Thursday, November 11, 2010
Stop digging your heels in too deep Ms Thing. That's the best advice I can give to a middle aged woman on the brink of extinction, surviving on a diet of drive-by meanness, back-handed insults, condescension mixed with a little acid, Grey Goose, minus the ass-kissing olives I've banned from premises. "Excuse me young man, I'd also like a nice slice of Brie with that. I need to smooth out all the BS with a double creme fromage aged in a room filled with phonies."
Thank God I took a course in "Whoop-Ass" while I was an undergraduate at a small, inner city junior college back in the 1980's. I never thought my street-wise value system would fair very well in such a conservative, wooden environment but as usual, my instincts proved me wrong. I flipped my iPod on to the "Slapshots" play list only to find myself listening "Vehicle," by The Ides of March. I felt like such a bad-ass when I listened to that song like a Pink Lady of Grease fame or Leather Tuscaderowho was the coolest of cool chicks on Happy Days. I walk through the hallways, wishing I could pull-off a pair of skin-tight black leather pants, plugged in, tuned out, thinking that this is the cross-roads of my life. If I make the wrong decision, it could prove to be a gigantic, foolish misstep or it could be the leap of faith I've needed for almost a decade. I've been comfortable far too long and that is pure, unadulterated poisen to a woman with big dreams who came from meager beginnings. I've lost my edge but from time to time, I have hit my stride thrusting my acerbic diatribes on those that are deserving. Will my life turn out like a dark and dank episode of Twin Peaks or will it be filled with mid-western love. I can only hope for the latter. I heard the "Dust Bowl" is lovely at this time of the year.