You Blackberry blathering hack! I now need to go anesthetize myself with a very steady stream of cocktails to wipe you from my system.
No one here in the airport security queue wants to hear your drunk, whisky smelling ass twaddle on about how your brother’s a drunkard loser while you cough up wet phlegm on your bloody mobile! Absolutely no one cares how you think your too cool because you have a cellular telephone and can walk, talk and rudely interrupt the world around you.
Obstreperously you stammer & prattle to your BFF (yes, you’ve given me way too much information) about how you over slept, missed your original flight, how you’ve just learned the art of sexting and how you worked 40 hours in 3 days to make less than minimum wage. Public areas far and wide, shared and confined spaces, require a level of decorum, something to which you severely lack. I’ve had a mentally challenging few days and usually can keep to myself but right now - I am about to lose my shit. I contemplate ripping that crack-berry from her unfiltered parliament stench hands and slam it up against the wall to teach this rude ass cow a lesson.
Failure and Sloth can = jobless & stifled into exerting minimal effort.
Free & Un-encumbered should = writing the next chapter & looking forward to turning the page.
Tune in, or not. Play or, don’t. Engage, or not. = C’est la vie!
Every aspect of life is just the face of a game. How do you play? The peculiar oddity of touring is where the blessed and a cursed few enter into the circle of trust. Those who’ve entered don’t always play well with those who haven’t. Unless you’ve played the celebrity by association game, how could you possibly understand the quirky rules and lack thereof?
When we cling to the umbrella of the All Access Mentality, then yes, we’d like to play. When stripped of that grace, can we bear to leave the house knowing we can’t play at our very best? If we aren’t preset with the title and the tools to succeed high and mighty, does one lose the will to try? It’s a fine line between celebrity and civilian. Shall we play a game?
A riveting life where Tumi totes our free disposable black tee shirts and Louis Vuitton carries the crackberries and iphones for the app-whores who enjoy the gossipy trash of Star & OK! magazines. We cradle our caffeinated green goddess cups as if it were the Holy Grail. Flown first class, occasionally by those with no class. Call me stupid, what the fuck do I know. Send in the clowns, I need a ride to the next tour. Where I shall go placidly amid the noise, haste and waste.
Yep - it’s my birthday and I’ll write what I want to.
Does older equal wiser? I’m not so sure.
Do we ever really learn from our mistakes? No, I don’t think so.
Destined to repeat these mistakes as some sort of familiar ground? Maybe.
Do we progress by default because I’m not sure I’m progressing but merely moving forward by default.
As Mark Twain once said, “Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” Honestly, I don’t mind to say I am soon to be 37, however it DOES matter if I am not learning from 36 or from any other age. Shall I digress to re-live, re-learn & apply to my soon to be age of 37? Great, I’m approaching an age where I might actually be getting my head together and my body is starting to fall apart.
I totally get that growing old is mandatory yet growing up is optional and I wonder how old I would be if I actually didn’t know how old I was. One thing I do realize is that drinking a half bottle of red and having devoured a cheese fondue for dinner, I probably won’t come up with any of these answers. At this time, I have no solid conclusions but one thing I think I am for certain is that quite possibly one of the very first signs to maturity is the discovery that the volume knob also turns left.
Happy Birthday to me! Yep, I’m a dork.