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Let’s all cry together in a safe space.

“If you have a feeling or an emotion, you don’t HAVE to freeze in place until you figure out who to blame.”

That’s my quote, I threw it out there in my last post.

And got some complaints about it. 

There was 3 in total and they all boiled down to the same thing.

“Walk a mile in someone’s shoes before you talk about it.”

They didn’t use that phrasing, but theirs sucked and this is my blog.

Several things.

First, I don’t need to even try someone else’s shoes on much less walk in them to know that they won’t fit me.

Second, not everything is about you. 

And if you think the walk a mile comment is not self-centered at its core, let’s all hope you marry money because the whole thinky thing is not your specialty. 

We live in an age of outrage.

You name it, someone is outraged about it.

There are 2 types of outrage.

The first is that honest old-school outrage. 

They are pissed and let you know it. 

On social media, it looks like this: “Hey asshole, F-you and F your opinion.”

I can respect that one, at least it’s up front and not hiding.

The second kind is the most common form of outrage.

Passive aggressive. 

“I think its funny how people like to make fun of _____.”

It’s preachy, a touch whiny, and basically goes down a bunny hole of political correctness that you either “Get it” or you start to get compared to “Nazis”.

And the list of things you are never allowed to talk about in anything but a reverential tone is as long as your arm.

The recent earthquakes, being bullied as a child, being underpaid, being discriminated against for any reason, not getting what you want and claiming its discrimination, being tall/short/male/female/old/young/Christian/Muslim are all on the list. 

If you are still having the issue, I wish you well on your road to getting that fixed. 

But, if this happened more than a decade ago? 

Let it go.

Stop letting your past define how you react to the present and the future. 

I have a good friend that has about a foot of scar tissue on his arm from a dog mauling when he was a child. 

The only time in the last decade or more that I have heard him mention it was to shut up some guy and his girlfriend when they commented on his joke about an attack dog. 

My friend is also a fisherman.

So when he began playing out the line for dipshit and his girlfriend, I sat and listened.

“You ever been attacked by a dog?”

“Plenty of people have and they probably wouldn’t think it was as funny.”

“But have YOU, ever been attacked by a dog?”

“My mom used to have this little dog that used to snap at us all the time.”

“So that is a no?”

“If you want to be technical…”

And then my friend pulled up his sleeve and shows the gnarled flesh.

“Let it go, stop bitching at people, move on with your life.”

Except that we have conditioned people to feign outrage over anything and everything.

I have always found those that feel it’s their job to chastise everyone else to be profoundly offensive.

The narcissism involved in assuming that you are the only one with any sort of emotional content in connection to some sort of life event is stunning. 

Yes, sweetie, we realize that it’s all about you. 

But, you need to look in the mirror and forgive someone, smack your inner toddler on the ass, call mom/dad/sibling/ex and forgive them.

And leave the rest of us alone. 

Please believe my sincerity when I say this.

Shhhh, nobody cares.

(Sidenote: My test reader just texted me and commented “Wow, who shit in your Cheerios today?)

(Good question.)

 

 
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Posted by on July 8, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Till the service dog goes blind

There is something off-putting to other people when you lick your nuts in public.

Like a social faux-pas that is a little too blatant to ignore.

Before this goes much further, this is not about me.

I am not that flexible.

And if I was, I sure as hell would not have time to be writing a blog.

I would have “things” to do.

Doug, however, has no issues with licking himself in public, he’s been doing it since I got in line at Starbucks.

“Its obscene!”

The stage whisper ahead of me is from Gladys. (Google “Gladys Bewitched” and it makes sense.)

Gladys is all up in Doug’s shit.

Doug, by the way, is a service dog, a real one with a vest and everything.

And Doug has a serious thing going on with his nuts today.

Gladys is highly triggered by it, but can’t seem to look away.

The two stoners behind me are delighted.

Here is their first comments, verbatim:

“Dogs have all the luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish I could do that.”

“Try petting him first.”

5 minutes of laughter followed that seemed to upset Gladys even more.

Doug didn’t seem to mind at all, he just continued licking his nut.

“Sir!”
Gladys has officially, “Had enough”.

Doug’s owner was texting and missed this whole deliciously uncomfortable scene.

“Huh?”

Raised eyebrows show no comprehension or acknowledgement of Gladys’ #MeToo ordeal.

“Can you do something about that?!?!”

Gladys wants SOMETHING done.

“Like what?”

The smirk on his face is not helping here. (Its a Service Dog, pretty much, he could kill someone and I think that is legal.)

“Do something about that!”

Gladys wildly gestures in the direction of Doug’s testicular garden party.

“Looks like he’s got it covered.” (Outright laughing only makes it worse, dude.)

“Make him stop!” (Gladys is hitting her peak of outrage. Worse seeing but a little sad, too.)

“I don’t like to interrupt him when he’s eating.”

And then goes back to texting with a chuckle.

In the silence that follows, the stoners lose it.

Gladys fumes and and crosses her arms defiantly.

But she will NOT stop watching.

Jealous?

Maybe she should pet him.

Damn, I need coffee.

 
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Posted by on August 24, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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