- If I were a good blogger, I would publish a post at 6am on the day I want it to go out, because I would have written it the day before, especially if it’s a recurring post, such as, oh I don’t know, a weekly Sunday post (you know, because I could plan it and such).
- But…I am a bad blogger. Because sometimes (not like now of course) I write posts barely under the wire when I’m so exhausted my eyes are burning and I feel slightly stunted mentally – not to mention a little nervous to write anything for fear of what sort of insane drivel will exit my mouth, possibly resulting in the end of civilization as we know it. See what I mean?
- This is not because I don’t love you.
- This is because my life makes Lord of the Flies look organized.
- There’s something I have never told you. It’s very personal so I’m sure you can understand my hesitance. Anyway, I feel secure in telling you now since we know each other so well: at some point in my young life I acquired Auto-Immune Hippie Disease. This is a sad state of affairs manifesting itself through chronic attendance at jam-band music festivals involving former members of the Grateful Dead, and crying while there, during certain songs Jerry Garcia used to sing.
- There is no known cure. It’s very sad. I’ll be writing a Facebook post about it very soon, urging people to take action against this debilitating condition and possibly asking for donations.
- Did you notice I said “young” life? Did you see that? Yeah. That’s because I ain’t old. I’m only 32 years old. This is information I’d like to share with the fuckers who keep calling me “m’am.” It is not my problem you’re 19 and therefore think I’ve rounded the bend and should probably just go ahead and jump in the pine box now because any attempt at life at this point is really just kinda gloomy (though we admire your optimism!)…anyway, the thing is young Jedi, most of the time, 19 is just a fancy 12, AND in just a few short years you (yes YOU) are going to be pushing 35 and looking around wondering wtf happened to the last 10 years and some asshat is going to call you “m’am” and you’re gonna hate it, home slice. hate it. So have a little perspective.
- I need to get okay with m’am thing. I mean I already wrote a whole blog post about it. And yet, I’m still annoyed. Every time I hear it I feel a little jarred. Like “huh? Me?” And then I realize Oh yes, damn. Me.
- Okay but seriously. I will never forget standing at the Monterey County Fairgrounds singing “Friend of the Devil” with my little girl and boy and dad and stepmom and husband – dancing with them in their new super-hero peace sign and lightning capes. I told you, it’s a disease. Don’t judge.
- At least only the kids got capes. I call that improvement, friends. Perhaps I’m in remission.
I miss Jerry.
He would have approved of these:
Oh and check this out. Video of the show we were at, last night, when they sang “Friend of the Devil.” Thank you, You Tube and hippies.