Stone Phillips, be my guide.

I like to watch depressing and brutal shit on tv. I have no idea how or why this started but there it is. I’m a huge fan of Dateline, 48 Hours, I Survived, The First 48, Disappeared, Deadly Women, Wicked Attraction. But because I love these real stories of mayhem and occasional survival, I can’t stand shows like CSI, NCIS or any other show that is mostly acronyms. I like the real stuff.


These shows teach us a lot about all the ways we can be terrorized and/or die. Due to hours and hours of true crime education, I have learned the following life lessons:

1. Don’t ever get married. Without warning, your spouse will lose their mind and hack you to pieces. It doesn’t matter if you are newlyweds or if you’ve been in a loving marriage for 47 years. Usually this will happen for the life insurance payout or possibly because they are having an affair. Or maybe both. Which brings me to my next point.

2. Don’t get life insurance. As soon as your spouse, children or best friend finds out about it, they will knock you unconscious, put you in your car and set it on fire. They’ll get caught but you’ll be dead so what good will that do you?

3. If someone from your past shows up unannounced, don’t let them in your house. It might be your grandmother, an old friend who just happened to be in town or an ex of some kind. Whoever it is, they are there to kill you. Call 911 immediately.

4. If you break the first rule and get married, when you get divorced, immediately change your identity. If your ex-spouse finds you or—worse yet—is co-parenting with you, eventually and for no interesting reason, they will go bat shit crazy, kidnap you and stuff you in a garbage can that they will then place in a storage locker. Seriously.

5. Don’t drive at night. If a car pulls up alongside you, swerve off the road in a wild, reckless fashion because whoever is in that car has a gun and is planning to shoot you.

6. If you get a flat tire, Jesus Christ, do not let anyone assist you. Because they will assist you right into your grave.

7. Deciding to go on a cruise is like deciding to jump off the Sears Tower—it is a guaranteed death sentence, either by murder or dysentery.

8. Speaking of travel, for the love of God, do not travel internationally. You might think you’re having a lovely Sandals Resort vacation but at some point, there will be a violent military coup, you’ll be kidnapped by guerillas and taken on a death march through the jungle.

9. Animals are not your friends, nor are they cute. They are simply waiting for the right moment to rip your left arm off and beat you to death with it.

10. Don’t attempt to do anything alone. You will get your arm stuck in something and no one will hear you scream and you will try to cut your arm off and then you will have only one arm.

11. Feel like going for a snowmobile ride? You might as well play Russian Roulette with yourself but only this time, the gun will be fully loaded.

12. Boats—whether fishing vessels, yachts, row boats or canoes—will only lead to a watery grave.

The Year of Dresden Jones

Even I'm surprised I didn't take to the Internet and go loco on y'all about some recent events.  To be honest, I feel as if I've lost a bit of my mojo.  2010 was a shit year, that's for sure.  And that really pisses me off because, at the start of 2010, I told everyone, "It's The Year of Dresden Jones."  I was serious--I was going to get shit done.  But you know that "self-fulfilling prophecy" stuff people talk about?  Yeah.  That.

As I watched the Vikings lose their only viable shot at the Super Bowl in 400 years because Brad Childress cannot count, I thought, "Oh shit...is this an omen?  Will this not be The Year of Dresden Jones?"  This sounds ridiculous and I'm 100% aware of that.  But I go through life thinking trivial things mean everything and the obvious signs mean nothing.  Like, "If I make it through this light, I'll totally get a promotion at work."  Where the hell does that come from?

Anyway, I was disappointed but determined not to let football (fucking football) derail The Year of Dresden Jones.  And to be fair to the NFL, football had nothing to do with it.  No.  It was allllll me, baby.  I consumed and staggered and blacked out through the year, right up until the very end.  Well, that's not entirely true...in September I found myself so devastated that I had to stop driving and sob in my car.  Why?  Because it was most certainly not The Year of Dresden Jones and that was becoming abundantly clear.

But...have you ever taken you car in for an oil change and suddenly they tell you, "Well, you need an oil change, new wiper blades, 2 new tires (because you can't get just one new tire), your head gasket is leaking and you lost your muffler somewhere on Interstate 94."  That's kind of what happened.  Only not to my car.  To me.

I've been acutely aware that I'm nuts for a long time.  To try and remedy this, I see therapists, I take pills, I cry a lot, I write, I drink, I tell people to fuck off, I buy make-up and shoes, I go to the gym, I listen to music, I drink, I get my eyebrows waxed, I solve other people's problems, I eat, I get a massage, I laugh my ass off, I drink, I determine that I am the smartest person in the world, I cry a lot, I decide I need to move, I drink, I get involved with men who have nothing to offer me (or the universe), I decide I need a new job, I take a vacation, I drink, I attempt to stuff something, anything into this gigantic hole inside me and when that fails, I drink.

And then BAM!  Something crazy occurs.  And I stop and wonder, "Well how the hell did that happen?"  Then I feel sorry for myself and I decide that I've been dealt a shit hand and everyone has an easier, happier existence than me.  That makes it easier for me to hate everyone and everything--myself the very most. 

I've been spinning through life and acting surprised when I get dizzy and fall down.

Then I met this man.  When I first saw him, I thought, "Old...messy life...probably has a criminal record.  No good; file him in 'stay away.'"  I sat next to him like a rocket about to take off, through the ceiling, my arms crossed tightly, my legs jumping, my jaw clenched.  This is how I usually am.  Why?  Because I'm uncomfortable.  I have to be doing something--making people laugh, showing people how smart I am, drinking.  And even though I was a cold, uptight bitch for an entire hour, that man turned to me and smiled and said, "You're going to be ok."  Then he gave me a little something and told me to keep it in my pocket.  I wept--not because his gift was so glorious or because I was so upset.  But because this man, who I had judged so harshly upon first sight, was so kind to me, so accepting.  And he was right.  I am going to be ok.  After all...it's The Year of Dresden Jones.

This is why I could never be a superhero

My favorite part of going to the movies is really the previews. I like to see what terrible films Ben Affleck and Kate Hudson plan to terrorize me with. When I saw Black Swan, there was a preview for Sucker Punch, a "girls can do anything boys can do, only better and in way cuter outfits" flick. From what I gathered, a hot chick is thrown into a psych ward merely for defending herself against a man and a hot dominatrix-type with smokey eyes shows her that the keys to freedom lie within her imagination. She meets a guru-esque older gentleman, who explains how she will find what she seeks (freedom? Happiness? Self confidence? A new cherry red lipstick?). He tells her she must find 5 things: a map, a key, fire, a knife and a mystery. While watching this exchange, I imagine all the questions I would have for the guru; questions that would totally derail the whole spiritual process. This may be my whole problem in life.

"You need to find five things: a map--"

Wait, a map of what? Like a globe or a flat map? Of the world or just the United States? Or wait--like a Mapquest map? Like turn-by-turn directions? More information would help, I'm just sayin'....

"...a key..."

A key to what? A car key? A skeleton key? Does it need to open something or is it just a symbolic key? Wait, wait--am I taking this too literally? Do you mean, like, the key to your heart? Or an answer key? Like to a test? Is this a test? Is there going to be a test?

"...a knife..."

A butter knife? A paring knife? A bread knife? A little knife? Or is it a big knife? I mean...there are a lot of knives out there. Also...will there be many knives and I have to figure out which one is the right one? Or will I just know that it's the right knife? Or will there only be one knife and that's definitely 100% for sure the knife you're talking about? Throw me a bone, dude.

"...fire..."

Wait, what? What do you mean? What do you mean, 'fire'? How do you bring back fire? Is it in candle form? A torch? Or do I just need to find a lighter? Oh--do I need to make a fire? Like using a rock and a magnifying glass or something? Is it a firePLACE? I really don't know how the hell I can bring you fire. What if I burn the fuck up? What then? Then this whole thing will have been a giant waste of time.

"...and a mystery."

Ok, now you're just fucking with me. This whole goddamned thing is a mystery! Is this...are you...am I being punked or whatever? For real, I'm not busting my ass for nothing. What did you say your name was again? Do you have a degree or something? I call bullshit.

Strap yourself in, Mags.

I got my first angry comment!  YES.  You know what this means?  It means that enough people are reading and sharing my blog that even someone who reads blindly and is angered by something she thinks is happening was pissed off enough to take the time to write a comment about an old post   (See comments under the blog: "Oooooooh sir.  Oh sir.").  Let's all thank "Margaret" for stopping by.  I will always post your comments--they make me giddy. 

Untitled

Today is December 31, 2010 and my Aunt Terry died at the very young age of 49.  Her death is making me feel all kinds of things; sadness, anger, fear...you name it.  It's also making me think about what it means to be an auntie.

I won't lie, I am not extremely close to my father's siblings.  Part of the reason for that is that they are all over the country.  But another reason is that my father and his siblings--4 sisters and 1 brother--had very challenging childhoods and when my father left home, he truly left.  He still had regular contact with his siblings and never stopped loving them but his goal was to make a new family.  So he had us.

I am an auntie.  I have 2 nieces who are stunningly beautiful, incredibly intelligent and have the ability to make me smile even in my worst times.  I hope I have more nieces and nephews because I know the joy of seeing my nieces faces light up when I come through the door; I love the sound of my niece Quinlan's soft little cheer of "Aunt Dee!"; I relish the wide smile and sound resembling "Hi Dee" that I get from my niece Sawyer.  There is nothing more amazing than holding them in my arms and feeling the warmth of their little bodies, thinking of all the amazing things that lie ahead of them and knowing that I would give my life for theirs without hesitation. 

Being an auntie is such a pleasure and I wouldn't trade it for anything.  It means that I will take them to movies and let them eat too much popcorn.  It means I will have slumber parties with them and let them stay up as late as they want.  It means I will buy them toys that make noise just to annoy their parents.  I will always say yes to hot chocolate, to cookies, to gummi bears.  It means I will listen without judgment when they are angry at their parents.  I will try to say wise things occasionally and I will never ask them if they have a boyfriend because I never want them to think that I believe they need anything other than themselves.

When I die, my nieces will still be alive and thriving.  I want them to remember that I made them laugh, that I always listened and that I made a difference somehow, to someone.  Above all, I want them to remember that I loved them with all my heart and it never, ever wavered or faded.  That's all I can ask for.

I got issues but I ain't broken.

In 1983, my parents separated. I remember them sitting us all down to tell us; I even remember what my mother was wearing. I remember being upset because I didn’t understand what it all meant. But after that, my life continued, despite the fact that my parents eventually officially divorced and I lived in a one-parent household.


I’m getting real tired of hearing that children from divorced families end up in a gutter somewhere.

Here is what I remember about my parent’s marriage: they fought. A lot. When they weren’t fighting, it meant my father wasn’t home. When my parents fought, my siblings and I would sit and stare at each other with wide, worried eyes. It was scary; we didn’t understand financial issues or the weird intimacy problems that occur between married adults. We just knew that they were screaming at each other. When you’re six and your parents are screaming about anything, it’s terrifying. A few years ago, my sister-in-law got really upset about something (not related to her marriage) and yelled. My niece was 3 at the time. She came flying down the stairs, her gorgeous blue eyes full of terror, calling for her mother. It broke my heart to see her so worried, so I scooped her up in my arms and explained what was happening and that everything would be ok. When you’re little, your parents are you whole world. If something is wrong with them, what the hell is going to happen to you?

Did I want my parents to get divorced? Of course not. But did I want to spend the rest of my life dealing with their fighting? Hell no. What’s worse—growing up in a one-parent household or living with two people who hate each other?

I saw my Dad on weekends. Truth be told, I didn’t have the greatest relationship with my Dad until I was an adult. But that certainly wouldn’t have been solved by him living in the same household as me. My Dad doesn’t understand children: he can’t relate to them, he can’t help them learn life lessons in a productive way, he can’t accept their shortcomings and by the way, his parents just celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. God bless them but they can’t stand each other.  My parents were always supportive and for the most part, worked as a team when it came to their children.  They never said a bad word about each other, either. When I walked across the stage to get my college diploma, I looked out and saw my parents hug each other.  I never saw them do that when they were married.

My therapist might say that I got a warped view of relationships because of my parents divorce. I ask you...what is a non-warped view of relationships? Every relationship is different. There is not one recipe for a healthy relationship. Think about the couples you know, married or not, that you always thought had the greatest relationship. You see what they want you to see. So when they tell you they’re getting divorced one day, you’re shocked.

“What happened?” You ask.

Very rarely will someone answer, “Well this whole time, he was beating the shit out of me” or “She’s actually not Jessica Meyers; her name is Leslie Hopkins and she’s wanted in 3 states for fraud.” Usually, it’s more like, “Well...we just grew apart...we wanted different things...the spark wasn’t there anymore.” And then you wonder, what the hell does that mean?

You will never understand what it means because relationships are car accidents that people who were not involved in them cannot possibly comprehend.

The concept of the perfect marriage is bullshit. Marriage itself is fine; I support ALL PEOPLE getting hitched if that’s what they want to do. I’ll buy you a Target gift card, drink too much at the reception and maybe I’ll even dance a little. But the idea that marriage is the key to happy, healthy families is absolute rubbish.

Every kiss begins with telling me I'm pretty when I look like s***.

Ahhh Christmas.  Tis the season for warm and fuzzy commercials where everybody is in love.  Don't get me wrong; I think love is great...for other people.  For me, it's messy, painful and a total waste of time. 

All year, the diamond industry tries to convince us that diamonds are the way to go.  The Shane Company, Wedding Day Diamonds, Zales, Kay, Jared...it's endless.  Never mind that the diamond industry is one of the most violent organized crime industries in the world.  I'm not saying that Dean and Umi are schlepping blood diamonds but I do know that many of the major jewelry companies continue to buy diamonds from corrupt and murderous gang leaders in politically unstable African countries.  But I digress....

Every time I see those commercials, I think to myself, "Wow.  If my boyfriend bought me that ugly Open Heart pendant designed by Jane Seymour, I would break up with him immediately."  Who buys the person they love jewelry like that?  It's like deciding to get a boob job and finding your surgeon in the phone book.  If my significant other saw a Jared commercial and thought, "Ooooh, Dresden would love that.  That's so her", then we'd have a major issue.  I wouldn't be a bitch about it; I'd say "thank you" but it would be a giant red flag and I'd start to notice all the other ways that you were completely clueless.  And that can't end well.  For you, I mean.

I know several women whose husbands proposed to them with huge, sparkling Tiffany diamonds; like, the kind of diamond that you can see from space and pairs well with a fur coat and white Prada sunglasses.  Diamonds so big that you cannot focus on anything else when you're talking to the wearer.  Several thoughts run through my mind when blinded by someones engagement bling:
1.  What is he doing that you don't know about?  I mean, Kobe Bryant gave his wife the world's largest diamond after he was "falsely accused of rape."  The diamond alone was an admission of guilt.
2.  He's real worried that you're settling for him and hopes this obscene diamond will cheer you up about it.
3.  Dude has a lot of credit card debt.
4.  He is hoping you will take a wrong turn in the middle of the night, end up in a bad neighborhood and are killed for the ring on your hand.

I'm telling you: if someone gave me a diamond that big, I would be terrified to wear it.  First of all, I would take it off at the gym or something and I'd never see it again.  Also, I'm not Italian but I talk with my hands; I'd smack that thing against one too many walls and the diamond would pop out and I wouldn't notice it was gone until an hour later. 

I know a guy who spent $40,000 on his wife's engagement ring.  Now, he has more money than anyone ever should have, so $40,000 was a drop in the bucket.  If I got a ring that was worth 40 grand, I would suggest that we take it back and put a down payment on a house or buy a really sweet car.  For real, take me to Target and we'll find a cute $50 ring that hopefully won't turn my finger green.  Then we'll buy a house. 

I suppose romance is different for everybody but, for me, it's romantic if you surprise me with little things, like a nice dinner or a trip to the salon.  Bring me flowers for no reason at all.  Buy me a pair of warm socks because you know my feet get cold.  Tell me I'm beautiful when I look like shit.  Don't buy me the same necklace every clueless schmoe is buying for their girlfriend for Christmas because they saw a commercial.  In fact, all I want for Christmas is Chinese food delivery and 24 hours of A Christmas Story, like all good Jews.