Revelations & Revulsions, or did he stick his finger in a light socket to get his hair THAT high?

Science tell us that the prefrontal lobes of the brain, which influence all of the big, "life stuff" decision making doesn't fully develop until the age of twenty-five... these ideas fall into the categories of What do I want to do with the rest of my life? or how ironic is Alanis Morisette's "Ironic?" and just how many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a Tootsie Pop? as well as how important it is to NOT pay your credit cards on time because you are in fact, stimulating the economy! How you ask? Well, those eight hundred number people are not hounding your balls for a minimum payment of $19.95 out of the goodness of their hearts!! Ha!!! And isn't it ironic, even though the world may never know, don't ya think?! 

What science doesn't tell us is that the perfectly flawed human being is a beautiful, fuck-up of a disasterpiece waiting in the wings. I don't know anybody that doesn't have some sort of twisted branch in their dysfunctional family tree, and if they say they don't, then they're a fucking lair, or a unicorn because dysfunction comes nestled sweetly in the human package, right next to the taint. But just because we are all walking, talking fuck-ups, doesn't give us a license to feel sorry for ourselves, and gain fifty pounds... but sadly, yes, done and done. Ooh and how the mighty have fallen... again and again and again and... you get the picture. I've fallen so much that when they bury me its gonna be face-side down just to give my ass a break. I've fallen so much I could've auditioned for that Life Alert commercial, you know the one, "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" I used to laugh at that commercial for hours, and I would even re-enact it in the grocery store! Every slap I got in the face for doing that in the produce aisle was worth it!! Oh, and play the bad childhood card with somebody else!!! If those Oprah-Madonna-Sally Struther's oprhans can still smile, and you know their life has been one bag of shit after another lit on fire infront of their tent, then suck it up buttercup... and be careful if you do have any buttercups or peanut buttercups because I did say SALLY STRUTHERS. She will gnaw your arm off just to lick the wrapper of that Taco Bell burrito that's been stinking up the back of your car for the past six months.

As I had mentioned previously, I was disowned, discontinued, discounted, exiled, extorted, excommunicated, etc., and as talented of an asshole that I am sadly, I did not act alone. There's always a catalyst in the grand scheme of the gripping cliffhanger season finale that is life, and when you live in a small town, your bound to run into that catalyst... a lot. Awkward. And of course, here I am, lil ole Fluff, re-joining Weight Watchers, trying to get my shit together, so naturally my dieter drink of choice was a gin and seltzer with lime--scandal! One of my many darling girlfriends a.k.a. Fag Hags, affectionately reminded me that "when ya gin, ya sin," to which I cleverly rebuttled, "but beer just made me queer...errr, and it did nothing for my waist line." Fifty pounds, hullo! I had heard some drinking horror stories about gin, including that it keeps you drunk for at least three days, which explains why Saturday didn't suck, but this was a Friday, and I was two in and feeling a bit hit in the ass, and not in that good-anal-beads-before-Sunday-breakfast kinda hit either... Well, naturally, a fag and her hags is bound to pull out their library cards in the middle of the bar, and read the room. P.S.--a lot of grenades were ready to go off at any second. After feeling like we were in the middle of an Iraqi mine field, in walks the Catalyst... well, part of the catalyst... the catalyst is actually a Trilogy of Terror, but yeah in walks part two.

I grew up with part two, and always knew that they had... well, let's just say "potential," but part two was notoriously straight, and a straight up "W." Part two wasn't dealt the best hand when it came to parents, role models, fashion, etc., but needlesstosay, we co-existed somewhat peaceably. The bio-mom, which is actually part one of the tril, adopted him... thus, a new competition was born--the non-biological sibling surrogate. CP2 put several bee's in my bonnet, but the one that put the icing on the cake was when he called me the "F" word... no, not FAT! I could've prolly lived with that, but nooo much worse. He called me the most acceptable, discriminatory word in our American-English language... yes, FAGGOT. I know its just a word, and a bundle of sticks, but this was the last straw... Mommy would have to choose me, right? I mean, I was horribly offended. Sadly, it wasn't, no, and no. We had a brief encounter on Thanksgiving Eve, in which he wished me a happy one, and I obliged. What do you do in that moment? By then, the depressive, bed-ridden, feel-sorry-for-myself episode that had been on repeat for months was winding down. I did a lot of reading, and even several forgiveness exercises. Reason eventually creeps in, and you realize that holding onto hating someone eventually becomes a detriment to yourself, your health, etc. and those cocksuckers that raw dogged you, and did you dirty are sleeping at night, care fuck free. So somewhere between here and there, I let it go because I knew I could never fly again with too much holding me down.

A pregnancy rumor prompted CP2 to enter my circle, and what happened next can only be described as a lost episode from The Twilight Zone... Twilight literally because CP2, who we once affectionately dubbed Squidward, was now rocking this strange Jersey Shore floppy faux hawk, but decked out in complete Edward Cullen pea coat fierceness. CP2 had become Squedward... and he molested me like I was Sponge Bobella. After hugging me, kissing me, and reading brail from my nipples because apparently all straight guys luv grabbing and twisting other guys nips... PO-TEN-TIAL. Anyway, although he was probably a bit hit in the ass himself, he said what I wanted to hear... "I apologize..." and then, he went through the whole speal of why, and how we grew up with each other. The irony of it all, Alanis, is that after Thanksgiving Eve, I did that thing we all do when we are lying in bed... yes, playing with myself, but not right away... No, I replayed that night over and over again in my head, only I imagined myself walking back up to him and saying that all I ever wanted was a "sorry" that's it. So, I get that, an invitation to Thursday dinner, and I think I blacked out after that. See, what everyone doesn't understand is that CP2/Squedward never, ever, ever apologized, and I had always assumed he just felt the world owed him something because of the shittastic hand he was dealt. Who knew? I do remember saying to him that did you ever think it was me too... I did a very adult thing, and owned the fact that I was jealous of CP1 choosing him over me, or anybody for that matter.

So kids, the moral of today's story is... much like your mullets, and "Member's Only" jackets, you gotta let that shit go... not for them, but for you, and sometimes, maybe the people that burnt you will offer an apology... its probably as rare as said unicorn mentioned earlier, but possible. Also, if your holding a grudge, re-assess the situation because you too maybe partially to blame, and remember, people can only love you as much as they can and we can't expect anymore then they are prepared to offer, or have within themselves.

Now, prance...