What F^ckery Is This?

By all appearances, I’ve left Facebook indefinitely. I need a break from the fuckery. However, just like… you can run but you can’t hide or,… no matter where you go, you take yourself with you or… not my monkeys, not my circus… sometimes the fuckery finds you anyway.

I may or may not have gone to an arts festival and sat behind a long-haired young man who smelled like he needed a shower. It may or may not been so bad that I may or may not have considered moving seats, except that it would have drawn attention to myself. I may or may not have wanted to be, or was, slightly intentionally rude to my husband’s former assistant at this event. I may or may not have not recognized another colleague who attended the same event until we started talking and I may or may not have felt like an asshole about that (though I may or may not have covered well and he may or may not have noticed).

I may or may not have been working extra hours at work again, happily, in spite of the new girl who may or may not have finally reached the summit of Mount Clusterfuck with her menagerie of personal problems which may or may not have included a sick child or two, a husband with a bad knee, and failure to complete a full work week even once in three months. I may or may not have made a joke or two at work about leaving early because Todd’s hip was hurting, or I needed a milkshake from McDonald’s. (We may or may not get a LOT of hilarious mileage out of this latest development at work.)

We may or may not have had friends over on Oscar night, when V may or may not have been sick and staying overnight with her dad, who played pool Very Loudly and with multiple exclamations of “mother-f^cker.” I may or may not have grown weary of my line, which was – “f^cker,” every time the other person said, “mother!” (I may or may not have felt gypped that I didn’t get to say “mother” too.) And it may or may not have gotten old fast. Todd may or may not have been shocked at my sudden lack of enthusiasm over the work “f^uck.”

We may or may not have had friends over the following weekend for dinner and games. I may or may not have actually had all the food I was preparing, ready before the guests arrived for the first time. One of our guests may or may not have expressed rather emphatically that she DOES NOT like another guest who might be stopping by. That other guest may or may not have come anyway.

We may or may not have been shocked when another guest walked through the front door with the woman who may or may not have been the reason he was arrested for attempted murder and who may or may not be still wearing an ankle bracelet issued by the state of Maryland. We may or may not have pretended we didn’t notice any of this. I may or may not be able to even make this shit up.

Jon may or may not have brought his Cards Against Humanity and some of us may or may not have played without a conscience. I may or may not have laughed my ass off. There may or may not have been fresh margaritas.

I may or may not have practiced some self-care recently, such as blood tests and follow up on urology and a thyroid scan, all of which may or may not relieved my concerns. I may or may not have made a new friend at the Clinique counter at Macy’s between appointments, before I might have gone to my first massage in 8 years.

I may or may not be suffering from what appears to be chronic back pain that has amped up its efforts in recent weeks. I may or may not know the cause, or where to start. I may or may not have seen a pain doctor, who may or may not have wasted two hours of my time for 15 minutes of hers and may or may not have had anything helpful to offer.

V may or may not be practicing a dance routine for her best friend’s Quincenera. We may or may not have gotten lost on our way to the first practice that turned out to be at a house I pass twice a week on my way to PA.

An ex-husband, or two, may or may not have bought his new fiancé a $6,000 diamond ring, or bought a half-million-dollar home to go with his $60,000 jacked up pickup truck while claiming not to be able to pay adequate child support. It may or may not end well for one of the many of us who may or may not have recently learned this information.

The world at large may or may not be going to hell in a Coronavirus handbasket, or a Cheeto-colored one, depending on which side of the fence you are or are not tweeting on. And I may or may not be considering a VERY edited, and unapologetic, return to social media.

Stay tuned.

*Disclaimer: Any resemblance to any person, real or imagined, may or may not be intentional.

**Disclaimer: Posts that appear on Facebook are shared from this page and not on Facebook. Any post appearing therein does not indicate a return to such.

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Bad Boy Musings

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Oh my God. I need to never, not ever, drink a 20-oz bottle of Dr. Pepper seven hours before bedtime. Lying in bed for going on three hours, listening to my heart beating in my chest, the weighted blanket worthless, and trying not to keep checking the time. The corner of my bedsheet and the mattress pad have pulled off, again, and I tried to ignore that too, but it was bunching up under my pillow and so I laid there thinking about how to fix that without waking Todd.

Instead, I pulled out my iPad and returned to my latest obsession on Netflix. Ha. Excellent and perhaps not-so-accidental choice of words for You. Veruca suggested it a few nights ago and we started watching it together, in spite of the mature rating, and later abandoned it because there was just waaaay too much material of a suggestive nature (that’s putting it mildly). However, momma returned to it on her day off whilst attending to household duties and now I can’t stop.

It’s riveting and soapy, the writing is sharp and yet there are times when it’s just ridiculous how the story plays out. I think Penn Badgley, the lead, is outstanding. The style of the storytelling, without giving too much away, is mostly in present tense – but there are flashbacks for the main character and then there are his voiceover monologues. It’s those inside thoughts that really drive the story in so many ways.

I think Penn Badgley outdoes himself. He fully encompasses his character’s persona – his voice, his facial expressions, the sounds of a man in the throes of orgasm (see? Waaaay too much for a 14-year-0ld) – in such a way that it’s easy to forget he’s an actor playing a part.

V told me her friend has watched nearly all of it, and my first reaction is – she’s too young, she doesn’t know what she’s seeing, how does she feel about this character?? WHY??? But see, I already know the answer.

Penn Badgely, in an interview I read somewhere and quickly forgot, was stated as admonishing fans on Twitter for lusting after this psycho-sociopath. His – and his character’s – good looks are completely overshadowing the Big Red Flags of a man with serious boundary issues and a casual disregard for human life. The female viewership is not discouraged.

What does this say about women – about people – today? And it makes me wonder what a 14-year-old girl is thinking when she’s watching the shit show that is Joe/Will. Does she find him “pretty,” as she once referred to a boy IRL? Does she fantasize about meeting him, dating him, having him love her like that?

And that’s where it gets scary. When did we learn to glorify bad boys? How do we teach our girls how to identify “bad”?

The boy with the leather motorcycle jacket, the pierced ear, the long hair, quiet and seething below the surface… is he sexy or someone to be careful of? Why do you like him? What is so tantalizing about him, the idea of him – what does bad mean?

How do you not end in up in love with guys who ignore you until they want you, punch holes in walls near your head, cigarettes in one hand and a coke straw in the other? Guys with wandering eyes and other girls too, guys who need your money, or never call back.

At some point in your young life, you decided that “bad boys” were desirable. Which movie was that? That the troubled, volatile, no-rules boy was IT. How many of them were there?

Was the boy in leather who drives a fast car really as bad you made him to be? Or did you just want him to be bad? What did it take to make him bad? How far did he have to go to qualify?

How many good guys did you burn on the road to badness? How much badness did you really see? Did you find out that the bad boy wasn’t all that bad, or that he was, in fact, worse than you ever imagined? How many bruises did you inflict, or did he inflict on you – your body, your psyche, your soul?

How many decades will it take to undo the damage you opened the door for and invited in, all because bad boys are soooo good? Once you open that door, it’s not so easy to close. The weight of the room inside is full and the door no longer closes.

When you met him, did he give you all of his attention or did he make you feel like he could be somewhere, anywhere, else? Hello! Over here! Did he stand a little too close to you? Did you like that – the discomfort in his proximity to you – while his eyes bore holes through you? Did it make your stomach dip like a free fall?

Did you relish the moment you made him jealous of someone else? Did you do it because you wanted the reaction? Did you want to see him angry? Angry with you? Did you want to fight with him, because the fire it sparks is exhilarating, makes you feel alive, because you believe that you need the turbulence?

Is it your own desire to be bad that drives your desire to capture it in someone else? Why is being bad so damn good? What are the rewards? What are the consequences?