Came Across This Oldie “Be More Like Snowball”

This was probably one of the first lengthier pieces I wrote when I began blogging more. It was written at the end of August, when the isolation fatigue hit hard. Re-reading it was a Joy!

The Pandemic has provided me not only an elevated level of anxiety but also a heightened level of introspection that I’ve come to responsibly channel into something productive.

That is when I’m not drunk. I wish I was joking.

Some call this self care, others substance abuse. But who’s judging in an era where the name Karen is basically a swear word and the President’s twitter fingers are more fascinating than the years of Electric Circus on Much Music.

When I consider the time frame of “growing up”, know that I am referencing time from when I was born on April 2nd, 1978 up until this morning. And for me growing up has been a painful and often extremely insecure time emotionally for this seemingly bodacious body positive woman. I grew up with a mixture of folks from every background and you would think that within that I’d find a sense of deserved belonging in life’s little circus along the way. It’s not been until recently that I’ve begun to identify that my deeply sensitive and empathetic nature weighed me down in my younger adult years. It has however shifted since then to a place of empowerment whereby I’ve embraced and claimed my space in this world among the grey matter if you are color blind.

Time has begun to bind the tears in my fabric organically where I can find pride, laughter and confidence in sharing my evolving journey. In hindsight, the barriers getting to this place of resolve had a lot to do with untreated mental health, namely Attention Deficit Disorder and Depression. I’d say my most epic experiences to date were with me untreated, at the wheel winging it with an outdated navigational system named Garmen. We’ll get closer to the good stuff one entry at a time. Chronological order is not my strong point just as I have always read magazines from back to front, and ate pizza from toppings to crust, and fallen in order to get back up stronger.

I will start with sharing that I truly believe that often societal norms are illusions whereby the human race are shamed into believing they must fit into perfectly symmetric plots. Similarly to whereby a two year old could be observed mastering the daunting task of jamming those wooden animal puzzle pieces into place and awaiting the roar of mummy’s applause. And while fulfilling such illusions can be temporarily gratifying, they’ve become also increasingly difficult to sustain overtime as we become distracted and tainted by the human experience. I think we have all observed a child at some stage become completely derailed by Paw Patrol or what ever god awful ear piecing sing along show has popped up on the television. I guess you could say my Paw Patrol was actually Penis Patrol, and the ear piercing sing along show is me belting Aerosmith’s all time classic ballads at Karaoke on a Wine Wednesday.

Subsequently the experience of growing into my version of “adulthood” mimics some of the developmental milestones of a toddler. I learned that if I put all the right pieces in the right places that I could stealthily get away with all my shenanigans, or as my dad liked to put it “Tomfuckery.” I assure you mommy’s applause has long since faded away just as quick as the one night stand during the Calgary Stampede. Unless you are me, who decided to make her “Tomfuckery” a 3 year relationship. But maybe that’s the applause we all need these days…a happy unexpected ending, or three years worth of back blowing sex…choose your method of measurement as you may. No judgement here, unless you measure less than 5 inches.

Furthermore, lets explore the happy ending? Mr.Tomfuckery’s may have cost $250 an hour flat rate versus another’s $250 psychic reading for a stranger to tell them everything is going to be all right. Another’s $250 donation to feed the hungry, or discovering their faith. For me, my happy ending was when I ditched the idea of happiness as the goal or measure of success.

But to elaborate further, risks have always excited me. I’m talking about real life altering consequential risk whereby things could come to pile of rubble at any point if I was not calculated enough. Or should I say lucky enough, which I really don’t believe in because “luck” has never panned out for me every time I put my faith in that baloney sandwich. I’ve done enough self loathing to finally actualize that the key to surviving my recklessness has been rooted surprisingly in my intelligence if that makes any damn sense. I think some people call folks like me sociopaths…but in the spirit of being kind to myself I’ll just leave it at intellect. These risks and times of recklessness made me happy in those moments too, much against the unsolicited opinions of Christmas’s past.

I believe there comes a point in the maturation process where we become stifled by the expectations. Perhaps that is why so many adults are judged by their perceived failure to launch. And I’m not talking about Larry the loser who’ picking belly button lint in his parents basement.

I’m talking about the brave woman who’s an international corespondent journalist who “failed” to provide grand children for Puppup and Noo Noo. The Breonna Taylor’s who sadly lost their lives unnecessarily to ignite social activism and justice reform. The handsome boy who was so good at sports and could have “gone all the way” who grew into a beautiful resilient woman with a kick ass designer Vagina most women would go lesbian for. These are not Sunday night special hallmark stories that many in my generation grew up on. Equality as we know is still a fight in an era where we are supposed to know better and do better and do so through acceptance.

I whole hardheartedly connect with these folks stories, solely on the basis that they sit in that beautiful spectrum of color and adversity. As I’ve matured, I have ducked, dodged, dipped, and maybe broken a heel or two along the way through a generational ideology heavily embedded in expectations. Aligning oneself with these ideologies,is too believe that if you fulfill these societal expectations you are to be rewarded with a low interest rate mortgage, a golden doodle appropriately named Snowball and life time prescription of Ambien and Wine club Monthly. I must have skipped this class because I definitely didn’t do the book report let alone read the book.

*Pro tip #1- Ambien with a naughty Pinot Noir is socially acceptable at any time of the day.

The illusion Seems dreamy right?

No guys….that was a trick question!

Please Exit Left where the sign says give your head a shake Brenda.

All sarcasm aside, there is a silver lining in this seemingly boring portrayal of white bread success, because guess what! Snowball eats his own shit and chews the vagina juice out of your sensible Calvin Klein underwear. Snowball finds his way into the garbage and eats all the chicken wing bones he see’s fit. Snowball is an asshole. Snowball feels no shame until someone makes him feel ashamed. *Insert Societal “Norms” Here.

Snowball is a male dog and if anything should be ashamed he loves them more than they love him. These are the same humans who are allegedly more intellectually evolved, and yet caved quickly into allowing their kids to name him that. Bet you that they read on a anti-vaccer right wing propaganda blog that allowing children to do dumb shit encourages their self confidence. By the way we don’t deserve these majestically loyal gifts from mother earth. I mean dogs not kids.

I digressed, back to my point.

Snowball is as real and raw as it gets. Snowball is who we should all aspire to be. Snowball does what he wants when he can get away with it with little to no harm to others. He is the more sophisticated honey badger of our era some may say suggest. Snowball is winning at life because he has figured out that he can still be loved and accepted despite his shortfalls, perhaps because people have not set the bar too high for him. They underestimate the complexity of his intelligence and value he brings to the table in his sleuth like moves. I’m not an expert on animal psychology nor have any actual knowledge on the topic at all but I am experienced in knowing how it feels to not always do good things and fulfill expectations while selflessly loving and living in compassion. I am going to go as far as saying I am a self proclaimed sommelier of failure and comebacks in the name of love!

I truly believe the most discomforting part of adulthood is the part where with the blink of an eye we are getting closer to death. And as you say to yourself “well that took a dark turn,” hear me out. Our lives are measured from the moment we are born until the last breath that leaves our body. So much is expected from day 1 from us to perform for others so that at the end of their lives they can feel they’ve accomplished something to be proud of. But I bet you before that last breath leaves their body there is regret too. Regret they didn’t live louder or color more outside the lines. And only just now are they recognizing that happiness they attained cannot be disbursed among the stupidly new aged named grand children. The closest monetary quality that happiness may hold is its heavily inflated value determined by a bunch of folks who imagine look disturbingly like Jeffery Epstein and dress like Martha Stewart. *Shudder

In essence its the quantitative tales; the exaggerated stories and regurgitated ever evolving memories that we can begin to proudly mount on the empty shelves reserved for our accomplishments that were never realized in adolescence. These disastrous obnoxious trophy’s stand tall against my medals of mediocrity I got for “participation.” They glow brighter and harder than the flippers that those tiny pageant children wear. These are in my case, pendants of pleasure! Can I get an amen! In fact its the disgraceful and heroically painful embarrassments that I can look upon and appreciate as a specific Joie De Vivre now. And despite what my expensive education should have left me with, I’ll leave you with a far more identifiable sonnet of wisdom. I believe it was the distinguished Rob Base and Dj E-Z Rock that encapsulated my points best with “Joy and Pain, Sunshine and Rain.”

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