[DAY 28] 30-Day Song Challenge

Day 28: A Song By An Artist Whose Voice You Love

What the hell kind of question is this? Obviously, I only listen to music by artists whose voices I loathe. Pfft. Who listens to music they enjoy? Fucking peasants, that’s who.

Seriously. This one is stupid.

Instead, how about a song I recently Shazammed because I thought it was lovely and I’d never heard it before. And its fucking beautiful.

“Still” by Niall Horan.

Your turn.

[DAY 25] 30-Day Song Challenge

Doing today’s post from my phone. Which is a royal pain in the ass, but I’m being lazy and also don’t wanna miss a day this month. So this is my compromise.

Day 25: A Song You Like by an Artist No Longer Living

There are so many, so so many. But, as I’m on my phone, I’ll just pick one. And since I can only choose one, it’s gonna be “Space Oddity” by the late David Bowie. This one could also double as an entry for the day that called for a song that has multiple meanings for me. Have a listen.

What would you choose?

[DAY 17] 30-Day Song Challenge

I’m cheat-blogging. It’s 9:52 PM on Day 16. But I’m going out of town tomorrow (now today) and won’t have time to do this. So I’m scheduling this post. Haven’t done that in years. Anyway, I’m saying all of this as present me, but you’ll be reading it in the wrong tense by the time it posts. My bad. But at least I made sure to do the thing! So there!

Let’s get to it.

Day 17: A Song You’d Duet in Karaoke

Okay, first of all, I don’t karaoke. Second of all, I don’t karaoke. Third of all. Okay, okay, you get the point. But if I did? I wouldn’t.

Shit, I hate this one.

Uhm.

Uhhhh.

How about this one?

Is that a duet kinda song? I suppose it could be. I mean, there are two characters. But. Shit, I dunno.

What would you perform a karaoke duet to?

[DAY 6] 30-Day Song Challenge

Day 6: A Song That Makes You Wanna Dance

Not feeling much like dancing today. And for the second day in a row, I’m typing from the clunky app rather than on the pc. But at least I made it back!

Let’s start with the most obvious choice:

Gotta love Whitney. And then there’s:

And then. I mean. COME ON:

You know what? This is helping my mood. Let’s have another that perhaps doesn’t show my age quite as much as the previous selections. How about…

Still showing my age, you say? Ah, fuck it. Have another.

And finally, because why not? Louisiana absurdity. And it makes you wanna move:

What makes you wanna bust a move? Aw damn. That’s another good one. Bust a move!

[DAY 5] 30-Day Song Challenge

Today, I’ll be posting the first song that pops into my head. No thought given here. Today, I’m posting simply for the exercise of not missing a day as I attempt to establish blogging as a habit again. My eldest cat passed away today, and I’m sure to write about him soon. But for now, I’d just like to go to bed and curl up with his pillow.

Day 5: A Song that Needs to be Played Loud

Parking Lot People

I like to leave the office for my lunch break. I used to have a bad tendency to simply never take a lunch, in jobs past. Now, I make it a point to. I’m not getting paid for that hour, and damnit, I need to be kind to myself. Take the hour. Ingest some fresh air. Get off my ass. De-stress myself as much as possible.

Thing is, my office is in a weird little spot. There are no parks nearby, and it’s not close enough to downtown to go for a stroll. We’re right on a highway, so it’s pretty much either: have lunch at your desk (and continue working, because you won’t be left alone), take your lunch break in your vehicle in the parking lot (weird and awkward), take your lunch to the picnic table out back (and not be left alone), go out to eat (and go broke), or take your lunch to some other random parking lot.

The last option on that list is the one most people in this vicinity seem to gravitate to. I spend nearly every one of my lunch breaks sitting in my vehicle, parked in the parking lot of a local grocery store. And anywhere from five to two dozen other folks are doing the same thing.

All parked in the grocery store parking lot. Eating lunch. Alone. But together. Some listening to music. Some chatting on their phones. Some texting. Some playing games. Some smoking. Some napping. Some exiting their vehicles and sitting on the asphalt, just to be that much closer to fresh air and sunshine.

We exchange occasional nods of acknowledgement when we accidentally make eye contact with fellow Parking Lot People.

Other than that, it’s a solo thing. For many. It’s weird and sad and uplifting all at the same time.

And I dunno why, but I just wanted to mention these Parking Lot People, of whom I’m one.

That is all.

 

B is for What a Fucking Bitch

My boss is an epic bitch. I don’t mean like one of those passive aggressive bitches. I mean a full on, in your face, self-proclaimed bitch bitch.

For the most part, I’ve been fortunate enough to not be on the receiving end of her first-class bitchery. I usually witness it from the sidelines, as an anecdote, or just watching her lambast some poor fuck.

Today, that poor fuck was me. And I almost let her have it, right in front of her precious little committee. Fucking committees. I’m a fucking committee person now. Why couldn’t I be a gangsta? Huh?

I digress.

The skinny little cunt insulted me in front of her favorite little pet committee. Repeatedly. Had I done anything wrong? Au contraire. She’s pissed off because someone else is leaving the company, so she’s taking it out on those closest to her. And as her rightfuckinghand, I’m the closest one at work to take it out on.

If she keeps the shit up, I’m gonna volley Little Miss Former DA’s shitstorm right back at her. She thinks I’m sweet and quiet. She has no idea what simmers beneath the surface (and boils on days like today).

I can hang with her on most days. And at least I didn’t take it personally – like getting upset or crying or thinking I was a fuck-up. I just got pissed. I’m mostly calm now. Mostly.

Good thing the weekend cometh. There’s a cider or three with my name on it.

The Horse is (Not) Alright

Exiting the roundabout, I crane my neck.
I have to see the horse, traffic be damned.

He stands there in his meadow-like pasture, outwardly indifferent to the traffic.
Selectively nibbling on the verdant grasses and sweet-smelling flowers, he’s alive.

The horse is alright.

How do I know the horse is a he?
He’s strong, muscular, virile, powerful, secure in his solitude.
Those are masculine traits.
Aren’t they?

Another long day, another fretful drive “home.”
Please let him be there.
I only need to see that

The horse is alright.

Exiting the roundabout, I hold  my breath.
Craning my neck, I scan the field.

Nothing.

I risk another look.
Fuck it; if he’s not alright, I’m not alright.

The horse is not alright.

I can’t find him.
Has he given up?

Frustrated and empty from his solitary jaunts,
Today, he doesn’t leave his stall.

His handlers cajole and prod, first sweet talking, now scolding.
You need to get outside, horse. It isn’t good for you us to see you holed up inside all day.
Keeping to yourself.
Why don’t you go outside, seek new grasses and flowers.
And pretend you aren’t still keeping to yourself.

The horse is not alright.

I enter the roundabout with trepidation.
If he’s not there today…
If the horse is not alright…

Exiting the roundabout, my arms tremble on the steering wheel as I turn to look.
He’s there. He’s there.
I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding,
Dash away tears I didn’t realize I’d been shedding.

And I breathe a sigh of relief,
Of grateful reassurance, because

The horse is alright.

It’s All About the Hustle

I’ve been hustling. And I do mean hustling hard. I’ve got two side hustles going on, on top of the full-time job (which I’m actively seeking to replace with a different full-time job elsewhere – never satisfied anymore, it seems).

One is the tutoring gig, which is frankly more trouble than it’s worth at this point because of an extended commute and a low cut of the pay. But I’m committed to seeing the school year through. They’ve got another month in these parts.

Second hustle is a writing thing I’ve been doing. Fluffy SEO padding shit to trick google. (They probably think I don’t know what’s up, but it’s fairly obvious it’s all bogus to do some hardcore SEO driving. You know, bolding keywords here and there. Burying a “moneylink” in a sea of non-competing, vaguely related links. Appending exactly three license-free stock photos and one embedded YouTube video. Yeah. Fun stuff.) But you know what? I’ve decided that I don’t care. I’m not screwing over any people with the BS articles and blog posts. I’m helping to trick a search engine that tricks people anyway. And while it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, at $15 a post…I can’t afford to linger too long on my reservations. I figure…keep this up a couple of months, and I’ll be back to salient. Quite frankly, that outweighs ethics at this point (to a reasonable extent, anyway).

What does bug me is that the hustle further stymies my own words, because damnit I’m churning out four to eight of those suckers a day on top of my day job. But I don’t know how long the little gig will last, so I’m gonna milk it for all it’s worth.

I think…I just needed to vent that. And say that, no…I’m not trying to disappear. Again. Doesn’t mean I won’t. But it’s not my intent.

One day at a time.

One day at a time.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some hustling to do.

Warnings

Warn me
before you listen to hip hop,
Country one said.

Warn me
before you curse,
Christian one said.

Warn me
before you befriend me,
Aloof one said.

Warn me
before you laugh,
Stoic one said.

Warn me
before you believe,
Atheist one said.

Warn me
before you love me,
Jewish one said.

Warn me
before you trust me,
Brown one said.

Warn me
before you cry,
White one said.

Warn me
before you become,
They said.

Warn me
before you exist,
They said.

Warning you
that I’m done,
I said.