The Cicada Thing (or My Other Reason For Living)

This is going to be a long and rambling thing.

TL;DR I love these fucking bugs and these are all the reasons why.

I'm including backstory, but it's hidden in case you don't want the sob story.

March 2011. Brood XIX Emerges.

I'd just left an abuse relationship. Well, kinda left. Long(er) story so we'll save that on for later, shall we? I'd been living with my best friend, but that also fell apart very quickly. Things were so bad, I'd been forced to send my oldest two children to live with their grandparents for safekeeping since the DV shelter I was attempted to get a room in didn't have room for all of us. They ended up not having room for me and the younger two, anyway, and were actively attempting to send me to another shelter in a state I didn't even live in.
One day, I decided I couldn't wait any longer. I packed what little I could cram into my Dodge Caravan - a handful of clothing, my rabbits, a computer, a few odds and ends - and left every single thing I owned behind. I slept in my van, or sometimes on my dad's couch. I let my ex keep our younger children until I got my youngest one back with head injuries, where he'd been leaving my baby with a horrible crackass woman he was (maybe successfully?) trying to bang. My baby stayed with me after that, even though he didn't have a bed or anything. He preferred being homeless with his mama.
I felt like fucking shit for failing him and the others so hard. I should have removed myself from that situation years ago, I shouldn't have allowed it to go on as long as I did, because I'd thoroughly fucked myself over with wishful thinking and Disney happy endings. I was suicidal, and literally the only thing keeping me from hurling myself into traffic was the thought of sending my sweet four year old back to live with a bunch of drunk, methed out, wife-swapping assholes who'd abuse him again. 
And that was the year The Great Southern Brood emerged.
I don't have any pictures or anything to share. The second hand phone I'd been given was a prepaid thing I rarely had money to blow on, so any pictures/video I'd taken in those days is long gone, but I remember. They caught me by surprise, at first. I knew they were cicadas, but they looked funny. Skinny, long (heh heh), and they had these intense red eyes that were honestly kind of creepy at first. We woke up one day to about a dozen of them, and by the end of the week there had to be thousands. And they just kept coming. What sounded at first like the low drone of heavy machinery in the far distance soon became a steady, strong and constant hum of what had to be millions of individuals in the treetops of my dad's neighborhood. I romanticize it a bit, but I kinda understand why some people see them as a nuisance. There wasn't a day that went by where you weren't picking 10 of them out of your hair, or have one slam itself into your face full speed like a clumsy little brick with wings.
 I've been through a lot since then. I used to think of that time period as my rebirth, but I don't anymore. It's more like, these last 10ish years have offered me a very slow period of awakening - a lot of growth, a lot of learning, a lot of setbacks, but also a shit ton of self awareness that I did not have back then - and by the time Brood XIX returns in 2024, I'll finally be ready to emerge with them. 

If you know me, you know I am OBSESSED with cicadas in all their forms, but especially Magicicada, particularly the 13 year variety. 13 happens to be a very appropriate number for them, too, as the 13th Major Arcana in most tarot decks happens to be Death. 

Dude, hang tight, I promise you I'm going somewhere with this, just gimme a second, okay?

This card also happens to be associated with Scorpio and Pluto. I'm a scorpio, so I'm taking this shit and running with it.

Okay, see, (XIII) Death isn't just about death. This is transition and rebirth. These are our great milestones in life, the periods of change that come as we exit childhood to become adults, become parents for the first time, get married or divorced, graduate, whatever. These are the moments when you can never go back to the way things were before.

And for some reason, we like to associate those moments with butterflies. 

I mean, I get it, Really, I do. Fat chubby caterpillar enters its metamorphosis phase and exits as a whole new, beautiful creature. That's pretty fucking symbolic. 

Except, I was NEVER a butterfly gal. I can't relate. Happily engorging myself on tasty things, weaving a magical chrysalis of wonder and joy, peacefully napping as a deconstructed puddle of goo until the

I told you, it's an obsession

marvelous day I emerge with brightly colored wings and spindly legs and a long, pokey mouth thing for sucking on flowers. Must be nice.

No. I relate more to the dark and brooding Magicicada, who spend years in the dark underground, where the light is hidden from them. When they do eventually emerge, they do so at night, tunneling their way up up up. Up. Up. Up. 

And it doesn't end there. Once they're out, they have to keep going, searching for some place high enough where they might be safe from most predators. They don't get to build a pretty little cocoon to hide away in and wait for the change to come. No snoozefest or cozy naptime; they have only hours to drag themselves through the earth, find a place to attach themselves with their bare legs, crack their way out of their own filthy skin, and....

I TOLD YOU

...and it's not like they come out of this unrecognizable. They're not a whole new creature, completely unrelated except in DNA to the thing they once were. They remain very much the same. A little bit bigger, maybe, a little less dirty, and they now have wings and can sing.

I imagine, when my change comes, it'll be very much the same.  Shedding old, dirty skin that no longer fits. Enjoying the view from the top. Singing my own praises. 

2024, y'all. Wish me luck.

Profanities From the Heart: A Bulleted List

I don't like one of my friends today because he's an asshole. He's always an asshole, but today he's especially an asshole because he made me cry. I'm not telling him he made me cry, though, because I think he secretly enjoys it, being an asshole and all. The list of reasons I have for maintaining this friendship grows shorter every single day. At this point, I feel like I'm basically just his emotional support donkey - He dumps his emotional baggage across my back haphazardly, and I am allowed the privilege of hauling it around for him, across some wasteland shithole that never ends because it's shaped like a hamster wheel.

So, here's a list of the things I'm too nice to say out loud.

Dude, you're a:

• Donkey Slut
• Bag of Farts
• Public Masticator
• Feedbag of Fucks
• Nuclear Douchenozzle
• Anally Inept Shitgibbon
• Ladyboner Serial Killer
• Half Chub Scrub

Oh, you want details? Well, let me see:

• I think you once imagined yourself to be a bit of a donkey tamer. Maybe you once fantasized about whipping your team of Emotional Support Donkeys into a protective frenzy by pretending to be of any use. You're no Knight in Shining Armor, friend. You haven't saved anyone; in fact, you've run them all off. I'm the last donkey standing, and your days with me are numbered.
• Literally hot, stinky air. You talk out of your ass. That is all.
• You seem to cause mayhem and havoc wherever you go, like one of those machines that turns giant trees into mulch in seconds flat. It's always someone else's fault, though, never the fault of the guy who happens to be the epicenter of drama every single time the shit goes down.
• Not the good kind of fucks. You fancy yourself a smooth talker, and I suppose you can be, at times, but mostly you are filler. You give just enough to make people think there's something more wholesome and sustaining there, but before long they're scraping the bottom.
• Your dating record speaks for itself. 
• It'd be one thing if you had some kind of control over your brain sphincter and could keep the flow of verbal diarrhea down to a steady trickle, but no sir, not you. No no, 'tis a river, more grand and volatile than the mighty Mississippi, and you sure like splashing around in it.
• See all of the above? Yeah, that shit might fly when your girlfriend is 19 with self esteem issues and stars in her eyes, convinced by romance novels that her love is strong enough to fix the stupid shit that is wrong with you. The rest of us see you as a walking, talking box of red flags.
• Walking around half cocked at all times. 

That's enough. I got it out of my system and I feel better, now.

Toodles xoxo

Buh Bye

A Lament To Lost Standards

I've already sorta covered this in my previous post, Sunk Cost Fallacy, but that was way more empowered and badass than I'm currently feeling so this time, I'm here to bitch and moan.

Have you ever tried to forgive someone, only for it to blow up in your face? 

Like, maybe you caught your best friend stealing from you to support their pill habit, and the only thing you ask is that she buy back Grandma's precious family heirloom she pawned. She think this is just too much, though - FORGIVENESS IS UNCONDITIONAL! HOW DARE YOU REMIND HER OF THE HORRIBLE THING SHE DID! She was high, she was out of her mind, it's so unfair of you to expect her to fix the wrong she committed. 

Or maybe you found your husband's secret gay hook-up profile. He blamed it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol and begs for forgiveness, but you ask that he stop drinking to prove he's seriously committed to making this right. Naturally, he's the real victim here. HOW DARE YOU ASK HIM TO GIVE UP THE ONE SINGLE JOY HE HAS! HE SAID HE WAS SORRY, DAMMIT! NOTHING HE DOES IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU! You're making him look bad.

Maybe your coworker threw you under the bus. Maybe your friend group is talking shit behind your back. Maybe your cousin borrowed money for an overdue light bill and immediately went on vacation. 

Honestly, this really is your fault. Not to say that anything you did caused it, these people are indeed assholes, but you stuck around anyway. You're a pushover, an enabler, a people pleaser who shuns confrontation, and assholes like attaching themselves to people like you, because you're easy to exploit. 

Be honest with yourself. That best friend who pawned grandma's precious heirloom - this isn't the first time she's done something like this, is it? How many times has something gone missing when she's been at your house? How many times has she borrowed something and conveniently forgotten to bring it back for 2 years, until eventually she admits that she must have "lost it"? And what about your husband? How many lies have you caught him in? How many people have sent you screenshots of conversations he tried to drunkenly instigate?  How many people have asked for favors, money or babysitting or rides or anything else, that they've never bothered to return?

And you let them. You have no value for your own boundaries or being, why would anyone else?

Don't expect anyone to change for you. This is something you have to do for yourself - that, or accept the fact that these people will continue to exploit you as long as you allow them to do so. 

Empty promises won't fill that void. Stay whole and let them choke.

This skeleton I found on facebook speaks truth.

Home - 15 minute poetry for the emotionally impaired

I guess it's a little cheesy. I never finish these.

…

Softly treading footfalls speak

upon the witching hour

Angry floorboards groan and squeak 

against his drunken cower

Curled within an raging ball

of peaceful, sleeping hate

failed ambush, to spiteful sprawl

impatiently, she waits

And even though she knows he knows

the war that's soon to come

A minute more, and they'll be foes

But at least for now, he's home

He stops and leans against the door

And waits for her to stir

…

That's it. My 15 minutes are up. 

The fight is the principle. I guess in my own fucked up way, this is proof of love. He's home, he's alive, he's in one piece after whatever dumb thing he was out doing, and even though you know you're gonna have to rage, there's a moment of calm when everything is just okay.

This is why I have unhealthy relationships.

Ha. <3

What a Long, Strange Week It's Been...

Someone threatened to read my blog a bit ago, so I had to make a mad dash for Deletesville because I couldn't remember what kind of horribly embarassing shit I'd probably written here.

So here I am, working on all new embarrassing shit to share with all of the ghosts who haunt my blog.

Let me start off by saying I really, really, really hate covid. Don't we all? Yeah okay, but I've found out that I have a handful of really jackassy friends who don't mind spreading it to other people because they had it and it wasn't that bad. All those dead people are probably just faking it. /eyeroll

I also found out that the kind of jackassy dudes who get all butthurt about you refusing to play temporary fuckdoll (R.I.P. inbox) get extra super pissy when you tell them no because you don't want covid on top of the many STDs they're probably incubating. Dammit, woman, I just wanna fuck! Who gave you the right to reject me?!? Jeez. Go punch a fucking a hole in the wall and put your dick in it, studmuffin.

What else? Hmmm. Oh, okay, here's an interesting thing I've learned. People who enjoy gossiping will actually get irrationally angry when you, the object of their cattiness, make them look like a liar. It wasn't the fact that they were lying, oh no sir, it was just very rude of you to expose it by correcting the misconception.

For real, though, I thought most of us got over that bidness waaaay back in middle school.

I also learned that there is a cooking channel for men on YouTube, featuring an incredibly scantily clad woman who fingers raw chicken. Ladies, if your man suddenly becomes very passionately interested in some very ordinary chicken and rice, well...

looks dry

I'm sure there are 1,000 other things I'm forgetting right now, but it is 2:22am and I'm kinda done sooooo, see ya. 

I'm SO GLAD it's not just me

So, let's pretend for a second....

You're a dude on facebook, and you're a boomer.

One of your old High School buddies sends your 30 year old daughter a friend request.

No biggie. 

Your old buddy, let's call him Dan, writes on your daughter's, let's call her Lana, timeline:

"Hey Lana! Your dad and I are old friends, we go way back! My, how you have grown ;)"

Okay, that's a little skeevy, but I suppose it's pretty harmless. That winky gives it a nasty little uncomfortable kick. But hey, maybe Dan's just not up to speed on how this works. Maybe he has no idea how that comes off to other people. He's kind of old, after all, he might not understand common internet etiquette. 

Once again, no biggie. Not really. Okay well, maybe a little, but it's nothing to get bent about. Dan is just a harmless old fart, And Lana is happily engaged anyway.

Most of their other interactions seem pretty benign. He likes her status updates. He watches all of her stories, sends her little heart reactions and stuff.

No biggie. Honestly, it's no biggie. Not a big deal, like, at all.

Then a few weeks down the road, he's back on Lana's timeline:

"Just wanted to say hi. Ran into your dad in town today, got to thinking about what a pretty baby you used to be! Send me pics, I haven't seen you in years!"

That's...kind of weird, right?  

Or is that just me?

But I guess Dan still hasn't said anything that's actually inappropriate. Weird? Definitely. Creepy? Maybe. But inappropriate? Naaahh...

No biggie, but you're probably giving him big side eye right about now. Or not. Certainly he's just being nice. There's no way he'd actually...you know...right? 

And shortly after that, Dan's back for more.

"Was just thinking about you today and wanted to drop you some love! It would be very nice to see you one day soon...I haven't seen you since you were in diapers! <kissy heart face emoji + winking tongue emoji>"

Okay, those aren't *just* winky faces this time. Plus, he also started following her on Instagram, leaving "Beautiful" and "Gorgeous" and more "My, how you have grown ;)" comments whenever she posts a selfie. He wants to give her presents and stuff. Begs her to come visit him. He doesn't write these things to any of your other children at all, and doesn't follow them on other social media. Just Lana. Maybe your other kids are really ugly or something and Dan didn't like them when they were in diapers. Kissy face!

So, is it just me, or is this creepy as fuck?

So far, everyone I've talked to about it says yes, abso-fucking-lutely, this is creepy. 

The problem is, The only person who doesn't think it's creepy is the 30 year old daughter in this story. Lana says Dad's old high school buddy is "just being nice." When Lana's boyfriend notices and says something to her about it, she gets super defensive and claims boyfriend is just jealous, Dan is like, totally harmless! They actually fight about it a little bit, because Lana thinks her boyfriend is trying to force her to "get rid of all my friends just because you can't control your jealousy!"

It's kinda like the time that weird lesbian started messaging Lana with excessively graphic details of what she wanted to do to Lana, and Lana responded and deleted them so her boyfriend wouldn't see.

Honestly, I need to point out that Lana is gaslighting her boyfriend a little here. He never asked her to get rid of anyone, he only pointed out how creepy it was that her dad's wrinkly old friend was constantly making uncomfortable comments. He didn't even get mad about the weird lesbian, he just asked because the lesbian gleefully sent him screenshots that weren't exactly incriminating, but also weren't innocent, either. Her nuclear reaction was immediate, as it usually is when it comes to these sorts of things. "How dare you accuse me of doing the things I'm doing!"

IMHO, I think Lana is fully aware and just likes the attention. You, as her boomer father, probably aren't aware, but Lana has a bit of a history. 

But that's just me. Me, and everyone else. Me, Lana's friends, Lana's boyfriend, Lana's siblings. Lana and Dan might think their slick little game of internet footsie has gone unnoticed, but everyone's had a peek under that table. I mean, it's right there, in plain sight. 

And by the way, if you're reading this and thinking it sounds incredibly familiar.....

Yes.

It's about you, Lana.

I'm not blaming Creepy Dan. He's gross, no fucking doubt, but you fully encourage it so you're mostest grossest x infinity. Creepy Dan has gotta be like 70. He keeps bringing up diapers because he's probably wearing them again and it's making him nostalgic or some shit. "Hey honey, My my my, you sure have grown up! I made a present for you in my pants, just like the ones I used to watch you make when you were 2! Hubba Hubba 😘💩"

Your super hot boyfriend is going to dump you.

How sad that you'd risk that relationship for a little bit of flattery. Not even good flattery. This is some bottom of the barrel shit the rest of us scrape off our shoes.

Regarding My Last Post....

Yo.

This deck and I are about to fight.

Check it out.

Love....blah blah blah...more love....blah blah blah.

Who? What? When? Where? WHY? WHY?!? WHYYYYY?!?! Why do you keep giving me these cards? Why is this my only answer for literally everything? Why do you tease me with beautiful thoughts of happily ever after? 

Tarot, you know how obsessive I am. You know you keep me up nearly until the sun rises, rolling these ideas around in my brain bucket. You know how absolutely consumed I am by the thought. IT'S 4:30 IN THE MORNING PLEASE GAWDS LET ME REST.

But no. No. Instead, I'm filled with this wonderful yet horrific vision of a perfect future, and I fucking WANT IT NOW. Have I not waited decades for this moment? 

BARK THREE TIMES IF YOU LOVE ME AND I'LL UNDERSTAND IT MEANS FOREVER.

Woof, woof, woof. Ruff, ruff, ruff. I don't care how you do it, just do it. Do it, so I can stop guessing.

My friends think I'm crazy now, thanks. Pfft, as if it wasn't obvious enough before.

If I pull any more of these, I'm throwing myself into oncoming traffic.

Okay, I'm not, but I'm gonna fantasize about it really, really hard.

I love you. Clearly, I do. I dare you to look at this and tell me I don't. Bark, dammit.