Holy hiatus, Batman! A State of the Blog address

IT LIVES! For the two of you who might still think about this dumpster fire of a blog after four years of me being in absentia, you'll be glad to know I'm alive and well and gradually re-assimilating myself into the human world. I've also been wrestling for the past several years with a load of personal drama and epiphanies and major life issues and stuff.

At least I don't have to deal with wild 80's hair.

To make a long story short, since my Year In Review post died of neglect in late December 2013, I am not the same person I was when I started this blog. I mean I'm still a bitter snarky ass bitch with a flair for dark humor that is probably single-handedly responsible for my fantastic romantic failure with the dames, but I also have a newfound understanding of the many things that I've been doing wrong all these years.

Aside from learning that I'm probably wasting my time with any chick who thinks romantic comedies are actually funny, I've also figured out that my lack of discipline has held me back considerably. I was officially diagnosed with ADD at age 21, and while I know it is considered extremely suspect as far as being a legitimate medical condition, I refuse to use it as a convenient excuse to be completely helpless. I don't know why, but suddenly I want to know everything. I don't want to be one of those people who couldn't tell their ass from a hole in the ground without the help of an iPhone app. I want to learn everything. I want to know everything. Everything from the fact that olives are actually fruit to what to do when your refrigerator suddenly starts hemorrhaging water at 3 a.m. The ADD meds seem to be doing their job. Huzzah!

All of these things are enriching and useful in their own way, but what I want more than anything is to improve the skills I already have. I have been a writer for twenty five years, if you count the disturbing shit I wrote when I was 7 that would make a modern-day child psychologist foam at the mouth. I have always had this gift and nourished it for many years. But I've become a lazy bitch over the past few years in so many aspects of my life. I can't abide by this.

So allow me to bring you up to speed. I'm currently employed at a place I'll call Blackbeard's Fish and Chips, just in case any work-related posts take a turn for the untoward. I'm also working on a novel, one that will either become the next Harry Potter or fail miserably; only time will tell. I suspect I'll find some success with this little piece of work, however, what with the popularity of demon hunting stories, which is the main theme of my novel.

Replace hunky dudes with hillbilly lesbians and you have my story. 

So we're mostly caught up on the current state of affairs. Also I got some new ink. 

And that's all she wrote. I fully intend to keep this thing updated at least three times a week with fresh material. I will try my best to keep this thing up. It's good discipline for me, really. So stay tuned for more product reviews, stories, and randomness.

"Don't you want kids?" "No thanks, I just ate."

I just turned 31 years old. When I look back on my life thus far, "successful" and "fulfilled" are not words that jump readily to mind. Having slogged through my twenties suffering with undiagnosed, untreated mental illness, I waffled on many decisions that would affect the rest of my life and as a result I missed many opportunities. I realize that the window of time to rectify all this will close eventually, and I'm dealing with this to the best of my ability. But there is one major life decision with such a finite timeline that I made years ago with no second thoughts: not having kids.

Y Kant Katt Read?

I am a writer, obviously. That is, if you can suspend disbelief for a minute and accept that the title also encompasses half-assed bloggers who only write when they have something to bitch about. And I have always thought I am a decent writer, when I actually apply myself. But the truth is, there are a lot of folks out there who would laugh me right out of cyberspace for even thinking something so ludicrous. Why? Because I don't like to read.

Burn them smart-ass books.

And now for something so scary you'll plotz...

Happy Halloween Schizophiles! I had plans for a series of Halloween related posts, but I'm running a bit low on inspiration these days and might in fact take some time off to build up a backlog of material for those times my brain decides it's tired of doing the brain thing. In the meantime, check out the chilling and allegedly true tale of the ill-fated Dutch freighter Ourang Medan. If you're wondering what Grampa Simpson all dolled up in his Cabaret finest has to do with this, it turns out **SPOILER ALERT** they were having a Big Gay Party on board and so God had to smite their homersexual asses right off the face of the fucking planet. True facts. Ask the Westboro Baptist Church.

Bullying. Seriously?

When I was a boy in 2nd or 3rd grade, I came home from school one day and told my Dad that I was being bullied, he took me out back, tied my right hand to my belt loop, and came at me like a rabid honey badger. He didn't beat me up, just roughed me up a bit. He wasn't abusive, the majority of the tussle I had a smile on my face, and I vaguely remember giggling. 

When the du

st settled and my scrapes and bruises stopped throbbing, my Dad came to me and said something to the effect of, "Let the bully try that shit now."

I went to school the next day and gave the bully an Indiana Jones-style haymaker, and I never took shit again. Parents weren't contacting parents, coalitions of worried soccer Moms weren't formed, CNN didn't have a roundtable discussion about the event. Playground justice is all that happened. Period.

If we don't let kids sort these things out on their own, we will soon be a nation of total uselessness. Pampering leads to young adults that aren't ready for the real world...ever. Hence the issues we increasingly face. Toughen your kids up by letting them figure some of it out on their own. - Marcus

Facebook Fuckery: Moral guilt fail edition

Admit it. You stop for a minute when you see these things, taking the moment to assess how much you truly value the most important things in your life. You're presented with a conundrum: do you REALLY love your mom/cat/God/sandwich as much as you SAY you do? Well you have just been given the perfect test. If you "like", you're in the clear and probably won't go to hell, at least not for this particular thing. But if you just keep scrolling...well, you've clearly underestimated your love. You've been lying all this time, not only to yourself, but to your family, your pets, your Lord, and your lunch. You bastard.

I bet you're all kinds of pissed now. "But I love my mom/cat/God/sandwich," you say. "I do I do I dooooo...! This is just some stupid shit on Facebook posted by someone with not enough to do. Fuck this shit." I feel your pain, I do. But I also know you feel a weird little awkward twinge of guilt right now for scrolling, like the bastard you are. It's a sign of the times, and I don't like it any more than you do, I assure you. But the writing's on the wall: when you scroll, you might as well put laxatives in your Mom's tea, punch your cat in the face, piss on a Nativity scene...eh, I suppose you can eat the sandwich. But I should warn you, there's a pubic hair in there somewhere. You bastard.

New Sexual "True Blood" Advertising

I admit, I've only watched like two episodes of HBO's popular series True Blood, and I can honestly say I hate it. I understand a lot of the appeal is in the gratuitous sex, but still it made me feel dirty in ways I've never experienced before, and that's saying something. But I still had to appreciate this delightfully tongue-in-ass ad campaign for the series that shamelessly admits it is little more than souped up necro-porn. I'm honestly surprised that the neck holes aren't fully functional fuckable orifices, but it's not like I don't already have enough to talk about in therapy. But at least the blow-up doll is more attractive than the real Anna Paquin.