Honestly not so much.
Now it’s just a lingering cough. An occasional series of sneezes. The cough is always the last to go. Nagging cough. It’s almost more irritating than a store full of Chinese tourists. — Almost.
You’re my hero Sister Bing! She called out her fellow Chinese citizens on a viral social media rant regarding Chinese tourism and their god awful behavior in other countries including ours. Chinese tourists are the worst!
Americans are generally the opposite. Polite elsewhere, dicks at home. I hate the way Americans put their disgusting feet on every piece of public furniture like the world is their private living room. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve witnessed (especially among white Americans) putting their feet up on chairs in restaurants, on seats on the bus so other people can’t sit down, sticking their legs and feet in the isle for people to trip over, and I’m sorry but, dear old white people with your god damn walkers and carts of groceries, it’s called Lyft, or a cab. Get your shit out of the isle, we’re trying to walk by! Maybe if you didn’t raise selfish dicks for children they’d help you with your errands.
“Sim-ply hav-ing a wonderful Christmas Time.” Everybody sing!
When I was a young girl every year for Christmas my dad bought me, among other things, a new watch, a new alarm clock, and a new camera. This went on for about five years. Watch. Camera. Alarm clock. Every Christmas. Some years later I figured out why dad kept buying me a new watch, camera, and alarm clock each Christmas. He did it because one year when he asked me what I wanted for Christmas I told him - a watch, camera, or alarm clock. That Christmas, among other things, I got all three. It was the last time I asked for anything so dad just kept buying me the same three presents each year, guessing the rest. My dad bought art supplies, records, and books all year around, plus I had library cards. Art supplies and books. After a certain age that’s all I actually wanted.
Simpleton. That’s me.
These days...
Other than the digital clocks on my oven and microwave, I don’t own an alarm clock, a watch, or a Tourist-y style camera. Funny all the things cell phones have replaced.
Dear Tell Better Stories movement. Have you in fact ever heard a sober person tell a story? It’s horrible. Boring. They sound exactly like this ...
“And then I asked my husband what he wanted for dinner and he said a pot roast only I don’t know how to cook a pot roast so I had to go online and look up recipes I mean really who knows how long a pot roast is supposed to cook for and what kind of pan I’m supposed to cook it in and god knows my sister is completely useless she and her husband go out to eat every day which is funny because she has all these pots and pans in her kitchen that have never been used but oh no she had to get the most expensive Corning glassware ... “
Excuse me while I go walk into traffic.
Real writers drink. Its how we cope having to live among the general population. We drink to make people less annoying and more interesting to us. Writers drink. It’s what we do. It’s how we live. We drink. Deal with it. I don’t want sober people talking to me for any longer than five consecutive minutes unless there’s an emergency. Is the house on fire? No? In that case you have my attention for exactly five minutes. And go!
“But I’m not done telling my story!”
No. Sssshhhh. You’re done.
Gay men are far more interesting and fun than straight women.
Straight women do nothing but complain about their ex, then get sloppy drunk, fuck some random guy, then spend the next three weeks blowing up my cell phone bitching about how their ex “forced them” to get sloppy drunk and fuck some random guy.
DRAMA
Ugh. No thanks. Pass.
I will only befriend women who have their shit together, who are ambitious, kind, strong, smart, funny, independent, hard working, I look for the same thing in women friends that most men look for in a wife. It’s why my women friends are few and far in between. I’ve been divorced hundreds of times due to fraud.
Simone was in her 20’s when she hung herself. She had been in and out of mental hospitals, she was emotionally overwhelmed by a cheating boyfriend, had a growing drug problem, and she saw no other way to silence her uncontrollable pain. My sadness in her death is because I’m selfish. She was the only female artist friend I was ever close to on a creative level. She was so talented. I miss that unique and special bond with her. Other than that, I think people should have the right to die the best way they see fit, even if that means suicide.
Generally speaking
I much rather hang out in gay bars with my gay friends, than deal with a bunch of dramatic straight women and their illogical straight women problems. I’m old. I’ve already seen it all, been there, done that. Go complain about men with your other depressed girl friends. I’ve got things to do.
Your body. Your choice. It doesn’t stop being your choice because you ran out of money. Just put your kid in a shelter. A pound. That’s what you assholes do with your pets when you can’t afford them anymore. Kick them to the curb and leave them to suffer and die. People who don’t like cats, dogs, or animals in general, are among the worst of people. On my scale it goes rapists - and then people who don’t like animals.
Yes I admit I like animals far more than people. If you’re being honest with yourself, you do too.
Kids are like drug habits. Having them are entirely your choice. And I refuse to fund either one.
What you do on your time, is your business. All I ask is that you don’t ever bring your business to my doorstep. Respect that and we’ll get along just fine.
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