Category Archives: The Funny SIde

Soulmates

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I have friends who are in long-term with their mates.
I have friends who have just had their hearts broken.
I have friends who made the decision to be the heart breaker.
I have friends who cannot be so bothered with the pursuit and choose celibacy.
I have friends who will not be so bothered with it, but are not choosing to be celibate.
I have friends who are looking so hard for theirs; they are completely deaf to the Klaxons of desperation, which are blasting the eardrums of everyone else around them.

And for what? The Soul-mate (cue echo machine).

To many, the soul-mate interpretation of love is not an interpretation, it is not a myth, and it is not modern. Rather, it is The Way It Is, and the way it always has been.

* presses play on effin_sappy-assed_violins_and_fireworks.mp3 *

Find “The One” and you will be happy.
Find “The One” and your whole life falls into place.
Find “The One” and no pursuit, no passion, no love could be any greater than the love you feel when you finally embrace your soul-mate.

Ah, the amazing powers of the SOUL-MATE
(music crescendo – doves flying – sun shining – heavens parting – angels singing… you get the drift)…

Oh bollocks already!

* And insert record-scratch.mp3 here *

I personally have always had a problem with that theory – it is too damned easy. Everyone wants the easy way out, or more specifically the easy way in love and guess what? It don’t work that way. Yes, this very poet who has dozens of words expounding on the very subject of the perfect romantic love within this very blog said it. Slap on a pair and deal with it, I got more.

Everything worthwhile having gives you some crap, if not out right hell. “The One” is no different.

Contrary to what popular romantic theory (aka TV – Movies – Music – Poetry), would have you believe, meeting your soul-mate doesn’t guarantee “happily ever after.” Things don’t always get easier when you find that special someone and in fact, they might get even harder from time to time.

Let’s face it, even in the Disney-fied fairy tales most of the lovers either went through the “I can’t stand him / her” stage before they fell in love or had to tackle some major shit (and sometimes both), before the happily-ever-after finally kicked in. And are we really sure about that happily-ever-after? I mean Princess Aurora has been asleep for one hundred years! Can you imagine Aurora’s stress on having to suddenly get up-to-date on fashions (oh gurl that gown is so last century!) and modern conveniences (a chamber pot in its own room M’Lord? How divine!) while Phillips is busy still trying to maintain the apparent duties of being heir apparent? (Seriously babe, I couldn’t give a dragon’s fart on whether you wear the pink or blue bustle.)

Okay fine, let’s jump the fairy tales up a century or two:

Yes, Edward Lewis (Richard Gere) and Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts) fall in love in Pretty Woman, but we aren’t there after the screen fades to black to see how the multimillionaire and former prostitute try to make their relationship work past the fire-escape. You know Philip Stuckey (Jason Alexander) the only other person who knew (and not in Edward’s best graces), blabbed that tidbit of her previous employment all over the place, which I am sure was taken oh so well by the other ladies in their snotty little society.

Hell, let’s jump another couple of decades forward to Sex and the City (the television show). Carrie and Big went through years of bullshit (and other lovers), before they got their act together. Years. Yet no one denies those two are soul-mates.

In Sex and the City: The Movie 1, Carrie reads the story of Cinderella to one of her best-friend Charlotte’s young daughter, Lily. At the end of the story, she looks at the little girl and says, “You know this is just a fairy tale, right sweetheart? Things always don’t happen like this in real life”

Let’s stick with our modern-day fairytale princess Carrie Bradshaw for just a tad moment longer. Even after she and Big are married – they learn, in Sex and the City: The Movie 2, with even a love as grand as theirs (*barfing.mp3 *), it ain’t always easy keeping the magic going.

Falling in love, as hard as it sometimes is, is the easy part. Staying in love is work.

The problem is few want to work. Thus, I reiterate my sentence from above…

Everything worthwhile having gives you some crap, if not out right hell from time to time. “The One” is no different.

Ultimately, a soul-mate is someone you can grow with, and the only way to grow together is to face challenges together and challenges are work.

And here is where I’m really gonna set fire to the rain…

Nearly, everyone says and thinks of a soul-mate as the all-encompassing, be all and end all romantic type of love.

I propose a person can have more than one soul-mate and while a soul-mate is always, someone you want to share the rest of your days with, a soul-mate is not necessarily or solely the person you also want to share your bed with for the rest of your days.

But that thought is a blog for another day…

After-cation

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I just returned from an eight day vacation in Las Vegas and saying it was AWE-SOME really just doesn’t cut it. However, it is now official. Two days back at work and I am in the midst of a serious post-vacation funk. And let me tell you, the rumored funk is so very real and is near inevitable in the life of any vacationer.

All the fun I spent months planning for, saving for and laid awake with great night-before-Christmas anticipation for is… over. The photographic proof of my good time is now on my Facebook and the laundry is out of the suitcase, in the hamper, waiting to be done.

Mind you, this funk does not occur overnight. It is something that seeped into my conscience slowly and before I knew it I was completely mired in it. Yet it feels that all of a sudden I am knee-deep in the reality that I are not: A. Independently wealthy, or B. Free from that most horrid obscenity called Work… with a capital “W.”

When I first arrived home, a tired traveler comfortably surrounded by the familiar sights, scents and sounds of my belongings, I couldn’t help but experience that warm There’s No Place Like Home feeling of sleeping in my own bed. Oh, the bliss!.

Then next yesterday comes, I’m back at work and it is a flurry of activity. I am answering emails, returning calls with a well-rested glow that only a true getaway vacation and not a stay-cation can provide. I’m still in the chillaxin’ zone that comes from spending eight days swimming, partying and just being in Vegas baby. By the third recounting of the details of my grand fun I am progressively losing my voice through the chain-smoking hooker stage straight through to Macy Gray with laryngitis. By 9:15 am I have concocted the following sign:

Granted, work expects that I will be “at the top of your game” since I’m so well-rested, when in reality my head is still in the pool (or on the Vegas Strip, or at any of the various parties), minor gaffs are hopefully forgiven. Hey, it took a solid minute and a half to remember my log on password and you want a briefing on what?

Day two brings with it the mofo that is Reality (with a capital “R.”). The alarm sounds for the second time since I’ve been back and I remember that this was why I went on vacation in the first place – to escape that frackin’ alarm and the daily grind that follows it.

Day two is the same as the day one, only worse. The alarm clock goes off like a Star Trek red-alert reminding me that yesterday was not a fluke or a bad joke. I. AM. HOME. And it is only Thursday. I’ve already begun the self-flagellation of: “Where Was I Exactly One Week Ago?” Let me tell you, it is no where near as enjoyable in retrospect as “Where Will I Be In One Week” was a fortnight ago in anticipation.

Sigh…

I’m beginning to entertain flights of fancy about how I might achieve the life of a full-time vacationer. What if I just disappeared? Is it too late to get a degree in Recreation or Hospitality and Tourism Management? How much DO they pay those people who change sheets and fold towels into the awesome animal shapes, anyway? In the interim – I owe, I owe, so off to work I go.

They say that there are five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and finally Acceptance. They are not necessarily experienced in order. The bereaved might vacillate between the five for several weeks or months languishing for a time at one stage or another. So far I think I have experienced all of them and it has yet to be three days.

I know by Monday I will be resigned to my fate and will have quietly accepted my life just the way it is, but I do not like it. I can’t seem to stop playing the “Where Were You Exactly One Week Ago Today?” game. Every time I look at the CSI:The Experience highlighters I purchased and brought to work to remind me what a great time I had there – I want to cry.

Is it wrong that I have not been back a solid three days and I am already plotting my next escape?

The Best Days

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Had a gal named Sadie; she be one bow-legged lady
Big ol’ gal named Sadie; thick-thigh, bow-legged lady
Could drink many a grown man under the table
But the only way to look at her was drunk
If you was able

Had a face so fulla craters, she look like a ‘tater
Whole face just fulla craters, she look like a ‘tater
But in the middle of the blackest night
With them bow-legs wrapped around
She be one pretty sight

Woke me up early one morn, just this side of dawn
Oh woke me one morn, just this side of dawn
And threw some tiny pair of panties at me
Saying I hope she worth the time
So who they be?

And them be the best days, yeah the best days of my life
Oh they be the best days, yeah the best days of my life

Well I was so outta luck, so I ran, got in my truck
Oh I was SO outta luck, I just ran, got in my truck
But she stood in the doorway holdin’ the key
Yelling boy you ain’t takin’ a thing, nary a thing
That belongs ta me

She say boy I told ya twice, in fact done told you thrice
Yeah she had told me twice, in fact done told me thrice
If I was ever stupid enough to get caught
I’m a lose her and everything
She ever bought

And I knew it weren’t just talk, so I started to walk
‘Cause her shotgun know how to talk, so I started to walk
But she said boy them clothes you gots belong to me
And all she let me keep were my guitar
And my skivvies

And them be the best days, yeah the best days of my life
Oh they be the best days, yeah the best days of my life

I’s followed by Lucky, our one-eyed pet that’s mangy
Yeah good ole one-eyed Lucky, three-legged and mangy
But Sadie just whistled twice and that ol’ dog
Sat down in the middle of the road
Still like a log

Not knowing what to do, I walked down to Sue’
What else a nekkid man goin’ do, I walk on to Sue
But ‘fore I can even say what’s up Luvva
I greeted by her new man and his gun
Name of Bubba (Dang!)

So now I ain’t gots no wife, just my guitar and barely my life
No I ain’t gots no wife, no truck, no dog – just guitar and my life
And I start ta thinking halleluiah I’se now free of pain
I looked up inta the summer sky
It had started to rain

And them be the best days, yeah the best days of my life
Oh they be the best days, yeah the best days of my life

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One Stop Poetry Form Monday — The Blues

Valentine’s Day

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Ah, Valentine’s Day!

A time when laughter and romantic notions of love fills the air and our hearts, giving us all the warm fuzzies.

Unless you are single and especially if you’re of the female persuasion. In that case, Valentine’s Day is to Love as Disney is to Grimm’s Fairy tales.

Valentine’s Day has this amazing ability to magnify the negative feeling of being single by Hubble Telescopic proportions.

An older male (you define older) who was a confirmed bachelor, in the classic sense, was simply a guy who has chosen not to get married. Not that there is something specifically wrong with him which would make him undesirable; simply that he has made the conscious decision to not marry. There are no (well little) negative connotations to that.

The word for a confirmed bachelorette, in the classic sense, was spinster, even if she was in her twenties. After all if a woman wasn’t married and presumably procreating, apparently all she was good for was twisting thread at the spindle? I’d like to throw in that as I typed the word “spinster” my grammar check immediately green-lined me to use the phrase “unmarried woman” instead. I didn’t know my grammar check was so PC! Now if said spinster cum unmarried woman dares to indulge her needs as a sexual being – well, you fill in the blanks… And Gee! Look how much has changed over the centuries in that regard!

If you have friends / Families with significant others you will also have to put up with giggling plans for the big V-Day and you know (or at least really, really feel) they are just showing off. You kind of feel, while they are canoodling in the corner, they’re also glancing at you with semi-pity from the corners of their eyes, thinking: Why don’t you have someone (yet)?

Now throw in all the Jared, “Every kiss begins with “Kay”” and 1-800-FLOWERS ads permeating our televisions and emails.

If you’ve been single for a short or long while , other than the November-December holidays in general (which is its own mind fuck unto itself for the single gal), this is the time of year where you’re most likely to question of yourself: What is wrong with me?

Yeah, I’ve been there more than enough times and do you know what the answer is?

NOT A DAMNED THING!

Sorry Jerry McGuire fans, but I’m about to piss you off. A significant other enhances who you are; they do not complete you, because you are already a whole person. A significant other does not make you any more important or special than before that person interred your life. Because you value yourself, that makes you important. Because you do not just take whatever is thrown your way, for the sake of having a partner, you are special.

In addition, it helps to remind yourself that these “oh so in love with love for the sake of the love of love” semi-perfect couples around Valentines Day are likely the same semi-perfect couples who had a blow up just last week, or last month or whenever. That angel of a partner may be the same person one of your BFFs may be bitching loudly about in another couple of weeks or months.

Go get yourself something sweet, a glass of whatever you want to drink, light some candles, play some anti-love songs and just take it all in stride.

Mr. Palmer

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Artwork: The Single Man — Gerhard Haderer

Did she make you mad?
Again?
An object of ridicule?
Again?
Did she leave her sad taint upon you?
Again?

Come get me.

I am there…
There whenever,
There wherever,
There whatever.

I’m not gallant,
I just know what you need.

Come get me.

For I know you
All of you,
Inside and out
To the letter “T”
I’ve known you before
The last one
During this one
And perhaps
After the next one

From your junior
’Till when
You’re much elder
It’s how we
Connect.

Come get me.

I’ve seen
Sides of you
No one’s ever seen
I hear you cry
And when you scream
You know
I don’t care.
I won’t
Imbrue you with
Needless guilt.

Come get me.

In joy
In anger
Or when
You just need
To take
Some of the edge off
When feeling
Awry.

Come get me.

And when you’re done
Spent, lying back in repose
I’ll go back,
Back to the shadows
From whence I came,
Until the next need
When you’re pressed to be

Happy again

I’ll be ready for you
Always
Or at least
As long as
Your arm holds out

Come get me

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Submitted for:
 Jingle Poetry – Pot Luck:
Week 46 | Love and its not being there.

I’m pretty damned sure this not what was expected when the subject of “Love and its not being there…” was thought up for this week’s Pot Luck, but.. it does fit the bill * wicked grin *