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October 1, 2018 / Meredith

What Everyone’s Talking About And Finding Out My School Chums Are Chumps

I have a friend from high school who posted a third-party commentary on Facebook which opines the hypocrisy of the Democratic party for challenging the current nominee for Supreme Court Justice.  The commentary went on and on about how sexual misconduct, harassment and assault is bad, but when the Democrats hollered about it, it was swept under the rug.  Which led me to believe this commentary was in favor of the Republicans’ privilege to sweep the current issue under the rug too.

This commentary made a good point about hypocrisy, but didn’t step up to bat regarding the issue at hand – sexual assault.  It merely stated, in my interpretation, if the Democrats can sweep it under the rug why can’t the Republicans?  In my opinion, sexual assault/harassment/misconduct isn’t something that should be favored or dismissed by either political party.

I’m ashamed at the turn our government has made.  The current President has been accused of several offences which have not come under immediate investigation.  Quite the contrary.  He, his party and cabinet have been toddling along for two years without a hitch.

What in the hell is going on?  It’s a nightmare.

Sexual misconduct/harassment/abuse should not be tolerated no matter the politics of the perpetrator or accuser.  It’s wrong and bad and when it comes to our officials it’s a big, huge deal.

Judge Kavanaugh is clearly biased based on the statements and outrages he’s presented to the committee. If I ever told my prospective employers that their process was a sham, I’d be dismissed from consideration for the job immediately. Plus, if Brett Kavanaugh was instead Barbara Kavanaugh she would be out of the running by now based on her emotional responses, not to mention that a woman would never get nominated for the position of Supreme Court Justice by the current President.

I’m ashamed to have a “friend” on Facebook, someone whom I’ve known since grade school, and female to boot, who would post such a piece of  drivel on her page. On top of that I’m utterly embarrassed for her.  She’s a complete idiot under the guise of patriot?  I can’t understand how a woman can stand behind such a misogynist President and those who support him.  Well, it might be better to stand behind them than in front of them, if you have boobs and a pussy to grab.

Hey Doreen, wise up and look at the issues as a woman, a voter, an American citizen, and most of all as a compassionate human being.  I don’t know if you’re part of the #MeToo club, but as one who is I can say that no man who treats a woman as a play thing or takes advantage of her vulnerable state is above the law.  In fact, he’s just a piece of shit and it is he who should be dismissed in front of the entire country.

And you must have shit for brains if you don’t believe it.

The End
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May 31, 2018 / Meredith

Writer’s Block

I know, the topic of writer’s block has been covered up and down and to the Seven Circles of Hell.  Everyone experiences it.  Writers, at least.

Who is a writer, after all?  Someone who writes, right?  One doesn’t need to be on the New York Times best seller list, or even published to be a “writer.”  They say those who write are writers.  Yeah, well, that ain’t making me feel much better.

I have a personal blog/journal (online but unseen by the public) where I write frequently.  It’s nothing to publish, even as a blog post.  Or is it?  Even as I write this (and dare to publish) I wonder if anyone will be interested in my ramblings and complainy nature.

The reason I’m writing this is because of the dang TV and movies.  I see things like Julie and Julia, Under the Tuscan Sun, and Sex and the City, and it looks like it can be so easy to just…write.  Those stories about writers make me feel like a schmuck.  Really, how hard can it be to just write down your feelings, thoughts, and opinions?

Except it’s not just about writing those things.  As I write this I’m already thinking about how to edit it.  Grammar, timing, and worst of all, content.  What do other people want to read?  What do I want to read?  It’s about telling stories, and I feel like I have no stories to tell.

I haven’t posted anything on this blog for a long time.  I have another blog representing my business and I haven’t written on that either.  I’m not writing.  I’m blocked.

And then there’s the novel I have in progress.  Oh, how long has it been since I’ve worked on that?

So what is it about writer’s block?   Does writing about writer’s block cure writer’s block?

The End

August 3, 2017 / Meredith

Solve For X

The ever-popular blogger Ross Murray, author of Drinking Tips for Teens, recently posted a delightful essay on Canada’s summer of 2017.  Did I say “delightful?”  Change that to…a delightful spin on what is proving to be the personification of everything disastrous in my lifetime.

I don’t talk about politics much, at least not outside my own home.  Suffice it to say disgust and shame filters into my life with every passing day our Lord Cheeto and his minions are all puffed up over their ridiculous antics.

Like Ross, I can save myself only by finding some kind of entertainment or humor in the situation.  It’s hard to do these days.

One saving grace is a song that creeps into my mind every time Lord Cheeto rejects scientific facts.  The rejection of said facts is a disgrace, but the song is a great earworm and has visited me on an almost daily basis for the past seven months.  A slight silver lining around a stupid, fat, cloud.

Now, for the equation: X = Lord Cheeto + Science

The answer is so clear.  X = Blinded. 

Lord help us all.

The End

June 3, 2017 / Meredith

Remembering

Remember those times when we walked in and the thunder made our hearts pound?

Remember that song I screamed at?  And you took my hand and led me to the floor?

Remember how I used to buy cheap beers until someone else bought me Heinekens?

Remember when you asked me “how tall are you anyway?”

Remember how you tried to be the guy who would turn me on?

Remember how you called me “doll?”

Remember seeing that guy leaning against the bar on a random weekday?  They called him Prince.

Remember when we were in that video of The Wallets’ song “Totally Nude?”

Remember when we couldn’t figure out if Boy George was a guy or girl?

Remember giving me amy on the dance floor?

Remember slamming to The Suburbs?

Remember my spike heels sinking into the hot, summer tar?

Remember when we drove through the intersection of 1st and 7th and you grabbed my thigh as I straddled your machine?

Remember when I was young?

 

This piece was written about a place, time, and people long gone.  While the place is still standing, it’s nothing like it is in my memory.  Likewise, the people remain in my mind as they were so many years ago.  Those memories are brought back by nothing more than notes on a scale, a voice, and a beat that will shake me to my very core.  Music gathers up the years and brings the past to life.  Those times are gone, but I still can’t help dancing to the music, remembering the times and people of my youth.

The End

April 8, 2017 / Meredith

Those Old And/Or Dead Parents

Today marked the five-year anniversary of my father-in-law’s death.  Knick took me out to lunch at Flameburger, the go-to place for a fast meal when we visited his dad at “the home.”  Most notably we, Knick and I, took a quick Easter breakfast at Flameburger in the midst of standing vigil at Faux Pa’s side; it took the guy thirty-six hours to drift off into the big sleep.  Fortunately we didn’t miss his passing while we shoveled down greasy eggs and flat pancakes with all the patrons who had nowhere else to go on Easter morning.

We toasted Faux Pa with our big glasses of pop but didn’t talk about him at all during our lunch.  I thought Knick would have more to say in the memories of his dad, but no.  That seemed kind of strange and a little sad to me, but Knick and his parents were strange and sad in general as far as families go.  That’s only my opinion, and I’m sure plenty of people say the same about me and my family.  What I miss the most is the stories I could tell about Knick’s parents, how completely absurd they were.

I wasn’t my mother-in-law’s first choice of wives for her only boy, her only child.  On the other hand, she never treated him with any more respect than she would treat a dog, and she didn’t like dogs much.  I didn’t care much what Faux Ma thought of me because deep down I know she knew I was a good fit for Knicky.  She just had to be annoyed at something and I was a pretty clear target.

Faux Pa, on the other hand, well, I think he liked me and was glad to see his son happy in marriage.  For as long as I knew Knick’s parents Faux Pa was pretty subdued and succumbed to his wife’s fancies.  After studying the dynamic of the family of three I suspected Faux Pa wasn’t as easy-going in his younger days, and through the years my suspicions were confirmed.

The whole family was a frustrated bunch, and they frustrated me.  The best thing was, they provided endless blog fodder.  The paranoia, the mind games, the passive-aggressiveness, and the food.  Oh, the food!  Faux Ma was probably one of the worst cooks of any mother I’d ever known.

Knick doesn’t recognize the anniversary of his mother’s death because, sadly, he’s glad she’s dead.  Even though his dad ruled a bit more forcefully in Knicky’s youth, Knick has a soft spot in his heart for him.  I’ll never pretend to know completely what went on during Knick’s years with his parents, but I’m fairly certain it wasn’t great.  If he wants to piss on his mother’s grave, I’ll give him support.  If he wants to honor his father on the anniversary of his death, I’ll support that too.

Today’s thoughts reinforce the relationship I have with my parents.  Yes, they’re still alive, but besides being very loving and considerate people they’re the most frustrating, aggravating, stubborn people I know.  They gave me a good childhood, opportunities at their expense, and support and encouragement throughout my entire life.  They’re old now.  The least I can do is provide to my parents the patience and encouragement they gave me for so many years.  Because for me, being an orphan would suck.  Will suck.  And the time with them grows shorter with every day.

The End

March 28, 2017 / Meredith

Runnin’ Blind

Honey, you really tempt me

You know the way you look so kind

I’d love to stick around but I’m running behind

You know I don’t even know what I’m hoping to find

Running into the sun but I’m running behind

                                        ~ Jackson Browne

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March 10, 2017 / Meredith

Happy Birthday

What was it about that guy.  He was good for you, but so bad for you in the end.

One thing I wish for all women (but for some it may be too late) is that they have that guy.  The guy who made a huge impact.  The guy you never dreamed you’d ever be with but there you are, with him.  The guy who always came back, even years later.  Even when you thought you were through with him forever.  He caught you again, even though you knew it was wrong.

He challenged you.  He did things to you no one else ever did or will ever do again.  He made you think, he made you feel.  He made a difference.  He set a standard, high or low.

I know some women who never had that guy, who never felt such a passion.  I feel sorry for the women who only had tender and safe love.  Oh yes, tender and safe is a good thing in the long run, but to have that one, angsty, abandoned, turbulent romance…ahh, such are the things real memories can be made.

Those memories last forever.  And ever.  And you dream about that guy even though you sleep next to the love of your life.  He’s the epitome of the zest of your youth.  He taught you the meanings of exhilaration and despair.

That guy holds your heart for a lifetime.  You’ll love him until the day you die, but he’s not what life is about.  He doesn’t give security, he’s too volatile, he isn’t the guy you want to grow old with.  You can’t be with him forever, but he’ll never leave your heart.  He’s become part of you.  You’ll never forget him, and you’ll never want to.

But now he’s gone.  He’s moved on, married, has had children, perhaps divorced and moved to the next one.  You don’t care, because you’ve move on too, having a life of your own, and a very satisfying one at that.  You’re happy with the path you’ve chosen.  And yet, just once in a while, you think about him, and the time you spent together.  He never goes away.

I wish a very happy birthday to two of those guys.  Two friends with the same birthday and who dated two sisters, forever affecting their lives.  A toast to the men who made us who we are today.  We think of you fondly, and will see you in our dreams.

The End

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