SAD--> S.A.D.--> Seasonal Affective Disorder--> Seasonal Assholes Descend.-->Sorry Already Damn.

Ciao fuckers!

If you are reading this blog, then congratulations! You have survived the week! And in the Western world, in North America anyway--you have survived Thanksgiving.  The holiday reserved for giving thanks for your family, friends and of course, life. Ya'll know I'm about as subtle as a porcupine, so lets keep it real. For many people, the holiday season is pretty fucked up.  They have estranged relationships with loved ones, suffer from SAD (a seasonal disorder where your brain becomes infested with canker sores because it's cold, dark and people are fucking nuts.). Financial strains afflict you--because it's cold and you have stupid relationships with people, and want to buy shit to fix that fucked up relationship(s). Personally I get SAD when I have to wear a sweater. They're just so goddamned gross, itchy and expensive.

Or perhaps you're mourning the loss of a loved one. I'm sorry for this my love. Or a broken relationship. A broken transmission or a broken condom--sssesh. Good luck with that buddy. It doesn't matter--this isn't an easy time of the year for many people. But never mind all that. You can check your problems at the door.  Consider this a cyber boudoir. I am your madame and I want to dazzle you with shits and giggles. You've fled the war and migrated to a land of Tom Dickery, seeking asylum! So go on, lock the door and let your hair down. Take off that breast plate you warrior.  Fellas, let your balls hang. Or dress your balls in your lady's underwear. I don't care, whatever makes you happy. Holster that rifle cowboy. Girls, stop snooping on your man's Facebook account for five minutes whilst you read. You can resume snooping, but if I may suggest--give that boy a proper blow job, and when he's sleeping buy some shit on Ebay! Snoop into his finances, not his social media sexting. Go on, step away from the ledge. As my Chinese brothers and sisters say "Me-sho". Translation: No worries. Oh nononono...stop all that cussing and fussing mum's little possum. Don't worry, you're not in parochial school anymore. Sister Holy Ghost can't hurt you anymore. Now close your eyes, and grab your cankles, for I am ready to fuck the boredom out of you!
I bow before your majesty for I am your courtly jester!

Buuuutttt I cannot do my job properly if there isn't a inkling of truth. So, the laughs in this post may not be HAHA--but hopefully they will be AHA. Or you may not like anything I have to say. But it's a blog, not a bible.

I really must lower my expectations.

Well, it's come and gone. That day of dysfunction and binging on carbs. That day where you pressure yourself to have a perfect and well planned day of--of....I don't know what. Its suppose to commerate the spirit of sharing (*giving Indians small pox from blankets) and a day to relax. Or be of service to others.  Many of you, got up early--fed the homeless, saved a few whales and solved every side of the Rubix cube.  Good for you.

But for some of us toys from misfit island?  Thanksgiving can be like one of those fucked up ASPCA commercials. You know the ones where they show a starving three legged dog with locusts eating at his ears, and he's hobbling over landmines in some developing nation? Sara MacGlaughlin croons in the background, and you feel like a proper piece of shit because you're comatose from tryptophan and refined sugar. You want to turn away from the TV and not fucking deal with it at all. In fact, you'd rather look at wack ass soft porn on Cinemax. You'd rather watch fake pussy eating on Skinemax, over a dog hobbling around on a commercial quilting you into support. Dammit. That pooch with diseases only described in the book of  Revelations, whimpering like Dino. You'd rather listen to Rodney Dangerfield reading the works of Shakespeare. You'd rather eat a box of Russel Stover milk chocolates that have that white film on the skin from the clearance section of Woolworth--and that fucking store ain't even in business anymore. Anything to avoid that damned dog. Anything to avoid the madness of the Holiday season.

The fucking time of the year where people forget about Occupy protests, geo politics, and pop culture bullshit for 24-48 hours. Instead we focus Black Friday deals! That day where retailers hope to be in the black. People wake up early in the morning, chomping at the bit to get deals on electronics, appliances, toys and clothes. Retailers lure shoppers with $50 X-Box's and flat screen TVs. People wait for opening and burst down the isles of WalMart like goddamned fools, as if they've just been chosen as a contestant on the Price Is Right.  The outcome? Well, for the most part people are chill and get major hook ups. They might throw a few elbows, but they abide the law.  We've all gone to a day after Thanksgiving sale. But this year?  The shit is bananas. Increasing reports of bizarre--no horrible behavior.  A shooting North Carolina parking lot (a robbery attempt) and the story I just cannot get over: some vicious mole of nature pepper sprayed 20 people in WalMart, here in Southern California.  This ugly and venomous woman assaulted 20 fellow shoppers, ALL because she wanted to get to the X-Box games before they could.

Word?

Did this bitch think she was gone pepper spray people, grab the boxes and then get in line? Whistling like nobody saw that shit? And how in fucks name did she manage to flee the store? Didn't NOBODY clothesline this bitch? She was only 5'2"! Her victims could have included children and elderly people.  I cannot wait until they catch this moron and put her in lock up.  Have you seen Beyond Scared Straight? Yeah bitch, you getting fisted.  Her sin wasn't accidental, it was by trade.
Is that holiday spirit? Pepper spray? *sips vodka.*
You know, it's real hard to love all of Jesus' children.

And let me go ahead and get this off my chest: if your child has a Wii and/or an X-Box but NO library card? Then what the fuck are you---*sips vodka*.

What is a holiday? Well for starters, it's a noun. A day of festivity or recreation where no one work is done. Well, that seems simple right? Holiday may also be defined by festival-leave-recess-retreat-day off or vacation. A day off from what exactly?

A day off from worry? Unemployment? Underemployment? Hateful co-workers?
A day off from reality to watch the Macy's parade? Football? Godfather marathon?
A day on to feed the homeless? Take your neighbor a plate? Invite orphans over for potluck?
A day to try that Iron Chef recipe? Catch up with old friends on the phone?

Whatever it is, Thanksgiving is magically fucked up. It's a stewed prune that's warm and sweet--but eventually it gives you the shits.

We all love our families.  That's why we spend every last dime to fete one another with cultural yummies. Turkey, ham, mashed starches, greens, cakes, pies, cookies, cheap Eastern European dark liquors, chitterlings, macaroni, Jell-O surprise, surprise from your mother telling you she's divorcing your father after 402 years of marriage. Oh and she's converting to that religion where they believe in spaceships, and suddenly your trust fund is gone because she's giving all of the gold coins to this new found belief.  Okay, scrap that scenario. Perhaps you're questioning everything in life, and it's putting you in a bit of a mood. But you have to put aside those feelings of inadequacy, jealousy, or whatever is making your dick limp for a few hours because that's what holidaze are all about.

Because you've got to deal with your imperfect family.  Family...hmmm lets look up that definition.  Again--a noun. A group consisting of parents and children living together in a household. Kin-household-stock-clan-race-tribe...and we all know, family can be blood related, or chosen.

Recently I've been taking a good hard look at family and holidays. I have plenty to be grateful for.  7 years ago my first Thanksgiving here in SoCal was awful.  My dinner consisted of pot, a cheeseburger from Lucy's on Pico (and the MF's forgot the cheese) and a King of The Hill marathon.  At the time it was painful, but I wasn't alone. I had my friend and at the time room mate Don with me.  We were both in a lot of pain, but we shared the day with one another.  And I'm grateful for that experience.

Things have changed--evolved I guess.  In spite of missing my immediate family desperately, I had a beautiful, intimate and fun Thanksgiving with my loved one. But the past 24-48 hasn't excluded me from the pain, imperfection and ass chaffing of the holiday season.  So I'm discovering that the season isn't only about food and "day's off"...it's also about adventure and risk taking. We have to deal with unfinished business if we want to move ahead.  My mother always warned me of taking old bullshit into the new year. So, the next few weeks may not be easy. They may even be painful.  But it's my pain--it's an honest pain.  And I'm happy to deal with it--because I'm ready to live on the other side of the rainbow.

So my darlings, I am happy to admit that much like the Thanksgiving holiday, I am not perfect.  And I don't strive for perfection--but I do strive to be the best De Anna Nicole Josephine Brooks that I can be.  And if my very best isn't good enough for you? If my efforts undermine your expectations of me?  *sips vodka. Well then I guess I'll just have to love you from where I am, even if you reject my love. During this solar eclipse I will my best to rebuild alliances.  But I'm going to create the magic on my own terms. So I'm going to take "holiday" and enjoy what I have, and stop taking days off to worry about what I don't have. Life in absentia has been too easy a choice.

I'm going to choose innovation over stability.
I'm going stand up for myself. Finally.
It won't be easy, but then--what the hell is?

I hope you do too baby. It's never too late.
I love you. I admire you. And I give thanks for you.
Yes, you.

ciao for now,


x


"Do not worry if you have built your castles in the air. They are where they should be. Now put foundations under them." Henry David Thoreau.