Yep, it’s that time of year.
For the religious, it’s Easter. The time of somber reflection that Jesus has died for our sins and will be resurrected in mere days.
For me? I fucking love chocolate bunnies and Peeps, buried in a huge wad of synthetic green grass at the bottom of a tacky whitewashed basket. That’s what Easter is about for me.
If celebrating the death and resurrection of a man means that I get to eat some of my favorite treats, then I’m all for it. Bring on Jesus!
For me, Good Friday was defined in the most capitalistic of ways. My boyfriend and I booked an insanely expensive cruise for September 8th of 2012. Reason we booked so far in advance? We have to come up with the fucking money to pay for it. Seriously, we had been talking about a cruise for a while now, and when we did a little searching, we found one. Of course, me being the older (and sometimes wiser) of the pair, I would be happy on a small dinghy in the ocean, as long as there is some sort of cocktail with an umbrella in it. My boyfriend? I think he might suffer from penis-equivalency. Loosely defined, penis-equivalency just means choosing the largest, biggest cruise ship around, because BIGGER IS ALWAYS BETTER. Because he’s so goddamned handsome, I didn’t see the need to belabor the point.
Cruise aboard the Oasis of the Seas booked, deposit paid. Will be popping my “suite” cherry late next year. Finally get to see how the proverbial “other half” lives.
In other news, I received a very interesting email from a friend back in Michigan. She was distraught at my negativity I had been displaying on Facebook of late and felt it necessary to make a correlation between my fantastic cynicism and burning wit to working night shift. She obviously doesn’t truly “get” me. If she did, she’d understand that while my negativity may have cast a bad light on others, what it really represented was an attempt to get people to be fucking REAL, stop being so passive aggressive and post what they are really feeling and thinking.
I don’t care how fucking perfect you think your life is. It’s not. You have bad days. You wallow in self-pity and self-doubt. You cry. You shout at your significant other and/or your kids. Your kids aren’t perfect either. They make mistakes. They talk back. They assert their place in the world. Your spouse or significant other isn’t perfect, either. They leave the fucking toilet seat up. They make insensitive comments. They leave their clothes on the floor. Your job is just that. A JOB. It can be satisfying and fulfilling, but at times it can be aggravating, frustrating, stressful and irritating.
It’s time for people to stop buying into the Pollyanna bullshit and get real. Be real. Even if it’s the first time in your fucking existence. Just do it. Embrace the feel of the rough edges of life. Life isn’t smooth as silk. It’s hard. It’s gritty. And yeah, sometimes it hurts.
All that being said, I like to think I’m a pretty glass-half-full kinda gal. I don’t go around, brooding and spouting off doomsday quotes and barricading myself into my office, listening to The Smiths and anything else written with a minor chord or two. I have a lot to be thankful for. My health, my son, my friends, my boyfriend, my job, my home and my life. But after a while, you can only post so much I-love-my-partner-he/she-never-does-anything-wrong, and my-kids-are-perfect-and-smart-and-well-behaved status updates before people start to glance at the computer sideways and wonder, “Is this person for real?”
But, every once in a while, it’s okay to bitch. It’s okay to say what you REALLY think. I’ll respect you a whole hell of a lot more if you do. I’d rather read some good, meaty REALNESS than the other vanilla/beige drivel I see on Facebook.
Life is about living OUT LOUD, AND SOMETIMES IT’S VULGAR AND CRASS.