Once Upon A Time I Showed My Ass...Most Literally

Fuck my life...today ranked among the top 3 most embarrassing moments of my life.  And at the present I can't tell you the other two...or anything close as a matter of fact.  I went furniture shopping with Mr Man at the Ashley Furniture store.  I sat on almost every couch in the showroom.  After about an hour or so he landed on one that he liked, picked the coffee tables, rug and whatever and went off to do paperwork.  I found a fluffy chaise lounge and did a diving flop...that's the best guess I have of when it happened.  Of course true to form, I can only sit still for a second and got up and wandered about the store some more before coming back and waiting for him to finish up.  When I was headed to the front door...he's behind me and says "Oh my god, the ass of your pants is completely blown out"...now by completely, he actually meant COM-FUCKING-PLETELY...and proceeds to start the dog in cartoon laugh.  Out the front door and he is now fell over at the waist horse laughing my ass...literally.  Not a chance in hell that I'm wearing a shirt long enough to begin to cover it.  Wow.

A- How the fuck did this happen??

B- How in God's name can I be so blissfully unaware??

C- Yes those are my blue undies.

D- Guess in a way this is a good thing 'cause these fuckers were definitely not ass flattering...in hind sight..ha.

I'm sure that that somewhere in the back room they are drinking beer, rewinding and replaying the security tapes and peeing themselves.  I relive the whole scene to Nanner...telling her I can never go back in there and probably in all likelihood need to burn the shirt and hat I was wearing for fear of being recognized in public.  Nanner being the true friend that she is says "Hey if its one of your pink hats I'll take it." 

I think this is something like the Seinfeld episode where George is at the book store and takes the book into the bathroom and they make him buy it and its flagged as a bathroom reader so he can't return it.  Yea, so as soon as they figure out how to find me I'm going to be the proud owner of like 15 or so sofas.  Ya know...I can't make shit like this up.



Bath Mats & Stepping Stones

Sometimes I guess all you need to feel at home is a bath mat.  Warm fuzziness between you and some else's cold floors. Linoleum cock blocker of sort.  I met a neighbor today.  Spot's biped.  Spot is the Boston Terrier equivalent of Earnhardt reincarnated.  Last night we were pretty sure we were being attacked by the fastest raccoon on record, then the "SPOT" screaming commenced and I realized that I was safe and no longer needed lay down my life and heroically tackle a rabid 300 mph raccoon to save my dog. 

Spot's mom was missing at least 4 of the major 8 on the dental front.  She welcomed me to the neighborhood, excused her appearance since she had just removed her teeth and proceeded to warn me about the crackhead around the corner.  Pot...Kettle...Black.  I endured one cop / n epitaph story with a straight face and peaced out.  I asked Roger on the walk home to remind me we needed to get out of the trailer park and to floss before bed.

 At the same time I try to remember to never assume you know some one's story.  You have no idea why or how people manage to end up where they are...and it makes you a raging asshole to assume.  Maybe her story is as interesting or as boring as mine...Maybe so is the crack head's.  Don't get me wrong, I'm by no means ubber empathetic.  I just know that not every book can be judged by it's trailer park squatting cover. 

It's good to know that a fuzzy green bath mat makes you feel grounded.  And it's good to know that every step and every person in your life is there for a reason...some kind of stepping stone to get you to the next place where the fuzzy mat makes it feel like home...at least for a while.

Transition

Life blows.  I can't hear the voices that I rely on for guidance.  I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going.  I am for all intents and purposes homeless and I don't know whether this is my big chance to uproot, run and change my whole life or if it's just all a big fuck up.  Haven't felt this lost in a really really long time and I'm trying hard just to lean on myself, but self is scared. 

This was written a few weeks back when I was obviously obliviously in a panic.  I had just schlepped most of wearable belongings out of Mr Man's house and into my shu.  As is par for my life, I didn't have a pile of friends in it for beer or a well laid plan.  Just me dragging my shit around like Linus' tired old blanky.  I was feeling like the little girl that I am lost in a grown ups body.  I normally filter out this part of my existence.  I seldom get this way and even when I do I don't wear it around on my cuff for others to see.

I've since made some decisions and taken some steps that are making me feel a little more in control.  I've decided where I'm going to live, at least for the next few months, gotten a storage unit for some things that need to be swapped out and have gotten my mom to pack up about eleven hundred pounds of chatkas so I can breathe and move some of my own stuff into her beach house.  Can't claim homeless anymore and I'm no longer driving around with three quarters of my worldly tethers in the back of my car.  I guess we'll call that progress.  I am however completely incapable of giving any form of answer for my "plans".  There honestly aren't any...lots of thoughts still banging around in this rock hard gourd attachment, but nothing I'd label as a plan.  To bogart a line from CAP- "My life has no set trajectory and if I think about it too much it makes me panic"...some days.  And some days after a few rum drinks it almost makes me slightly giddy at the endless possibilities.

So here's to rolling with life...finding reasons to laugh out loud everyday...smiling over the simple things and the wide openness of my world to come.