I've never had a good relationship with the redheads I've come across. For some reason that particular hair color always belonged to personalities that conflicted with mine. Whether it was Lenny Bisby, the neighborhood bully who threw hot sauce in my face when I was in the second grade, or that chick named Kim who I locked horns with in the 8th grade, truth be told, the only ginger I've ever dealt with on a civil basis was a sweetheart named Michelle who I knew in art school.
Now I find myself loathing all things red-topped once again. This time the subject of my disdain isn't even real, she's an orphan from the depression era 1920's and her name is Annie.
Its a sad and sorted tale, the relationship Annie and I shared. It started back when I was 10. Annie was the tough girl that everyone was quite fond of. She had crazy, red hair and a stinky mutt, but Annie was a talented survivor who made good in the end. I loved her story, and her music, and the cool costumes. I watched Annie over and over again imitating her every move.
Annie and I were inseparable for close to a year, but as with all things in time, she and I grew apart. There were other things coming into the picture; Fraggles, Inspector Gadget, and John Taylor of Duran Duran. My love and affection soon turned towards John, and Annie was all but forgotten; cast aside as an adorable childhood memory.
However, Annie and I weren't through, not by a long shot. Two months ago, Annie re-entered my life, this time befriending my daughter, Rachael. I knew from the moment Rachael saw Annie, she was under the same spell that had captured me 25 years ago. Rachael loves everything Annie does, and all she ever wants to do is talk about Annie. She imitates Annie's tough talk and catch phrases, copies her dance moves, and sings the songs of her beloved Annie, much to my chagrin.
I find myself loathing Annie more and more with each passing day. How could it be that in 25 years my feeling towards Annie could have changed so dramatically? After all, Annie wasn't the one who changed, I was.
Oh, I know...it's the five millionth time I've heard "It's a Hard Knock Life" or perhaps it's the fact that I can't watch anything on TV, because the movie of the day is always Annie. The little redhead is adorable in small does, but 24/7 is more than any mere mortal should have to endure. Sorry Annie, but you grow old with age, same as the rest of us, only we don't get to keep our 'the sun will come out tomorrow' smiles as bright and wrinkle-free.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Best Election Ever
I've already espoused my affection for Barack Obama, so no need to go on further. This will be the best election ever, not because my beloved, yet dysfunctional country, will finally be forced into the new millennium by electing the candidate who is right for the job, not the one they could see themselves having a beer with, it will be the best election ever due to the Cletus factor.
Gas prices have gone through the roof driving people into such desperate means that ignorant-ass, rednecks will be forced to vote for a black guy rather than watch their family starve. This is sad and pathetic, but I choose instead to see the humor in it. I can just see Cletus right now, lumbering up to the votin' booth in his finest Van Halen circa 1980s t-shirt (the one he used to wear to work until one of them illegal Mexicans took his job), looking at the ballot and wantin' like hell to vote for that McCain fella, but Cletus stops, grits his remaining teeth, and punches the card for Obama.
Cletus now knows, what those of us with an education past 8th grade have known for awhile; the Republicans are ineffective corporate whores who don't give a fuck about the working class, and never will, and that by voting for McCain, Cletus won't be able to afford the gas to drive his Chevy to church or the unemployment office. Therefore, as much as he hates blacks (and believe me, Cletus does), he will vote for the black guy, because he can barely afford the payments on his trailer.
If it seems like I'm being elitist and bagging on rednecks a bit too much that is because they deserve it. White, ignorant, Midwestern, Christian, rednecks were the ones who got Bush into office twice. For the far-reaching pain their stupidity has caused my beloved country, they are just going to have to bend over and take my abuse. I just hope like hell they've learned their lesson, then again, for those remaining Cletus-like hold-outs, there will always be a gallon of gas at $5 to push them to, finally, do the right thing.
Gas prices have gone through the roof driving people into such desperate means that ignorant-ass, rednecks will be forced to vote for a black guy rather than watch their family starve. This is sad and pathetic, but I choose instead to see the humor in it. I can just see Cletus right now, lumbering up to the votin' booth in his finest Van Halen circa 1980s t-shirt (the one he used to wear to work until one of them illegal Mexicans took his job), looking at the ballot and wantin' like hell to vote for that McCain fella, but Cletus stops, grits his remaining teeth, and punches the card for Obama.
Cletus now knows, what those of us with an education past 8th grade have known for awhile; the Republicans are ineffective corporate whores who don't give a fuck about the working class, and never will, and that by voting for McCain, Cletus won't be able to afford the gas to drive his Chevy to church or the unemployment office. Therefore, as much as he hates blacks (and believe me, Cletus does), he will vote for the black guy, because he can barely afford the payments on his trailer.
If it seems like I'm being elitist and bagging on rednecks a bit too much that is because they deserve it. White, ignorant, Midwestern, Christian, rednecks were the ones who got Bush into office twice. For the far-reaching pain their stupidity has caused my beloved country, they are just going to have to bend over and take my abuse. I just hope like hell they've learned their lesson, then again, for those remaining Cletus-like hold-outs, there will always be a gallon of gas at $5 to push them to, finally, do the right thing.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Highs, Lows & Everything After
It was one of those weeks. The kind that shake you to the core. I envy the life I had before last Sunday, even the life I had Sunday afternoon. I was solid in knowing where everything stood; who was who; and what was what.
I apologize for my vagueness, but what was revealed Sunday night was the kind of thing one takes to their grave, and now all I'm left with is the angst, sadness, and insecurity brought on by the revelation. I cried like I never have before in my life, not even when my mother died in my arms.
Parents die before their children, if they're lucky. It's normal, the proper place in the life cycle. I attended the funeral of a dear friend of the family, who was like family, last Friday, and I shed a few tears, but she had been sick for quite sometime and the writing was on the wall. I left with a certain amount of sadness, knowing that I would miss her, but when she passed, it didn't feel wrong.
This was not the case with the revelation. It was so very wrong. I cried until my chest ached and my eyes were nearly swollen shut. Then I spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning. All I wanted to do on Monday was curl up in bed, in a dark bedroom, and cry, but I had a work deadline that forced me from my heartbreak. I have never been so grateful for work in my life. I could walk through the door of the business and feel that at least one aspect of my existence was normal.
The next few days after were shaky, and each night I cried myself to sleep, but as the week wore on life began to feel a bit normal again. Now here I am a week later. I can't think about the revelation too hard, or I end up in tears. It sneaks up on me from time to time, but I can, once again, envision life returning to a relative state of normalcy.
The hardest part will be the fact that I will carry the revelation in the back of mind for the rest of my life, and I will take it to my grave, but it is necessary in order to ensure that that which is most precious to me remains whole, happy, and continues to thrive.
Again, many apologies for such awkward vagueness, but writing has always been my way of working things out and finding comfort even when it doesn't make sense to others.
I apologize for my vagueness, but what was revealed Sunday night was the kind of thing one takes to their grave, and now all I'm left with is the angst, sadness, and insecurity brought on by the revelation. I cried like I never have before in my life, not even when my mother died in my arms.
Parents die before their children, if they're lucky. It's normal, the proper place in the life cycle. I attended the funeral of a dear friend of the family, who was like family, last Friday, and I shed a few tears, but she had been sick for quite sometime and the writing was on the wall. I left with a certain amount of sadness, knowing that I would miss her, but when she passed, it didn't feel wrong.
This was not the case with the revelation. It was so very wrong. I cried until my chest ached and my eyes were nearly swollen shut. Then I spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning. All I wanted to do on Monday was curl up in bed, in a dark bedroom, and cry, but I had a work deadline that forced me from my heartbreak. I have never been so grateful for work in my life. I could walk through the door of the business and feel that at least one aspect of my existence was normal.
The next few days after were shaky, and each night I cried myself to sleep, but as the week wore on life began to feel a bit normal again. Now here I am a week later. I can't think about the revelation too hard, or I end up in tears. It sneaks up on me from time to time, but I can, once again, envision life returning to a relative state of normalcy.
The hardest part will be the fact that I will carry the revelation in the back of mind for the rest of my life, and I will take it to my grave, but it is necessary in order to ensure that that which is most precious to me remains whole, happy, and continues to thrive.
Again, many apologies for such awkward vagueness, but writing has always been my way of working things out and finding comfort even when it doesn't make sense to others.
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