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Harrowed Insight

I was inspired to write my first novel Inside the Skin (formerly The Sea Trials of an Unfortunate Sailor) by life experiences I earned back in the late ’90s, early ’00s while working as a navy Equal Opportunity specialist, experiences the focus of which centered around the harassment, abuse, injury, and sometimes sadly even death as a result of the hatred for and confusion of the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy which had recently been implemented throughout the military.

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Poetry is for Girls

humor-image

I may occasionally write the junk, but rarely do I read it.

And it is not because I don’t like it that I rarely read it…

It’s because it, the really good stuff anyway, is so durn hard to read.

I’m talking Poetry here…

Poetry with a big, bold capital P.

And it is so hard for me to read (And by read I mean read. I mean really digging into the poem and fighting through the initial confusion and the complicated and often archaic words. I mean, not just reading the poem, but studying it and trying to close the gap in time from when the poem was written to when the poem is being read by learning about the poet and where and when and why and how he or she is from and where and when and why and how he or she lived and then coming to my own understanding of what I think the poem means and then trying to apply that meaning to my own life and where and when and why and how I live it. That’s what I mean by read.) because it takes more than a little bit of effort to read it.

I certainly don’t have time for all that junk.

Continue reading Poetry is for Girls

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GLITTERS OF BLISS! | A Relating to Humans Poetry Feature

GLITTERS OF BLISS!
by Priyanki

 
If the clouds could come & give me a ride
I would sit on them & sway away in delight
And ask them to take me in their cozy coat
Covering me all in the softness galore
Ask them to take me in the world up away
High up in the clouds where they say fairies stay.
As I reach there, I will learn a few skills to tap & whoosh & fulfill some wish
Wishes of all those who are in need.
Those wishes of cute eyes of kids crying for help.
The ones who are lost in war, with no one to help.
Those unanswered prayers of people with disease, the ones suffering & asking for relief.
Those hard to be fulfilled wishes & prayers with which are linked the needy’s care.
Wishes of such kind seems impossible in today’s time. There is so much going around in those with dirty minds,
Those who cause chaos & all the mess.
& are killing ruthlessly & causing much stress
I may sound kiddish to dream of fairyland & bring glitters of kindness with me in my hand
However it may sound, but I don’t mind
As long as I wish to bring some good in Mankind.
Often I wonder where does the “kind” go from man.
Maybe I’m thinking too much, what can I do, I’m a woman.
I was born to think,
That’s what many say.
Woman think a lot
They are made that way, and I think again, “Thank God that I think.”
It’s my thinking that makes me ponder, to be a better being.
Everyday I think & try to reach my soul.
And
today my thinking wants to take a tour
In the world of clouds, where they say Angels live.
With a hope to bring in my palm, some glitters of bliss
So I have few powers to whoosh away the pain
That causes chaos often unexplained.

jollyprivy.wordpress.com


 
To learn how to have your poetry or other work profiled here, visit the Relating to Humans feature.

 
 

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Guiding Principles of a Daughter’s Dad

I’m not the smartest or greatest dad there is. Not even close. I have many faults and made many mistakes over the years that I regret.

However, I do think I’m pretty good at understanding my faults and I work hard to minimize their impact to myself and others, especially to my family, as much as possible.

Even still… just because faults were minimized, it doesn’t mean there wasn’t impact from them from time to time. There was. I regret that.

But… we live and learn and live and relearn and one and on.

My daughter is my first child and when she was born I didn’t have a clue as to how to raise her.

I found out quickly though, that having children, and especially having the first child, is kind of like going to war.

No matter how much you plan for it, once the first shot is fired the best you can hope for is a campaign of organized chaos.

Fortunately, not long after she was born, I happened upon some useful information — probably from articles in a newspaper (remember those things?) — about the results of a couple of different studies.

I don’t remember the newspaper — probably the Stars & Stripes.

And I certainly don’t remember the studies or who conducted them so I cannot attest to the veracity of the reportage.

However, based upon my life experiences, what was reported seemed to speak the truth.

And from these apparent truths that I happened upon long ago, I was changed — or at least I sought to change — from their insights.

And from this change, I hope I became a better father to, not just my daughter, but to my sons as well. For I also hope that when my sons, too, have daughters– and based upon the make up of my lovely and loving wife’s family and mine, they probably will — they understand how their beliefs and, more importantly, their behavior can have such an impact on the outcome of their daughters’ lives.

The first thing I learned that changed my behavior as a father was…

The more education a father has the less the chance will be that his daughter will find herself in an abusive relationship as an adult.

The second was…

Girls with high self-esteem tend to have less sex during their middle and high school years and girls with low self-esteem tend to have more.

The inverse is true for boys.


It’s Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month.

#dadsmatter

 
 

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Should He Stay Or Should He Go?

Wikimedia Commons

Last year it was announced that the US Treasury Department was planning to remodel the ten-dollar bill by replacing its current male model, Alexander Hamilton, with a female model.

That was before the Broadway musical “Hamilton” became a huge success… and the play’s creator and star and Presidential First Rapper, Lin-Manuel Miranda, had subsequently become an advocate and lobbyist for keeping the Founding Father and “Good Ol’ Boys” OG on the bill.

Miranda met recently with the US Treasury Secretary and it seems that his lobbying effort on behalf of his musical muse has paid off.

 

So, in the somewhat spirit of the United Nation’s #HeforShe campaign, should Hamilton stay or should he go and be replaced by a female historical hero?

Alexander Hamilton was a Founding Father of the United States, chief staff aide to General George Washington, one of the most influential interpreters and promoters of the U.S. Constitution, the founder of the nation’s financial system, the founder of the Federalist Party, the world’s first voter-based political party, the Father of the United States Coast Guard, and the founder of The New York Post. As the first Secretary of the Treasury, Hamilton was the primary author of the economic policies of the George Washington administration. (Wikipedia)

 

 

If would be great if you could expand on your response in the comment section.

For instance: Who should the female model be? If not Hamilton, then which bill’s male model should go? If you no longer use hard currency, are you, as Kurt is, looking forward to the permanent chip implant?


 

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?

 
 

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I CAN’T PICTURE YOU WITH A KID | A Relating to Humans Women’s Issues Feature

I CAN’T PICTURE YOU WITH A KID
by asyarhein

FROM THE WOMEN’S ISSUES ARCHIVE
 

“I can’t picture you with a kid.”

“Neither can I.”

I’m too spontaneous. My passion for writing and journalism was constantly competing with my passion for buffalo wings, rum and Steve Madden; there is no room for a kid in the newsroom or at the bar during happy hour and being six months pregnant squeezing those ridiculous swollen dogs into new candy apple reds is just negligent- everyone knows five inch heels can’t handle that kind of stress. Yet, there we were in the bathroom waiting for a pee stick who decided to use the entire two minutes to make up its mind. I can’t do this. I’m too young. There are so many places I want to travel to. If I get a great deal on Groupon I want to be able to just book it! To call in to work sick and live my life! You can’t do that with a baby there’s planning. Clearly not enough in this situation but that’s beyond the point. The point is… Do babies even get passports? I mean how often would you have to update that photo? I don’t have time for that. Who hikes Yosemite with a papoose? Seriously. I want to wake up in the morning and see a sting ray under my hut in Bora Bora not a diaper genie. And now I’m positive that’s not going to happen.

“Have you thought of your options.”

Sure, I had. But what were they? Have a baby. Kick out Jimmy Choo to make room for Osh Kosh. Drop out of school to PlaySkool. Put down the pen to set up one to play in.

Or don’t. Adoption is an option. Earn my tiger stripes just to give my cub to someone with less of a pride.

Or don’t. To just pretend it never happened. I mean, Forever21 doesn’t do maternity.

“…and that sound is your little girl’s heartbeat.”

They said it was okay to cry but I couldn’t. You don’t pre-order MAC’s new midnight sensation just to make it run. And I would make sure my daughter would know that, or would I? Maybe some happy couple somewhere far away like Arkansas wouldn’t let her wear make-up until 16 or she would be given to some psycho pageant people in Pasadena who would have her glitzed out at six months. I couldn’t let that happen to my baby. My baby. But was I her momma? Constantly teetering on this tottering life was no place for a kid. So I had to stop being one.

“I’m having a girl.”

The last 18 weeks of my life had now planned at least the next 18 years of it. She would be mine. She would stalk shoe sales with me. She would be my editor. At the end of the day, it only matters what she has to say. She would be just like me.

“I don’t hear anything.”

She was just like me. Spontaneous as all hell. It’s okay to cry they said but I couldn’t. I don’t remember it happening like this on the tv shows or in the movies. The chapter in the health books didn’t elaborate on this. The doctor didn’t break it down like my body did. There was no what to expect when you stop expecting. there’s nothing on un-nesting. one minute im sitting there answering phones and making appointments at my desk. the second minute im up and bolting down the hall passing the click-clacking Manolo Blahniks, my hush puppies stay silent towards the little girls room, the rest room. where this little girl is not resting but not awake. a little girl controlling her own fate. while i was kicking around parenthood, she decided to never kick. i close my mouth and scream. and the tears who have been planning this for so long finally make their escape and i don’t even try to stop them. they grab hold of the covergirl clump crusher and run.
 

asyarheinox.wordpress.com


Please submit your creative expressions that bring awareness to women and gender issues to the Relating to Humans Women’s Issues feature. All submissions will be profiled on the blog throughout Women’s History Month.

 
 

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THE WOMAN IN ME | A Relating to Humans Woman’s Issues Feature

THE WOMAN IN ME
by Debolina Coomar

When I was a daughter, I had dreams,
I learnt that life is not easy, and nothing is what it seems.
When I became a student, I had aspirations,
I learnt that achievements are important, and learnings are an inspiration.
When I became a professional, I had goals,
I learnt that life is full of challenges, and we have to take up different roles.
When I was a wife, I had a duty,
I learnt caring, sharing and trust in a relationship is the real beauty.
When I became a mother, I had responsibilities,
I learnt to take up challenges and fulfill them with my abilities.
When I wear so many different masks everyday,
Each one is different and unique in its own way.
But, when I see myself in the mirror,
I see so many faces, but I cannot find HER.
The woman in me keeps calling me everyday,
I just avoided her as I almost have nothing to say.
But, one day, she saw me back into my eyes,
And wanted to know why I ignored all her cries.
I forgot HER as I was busy being everything else,
But, now I want to be ME and let myself out,
I want to open my heart and let it shout.
I want to start living as MYSELF and let the world see,
The WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE, because that is the best I have in me.

debolinacoomar.wordpress.com


 

Women's History Month

It is my pleasure and honor to kick-off our March-long celebration of Women’s History Month with such a beautiful and inspiring poem by Debolina Coomar.

Thank you for submitting your poetic creativity to our Woman’s Issues feature page, Debolina, thereby allowing us all to enjoy your words.

And I invite and strongly encourage you to visit the Relating to Humans feature and consider sharing with us some of your creative inspiration.

As was Debolina’s, all submissions meeting the editorial standards of yours truly submitted to the Women’s Issues page throughout the month of March will be published to the blog.

And now is a good time to submit your work to all the features, as I am in the process of archiving all submissions received prior to this year, which means each feature page will be empty and the early submissions will receive top billing, so to speak.

Please visit the Relating to Humans page for the Submission Guidelines.

Additionally, I invite you to click on the poster above to learn about some of the things the US Government, via the Small Business Administration and the National Business Women’s Council has planned to celebrate Woman’s History Month in its efforts to raise awareness of Women and Gender Issues.

And lastly, please don’t forget to show your support for our short film, LEAVE, by visiting and following (and spreading the word about) our facebook page at www.facebook.com/leavethemovie.

 
 

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MY VIEW – A Women’s Issues Feature

When DotedOn submitted her essay My View to the Relating to Humans Women’s Issues feature, I could immediately feel its power and its truth, and the life lived as written, raw and exposed.

When submitted, DotedOn initially addressed it to me. I wrote to her soon after and asked if I could take out the address as I felt it may be distracting from the essay’s message. She wrote me back and, kindly, as she always is, said it was fine for me to make the edits and, since English is not her first language, she asked that I make any other edits that I felt may be necessary. I was pleased when she wrote this because there were, in fact, some grammar adjustments that I had wanted to make.

And, with haste, I made the adjustments.

However, after I read her essay with my edits, I found that something had happened. It seemed its power had somehow been diminished. I immediately restored the essay back to its original version, which, in turn, restored its power.

I spent the rest of the day reflecting on what had happened. The edits I made were almost insignificant, really; however, the impact of the edits was wholly significant. The impact was devastating to the overall feel and effect of the essay.

Perhaps, then, our words draw their strength not so much from our language and its form, but from our voice and our uniquely individual inflections and tones as only we can speak them…


 

My View

by DotedOn
 

I’m a single mom. I have five kids. I escaped an abusive relationship because I got to the point where nothing could be worse than staying one more second in that house. I exchanged comfort for unknown. I feel guilt every single day of my life. I know I took the right decision. I still don’t understand why my kids don’t see it and keep asking me why I don’t go back to daddy. They were there, they should know why.

Some people admire me… I still don’t get why. What’s to admire? That I left 5 kids without a dad? That I tolerate abuse for so long? That I’m alone and lost in another country miles away from every person dear to me?

I get questions like: How can you manage alone with 5 kids? I rub my eyes. I have everything. My question is: How could a widow 80 years ago manage 11 kids and no washing machine or fridge or disposable diapers or Nintendo’s to keep the kids quiet for a while.

Who should I please? Why I get judged? Why if I chose to be happy I feel this guilt all the time?
 

dotedon.wordpress.com

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WHO I AM – A Women’s Issues Feature

I am very honored and excited to share our very first submission to the new Relating to Humans feature.

Before we get to the submission, however, I would like to say a few words by way of introduction.

You know, I am a writer, which means…I’m insecure. I am. Every time I hit the “Publish” button to release my stuff out into this wild world, I get more than a little apprehensive wondering if it’s going to be well received, or not. Such was the case when I put this new Relating to Humans feature out there. I was a little nervous, wondering if anyone would take it seriously; if anyone would care to participate.

Which is why I am so honored and excited to be introducing you to the poetry of becausethisishowisaythings. She, with her one submission, helped to validate what this new feature is all about.

Becausethisishowisaythings is a fearless twenty-year old (fearless as is evident by her willingness to participate in this new venture of ours), and her poem is an honest expression of how she feels about being a woman.

So please, take the time to read her poem, and, if you are so moved, maybe leave her a comment and visit with her and support her efforts at her own website becausethisishowisaythings.wordpress.com

 


 

Who I am

I am confused.
I am a woman, a girl, a female…but I am not very feminine.
My mother tells me to wear prettier clothes. My sister asks if I’m a lesbian.

If I’m a girl, does that mean I have to wear pink, do I have to wear flowers in my hair and make-up on my face, all to convince you that I’m a girl, that I’m a woman?

Do I have to wear revealing clothes and get drunk on vodka to attract a man,
a boy, a male?

Do I have to feel afraid of sex?

Should I feel guilty for being honest, and not a bitch?

I am a woman, I know this, but it seems other people aren’t so sure.
I don’t know if I’m a feminist, but I know what I want to be.
I want to be strong, to be attractive, to be sensitive, to be accepted, to be understood.
I want to be a good person.
A person. Not a label.

I am a woman, I am a girl, a female…but don’t try to label me with these things.

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It’s FTW! Because We Love to Win! – part 1

First off, for all of you losers out there, it’s FTW!, not FSP!

And for all you dinosaurs out there who have no clue, FTW! is not a dyslexic acronym for WTF?, it stands for “For the Win!”

We winners tend to use it often.

And if you do not know what WTF? stands for my response to you is “W! T! F! Over!”

Come on man! or woman! Get with it. WTF? stands for What The…ah forget it. I’m not even gonna try. Heck, I’m not even gonna recommend that you try to “google it” or, in your out-of-date-case, that you try to “Ask Jeeves it” or try to “Dogpile it.” Because if you don’t know what WTF? stands for by now then you are such an outdated dinosaur that you had just better wait until one of the three people left working on your dismal local print newspaper gets around to writing a profile on it in the “What’s New!” section.

Then you’ll know for sure what it means.

But first you just hang on and around and wait for it.

Wow. Print newspapers.

Now there is a real winner of an industry.

It used to be, perhaps.

But not anymore.

Minus all you dinosaurs out there, when was the last time the rest of you read a print newspaper?

For more than a few of you, I’m sure, the answer is never.

Because as soon as this internet thing came along, which, in the grand scheme of things, really isn’t too long ago, the print newspaper industry began to fold like an origami crane.

I bet you thought I was gonna say fold like a newspaper, right?

You’re so predictable.

But back to winners.

I like the internet. It’s a winner.

And since the newspaper is no longer a winner, then I no longer like it and I will no longer associate myself with it.

Because I only like winners.

So what about FSP!, you ask.

Any guesses?

Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to know what that one stands for because as far as I know it is a Kurt original.

But hey, aren’t they all?

All of the good ones, at least.

I’ll blame all the bad ones on some loser.

FSP! is a good one, though, and it stands for “For Second Place!”

Told ya it was good.

So, if I were to unacronymize what I said in the first sentence of this article and write it all out it would be:

“First off, for all you losers out there, it’s For the Win!, not For Second Place!”

It’s FTW! and not FSP! because Americans only love winners, don’t they?

I mean, we!

Americans only love winners, don’t we?!

That’s what I meant to say.

Honest.

Too late. I am sure one or two of my three regular readers, one of whom is me, is saying right about now, “See! There he goes again! There. He. Goes., talking about America as if he isn’t proud of it and of Americans as if he, himself (I never really understood why we do all that “I, myself” and “you, yourself” and you, yourselves” and “he, himself” and “she, sheself” (huh?) and “we, ourselves” over pronoun-cification of stuff. Who else would this one or two of my three regular readers be redundantly referring to when she (For some reason, in my mind I imagine (Duh, where else would one imagine if not in his or her mind?) that this one or two of my three regular readers I am referring to is a she. You can imagine this one or two of my three regular readers I am referring to to be whomever you want him or her to be, but to me, I imagine this one or two of my three regular readers, one of whom is me let us not forget, who I am referring to to be a stereotypically white, coming-to-us-(at us?)-live-from-smack-dab-in-the-middle-Middle-America, more-or-less-than-middle-class, less-or-more-than-middle-aged, and significantly-more-than-average-(Since I am getting ready to say the word “weighted” next, and since the words “middle” and “average” mean about the same thing, at least in this instance anyway, I guess I could have used the word “middle” again instead of the word “average” so that I could have continued with the annoying parallelism that I had going on; but, to me, “middle-weighted” sounds a bit too forced, even for such a forced parallelism such as the one I had going on. “Average-weighted” just sounds a bit more natural, don’t you think? Do you think? Besides, if I had used “middle” instead of “average,” then I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to include this, yet another, annoying parenthetical expression that I intentionally, yet ever so smoothly, included for you to stumble over just so I can keep you confused and uncertain as to exactly what my stance on anything really is, because, let’s face it, it is much safer for me to straddle the proverbial fence than it is to actually declare forthright and for sure what I truly believe in. Accountability can be such a bitch. Oh, and I also do it, all these blasted parenthetical expressions, that is, so I can see exactly just how far I can go with this shtick of mine before you finally tell me once and for all to take this shtick and shtick it up my logistical shoot for shooting waste and other matters such as BS like this blog post. But that’s all it is, right? All this BS is nothing more than a shtick, which I am sure most of you are all ready aware. But, shtick or no shtick, I bet some of you out there, at least those of you who think of yourselves as Winners!, will, in your over-compulsive effort to Win!, probably read and re-read this section in an over-compulsive effort to find a forgotten or misplaced or out of character closing parentheses or dash (not hyphen, no no, not hyphen) or hyphen or missing comma or dangling participle or some other kind of point-keeping whatnot method so that you can say while pointing your finger like a jack hammer right at the spot on your monitor where you found the error(s) of my way(s), so to speak, that you are referring to, “Ha! Looky here, Brindley! Looky right exactly here at your mistake(s), you pompous dumbass!” and then proudly declare yourself a Winner! and properly declare me a Loser! (As implausible as it may sound, it is plausible, though highly unlikely, that there is at least one little bastard-of-an-error in here that even I may have overlooked. So all of you annoying pain in the ass nitpickers, do your thing and find it for me; and if you do find it, and I know you will, let me know, and I know you will. Because the Lord of lords and even you knows, and soon so will you if you don’t all ready, the only thing that I hate more than an annoying nitpicker constantly hounding for and finding and resolutely declaring over and over again the error(s) of my way(s), is knowing that my ways are errored and not knowing how to fix them.) Well, I’m pretty sure someone might do that. I know I would. Heck, I do that even when reading cereal boxes or pill prescriptions or condolence cards so why wouldn’t I do it when reading someone’s blog? And if you are one of those losers who are too nice to go around trying to nitpick other people’s writing mistakes, let alone their many other misfortunes besides their miserable writing, then let me tell you you really should try it because it feels sooo good whenever I do find someone else’s mistake, even if they only happen to be anonymous ones found on cereal boxes or pill prescriptions. But oh, if I were to find a mistake on something I can identify the mistakee with, like on a condolence card, say, then, without any doubt in my former military mind, whoever that mistaken mistakee is, he…sigh…or she…will surely hear from a surly me about it. The pure joy and bliss I feel when finding someone else’s mistake must certainly mean that my endless pursuit to help others less fortunate than me—i.e., (or is it e.g.?) losers—achieve perfection are ordained by God, Himself… Damn it! I did it again! Strike that useless and redundant goddamn Himself, regardless of how High and Mighty It might be, and just leave it at plain and simple God!) weighted—and I imagine (and by imagine, here, strangely enough, I don’t mean imagine at all but instead I mean “I believe,” even though all the while I am talking about a make believe, imaginary person (English is sooo confusing)) that America’s average weight must all ready start out much heavier than most countries’ above-average weights do, especially all those rice-eatin’ Asian ones that have not yet been attacked by us. And by us I mean McDonalds, which is, of course, the same thing as saying America. So, for all of my foreign readers, that means that even the average, or middle, take your pick, American weight is really frikkin unaveragely high by your standards, I imagine (And yes, by imagine I once again mean “I really believe it to be so.”).—she.) says “he?” Don’t we understand who the “he” is that she is referring to? Does she really also need to include the “himself?” Are we really that confused (to put it politely) as readers? It’s not as if there are an overwhelming amount of potential antecedents in this blather to choose from to begin with. By my count there is only YOU (and I sincerely do thank you for being here, BTW (Don’t you even dare ask what BTW means.)), an occasional WE, our one or two of three regular readers who I refer to as my IMAGINARY SHE (She, at least in my mind. Like I said, you have the freedom to chose any gender or trans-gender or sex or trans-sex (And just what the heck is the difference anyway between gender and sex?) or whatever or whomever you choose to use in your own imagination.), and ME, AKA KURT, AKA BRINDLEY, AKA KURT BRINDLEY. That’s it! …Sheesh! Keep it simple lady, will ya. Why make things more difficult than they have to be? Right?), isn’t one of them.”

Well…in my defense, I did all ready say that I do I only like winners, didn’t I?

And right now, the outlook for America is a little iffy, at best.

So, maybe deep down I do mean to say they instead of we.

And if I did mean to say it deep down, would you like to know why I meant to say it?

That’s right, you got it.

Because I am American and as an American, I love to win.

Nothing wrong with that.

Winning, that is.

But depending on how things turn out, there just may be end up being something wrong with America; specifically, that it is no longer a winner, or even considered a winner, which may make it hard for us winners to continue to align ourselves with it.

But as far as winning in general is concerned, I’m all for it.

If you ask me, and even if you don’t I’m gonna tell you anyway…

‘Cause I am certainly here to tell ya…

That second place blows!

To me, if you come in second place then you ain’t nothing but a First Place Loser!

You can take all of your Second Place Trophies, and your Silver Medals, and any other award that is not plated in anything but pure, honest to goodness—because being first and being a winner feels so good and honest—Gold and shove them all up your lame, loser-of-a-logistical-shoot-for-shooting-waste and keep them there!

And right along with them, you can also shove right up in your lame, loser-of-a-logistical-shoot-for-shooting-waste-and-other-matters-and-by-other-matters-I-mean-BS, all of the loser enablers who, because they are such losers themselves, want to convince everyone, especially our youth, that it’s okay to come in second place (and by coming in second place you now know I really mean losing), and that it’s okay that not everyone can be a winner so don’t worry if you aren’t one either, okay. Because everything is just A-OK!, okay?

Ugh!

No! It’s not okay!

It’s okay to want to win.

And it’s okay to know that everyone cannot win at everything.

Those are okay things to know.

But it is not okay to think it’s okay to accept losing just because everyone cannot possibly win at everything.

Okay?

You know what?

Show me a good loser and I’ll show you…

A LOSER!

So, while you are shoving all of that other loser stuff up your lame, loser-of-a-logistical-shoot-for-shooting-waste-and-other-matters-and-by-other-matters-I-mean-BS, make sure you especially shove up there, and shove them especially high and especially hard up there, all of those god damn demoralizing and anti-American “Thank you for Participating Even Though You Lost” trophies that are so ubiquitously and harmfully handed out to every kid, and his brother, and his sister, and uncle’s cousin to boot, who we parents who only want to see that little sparkle in our eye just have fun and just be happy no matter what just so we slap them with each and every over-sized sporting and scouting uniform there is to slap on that little sparkle in that blurry eye of ours.

Big sigh…

God I hate to lose.

And I especially hate it when my sports teams lose.

If you have read my blog’s About page, you may remember that, since I am from the Cleveland, Ohio area, being a sports fan has always been very, very frustrating for me all throughout my entire, and by entire I mean from the very second I was born until now. And we can keep repeating that “now” from now until the day that a professional Cleveland sports team finally, and I mean FINALLY, wins the title of champion, which is an even better way of saying winner, in their respective sport.

Yup. I’m a frustrated sports fan, that I am.

And, unfortunately for me and all of the other nutjobs like me who refuse to realign themselves with any professional sports teams (teams that more than likely have won at least one championship in my lifetime) other than a Cleveland professional sports team (You might just be surprised just how many of us nutjobs there are like that.), we will probably remain frustrated for a long while to come.

And it is all because of all the losing that I had to suffer through the other day (Both my professional baseball team AND the TEAM USA women’s soccer team lost yesterday. Usually I could really care less about either one of them because I am not all that much into baseball, but Cleveland happened to be playing Baltimore yesterday and ever since Baltimore stole the professional football (Unlike baseball, I really do like watching football, even if it is not post-season play.) team from Cleveland, I despise all things that relate to Baltimore as far as sports are concerned. In fact, I even refer to the fans who root for Baltimore teams, regardless of where they are from (Just ask my buddy not-from-Baltimore-but-one-of-the-biggest -Baltimorons-there-is-Bob.) as Baltimorons, that’s how much I despise Baltimore sports teams. So, that’s why I was especially interested in the outcome of yesterday’s baseball game. And that is why it hurt so much when I found out via tweet from another “friend,” who is from the loser Detroit area and who is a fan of loser Detroit teams but at least he hasn’t yet sold out on them to become a Baltimoron as far as I know but regardless of what team he is backing I am quite certain he enjoyed telling me, that Cleveland had lost to the Baltimorons. And as for women’s soccer, I apologize women, but, overall, I am a nominal men’s sports fan at best so you can probably imagine how I feel about any sport that has the classifier of women in front of it. Nope. Doesn’t have much of a chance with me. (Nothing against Title 9, but it just doesn’t quite do it for me like a sexy Title 10 or Title 50 does. And it’s not that Title 9 reminds of all those damn Participation Trophies, or anything like that. No, it’s not at all like it’s a let’s-Divide-and-Conquer-our-limited-and-dwindlingrightbeforeoureyes-tax-dollars-so-that-everyone-can-play-but-we-all-end-up-losing-instead kinda thing. No, it’s not like that one bit, either. Nope, nothing wrong with Title 9 by me, that’s for sure…but I may have overheard some other men complain about it once or twice at the local sports bar. Maybe.) Unless, of course, they are a women’s sport team that represents America and especially if they are a women’s sports team that is going for the ultimate win in the sport they are playing, ala the other day when TEAM USA women’s soccer team was competing again TEAM JAPAN (Their women’s team, as well, I suppose, but I cannot confirm but I didn’t even watch the game.) (And I apologize, Japan, if that is not how you refer to your team, but that’s how we Americans do it over here.) to become the World Cup Champions (Wow! Is there any better way to say winner than that?), then, and possibly only then, will I be really and truly interested in women’s sports. And of course, with all of my interest highly engaged in the hopes that both of my teams would win the other day, they both ultimately, and without a doubt, lost. Frikkin’ losers!) that brings us both here, bathing uncomfortably together in this overflowing rabid froth of a blog post of mine.

Big sigh…