Tag Archives: anger

Who is Kony?…

13 Mar

The name Joseph Kony has been floating around not just the blogosphere, but Facebook, Twitter and everywhere in betwixt, prompting me to ask “Who is Joseph Kony” and maybe more importantly, “why would anyone want to make him famous?”

So I succumbed to peer pressure, watched the amazing video Jason Russell put together and felt inspired and enlightened and hopeful. Haven’t felt so inspired in a long time.

The crimes this terrorist has committed are just horrible. Abducting children from their homes, killing their parents and forcing the boys to mutilate and kill other children and forcing the girls to be sex slaves.

Yes, it’s imperative that everyone know who he is, that they care about humanity without borders, and that we keep the pressure on our government to keep our advisors in Africa to assist with the capture of this fucktard.

Reblog this – or write your own. Link this blog, or at least the video on your Facebook or Twitter feed, but most important, sign the damn pledge. It’s easy. Better yet, call your senator or congressman.

Here’s I’ll make this even easier… Copy and paste this link to your social networking site. Here it is: http://www.kony2012.com

For me, I feel empowered that we can in fact change the world. After watching the video, I bet you will too.

MAKE KONY FAMOUS.

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Don’t hate me…

11 Aug

This sentiment has been bouncing around my blonde head for exactly eleven weeks like a ping pong game, or maybe a game of just pong. Thudding its way back and forth, back and forth with mind numbing delirium.

DON’T HATE ME. I’ve said it out loud to all my former friends, to my estranged husband, to my family. The family forgives, the friends move on, the husband does not. So I say it over and over again, willing him to not hate me. To talk to me. To allow us both to move on.

It takes two to fuck up a marriage. Don’t ever assume because I left that I am the villain, yet most people do. Let me clarify: the people who know ME AS THE WIFE think I’ve lost my marbles and want nothing to do with this new woman who broke up the coupledome. I’m a paraya – insensitive and selfish. Right?

No. Not. Right. I’m getting tired of feeling the need for people not to hate me. Not to judge me. I’m now starting to find myself saying “Go right ahead and do your thing, judge away.

Because at the end of the day, when I’m taking off my makeup and looking at myself in the mirror, unmasked and vulnerable, I do so knowing that I’m living my life and what’s left of it. Finding amazing things about myself and my strength I never would have had I not left, and feeling excited about how I’m changing and seeing things.

So to those who hate me (or women like me) – find a mirror. Strip everything away. And then look yourself in the unmasked eye and see yourself. Do you hate what you see?

Then she left…

27 Jun

They say it aint over til the fat lady sings. Hell. The fat lady not only sang, she turned around a took a bow. It wasn’t pretty for the record.

Look, all I can tell you is that one minute, I was sorta dancing in my seat the first night in Cabo and the next I told my husband of 23 years “I don’t want to be married anymore.”

Yes. That. Blunt.

Yes. That. Brutal.

Yes. It. Had. Been. Coming. For. Years.

The short story – because I really cannot get into any specific details right now – is that I.LOST.MYSELF.  Lost me in the coupledome. I was no longer identifying with the girl I used to be. My life became all about the couple. Decisions were made together. Everything was done together, from errands and shopping to deciding what to eat and what not to wear. He became the “other half” for real and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

So I did what any other smart, clever, brilliant and successful woman would do. I waited til the first night of our Cabo San Lucas vacation to announce my intention. Oh, did I mention this trip was to celebrate his birthday? Yeah, happy fucking birthday. The first day of vacation was on June 2, 2011. I moved out on June 15, 2011.

This isn’t a picnic. But thank god for big napkins.