Monday, 23 February 2015

We Can't Hear You


An Old Rant By: E.FG


I had about six shots of Jaegermeister and a lemon drop or two, before I busted through the door of a woman’s washroom at a banquet hall. That night, I was attending a wedding and I had begun the process of drinking my face off at the open bar. My mind was in a dark place at the time and alcohol seemed like the handiest helper, when it came to  surviving a function where I had to pretend I was happy for someone else, while my life was all: 

Mayday! Mayday!


The last place I wanted to be was at a wedding. 
Also, I was about three times my body size/comfort level/circumference due to, what we will call, “shit." 

The skies went to Taco Bell for lunch, came back and then shat on my life. That is how I was feeling on a constant basis for a substantial part of my existence. 

When your problems are your problems, they are the
biggest problems.

Obviously not to the point of:

Someone You Know: Did you hear about that giant tornado that wiped out an orphanage, a puppy farm, and an elderly home!? I can’t believe how many people and puppies died!

Me:(looking sad)Aw Lucky. I just got a parking ticket.


I wasn’t really game to be anywhere that required me to attempt to look happy, as well as attractive. But I went. 

I squeezed myself into one of those body shaper thingy’s, that work but they’re not a magic wand, then threw a dress on top and went. I felt like a fart at a funeral. Uncomfortable. Holy hell did I want out of that female monkey suit. 

The wedding was a wedding, and then the reception was like when they shoot the gun off at a horse race. It was a socially appropriate dash to the open bar. Finally! We could all breath. I don’t know about you, but wedding ceremonies make me feel congested and always have me thinking about:
  1. my laundry 
  2. what my drink of choice will be
  3. nothing, cause I’m lightyears away/spaced out
The after-ceremony stuff is always good though. Eye candy is a bonus. Anyways, the “I do’s” were done, we all clapped, beautiful things happened, magical kiss  and then it was off to the races! 

The bar was calling my name that night. It was saying: 


...about six shots of Jagermeister and a lemon drop or two later, I told momma my problems. 

I had had enough of the sausage casing that they called “body shaper”. I couldn’t breath. 

Body Shaper? 
More like Body Slayer! 
Am I right? 
Who makes those things? 
Fuck!


I was at my patience max capacity. 
I was taking that thing off and not even an oiled up, eager, Ryan Reynolds with a basket of weed and watermelon could stop me. 

I took a look around to see if I could figure out where the restroom was. I noticed there were a few elderly ladies, walking in a little cluster, making their way somewhere. I figured they probably weren’t smokers so the only other place they would be heading to was the washroom. Unless they were all: 

“Hey Gloria! This wedding’s a piece of shit! Let’s bounce yo!” 

Highly unlikely. 
Awesome. 
But highly unlikely. 

I followed them and wouldn’t you know it, they were going to the washroom. Jackpot! I just about trampled them to get in there to rip that wretched demon off my body. Gloria and friends were giving me this sweet old grandmother look, as if to say:

“well dear, when you gotta go, you gotta go.” 

Totally. 
But that wasn’t the case ladies.

After my drunken dramatic entrance, I plunged into a stall, slammed the door and went to town on the zipper of my dress. 

“Off! Now! Let’s go! Shake a fucking leg!”

Those were the kinds of things I was shouting out as I was banging around in the stall like a huge bull before a fight, all cooped up and angry. It sounded like a Transformer was in there...transforming. 

Poor Gloria and friends. 

This is an ‘anything goes’ kinda generation Glor, so I’m not all that sorry. Well that and I don’t give a fuck...but I think they go hand in hand. 

I finally freed myself from the contraption, unlocked the  stall door, hair looking like the nest of a pterodactyl, body slayer in one hand and my cigarettes in the other. I opened the door, and there was Gloria and friends, looking at me with the same face I make when I'm actually putting legitimate effort into figuring out what the fuck Busta Rymes is rapping about/saying. 

So happy that the struggle between man and mechanism was over, I burst out smiling from ear to ear. 

“Well fuck the dude who makes these things”
I said waving my body slayer around. 

“No thanks spanx! Am I right ladies?” I said washing my hands. 

“I was starting to think this thing molded into my skin!” I said drying my hands on my dress.

“Now momma needs a draaaaank!” I said exiting. 

“Peace out mo fuckazzzz” I said, emphasizing my z's as the washroom door closed behind me.

I then wobbled off into the night, not even thinking twice about the trail of bewilderment that I had left behind me. I didn’t care how old those ladies were in that washroom, who else was listening or what they thought. Honestly, I just needed a mountain top to yell off of after getting through that whole ordeal. No mountains... so Gloria and friends would have to do.



I have no filter...

so I’ve been told many times. But in my defense, what you think is me having no filter is really me cutting the bullshit. I lack the sugar that coats. Sugar free. Not because I’m an asshole but because I naturally can't dance around what needs to be said or what I feel needs to be said. Two very different things and yet both equally necessary. 
 
I’ve cycled through many friends over the years. I was never really one to have long term... anything. It does wonders for life lessons tho. I’m a straight women, but I have way more ex girlfriends then boyfriends. It’s the “not having a filter” thing. 

Friend: Do you like this top?
Me: No
Friend: Do you like my idea for this project
Me: No
Friend: Do you like my new boyfriend?
Me: No
Friend: Why
Me: Cause he’s an idiot
Friend: Do you think I should stay with him?
Me: No
Friend: He said he would change. I’ll give it one more shot. Ya?
Me: No
Friend: Yes
Me: Then you’re an idiot.


Don't ask me if you don't want the truth!
Like, are you kidding me? I’m a very honest person. I will give you very honest answers. And if you honestly get pissed off, then you don’t want honesty, you just want validation. So next time don’t ask...honestly! 

Unfortunately for some, everyone was blessed with a voice. Whether it’s poop or poetry you choose to spew out of your mouth, it has every right to be spewed. You can bypass so much drama if you just speak the fuck up. 

You know how many times I’ve made plans with people and they pull the “I dunno, what do you wanna do?/I’m cool with whatever” dance. 

So, what do I do? 
I choose what I want to do. 
A nice long walk. 

Then, midway through, I start hearing “how long have we been walking for? We’ve been walking for a while now. I didn’t really feel like walking. Ugh! I hate walking.” 

Hi.
Have we met? 
I’m An Hour Ago.
I asked you if you wanted to go for a nice long walk and you said yes? 

My favorite is when you’re out somewhere, and the friend you came with, is disappointed in the lack of people they are attracted to. 

Me: Soooo do you wanna leave?

Friend Who Came With: Naw. It’s cool.

Then you know what Friend Who Came With, stop holding up/leaning on the bar, it's not going fall, it doesn’t make you look cooler, throw a fucking smile on your face and set up camp. Cause in my language “naw. It’s cool” means “naw. It’s cool!”

Holy cows! 
Just say it! Whatever it is, just say it. Majority of the time your being asked, so why not do what your supposed to do when asked things, give an answer. Give your answer. Yell to the high heavens if need be! Get it out and off your chest and send it into the universe as a thought you once had, as opposed to holding onto it for forever and a day.  

I see people not being honest everywhere, wasting precious time. I was at the grocery store and the guy in front of me is having a heart attack cause he thought the chicken was on sale but it’s ringing in as not on sale. The cashier is trying to tell him it’s the wrong chicken and that it’s the other chicken that’s on sale. The annoyed customer responds with:
“are you sure?” 

Cashier dude, you are sure. 
You and Tony from produce price marked those chickens yesterday. You had to stay three extra hours just to meet your quota. Then, the deli girl showed up and offered to help price mark those chickens, which was even better cause she’s hot and you’re a virgin. You know for a fact that you are sure.

Just tell him! Say it. Then the rest of us in line, don’t have to wait ten minutes for a price check. 

I see these “speak up” situations numerous times a day. 

Here’s what my Monday looked like:

10:00am- Lady at local coffee shop, please stop pacing,rolling your eyes and breathing like a bulldog. It’s unbecoming and that’s coming from me. The barista did not intentionally forget your sugar. She has no clue why your tapping your fingers or why you keep looking at her like she slept with your husband. Relax, use your big girl voice and tell her you’d like some sugar when she’s got a sec.

12:15pm- Old man on the bus. It’s not ok that you just pushed that high school boy because his knapsack was in your face. The bus is packed, he’s turned the other way and he can’t see that his knapsack is in your face. Instead of shoving him, how bout you ask him to take off his bag? Who pushes kids anyways? 

3:45pm- Girl on a day date, instead of practically walking into traffic, make it known to the dude your on the date with that you don’t want him to attempt to hold your hand, put his arm around you or even touch you and to share the fucking sidewalk! You’re going to get hit by a car.

6:00pm- Important business man. No one knows how important you are. So please announce it or realize that announcing how important you are is just as silly as you expecting us to know how important you are. Back of the line. 

6:50pm- Father who’s daughter is currently manipulating him in the clothing story. Just say no. You can’t afford it and twelve year olds shouldn’t be wearing $80 florescent mini anything! You might as well hand her a sign that reads “Forbidden Fruit Tasting.”

9:45pm- Old lady on the subway, who’s currently making a face that would suggest she just ate poop. Stop looking around at everyone else and tell the hipster beside you to turn down his music. He doesn’t know your making these faces at him because his music is too loud. You just look like a crazy old lady. Stop it. 
  

It’s the little things I’m talking about here. It’s the itsy bitsy tiny little things that become gargantuan, then ignite the fire that boils our blood, that can be easily avoided if you just said

 “I’ll take Honesty for $500, Alex.” 

Being honest is even profitable. 
You know how much money you’d save if you said

“Hey guys, you know what...ya...I’m actually gonna pass on Club Pretenciou$ tonight”

or



Take whatever money you were going to spend on shutting up, and put it in the Honesty Jar. Fuck the Swear Jar! Clearly.

$$$

I’ve come across a few people that withdrew from me because of my view on voicing things. It was quite apparent that it wasn’t their cup of tea. I can respect that. Duh. I can’t hide my facial expressions either, so there was no way a friendship was in the cards. For a long time, I was upset with myself that I couldn’t just sit and look pretty, especially in the dating scene. I would be sitting there biting my lip at a club and guy’s are thinking “oh she a freaky girl” curling their lip all Pitbull like. 

No Mr. Worldwide, I’m not “down”. 
I’m physically biting my lip to keep my mouth shut as this, what looks to be 14 year old girl, walks by me with her lady Delorean door open and hanging out. I’m all for sexual expression, 100%. But my dear sweet child, don’t be mad when you show up to club swanky, dressed skanky, then get mad that men give you spanky.
 
Honesty 

It’s like a multi-vitamin. 
It does so much all in one shot. 
Cures drama, cleans messy situations, good for your self esteem, great for your respiratory system and can protect you from chances of pains in the ass. 

It even saves lives! 

A very dear friend of mine was put in a situation many years ago, where she had to choose between potential death and honesty. Seams like an easy choice to make doesn’t it? That’s because it is.

Let’s call my very dear friend... Claire. That’s a fake name she might like. In this story, Claire is a young girl, making an honest attempt at being cool and being herself at the same time. Claire was also a very bright girl. Brighter then most her age. One night, Claire and her friends, thought it would be super cool to go to this haunted abandoned house on a haunted street that everyone claimed to be haunted. Sounds spooky and super cool but it was actually quite lame because it wasn’t a haunted house at all. It was a house someone owned, on property they purchased, but obviously didn’t take care of. It looked haunted. So really this is a story about a bunch of dumb ass youngsters breaking and entering. 

Claire and her friends made their way into the house and found an area that they felt was appropriate to start a fire. 

✔ Smart.

I mean if your going to break into the place, you’re going to need heat right? 

✘ Stupid. 

The fire was ablaze as were the joints. With that being said, you can imagine how important the fire became to this scene. Stoners + Fire = Awesome. 

“What else can we burn?” They asked one another. 

The house, being dilapidated and all, had a wide variety of pieces of wood to choose from. So pieces of wood began to fuel the fire. Soon pieces of wood weren't good enough. They needed more, so someone suggested that they burn the dusty old couch cushions they found. Cushions? 

Cushions! 
Of course! 
Brilliant.

The couch cushions were soon thrown into the fire. Claire began to hear a tiny little voice in her head that she ignored right up until they started with the cushion idea. A little table was the next to burn. The voice in Claire’s head was screaming at this point, telling her to get her ass out of there.

Claire expressed aloud that she didn’t think what they were doing was a good idea. She kept hinting in that they should leave but Claire was silenced and out numbered by morons. Numerous times Claire was told she was being “too mom like” and to “chill the fuck out.” Claire took a second to think to herself... 

“Maybe I am being too mom like.”

That concept was soon smoked out of her head as soon as she noticed the amount of smoke in the room. She looked up at the ceiling and saw black clouds. Not only was there a bonfire indoors, but people were smoking cigarettes on top of that. She then did the math of how many hours they had been in there vs. how long they had been breathing the smoke in. 

You want to know what that equates to? 

“You guys can stay. I’m out.” 

Obviously when she voiced her concern and left, others followed. What else were they going to do? Claire had just pointed out the obvious. What was going to be their rebuttal? “No your wrong. This couch smoke is completely healthy, we should stay”?

Breaking and entering was one thing. But arson? That’s where Claire drew the line. Who knows what could have happened that night if she didn’t guide that idiotic flock out of there. 


Speak. 
We've all got shit to do in this life, and we're never going to get around to said shit, if we're sugar coating or waiting for someones decision to speak now or forever hold their peace. 

Call a spade a spade when you see one. They are not hard to miss and it helps everyone out in the end. Whatever conversation you’re having in your head regarding a current situation, we can't hear you! So share with the class. What’s the worst case scenario? Someone doesn’t like your opinion? Fuck em. 

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