Is there really such a thing as a Walk of Shame?

You betcha!

But here’s the thing…  it’s only a walk of shame because you let others make you feel that way.

Seriously.

They are just horribly fucking jealous because you got laid hard last night and they didn’t.  So they try to shame you.

This should be the fucking Cock Strut Home, where you proudly walk bow-legged home leering at everyone who didn’t get none last night, mutherfuckers.

Fuck them.

You had yours, and it was fucking good! Be proud!

Walk of shame, my ass!

Oh, wait… No. That’s a different kind of walk home…

Actually…. Fuck.

That kind of stands on its own.

…and that’s all I got to say about that…

All of my life, I have “felt” certain moments go by.

Some of them, I feel, are the turning of a page, as though my life were a book and something is being continued on.

Some of the moments are like a new chapter. Sometimes this feels like the end of a chapter, with a sadness, or a relief, that this part of the story has finally ended.

Some of the moments are unique and special. You suddenly notice them, after you are already in the middle of them, and the world seems to come alive, in full Technicolor™ all around you.

And then there are the ones that seem to happen the most often.

I call them The Gut Punch.

They are insidious.  Waiting until just that right moment when you are feeling relaxed. Perhaps even comfortable with yourself. When you are around people and, for once, not feeling self-conscious. When you don’t have a care in the world, and everything is good. That’s when the universe will Gut Punch you.

It will always be an ironic thing.

If you are speaking in front of an AA group, you’ll discover the donuts you bought are rum balls.

If you are showing off your new, non-slip shoes, your feet will stick to the floor and you’ll fall and break something.

If you are telling the world you are in love with someone, that someone will walk in the door, drunk and high, with three hookers on their arms.

The Gut Punch.

All I can tell you, is that when you have that quiet, contended, nothing-is-wrong moment, you need to watch your ass.

Some of us really don’t like the cutesy stuff so much.

Especially on the news and the Internet. It’s too much. Overdone, sickly sweet. It creates an artificial bubble of nice in an ugly world, creating a dichotomy so artificially strong that sometimes it literally makes some of us physically sick.

But not always.

Always is the problem.

Sometimes a little cutesy stuff is good. It can distract us for a moment from the terribly ugly, give us a second to take a breath before we have to dive back into the shitty stuff.

Because the problem with the shitty stuff is exactly the same. Especially on the news and the Internet. It’s too much. Overdone, disgustingly distasteful. An artificial bubble of hatred and over-zealousness in a pretty world, creating a blight that feeds upon itself and grows and infects everyone, at least a little bit, with its displeasure, anger, and resentment.

So sometimes, we need a little cutesy stuff to kill a little shitty stuff.

But it’s a losing battle. Cutesy stuff doesn’t always win when applied as a salve, but shitty stuff, when thrown into a pile of cutesy, ruins it all, every time.

So next time you are trying to decide whether to be naughty or nice, take a moment to decide. Feed the beast, or dangle a feather in front of it to distract it.

It seems so romantic, so perfect.

It’s a daydream we all aspire to, whether we are young and wish it would happen or old and wish it would have happened to us.

Some of us, I guess, look back on it with fond memories.

But is it really that great?

I mean, yeah the highs are freaking high, but the lows are bottom of Hell’s Grand Canyon low.

So many turbulent emotions we don’t (didn’t) (still don’t) understand. Getting so upset at the smallest perceived slight, when there wasn’t one to start with. Arguing over things we both see the same way but say differently.

Jeez! I don’t want that ever again!

All I want is the fairy tales, the anticipations, the afterglows.

The highs.

Yup.

The highs.

So. I have claimed Mr. Vodka as my own, and I am his.

-Jane

Maybe!

Go here to see.

http://janevodka.com/?p=40

Sometimes I have to wonder if dreaming is really good for you or not.

I don’t mean night-time sleep dreams, but rather daydreams and aspirations and hopes and wishes.

My whole life I have listened to the poets, the writers, the artists, the teachers say to use your imagination, to follow your heart, to reach for the impossible goal….

But isn’t that just setting 99% of us up for failure?

It seems like when you are young and try to do things, everyone tells you that you can’t, you’re too young. Then you get older and they tell you to act more mature, be responsible. Then you get even older and people won’t hire you, won’t take a chance on you. And then you are too old. Maybe you don’t give a shit what they say anymore, but you feel like shit anyway, so … shit.

Meanwhile, you have the dreams of the things you want to do, but they seem to beat you down constantly, instead of giving you hope that you will make it someday.

Don’t beleive me that they beat you down? Go back and look through old photos. How does that make you feel? Do you get happy looking at all of the pictures of your young beautiful friends and yourself? Or does it make you the epitome of melancholy?

Be honest.

You know why? Because you’re not looking back and thinking “Wow! We had such great dreams, and they all came true!”

Nope.

Kind of the opposite.

So I have to wonder. Would 99% be better off if we would have been brought up to beleive that we would be happy if we would just do our jobs right the first time, spend time with our family and friends whenever possible, sing Christmas Carols, and try to enjoy life as we work our way through it?

Oh, wait. That sounds exactly like the things people used to try to teach their kids. I remember my grandmother saying stuff like that.

Maybe I should have listened to her.

I mean, I know she didn’t much like the crappy part time job she had. (She worked at JC Penny’s in retail.)  But really she did it for the extra pocket money and to meet people. She liked both of those a lot. I know she didn’t like doing laundry, or dishes, or cleaning house. But she loved playing tag around the sheets on the clothesline, the whole world was happy when she was cooking, and teasing kids with a feather duster or that monster vacuum cleaner while she cleaned was nearly something she lived for.

What were her dreams and hopes?

I don’t know.  She never told me. She never cried over not reaching them. She never wasted time sitting on the porch and thinking about them.

She spent her time doing her job right the first time and then enjoying the shit out of everything she could.

When I look back, that’s kind of what I wish I would have done. Instead of spending years wasting my life dreaming about what I wanted to do, I could have been enjoying the shit out of what I had.

Now it seems, all I know how to do is wish I had something I don’t.

That’s kind of what they taught me.

How do I stop wishing I hadn’t wasted my life and just enjoy what I do have now?

No one ever taught me that.

But Vodka helps! I always enjoy the right now with Vodka.

Kind of.

That’s my blog post.

Just “blah.”

For some reason Monday morning is the time for blog posts.   #MondayBlogs I think it is. 

Why?

Blah.

Do you really think those people wrote those on Monday morning? I’m pretty sure they wrote them last year (New Year’s joke, ha ha. Blah.) and set them to post on Monday morning.

Me, however. I really did. I’m writing this right now. Monday morning. 7:22 am as I type.

And all I can say is “Blah.”

Nobody writes posts Monday morning.

Posts are meant to be written Friday afternoon when you are making sure you won’t have to work Monday morning. Or Friday night, when you’re toasted.  How the hell else do you think people come up with happy-go-lucky cheer-you-up bullshit?

The only people who do their blogs Monday morning are people doing the current news.

And sops like me.

Blah.

It has been pointed out to me that my web page does not reflect the angst and bitterness that my Facebook Page and my Twitter feed do.

It has been pointed out to me that, should I truly want to be successful, I need to be consistent.

It has been pointed out to me that doing what I like to do, in a manner that I like to do it, is not the proper way to do do things.

Well. I would like to point out a few things myself.

I am human after all. I am a walking, talking, living, breathing inconsistency.  I love to hate things. I hate to love things. I eat things I don’t want to, I want to eat things I don’t. I drink to be happy when drinking is what makes me unhappy.

I could go on with this list forever. So could you. We could sound like Sphinx from Mystery Men, all night long.

But the point is, some people should mind their own fucking business. If I’m happy fucking tickling myself with a feather in a field of fucking daisies, why the fuck would someone come interrupt me to tell me there are probably lice on the goddamned feather and that daisies are poisonous if I mix them in a hemlock salad?

You know what’s wrong with this world? Fucking CONSISTENT people!

You know what I’m gonna do now? Go plan what to mix my fucking vodka with tonight, because I like to mix things up.

(Wow… apparently someone’s ass is chapped, you might think. And you’d be right. Sometimes, it’s not so much what you say to someone, as it is consistently saying it in an ignorant way. For example, this post is full of angst and bitterness, wouldn’t you agree? And, should you read anything else posted on this web page, I would guess you’ll find more of the same. If you don’t, you likely read one fucking thing (or none!) and generalized it to the whole. )

(Ha! I just realized I finished this off with a pun! Awesome! I think that means I will mix my vodka with something tropical tonight. I’m feeling festive now!)

Traveling is a serious thing. We have to choose our traveling companions carefully, wisely, and with forethought.

How far can you go with someone you don’t trust.

How well can you sleep not knowing if they’ve got your back.

How much can you enjoy yourself when you are thinking you wish you had chosen someone else instead?

Traveling is a serious thing. And life is a long journey.

Choose carefully, wisely, and with forethought.