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7:38 p.m. - 2011-02-01
I'm an asshole and a fool, we know this.

No big surprise to my…*ahem*…less than ardent admirers but in some ways I am a complete hypocrite.

With my kids and my men I'm always the one who soothes their grumps, fears and frustrations with soft words about taking the broader view, making room for differing perspectives and worst of all- turning that frown upside-down with a hefty dose of "It could be worse!"

Yet when (((I))) am freaking out and upset the LAST fricken thing I want to hear is that 'up with people' shit. I nearly bit Mick's nose off and ripped him a new poop chute for daring to try that on me today.

I was like, "Kiss my fat white patootie, you grinning mofo! You don't know dick about how I'm feeling right now! Get gone before I hurt you in places that don't heal."

I may have said this once or twice before, but I would NOT want to live with me. I am an impossible twat. Only I, LA the Unpleasable, could take the confirmation of an amazing, wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime fantastic piece of good news and turn it into a problem.

But I did. And you know what else? I refuse to recant.

Look, nothing is ever simple. Ever. It's been my experience that unless you stop and go over all the possible permutations of a situation before you dive in with a happy carefree "Whoo Hoo!" that you're going to get reamed. Hard.

Experience is a harsh, bitter, and extremely unforgiving teacher. However, once you've finally learned at the knee of the Bitch Mistress of Experience you never go back to being a Do-It-and-Deal-With-the-Consequences-Later type. Unless you have access to good drugs or still have your youthful good looks or are good at something marketable. Then, maybe, you can be careless and try shit for just for chucks. But for ones like me- the old, sagging, unemployable and afraid, well, you become cautious. Suspicious. And far-seeing.

Not only do I look gift horses in the mouth, I count their teeth, and I inspect their genitals and manure for parasites and infections.

Don't chide me for this, I've fucked it up way too many times already. My judgment is not to be trusted. For reals. I don't care what my IQ is or that I was Mensa's poster girl of the month in 1979, 1988 and 2003, I am one stupid and sorry jerk when it comes down to where the cheese truly binds and smarts are the only thing you've got left. I have made so many dumb decisions I should star in PSA filmstrips. Goofus of 'Goofus and Gallant' looks like a whiz kid and a saint next to me and my sorry screw-ups.

Oh, I always think I'm doing the right thing. Just before I step off that cliff Wile E Coyote-style I truly believe I'm doing best by those I love and myself, but honestly I'm a fuck-tard.

A cautionary tale about the folly of misplaced faith in the supposed truth of triumphant happy endings.

A way out of a current mess presented itself to me this week and all I've been able to do in between periods of going completely tharn is to pick at it and search for the flaws and potential pitfalls. And mourn the already agreed upon ending that I fucked up again. Gave up an ugly known for the foolish hope that it'll be okay and even better than Now. Hoicked over what I do have on the ridiculous (and ohmygod, how can I still be so stupid?) assumption that by giving in and letting go I'll actually get something back this time. Right.

Christ, I am so scared.

Dreams come true are for the lucky and the good, and we all know I am so very far from either. ~LA

11 Wanna talk about it!

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