Why I don't write blogs

Why don’t I write blogs? You didn’t ask but I’m going to tell you. I don’t read them. Not that I’m not interested in peering into someone’s life or getting super cool tips on <insert subject here>, I just have so many better things to do. Like sleep. Or read actual factual books or watch movies or waste hours on facebook. Facebook. That’s a big reason I don’t write blogs. Getting people to participate on a social network, even one as popular as facebook , is like pulling teeth. If they aren’t interested in what I had for lunch or what I’m doing for the weekend, why the hell would I think they’d be interested in reading my blog? I’ve even tried the idiot proof blogging site, tumblr. Seriously, how sharing what others post all day is considered blogging I’ll never understand. So I have a regular tumblr that I rarely use and a movie review one that I thought I’d get into but didn’t. Then I have this blog that I started years ago and never use. And since I don’t read blogs I really have NO idea what people write. I’m not a hobbyist. I don’t knit. I don’t have child raising tips. I’m not a coupon clipping diva. I’m not interested in running a porn site. So what the smeg does the regular non-talented person write about?

Kim and Karen both start with K

In another life I would have been named Kim and nicknamed “Pinkie”. I would have had a large family and a mother who partied. I would have a strong Boston accent. I’d never be alone. I would have come home to drugged out people passed out on the floor. Parents way too young to care for me, an over-burdened grandmother, and lots of friends. I wonder how my social anxiety would have manifested itself. Would I have drowned it with booze, drugs, and sex? How would my environment have shaped me?
Who would be my best friend? Would I still have my sense of humor? Could I have possibly turned out more bitter? I sense I would have gone down a dark path. I would have trod down the road most taken. I’d be surrounded by lots of people. Perhaps I would have had a happy life. Maybe I’d overcome my tumultuous past and my young mother’s life may have turned out so much better.
I claim my right to be self serving. It was a decision that rocked so many lives. It was a decision made in my best interest. As mean as it sounds, I’m glad they made the agonizing decision to give me away although it caused such sadness. I’m happy they took the burden of all Kim’s pain. I’m glad I’m me.

Stop & Stupid: A LOG

October 1988:

It's time to Stop & Shop. My first day of training consists of a bagger, John, showing me how to punch in. Then...nada. I realize it's not difficult to bag groceries, but you think they'd at least explain how they would like it done. I'm 14 years old for Chrissakes. Do they really believe teenagers and retards sit home and contemplate the finer nuances of bagging? Eggs on top, don't put detergents with perishables, evenly disperse the weights. Throw me a frickin’ bone here, Eileen.

Ahh, Eileen, my first boss. Not many people liked this woman and those who did were around her age or older, female, and most importantly, Irish. Eileen was the bitch from hell. A lot of kids were afraid of her and I was one of them. No lie, I had nightmares about her every single day for years. Yes, I said years. She was that nasty. In fact, after I was out of high school I heard tell that the guidance counselors had taken to warning students not to work for Stop & Shop and the reason given was Eileen. Imagine being that much of a giant ‘C’.

So, here we are in 1988. A big-haired classmate who was already a Stop & Shop veteran warned me, and I quote, “You’ll learn to hate people.” Well, I already hated most people so her warning didn’t scare me. Really, how bad could it possibly be? Holy trough in hell! I miscalculated the power of people to be colossal douche bags! Truly, it is amazing how horribly some customers treat those in the service industry. I would never have believed how beastly a person could be if I had never worked in a Supermarket.

What a cast of characters they had, and still do, working for Stop & Shop. Crazy part of it is; some of my coworkers from 1988 are still with the company, still in the same store. They are what we called “Lifers” and I’m sure many people thought I would become one. Although at the time I didn’t think I’d last a year, I ended up lasting over 17 of them.
The most well known employees at this particular store are Chuck and Dave. They had been working there long before my arrival and they work there to this day. Chuck and Dave are baggers, the lowest of the low in the Stop & Shop universe. They both like the 3 Stooges and Chuck calls every girl “Marcia Brady”. They get along like an old married couple. They almost look related. They are Stop & Shop legends; I think the whole town knows them by name.

My Education: K - 8

you set me up from early childhood for the pain and disappointment and lifelong gut-wrenching foreboding i have felt every day since you are the kindergarten teacher who didn’t deserve her job you are the first grade teacher who silently watched me cry because there was no chair for me and then brought it up at the parent teacher conference like you were some kind of hero you are the fifth grade teacher who was clearly repulsed by me even the student teacher noticed i have her college paper to back that shit up you are the two sixth grade teachers who really pissed me off i mean who throws desks across the room and keeps their job who shuts the water off and takes the clock off the wall and yells at me because i can’t hear you bastards took the one bright hope I held on to when you booted me out of honors english six years of girl scouts and i see a hint of embarrassment when you realize that in your piles of hundreds of pictures i somehow never made it into any of them so you hand me a blurry one of audrey and tell me that she is me you are the same girl scout leaders that forced me to be in your play who years later still found my stage fright amusing you are the concerned junior high teachers who in their brilliance decided i needed therapy because all the other kids made fun of me you are those junior high kids hitting me in the head with books and rulers while said teachers pretended not to notice you put the trouble maker kids in my group as a punishment for them you made the whole class stay after that is everyone but me you don’t have the decency to hide the contempt on your face and you don’t wait until i’m out of sight before you silently mouth to your fellow teacher who is that girl you actually hate me don’t you and why exactly did you go into this profession
you are my tears and nightmares but you make a hell of an angst ridden story and it’s for that reason and that reason alone that you breathe but i hope when the day comes when you are close to your last breath you remember a young me and know that although you die a failure your life was worth living if only to provide a spark in the molding of a beautiful unique soul yeah i mean me.

why I rarely answer the phone

“You know how the, what are they called, homeboys look at you and I’m like OH MY GOD…” she prattles on. Now usually I have the patience of a Saint but something about the way this girl tells stories causes me to drift like Nor'easter snow in gale force winds. Coupled with the fact that I never know what the fuck she’s talking about; well, it makes for some grueling phone conversations.
To lessen the pain I agree with everything she says. Because, really, I don’t care to hear exactly what is meant by “You know when you eat celery it’s like, you know what it’s like”. Huh!?! Inevitably I answer in the affirmative because I know that no matter what she is talking about once she gets it off her chest I’m free to go about my comparably uneventful, yet somehow way more fulfilling, life.

A LOVE POEM FOR CORY

My love for you is like the
Cool blue of Haitian waters
Warm and beautiful and
Seldom seen by Americans

THE WORLD WAS MADE FOR YOU

I know. I'm not a poet. I'm just sitting here at work thinking about those annoyingly perfect people who are giant d-bags but somehow people don't notice this. You know the guy that every girl seems to fall over? Those guys always piss me off.



The world was made for you.

Even straight men notice
Your perfect chiseled face
Your easy going demeanor
Never a hair out of place

Do you even notice
Do you have half a clue
Not a one can place a finger on why
Everything works out for you

If you notice you pretend you don’t
When ladies catch your eye
Nonchalant even when it’s the
3rd time that group of girls has walked by

Many a heart has leapt when you beam their way
Perpetually plastered on your face as you stand there so handsomely
Some call it a winning smile; others a cocky smirk
Either way it matches your vacant stare perfectly

Not a care in the world
Always happy and having fun
The world is your plate of oysters
Lap them up until you’ve eaten every one

You are a young man
Your future is so bright
James Brown said it’s a man’s world
And he was right but he didn’t preface ‘man’ with ‘white’

Your voice is loud and strong
Yes, you brim with confidence
Good thing you have command of the room ‘cause
You speak like you’re making an entrance

You feign surprise when others say you’re hot
Get embarrassed, act perplexed
You make a show of that sport you played
See, that’s how I got my pecs

You offer a friendly reminder of exactly why they’re not
You say, with a Thurston Howell-snooty laugh,
I eat healthy and go to the gym everyday
Without knowing it comes across as chaff

The world was made for you and
You’re flawless as you are
No one else makes casual look so chic
With perfection you are on par

The Earth and all the people here
You got us by the nuts
You may have fooled the masses
But I hate your fuckin’ guts