Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Waxing Lyrical

In honor of Rojo Wednesday (rumor has it today is some sort of "holiday", but, whatever), I have decided to post some of my favorite song lyrics.  You have been forewarned.  Now is your time to close out this post and continue to search for YouTubes of dogs in costumes.  Otherwise, enjoy.

"Do you remember our last dance?
 I never wanted to change pants
 With you.....but I did....
 And now you have my keys."

"You see about 5 seconds after I took that picture a giant robotic crab came out of the ocean and took you away (far away).
 I hear you're married now with little crabs of your own and if I saw you on the street I'd look away (look away)."

changing the tone a bit. . . .

"The Magician he sparkles in satin and velvet
 You gaze at his splendor with eyes you've not used yet
 I tell you his name is love, love love."

"He knows the verb to love but never will know how."

"I sail my memories of Pa on boats along the Seine."

"And I find myself just wishing that my mind would simply cease."

Also, the entire songs of Billly Joel's "And So It Goes" and "Goodnight my Angel". And that lullaby by Peter, Paul, and Mary (I used to sing it to my kids) "I'll Walk in the Rain by Your Side".

These are fairly obscure, I know, and I'm ashamed to admit I haven't listened to any current music since 1990 (I'm working on my certification as an Old Fogey), but I still think they're all pretty cool. 

Happy Rojo Wednesday, everybody, Trick or Beer!

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Wednesday Rant

I work with a lot of very grumpy people.  They barely (if at all) ever say hello to me and I guess they would get disbarred if they actually smiled.

Now,  Universe knows that I'm not always a bubbling fountain of joy and enthusiasm and I spent most of  my life with Extreme Moodists, so I'm used to temper quirks, but to go around constantly grumpy and unsmiling seems to me a waste of a life. 

Maybe it's because my daughter had emergency surgery yesterday and I was on an emotional roller coaster, but today I am uber-grateful for the wonderful gifts (like my amazing children) that I have been given. 

I try (sometimes successfully) to not judge people.  And maybe these attorneys have untold trials (other than their normal kind) and tribulations I don't know about.  But I have been beat up mentally, emotionally and physically, lost people I love, had all my money taken from me, fired, evicted, rejected and had to ride in a fucking tow truck over 10 times in my life, but I still manage to pull a smile out of my ass every once in a while.

My story is not unique.  I have many dear friends who have histories that make my life seem like Paris Hilton's (only with underwear).  I am not seeking pity here.  What I am saying is, Grow A Pair, attorneys who make a shitload of money!  Life Sucks.  But it's short, so spread a little sunshine around every once in a while and it just might bounce back on you. 

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

The times they are a-changing

But in the following regard, I don't get why.

I am short.  I was born short.  I will probably die even shorter than I am now.  (Thanks Osteoporosis!)  I know a lot of other short people, many of them women.  Who, for one reason or another, wear clothes.  Which we buy in stores.  That used to have Petite Sections.  Not so much anymore.

"Shorties" are proportioned differently than "Tallies".  If you buy pants in the "regular" (or as I call it "Giant") section, you can hem them for length,  but chances are the crotch will still hang halfway down your thighs.  I am categorically against labia lengthening to solve this problem, but you have your own opinion, I'm sure.  Shorties have shorter arms, smaller shoulders and, well, we're just shorter than then "regular", or "normal"  people.

(I hope you are all playing a drinking game that as you read this every time I put something in quotes you take a drink, because then you're probably hammered by now.  Slainte!)

Many stores used to have Petite Sections.  Ross completely got rid of theirs.  Macy's, Belk's and my beloved SteinMart still have them, but every I time I visit one of these establishments the Petite Section is smaller and Woman's World (For Big Beautiful Women) is larger.  It's kind of like a fashion industry Twilight Zone episode.  Where's Tim Gunn when you need him?  Or Rod Serling, for that matter.

I guess I'll just have to get taller.  Or fatter.  Or change gender.  Or embrace nudism, which probably wouldn't go over so well here in Conservativeville. 

Well, we all know none of that will happen (except the getting fatter).  Short women are still around, retailers, and we still need clothes.  Either start carrying them in stores again, or pay for our trips to Oompa-Loompaville so we can get clothes that fit.

Dippity do and out.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Freedom of Speech, Debala Style

For me, there is often a fine line between speaking my feelings or keeping them to myself.  Lawd, I know y'all are tired of reading this, but for the first 50 years of my life, what I said was pretty much dictated by whom I was living with.  If I said something the aforementioned livees disagreed with, I was reprimanded.  I don't take reprimands well.  And if I tried to fight back, the emotional repercussions were too much for me to handle.  Good times, good times.

As a result of this, I tend to apologize for a lot of things I say, whether it's warranted or not.  My dear friends have accepted this in me, realizing that it's an autonomic response at this point, much like answering the phone or going to Rojo; I just can't help it.

Writing this blog has helped me be less self-conscious about speaking (or writing) my mind.  I guess it's the anonymity of the thing.  For all I know, nobody is reading this (but you are, right???).  If you are reading this and you don't like it,  unless you *really* don't like it, you won't say anything, so I won't feel reprimanded.  And then some of  you are very kind and say nice things about my blogs, and that makes me feel Awesome.  I like that part.  Thanks.

I think another reason I don't really give a shit anymore and can say what I feel is that I have finally accepted that I will be Flying Solo the rest of my life.  I like sex and I like being a partner and this has been a hard concept to let go, even though history teaches us I wasn't very good at it.  (The Partner part, that is; I'm egotistical enough to think I had some skills in the boudoir.)  In the past, I would verbally tiptoe around potential suitors, afraid that if I said the wrong thing, they would run away in the opposite direction, screaming uncontrollably.  But, they ended up doing that anyway, so what does it matter?  At some point in my life, I have to let a little reality seep in and I guess I've reached that milestone.  Good for me.

That being written, this has been a difficult post for me to write.  I metaphorically (and sometimes literally) duck when I bare my soul, waiting for that lightning strike to hit me. 

Luckily, today I'm wearing rubber-soled shoes.  

Friday, October 5, 2012

Greetings from Planet Wacko

I sometimes feel I have no control over what I decide to write about.  This is actually comforting to me.  I have/continue to make so many poor decisions in my life, that I prefer to think that Bidnar and Poglip from Planet Wacko send me secret messages and guide my typing, rather than Little Debbie just making them up.  I preface today's blog with this poorly worded statement because my topic today is. . . . .love.

This is probably the most unoriginal subject I could write about, other than the Presidential Election (Please, God, let it be over soon!).  So, if this edition of Debala's Diatribes seems boring, trite and repetitive, don't blame me, I voted for Bidnar and Poglip.

First of all, the word "love" is grossly overused.  Second of all, actual love is grossly underused.  Perhaps this is because the concept of love is so simple it's complicated, or vice versa, depending on where you're standing.  There are all kinds of love, of course.  I love My Kids in a different way than I love The Kitties, in a different way than I love My Friends in a different way than I love Bacon. 

 All of the above loves have hurt me at some time in my life (bacon indigestion is a bitch),  but I never stopped loving any of them.  Because love trumps pain, like paper trumps rock.  Love is not rocket surgery, it's just commitment and the strength to be hurt and forgive.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

See?  I told you none of these revelations were going to be original.  And I have no idea why Bidnar and Poglip felt that I needed to spew out this information today, the birthday of Chester A. Arthur (we went out a couple times, but there just wasn't any chemistry).  But who am I to doubt the thoughtwaves of two Wackoians?  And, while I would like to think that these Alien Musings will bring lasting peace to the Middle East, I think it's more likely they won't, because I believe in Love, but not Miracles.   (Ironically, I don't care for the song I Believe in Love, but I do like I Believe in Miracles.  Go know.)

I really intended to write about the Father of Modern Accounting being gay, but I guess B & P felt otherwise.  And, as we all know, To Thine Own Aliens Be True.

Peace Out, Loved Ones.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Door Reprise

A court reporting firm just came by with fliers (flyers? Help me, Grammar Nazis, you're my only hope) for a free lunch this Friday in Linn Park.  At the bottom of the fl--thingy, is a stub to enter for door prizes. 

I will eat your free lunch, but I will not enter your contest for door prizes.

This is because I can almost guarantee (or your money back) that the door prizes will consist of one or more of the following:

* free weekend for two at the lovely, romantic blahblahblahblah
* free dinner for two at the lovely, romantic blahblahblahblah
* free bunch of stuff for people who own their own home
* free something to do with Alabama or Auburn football

So why bother? 

Here are some examples of door prizes I could really get into:

* free cat pan cleaning for a week
* free month's worth of Draft PBR at Rojo
* free hot (straight) guy telling me I'm sexy for a week
* free role of my choice in any Birmingham theatre production this year, without me having to audition for it

But, alas, these things only exist in Debland, which does not; so I will shut up and eat my free barbecue.  There are worse things.