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Dear black professionals,

White people get annoyed when black people add titles before last names where said titles aren’t necessary and normally aren’t used.

I can see calling your doctor “Doctor Jones.”

I can see calling your preacher “Pastor Bob” or “Brother Bob” or “Rabbi Bob” or “Child Molesting Bob.”

But lawyers?

Why is it that when I call Tyrone Smith, Esq.’s office, his assistant responds with “Attorney Smith is away from the phone right now…would you like Attorney Smith’s voicemail?”  Do you think my receptionist says that shit?  Fuck no, she doesn’t!

And how come my black clients are all “Attorney Muskrat, what is our court date?” or “Attorney Muskrat, when will my check be coming?” and “Attorney Muskrat, do you think Attorney Fullofshit will ask about my marijuana arrest when he does his cross?”  Do they think I feel respected?  I don’t feel respected.  I feel like I’m wasting time with each extraneous syllable.  Time that your ass is paying for, Holmes.

Stop it.  Just call me by my first name like a normal person.

Unless you’re daring enough to stand on my conference table and exclaim, “Oh lawyer, my lawyer!”
That’d actually be pretty cool.

First of all, admire the new digs for SecondHand Tryptophan! Thanks to the lovely Rent a Geek Mom, the design went live last night and I’m really liking it. Hope you do, too. Caitlin did a great job. My bud, Mic, drew the header graphic for me, so a big thanks to him, as well.

If you see anything wonky or notice some weird behavior on the blog, please let me know.

Second, for all my mom friends, hope you had a wonderful Mother’s Day yesterday.

"I'd like to say hi to SecondHand Karl and congrats on the new design!"

So I started watching “Live with Regis and Kelly” (sorry, Shannon) this morning, and then President Obama sees the need to preempt everything at 10:00 AM to announce his new Supreme Court nominee. Snore. Why can’t Barack get a clue and start his press conferences at 7:00 AM or noon, when nobody gives a fuck about what else is on TV? Or maybe 6pm, when the news is ALREADY ON?

Sure, this Elena Kagan (whose last name is close enough to Kegel to make me giggle) may be helping shape the very laws of the United States one day. But she’s already irritating me by interrupting my morning TV.

For future reference, major flood or earthquake? Local tornado warning? Plane crash? Mud wrestling in the Senate? Karl winning the lottery? All fantastic reasons to interrupt TV with an announcement. Short of that, fuck off and wait until the noon/evening news. Or hey, how about showing that shit on the channels I expect to see news on, like CNN or MSNBC?

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

I’m a good tipper. I’ve had many friends who wait tables and I know they bust their ass. You have to really be a crappy waitress to get less than 20% from me, yes, because I’m appreciative, but mostly because I don’t have the patience to do what they do. Or the coordination. Or memory. I hear you’re supposed to remember what people order and shit.

It’s the waiting I have trouble with in my life. Sure, I’m easy-going (mostly). I try to be patient – and sometimes I succeed – but mostly I suck at it.

2010 has been kicking my ass thus far, and the past week hasn’t done much to show me that it’s about to change any time soon. I’m tired of my life, I’m tired of the waiting. The Year of Resolutions can blow me right now. I’ve been so depressed of late that nothing seems to be getting done…not checking sugars the way I should, haven’t been working, haven’t been going to the Y. Suck it.

Friends say I need to grab the Universe by the balls and give them a tight squeeze. I think that’s a great idea, I answer, as soon as the universe lets go of its vice grip on MINE.

I lost a close friend this week. Not lost as in “she died” or “I misplaced her.” There was a series of blowouts in recent months, and this past week served to show me that waiting on a satisfactory explanation was a waste of time. Months I waited, and for what? Nothing. In the end, rather than talk about it, I got cut off entirely – blocked – and that’s been quite the blow for me. I thought we had a far deeper relationship than that. Seems I was wrong.

I realized a while back that the very thing I was waiting for (an answer that would make sense) wasn’t going to materialize. No answer would make everything that’s been happening OK. I was hoping things could be salvaged, but then the decision was made for me, and here I sit, writing off what was a very important relationship.

I’m seeing lately that patience, which they SAY is a virtue, is really a sucker’s game. Waiting by idly for someone else to make a decision often brings disappointing results.

The question now is how do I know what is worth waiting for (or if anything is worth waiting for)? How exactly do I grab the Universe’s scrotal sack without the incessant junk-punching it’s giving me?

I’m gonna start with less waiting. I’m worth more. It’s counter-productive, particularly when it’s the kind of waiting that precludes me from making a move until the other person makes their move. I have shit to do, I have a life to lead…Lord knows what that looks like, but I’m sure I have better things to do.

If I’m not important enough to deal with, fine. If you’ve got other things on your plate, fine.

Just don’t be fucking surprised if I’m not still waiting on your ass when you’re finally ready to get to me.

a

According to CNN, the United States Postal Service will shortly be announcing their plan to cease Saturday mail delivery starting next year. In my opinion, it's a combination of poor management, antiquated procedures, and recockulous amounts of red tape that have caused the USPS to end up in this position. Maybe by wiping the slate clean and treating it as a business, firing useless employees, rewarding performance, and keeping up with trends, they could have stayed ahead of the curve. As a part of my business, we have a bulk mailing permit. We have to bundle our mail in a specific way and drop it off at a special handling center to be processed. Three years ago, the centers were open until 9 PM, six days a week, and there was usually someone there answering phones until midnight if you had questions. Now? The hours are from 10 to 3, Monday through Friday. It's unbelievable, and if I had another option for sending something via mail, I would use that instead. Unfortunately, I'm stuck with this shit until enough people complain that the USPS has to make changes, which will probably take 10 years.

To help the Post Office with their projected $238 billion shortfall by 2020 (yes, that's a B), here is my Five Step Plan To Save the Post Office:

1. Do Employee Evaluations. Take the postal employees who can't speak or read English and move them to a job where they don't need to speak or read English. Do NOT put them in charge of customer service at the local post office or mail delivery. Take the postal employees who have physical disabilities and move them out of roles that require physical activity. Take the employees who have mental disabilities and fire them. They'll be able to work at Wal Mart. Give your management incentives to improve efficiency in their district. It doesn't have to be directly financial. Treat the top 50 districts in the country to a dinner at the White House and let them meet the President. Create a government rewards program that pays bonds for high performance. Do SOMETHING to get these fucking people to care about their jobs! The woman at the Bulk Mailing Center told me, in response to a question I asked, "Oh, honey, I don't know. I'd ask my manager, but she really doesn't care anymore. She's never here and she doesn't really do anything. She's retiring soon." Are you fucking serious?

2. Penalize people who visit the Post Office. Banks have managed to cut some of their costs by trying to limit customer overuse of simple tasks. Grocery stores and places like Home Depot have automated self-check out lines for people who aren't completely stupid. Create an automated line for those people who just need to mail a few letters or Priority Mail envelopes. Set up 6-8 kiosks where people can place their document to get weight and stamped, and pay with a credit card or cash. Have one employee watch all 8 kiosks and help out. If people wait in the normal line to buy a stamp or mail a letter, instead of using the stamp machines and automated kiosks, charge a 50% convenience fee.

3. Listen to your employees. The best ideas that you're going to have to improve your efficiency is going to come from within. The people who see customers every single day are going to see the holes and bottlenecks that management won't. By rewarding ideas from the people who work for you, you'll excite your employees and keep them personally and emotionally invested in your success. A happy, excited employee will get their job done much more efficiently than a dull, lifeless, zombie fucking employee like the ones I see every day at the Post Office.

4. Increase interest in stamps. Release a new series of stamps with photos of Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus, and the Jonas Brothers, and "accidentally" release a sheet of them that have the word "cunt" printed across them. "Try" to keep this error under wraps until it gets "leaked", and inflate the value of the erroneous stamps so that they're worth several thousand dollars each. This will re-ignite the interest in philately that used to exist, and younger people who only use online bill pay will become interested in buying stamps again, just to see if something like that happens. Or, if you're not willing to do that, create exclusive deals with celebrities and those idiots from Jersey Shore to appear on stamps and other Post Office merchandise that can only be purchased from the Post Office.

5. Advertise intelligently. TV commercials? Seriously? You're the fucking Post Office – everyone knows who you are, and wasting the millions of dollars that it takes to create a poorly designed TV commercial reminding us that you exist or touting free pick-up or Priority Mail is a waste of our time. Let's see – how could you market more effectively? HOW ABOUT THROUGH THE MAIL?!? You have the addresses of every person in the fucking United States. Use that information. Send out postcards, send out brochures, send out personalized fucking letters that say "Dear Adam, in 2009 you received over 18,000 pieces of mail from your loyal postal carrier. We wanted to thank you for your business and remind you that our friendly employees are available to help you with any questions. Here is a coupon for one free Priority Mail flat rate mailing, which you can send anywhere in the continental United States, just as our way of saying thank you. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to email me personally at bob.smith@usps.gov. Sincerely, Bob Smith, Manager, Altamonte Springs Post Office."

The. End.

I’ve gained 7 pounds. Not sure why. I have been exercising. Isn’t that the point of moving, to LOSE weight? Or at least not gain any?

Sigh.

Waiting. I hate it. Yesterday, I waited with Mom at the doctor’s. Almost an hour. With weak Edge, at best.

Visit went well. Mom is now officially without both her leg brace and the thumb brace. We should hear from PT this week to schedule her therapy. You couldn’t pay me to be in that room when they start working her knee. I’m not ready to hear my Mom talk like Hilly.

Fucking cocksnuggling sonofaWHORE! Touch that knee again and I’ll rip off your head and shit down your neck, you festering pool of donkey piss!

Today, we went to Social Security to ask a few questions. They have a brilliant system. If you go into Social Security at, say, 15 years old…then, by the time you get to the window, you’re probably eligible for Medicare.

They also tell you to turn your cell phone off before entering. Whatever. Listen, I’m barely convinced that my cell phone is a threat on a plane 33,000 feet in the air. I’m certainly not shutting it off in the Social Security office. I did, however, mute it.

What? I’ve got to get my Moxie on.

Patience. I don’t have much of it. I quit asking God to give me patience, because it inevitably means He provides me a shitton of situations in which I HAVE to be patient. Screw that. I don’t have the patience to gain patience legitimately.

I don’t like waiting, especially when the ball is totally not in my court. I chomp at the bit, grasping at something to do while I sit around and do, well, nothing. Waiting on YOU. Ugh.

Waiting on friends. Waiting on doctors. Waiting on the assclown in front of me in the checkout line at the grocery store to pay with all coins. Waiting on my meds in the mail. Waiting on 2HT to be finished. Waiting on April to get here so I can see Shannon. Hate it all.

SecondHand Radio Returns

One thing I have been waiting for is SecondHand Radio to return. It’s been months since Mom broke her kneecap. I tried one show after that and it didn’t go over well. I needed a break while Mom healed from her break. Well, she’s walking around now – slowly, but steadily – without a splint, so that’s good.

Thursday at 10pm Eastern, 2HRadio comes back. My guest is the lovely Maria, aka Mommy Melee.

Please mark your calendars, tell your friends. We’re back. I’m returning to one show a week, though. Thursday nights. Twice a week was too much.

Live chatroom to play in while the show is on. You’re all welcome to call in and talk to Maria, say hi, ask questions, whatever. Go to the SecondHand Radio page and get all the info.

Looking forward to it. I’ve missed my show. Thankfully, the waiting for that is nearly over.

I haven’t lined up any other guests. If you know of someone you’d like to hear as a guest, let me know. Even if it’s you.

a

I gave a speech for a public speaking class in undergrad about how it was cool to wear red ribbons and talk about supporting money for an incurable but preventable disease, while another disease killed more people and was much less preventable.  I spoke of a Homecoming Queen from my hometown and delivered an argument for funneling more resources toward a disease that takes people unpredictably and in numbers far greater than the other disease that was completely preventable but more hip to get behind.  I got an A- and was told I sounded a little “too much like Rush Limbaugh” and should consider lawschool.  Noted.  For the next two years as I’d run into classmates from that course in other classes or football games or out at bars, they’d ask about that “girl I gave the speech about who had cancer,” and I’d have to tell them she was gone.

My last year of lawschool, a friend named Karen graduated near the top of our class, got hired by the biggest firm in town, and then learned she had cancer while studying for the bar exam.  She passed the test, went through chemo, and invited me to several charitable events requiring black tie attire, because she knew I owned a tux and liked to throw back a few beers and dance for 3-4 hours straight, even if we were the only ones doing so in a room full of law partners and charitable people with grey hair and wrinkles and were unaccustomed to a white guy who liked to shag with a black girl.  But she died a few months after everything was supposed to be in remission.  Right before she was suddenly gone (after the illness had gone into remission), The Complete Lawyer interviewed her.  The last question and answer were:

q: What Do You Want To Make Sure You Accomplish Before You Die?
a:  I want to enjoy every day. Make the most of it. Whatever time I have.

At the beginning of 2009, another friend from lawschool named Celeste told several of us who’d gathered for a New Year’s happy hour that her chemo was going well and that her solo venture was succeeding.  I announced my own plans to go solo and looked forward to having her as a source of advice and encouragement as I pursued my own dreams of self-employment and advocacy for the un-advocated.  But she died 6 months later.  I sat by myself at the funeral and “kept it together” throughout, until we were supposed to walk down to the front and shake her husband’s hand and say something comforting,  but I couldn’t do it, because what does one say to the guy who’s just lost his wife?  Instead I stood in the back and cried a bunch while a few of my old classmates tried to tell me it’d be okay.  She was supposed to turn 40 the next day.

A month later, I was walking back from lunch provided by a woman trying to sell me on using her company for structured settlements when my cellphone rang, and I learned that the partner for whom I worked my first several years of practicing had just died–about 2 years after she’d walked into my office, closed the door, and told me, “I just thought you should know I have cancer.  But don’t worry, I’m not going to die on you or anything–I’ll just leave work early on Fridays for treatment, and when I come back, I might vomit some, but I’ll otherwise expect everything to run as it normally would.”  Her name was Leigh.  She was the second person I told after I eloped, and the person from whom I learned more about practicing law than anyone with a “professor” preceding his or her name.  She believed in me even before I did.  And I never told her how much that meant to me.

A few days ago, my father called to tell me he has cancer.  And like Leigh and Celeste and Karen and Anna, he’s upbeat about what’s sure to be a quick surgery and maybe some radiation, and all will be fine.  But what if it isn’t?

First off, there will be NO SECONDHAND RADIO SHOW tomorrow (Thursday). My guest, Danielle, had a last-minute thing come up. This works out well, since I just found out I’ll be in Daytona Beach for a few days, and the Internet situation looks dire. We’ll reschedule Danielle for later this month.

Second, I’m looking for a new web host for my blog. Now that the holidays are over, I can make this happen. But I want a good host, someone that is very Wordpress friendly. I want to be able to automatically update Wordpress and all plugins from WITHIN Wordpress, something I cannot do with Laughing Squid. Suggestions?

I just found out that my 2-year Twittiversary was a couple of days ago. I saw the stats (31,118 tweets, 1,200+ followers, blah blah) and was rather nonplused about it.

I wonder if I’m supposed to celebrate this moment somehow, say something profound? Or is it one of those who-gives-a-fuck things, just as when someone says “It’s my 25,000th tweet!” or “I adopted a lonely black sheep in IdiotFarmerVille on Facebook!”?

Then I thought, even if it were one of those occasions that calls for commemoration with profundity, what on Earth would I have to say that’s even the slightest bit profound?

Then I thought, why, I have a lot to say that’s profound, thank you very much. In fact, I have so much that - were I so inclined - I could break it into a list of categorized profane (what, that’s totally right, right?) bits.

For Children

The toaster is never meant for helping melt butter. Trust me on this.

A towel cape (with clothespin) doesn’t help you fly anywhere above the first floor. Trust me on this, too.

Every time you refuse to eat your vegetables, a kitty dies. Except for lima beans. Nobody really expects you to eat that nasty shit.

For Teenagers

You’re unique. You’re intelligent. You’re going to think you know better than your parents. You’re going to be wrong. A lot.

For Teenage Girls

A boy who doesn’t open your door for you isn’t worth dating.

For Teenage Boys (and Grown-Ass Men)

There’s a lot more to life than ejaculation.

For Parents

Aside from toilet training, manners are the most important thing you can teach your child. Actually, many people will forgive you shitting your pants if you’re polite about it.

For Men

Not everything needs fixing. Sometimes you just need to shut your piehole and listen to her.

For Women

Not every thought needs broadcasting. Sometimes men really ARE thinking about Nothing. We’re not all deep and shit like the women folk.

Household

When someone else loads the dishwasher, don’t bitch. (Out loud.)

Empty toilet paper rolls are great for putting folded power cords in.

Toilet paper always goes OVER.

One-ply toilet paper is what they use in Hell. Just sayin’.

Random

A lot of profound things are apparently about toilet paper.

If the universe is truly infinite, then there’s no end to the stupidity.

Douchebaggery

When a friend is mean and spiteful and mocking someone, it’s just a matter of time before they aim that pruntiness your way.

Everyone has a bad day…even a bad month. That doesn’t mean you need to take it out on other people.

Politics

The only time you should be shocked about what happens in Washington D.C. is when a politician tells the truth and/or truly gives a fuck about you and me.

Marriage

Always treat your spouse like they’re your favorite person on Earth. Because they’re supposed to be.

Gay Marriage

Gay marriage is about as much a threat to the institution of marriage as a platypus. You might say, “What the hell does a platypus have to do with anything?” And I might say, “Exactly.”

Drugs

There are 100,000 alcohol-related vehicular deaths every year in the United States. According to Drug War Facts, there are ZERO marijuana-related vehicular deaths every year. You do the math.

Religion

If I had to sum up the Bible in two words, they would be these: BE NICE.

a

Fuck, it’s DECEMBER. The last month of the year. How’d that happen, right?

Worse yet, it’s the Holidays. Fuck me with something hard and sandpapery. Yeah, so not a fan.

When I was a wee lad, the Magic was still there. Months in advance, I’d pour through the Sears Wishbook and make a 1970’s version of an Excel spreadsheet, noting everything I wanted for Christmas. Item name, page number, Stock #, price, color and size (if appropriate). Yeah, I was really thinking of Santa, trying to make it easier for him to fulfill my needs.

What can I say? I’m a giver.

Christmas Eve? Forget it. I couldn’t sleep if you’d slipped gingerbread roofies into my warm milk. Not that I was allowed to have warm milk before bed, mind you (or water, for that matter). I was a bed-wetter. But you catch my drift.

In my early years - both before and just after my parents’ divorce - Christmas morning was all about navigating a very tight path through the myriad of presents carpeting the living room floor. An obscene amount of pressies, really, but I didn’t think so at the time. My parents weren’t rich, but they were doing pretty well.

In my tweens and teens - both in New York, and then New Mexico - it was the opposite. We were poor. Food stamps poor. And when I started working at 16, and subsequently having to hand over the bulk of my paychecks to my parents just so the five of us could eat, I think that’s where I started getting jaded. It was probably well before that, but it was around 16 that I specifically remember HATING Christmas.

I hated having to wake up early on Christmas morning. I hated having to put on a cheerful face when all I wanted to do was sleep. I hated having to act like a 6-pack of tube socks was exactly what I wanted. Well, everyone else pretended. I was just a total dickhead of a teenager, who felt that my job was to make everyone around me as miserable as I was.

At 18, I was freshly on my own. In fact, everyone else in the family had moved back to New York and left me in New Mexico. It was my first Christmas alone. And I hated that, too, fucking despised it.

Magic returned a couple of years later. I was married and a new daddy. It was the first Christmas for the twins and I was happy. I was in the Air Force, in love, a proud papa of 6-month-old girls…everything was good. For a while.

Flashforward a few years, when the marriage started sailing to southern climes. Christmas itself was still good because it was all about the girls. The Little Mermaid was brand new on VHS (and yeah, I’ve seen it about 2,742 times), my daughters had adorable British accents (because we lived in England at the time), and my wife and I always wore a happy face for the holidays.

Another few years and a divorce later, and I was depressed - yes - but still OK when my girls were around for Christmas. They’d visit me in San Antonio, and then Dallas (when I got out of the Air Force)…Santa would leave notes for the girls on the computer. It was fun.

Little later. Severe depression. Drugs. Even a suicide attempt. This was right after the flashbacks started hitting me enough to where I couldn’t ignore them any longer. My protective barriers were crumbling. All of this led me to neglect my girls. Don’t get me wrong, I was trying to protect them. Keep them away from the Fucking Disaster Formerly Known As Their Father, you know? Ugh. I could get really specific about all the ways I fucked up in those years (and since), but it’s not really relevant to the point.

Oh, yes, there IS a point. Somewhere. The Magic has been gone for a long time, that’s the point.

Nowadays, the holidays are nothing more than a 2-month period that I’d rather skip past, thanks very much. Love the Halloween. But from November 1 through,  oh, let’s say the day after New Year’s, I’d just like to fast forward through it all a’la Tivo.

It’s a ton of forced socializing, being “on” the whole time, putting on a happy face when I’m not happy, and family dynamics that sometimes make The Simpsons look like The Brady Bunch. Trust me, my mother and father got divorced for a reason. It should be against the law for them to be under the same roof these days…yet they are, right around this time every year. At my sister’s house.

Awkward, thy name is FAMILY.

And there’s always the political discussions. Most everyone in my immediate family is staunchly conservative in every way. Me, on the other hand…I’ve been growing more and more liberal as the years go by. Relative to them, I mean. Shit, I voted for Barack a year ago, and that’s grounds for castration in my family. Verbally speaking, of course.

Just you wait until Barack gets his thumbs in the health care system.

The economy is only going to get worse with a Democrat in the White House.

Barack isn’t really a Christian, you know.

Yeah, yeah. There’s a lot of tongue-biting on my part. It’s truly not worth trying to have a political discussion with my family. It’s not as if there’s going to be any actual  mind-changing going on. It’s all about the bashing, not the exchange of ideas. I’m very good at the occasional nodding, raising of the eyebrow, and mmm-hmm’ing.

Of course I enjoy my nieces. And I get along fine with my family, really. I’m not saying it’s ALL this horrible experience 24/7. It’s not.

But I don’t enjoy being out of my element for days at a time…sleeping in a foreign bed, not being able to socially retreat whenever I want to, having to wagon-train all over town to various relatives’ houses for brunches and dinners and gatherings, being subject to frou-frou coffee flavors like Vanilla Candy Cane Guava Hazelnut Chai Nectarine, and worse - single ply toilet paper.

Mix all that together with no wifi? Well, folks, all you need to do is add a few grains of sand in my crack and you have the Oxford English Dictionary definition of “hell.”

Add to that all the shit that has been 2009 and I’m stressed to the gills. I lost Lisa this year. Cancer. And then more cancer in my family…and more in friends and their families. Sickness, too, aside from the cancer. Anissa and her stroke.

Financial troubles (many of which have been caused by my not working for a while now - by choice, I might add). Relationship troubles with friends both new and old. Pyschotic assholes stalking dear friends of mine, sociopathic dickhead ex-spouses fucking with friends, too.

Hell, even people I don’t know who just lost a child in a tragic accident. And subsequent SHITHEADS that cast aspersions and say horrible things to a woman that just lost her fucking child. Clearly there’s no accounting for compassionless assholes. Happy fucking holidays, people.

For real… I can haz 2010 now pleaze? I’ve been done with this godforsaken year for a while now.

Thank God I started therapy again this year, or I’d be even more fucked. Hell, here’s how messed up in the head I’ve been lately. I’ve missed not only one, but TWO therapy sessions in the last month. I never do that shit.

Spent a couple days away from home over the weekend, right? Thought I’d enjoy a stress-free break. And I did have a great weekend. BUT…

Before I even got out of town, it started with my Garmin GPS sliding off the dashboard onto the floor and breaking.

Out of warranty, natch.

And then, having parked my car for two days, I discovered that some asshats had tried to break into it. Now the driver’s side lock is all stripped out and I have to unlock the car from the passenger’s side. And yes, this is the car that I JUST got out of the repair shop a week ago.

Because, y’know, my car is such an amazing Piece Of Shit that people are just dying to steal it. Not everyone can swim in the back of their car. No one got IN the car, at least. Not that there was anything to take…except for the busted-ass GPS.

This time of year always brings me a lot of anxiety. And I’ve noticed how short my fuse is lately, too, which isn’t making it any easier. I feel like snapping at close friends, let alone the fuckwad prunts that annoy the living shit out of me…which is much easier to do right now.

I’d just like to betchslap the dumb out of EVERYONE and EVERYTHING, really.

1. Stalkers. Seriously, WTF? Is your life so pathetic that you can’t do anything but harass people that want nothing to do with you? When I was a kid, I got bullied a lot. The problem with the Internet is that it allows people that can’t physically bully you to bully you electronically. Die, bitches, die. Though I now have a better understanding of restraining orders, so there’s that.
2. Mind Games. Played by 95% of the population, I have no patience for them, either. Fuck off. If you cannot flat out TELL ME what you want to tell me, without resorting to passive-aggressive tactics, I’m done. People are (for the most part) rather transparent, particularly those that feel confident they’re being clever. Try pretending you’re a grown-up. For once.
3. Mean People. Suck. Period.
4. Closed-Minded People. My friends are from all walks of life, and I dig that. Political spectrum, religious/spiritual spectrum…they’re all over the board, and I dig that. The people I want to be around are the kinds of people that can talk about any topic under the sun without screaming or yelling or namecalling. When you’re the OPPOSITE of that? Piss off.
5. Bad Drivers. They’re everywhere, I know. But it’s this time of year when southern Florida gets the Snowbirds. Snowbirds, if you don’t know, are the people that live here for half the year, and live up north the other half of the year. It’s warm in Florida (today’s high is 77) while they have penis-shrinking temperatures up north. Good for the local economy, bad for your sanity if you’re driving. Yesterday, some dipshit with an Ontario license plate  pulled out in front of me and I had to slam on my brakes. There was no one behind me for half a mile, so the dipshit could have waited 8 more seconds and then pulled out with no trouble. But no. It’s a shame my Scanners powers haven’t yet developed, cuz that fucker’s brains would have covered the entire interior of that Ford Taurus.
6. Garmin. WTF? My nice little sandbagged bracket (which worked just fine for over a year) slid off the side of the dash, onto the floor…the GPS hit NOTHING but the carpet and the screen BREAKS? Grrr. $80 I don’t have right now.
7. My Laptop. Beyond 3 years old now, it’s on its last legs, and has been for a while. Sometimes, Firefox acts all wonky and I have to reboot. Internal hard drive is maxed. RAM is maxed. Friends talk to me about doing a clean install with XP, but that scares the crap out of me because I don’t know where all my software discs are. Reinstalling all that crap? Not high on my list of fun things to do. 2010 is  most definitely the year for a new computer. Y’know, when I work and make some money and can make that happen. Right now, though? I wanna put a bullet right through the middle of this POS Dell laptop.
8. My Car. Yes, it drives fine. I’m not one of those people that really obsesses over vehicles. To me, it’s merely a tool to get from Point A to Point B, and I drive my cars into the ground before getting a new one. But it’s time for my car, too, I think. There is literally a fucking pool of water on the floorboard in the back seat. I have  no idea where it’s coming from but it’s moldy and nasty. And when I have money again, I don’t know that I want to spend a ton of money to fix what is clearly going to be replaced relatively soon. And with the new driver’s side keyhole party? I want to kick my car in the junk, too.
9. Christmas Shopping. Haven’t done one damn bit of it. Yet. Looks like an Amazon year, if you ask me. Do I need to mention again that I have no money?
10. ME. Last but not least, yeah. I am my own worst enemy. I haven’t worked consistently since Lisa died, and that’s been ALMOST A YEAR. I’ve been repeating major mistakes that I haven’t made in decades. I’m neglecting all sorts of relationships because of my blinders. I’ve been attempting to change bedrooms in my house for a year, but never really getting anything accomplished. I don’t know where the hell my days are going! I’m not doing SHIT. Well, that’s not true, exactly. I’m putting out one fire after another, only to have THREE MORE FIRES take their place as soon as I extinguish one. Yeah, I’m a mucking foron.

I just want to retreat away somewhere, curl up into the fetal position, and hide. Unplug everything. Delete all my damn accounts and just…disappear. I don’t feel like I can take one more straw on my back, not even a teeny tiny Barbie straw.

Moments like this make me seriously question whether or not there’s enough Guinness on the planet.

Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing some friends this weekend. Cissa is driving through North Carolina as I type this, and I’m glad she’ll be local to me very soon.

I have episodes of Supernatural, Smallville, and Fringe to watch, too. So that’s something.

I’ve lost 40 pounds over the course of the last year. Recently had to go spend $90 just on new underwear and jeans because I’m down from a size 38 waist to a 30 now, something I haven’t been able to say since I was in my 20s. EARLY 20’s. So there’s that. Even if my incredible t-shirt collection is of the Large variety and I now wear a Medium.

And I’ve decided that I ultimately can’t wait to move to one of the following states: Alaska, California, Hawaii, Colorado, Maine, Michigan, Montana, Nevada, Oregon, New Mexico, Washington, Rhode Island, or Vermont. So there’s that.

I’ll take some stress-free happy moments, please. Or maybe I’ll just taken enough Ambien to put me out like Rip Van Winkle for a while. Either way.

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Thus begins the holiday madness, the frenzy of family and friends and get-togethers with huge meals (and probably the loss of all my weight lost the last 7 or 8 months). I’ll be inwardly wishing I could retreat to a small wifi-enabled cave around 38,819 times between now and New Year’s.

And it begins today.

I’m not feeling especially social, I don’t know about you. In fact, I really don’t want to leave my bed, let alone my house. Sure, there’s the food…tons of the food. But it’s all that damned dialogue people expect of me in these fucking holiday meal situations. Ugh.

Really? Must we always be expected to converse? Can we demonstrate our zeal for the holiday by showing thanks for silent head nods? I think that’d rock. Just make eye contact, smile warmly for a moment, then give a quick head nod…never say a word.

Right. Well, since I don’t see Tattoo anywhere, I’m just going to assume I’m fucked on that last request.

I’ll do what I usually have to do for the holidays: suck it up and deal. I’ll smile and talk and eat and talk and drink and talk and chainsmokelikeyouwouldn’tbelieve. And I’ll scream on the inside (hopefully not the outside) because I’ll be around dozens of people…and at a time when I need to get my hermit on.

My sister and her family arrive tomorrow. At least they better because I spent HOURS cleaning this damn place. By the way, in case you randomly happen to walk past my house, now is the best possible moment for you to use my bathroom. For real. I haven’t even taken a dump in that toilet yet.

It’s not often that my sister gets over to my neck of the woods. Usually, we go to HER for the holidays. So we’ll have to really roll out the good plastic china.

Meantime, cynical and depressing a fuck as I may be, I just want to say thanks to all of you that read my ridiculous rantings. Thanks to my many friends, a lot of whom are suffering through tons of their own crap. While I don’t predict splendiferous holidays for myself, I truly hope that YOU have amazing days and weeks ahead.

So for all my U.S. comrades, chow down like a pig, drink like a fish, and sleep like a…Karl.

And for Anissa, I keep praying for miracles.

And for Lisa, thinking of you, too.

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Seems there’s an awful lot of passive-aggressive shit going through the air of late. It’s almost worse than the H1N1 virus. I’m thinking maybe I need to get myself a surgical mask to protect myself from all those headgames-playing germs.

I’m tired. All the time, lately, it seems. Not sleepy tired (though there’s always that, too), but emotionally and mentally tired. Lots of anxiety and stress-laden crap has been on my plate for months now. And just as I handle one thing, another 2 or 3 things pop up onto the plate. I’m not the only one, either…many friends are enduring similar life farts.

So when, on top of me getting my car smashed this week and personal relationship troubles, I start receiving the passive-aggressive emails or phone calls or DM’s, well…I just want to punch people in the crotch.

I guess you don’t really care about me.

If you loved me, you’d _____.

I know you’re busy, so you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. I’m sure I’ll be just fine.

It must be nice to just say whatever you want without thinking of other people’s feelings.

Blah, blah, blah. I’m done with it all. These things are coming from Grown-Ass-Adults, people. Not 7-year-olds, not even junior high kids. Adults. Who clearly have not yet learned the lesson that LIFE IS MUCH SIMPLER WHEN YOU JUST SAY WHAT THE FUCK IS ON YOUR MIND. Give it a shot. You might be surprised.

Shannon recently wrote a post about living life without a vocal filter. It’s one of many things I love about her, that lack of a filter. Course, it gets her into trouble at times, because it’s not everyone who likes complete, blunt honesty. But I like it. A lot.

The people I choose to surround myself with speak plainly, honestly, without head games. And I like that. A lot. The older I get, the more discriminating I become in who I let into that “inner circle” of people. And the more I start eliminating those who play the Passive-Aggressive Game…or at least push them to the outer circles.

I don’t have time for the bullshit. I don’t want to MAKE time for the bullshit, either. If you have something to say to me, fucking SAY IT. If you need something of me, fucking ASK ME. Don’t try to guilt me into doing shit, or make some cryptic remark about me and expect me to “get it.” Just TELL ME what you want me to know.

However, if you still see fit to play the games, just don’t be stunned when I rip off all your hair with a weedwhacker.

No matter regarding the passive-agressive shit. Tonight, on SecondHand Radio, I have a special guest who probably already hates me, anyway: Jenny, The Bloggess. I’m sure you’ve heard of her, she’s a fairly big deal on the Interwebz. And tonight she’ll be joining me for an hour of live conversation.

It took a lot of harassment sweet-talking to get Jenny to agree to be on the show. I may have sent my SecondHand Army after her on Twitter to make it happen, but she caved in eventually.

I met Jenny very briefly in Chicago for BlogHer. She handed me some cool stickers and even may have smiled in my general direction for a moment. We shook hands and I swear I heard her mutter under her breath, “Douchebag,” but I could be wrong. Then she gave me this expectant look while holding out her ring hand for me to kiss. I think it was me licking from her fingers up to her elbow that may have turned her off. Hard to say.

But she’ll be with me tonight, that’s for sure. And you can join in, too. It’ll be fun! And how amazing is it that this is the 69th episode of SecondHand Radio on Talkshoe? Yep.

Every one of you is welcome to call in and talk with us. The phone number is 724-444-7444, Call ID 23738. You can call in just to say hi to Jenny, or ask her a question, or maybe even say something to me.

I highly recommend that you go to my SecondHand Radio info page, register at Talkshoe.com and download the Talkshoe client (though not required, I think it’s a superior chatroom experience).

Tell all your friends. And if you have trouble getting into the show for some reason, feel free to call in (using the phone number below) and you can listen on the phone that way. I can leave you on mute, if you prefer.

Showtime: 10PM EST, 9PM CST, 8PM Mountain, 7PM Pacific

Show Link:

http://www.talkshoe.com/tc/23738

Call-in Number: (724) 444-7444, Call ID 23738

2HRadio Info (including complete list of upcoming guests)

Future guests include: Miss Disgrace from Boob Emancipation, Barefoot Foodie, and Schmutzie.

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