a monday monologue about facebook and Miley Cyrus

I just came crawling back to facebook again, and the things people get worked up about always cracks me up.  Commentary and jokes about stuff in the news or whatever…I get…but there’s that handful of idiots in my news feed that are always spouting off and seeing red about dumb shit.  Today it was Miley Cyrus’ performance on the VMA’s last night.  Several things amuse me about this.  The first being this; if Miley Cyrus acting like an idiot on TV makes your blood pressure rise..I don’t want to be your “friend”.  I don’t mean posting funny comments and generally expressing “WTF”?  I mean ranting about how she is a disgrace, and how she’s a poor role model and what a sad representative of our youth she is.  Because seriously, who gives a fuck?  She is a twenty year old entertainer and was performing on MTV, you should’ve expected smut.  I did, because I love making fun of it.  If it makes you angry….Please take a moment and re-evaluate your quiet life of desperation.  Let me give you a hug and then fix you a drink because you need it.  There are better, more important, more interesting things to get passionate about.  Like Justin Timberlake.  I prefer a rise in my pink bit pressure over getting butt hurt about Miley Cyrus, and I also prefer to keep the company of people that get passionate about cool shit.

Secondly, the whole performance, from beginning to end was so hysterical I blew a gasket laughing.  I live for those kinds of things, because well, I like to be happy..and laughing makes me happy.   I love a good freak show.  Plus, there is some dark corner of my mind that admires her for getting up there and grabbing her crazy by the balls and waving it around with dancing teddy bears for all the world to see.  Fascinating and just fucking fantastic, that’s what it was.  And the viral explosion of jokes afterward has been very satisfying on this mundane Monday night…including the spectacle of all the people crying foul and posting their outrage all over facebook.  Chic Fil A anyone?  Lighten the fuck up.  Life is too short.

And lastly, I’m not one to give parenting advice, but if any part of you is worried about your spawn being effected in any way by Miley Cyrus being a skank whore…you’re doing it all wrong.  All wrong.  My preteen sons watched it, and laughed at all the viral jokes about it with me tonight…and I can say with confidence I’m raising them with strong bullshit/skank radars.  Honestly, riding the bus to and from school with all their horny hormonal, insecure peers freaks me out way more than Miley Cyrus, or anything they see online.  If they give Miley a second thought after tonight, it will be to laugh at her, and I wouldn’t raise them any other way.  It could be worse, you could be Billy Ray, or Robin Thicke’s mom who was quoted as saying:

 “I was not expecting her to be putting her butt that close to my son,” she told omg! Insider.

She regrets ever seeing the VMA footage. “It’s not that I saw it once, it’s that I can never un-see it,” she said, adding that she does not think that Cyrus’s new incarnation is a beneficial move.”

I wonder what her facebook status is tonight, that’s an outrage I can stand behind.

All I need….. is what I want.

I’ve recently shared old blogs, and whenever I do, I have to OCD re-read them, because I forget what kinds of little morsels are contained in their paragraphs. I am filled with a mixture of remorse for sharing, and remorse for some of the experiences, and then I come full circle and always find some really beautiful sentiment, or sentence, or phrase…and I’m proud I had the balls to share…and dig deep…and that I have tried so hard to be self aware. Even in my most ridiculous, short sighted, overly emotional posts…I was myself.
They are mile markers. They are progress. They are growth. I remember being that wounded person, burning alive in the turmoil and confusion. Bleeding it all out onto pages. I find it beautiful because it’s all so full of truth, it’s my past, and a part of me. But I don’t feel like I’m burning alive anymore. I don’t feel confused. I know exactly what I want out of this life. I know the strengths I need to give myself credit for, and every time I use my strength…I just get stronger. I know my weaknesses, and I know that when I am resting on them it won’t take long for me to become completely miserable. I know exactly what to do when I become completely miserable..and eventually I do it.
I believe that searching for bliss is a sweet thought, best explored when all you need is what you want. But now that I’m here, with all my needs being met, searching for more just feels like creating problems in my mind that aren’t even there. I love my job. I adore my kids and they are happy and healthy. I spend a larger than life amount of my free time doing exactly what I want to do. Playing hard, reading books, laughing, floating, dancing, singing along and just talking about life. So far from perfect, but I’m so ok with that. All I need..is what I want. No regrets, even though I took the terribly tragic, scenic route to get here. I remember being this person too, before all the hurt, betrayal, and destruction sent me on it’s wild ride; quietly ok, and well…happy.

I’ve spent too long away from home
Did all the things I could have done
Gone are the days of endless thrills
I know I’m not the only one

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…

I saw the streets all ripe with jewels
Balconies and the laundry lines
They tried to make me welcome there
But their streets did not feel like mine

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…

I want the sun to hit my face
Through oak trees in the open lot
Forget about the things you want
Be thankful for what all you got

So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home…

-Dan Auerbach

“Be soft.  Do not let the world make you hard.  Do not let the pain make you hate.  Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness.  Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.” -Kurt Vonnegut

If I had to name the filter that’s been casting its spell on my world, it would be simply “rotten”.  I have a thin, but stubborn film of hard, hate and bitterness in everything I think, and everything I do these days.  It’s poisoning my heart this rotten, cynical filter, and the only thing that makes me feel like myself…is that I feel it there…and I want to be free from it.

I don’t like who I have become.  I don’t like that my heart has grown distant from the positive, genuine people in my life.  I don’t like that I expect the worst out of people before seeing their best.  I don’t like the judgey, I don’t like the intolerant, I don’t like the caddy, easily irritated exterior I have let grow unchecked.

I have always been proud to still, no matter what happens, believe the world to be a beautiful place, with beautiful people.  Worth going out on a limb for, and even worth some heartache.  I’ve wandered off my path…and now I’m just aching to defy this direction and get back to what I know.  This isn’t me.

Hurt and disappointment led me here for sure, but I choose not to stay here.  I’m not ready to stop believing.  As hard as it is, I want to be soft; free.

just sing me up, away with a joyful sound

When I show up, I’m at my best.  I’ve been absent for so long that when I arrive, I surprise myself.  I was given a night shift when hired at my new job, and six weeks in, the sales had dropped to almost nothing, and I was struggling to make conversation with anyone that was still coming in.  My dread for that shift was palpable, and finally when my owner asked what I thought the problem was, I said I thought it was me.  Trying to relate to Tuesday night drinkers when all I want is to be home with my kids, was not working.  I traded that night shift for a weekday shift, and the balance has since been restored.  I am coming into my own at work, building my own business, connecting with my own regulars, having fun, making money..and most importantly, I am showing up.  The Melissa I know and love is being goofy, doing silly dances, making bad jokes, and feeling at ease behind the comfort of my bar rails.  I love the people I spend my days with, and they love me enough to come hang out on my shifts. It’s a good feeling, like I’m a turtle carrying home around and inviting them in to share in who I am.

One of my older regulars asked if I was hungover because I was wearing a hat, and I insisted I wasn’t.  He asked to inspect my nails because they would tell him the truth.  He looked at them and said, “darlin’ you’re single now, and don’t you know men look at things like your nails, and hair, it says a lot about how well you take care of yourself and your overall well being”.  I replied that I needed highlights, hadn’t shave in probably three weeks, and needed a manicure, a pedicure, and any inkling of a desire to preen and present myself to anyone.  My apartment, and my car all deliver the same message.  I’m projecting that I’m in emotional quarantine to everyone that doesn’t already have a pass behind my walls.  But here and there, I come out from behind them and socialize.  That’s a quantum leap from the shut down shell I became from the last year.  It means I’m healing.  There is no part of me that is worried that I will even be able to stomach a little vanity, and take on the world again in good time.

My resilience was beginning to feel robust and ready to surface going into this past weekend, and then out of left field I had a head on collision with the pain and despair the break up has caused for my ex.  And separate but simultaneously I had a head on collision with the pain and despair that he has always had, and chooses to remain in.  I have to let that be his choice.

The voice I hear in my head when I am getting in some really effective self loathing is his.  It’s been telling me that I’m a phony when I show up, a phony when Im smiling and laughing while my nails are snaggly and my legs are hairy and my apartment has dishes piled up to my chin because I’ve been too depressed to address them.

I’m not where I want to be, nor do I even have a definition of “where” exactly, but I do know that I wake up everyday and choose not to unpack and stay forever.  I visit the dark, but I’m not moving in and hanging pictures, and painting walls.  I’m passing through just as easily as I pass through the light.  Never not broken, but never not hopeful that while I search for that oasis of light that I will pass some breathtaking scenery, and laugh a little, and smile fondly when I show up and look around and find that I’m enough.  I’m even enough when shaving my legs is a milestone.  That’s what I’m choosing, to keep searching.  When I am done with this life, the only truth I want to be sure of is that I died trying…then sing me up, away with a joyful sound.