April 16, 2013


Bless your hearts.

If you are from the South, you likely just read that title in a southern accent, and then you probably smiled.  If you’re not from the South, then I almost feel badly that you probably don’t receive these blessings nearly enough.  This is Southern Speak.  It’s just who many of us are.  “She got so drunk she lost her shoe, bless her heart.”  I’m not sure any of us really put great thought into what the word bless means.  We’re just southerners.  We bless people.  Around here, black people always tell me to “Have a blessed day.” I love that!  I love being blessed.  I love feeling the positive energy from a fellow person spilling over into my own personal energy field and offering a soothing vibration.

Here in Louisiana, we even have a special blessing-type slogan regarding our football team, the Saints.  It’s “Bless You Boys!”  That’s right.  We bless the heck outta those boys.  That’s why they kick your asses regularly.  Umm hmm.  Dat’s right.

Lately I'm more aware that the invention of Facebook has caused the neat and tidy little bubble that I was raised in to burst.  I’m not sorry about it.  It’s good to know stuff.   Good to expand your world.  I’ve realized that some people don’t appreciate ‘blessings.’

In fact, they are downright offended by ‘blessings.’

This photo appeared on my feed yesterday.  It was posted by a friend.
It’s a traffic sign on the Causeway over Lake Pontchartrain.  The first comment about the photo was from an agnostic person, who posted to say that he was OFFENDED by this sign.  He cited the separation of Church and State provision.  He asked what about the people who don’t use blessings.  Of course I responded by saying something that I LOVE TO SAY…”It’s called freedom OF religion, not freedom FROM religion.” 

I couldn’t help but wonder why this person was so bothered that some highway workers wanted to offer blessings and good tidings to the people of Boston.  People are DEAD.  An 8 year old child is DEAD.  That hurts my heart in a special, stabby kind of way.  It causes me to get that familiar hurt-y lump in my throat, and then I breathe fast and wonder if I shouldn’t take my kids to the Jazz Fest or any large sporting events.  I am immediately reminded of the trauma we all lived through here in this house.  I'm acutely aware that these families will be facing similar trauma.  And I know without a shadow of a doubt that the blessings and good tidings and well wishes and positive vibrations from others are indeed what carried us through a period where we could not have been left alone.  We would have certainly survived without those blessings.  But don’t we want more than to merely exist?

I’m here to tell you all that I’m offended that you’re offended!

That’s right.  Ya hurd me?  I’m OFFENDED that you are OFFENDED.

Here’s the thing.  A blessing is really the same thing as saying “Good tidings”.  No one is asking you to kneel down and pray, heathens.  We are simply spreading good will. 

I’ve heard many agnostic people stating that they are ‘not bad people’.  They are not harboring evil.  They just don’t believe in what others believe in, and they don’t want to pray or be around people who pray.  And to that, I say, “OK.”  Sounds fine with me.  I will refrain from kidnapping you and tying you up with jump ropes and driving you to my Catholic Church and asking you to kneel down and pray.  Yeah, I’m gonna stop doing that to people, okay?  Because to each his own, right?

But I am not going to stop blessing people.  I’m going to keep saying GOD BLESS YOU when you sneeze and expel that demon and I’m going to keep saying BLESS HIS HEART, HE’S SUCH A PRICK, and I’m going to keep bursting with happy when black ladies tell me to HAVE A BLESSED DAY.  Sometimes, I even pretend I’m black, because I almost am, and I say HAVE A BLESSED DAY too.

Why be so offended by those who wish to release good vibrations into the universe?  Are we brave enough to ask people to stop spreading joy?  After all, our prayers and blessings are joyful.  After yesterday, are we brave enough?  After Connecticut, are we brave enough?  After all the BAD that is in this WORLD, would you really dare to say no, we do not need these good tidings at all.  In fact, let’s try to live with less positive energy in the universe.  Less blessings and prayers.  
Some agnostics will no doubt say, “The prayers aren’t working!”  They will say that Boston and Newtown are proof.  And to you I say, how do you know?  Might it actually be worse if all these lunatics weren’t praying and blessing us all up and down and side to side? Have you thought about that?  My prayers are not hurting you.

I’m getting pretty damn tired of being asked not to pray. In fact, just to piss you off, I’m praying FOR YOU.  That’s right!  How ya like me nah?

I’m blessing you.  I’m blessing everyone.  And I’ma keep doing it.  You can’t stop me.


April 8, 2013

How Not To Be An Ass When You Grow Up

I have these three beautiful boys under my thumb and raising them is a task I take seriously. I want them to be successful adults. Everyone wants that for their kids. But I want more. I want them to be good husbands. In fact, not just good husbands, but incredibly awesome, irresistible, can’t-live-without-you, can-you-believe-this-guy husbands. Only I have to raise them without a husband as a role model, because they don’t have a daddy. It’s suddenly occurring to me that this is not a damning scenario. (Queen of spin.)

If you’ve been reading my blog a while, you know that I have a fear of my geriatric years. Why? Because the women who marry my sons are going to determine whether I’m in a quaint mother-in-law cottage with some pretty flowers and a carafe of fresh water on my bedside table, or whether I succumb to death in a pee smelling nursing home.  Nursing homes are full of old men flashing their putrid body parts.  I certainly won’t want to see that when I’m 98. I want the cottage, baby. Preferably near the ocean. And to get the cottage, I need to make sure these boys know how to be men. Not just men, but men that the madwoman herself would marry. Who better to teach them how to be awesome men, than a woman who loves men, right? I mean, granted, the madwoman has landed in unfamiliar territory. The madwoman has loved and lost. But, I have extracted superior knowledge from life’s lessons. I know what I like. Hence, the madwoman’s guide to being the perfect man:

1.) Tell the truth. Always. Tell the truth when it hurts. Tell it when it makes you look like a fucking clown. Tell it even when it ruins your day, and hers. Tell it even though the world may crumble and fall apart around you. There is no other option. Truth.

2.) Tell your woman what you love about her. Don’t just say, “I love you.” Everyone says that. If her cooking is extraordinary, tell her. If her ass is to die for, tell her. If you like how it feels when she runs her fingers through your hair, tell her. You can thank me for this later. And you will.

3.) Be a good daddy. Play with your kids. Play with everyone’s kids. Encourage your kids to be like you used to be when you were little. Show them how to climb trees, ride bikes, wrestle and play sports. Build forts with them. Sit down and have tea and dress a baby doll. Your wife is sick of doing this shit. Your kids will think you’re a rock star.

4.) Whatever your career, be good at it. Whether you’re the lawn guy or a rocket scientist, be great. I get that we all can’t be the best, but we can all try damn hard. Being lazy is not sexy. Trying hard is.

5.) Be sexy. Very few women really like the hair on your back and shoulders. If they love you they may lie and say it doesn’t matter. It does. Shave it. And tidy up that cock fro while you have the clippers out.

6.) Burn your copy of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. Because that shit is over, that’s why. If you want to slink off to your man cave everyday and pretend you don’t have a family, then go marry a cave woman. This isn’t the fucking stone ages.

7.) Put your family first. Making lots of money is great, being non-existent because of it isn’t. Every day is precious. If you knew this was your last day on earth, would you really work till 7 pm? Would you really stop for drinks on the way home? Would you really just get your kids every other weekend like the court papers say? Or would you come home and wrap yourself up like a pretzel around the ones you love? Any old man will tell you the truth. Ask one what he regrets.

8.) Learn to cook. Cooking is important, since without food we die. Participate in meal planning, like you are shooting the fucking game yourself. Women get overburdened when responsible for every meal.

9.) Learn to be funny. Humor is everything. When your world is spinning out of control, a fucking belly laugh is an anchor. Some people are born comedians. It’s in their genes. If it’s not in your genes, then learn to relax enough to find the funny and laugh at yourself.

10.) Be positive. Find the good in whatever you can. Seek God. If that doesn’t ‘speak to you,’ then find a good vibration and hang on to it for dear life. Negative people suck.

I’m not even going to give a number to ‘don’t be an addict, don’t beat your wife or kids, don’t be a gambler, a cheater, or a thug.’ If you are, I hope your wife leaves you until you come to your senses. Because ‘for better or for worse’ doesn’t mean living under the kind of oppression that comes from living with that shit. Been there. Done it. Survived it. I know what the hell I’m talking about. There is no piece of paper marriage license worth living under the black cloud. Sorry, but it’s true. Get right or get out.