yell any obscenities at me. Although he might have flipped me off.
Although, in hindsight I'm guessing he would have been better company than the lurking Arab man. (Also under 5'5") who asked if he could buy me a drink, and when I said no thank you he continued to stand and chat me up anyway. One would imagine after my fourth time walking away from the guy he would take a hint. I should have pretended I was deaf and mute. Damn...why am I just thinking that now! Would have been brilliant!
These encounters as a single woman really get me thinking. Is it me? Am I THAT girl? I wrongly assumed that it might be that I am alone in these bars. But then that would not explain the same types of men who wink at me on what I now like to call UNmatch.com. Really, your 63 with more hair on your upper lip than on the top of your head and you felt it appropriate to wink at me, a 35 year old woman. How's that gonna work? Take me out for steak and a side of viagra? Sheesh. Now..I'm not trying to be arrogant, but I'm not ugly am I? I mean, I have good grooming habits. I don't appear to be someone who hates old people or kicks puppies, so what's up with the completely inappropriate freak parade of men interested in me? Now there have been the rare occasions, ok...reverse. Rare occasion..not plural, that a normal appearing, non-cowboy hat wearing, employed man did reciprocate interest. The downfall is the deal breakers. He had 2 children. I just can't go down that road again. Unfortunately, as my great friends Suzanne and Chris pointed out, I might have to start dating younger men as to avoid that pitfall all together. Younger men. Have you met them? My heart breaks a little bit at the thought of an XBox being a permanent fixture in my living room or discussing why I don't want to go to South Padre for Spring Break. And to be honest, as much as I would love to be referred to as a cougar, I think I'll pass.
There are plenty of men out there to give me "attention". 30 somethings that know how to have just the right amount of facial hair and just enough charm to sound sincere, but in my experience they are all Industry guys. Translation..in Las Vegas you work in the Industry if you are a bartender, waiter, in a show, cook, etc. Further translation...I would be the Sugar Mama... that's fun..for like a week.
So what's a girl to do. ...Let's get real..what's a woman, who's been divorced twice, sliding down the back side of her 30's, who might want to have children someday- do about finding Mr. Right? (Tall, dark, handsome, childless, light hearted, and as successful as I am). I thought about twirling one of those signs on the corner. A big arrow that says "no really ..I'm not desperate". I refuse to do any more online dating. Seriously..edisharmony.com hooked me up with my ex-husband last year. No thank you. Next!
So.. and I cringe a little at admitting this, but fuck it. I have enlisted the expertise of a professional Matchmaker. (yikes!!!) I know what you're thinking. OH MY GOD...those really exist?! and umm...yes. I filled out form after form of personality questionnaires, authorized a background check, and jumped head first in the idea of taking my "happily ever after" just as serious as I would purchasing a home, planning for retirement or an epic vacation. And I am telling you right now...I am freaked the fuck out. What if they are all cowboy hat wearing Arabs with snaggle teeth and a lisp? Do normal, good looking, successful men really need to use this service? I would like to think that I am a normal (shut up), fairly ok looking (with makeup and jeans that make me look skinny) and successful (regardless of what my single digit credit score says). So there has to be at least a few prospects out there?
I'm going to die old and alone with cats.
hahahaha....or not.
I'm investing in my future happiness. Time to put up or shut up folks. So.. wish me luck, and give your super cute cousin/neighbor/co-worker/brother my information so that I don't end up dating men who will be out on parole in 10 years (or 8 for good behavior). Because really..if the matchmaker is a bust..I'm going straight to the correctional systems!
Dear Heavenly Father-
My sexual promiscuity may be your reason for making all good and decent men be repelled by me. I get that. For the record I just want to say, if you didn't want us to like it, then you shouldn't have made it so much fun. Huh? See my point. So in my opinion you are partly to blame for this. Now that we have gotten that little issue straightened out I would just like to say thank you for allowing me the strength and fortitude to kiss a lot of frogs and still not give up on my Prince Charming. Your faithful servant, Brooke, Queen of the Frogs.
I felt comfortable, even without cowboy boots or cutoff jean shorts. I was doing my thing..sitting back and taking it all in (read: smirking and judging the others). I have a fairly strict policy of not making eye contact with people who freak me out. You know the type. Out of the corner of your eye you might notice a guy limping, or an undesirable moving closer to you, and usually anyone in a cowboy hat and a belt buckle, but I had to let that slide here. These are the people you DO NOT make eye contact with. It didn't matter. The 5'3 Hispanic gentleman with a ten gallon hat on and I was still taller than him tapped me on the shoulder anyway. He pointed to the dance floor. I obviously assumed he didn't speak English. BUT NO! Not only did he not speak English, he could not speak at all. Or hear. Yes- a deaf and mute Mexican wanted to spin me around the dance floor (and really..how could he do that without being able to hear the music??? riddle me that!). Boy was I flattered..or not. The actual thought that went through my head was.."you're kidding me right?" I smiled and vehmenantly shook my head no and walked away. He obviously didn't yell any obscenities at me. Although he might have flipped me off.
Although, in hindsight I'm guessing he would have been better company than the lurking Arab man. (Also under 5'5") who asked if he could buy me a drink, and when I said no thank you he continued to stand and chat me up anyway. One would imagine after my fourth time walking away from the guy he would take a hint. I should have pretended I was deaf and mute. Damn...why am I just thinking that now! Would have been brilliant!
These encounters as a single woman really get me thinking. Is it me? Am I THAT girl? I wrongly assumed that it might be that I am alone in these bars. But then that would not explain the same types of men who wink at me on what I now like to call UNmatch.com. Really, your 63 with more hair on your upper lip than on the top of your head and you felt it appropriate to wink at me, a 35 year old woman. How's that gonna work? Take me out for steak and a side of viagra? Sheesh. Now..I'm not trying to be arrogant, but I'm not ugly am I? I mean, I have good grooming habits. I don't appear to be someone who hates old people or kicks puppies, so what's up with the completely inappropriate freak parade of men interested in me? Now there have been the rare occasions, ok...reverse. Rare occasion..not plural, that a normal appearing, non-cowboy hat wearing, employed man did reciprocate interest. The downfall is the deal breakers. He had 2 children. I just can't go down that road again. Unfortunately, as my great friends Suzanne and Chris pointed out, I might have to start dating younger men as to avoid that pitfall all together. Younger men. Have you met them? My heart breaks a little bit at the thought of an XBox being a permanent fixture in my living room or discussing why I don't want to go to South Padre for Spring Break. And to be honest, as much as I would love to be referred to as a cougar, I think I'll pass.
There are plenty of men out there to give me "attention". 30 somethings that know how to have just the right amount of facial hair and just enough charm to sound sincere, but in my experience they are all Industry guys. Translation..in Las Vegas you work in the Industry if you are a bartender, waiter, in a show, cook, etc. Further translation...I would be the Sugar Mama... that's fun..for like a week.
So what's a girl to do. ...Let's get real..what's a woman, who's been divorced twice, sliding down the back side of her 30's, who might want to have children someday- do about finding Mr. Right? (Tall, dark, handsome, childless, light hearted, and as successful as I am). I thought about twirling one of those signs on the corner. A big arrow that says "no really ..I'm not desperate". I refuse to do any more online dating. Seriously..edisharmony.com hooked me up with my ex-husband last year. No thank you. Next!
So.. and I cringe a little at admitting this, but fuck it. I have enlisted the expertise of a professional Matchmaker. (yikes!!!) I know what you're thinking. OH MY GOD...those really exist?! and umm...yes. I filled out form after form of personality questionnaires, authorized a background check, and jumped head first in the idea of taking my "happily ever after" just as serious as I would purchasing a home, planning for retirement or an epic vacation. And I am telling you right now...I am freaked the fuck out. What if they are all cowboy hat wearing Arabs with snaggle teeth and a lisp? Do normal, good looking, successful men really need to use this service? I would like to think that I am a normal (shut up), fairly ok looking (with makeup and jeans that make me look skinny) and successful (regardless of what my single digit credit score says). So there has to be at least a few prospects out there?
I'm going to die old and alone with cats.
hahahaha....or not.
I'm investing in my future happiness. Time to put up or shut up folks. So.. wish me luck, and give your super cute cousin/neighbor/co-worker/brother my information so that I don't end up dating men who will be out on parole in 10 years (or 8 for good behavior). Because really..if the matchmaker is a bust..I'm going straight to the correctional systems!
Dear Heavenly Father-
My sexual promiscuity may be your reason for making all good and decent men be repelled by me. I get that. For the record I just want to say, if you didn't want us to like it, then you shouldn't have made it so much fun. Huh? See my point. So in my opinion you are partly to blame for this. Now that we have gotten that little issue straightened out I would just like to say thank you for allowing me the strength and fortitude to kiss a lot of frogs and still not give up on my Prince Charming. Your faithful servant, Brooke, Queen of the Frogs.
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