Don't tell ME it could be worse

-because it just might happen!

I don't much like that "It could be worse" platitude.  It either sounds like they're devaluing your tragedy, or noting that it might be about to actually GET worse.  Like, if you're hanging by a fingernail they'd be saying "You know, human fingernails are not meant to support your body weight, it'll probably tear off any second so not only are you about to fall to your death, it'll be incredibly painful on the way down (what with the fingernail being ripped out and all).

If somebody were in a car accident and stumbled away cut and bruised would you say "It could be worse" to them?  Why?  Because it could?  How does that help them deal with whatever they're going through?  What if fate is bored that day and hears that crap and decides to explore the possibilities?

"It could be worse."  Well, yes, true, it could be.  They could be pinned under the car with broken ribs.

One could go on "It could be worse."  True; the car could be dripping gasoline on them.

"It could be worse."  True; the gas could ignite.

"It could be worse."  True; this could be happening during an earthquake.

"It could be worse."  True; the quake could have been triggered by a nuclear attack.

"It could be worse."  True; this could all portend the imminent apocalypse.

"It could be worse."  True; one of the four horsemen storming by could trample your hand as you reached out for help.  So not only do you enter the afterlife with crushed ribs and horrific burns, but now your hand's all fucked up and you can't even self-apply the burn cream.  If they had any.

"It could be worse."  True; they might charge for the burn cream in the afterlife (it might be a republican afterlife) but you lost your wallet and cash in the car fire that deformed you for eternity.  So now you have to sit there steaming (figuratively and literally) while the trust fund babies saunter past you to buy up all the burn cream on the way to their tanning salons.  (If it's a republican afterlife all the country clubs there will have tanning salons)

Could it be worse NOW?  Yes, dear soul, it could.  It could've happen to ME.  (and I thank Me that it didn't!)

[Inspiration for this post came from one of Angie's, who's always worth a read]

A year from the flood but, no longer a mud hut



Isn't my rebuilt home beautiful?  Ok, I'm not actually at this stage of reconstruction yet...
but you can see I've got plans!  There's also going to be a helipad and a bunnycave 'round the back.


So it's been a year to the day that mother nature saw fit to send her bitchy daughter Irene to drown my home  -for no good reason whatsoever.  I did used to date her, but frankly speaking; bitch be crazy.  So I was very careful when we parted ways, and it was so long ago that I thought I was safe.  Some dishes are said to be best served cold.  And believe me, it was.

I guess it goes to show you, you've not only got to be careful how you break up, but also who you break up with!  Now I feel like I should've done it with a shovel and tarp rather than flowers and a break-up dinner at the Olive Garden.  (No, not the crappy restaurant.  The very first olive grove, in Galilee.  duh)

But when life hands me lemons, I make a lemon orchard, and then I make a drought at neighboring orchards so as to drive up the price of my produce.  (Who settles for making lemonade?  Really?  What are you, a mortal?)  Well, each to his ability.

In any event, as you can tell from the un-retouched photo above I've really done wonders with the place.  Or will, when I'm completely done.  (I fantasize in 14-meg HD full color images.  Don't you?)  And why not?  Even gods get to dream.  Especially wanna-be's. <sigh>

A TOOL of the Lord

I don't care what I look like;
chicks dig me!

I can remember eavesdropping on a series of talks my parents had with my older sister regarding not smoking, not drinking, not hanging out with the wrong crowd and absolutely not being one of ‘‘those types of girls”.  They might seem cool and popular, they cautioned, but it was an illusion.  Boys only wanted them for one thing, then they’d throw them away like yesterday’s newspaper.

I ignored most of it because like all young teens, I knew it all and my parents were dopes.  But they did pique my interest with all that talk about 'those types of girls'.  I wanted desperately to meet some.  Or at least one.  And one would do because I didn't accept their disposability theory.

Their “yesterday’s newspaper” analogy sounded purposefully misleading.  To a hopelessly horny virgin teen sex was like gold.  If I found a goose that laid golden eggs and was willing to give said eggs to me? -I would never never throw that goose away.  Years went by before I got to test my theory.  But it was worth the wait.  And I was proven correct.  And it was worth the wait.  Did I mention how much the wait was worth it?  If not let me reassure you, it was.

When I found a girl like that I didn’t treat her like yesterday’s newspaper.  Not one bit.  I treated her like yesterday’s dinner plate.  Sure she’s all sloppy and covered with crumbs, oily stains and whatever other detritus from yesterdays fantastic meal.  So what if that plate was now a little crusty and beginning to smell?  You don’t throw out a good dinner plate.  You wash it off and use it again.  

And the same goes for easy girls.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  The great thing though was unless she was a real skank you could count on her to do her own washing and rinsing.  The repeating was, heh heh, up to you.

Still on a doomed mission to save my eternal soul, the folks tried to convince me I was hurting girls like this.  I was prolonging their suffering by giving them a cheap substitute for love, when love was what they really needed.  As I pondered this I'd sometimes hear them talk about somebody who'd hit rock bottom by sagely stating "Best thing for them. Now the only way is up.  I think god set that up."  If it was a drunk driver hitting a tree, then that tree was a tool to stop them dead in their tracks.  If it was a punk getting arrested and doing some time, it was god who dropped a dime on them.  Whatever it was, the misfortune was deemed a blessing in disguise.  I tried calling them on it once and all I got was a lofty "The Lord works in mysterious ways.  That *whatever* was his tool."

And that ended any doubts I had about 'using' any of 'that kind of girl'.  Yes, she may have felt cheap afterwards, and lost even more self esteem.  Especially if I only called her when I felt like it, and only for sex.  I'm just helping her hit rock bottom, so she can rebound and find her higher self.  It's kind of a public service if you think about it.  The Lord does work in mysterious ways.  And me?  I was happy to be the tool.

I Rule the Night

Or so I imagine.

As I walk through Times Square to get to my office I also imagine the city as somewhat like this.  All manor of night creatures skulking about on business best left unquestioned.



This was found appropriately enough at DeviantArt after I googled
"I rule the night"


Actually it only feels like this, like I'm some creature unfit for the light of day, but empowered by the glow of the moon.  Anybody can walk the Square at noon.  Try it at midnight.  Try it again at 3 or 5.

But I don't out in the Square.  My office is clean and safe.  It's actually quite nice; temperture controlled, well lit, and regularly patrolled.  They keep the vending machines well stocked too and the bathrooms are always clean. 

I'm starting to adjust to my new slot.  It suits me well.  There's no distractions in the office at all and I get plenty done.  After I get home, sleep and wake again it's early afternoon and I have hours to enjoy the sun, the pool and get things done before my family gets home to find I've made dinner.  Then a few quality hours with them before hopping a quiet bus back.  Back to my realm.

My realm.

Where I

RULE


...my cubicle.  (let's be real)

Celebrating 5 Years -with wood?

Not that kind of wood, perverts!  (Well, maybe a little after dinner and a nightcap)

I am actually referring to the traditional gift for a 5 year anniversary.  A googled listing says it’s wood.  Wood.  Perplexing.

After sealing our love with 5 years of marriage, one new house, two adopted dogs, one child (my finest work ever), and one new family SUV (to safely transport my finest work ever), one devastating flood, and one endless rebuilding process -I should mark the most important half-decade of our lives with the momentous gift of

So many to choose from! -but which pair of Klompen (good
for stompin') says "Happy 5th Anniversary" the best?

...toothpicks?

...chopsticks?

...Dutch shoes?

Seems a little underwhelming.

IF I were God… I could gift her that which she’s working so hard for lately; a remade body.  I’d wave my, uh, wood (to be traditional) and just give it to her.  Afterwoods of course, I’d give it to her.

But since I’m (regrettably) not god, what should I give her?