Salty Language Podcast

5. Douchebag / Hoe-bag
4. Shit
3. Prick
2. Twat
1. FUCK! or any derivative of it, even multiplicating it. Such as "Fuckity, fuck, fuck." or in this gem here:



This is my top 5 favorite curse words.

Why am I posting them? Well, to let you all know what they are. Plus, I want to pimp out my friends at the Salty Language Podcast. They did their top 5 curse words in the last episode. They also do movie reviews, and hilarious and pointed commentary on the stupid fucks of the world! And of course, they would love it if you weren't a stupid fuck and checked them out. You can find them at one of the places below.

Salty Language on:

Facebook
Libsyn
Twitter
Tumblr
iTunes

or email them at saltylanguage@gmail.com

Proper Mug Utilization for the Home & Office

In case you forgot how to use a mug, the helpful people over at The Unemployed Philosopher's Guild have come up with an instructional video.



Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

Blog vs. Real Life Disconnect

I talk about things that I’m passionate about to my IRL friends. And they just look at me blankly. I talk about LetterMo and how it’s modeled after NaNoWriMo. And They look at me like, “What language was that?” I never realized how odd it is that I blog. And maybe it isn’t odd. It’s just that the people I talk to on a regular basis don’t blog, don’t journal, don’t write letters, don’t DO a lot of the same things I do.

And that’s FINE! I love all my IRL friends. I just have to remember that they may not be interested, or need more clarification, explanation, whatever.

It’s just amazing to me that not everyone has this deep need to get their words out. I get this feeling, that I have to get out what’s in my head, heart, soul in order to let go and move on. It’s almost like an itch that needs to be scratched. And I think why I’m so surprised is that in today’s society it’s common for people to put out their most inner thoughts on social media. Hell, what is Twitter if not blogging in microscopic form? But to ask someone to write more than 140 characters, they can’t comprehend it. It’s weird, to me at least.

It’s funny, my Mom always told me I’d make a great writer. I never really thought about it. And I never sat down and thought out a story, or plotline, or anything like that. But then I ran across an article online or something that said something to the effect of “Blogging is essentially published writing.” And that made me pause. Am I really a writer? Is this need to get stuff out of me, what Real Writers like Neil Gaiman and Juliet Blackwell feel? Only they have entire worlds to get out, I just have a rant, rave or some other nonsense.

Do any of my blog readers have the same feeling? Do you think of yourselves as writers? What do your IRL Non-Blogging friends think of your blog?

LetterMo

I started with GUSTO. But then, halfway into the month, I haven’t received a single letter. Well, I did get an email from the soldier I adopted, (I’ll explain in another post) and it’s to be expected, hell he’s in Afghanistan, he’s got better things to do than sit down and write a letter in longhand. And though I didn't post my mail address on there, I did post asking for people to send me a note on the side. And I've gotten two or three responses from that. But it seems as though the LetterMo forum has become yet another popularity contest; a sort of free-for-all swap meet when it comes to letters. Now, I know we all have our hobbies, writing, reading, watching movies, knitting, whatever. And when we find a group of like minded people our first (and probably most natural) inclination is to jump in and try to meet as many people as possible. Again, nothing wrong with it.

It’s just not for me.

I want pen-pals so I can form a connection. A deep connection that isn’t translatable to a post card or an art piece. Granted, they are always fun to receive. But I’m not going to send them, so it’s kind of one sided for people. And I don’t want to disappoint anyone. So, I don’t respond to the massive amounts of:

“Write me!”

“I’ll send you a post card to complete your collection.”

"Navigating these boards is too boring, I just want a massive list of addresses, so I can essentially send out a form letter, just in an artsy package."

I want to find a few people that I can have an amazing correspondence with; sort of a Best-Friend-in-the-Mailbox kind of thing. Instead I’m being shunted to the side because I’m not marching along to the same cadence as everyone else.

I’m sure I’ll find someone there that is interested in the same thing; a nice, thought out letter, specific to the person and their interests, a person more interested in the substance of the letter, rather than the number of items in the mailbox.

I've found a few prospects, we'll see if things progress.

I. Am. AWESOME!!!

No, really.

I was able to overcome my fear of needles and I donated blood.


I am Wonder Woman!!!!

Woohoo!!!

I know it doesn't seem like much, but at 31 this is the first time I was willing and able to donate.

Take that puny needles. Your super powers no longer affect me. Muahhhahahahahah!!!!

Sorry, maybe I'm a still a little lightheaded. I'll go find something to munch on, just to be sure.

If at First You Don't Succeed...

Try, try again.

At giving blood. I tried to donate blood yesterday and almost passed out.

I didn't even make it to the cot, people. I was getting light headed after the little lancet prick on my fingertip to test for anemia. Granted, I've had issues with needles. I've gotten to where I can have blood drawn without an issue. But I think that's because I haven't had any experience with lancets on my fingertip.

So, I'll be trying again tomorrow.

Wish me luck!

The Invitation - by Oriah

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

© 1995 by Oriah House, From "Dreams of Desire"

Published by Mountain Dreaming, 300 Coxwell Avenue, Box 22546, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4L 2A0

I'll be following up with a book review based on this poem by Oriah once I finish it.