Ridicule is in Ridiculous

How do I live my best life? I lift every day. Heavy things. As heavy as possible. That means inside and outside… dumbbells, kettlebells, my own leg as much as I can to get it behind my shoulder…. as well as the emotional gunk and psychological junk that blocks the free flowing form that is me…Or else I’m a liability. That is how I get through it all.

I was taking a shower this morning at the gym. Moving super fast. Octopus arms.. I had about eight minutes to get ready from wet gym-clothes off to jacket on and walking up the stairs.

I spit in the shower. Like a back-of-the-throat-sound spit. It wasn’t a disgusting nose-clearing spit, just a little excess saliva from high intensity exercise.

And I hear, “Oh My God.” I shook it off. I was near positive that it wasn’t for me. I continue.

Soap is in my hand now, I’m lathering and I spit again and hear her talking like in full sentences.. I couldn’t make out what she said, and even though she started the moment I spit, I was sure she was talking on her phone, or having issues of her own.

I mean this is her world too.. 

Maybe she forgot her conditioner. Honest mistake. I rinse.

It’s almost getting out time now, and as usual. The steam mixed with chlorine had done it’s magic: I blow a snot rocket.

Only to hear a very aggressive, “Are you kidding me?”

Ok. This is my shower. Also, you can’t see me. I’m behind a curtain. 

Your water doesn’t touch mine, we are not at the sink side-by-side. 

She doesn’t fucking know me. 

What I’ve been through. The ridicule I’ve seen.

I used to have one fucking eyebrow. OK.

Just a fallen headband of hair, right here across my forehead. I can’t even grow it back if I tried. 

That’s how many years I have been plucking, waxing, carving out my existence in this world.

Time, I’ll never get back, Never! And all the better, as I have given my life shape.

Those hairs don’t even grow anymore. I won.

So take a fucking hint, lady. You obviously don’t know the efficiency of a snot rocket.

Trying to make me feel bad. I’m 35 – without husband, no children, not a mortgage in sight…. But you know what I have.. I’ve already got a facebook account to make me self-conscious about those details, so you’ve got no shot, lady.

Also, what is wrong with people who get grossed out by humanisms. 

These people are really crazy like truly out-of-this-world crazy. 

People who say such things like “I hate feet.”

You hate feet. Those feet carry you and your bullshit around all goddam day.

What do you think of your asshole? Or my asshole? Your mouth? And teeth?

We are all disgusting – but worse than any humanism is repression.

Being Petty

I wish there was a superhero made from recyclable material that could clean up all these petty little shits I can’t seem to take out from my act. Some name like Plastic Bag Man 5.

We’re working the Saga Backwards, eventually we’ll go all the way back to when he was Paper Bag Man, but now as Paper is limited and not truly sustainable he’s just made from recycled poop bags of all different colors. This will help as the shit is collecting onto itself like clay. And across his chest is some mishmash of fairway or Shoprite from bags that found their way in the mix – perhaps a social project that pulled them out of trees.

Some people say that a gemini moon makes for a petty person. Yea. I have one of those. But, don’t blame it on the moon. I take full responsibility and now I will begin my unravelling:

(This was written some time ago- I don’t live in US anymore so of course I am insured)

So, I don’t have insurance anymore.

That’s why I’m here. Not a joke. I’ll take whatever you got really…anything.

You got it. I’ll take it. I don’t have a syllabus but I have a lesson, that I can’t seem to learn. So I brought it here for you. We all have one. Don’t act like you’ve got it all figured out.

“I’m vegan”

“My beer is only 40 calories”

“I started this cleanse.”


Don’t even bother clapping. My problems do not need encouragement.

So this lesson, it has to do with my mouth. I know that much. What goes in and what comes out? Other people’s feelings are definitely included in this lesson.

But it’s other people’s feelings about my feelings. It’s kind of where the two meet. The overlap of a Venn diagram. In the end, I always end it – with, “I don’t give a fuck,” but that’s reductive. It’s also misunderstood.

It DOES NOT mean, I don’t give a fuck about you. See that’s your problem. Projectionist. Gas-lighter. I need to clarify: Not giving a fuck is very different from not giving a shit. 

People who don’t give a shit have no sense of themselves. They’ve no courtesy, kindness, respect, nothing. They just don’t give a shit.

They are: People who don’t look at the paper when they’re done wiping their ass. Game over people.

On the other hand, Not-Giving-a-Fuck peeps are living their best life.


Not giving a shit is that troll standing in the doorway of the woman’s bathroom looking in, like there’s anything in there for him. Or, that bitch standing at the entrance of the train car with her back facing the platform. You have to get on, but you can’t even look at her to tell her to back up. She hasn’t moved to the side or turned her body. She’s ruining everything – everyday – an doing it behind her own back. That     – ALL OF THAT –               is, “I don’t give a shyyyyyttt”

The Don’t-Give-A-Fuck, Live-My-Best-Life-People pushes that bitch, hard. They don’t give a fuck about how stupid you are or I am, and it’s all of us, we’re all fucking dumb. Nope, nope, nope. They don’t give a fuck. Leading by example is their only option. In that moment, they push humans forward. They’re sufferers. Suffering for our sins.

Jesus-like – but without the grace. But when you’re a champion of humanity you don’t need grace. The situation does not call for grace. And I gotta big problem people.

Apparently, I’m that guy.

Not only is it exhausting but it turns out, no one likes me.

I gotta be fucking moron to continue. And I do.