The Wrath of Ass!!!!!!!!!!

I spent yesterday on the pity-pot, piling one “sorry” thing that had ever happened to me on top of another.  Rough day.  At home I exhausted myself doing chores, on warrior mode – “Life is hard bitch, stop crying.”

In the basement, I took a neighbor’s clothes out of the washer because it had stopped, and they weren’t there.  I might have given them a few minutes, but I wanted to go out later and didn’t have time to wait.  When I came back, they had posted a note on a drier that had stopped, with their clothes still in there, “Please do not remove my clothes.”

I was on fire.  I had a target for the anger welling in me for two weeks.  I went upstairs and wrote a reply, saying that they had a lot of nerve, that they were selfish…  I wouldn’t have dared removing the clothes under these circumstances, as I said in the note, because I wasn’t trying to fight with my neighbors.  Haha, but I was.

My neighbor came down and claimed the note.  “I was about to post this note on top of yours – you can’t do this.  You can’t make people wait because you don’t want them touching your clothes (He was being a diva.)  It isn’t considerate.  I make it my business to be here on time out of consideration for my neighbors.  If I can’t make it, I have no problem with people taking my clothes out.”

He disagreed.  I put my hand up and told him that I wasn’t going to argue, because his retort was ridiculous.

I was so angry that I left my clothes downstairs.  I punched the elevator door, several times.  My right hand is still sore today.  I think the whole building heard, “my anger.”

I didn’t want to hit him.  He just didn’t understand why this was inconsiderate.  I wasn’t communicating effectively to him.  I was angry at this conflict at the end of a crappy day.  Angry at life.

I thought about apologizing – I also threw something — slammed doors really hard. We used to say hello, but now maybe I’ll just have a look of approachability, wiping the slate clean of the conflict.  It’s better not to approach someone right after an incident.  In the heat of anger, after leaving the basement and punching and throwing and slamming doors, I banged out a letter to management, asking them to mediate.

If I had more emotional equilibrium, I would have done this in the first place, without confronting my neighbor – and — I would have used different phraseology – in the subject line of the email I typed “EMERGENCY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”   So that was insane.  As they say, when angry, refrain from sending that letter, email or text, or from approaching someone, until you have simmered down.

On the cosmic vibe note, yesterday was the date last year, when something so crappy happened to me that I even remember the date.  Hmmmm…

I love winter nights

Love love LOVE when people post their random thoughts on Facebook.  How inspiring.

Here are my favorites:

– Gettin’ ready for the big blow out — yeah-eee yeah-eeeeee!

– Today iz whoop ass Friday up in here!

And the best — Facebook food cravings:

– Some Kentucky Fried be nice right about now.  

Well.  Here’re snippets of thought I thought of posting on Facebook individually, but then I thought better of it, but then thought, fuck it, I’ll just put them all in my blog, like, fuck it.  These are my random thoughts on the days they were thought:

4/19/12 – I want my uterus out.

4/28/12 – I like boogers, to pick them, yes.

6/19/12 – Out of toilet paaaapeeer?!  What’ll I do now?!  Eeeyaaaahh!

6/19/12 – Uh oh.  Shouldn’t have used that in place of toilet paper.

6/19/12 – What does one do for flaming anus?

7/26/12 – I just love the King of Queens.

7/30/12 – Betty White’s a sexy bitch!  Fuck y’all!

8/13/12 – I’m ‘bout to kill a mouse up in here!

8/28/12 – Anybody ever wonder what old people look like when they’re having sex?

9/15/12 – Does anybody else ever wonder what would happen if you shut off your phone and computer and never came outside again how many people would give a shit?

9/15/12 – Do you ever wonder if you’ll die alone?

9/15/12 – Y’all should know that everyone dies alone – after all you weren’t born with anyone else, silly — I mean you came into this world alone.  Even if you died with a bunch of other people you’d still be dying alone, right?  Anyone else ever think of that?  Huh?  Holla back.

9/15/12 – Gee, I really could use a Fluff a Nutter sandwich right about now.

9/15/12 – I hate food.

10/19/12 – I love winter nights.

10/22/12 – I hate pus!

10/23/12 – I love furry slippers on a winter’s morn.  Don’t y’all?

10/24/12 – Pork chops!  Applesauce!  Whassup whassup!

10/24/12 – Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!

11/12/12 – I wonder who’ll come to my funeral when I die, I mean, it shouldn’t matter but it kind of does at the same time if you know what I mean.

11/16/12 – Team Bella.

12/9/12 – A&P Weeeeeooooooooooo!  ‘memba that?

So, that’s it people —  I’m very very sorry.  I’m especially sorry for reeling you in with a title that might be perceived as romantic when it was only a part of a stream of crazy.

Ass-Crack, Anyone?

I sell copies of my book every month, hallelujah.  So where’s my $27.69 from last month’s sales?  The price of *quinoa just went up and I need Halloween socks, a disposable rain bonnet, and some Limited Edition Pop Tarts.

Amazon was supposed to shoot this money over to my account.  I wish they’d hurry up–it’s Pop Tarts LI-MI-TED Edition!  By the time I get my money, the damn things won’t be in the supermarket anymore.

*For those of you who don’t give a shit, quinoa (pronounced:  keen-wah) is a healthy ‘super-food’ that tastes like ass-crack.  It costs a lot of money but I could probably grow it on my fire escape.

‘Never to return’

I had a great birthday.  I always do.  I look forward to getting older and older, moving forward, upward then out of here, ‘never to return’, to quote that uni-browed wonder Frieda Kahlo.

This attitude helps me to treat every birthday like a holiday.  I took the day off and went to the NY Botanical Garden.  I walked through the forest to the waterfall.  The sound of the rushing water had a tranquil effect on me, so I stayed there for a long time.  I used a twig to etch my name and birthday, 11/17/62, in the dirt with a circle around it.  One of my best friends called.  We had an enlightened conversation for a while with the sound of the waterfall rushing in the background then mom called and that was a nice conversation too.

I hung out a bit in the forest then went to see the Japanese kiku chrysanthemums.  I had a hard time finding the greenhouse and had to pee and couldn’t find a bathroom.  I found some stupid porta pottys and unfortunately had to use one of them.

I walked and walked and walked and felt it in my ass and legs because I haven’t slept enough and had some pre-menopausal weirdness going on —  or — maybe it’s just because I’m half of a hundred years old!  But the landscape is so lovely there, though Sandy wreaked havoc on a hundred of their trees and a lot of the pretty leaves had blown off of them.  The walk to the chrysanthemums was worth it however – what a fascinating display.  I have wack pictures taken with my cheap phone camera which doesn’t do them justice:

That last picture is a group of chrysanthemums that had been grown from a single stem — too bad it’s all fuzzy right?  And who the hell is that nice lady?

I came home — ate what I wanted to eat — a hamburger medium rare and huge onion rings from the Piper’s Kilt.  Being a cake enthusiast, of course I had cake and cake!  Since Halloween was somewhat intercepted because of my namesake hurricane, it’s still going on in my apartment, which is decorated thusly.  Usually Halloween’s officially over for me after my birthday anyway.  I watched the movie Vault of Horror with the last of my Halloween candles lit and said ‘This is the life’!

And thank you all for wishing me a Happy Birthday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Balance

If you’re me, your shape changes in middle-age.  Other things happen but I’ve been sworn to secrecy by the Coven of Middle-aged Women with Fancy Handbags.  I’m mad.  I work out, jog, but I am not shaped the way I used to be shaped, a subtle shifting of body mass.  I was warned by the Coven.  I didn’t think it would happen to me though.  I eat quinoa.

And also, not to brag — I just did 50 sit ups but my stomach still protrudes. Why? Fucking fibroids.  Yeah I said it.  It happens more so at a certain time of the month.  Why now, a few days before my author reading?  I’m tired of this.  I could have my uterus surgically removed.  I just don’t want to be knocked out and cut so that I can have my guts ripped out.

I was waiting for that device in Star Trek to come out.  Captain Kirk, Bones and Spock time-traveled.  They went back in time and witnessed a 20^th century surgery.  Bones said it was barbaric.  Their time era is the future where Bones just waves this wand thing over the part that needs surgery and – bam!  I could be uterus-free in seconds with not a one scratch on me.  I think it’ll be a while before this is invented, so I’ll just wait for menopause.  That’s when my estrogen level is supposed to decrease, which ideally would mean that these things will shrink.  But we’ll see with the luck I have.

All’s not awful though.  I’ve always had kind of a big ass even when I was a skeleton.  But I don’t look good bone thin anymore and that’s a good thing – like it was ever a good thing.  Now I don’t need to be always worried about staying a certain weight.  I’m more relaxed.  The effort would be wasted anyway.  When you’re this age two carrots, plus 3 walnuts, plus one celery stick does not equal ninety-eight pounds soaking wet.  It equals what your metabolism tells you it will equal.  Listen youngsters – eat, smoke and be reckless, because, you won’t be able to later on.  I’m not killing myself to be skinny anymore, so I don’t have to smoke cigarettes and eat grass.  Since my shape has changed I look like a bobble head if I’m too thin.  And I realized recently that the big ass balances off my big head nicely.

*A post of vanity, by Sandee Harris

The earth is just toilet paper for us to wipe our asses with until it’s all gone

When my friend Jeff lived on Fourteenth Street in the eighties it was sleazy. He lived in an SRO, a three story walk up. I went there once and we smoked a lot of cigarettes. He introduced me to Charles Bukowski, underground comic books and OTB.  He wrote me a poem that had the word ‘equatorial’ in it. Sometimes he was called Angry Jeff. Fourteenth Street isn’t what it was years ago. But nothing is what it was years ago — silly me.

Now there are modeling agencies in that region so there are gorgeous people parading up and down that street. Union Square is there with that farmer’s market everyone loves. Whole Foods is there and DSW. I like to go to that Halloween store on 10^th St. Today I went looking for green spider webs and purple candles.

When I left I walked across Fourteenth Street to the west side. There were so many people sucking at the air. You had to scoot and slide to get around them all. Oh my — I’m glad I didn’t breed. There isn’t enough air. Some of the people didn’t look happy to be here. I always say I wouldn’t want to create another lost soul. There are just so goddamned many people and a lot of them are populated here – oh I know there’s China but – good lawd!

What are all of us doing here? I suppose we buy things, use energy. Some of us think we’re special but if we thought about how many of us exist, maybe we’d change our minds. How could so many of us be special when there are so many of us?  It’s like bugs.

There was a tall man in green scrubs on the train. Maybe he was a doctor. I guess we should make more people to fix other people. Doctors are needed to fix all the people being born. And people have to have cars, so there have to be people made to make all those cars. And then there have to be people made to sweep the floors and there have to be people to put in jail so other people can feel lofty.

So I get it — generally, people have to be here to make stuff for others to buy and use. That’s it. In other parts of the world they have different notions but the idea of having stuff even in those places is seductive. The ‘good life’ is pushed on us like heroin. A lot of people imagine they’re here looking for something better or to be a part of some phenomenal movement that they’re going to start and they think their kid’s gonna help. Maybe. But like I always say, maybe the earth is just toilet paper for us to wipe our asses with until it’s all gone.

The Supreme Ass Cake Award

In the Wizard of Oz, they pull that curtain back and see no giant, loving omniscience back there, just some ‘ol bull shit.  Click that ‘Awards’ widget on my side-bar.  Nothing.  You were gonna pull that curtain back some day and say “Aha!  She’s been fooling us!”  Oh, I swear I was gonna put awards in there!

I bees SO gwuilty. [Insert picture of cute kitteh]  I accept awards.  I say ‘Thank you.’  But I don’t follow the rules.  I don’t give acceptance speeches, list things about myself, pass the awards on, or display them on my side-bar.

I appreciate you lovely people for giving them to me and I thank you all.  But I’d rather not receive awards.  Just lavish praise and rent money.

I watch others who feel this way.  What do they do?   I’d take guidance from that.  So I’ll be a punk ass and piggy back on what that fabulous Kyle says.

Here are beautiful people who gave me awards.  Some of you may have forgotten, but I’ve given you all Award Cakes!

Madame Weebles:

The Lemon Supreme Cake Award, lemon frosted of course

Miss Carla Renee:

The Chocolate Peanut Butter Ganache Cake Award

Boomie Bol:

The Orange Rum Sunrise Cake Award

Claire Cappetta:

The Strawberry Angel Food Cake Award

Jill/Ocelot Bound:

The Coriander Cake with Butter Cream Frosting Sprinkled with Cinnamon, Nutmeg and Coriander Award  (I miss her)

Dating Bitch:

Zucchini Lemon Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting Award

Sailor Carrie:

The Ethereal Angel Food Cake Award

Shauna/Shianwrites:

The Banana Walnut Cake with Maple Frosting Award

Kathy V.:

Black Forest Cake Award

Brigitte:

German Chocolate Cake Award

Jessica Accardi:

The Peach Pie Cake Award (wink, wink)

Me:

The Supreme Ass Cake Award

I might’ve screwed this up — maybe you didn’t even give me an award — it’s been so long and my notes get mixed up, crinkled.  I hope I’ve included everyone who actually gave me an award.

I feel free.  I’ll delete that fake widget now.

Eat some cake, responsibly, and enjoy the rest of your week!  Mwa!

The 7th Circle of Hell

 

I’m the one who should be relegated to the 9^th circle of hell — oh, I meant the 7^th circle.  This region of hell is for those who perpetrate violence against old people.  After two days of tirade against the old lady who charges me with forcing her down a flight of steps with my help, I have shed my defenses.  I went through the stages of feelings and came out on the other end, which includes the understanding of where she might be coming from.  This means putting myself in her shoes (orthopedic).  She’s merely being proactive, yes, in gathering information regarding this farce.  No?  Well, God forbid, some slowly developing crack in her ass should develop as we both landed on our asses when we fell – no, no, another crack — I assume that she has one crack already.  This would be very expensive to repair.  So she might have to sue the organization for medical coverage.  Yeah, that’s, it probably.

Seriously, I hope she’s okay.  It can be dangerous to fall when you’re old.  A lot of old people go rapidly down hill after falling – oh God I’m scared now.  What if she, should…  A-anyway, this incident was educational.  I learned about the dangers of helping a stranger, and I learned how my own self-centered fear had me imagining this poor woman in a boiling pot of oil.

A Sword-Chinned B***h’s Answers to That Fred Guy’s W**dP**ss Challenge

Hello everyone, here are my answers to the WordPress challenge from That Fred Guy, yeah, THAT GUY:

What makes me unique and how does my blog showcase that?                                

Oh no no no no no — I’m not unique!  I have some, unique interests, yes?  I’m a black girl who likes death metal– no, no – I’m a middle-aged black girl who likes death metal.  While a lot of the old dm bands are middle-aged, the audience is generally made up of young white males but I don’t give a crap about that.  They’re nice chaps who think of me as Auntie Sword-Chinned Bitch \m/.  Okay, so I also want to have a society based on the barter system – that might be unique.  Okay?

What drives me to blog?

What drives me to blog is my book.  Do you like my writing?  Well then, you’ll like my book.  Do you like ass?  Do you like cake?  Well then you’ll love my book!  I hope you like my blog enough where you’d at least consider going to the bank and taking out .99 cents to buy my book.  But while blogging to promote my ass cake book, I’ve become cyber pen pals with Fred, SSG and a bunch of other nice folks from around the world – I never anticipated that.  So, nevermind about the book – no, no, no don’t forget about my book.

What irks me about blogging?

It cuts into my cake-eating activity.

How does blogging aid me in standing out from the crowd?

I can say that I communicate with people from around the world on a daily basis.  I can lie and say that I know them all personally, that I’m special in that regard and have international secrets…

Uhhhh…yeah…I, ah…

I wonder what you bloggers are like all fleshed out.  How do you smell?  Do you have armpit odor? – I love armpit odor.  What color are your auras?  It’s hard to tell from the mini-faces that come when you like my post.  I uploaded Grandma Hattie’s painting for mine.  I hope you like it but if you don’t it’s okay.

Me, well, I’m everything you’d imagine.  Why I’m all, well, kind of…  I’m a biped.  I wear light fragrance.  But I don’t know what I smell like really – it’s kind of hard, you know, being inside of your own body, to smell what you smell like…  I don’t use deodorant.  I use a mineral.  Sometimes it doesn’t work.  When that happens I have, armpit odor.  Um… kinky hair…  My skin has a sheen on it, and, I’m a kind person, actually – brown with round eyes…  Uhhh…yeah.  I, ah — English is my mother tongue.  I speak it fairly well and I know phrases and curse words in other languages. That’s how I’m describing myself now.  I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it.