Judge NOT (lest ye also be judged, dumbass)

I just got off the phone with my mom. And got into a bit of a confrontational argument with her about who much time she spends criticizing other people when we could easily spend that time more productively by criticizing ourselves. You know? Like, I don't want us to be judging other people like they're so fucked up and ohhhhh, I know the solution IT'S SO EASY for their character defects or whatever. When we have got plenty of shit that we need to work on. Plenty of places where we are nowhere near fucking perfect.

It honestly makes me grateful for some bible verses a lot of us grew up with. Like,

"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." (Matthew 7:1-2)

"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye." (Matthew 7:3-5)

"Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister." (Romans 14:13)

Bottom line: we should focus on correcting our own faults. And being reminded whenever we open our bitch-ass mouths how far we still have to go. That we are NOT perfect. That other people's challenges are not fewer or easier to overcome than our own. That all that steam we use bitching about other people is energy we'd be better applying to bettering our own damn selves.

I think one of the foundational reasons why I have this conflict with my mom (and within myself) when I'm talking to her (or, trying to listen to her) is that I don't "social" the way she does. Like ... I do not want to talk about our social dealings with other people. I do not want to bitch about other people. Though of course ... I *do*. I just do not want to hear her bitch about other people. Maybe partly because it is an unpleasant mirror for how I do the same things and it is so ugly and crazy and stupid. So that circles me right back to being a hypocrite. And this blog, which is not just an outlet for bitching PERIOD, but a reflective safe space to do it and then look at it and figure out WHAT NEXT? What can I do about it? How important is it? Who do I want to be? Just someone who complains?

I don't want to be a crazy dumbass bitch hypocrite who ignores the plank in my own eye while pointing out other people's specks.

Exhaust-ed

The fucker in the parking lot with his stupid fucking Jeep engine running, blowing exhaust while he sat there ... and ate. How lucky for you, that you can just BLOW MONEY like that!

I don't care if you get carbon monoxide poisoning, but do you have to inflict it on the rest of us so unnecessarily? Yes, it's winter, but here in temperate western Washington that is NOT a good excuse.

Also? The city and the people who want to regulate every fucking little aesthetic or inconsequential harmless detail, from neon lights and signage and paint colors, to adults doing sex work, to "junk" cars harmlessly parked on people's private property ... why don't you fucking do something useful, like ticket fuckers with car alarms and spewing poison fossil fuel exhaust air?

Inspirational, Bitches

Joan Rivers. And her flash cards.

ThisIsHowILook. And "slut". Your mama's a slut. This microphone is a slut.

Bitch. Slut. Whatever.

Use your tools. Memorize your talking points. Play with words. Try them on for size and dress all of God's creatures up in the same one to see how truly absurd it all is.

The 48 Laws of Bitches

So it turns out the reason _The 48 Laws of Power_ is such a dark and depressing book is because Robert Greene was at peak bitch mode in his life when he wrote it.

Maybe now that I know a little more of where he was coming from and how he has become less of a bitch since then, I will give it another try. I had audible credits when I purchased it without knowing anything much about the book except the blurb (and I knew *nothing* of the author) and just wasn't prepared for how unhappy it would make me feel, even though parts of it made me laugh out loud.

I think it will be easier to appreciate and learn from now that I have an image of the human and his frame of mind when he wrote it (and the distance he's come since then) to soften the blows in the dark. I just watched part of an interview with him (and have seen other interviews with him recently) where he says he was in a very dark place at the time of writing it, and "now" (whenever the interview was / maybe a couple years ago) that he's older and says his brain is not as sharp (as he uses his right hand to move his left hand/fingers/arm around on the arm of a chair after losing control over that side of his body due to a stroke), he is not even able to talk about the book with complete expertise / understanding of what his younger self put together and was trying to get at.

I think this is a good example of how much bitches have to contribute and how right we often are at our most bitch-ass selves, and also how unsustainable it is to stay stuck in that mode for a lifetime. How important and healthy it is to lose some of those righteous sharp edges. How differently a bitch can appear on paper versus half=paralyzed and quieted decades later. The importance of not letting bitch become your lifetime brand.

There's more to it and him and the book than that, but I just wanted to make a quick note of these things, and, as always, apply the word/label "bitch" to things and people not customarily labelled that way, but really do qualify as bitchy AF. 

The Bitch Gene(s)

Visiting my mom, reflecting on ways bitchiness was modeled for / taught to me.

Too exhausted by it to write more.

Seattle Transportation

For a city with a reputation as being for the libs, or whatever, you'd think public transportation in Seattle wouldn't be such a fucking unreliable, nonsensical shitshow.

Of course, I am not surprised because, having lived in King County or King County-adjacent for the first almost-thirty years of my life, and very close (or in and out) the rest of it) *I* know Washington state and even the Seattle metro area and King County itself is not even CLOSE to being full of whatever the rest of the country imagines it is full of. Instead it is very full of people who, just like everywhere else, resist paying taxes just to maintain aging and/or overburdened transportation infrastructure (roads, bridges, you name it), and are not even close to being majorly gung ho on public transportation and mass transit the way we should be.

Today this mess is irritating me as I plan a carless multi-county trip to see my cancer-stricken mom in order to accompany her to chemo and, you know, spend time with her. HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THERE IS NO PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION BETWEEN THE FERRY TERMINAL AND THE TRAIN STATION?!?

Oh. I know. Because BULLSHIT. Way more bullshit than I'll dive into tonight.

Fortunately I am able-bodied enough to do the minimum half-mile of walking (that anyone with mobility issues would have great difficulty doing, if able to at all) required to hop a bus for a portion of the trek, but I have to admit: the bad reputation Seattle is getting for being a sketchy and violent cesspool has gotten to be true enough to make me want to avoid that half-mile, and not even consider doing the whole walk on foot. It's not that I'm actually worried something violent will happen to me; normally I walk all around that area, but it is going to be a long enough trip that I don't want to start it out bright and early with piss and shit and schizophrenic screaming on Seattle's sidewalks.

So why don't I take a cab or uber or lyft? Because it's an awkward waste of money, and I would rather  take my chances speed-walking by speed-freak street-shitters or putting up with them for two minutes on the bus than pay four times as much to be in a car with a stranger and their bubble of contagion, and all of that hurky jurky stop-and-going those drivers often do.

Traveling in this era where most everyone takes for granted being able to traverse great distances within short amounts of time (and expects everyone else to conform to this bizarre costly exhausting way of constantly GOING GOING GOING without every savoring really BEING anywhere) really is a matter of choosing your poison.

Of the three buses that do not go directly from the Seattle ferry terminal to the train station but can take you partways, I am selecting the one that IS NOT EVEN A KING COUNTY / SEATTLE BUS, but is a bus that goes to fucking PUYALLUP. That is the best option. Between two major transportation hubs (a ferry terminal and train station) that are basically both downtown-ish. It's ludicrous.

Local Business Wombitch

There is a local business-woman/owner I have a long-standing resentment against. Part of it is some shit she did to my wife. Another part of it is just jealousy over her owning the resources she has, and wishing *I* had them, believing I deserve them more (I don't). Maybe part of it is even that we've paid her money for her services. Man, I hate being resentful about paying people; that is not who I want to be, especially when I, at least, did get my money's worth. But at the time I was going way overboard in my own customer service / delivery, and she was an individual who did NOT do the right thing by my wife, so I thought it not only stingy bad business (I've got my money, you signed a contract, you'll continue to pay me), but also dangerous and dehumanizing. So on top of everything I have to continue to boycott her business even though I'd kind of like to patronize it again. RESENTMENTS!!! I have them.

Anyway.

Over the years, I continue to find myself feeling a touch of gleeful self-righteousness every time I hear another story about her being (and acting) bat-shit crazy. It's that feeling of confirmation that she is "the problem", and it is not in my imagination, but also perceiving it as justice being divinely meted out to her. That she won't get away with treating people like she does. Except the stories are of her treating other people poorly / crazily / abusively (literally throwing things at people), so ... she kind of does get away with it other than the stories being passed around of what a nightmare she is. And that she often makes an ass of herself very publicly, and that no doubt isolates her and limits the health of her relationships and her self.

It's a bad sign that I am comparing myself to other people to measure my own worth. I might be a bitch sometimes, but at least I'm not as bad as THAT crazy bitch! She's WAY worse!! I'm almost a cute totally-sane sweetie-pie compared to HER! Instead of having a standard of behavior and code of ethics I hold myself to, measuring myself by my own yardstick according to what is RIGHT and excellent to me, rather than what keeps me acceptably-average based on how shitty lots of other people are.

During pandemic I saw her at the grocery store a couple of times and she was acting certifiably insane. Like, talking to herself, and defending herself and waging a weird body-language war against invisible enemies. No mask, very intentional about getting in my space and others' in frozen foods ... very incapable of seeing anyone around her as human, but more like we were just shambling zombie-bodies acting as obstacles against her progress in a video game. Just looking all kinds of set-upon by mental demons.

The ugly truth is I've come pretty close to the same level of crazy behavior she was displaying that made me feel better about myself. Because she is just that little bit uglier and older and beyond able to help herself, it seems, than I am. She is a warning: there but for the grace of God go I. And just in the nick of time because I have been nipping at her heels on the scale of crazy behavior, truth be told. Thanks for the warning / I'm glad I'm not THAT bad (yet).

Why am I thinking about this now? Because I just saw a picture of her smiling and looking like a normal healthy good business-person. And I thought, "nobody who knows you will believe that healthy smile; the whole county knows you're a fucking crazy-ass bitch." But right after that I felt sad and wanted her to be alright, and for that image of calm, stable happiness to be true.

This blog has become a tool for me to do more than rant and vent. It is a place of reflection to get past the anger, fear, and resentment that often drives my bitching, and figure out solutions and get a better idea of who I really want to be. Not this bitch. Not that bitch. Somebody better.

It is a relief to feel some kind of human love and connection to that crazy bitch. It is a relief to recognize that she is suffering, and that DOESN'T actually make me feel good or better about myself. What makes me feel better is not wanting her to suffer. What makes me feel better is wanting the best for both of / all of us. What makes me feel better is recognizing I do not actually want to see her  or her business fail; I want her to be relieved of whatever hell she goes through. Because it looks fucking painful, and I have more than a few personal insights into what it must be and feel like for her.

I've been told that when you have a resentment towards someone, the way to deal with that agonizing discomfort is to PRAY FOR THEM. Pray for them to have all of the very best.

I believe that is true. I have found it to be true, because I have done it, and it RELIEVES me. I find it easy for me to want happiness and joy and all of the best for people I've gotten stuck resenting, warring with them in my mind. So I am going to do it tonight for this lady/myself. I am praying for you, bitch. I want you to have peace, success, good health, and solutions to all of your problems. I want you to have limitless joy, and healing. I want you to be surrounded by love. I see the eager, vulnerable child in your face and I want that little lost scared person to be lifted up and hugged and protected and gently guided to all of the best things in life, and confidently go forth on a beautiful, fulfilling, awesome journey.

Until then I will still stay out of your way when you're trying to get to the Totino's, though.

Class = Emotional Restraint

I just partially watched a video explaining what CLASS is ... what characteristics and behaviors of people exemplify being CLASSY. In addition to not saying "classy" or "high clast", probably.

I agreed with the list. High quality clothes. Not being showy about money, but having and wearing things that are made of quality materials and constructed to last. And showing emotional restraint. Exercising self-discipline when it comes to shows of emotion. People with class do not have outbursts. They do not RANT. They do not idly bitch.

There are a lot of people with a lot of money who do not have any class. At least I can't be accused of that (since I do not have money).

Can you develop class? Or once you have demonstrated unclassy behavior, are you always tainted and can never rise above that? What is the difference between class and maturity?

I admire people with class, but I'm not sure it's for me. I am always going to like talking about bodily functions, for one thing, and I'm not sure I'm interested in consistently embodying class aesthetics. I like creating and consuming tawdry entertainment (sometimes).

Is class something you can demonstrate and design into your life and personality selectively, within certain boundaries and situations that call for it, and then become a filthy foul-mouthed cunt when in the privacy of your own walk-in-closet, say? Can one be known and spoken of with respect as a REAL CLASS (-ACT?) BITCH and it be accurate?

I think part of the emotional restraint of this kind of class is not having to throw your weight around. Not making shows of power or strength. Because you have so much of it, I guess, that you're next-level confident and secure in your power that you never feel the urge to fight about it or PROVE it or show it off. That is being a real ascended top-tier bitch. A bitch who never wastes time ranting. A bitch who either does something about it, or moves on to bigger and better things. That is the kind of bitch they call a cold bitch, though. So you have to warm it up with kindly social graces. It's not enough just to have soft skin, clean fingernails, erect posture and a calm demeanor untouched by daily nuisances. You also have to never flinch when someone sneaks up behind you to kiss your ass and tug the hem of your skirt pleading for your benevolent gracious attention. BARF.

"DIVA"s

I fucking hate "news" stories ripping exceptional, successful, hard-working, super-busy, extraordinary women apart for being "divas". It's always for super fucking dumb sexist resentful hateful reasons, too.

You know what kinds of people eat these stories up and drive the market for these teardowns of boss bitches? I'll tell you who they're written for; these kinds of exposés are written FOR WOMEN. They are written FOR WOMEN, who love to hate on other women. These stories are made for bonafide dark-hearted BITCHES.

These stories and the fearful misogynist hate that fuels them are designed to hold each other down, devalue women's work, and man ... I hate to say it, but protect and defend the (literally) motherfucking patriarchy.

The article I saw today that inspired this rant is 

Barbra Streisand Canceled Her Jimmy Kimmel Interview After The Host Refused To Use A Different Camera Angle

Like ... fuck off. It doesn't make you a "diva" if you don't want to look like shit on TV and wake up the next day to everyone talking about how old and ugly you look, and/or inexplicably different, spouting insane guesses at WHY you are so fucking grotesque, and list all the ways you are still a spoiled DIVA making far too many demands on the world in order to continue doing your 24/7 jobs and providing gossip rags and fan-stalkers access to you so THEY can make money destroying you.

WORDLE

WORDLE. It's a game. It's a SHORT game. Except for when it's not ...

How do I get so screechingly irritated and worked up over a little fucking word GAME?!? You've got like six fucking guesses - it's totally straightforward. So don't play it if you don't like it! Right?

Gaaaaaggghhhhh! Today was a tough one for me. It shouldn't have been. But it was (for me, but not for my wife or my two friends I bond with daily over WORDLE). And on top of PMS ... oooogh I just wanted it to be OVER! But I couldn't even think of words to get it over with!!!

Obviously games are not fun if they're consistently super easy and fast. You need days like this to keep it interesting. Keep it CHALLENGING. So you don't take your brain or the game for granted. But man ... there's been about a dozen or so times where I just wanted to give up. Just go ahead and put a big red X on today, Wordle!! I GIVE UP!!!! But it will not accept that. One cannot finalize a give-up. And without that officially-recognized loss on my record, I am unable to live with myself. Especially since I rely on my Wordle check-ins with my three people to have some kind of social consistency and accomplishment and connection within a manageable framework. And I know how disappointed I was (and continue to be!) when one of my other friends stopped playing it and checking it. And he was SO GUNG HO about it, but as soon as he broke his streak while he was vacation ... he just dropped it completely like a hot rock. He has a thing about maintaining streaks of 365 days / a whole year, so I guess when he had that setback it just completely lost its allure for him. 

Eventually I was able to come up with the solution today. AND KICK MYSELF, just like my friend said I would. But man ... in the meantime I was twisting around like a hypersensitive toddler being tortured by a tight sock with the heel on the top if their foot and the toes all in the wrong place.

I didn't want to let my wife down, though. Not that it would, but I love so much how Wordle became part of her daily routine and morning ritual. I love being around that consistency, and I feel like I'd be devaluing it or not supporting it if I just didn't finish one day, or quit being into it (when I was the one who got her hooked on it in the first place). I feel like I would not be demonstrating an appreciation of her wins and show of brains as much  if I do not play the same puzzle.

I think a lot of bitchy feelings are about perfectionism. Overinflating the importance of things. Being super scared of making mistakes or letting people down, like soooooo much is riding on whatever-it-is: some little fucking word game or whatever that is mostly inconsequential. But what of the things that we do really IS meaningful and truly big-deal consequential these days? Not a whole hell of a lot. So if I become apathetic about one thing like this, maybe THAT WILL BE IT. I'll have to question the meaning of everything and/or ALL OF IT will cease to be meaningful and I will have demonstrated that nothing is fucking important, and all of us will become very depressed in the face of this existential crisis and 

oh my god I'm tired of writing this

When You're In My Neighborhood ...

Don't come into someone else's neighborhood and park your dumb-ass car in front of the fucking fire hydrant. And/or right in a blind corner. And/or drive so fucking unnecessarily fast where people's kitty cats, squirrel friends, hound dogs, and small children are doing their energetic young-minded best, totally prone to running out into the middle of the street.

Like slow the fuck down and/or learn to walk a few fucking feet you impatient self-centered inconsiderate fartknocking life-endangering motherfuckers.

You're not the ultra-capable omnipotent omniscient fucking GOD behind the wheel you think you are. How do I know? Look at that stupid fucking phone you're holding onto (oh wait I don't need to tell you to look at it YOU ALREADY ARE). You don't know how to drive, you're a menace, and where you're going is not nearly as fucking important and urgent as you seem to think it is.

I hope when Jesus takes your wheel you don't bring any other lives down with you. I don't know a single bushy-tailed rodent whose life I don't value more than yours, you self-important cocksucker.

Four Signs of the Fall of the U.S. &/or Civilization

Okay it's not a good title. But here are four things that signaled everything was going to a special kind of shit and continue to contribute to our decline:

I'm just going to list them for now:

• birth of "Young Country" as a music genre
• car alarms
• inviting and allowing unmoderated comments on news sites
• the loss of phone booths

I just outlined these to my friend in an ice cream shopPE, so I'm feeling extra confident and focused on these points tonight, and it's a full moon, and this is how bitches like me "wolf out" and ruin a perfectly pleasant evening of treats and companionship.