Officially heterolicaucasianaly privileged?? (i.e. my degree at work follows this ridiculously PC'ized blog post title)

Tonight. I went to a rodeo. There were lots of cowboy boots and cowboy hats and the arena even had that poop smell. It was The Official Rodeo, and I was surrounded by Official White Heteronormative Redneckery (it kind of hurts me a little bit to capitalize that). Let me explain.

For fifteen dollars, I agreed to sit amongst white people who enjoy cracking jokes about the and making judgment calls about the people that don't normally go to The Rodeo.

While I did enjoy the overtly Christian prayer to Jesus about the safety of the cowboys and girls and the overly glorified shrine to the American flag at the beginning of The Rodeo, the jokes cracked during The Rodeo by the announcer (who, p.s., had a huge-ass mustache) and the jokes by the belligerent clownage were IQ destroying. The killer of the night for me, and the point at which I became quite ready to depart the arena, was when The Head Belligerent Clown cracked a Brokeback Mountain joke, and I was the only person within earshot of the Clown (and probably in all of Forsyth County, for that matter) that did not laugh...including my family.

That's too bad, also. Because I really could get into that whole dirt, boots and flannel thing, I'm just sayin'. *shoulder shrug*

I'm tired as fuck..but not too tired to rant. Because here at the home of BrokeBertha...all is not well in the political realm..who'da thunk?

If I have to hear one more time that Obama is a Muslim or read one more email that depicts donkeys pulling a wagon as the only means of transportation after Obama takes office and taxes our heads off, I might become Schizophrenic and/or develop some form of PTSD that causes me to become addicted to anti-anxiety medications.

Holy God, I cannot wait for November.

Having said that, the Republican running mate is pretty hott. I wonder if she bats for the Girl's Team? That would make a wonderful bit of spamfoolery, I'm just sayin'. (Maybe I should go into politicking). *chuckle*

Might as well call me a Krispy Kreme Donut Worker....not that's there's anything wrong with that...

There is something innately wrong with being up in the morning even before God!

I might just lose my brain today.

Skills...I got 'em

"All I've got is humor," I said tonight while at a friend's house cutting her hair.

"That's not true," she smiled, "you know how to cut hair, too. And without any proper training."

"Fine," I respond, huffily, "All I've got is humor and hair cutting skills. That's never going to land me a woman."

I've decided. I've decided that I'm working a random job making good money, will be out on my own soon in a city that is fucking ridiculous, can cut hair for reasonable prices, have no clue what graduate school program will ever suit me, and have friends that make zero sense but make me incredibly happy. I've decided that I am content, but at the same time, I have no idea what the fuck is going on every minute of every hour of every day. *shoulder shrug*

I am a Life Coach...when did this happen?

I have spent the better portion of the day trying to convince myself that I a) do not have stomach ulcers, b) am not a tool and c) am a charming individual.

It all started when I got home this morning, and my mom told me that the huge lump that has been on my left ankle for the last year is probably cancerous and that I need to go to the doctor to get it checked out. Then she went on to describe that my stomach aches are probably peptic ulcers. After downing four Tums and a Gas-X, I went up to my room with a huge glass of water and changed into some sweat pants. Then one of my best friends called me and said the following, "Since I've now decided that you're my Life Coach, I need you to solve my problems." Later, another good friend of mine, who I haven't spoken to all summer, called me to hear about my latest drama sagas (which in my mind negates my supposed abilities to be a successful or even somewhat helpful Life Coach--but no one listens to me anyway). Her response was validation of my charming personality, and then she promptly hung up on me.

So, what is a girl to do? Naturally, she is to watch Bravo television all evening. The line up included several Project Runway episodes which were followed by a showing of Legally Blonde (which I have now watched twice in a row). I'm going to bed, maybe my dreams will validate my existence. And if not, at least maybe I won't be so grouchy in the morning.

The world has become a mass of moving self-centered bitchiness (i.e. Civilization and It's Discontents should be recoined to the following:

I am Discontented with Civilization. Ugh

When you go to your local grocery store to purchase alcohol or cigarettes, don't you expect to be carded? Don't you especially expect this since it's the law for whomever is selling you one of those substances to card you?

If and when you got carded, would you have the gall to look the salesperson in the eye and tell them to fuck off?!

Yea, if you answered no to that last question, then we can totally be friends, if not, then don't talk to me ever again. Or at least don't talk to me today.

i don't hardly know you but i'd be willing to show you i know a way to make you smile

As is my routine (sadly enough) after running my library errands today, I went by my fruit stand on Doc Bramblett. Mr. Peach Pusher was out of peaches. *sigh* So he gave me an orange. He prefaced the gift by saying that it would be the best orange I'd ever eat. He was right. It was seedless, sweet, easy to peel and the slices separated quite easily. I ate it at my field up the road from the fruit stand.

Often I go to this field (to eat peaches/oranges) to think.


Today, when I arrived, I got so excited. The cows were out! I actually yelled this in my car. alone. to no one in particular. I was pleased to see that the port-o-potties were gone, also. So, I sat under a tree and moo'd at the cows and ate my orange. The cows were really confused about my presence. Also, I thought about sharing the orange, but I don't think the bull would have had it. The girl cows seemed happy to see me. I didn't have my camera but this is kinda what they looked like. Please note the boy cow is on the right and the girl cow is on the left (I figured I should probably not worry about drawing cow genitalia, just cuz that would be kinda creepy and plus I'm not a vet or anything). The girl cow also has rouged lips, just cuz I thought this would help the differentiation?

captions read:
Girl Cow: "Yay!"
Boy Cow: "What the fuck? also, she smells funny..."

if there's something you want to hear, you can sing it yourself

Eventual Proteus

I held you
through all your shifts
of structure: while your bones turned
from caved rock back to marrow,
the dangerous
fur faded to hair
the bird's cry died in your throat
the treebark paled from your skin
the leaves from your eyes

till you limped back again
the daily man:
a lounger on streetcorners
in iron-shiny gabardine
a leaner on stale tables;
at night a twitching sleeper
dreaming of crumbs and rinds and a sagging woman
caged by a sour bed.

The early
languages are obsolete.

These days we keep
our weary distances:
sparring in the vacant spaces
of peeling rooms
and rented minutes, climbing
all the expected stairs, our voices
abraded with fatigue,
our bodies wary.

Shrunk by my disbelief
you cannot raise
the green gigantic skies, resume
the legends of your disguises:
this shape is final.

Now, when you come near
attempting towards to me across
these sheer cavernous
inches of air

your flesh has no more stories
or surprises;

my face flinches
under the sarcastic
tongues of your estranging
fingers,
the caustic remark of your kiss.

--Margaret Atwood (Selected Poems, 1965-1975)

Story: "The Library" by Joely

He drifted, as he often did, when he found himself in the library. Up more and more staircases, to get lost in the older less renovated upper stories. Away from the clacking keys and hushed whispers of everyone, everyone else who only came to libraries now because they had to or because they needed to but not because they felt or wanted to feel anything.

They were like tourists in a cathedral.

Upstairs the hallways no one went down and no one remembered were darker and smaller but somehow grander and stronger than the rooms downstairs. Up there, the stone walls and squeaking wood floors had not been replaced with plaster and tile and lit by the sterile glow of fluorescent lighting. The brass fixtures that lit or were supposed to light the upstairs rooms were more often out than not, and in their warm glow, he could see rows and rows of old books. He'd never been in this room before. It was one of the many that contained the valuable books that had never been allowed to leave the library and now, forgotten were moldering in their graves. He loved these rooms of the library and the things he could find there. He leaned up against a box to think and it, being lighter than he'd assumed, slid away from him along the wall. He jumped up, shocked at what he'd discovered. The box, only half full of parts of old books and papers, was about half the height of a door and had been concealing exactly that. The bottom half of an old carved wood door he'd failed to notice, covered the top half. He was pleased with his discovery having never been this far into the library, and pleased that there was even more to be discovered. He twisted the ornate brass doorknob and pulled open the door.

"Come on in, and we'll find yours" said the last thing in the world he expected to see, an old man in wire rimed glasses behind a desk in the messiest room in the world. "What" the boy asked. "We'll find what it is you're looking for. A book, right?" the man asked, as if he already knew the answer and started digging through the piles and shelves of papers, books, pictures, music sheets, and other debris littering the room. All the while muttering to himself as if he was making a mockery or looking for something, but knowing where it was the whole time, pretending he didn't.

"Where could it be?"

"It's got to be here."

"Oops that's not it," the man stood up and came over to the boy. "There it is!" he yelled and reached his hand straight at the boys chest, however he must have seen it wrong because before the boy could look down, the mans hand was holding an enormous book that must have come off a shelf behind him. The boy had seen it wrong. The man must have reached a little to the left or right of him and it had only seemed like he had reached into him. "Who are you?" asked the boy. The old man looked old and wise as he thought, "I suppose I'm the reason people come to this place" he said. "But what reason is that?" asked the boy. The man laughed, "If I could tell you that, how could you tell anyone else?" "And you just sit around in this room in the library all day?" the boy wondered. "Ah, a library," said the man, "Is that where we are." He looked pleased. At first, the man had seemed old and neglected, but now seemed spritely, alive, and full of potential. It was as if the old man mirrored the boy's interest in him. "Here's your book," said the man, who, with ease handed the book to the boy who at once dropped the heavy thing. "I can't lift it" said the boy, "I can't open it, either." "You'll have to do better than that," said the man, "if you're going to get it out of here, and it won't do you any good in here." The man looked sadly down at the boy as he tried again to pull the book out of the room.

....to be continued? (I'll try to convince Joel to finish the story, but in the mean time I thought it was a nice ponderant piece and also, I just love libraries).

The Olympics: I Heart Them

Li Ning lights the cauldron of the Beijing Olympic Games.


Honestly, this was one of the best opening ceremonies I've seen. Having said that:

I think I tried on the suit that Laura Bush was wearing at the Games when I went shopping last weekend. As I recall, I put on the suit, and said, "Oh my God! I look like The First Lady." To which my mom responded, "MwhahahahahahaHA!" To which I then replied, "Get this piece of conservative shit off me!"

Good night, America. :)

hold my beer while I rant, k?

Remember when you were a kid and you used to play the card game Old Maid? Well, I do and I remember always thinking: What's wrong with being the Old Maid? I mean, she doesn't have any children to look after, she has a steady job as a maid, she's self-sufficient and she doesn't have to deal with a husband. That seems like the perfect life!

Ok, well this post goes out to my eight year old self.

Dear Self,

Tonight, you worked a six hour shift with no breaks and cleaned floors, tables, conveyor belts, a child's nose, vacuumed carpets and cleaned out coffee dispensers. You left work sweaty and gross only to come home wherein you consumed cheese puffs, Toblerone chocolate and beer for dinner. Then you cleaned out your car because you have nothing better to do because you're single, childless and broke because (as you see above) you are a glorified janitor for a supermarket.

This is NOT good.

Love,
Self

PS. Work on not being the Old Maid, k?

The Dark Knight

In honor of my hard work, day off, and recent promotion, I decided to go see The Dark Knight.

Initial Response: Oh. My. God.

And also, well done.

And in addition, I may not sleep for a week.

Kudos to the late Heath Ledger for scaring the shit out of me, literally (I had to get up in the middle of the film to use the ladies room).

Also, Kudos to God and Genetics for making Maggie Gyllenhaal so absolutely beautiful. *sigh*

I'm Old

Reason #1:

My youngest sister is reaching that phase when every time you look at her she looks at you with contempt in her eyes and says, "what?!" She's thirteen years younger than me, and when she was born, I was going through that phase.


Reason #2:

I recently purchased an interview suit from a department store. All I need for this suit to make me look like Meg Ryan from the 80's is permed hair and some sort of masculine-looking hat


Reason #3:

People call me "ma'am" in public.


Reason #4:

My body wakes me up in the middle of the night to pee. This never used to happen. I asked my mom about it and she said that that means I'm just getting older.


Reason #5:

I wait to run my errands until the sun goes down because it's hot and the heat frightens me. Like, I'm afraid I'm going to get heat stroke if I wander out into the hot afternoon. Where I smoke at my house depends on whether it's the morning (when the shade is in the front of the house) or the afternoon (when the shade is in the back of the house). All of this is to avoid prolonged exposure to the sun. Also, I worry about moles becoming cancerous.


Reason #6:

Whenever I walk across the yard, I stop to stoop down and pull up weeds. This is something I have watched my grandmother do ever since I was little.


Reason #7:

I color-sort my laundry.


Reason #8:

Old men hit on me.


Reason #9:

When I card people at work who are buying cigarettes and they were born in 1990, I look at them with surreptitious disdain while smiling and say things like, "Aren't you too young to buy cigarettes?"


Reason #10:

I avoid particular restaurants due to the flatulent consequences of those dining establishments.


Reason #11:

I know when it's going to rain by the pain in my knees, elbows, or wrists.


Reason # 12:

When left to my own devices, I eat dinner at 5:30pm.

MadMen

Friend Joel has gotten me hooked on AMC's MadMen. It is a divine show depicting the woe's of the sixties by tracing several characters who work in the advertisement industry. It is absolutely going to be a topic of discussion in my classroom when and if I ever get that PhD in Women's Studies and some unsuspecting university actually hires me. It comes on Sunday nights at 10pm (on AMC) and is aired for a second time at 11pm.

Un-Official Blog about the Show

Official AMC Website

Trailer for Tonight's Episode

Basically, I'm addicted to this television show and have been usurping my older sister powers to obtain my MadMen fix by conning by brother into taping it for me when I'm not home to watch it. I suppose this means I'm going to hell...but right now, I really don't care.

Synopsis of this Post: Join the Dark Side...watch MadMen.

Alright...I Couldn't Freakin Wait...OK?

So, I couldn't wait to tell you all the twelve items on the list of things that Irritate me. I made the entire list within five minutes of my post last night. And here it is...enjoy:

1. jcpenney’s breakfast club rip off

2. buying a grown up suit for real job interviews

3. that they cannot locate Amelia earhart

4. plastic applicator tampons

5. republicans

6. that I have to see this every time I walk into my house:

7. when I watch tele with joel and his channel is ahead of mine and he tells me things are going to happen that don’t actually happen

8. poop on television (shark poop, baby poop, bull poop...enough with the poop)

9. when children that did not enter this world via my vagina leave their dirty socks in my bed

10. nachos covered in ground beef being eaten by some idiot girl that sits behind you in class the morning that you have the biggest hangover of your life

11. when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad (this is joel's contribution)

12. already cooked bacon

Things That Irritate Me

I could probably rewrite the 12 Days of Christmas to the 12 Things that Irritate Me. I propose to do this over the next twelve days. If anyone has any suggestions, please email (brokebertha@gmail.com) or post them in the comments section.

"The first item appearing on the irritation List is this commercial which maketh me so very angry." Imagine this line being sung to the first line of the 12 Days of Christmas. Go with it people. It might be hard for some of you, I know. I mean we can't all have The Incurable Chronic Lyricosis*, like me.

But seriously, who the hell does JCPenney think they are, anyway?! Gag.

*A condition in which the sufferer chronically sings incorrect lyrics to songs. I've had this since I was three years of age. For more details...yea...I'm not sharing the details...they're too embarrassing.