Madonna, Way Before Nirvana

The Material Girl. When she was starting her career, I was in college. I was listening to hard rock and heavy metal radio and she wasn’t exactly, “underground.” My roommate, however, was a HUGE fan. Huge. We had a door sized poster of Madonna’s face hanging in our apartment. (We also had a door poster of Jon Bon Jovi)  My roommate was the rightest republican there ever was. She even worked in our state capitol and had plans to run for office. (I know, I know – how did I end up with a roommate like that?) I was mildly amused that she admired a woman who strutted around wearing a “Boy Toy” belt buckle on stage. That is the main reason that I was not a big fan. I was nobody’s toy. Also, when I looked a little deeper – all I wanted to do was scrub all that smeary meakeup off of her face. Not my cup of tea.

The roommate, though, still idolized. It took several years for me to catch on and catch on I did. When Madonna released the “Justify My Love” on VHS for sale after it was banned on MTV, I decided I was a fan. Talk about a genius marketing move. Impressive. I didn’t love everything she did and frequently disagree with some of the things she stands for. But, here is a woman who made it on her own by herself. She worked hard, made decisions, some amazing decisions, and did everything she could to continue to make herself relevant. Talk about a role model.

Well, she has done it again – https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/music/2018/08/16/madonna-turns-60-revisit-her-painful-lessons-aging-while-female/982562002/

She is raging against the machine – the one that says that women of a certain age should act a certain way and are basically irrelevant. C’mon. Madge isn’t going to take that shit laying down. Where have all you fuckers been?  But, here is the thing, for the first time in our relationship (mine and Madonna’s), we are on the same page. She is saying the things I am saying.

Apparently some are saying she isn’t aging with dignity or grace. What, she is 60? She needs to wear a housecoat, crocs and stay at home crafting? Or doing volunteer work? Who defines and why do we listen?

Who decides when we are irrelevant? I have been saying for years that I am so tired of being treated like I am invisible.  I have just hit my stride – who is going to tell me my voice isn’t important? Okay, I think we all know it isn’t important – yet. But, when did a number determine when I had to silence it or use it in a different way?

I don’t want anyone to tell me what to wear or not to wear, what to say, who decided we had to: be pretty? Wear makeup? Get botox? Look young? How many men do this? I could age rage forever. You get the picture. 

Madonna doesn’t need my support, but – Rock on, Sister Queen. Fuck ’em.

 

It’s a Girl, My Lord….

Oh, Jeff Slate. You don’t get to spew about how much the Eagles suck and not get some sort of response from me. I will agree with you – they are not a rock band. Just like ABBA was not a rock band. If you compare them to rock, you are contributing to the problem you are complaining about in the first place. You and I are on the same side on this one. Yeah, I can see heated arguments with famous musicians. 

Mr. Slate was writing his unhappy response to the above article where the Eagles Greatest Hits from the 70’s has outsold Michael Jackson (also not a rock act) to be top of the list for most albums sold. I think the first conversation anyone should have is why we included a greatest hits album on a “best of albums list” to begin with. But, I digress.

I can appreciate his opinion – he is, after all, writing about music for a living. And, he has already lived my dream of writing for Rolling Stone. There are some of us who love music and some of us who merely turn on the radio.  I, like Jeff, am a music lover. My favorite thing to do in the world, is to talk music with anyone who loves and appreciates it as much as I do. If I have a glass of wine in one hand while doing it – I couldn’t be happier.

So, I agree with Jeff, they are not a rock band. And, we grew up in roughly the same era – so we have heard the same things. I’ve written about it before but things have changed a little since I was growing up. Back then we had AM radio and FM radio. Everything was played on AM radio, except the harder rock or less mainstream stuff that showed up on FM. I don’t even remember FM radio until high school – I had a semi nomadic life as a child – not all towns are created equal when it comes to radio. Especially for dinos like me. 

I spent a lot of time in my mom’s car back in the day. It was nice – she drove a Lincoln Continental with leather seats – the nicest car we had ever owned. It was the late 70s.  I always wanted the radio on – mom compromised – we could listen to her 8-tracks. She had ABBA (of course), Eddie Rabbit, George Jones, John Denver, Charlie Rich ( I can sing Behind Closed Doors in my sleep), and the Eagles Greatest Hits. I was listening to Styx and Bowie – I hadn’t crossed all the way over to hard rock, yet. The Eagles were doable and Mom liked them – A Lot. So, listen I did. Until Hotel California came out. My brother gave it to me for Christmas – my very first ever cassette tape. I still have it. But, I wore that out. It was the Eagles, who my mom loved and new music – which she hated. It was a win-win for this little rebel. Old Eagles is something we could agree on. Ha. it was probably the only thing we agreed on. 

Flash forward a bit, and you have me now in my mid-twenties and rockin’ the local live rock bar on weekends (weekdays too, but that is another story.) The Eagles were okay, but I was more interested in Bon Jovi (yes, I know you hate him, too, Jeff) and Motley Crue. I enjoyed more hard and metal and no easy listening except for the Madonna and Rick Astley my College roommate would play when she couldn’t take the “noise” anymore. So – I was more into Joe Walsh than Glen Frey.

I feel like one of my most important jobs as a mom is to make sure my kids have a healthy music appetite and appreciation. I want them to know everybody I know.  We started playing “who sings this song” when they were little. We still do – the daughter is amazing at it – the boy – poor kid. He likes music but isn’t the fanatic the rest of his family is. She is also a choir kid – so, I introduced her to the Eagles young. Because, hate or whatever – those boys could sing amazingly together. She loved them. When she was 11 or 12, I gave her her first concert/band T. She had asked for several for Christmas – but, I bought her the Eagles, Hotel California shirt. She didn’t ask for it, but I had a feeling. I have never before (or after) given her anything that elicited such a fantastic response. She didn’t open any other presents for a while. She still wears it. Last summer me and the kids road tripped on RT 66, travelling all the way to Winslow, AZ….I am sure you can guess why.

If my mom was still here – the Eagles are something our three generations could share. How many other music acts (bands, groups or other) can say that? They were not a rock act. Unless, you want to put them under the soft-rock category. But, I don’t think that exists. Whether or not they sucked? If you like and enjoy them and they make you happy – even if only for the time the song is on – that doesn’t suck. I can remember one Christmas eve where an entire family of fifteen (spanning generations) had a fantastic evening watching the dvd of their farewell tour. We sang, we laughed, we had a blast.

You are entitled to your opinion, Mr. Slate. But, don’t expect to hate and not hear about it.

Copy and Paste, for Geezers

I am not 30 anymore. I know it. You know it. Everyone around me knows it. I can’t stop talking about it. In this ongoing trek through the quagmire of aging….I wonder how to describe myself. I do what we were all taught to do back in the day – look it up in the dictionary. Okay, don’t do that. It’s depressing. I qualify for “elderly” but, am not quite there yet.

I usually say “old lady” because it’s funny and has more than one meaning. I googled “mature women” and started to laugh, there is so very little mature about me. Well, that’s what I think, anyway.  I used to ask my mom how it felt to be old. She died when she was 59. 6 years older than me. 6 years. Of course, I started asking her this when she was in her 40s. What a little snot I was.

But, here I am. Teenaged kids and divorced. Starting over. I feel not old, but experienced. Mature? Old? I don’t think so, Susan. Parts of me (body parts, mostly) feel pretty old. The rest of me? Well, just a few days ago, I was fangirling like a 15 year old over a has-band rocker – local at that. I was tittering and giggling and stalking his fb page – look, he is so cute, I can’t help myself. See? 15 year old fangirl. Please note, I was fangirling with another elderly woman.

Very little has changed about my irreverent attitude and my devil may care, throw it to the winds existence since I was a teen. But, I am wiser (wise asser, too) calmer, and more comfortable in my skin. Or, at least I’m trying to be.

In one area though, I have definitely become a dinosaur. I have a smart phone, laptop, ipad. Continue to self publish this blog and manage an online existence for my writing persona. Some of the other raptors I hang with think I am the pinnacle of “up with the times.” They think I can do everything electronic and internet based. And, mostly I can.

I have finally learned how to copy and paste on my cell phone. It’s awesome. Some of you have stopped reading in laughter. This isn’t for you. Move along. This is for those like me from a prehistoric era. Here is the funny part. I “copy” with one finger and I hold it up and do not let it touch anything. I do not lower it to type. I do not lower it to answer my phone or swipe a way a tweet notification. I actually hold it up – like it is actually something – and keep it up until I get to the “paste” page.  And, you should see the contortions I make trying to make this happen. I laugh everytime. So stupid. And yet, I can’t stop doing it. I don’t want to “lose” it.

I don’t know how long it was before I noticed I was doing this. Maybe I should listen more when the snarky teenager says, “mom, you aren’t doing that right.” As if that is going to fucking happen.

 

Every Woman Bleeds – One More Reason to Love Meghan Markle

I’ve always been offended that I have had to pay for feminine products. Meghan Markle – the lovely new princess or duchess or whatever she is – is now giving us one more reason to love her. What do these two sentences have in common? I’ll tell ya….but, here is the article.

I will summarize – she is taking on women’s periods (not literally), their menstrual cycles, and saying we should make these things mainstream, for a variety of reasons. Basically, she is saying that menstruation is a normal, natural thing and it should not be treated with shame and secrecy. But, to make that vision more prescient and topical, she takes it further. She wants to educate us on the menstruation situation across the globe. The sad sick thing is – not all women have access to supplies or relief from the symptoms.

I have been buying period products since I was 20 and moved out of the house. The first time I bought them, I remember being irritated. Why do I have to pay for these? This is just one more thing women have to spend money on that men don’t and they have us over a barrel – we have to have them. Why are they so expensive? Why are we so embarrassed by it? Why do we feel shame or embarrassment when we have to purchase them? Why when we are miserable and lying around feeling gross and in pain, do some of us have men who won’t go to store for us to restock? Or who make stupid jokes? 

You would think that women would be revered for dealing with this messy, smelly, irritating and painful process. If it weren’t for women doing this, we wouldn’t be able to exist. And exist in a similar environment for around 10 months. It’s icky, I admit. But we don’t do it – it just happens.

I for one – am going to join the lovely expat on her crusade. Back in the halls of the the girl’s Catholic high school I attended, we sang: On the rag again. I just can’t wait to bleed on my pad again. Sung to the tune of On the Road Again by Willie Nelson. I would like to say I wrote that, but it is doubtful. Sorry, Willie.

Women bleed. Because they didn’t get pregnant (lucky you). Every woman is different. Some bleed a little. Some bleed a lot. Some know when the bleeding will start. Some don’t know until someone tells them they have had an accident. Some women are crippled with pain. Some are not. Some have other symptoms (irritability, exhaustion, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, bloating, rage) some have none. My periods changed over the course of things. They started out violent. And got better. Then worse. And then worse until I had seen the last crime scene in my underpants (I wish I was funny and witty enough to have written that. Do yourself a favor and check out No Strings Attached and watch the period scene. Hilarious). Anyway, I fought that bitch (in surgery – hysterectomy) and I won. One of the best decisions I have ever made, by the way.

We are all different. Just because your mom and your sister didn’t have my same symptoms, doesn’t mean they I am not having them (damn that x of mine). The very last thing you should probably ask your woman if you suspect she is having a hormonal time is, “Are you having your period?” All women within earshot will think your a douche and want to take turns kicking you in the balls. 

Just a little more education – tampons of any kind go inside; pads of any kind go on outside; there is also a cup thing http://divacup.com/how-it-works/how-it-works/ that is inserted to catch flow. Most recently, period panties.

Tampons: different sizes based on heaviness of flow. Different applicators to insert based on preference.

Pads: different sizes based on flow. Sometimes women wear both tampons and pads. They may use a variety of variations depending on situation.

Period panties are interesting – you wear them, bleed in them, rinse them out and wear them again. My daughter wasn’t interested, but maybe I will try them for bladder incontinence when I get there. I’m laughing hysterically, even if you are not.

Cups: I had heard of these and admit they just sounded gross and ick. I don’t like any bodily fluids – shouldn’t they just stay inside? Anyway, I did a little research and found out these might not be such a bad option. Cost effective and environmentally friendly. Hardly gross. Especially when you consider what my own mother used: rags safety pinned to her panties. Because these products have not always been available for women. And, I guess, they still are not. Ms Meghan Markle Married to Diana’s youngest – has found a cause that we can all benefit from.

I really couldn’t write this blog and not include my story. The day I started my period, my mom sent my dad to the store to pick up stuff for me. I turned about 8 shades of embarrassment. Absorbent pads didn’t always have adhesive, ladies and gentleman! My dad brought me home belted pads. And no belt. This is hilarious now, not so ha ha then. For those who need more explanation, go here. You should know, belted pads are making a comeback.

As shocked as I am that I wrote this long about periods – I would like to add one more thought. Bleeding through your clothes so that everyone can see that you are on your period has always been shameful. I have seen articles in women’s magazines making fun and showing pictures of women who were caught off guard. These articles were written for “humor” – not funny. Why are we shaming women for anything? I’m angry and she’s lovely. She will win this battle. Great choice, Harry.

 

I Need to Know and I Need to Know Now

It happened again today. The news broke that they have finally caught the East Area Rapist. You couldn’t have missed the news – it is everywhere – even twitter. I am a little obsessed – I was living in this area when the rapes and murders started. My much older sister was living in Rancho Cordova, CA – where 2 of the murders happened – he killed a couple walking their dog. Yeah – my sister was married and had dogs….plus, I write a little true crime and this case has been a thorn in our side since I was a young preteen.

Once the news broke – I was captivated. I  kept looking for articles on what happened. Watched the news everywhere. I needed more information and I wanted it right fucking now. I discovered that he was married to a divorce attorney – not mine, thankfully. He has kids – but, I want to know how many. Where do they live? How old are they? They say he wasn’t even on their radar a few weeks ago? Really? How did they know to collect his “discarded DNA”? They say there was no “tip” – really? You just randomly decided to test this guy’s DNA for fucking fun? Not bloody likely, Susan. Did anybody have any idea? I call bullshit on the entire thing. Something is going on here and I want answers, dammit. I know people who live in his area. This is scary stuff.

Don’t get all nutty – I know it is in everyone’s best interest if they don’t reveal too much and I am not asking for all of the gory details, really. Okay – big fat lie. I want to know everything. And I want to know right now! I need to know (Tom Petty wrote that song just for me;) That clip is from The Midnight Special – I loved that show! But, I digress.

Frequently, I make references to how patience is not my strong suit. That when they were handing out virtues, I got lost and ended up in the “swear like it’s your job” line. So many times things are put in front of me and I am pretty sure the only reason is so that I can learn how to be patient. Yeah. While this old dog can learn new tricks – I haven’t grown any patience since I was a pup. You know you might have a problem if both of your teenagers tell you to be patient more that they roll their eyes at you.

So, with that background, it might make sense that I appear obsessed as I comb the internet for latest developments. I don’t know when this started, but it has been going on a while. A big news story breaks and I am checking the news apps – as many as I can find. I keep hoping that the new news will make the news. I am always disappointed. It’s almost a sickness. Okay. It really is a sickness. After I get disgusted with the lack of information, I ask anyone I’m conversing with, “are you following….” as if maybe they know something I do not. Okay – I may have gone past “sickness” to “terminal.”

What is the cause? I don’t know. But, it reminds me of a funny bit Joan Rivers did back in the day when her job wasn’t just plastic surgery tester, it was comedian. This was way back in the day. Way, way back – early 80’s – just after the dinosaurs. She was doing a bit about microwaves. Which everyone has now – but, not everyone had back then. The joke was about Elizabeth Taylor whose weight went up and down. Joan’s line was something like, “only Elizabeth Taylor stands in front of her microwave and screams, ‘hurry!’” Probably I shouldn’t need to write a blog to explain the joke. Bleh.

Funnier thing is, I want my microwave to go faster, too. And my oven. And my toaster. Did fast food and microwaves take away our patience? Did instant access to news as it was actually happening online and on tv create this desire for speed in everything? Could be a California curse. I don’t know. Arguments for all could be made.

Gotta go – in the time I took to write this, maybe there is an update…….next time I will try to use more relevant and current examples – no promises.

What a Drag it is Getting Old

My dad had emergency surgery a few weeks ago. He is on the mend now, but it was a hairy few days. I had to fly out of town. I haven’t wanted to write about it because everything is resolved, and because it wasn’t very funny.

I can’t even think of how to make it funny.  I thought my dad was going to die. Truly he has been dying in pieces for years. He no longer sounds like my dad. He is an older, frailer, less dynamic dad than I know. That’s okay, I love him and and thankful for the time he is here. While I am getting used to the idea that he won’t always be here, I don’t really like it. The memory loss and confusion make it more difficult to resolve things or even bring things up – which takes a toll on what has been a very open relationship. While I was getting through my days at the hospital, I had other hurdles I didn’t see coming.

He and his lovely 80 year old wife wanted to whisk him out of the hospital to their lovely home as soon as he got out of surgery. Which I understood, but he needed to spend a week in the hospital and then some time in a rehab facility – not that kind…but, one for occupational and physical therapy. But, no. They thought it would be best to go home and rehab. So, you see the dilemma. Without getting into specifics, lets just say…this is another thing about growing up that sucks.

I had to tell his wife that  if they went home and he went down and took her with him, 2 broken hips and they would never see each other again. That made her cry again. Me too. But, c’mon these people are stubborn. And, I get it. You spend your whole life growing up, doing and not doing things because you have parents, then kids. When you finally get to let loose….well, you may not be able to be on your own anymore. This couldn’t sit well with anyone of any age. I earned my wisdom and the ability to make my decisions. And, because I am not married, I no longer need to get anyone’s approval to do anyfucking thing. (That is delightful, I tell you. I try not to laugh out loud with glee when my married friends say, “I have to check…”)

I would be terribly resentful and angry at anyone who was trying to take that away from me.  And, what makes me think I know anything about it? Well, I don’t. But, I know what it feels like to need to be in control to get through your day. And, when you can’t be in control – major suckage.

And, then in the middle of all of that, while you think you are coping, your parent says something like, “This isn’t worth it.” I get that too. When you have spent most of the last few years in doctor’s offices, with no end or relief in sight, you get tired. And, when you are upwards of 40, you are already always tired. They have lost several friends and family members in the last few years. My dad is the only remaining sibling or spouse in his family of 14. It sucks.

As if this wasn’t difficult enough, all of this reminds me how old I am. How if I sit too long, my hips get stiff. How I don’t really sleep through the night. How I can’t get comfortable and can’t sit, stand, or lay for too long.  I can’t see. I can’t hear – I think it is actually time to go get a hearing aid or two. But, WTF? How did I get here? Hearing aids? Okay, sure, some of the hearing loss is organic and some can be blamed on my propensity to listen to my music very loud. But, I am still going to shows. I laughed when I read about Brian Johnson turning the mic over to Axl because he didn’t want to damage his hearing further. Not very rock-n-roll. But, I get it now.

So, it gets me thinking. My writing career and all that encompasses is the brain exercise I am doing to keep that part working. I get some exercise, but really should hit the yoga mat a few times a week and walk a ton more. A renewed commitment to keeping busy. Less TV, more reading, working, writing. A renewed plan for physical health. I have already upped my diet to be more vegetable/fruit less crap.

The last few years I have been downsizing my things. I have also been downsizing my wasted energy. I don’t want to waste any precious time on dumb stuff. Funk the dumb stuff. And, almost everything is dumb stuff. I left my large pile of shit to do and took my kids to the coast. My heart and soul are renewed.

Suddenly, some things don’t seem to matter anymore. Excellent – more time for the things that do.

 

Back In My Day

When I was growing up……oh how I hated to hear the stories that started with those words when I was younger,  but love to tell them now that I am older.  Of course, my stories are interesting and funny. A long, long time ago, (Pie) when I was younger, straight up –  I fucking hated, fucking hated it every single damn time some old fuck (over 22) said that to me in my youth.  Fucking hated it!  Yet, I cannot stop myself.  I say it almost every day. I am obsessed with getting older. I talk about it (and write about it, yeah, yeah) all the fucking time. And I utter that phrase every dang day.  Why?  I tell myself it is because I am teaching my kids something, leaving them with something for posterity.  I know, I am delusional.  My kids fucking hate it too.

When I was growing up, there was only Rock and Hard Rock.  Somewhere around high school, there was Metal (thanks Iron Maiden and Motorhead, just to name a few).  But, maybe the genre wasn’t so well fleshed out then (or maybe I was still listening to Styx). We called things “Acid Rock.”  Then there was Grunge, which I think we all know, I don’t like talking about.  Because it killed metal (see I Had a Plan Blog). Then, there was only Classic Rock, because that is all I listened to while boycotting grunge and local rock radio.  

When I finally pulled my head out, I found new bands and discovered that many of my favorite 80’s bands were being described as Hair Metal (our local rock station played a throwback Thursday set, calling it ”The Aqua Net Set”, hilarious and genius). This is a description that didn’t bother me, obviously.  But, I think it got to a lot of  those “long hairs” who spend way more time doing their hair than I do.  Hurt some of their little feelings.  Fine. Could be the reason why all the other genres started to bubble to the surface. While I just made that up on the spot, trying to be funny. I wonder, I am probably correct.

I talk a lot of smack about musicians, local as well as famous. Truth is, I love them. I admire their commitment to what they do (except for those tribute band motherfuckers, don’t even get me started on those guys). I admire their drive, their talent, their mile high confidence level – even with no talent. Talented or not, these guys work their asses off (another blog). And, thanks to Behind the Music (bring back that show, please), we all know what happens to the professionals. And these guys, when they come down, they’ve got nowhere to go. They are not happy unless they are performing.

So, now we have Symphonic Metal, Death Metal, (it is here that I had to Google as I was out of metals). There is black (?) metal, Christian, and many more sub-genres that are weird and I am not sure I buy into them. Mostly because I didn’t get to name them.  We are finally getting to the point, really.

I recently found William Control whom I will describe as a Disco Metal group. Wait, wait, take a deep breath and let me explain.  It isn’t quite metal, different from symphonic, not quite dance.  Like Flock of Seagulls meets Metallica  or disco meets metal.  Which sounds impossibly disgusting (and okay, off the top of my head, 3 of my friends would insist it was impossibly disgusting. By the way, they are boys. And as soon as I tell them what he sings about – yeah, then they will be in).  William Control does the seemingly impossible – stripping all of the irritating out of disco, leaving all of the fun and all the stuff that  makes you want to shake your hips. And it is delightfully easy to dance to. And, did I  mention, fun?  And, a little confusing. I didn’t know if I should bang my head or dance so, you know, I looked like an idiot. The synth/keyboard isn’t as irritating when the music makes you want to head bang and dance. Disco may have sucked, but it sure gets your hips going. I listen to WC, and, instantly my mood  improves. Could be the hip shaking head banging beat or the naughty, naughty lyrics. Don’t know.  

They are my new favorite happy music, horrible lyrics band. Here is another crashing moment, how to describe the lyrics or “schtick” of the band, so to speak?  A dark and sexy place. You will have to investigate the rest.

We attended Vans Warped Tour experience and, I have written about it. But, I have been saving this for the right time. Plus, occasionally I write these things for hours. In this case, though, I wanted to give the band justice.  They are dynamite live. Their keyboard player, is a phenomenal performer and I watched him the entire time, so I am unable to describe the others, which I think is hilarious.  But, I danced. We all danced. Everyone danced and when I looked around, smiles everywhere.

But, what did I know? I listened to Styx. They were going to play at my first wedding. The one I was going to have until I discovered Motley Crue and Harleys.

P.S. William Control has decided to stop touring/performing and is producing and collaborating on other projects. Once again, late to the fucking party! Of course.

Happy New Year, 2018!

A year ago my blog was about how my musical childhood was dying and how so many of my heroes were lost in 2015 and 2016. 2017 took my number one longtime hero.  I have only one friend I have known longer than Tom Petty. That hurt. Deeply. Still does. It just seems weird to me to be in a world where I’m never going to see him perform live again.

Rereading that new years blog I’m amused to notice platitudes are my favorite thing to use, next to song lyrics, in speech. I notice with amusement that I spoke of not hating 2016. Funny. Can’t imagine I would say anything like that now. The notion that I might hate a year is weird. Maybe because I’ve crested over the top.

If 2016 was the year the music died, then 2017 was the year of shit that didn’t get done. Things that didn’t get done: the yard, the beach house for a week in the summer, 1st day of school photos and last day of school photos, didn’t buy school photos, didn’t train the dogs, didn’t decorate for any holiday…although, we did put Christmas tree up and the boxes in hallway, didn’t get my first blog out until the 12th, didn’t finish painting my room, didn’t get my life together and organised, didn’t completely clean out garage, didn’t get a new job, didn’t find a man, didn’t spend more time with friends. So many things did not get done.

2017 was also the year I started to let shit go. To be fair, even before 2017, I had become Queen of Letting Things Go. But, even I, held on to some shit. To rephrase, 2017 was the year I let go of anything else I was so tightly clutching. My new spirit of change says, “who cares what I let go or what I didn’t do? Let’s focus on what I did. (“I do not want what I haven’t got,” isn’t just a song title.)  

2017 is the first year where I really made a new year’s resolution. The resolution wasn’t intentional. I was at a point in my life where I needed to pursue one thing at a time. I was getting overwhelmed at the sheer thought of what I had on my plate. Being a single parent of limited means, my everyday life was already daunting as hell. I decided to pursue the “job” that would get me what I wanted/needed. For the first time in my life I had actually sat down and put my dream to paper. (For the purists out there, I actually ‘wrote’ my resolution by pressing keys on my iPad. I know how you writers are.) I put my dream of pursuing writing as a career and life choice as my #1 goal. I put everything else related to life choice, career, or job goal on the back burner until 2018. I determined what the many versions of success looked like. I broke down the goal into bite sized chunks and made a detailed list of what I needed to do and by when. I also spent some time, about once a month, to evaluate where I was and how the goals/list were going.  This step had seemed boring to me in the past, but it was now more energizing than the goal. I could really do this.

And, I was having such a great time doing it. Until I had to wrestle with arthritis. And, in late July I was greeted with an opportunity to pen and publish a true crime book! So, now it looked like I was going to have to put one dream on hold to do what? Something I didn’t want to do? Many blogs in the future will be devoted to “that process.” I wrestled with that decision so long, I put it’s own purpose at risk. Somewhere around the first week of December, I took inventory again.

I had achieved half of my list. It was the easiest, least important part. So the fuck what? I had achieved half of my list, I had written and published through an indie publisher (now I was self and indie published), I had collaborated on a book, I had built a potentially lucrative future for that book genre, I had something I had written for fun performed for a huge audience, I had reached top 15 in a book genre on Amazon, I had made new contacts regarding my goals, I had determined my retirement plan, I started to make changes in direction due to arthritis, I’ve accepted that diagnosis. Every single area of my life showed growth and improvement. I had a fantastic year. I accomplished so much. And, as I keep saying (ad naseum, I know) I have never been happier.

On a lark, I reached out to someone who appeared to need a little cheerleader in their corner. Next thing I know, she is going to help me finish my list! Probably so I could meet my goal in January or February!  And, by reaching out to her and working with her, I am taking steps to achieve the biggest dream I have. WOW! Amazing.

2017 was the year that I learned that in letting go, I would gain beyond measure. I finally let go of who and what my future must look like. I have a general purpose and direction and a list of goals, but I am keeping it fluid. I was so rigid in my erotica book goals, that I almost missed one of the two best opportunities I had this year. I was so rigid in whom I was looking for, that I couldn’t be open to find the one.

So…no new year’s resolutions this year, just a “to-do list”  which really turned into a “see in the future” psychic thing. In the next three months, I am going to meet or begin the relationship that is “the one” for me. I don’t know if I have met him yet, but he is on his way. I am going to get everything organised and get on top of everything in my life. I am halfway there already after last year.  I am going to be well on my way to selecting a retirement date by the end of this year. My life is going to continue to change for the better. I absolutely know it.

I was going to blog about that woman who returned her tree to Costco…..not sure which would have been more entertaining.

Another Masturbating Blog

Welcome, everyone, to another edition of “Bianca’s Blog Writes Itself!”  Today….I read an article about a new app and “toy that goes with app” that I think is worthy of a blog mention……

Also worthy of noting (nothing?) is that many of my masturbating blogs (I wonder….does that phrase work?  I’m not sure..you know, it does itself?) begin in other countries….we are soooo puritanical here in the States.  But, I digress.

A British company, British Condoms …..BC has announced that they have almost one million pre-orders for i.Con……a smart condom. I didn’t know condoms could be smart or dumb….

Here is what I want in a smart condom…I’m really not sure how I would facilitate this…but, maybe a color system?  If the guy wearing it is a douche….it lights up blue.  If the guy wearing it has been with someone else in last 24 hours….red light; last 7 days…..yellow light. If the guy has been with both sides….gray….If the guy wearing it has mommy issues…..purple. If the guy is still trying to figure out his sexuality……..If the guy listens to country music. If the guy washed his hands last….you know….and, it would be great if we could program or choose the questions that are important to us. You get my point.

Here is what it does….it measures thrust velocity, number of thrusts, duration, calories burned…..and, maybe many other things…I had to stop reading.  You know….because this doesn’t sound like a “smart” condom to me. It does beg the question……what are the app users going to do with the information? Put it on their eHarmony profile? Not fucking likely.

And, because you know I can’t let stuff go and nobody EVER gives me enough information, here are some of the questions that immediately come (writing erotica makes words so much more fun)  to mind. Smart British Condoms…..do they make you British? Can only Britts wear them? Can these condoms go only in Britts? Can only Britts come while wearing/receiving? I could go on and on and on……

Why do they always make stuff for men?  Stupid. So much is wasted………who cares about his thrust ability (or whatever that thing measures)? Certainly not any woman I know.  Can you get the job done and do you take care of me?  Those are the real questions.

Where Have You Been All of My Life?

What is it with me and blondes lately?  Seriously.  I have never really had a “type”……I have dated them all. Well…not like that.  But, Dexter Holland, lead singer of the Offspring, is the blond that started my downward (?) spiral.

Dex, Dex, Dex….where have you been all of my life? I feel a little too old to have a teenage crush on a rockstar….but, this one….you are going to love him too. And….he is perfect for me…..

First…..let’s start with who he is for the uninitiated….the Offspring is a punk/surf/skater/metal mariachi/ska Southern California rock band. Most of you are going to say….”Never heard of them. Now or when you mentioned them a few blogs back. They must be new.”

“They are not fucking new”…..I state incredulously….really…this is one of the most underrated bands I have ever seen.  They have been around almost 30 years……Still don’t know why I get so irritated, though. Here is their first hit; my current favorite – the first verse is genius; discourse on “kids today”; the one you know.

I probably should have started with the most important thing…he has the cutest dimples. OMG…the cutest….and, I don’t really even like them.  This kid must have gotten away with everything when he was younger……I had no idea dimples would translate so well on an aging rockstar. (For years I listened to this band. A dimpled, baby faced blond was not at all who I pictured in my head until a few years ago.)

So, I went back…..OMG was he cute back in his day (like I said….where has he been?).  He and I are the same age, but he graduated a year later than I (I was a prodigy—I skipped Kindergarten) as class Valedictorian….I wasn’t the class smarty pants….it was an all girls College Prep school…we were all smarty pants….I did okay, but not top of my class. Funny…looking back (trying to describe my studenting) I would say my sister was the troublemaker, I was the angel. Not really so….2 troublemakers. It is probably a good thing we didn’t hang out much back then….apart we were minor little rebels, together….who knows?

Just for drill….he would have been perfect for me back then…sans the blond hair. I was dating a ginger who couldn’t get his life together so I walked. Dex was smart and he played in rebel band. Mostly I would have loved bringing him home because Mom wouldn’t have been able to find fault. She sure liked that other valedictorian I brought home. He is an actual doctor now. But, I digress.

Like many rock stars…these boys started a band with no musical training. Youth. I think their original drummer left the band to become an OB/GYN….a drummer with a medical license to do those things? Thank the rock gods he left before that happened!

I could write about Dex, my current crush, for days (need a new publicist, Dex?).  But, I want to tell you my two favorite things about him……well….after those dimples….#1 is his songwriting ability……seriously…..the Worst Hangover Ever….making deals with God, I’ll do anything….I swear….he wrote and sings what was in my 25 year old hungover head. Great song and well delivered. Why it is not a headbanger’s anthem, I have no idea. Truly, if you listen to his songs, really listen…..he isn’t advocating a loser, punk/rock lifestyle of drugs, sex, and joblessness. He is marching against it….raging against the machine (see what I did there?) of apathy and attitude. He lives his life the same way. Doctorate and all. #2…..that Doctorate. I love that he pursued school while working in a punk band. You have no idea how hard that is. Remember how hard it was to go to college AND party? This guy was getting good grades and fronting a punk band. I’m impressed. I can just hear his parents…and his friends…And, then, he had to decide between his 2 loves…..and, he chose music, the creative one….which I adore. And, then…..after he had conquered that, he put it on pause and he went back to finish school.  See, Mom and Dad……just because you drop out…doesn’t mean you won’t go back and finish some day…..Dex did it….and, I adore that. So…..you know…he is pissing parents off….

He kinda is the real punk rocker…..raging against their own attitudes and lifestyle.

Of course…I bought their 3rd and 5th album and then really got into  them when teaching the girl all she needs to know about music……late to the party.

Also worthy to note……he was/is married to a hair stylist……shocker!  I was on to something with my Rockstar Mondays….has-band or not…in my….I have a Muse blog.

Last…………………….

Went out for my birthday lunch to check out a local bar….without my glasses…”Is that Dexter Holland’s hot sauce on the bar?”…25 year old waitress, just because I look like your mom doesn’t mean I am your mom……and……man, that guy is everywhere I go…..

Are you stalking me, Dex? You don’t need to.  According to Wiki we are a perfect match…call me. If I’m going to date a singer, it might as well be you.