Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

I remember my 9th grade World History teacher, Mr. Hathaway, talking about whatever period in history (probably most of them) when the majority of people were unwashed and how everybody stunk to high heaven. He said, repeatedly and very loud, "If everybody smells, nobody smells!" Because, y'know, when the stench is just the stench and it's shared by everyone then it's not a stench anymore, it's just air.

Therefore, I submit that in the days of Everybody Gets a Trophy! what that really means is Nobody Gets a Trophy. When you take away the concept of Lose, you take away what it means to Win. When you take away the meaning of winning, you end up with assholes like Charlie Sheen.

How the hell did we get here?  I mean, I learned growing up, "Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." and "Do or do not, there is not try."  and stuff like that.

I want my boys to grow up with that mentality rather than embracing their inner Medium. (Medium as opposed to Small or Large, not like the psychic thing...the psychic thing would be superb)  I want them to be kick ass men who take charge, names, ownership, pride and all those other things that are meant to be taken. Those things are not meant to be handed over like trophies at a pee wee soccer party.

So, this place in history is confusing to me. We've probably been here before. It probably ended very badly. But I don't remember the "everybody gets a trophy" era from history class. Whatever happened right before the French Revolution might have been similar but I don't remember for sure.

I'm reminded of this because last night we had a family night. The X took the boys and me out to dinner and a movie. Our movie choices were either The Lorax or Act of Valor which might seem like weird movie options to some, but with tweenage boys it could really go either direction. I leaned more toward Act of Valor. (It's made with real SEALS... so you know it's good.)

We ended up at Act of Valor. yay. Okay, this movie is going to get terrible reviews simply because it's made with real SEALS, and real SEALS can't act for shit. I thought the bad acting was endearing. And all the exploding stuff made it completely awesome. If you see it, my favorite scene was the interrogation on the boat even though it didn't have any explosions. I liked the mindfuck aspect of it. don't act all surprised.

Anyway, there was a voiceover narrative throughout the movie and that's what I liked most of all. The voiceover will get hammered by the critics most of all but whatever; the message was one that I think is important. It was talking about men being men. Like old school, John Wayne, brimming with testosterone and suppressing their emotions and redirecting them instead into pure energy against whatever enemy they come up against next kinda men. Despite the obvious potential to get carried away in the wrong direction with that kind of energy...I think it's basically a great idea. That'll make sense in a minute. Bear with me.

So part of the narrative was a letter to one of the character's kids. (Spoiler alert: not everyone makes it out alive) Google didn't help me find the whole narrative script, but I did find part of the letter. It doesn't hit all the points about men being men that I thought were interesting, but it does touch on some stuff.  Women can find it useful too; I'm sure I'll be inspired in some way because of this.

1. So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart.
2. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and
3. Demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life,
4. Beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and
5. Its purpose in the service of your people.
7. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.
8. Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend,
9. Even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and
10. Bow to none. When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the food and
11. For the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks,
12. The fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and nothing,
13. For abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision.
15. When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts
16. Are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes
17. They weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again
18. In a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.

Critics can bash all they want, but the mention of begging for a chance to live your life a different way hits home. The directive to live with a sense of pride in yourself and respect for others makes sense to me. It's challenging yourself against settling for the Medium in the moment. It makes you dare yourself toward greatness I think. I love that. I need reminding of that all the time.

Mentioned earlier in the narrative and not in that excerpted letter part was the idea of men suppressing emotions and channeling them into other pursuits.  Rather than gushing out all their feelings all over everybody, men really need to get back into that. That kind of mentality inspired progress, art, commerce...and yeah, wars and stuff too...but yin/yang. Heaven/Hell. Just acknowledge the fact that light and darkness depend on each other.

These days men sit around and talk it out and nothing gets DONE. It fucking sucks. I don't want to raise a couple of men contributing to this epidemic.

I want the boys to be overwhelmed enough by inner turmoil they create a masterpiece in their passion of choice. I want them to lose. I want them to fall. Because when you fall, you learn how not to fall. I want them to discover a passion so immense, they keep at it until they get it right.

When they get it right, they'll have earned that sense of pride. It will belong to them alone. Not every other snowflake on the soccer field.

The About Me You Won't Read at Match

The problem I have with Disney-style fairy tales is the happy endings.

Not that well told stories shouldn't have happy endings, they should. But Disney and this whole Everyone Is A Snowflake mentality has taken the original myths and fables from Fantastic (and usually pretty gruesome) to glitter littered OMGLUVFANTASTIC!!!! soaked with HFCS and Red Dye #36 and very far from endings that include anyone clamping somebody's feet into iron sandals fresh from the fire and then watching them dance until they're dead.

Like they're supposed to.

The iron sandal bit was the Wicked Stepmother's fate in the Grimm's ending to Snow White is what I meant.

My mother let me read her Grimm book from her childhood and I grew up knowing that Snow White got her Prince Charming. And revenge.

That's the kind of ending I want. Prince Charming at my side while evil dies from a fire.

That's my kind of baggage and fresh start.

I don't even want to imagine the people who would respond to that online personals About Me section.

Welcome to My Personal Zombie Apocalypse

I found this in my yard a few months ago. It's mushroom that looks like a brain. See?  I just thought it was weird looking, but one of my facebook friends mentioned something about it being zombie bait. I hate zombies.

And now...?

The Zombie Apocalypse is upon me. The Dawn of the Dead. In the form of Ghosts of Boyfriends past. Well, none of them were officially boyfriends exactly but more like brief encounters and usually dripping with scandal.

They have come forth unbidden. or rather, not consciously bidden. I must have done something to summon them although what that could be is baffling the fuck out of me right now. This is exactly why I don't engage in voodoo; because with my luck it would work. I haven't even been practicing feng shui lately. I am mystified by all of this.

I buried them in my mind years ago and yet they rise from the dark recesses of memory and pop up on my computer screen with the seductive sparkle of electronic messaging. It's always a complete and total surprise.

Hey girl, I know we haven't talked in a long time, but I still think about you. I want to see you.

There are so many.  No less than five in the last two weeks. FIVE. in TWO WEEKS.

They're reading right now by the way. I'm almost nervous to ask who else is going to lurch forward with arms outstretched and hungry for brains. It's the brains they're after if they're reading, right? Combined with the lava lamp/venus flytrap/super secret sex kitten vibe I've been told I put off? I mean, I guess that's a pretty powerful recipe for whatever the hell they're looking to order off the menu.

Soanyway, everybody wave and say hi to every man I've been intimate with in the past 20 years. Hi guys. I really appreciate the readership and everything. But just because I didn't go all psycho crazypants and blow up your phone 73 million times after you dropped me like a hot rock does not give you license to come dead arm shuffling back in looking for another go round. It's nice that you're reaching out after months or years or decades or whatever, very flattering, but please. pleaseI'mbeggingyou...stop.

So what I want to know is what the fuck is on the other side of this gauntlet? Because I feel like I'm being seriously tested here. I feel like I accidentally wandered into some haunted forest and shit is popping out of the woods at every turn. I once said that being on facebook and reconnecting with all these people is like sifting through a box of evidence in some cold case file. Searching for that one missing clue that solves the whole thing and I figure out the purpose of life or something.

Is that what this is? Am I being presented with all these people with whom I've ever connected as a test to find out what I really want? Because I'm pretty sure I know what that is now. I've figured it out. Maybe they're just testing my resolve to see how serious I am about it. Like if I'll be so easily distracted by the shiniest memories from days gone by. Like I haven't learned anything from the unshiny moments.

I'm really not distracted. I really have learned. I am ready for the next level. It is only morbid curiosity that makes me wonder who might spring up next because some of you have come out of coffins I would have thought surely rotted to way past death after all this time if I'd thought to think of them which I didn't. I guess maybe the coffins have possibly rotted through enough for you to claw your way out of the grave? I'm not saying I'm not impressed, but it's kinda weird. I mean one or two was an odd coincidence, but FIVE? five. in two weeks.

Forget kinda, it's officially weird. Okay, and maybe a little distracting but only for the mass hysteria factor.

seriously what the godblessamerica is going on?

If you've contacted me and I haven't responded? I'm not going to.
If you've contacted me and I have? Don't get your hopes up  (or whatever else might be up...up), I'm not going down that road again.
If we had a thing this one time and you haven't contacted me since and you're thinking of it now? Well, in the sage words of Stephanie Zinone via Grease 2, "When you're dead, lie down."

Strange Name, No Filter

Most people aren't used to hearing Silver as someone's first name. After 39 years I'm quite used to the hamster-on-the-wheel looks I get during introductions. The stammering is always a fun moment too. 

[cocked head] "Sss...Silll..ver?  Is..." [scrunchy eyebrows] "...is that your...real? ...name?"

This was exactly the response I got from Thing 1's basketball coach today. Now, it's mid season, I've exchanged emails and conversation with this man for the last two months or so.  I mean, I filled out all the required forms and am on the email list as I mentioned, and the phone tree and everything listed as Silver.  Seemed clear enough to me, but for whatever reason he addressed me as "Thing 1's Mom" today at pre game practice. 

Then he gracefully admitted he didn't know my name. So I got the "real name" question. 

Me: "Yep. That's me."

Him: "How did...?  Where...?"

If you could've seen the question mark on that man's face, and if you've known me for more than 10 minutes, you would have an idea of how deeply I dug in to resist the urge to tell him him that I am not, nor have I ever been, a stripper. Biting back those words took a LOT is what I'm saying. But he's kind of a strict coach (but a super good one, and Thing 1 has really improved, and we're undefeated so I totally think he's a great guy) and his kids go to private school and even though it usually makes people laugh, I didn't think he'd find the stripper remark funny. so I didn't say that. 

Me: "It's from a Steve Miller Band song. Quicksilver Girl. I was born in San Francisco in 1972. *shrug* Standard Issue at the time."

Hamster at breakneck speed, he considered it. Then had a moment of camaraderie.

Him: "You know the band Steely Dan?"

Me: "Yeah."

Him: "I have a friend who likes that band so much, he changed his name to Steely."

Me: *BLINK* 

Me: "You know how Steely Dan got it's name, right?"

Him: "What? No. How?"

Me: "Steely Dan is the name of a vibrator."

Him: *BLINK*

Him: "I just always told him it was a good thing his favorite band wasn't Jethro Tull or we'd all be calling him Jethro."

Me: "Heh. Yeah. *smirk* You'd should tell him the Steely Dan thing."

Him: "Yeah. Heh. Okay. Well." 

And he headed off to pre game practice.

Okay, now, MY main concern was getting back home after the game and Googling just to make sure that was a true story and not some urban myth I'm perpetuating.  I was right. It's a true story. Except for Steely Dan was a metal dildo rather than a vibrator but...tomato/tomahto. Shocking point stands.

Audrey pointed out that my main concern should perhaps have been that I bit my tongue about the stripper comment, but not 5 minutes later I dropped dildo trivia?  Which I think was more classic rock trivia, but again, shocking point stands.

The real concern should probably be...will Thing 1 get chosen for this same undefeated basketball team next season or did I totally fuck it up for him by speaking with a faulty filter? I'm sure this isn't the last time I'll ask myself this type of question.

There Is No Try

Thing 1 currently thinks the universe is like a Pac Man game where you exit one side of the maze and arrive on the exact other side of the same track repeating the path 'til you conquer that rightly and get to the next level of the game.

I have to say, from a philosophical, theoretical, universal standpoint, I think he's right.

So, how long are you going to play this same screen until you level up? How long am I?

I'm saying this because I went on a ski trip for the first time in 12 years this weekend. I was going to try snowboarding but I chickened out at the last minute justifying to myself that getting on skis after so long was challenge enough. And after seeing all the downed boarders on the slopes, why actively try to kill myself?

So I strapped on skis familiar.

And stayed on the beginner slopes all weekend even though I probably could have made it mostly alive down the intermediate runs a couple of times at least. I'm pretty sure of this because I leaned in and let go, and I didn't die even one single time.  Granted this was on the green slopes, even the steeper ones. but still.

I didn't challenge myself beyond that victory. At the same time I'm proud of doing what I know I can, I regret the knowing that I didn't try for more. If I got hit by a bus tomorrow I'm pretty sure Not Trying The Blue Slopes would flit across my mind in semi consciousness moments. It is now very important that I don't get hit by a bus before our next ski trip.

Because how else will I teach them to do if I don't?

Not Pinterested

I see so freaking many people going ape on facebook over Pinterest all of a sudden.

lahk zees: 

OMG I'M ADDICTED TO PINTEREST LOL!!!! ROFLMAOMG ME TOOOO!!!!!

Which makes me raise an immediate eyebrow in a sideways glance and exhale like, orilly? and decide with anti establishment fortitude that I will not get involved in this pop cult.

But maybe that's not fair to Pinterest.  Maybe Pinterest is something I'd omgluv if I got into it.  I can't just dismiss it out of hand without even going to check it out. right?

fine.  *clickety over to fucking Pinterest*

I see cupcakes. glitter shoes. food porn. cupcake nail polish. immaculately expensively decorated homes and outdoor patios overlooking the ocean. crafts. makeup tips. more food porn. more fucking cupcakes. adorable clothes I cannot afford.

This is exactly the type of Stepford shit in which I have zero interest.

Cupcake nailpolish? I can't even keep my nails unbitten for more than a week, and even if I could accomplish that miraculous task I certainly wouldn't paint them up to look like I'm getting ready for goddamn kindergarten graduation.

Food porn.  Food porn can go to hell directly.  do not pass Go. skip the $200. Besides, I don't need Pinterest for that; I see it every day on facebook already.  and some of you? Kudos, looks delish, jehluz, etc. Most everybody else? you do realize that photographing food so it looks appetizing is kind of thing right? Like, a skill?  It's all about lighting and effects and stuff to make the food look more tasty.  I suggest checking out a book at the library on this, or at least Google it or something because whatever it is you just vomited onto my news feed? looks like vomit.  But wait...it's VEGAN?! and CLEAN?!  in that case... seriously just knock it off.  kthx.

Makeup guidance. Um. Makeup tips have eluded me since I received my first issue of Young Miss magazine 3 decades ago. I tried to do "smoky eyes" one time last year just for practice and it looked JUST LIKE the picture in the magazine.  Then the kids rolled off the sofa laughing at me. I believe the words, "Oh my god, Mom, you look like a Goth. No," were uttered between gasping giggle sobs. which was not embarrassing at all. So, I'm fine with my liquid eyeliner and Carmex. Maybe an eyelash curler if I'm feeling fancy. I have no use for makeup tips, Pinterest.  what's next.

Immaculately decorated home spaces. *sigh. Yeah. Those are purty. and impossible from here. Thing 2 got a toy bow and arrow thing for his birthday? and he shoots it in the house.  Well, just down the hallway where there's nothing breakable but still. I have boys. I have dirt. And I've never been a neatnik anyway. So Immaculately Decorated has no place under this roof.

Crafts and glitter shoes. These fall into the same category because I believe the glitter shoes were DIY. Now, I'll have you know I won't shy away from a craft project or two, but I mostly do those to be practical. And I'm no stranger to sparkly shoes, I have several pairs. I even made sparkly shoes of my own to wear to a Homecoming Dance. When I was 16. My mother and I glued silver sequins onto a pair of Keds. Trendsetter?  oh hell yes. But the idea of dunking platform heels in a pile of glitter holds little appeal to me now. I'd rather throw $15 at the Payless for knockoff stripper shoes than make them myself.

Adorable clothes I cannot afford pretty much speaks for itself. I'd rather not subject myself to the torture of wanting what I cannot have. but thanks for putting that out there. you're awesome.

My opinion on cupcakes in general? I'm not a fan of the trend. To me, it seems all about the cutesy frosting and less about the actual cake. I'm more about the substance than the style, so I don't really get down with that whole genre.

Anyway, I'm sure Pinterest is just the greatest thing to hit the internests for some of you. And that's fantastic; everyone needs a hobby or twelve. But I'm not going to be hopping on that bandwagon anytime ever.

As far as I'm concerned this whole Pinterest business is just one more of those things like forwarded BS emails that clogs up the space we're going to need for beaming technology in the future. Just doing my part to keep the path clear.

Search Terms (or...Google Might Be Fucking with Me)

Sometimes I go through my search term results just to see what leads people here and what they might be trying to glean from my vast stores of diarist rambling. For the most part you seem to be looking for "silverthinks" or some variation of that, which is fine. I always wanted a dedicated fanbase. thx.

But sometimes I get randomly other different search term hits and quite frankly I don't understand if Google is just fucking with me here or if they really think I'm the go-to source for some of this information.  I don't know whether to be flattered or freaked out is what I'm saying because here's why...

A few notable search terms from recently:

Hot couple in rollers fucking
Fucking in her curlers
Hot girl in rollers

I sincerely apologize for the lack of fucking and general hotness you'll find here.  It's sad for me too sometimes.  trrrrust me. Anyway, I didn't realize there was such a thing as curlers/hot roller fetishism, but whatever, Rule 34 and all. It just seems so retro. Very 1950s ish. Like you're looking to be the milkman who pops in on June Cleaver unawares and *cue porn music*  Or perhaps the interest is Oedipal in nature? Maybe your mom used to wear hot rollers or something and you remember that...um...fondly (see what I did there? fondle-y? heh) in which case...well...that's for you and your therapist to work out.  best luck. and...sorry.

On a related note, there was also: Sissies in curlers

Now, for the many of you apparently who were searching for Sissies in curlers, wow, I mean I know you had to be super disappointed when you landed here.  Because I got NOTHIN' in that department to satisfy your curiosity.  And never in all my years did I think I would feel bad about that. Until now. So I think Google should really take the fall for this one because they led you pretty far astray.

But you're here and I'm a problem solver, so we may as well work together.  Alrighty then, *neck cracking head turn. wiggly keyboard fingers* from my extensive research on this topic (clickety over to craigslist casual encounters), I'm pretty sure there's no shortage of Sissies within driving radius of your local metro area. And even if you don't want to meet them in person, I'd hazard a guess that they would very likely wear curlers, stockings, your wife's lace panties, or whatever else your repressed heart dreams up and email you many, many photos of that.  Based on what I can now not unsee, Sissies seem to be quite...uhm...accommodating. And pretty enthusiastic about self portraiture.

What *I* gleaned from that search is that I need to post some new pictures here because the hot roller self portrait pictures are the ones that pop up if you image search le blog and...not only am I not as accomplished at photography as some people, but also I really should have thought that through.

Moving on.

Blonde with balloon tits sucks | redtube free

My question: What the everloving FUCK, Google? I love you and it's like you hate me leading people here with that. seriously. knock it off. I like internet porn as much as the next minivan mom, but come on.

Now for you, you silly little boy, looking for some chick with balloon tits and...well...sucking (and I'm positive you don't mean in an #EPICFAIL way based on the redtube bit at the end. Although I think that's a question of perspective)  *sigh.  Sweetie. Look. Those ladies have already been bought and paid for. So unless you have a limo filled with blow or semi-legitimate casting couch, they're not giving you the time of day. I'd like to be optimistic about the possibility that you're rolling in scads of cash to pay for limos and camera equipment, but you're Googling free porn. You are broke. Go check your craigslist and see if that waitress at Applebee's "hitt u back" on your Missed Connections post yet. Or just go back to the goddamn restaurant and ask her out in person. In this booty texting, Girls Gone Wild day and age, it's very likely you'll get lucky if you just show up.

Crack rose pipe

Okay, so, multiple people looking for information about the crack rose pipe, you have come to the right place. clearly. Now, you obviously have a little more knowledge than I did when I was first introduced to this appliance if you're stringing that search together.  Because I wouldn't have associated crack cocaine with those little roses in the glass tubes at convenience stores at all. Until the crack smokers I used to sell timeshare with gave me the 911. But let's not let my former naivete get in the way here.

I'm taking the liberty to assume you're shopping for crack pipes online. And with Valentine's day just around the corner, two birds and all. I think it's wise that you're looking for a more discreet way to feed your habit. Especially since you've noticed the dude at the 7-11 starting to look at you with a special twinkle and if history is any indication, you're *this close* to ending up in the cooler with his dick in your mouth to score some quality rock (or vice versa? I haven't learned the etiquette of the sex for drugs exchange. sorry) but you love your wife and you promised her you would never, EVER, do that. again. hence the need for the roses.

Anyway, if you're looking for the line on where you can get crack rose pipes delivered in bulk I'm thinking you should check Oriental Trading maybe? Fingerhut? They have everything. And it's all made in China which means it is specifically designed to kill you. So I don't see why they wouldn't be selling crack rose pipes made out of asbestos and black mold or something. Seems like common sense to me but I can understand how your drug addled brain wouldn't have put that together right away.

See? HELPING! You're welcome.

In conclusion, I think Google is being prankful with these search results. But I haven't decided on whom.