I struggled with what to title this post: first up was “Would everyone please just grow the fuck up?” which was followed by “How to tell if you were weaned from the teat too soon” and finally “How Not to Win Friends and Influence People”.

Read on and let me know what you think.

In the past few months I’ve lost a few friends as a result of my candid nature. Perhaps I should learn to couch my doses of reality, pretty them up with bullshit compliments before unleashing them on those ill-equipped to hear them. If I could maybe I would, but I can’t / won’t / don’t. Reality is reality, truth is truth and censorship in any form short of social graces and good manners just flat out sucks ass.

Here we go, greatly abbreviated stories -

Friend A:

Friend A knew someone 15 years ago who died in a ruthless tragic way. The person responsible for that death was finally treated to his own via the courts, the jails and an executioner. Friend A posted about it and I commented something along the lines of “I hope you’re able to find peace, comfort and forgiveness”. Friend A deleted my comment and via an uber manipulative passive aggressive tantrum quickly disbanded the group of friends that we were part of. A few weeks later I got a note saying that Friend A was essentially upset because I didn’t do a happy dance when justice was served. I wrote back, apologizing for their hurt feelings and reaffirming my wish for forgiveness and peace in their heart.

Not a peep since.

Friend B:

Friend B makes choices every day that don’t lead directly or indirectly to happiness. The friend writes daily about how they hate to be alone or how their waistline is on a perpetual incline or how disappointed they are in themselves for a myriad of things. Friend B talks about making changes, but doesn’t. Friend B throws friends under the bus for not calling, but doesn’t pick up the phone. Talks about waistline, but doesn’t cut back on drinking beer, eating, or step up the exercise routine. Friend B says they can’t meet anyone, but doesn’t step outside their comfort zone to try to meet someone. Friend B, in being hard on themselves, was also (indirectly) hard on me. I sent a note which said something along the lines of watching them stare at a glass half empty and writing/talking about it daily instead of picking up the glass, walking to the sink and filling it up. It said my feelings were hurt because I had gone out of my way on more than one occasion to expand their circle, to help them with challenges they wrote about and instead of being thanked, I was (again, indirectly) bashed. I stuck to the facts of my feelings (hurt, sad, hopeless) which instead of being met with “gee, I didn’t realize that” or “wow, someone cares enough to show me a new view” or “ouch, thanks for telling me” was responded to with a short, bitter note and a few miss-it-if-you-blink schoolyard jabs.

Not a peep since.

Friend C:

Friend C isn’t so much a friend as an acquaintance I interact with because circumstances require me to. Friend C is young and optimistic and bright eyed and organized and passionate. Unfortunately, Friend C hasn’t learned the rules of engagement (email etiquette) or how to increase interest/action without being an alarmist or even how to eliminate direct and implied social and ethnic slurs from their vocabulary. Twice in the last week Friend C has stepped over the line, and half a dozen times others have come to me expressing their concerns about Friend C. I can’t fix everything, but I can try to help educate Friend C about when not to forward an email to the masses (that wasn’t intended for the masses) and that if you’re going to raise your hand to be responsible for something you have to be prepared for all of it. I want to help Friend C be better prepared for The Real World and how to exist there. I offered my rah-rah you can do this, a few suggestions, and my assistance (Friend C was overwhelmed with “stuff”) only to have Friend C respond with a “I can’t do anything right” email. They have since assumed all the predictable characteristics of a sulking 22 year old.

Not a peep since.

The moral of the story, darlings, is that if I tell you the truth it’s because I care and I hope you’re able to recognize that. It’s because you’re wonderful, and everyone should see/know those parts of you – not the hateful, the mopey, or the sheltered/spoiled/alarmist side. That’s not who I believe you are.

I practice accountability and I believe in speaking from a genuine caring place. If I was continually offending the masses with chronic halitosis and BO then wondering aloud why no one wanted to talk to me, I’d expect you to step up and offer me a mint, a shower and some flowery soap…because you’re good like that. I know you are.

So the question is: What’s at the root of these issues? Would you rather have people in your life who don’t respect you enough to be true? Is this the curse of a generation or of mankind in general?

These X & Y pods seem to be chalk full of individuals with an “I’m perfect, I don’t know what you’re talking about” mentality who aren’t ready, willing or able to even consider constructive comments from those in their lives who care enough to be real.

On the flip side, have I become one of them? I know all your faults, but can’t see my own?

I’d say “hells to the no” to that one. Not only am I my own worst critic but I also make a concerted effort to closely examine things that are said to me, even if I don’t want to hear them…but I’ve been wrong before.

Am I sorry to see them go? Of course. If I’d never seen anything good in them, they’d never have been in my life. I can also say that these incidents enabled us to show our true character, and in as much as I haven’t heard from them, they aren’t likely to hear from me.

Last week during “vacation” I made a trip to the Georgia Department of Motor Vehicles to update my address and some other bits that should have been handled long ago.

I trekked it OTP to the location I’m familiar with in unincorporated Sandy Springs and was pleasantly greeted with no line. The young woman at the counter verified my documentation, asked if I was a citizen then handed me a number, instructing me to sit and wait for my number to be called. I cracked open the book I brought with me and got as comfortable as I could in one of the hard plastic conjoined chairs they afford their patrons.

Less than five minutes later, my number was called, I went to another desk and a mostly pleasant woman with nails seemingly too long to type punched my information into their green screen. Less than another five minutes passed before I was called to the glamour-shot counter to verify my information (again) and have my image burned onto paper under laminate. Less than five minutes more and my name was called…and I fled the scene. License in hand and another long delayed errand as my weight remained frozen in time.

Word on the street is the DMV has a new goal to have individuals in and out in 45 minutes. I didn’t find this in print on their site, but I believe everything I hear so it doesn’t really matter.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that the DMV doesn’t seem to be nearly the cluster fug it once was, and I for one am pleased as punch. Except of course, for the picture, I liked the old one better.

A storm traveled through my fair city in the early hours of the morning, shaking my home and rocking me in my bed.

The lightning cracked with the snap of a whip, close and violent enough to rouse me from my slumber - which is otherwise nearly impossible. I opened the window to let the song of the rain in and dropped back in bed.

Moments passed and another intense rumble and burst of light and boom the power flashed and set off my alarm, forcing me out of bed to shuffle to the living room and silence its screaming. I punched the buttons and was met with the high pitched confirmation of acceptance, not a pleasant noise but less offensive than that which preceded it.

I fell back down the rabbit hole and had emotionally horrific dreams of The Mc and my father and loss. Dreams where all you can do is sob but no tears come.

Reality is enough of a bitch without being tormented by things that never happened, leaving you caked with a faux dusty residue and resentments that are entirely unfounded.

Note to self: make tonight a dreamless Tylenol PM induced slumber.

I’m none too happy to be back from what was the single best vacation/week of my life. Maybe I’ll find the motivation to write about the sand, the surf, the sunrise, the horseback riding, the golf, and the pee parrot later, but for now you get pictures.

Totally doesn’t suck.

Night one spent in a farm house in south Georgia hosted by two adorable women in their 80s meant my Scrabble champion title has been reclaimed, I ate too many homemade biscuits and I slept like an effing champ in a building made by hand 90 years ago with 12 foot celings and wide, strong doors.

Everything about that place made it the perfect transition to destination number 2…which also totally doesn’t suck.

Something they don’t tell you (men, usually) before you have a baby: your woman will either get an enema while in labor or crap while giving birth.

Natural. Factual.

Wouldn’t it be nice if all the stuff being disposed of in airports today as a result of the new panic was being put to good use? Like oh, I don’t know, shampoo/conditioner piled up and brought to a homeless shelter?