Powerball madness, y’all.

Did you get your tickets yet? Do you live somewhere that doesn’t HAVE Powerball? Sucks to be you, eh? I mean…It’s $1.5 BBBBBBBBillion Dollaires. That’s BILLION. WITH A “B”!

I just had this conversation with my husband via The Facebook Messenger:

9:49am

Hubs: I have the vertigo this morning!
Me: uh-oh.
Me: hydrate.
Hubs: yep
Hubs: I did eat an orange
Me: Maybe we’re gonna have an earthquake.
Much like dogs can sense earthquakes and no one knows why – or maybe they do and I just don’t remember the reason…
Hubs: Maybe it’s Powerball fever
Me: Maybe! I should get a couple tickets.
Hubs: Won’t work.
The fuck?!
Hubs: Spadafore has the winning ticket
“Spadafore” is a buddy of his at work…
Hubs: and he’s not sharing the numbers
Stingy bastard, that Spadafore…
Me: He’s lying.
Me: Everyone says that.
Hubs: huh
Hubs: When it went from 1.3 to 1.5, he said I could have the $200 million
Me: I’d rather be the one to give HIM the 200 Mil.
It’s simple math, really…I mean…duh.
Me: So…
Me: nice try.
Hubs: okay
Me: And…uh…if he DOES have the winning numbers, then…the deal is STILL ON.
I amaze even myself, you guys…I’m fucking brilliant.
Me: Sneaky, right?
Hubs: very
I don’t like his tone.
P.S. This is probably the first thing I’d buy with my winnings:
dollar-signs-bling-ring

I’m pretty sure it says somewhere in the fine print on the back of the tickets that you are 100% obligated to buy one of these rings when you win the lottery.

Misophonia – It’s a “thing”, y’all. Look it up.

It happens against my will. It’s almost as if I get possessed. One minute I’m fine…the next I’m shooting daggers out of my eyes.

Usually, the first thing that I notice is people chewing their food noisily. At first, I’m able to control my twitchy eye. Breathing exercises work great. After that fails, though…all bets are off.

I drop little hints to those around me starting with that stare with the squinky eye. (Dear spellcheck…squinky IS a word…because I just made it up.) The offender usually senses this look…stops chewing for a moment, then says something like, “What?” to which I respond, “Oh…nothing…” hoping they get the hint. When that fails I go a little bit more passive-aggressive-aggressive.

Do those Funyuns taste good?!

I’m usually met with, “They sure do, want some?” I respectfully decline.

It will typically escalate from there. Here are ways that I will attempt to drown out or get them to stop:

  1. Turn on my music at my desk or turn on the TV.
  2. When that doesn’t work, I’ll turn up the volume so that I drown out that god-forsaken sound from my head.
  3. I remind myself that I love the person making this goddamned noise and sometimes that works…most of the time it does not.
  4. Slamming of dishes ensues.
  5. I will literally throw a fork onto my plate causing a scene making everyone nervous and occasionally they will leave the room.
  6. Heavy sighs work the best, I’ve found. And if you accompany the squinky eye and the stare-down, the offender knows you mean business.
  7. The final straw comes when I have had enough. Usually directed at my poor sweet husband or my BFF who both love me unconditionally and are the worst offenders. These two people love me DISPITE my shortcomings and weird quirks. I typically lose it completely.

The conversation will begin with the look. And my reactions exponentially get ballsy-er from there:

  • Blank stare while simultaneously freezing in place causing a silence in my general direction that is immediately noticed and the sense of being watched rather intensely is completely palpable.
  • They look in my direction, usually freezing in mid-chew. Let’s not forget, these people know me. They know exactly what this look means.
  • They say, “What?” – I say, “I’m literally going to stab you and to go prison if you don’t figure out how to chew more softly.” They say, “I’m just eating.” – I say, “Fine! YOU EAT AND I’LL GO LOOK FOR A KNIFE!”
  • They say, “You need to calm down.” – I say, “What would you like on your headstone? ‘Here lies Mr. Sassy, his wife murdered him because he wouldn’t chew softly and she fucking had had enough, already.'”*

In the end, I make my point. And a few days later, I feel really bad that I went so nutso about it – but SERIOUSLY.

* Don’t you fucking love it when you get to use “had had” in a sentence?! I do. Especially if it ends up on a head stone.

 

Anxiety in Sassyland

Have you ever read something and realized as you were reading it, that it is explaining exactly how you feel in certain situations? Well, that happened to me last night. The funny thing is, I never really realized what I have experienced had a name or that other people felt it and if I did, I never ever in a million years would have thought that it was something that described ME in any way. I mean…I’m not an idiot.

Thank you, Jennifer Lawson. “Furiously Happy” has opened my eyes to this feeling that takes over my life on certain occasions, and because of this, I feel slightly less strange, weird, psycho, closed-off, odd, scared and even a little alone. In this book of “essays” as it is described, lies a whole lot of truth. A whole lot of real-life hysterically terrifying ways that Jenny has dealt with her mental illness adventures. I say “adventures” because almost each chapter is a story in itself. She is refreshingly honest with her writing and makes the reader feel as though they are there with her ducked under a table or hidden in a bathroom stall or – beside her on the floor of her bedroom with “dead arms” trying to keep the cat from attacking her phone as she dictates the moment she woke up from her nap and the lack of circulation to her arms had caused her to be armless for what seems like an eternity and how she instinctively knew the moments leading up to that moment that morning had to be documented because it was literary GOLD. It’s no wonder that her book as been on the NY Times Bestseller list for 4 straight weeks. There is a desperate need for her voice in this world.

You see, I have a very bubbly personality – more so when I was younger, but at the ripe old age of 44, I’m finding that I still have, for the most part, my bubbliness in tact. I’m social. I like to hang out with my friends and do things and experience things…but sometimes…I’m the exact opposite. Sometimes, I don’t want to be around people or be in a crowd or mingle with people I don’t know. Sometimes the thought of meeting someone new just overwhelms the holy living shit out of me. It’s called “Anxiety”. And an even better term for what I’m self-diagnosing would be “Social Anxiety”.

I was once sent to a networking/marketing class – to learn to network for and market my parents business. What I didn’t realize, until after I got there, was that I was in a room full of artificial people that were all talking to each other, but they weren’t listening to each other. It was as if they were there for show, wanted something out of me – business, word of mouth exposure, me to think they were the most incredible person I had ever met – and there I was…just watching, from the corner. Sweaty. Feeling overwhelmed. Breathing heavily. Avoiding eye contact. Wanting to get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible. But. I. Couldn’t. I was somewhat petrified. Frozen. Trapped. In this sweaty, hyperventilating state. Plus – I was with someone – a co-worker- who ate this shit up for breakfast. It was probably the longest day of my life. I hate networking.

I. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE. IT.

Another time when anxiety got the best of me was when I returned to my job after vacation and my boss had decided to change my job title without discussing it with me first – no real reason, but I went from an office job to working in a warehouse – apparently the person that they had take over for me while I was on vacation had rainbows flying out of her butt and her mother was a higher up and blammo – Sassy got kicked to the curb. There goes Sassy’s job. Meh – hindsight being what it is – it was for the best. BUT – when it was happening?! Holy shitballs, you guys…I thought I was losing my mind. I really went off the deep end. I walked out of the office to a corner of this huge 50,000 square foot warehouse, all by myself and just bawled my fucking eyes out, called my mom so that she could calm me down. The physical things that happened to me were something I had never experienced before as an adult. My hands started shaking, breathing was erratic, I felt really clammy but hot at the same time. I remember my hearing sort of turned off and there was a slight ringing in my ears. I knew that I was in a full panic attack – even though I hadn’t ever remembered having one before.

There have been other instances – mostly surrounding groups of people that are just really beautiful and thin and have their shit together – where I’ve just retreated to a place where no one else was, usually I was with my husband and just sort of disappeared to a corner or to a table far away from anyone else – typically this happens when I’m with my husbands co-workers at an event or something. I just don’t belong in a room with those people. It’s come to a point where I just really try not to be placed in those situations. If I’m going to hang out with those people, it’s gonna be on my turf, man.

We are throwing a Halloween party this Friday. At our house. My turf. I can totally handle this. You know why? BECAUSE IT’S MY DAMN HOUSE and I CAN GO TO MY ROOM AND SHUT THE DOOR AND HIDE WITH A COCKTAIL! But I won’t because I’m waaaaaaaaaay more comfortable in a controlled environment than I am on neutral ground. Plus, chances are, some asshole isn’t going to show up to my party unless they really want to spend time with me and on the flip-side of that, I don’t invite people I don’t want to spend time with so it’s really a perfect storm.

So, other than my abandonment issues (someday I’ll get into that) and my need for everyone to like me (although age has gotten me to a point where I realize that I really am not that much of a people pleaser anymore and hey, if you like me, awesome. If you don’t, meh…I’ll get over it – I have lots of friends that I love very deeply and who love me in return, so I’m cool, bro.), I’m pretty sure that this anxiety stuff is my only real issue. It doesn’t consume my entire life…but it has made things interesting at times. I’ve missed out on some things I may have otherwise enjoyed, but was crippled by my fear of being put into situations that I couldn’t just remove myself from if I felt the need to leave.

 

Sassyland Adventures

Hey, y’all!

I’m writing to you from my God-forsaken desk, in my God-forsaken office. At work. I can’t get any actual work done because there are contractors over <— (there) installing new French doors and repairing some of the siding to our office that has been damaged due to the fact that this is WASHINGTON and there has been a water leak for who knows how long and they are using some God-forsaken power tools including, but not limited to:

  • Saws-All
  • Hammer
  • Nail gun (hooked up to the God-forsaken air compressor)
  • Pry bars
  • Electric Drill

Now, I’m not one to complain….BWAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! J/K, that’s pretty much all this damn blog is about! BUT I DIGRESS. So, I’m complaining….get over it.

I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS RACKET!!!!!!!!!! A nail gun powered by an AIR COMPRESSOR IS LOUD AS FUCK, YOU GUYS! And, I mean, great for the guys working –  because they get ear protection, but they are about 7 feet away from my desk and THWAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!! – hey, don’t worry about me, I. Am. Good. Yessirree. No big deal. Reading lips probably isn’t that hard to learn, right?

Oh, good…one of the guys just got a head beam to the forehead. I’ll be right back…

He’ll be fine. I have icepacks in the fridge. Thanks for your concern. What? I can’t hear what you’re saying…because HAMMER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The workers are Russian, barely speak a LICK of English and the only Russian word I know is “Спасибо”! Which looks an awful lot like “ACHOO”, but it’s pronounced “Sbah-see-bah”, which means “Thank You”, apparently…at least that is what the owner of this contracting business told me it means. I should probably look that shit up on the Google Translate or something because I could be telling everyone something really obscene. I’ll be honest, I just looked up all of this on the internet and Спасибо looks nothing like “sbah-see-bah” so who the fuck knows what in the hell I’m saying.

How’ YOUR day?

 

Sassy’s Thoughts On Gun Control and Mass Shootings ~ Let’s Discuss, WordPress People

It took me a few days to process this latest act of violence on yet another public learning facility in the state of Oregon. I needed a minute to digest this. I’ve seen post after post on Facebook and read many articles and read many of the comments filled with criticism and vitriol for President Obama – whether it was warranted or not (in some cases it almost seemed that people were convinced Barry slapped the gun in that guys hand and told him to “go for it…knock yourself out”…really? Come on, you guys…). People criticizing others for their thoughts on what gun control means to them. So, I’m going to ramble some thoughts here in good ol’ Sassyland and would truly like to start a respectful conversation that will create thoughtful dialogue on this issue and I welcome everyone to share their two cents. My hope is that this will remain thought provoking and respectful. Let’s help to educate and enlighten one another – there is already enough violence, sarcasm and bullying happening in the world.

I think we can all agree that the source of the problem exists in the mental health of those that go on these rampages. I don’t think there has been even one person that has been captured alive after these horrid acts that hasn’t claimed “insanity” as their excuse – whether it be momentary or a permanent condition.

The sad part – other than the innocent lives lost and the innocent victims that are affected – is that these people with mental illness are grabbing for a gun to affect the world we live in. Let me repeat that…these people with mental illness are grabbing for a gun.

I’m not a political person – I tend to keep my opinions to myself for the most part because, hell, I’ll just say it: I’m not educated enough to have a full-blown debate with someone who is much smarter than I am on such topics. But I have a heart and a mind and a venue in which to share my thoughts and you can agree or disagree with me if you want to – I’m not ignorant to the fact that we are all individuals that have minds and opinions of our own. I respect you. That’s what makes the human race so BEAUTIFUL.

But I want to ask a question to those that vehemently oppose stricter gun law legislation.

What is your solution?

I truly want to know the answer. I think we have gotten to a point that we certainly need to take action. Blaming guns or the mental health of those that commit these violent mass shootings is getting really stale. Inaction is what is killing our citizens.

Would you agree that making it slightly more difficult to obtain these weapons could possibly be part of the solution? What about the care and diagnosis of those with mental illness? Where have we fallen short?

I’m all about Joe the Plumber having his side arms and even his rifle for protection and hunting…but when I see people with semi-automatic weapons, I’m not gonna lie…it freaks-me-the-fuck-out. I just don’t see a need for such powerful weaponry in the hands of a common citizen.

When our forefathers created the constitution and called for us all to have the right to bear arms, do you HONESTLY think they could have anticipated what our country is seeing today? Times have changed. Opinions have changed. To use our constitution to uphold laws that have not changed with the times seems ignorant to me.

Let me re-iterate: I DO NOT WANT TO TAKE YOUR GUNS! I believe you should be able to have your own guns and kill animals (back off, PETA) and protect your home and family and land and God forbid…the Zombies.

Perhaps this entire post will be all for naught – I heard the world is ending today. #thanksobama

Thank you for keeping the comments respectful and thought provoking. Let’s get a dialogue going here. EDUCATE ME. Tell me your thoughts.

Let me talk REEEEEEEAAAAALLL SLOW, so you can understand…

11wD2RW

One of my residents short-paid his rent – which means…let’s say it was $939 ($899 rent + $40 water/sewer/garbage) and he only gave me a check for $855. So I called him today to explain that he has a balance owing and he argued that he dropped his rent “on time”…to which I replied, “Yes, your check for $855 was considered ‘on time’ only…it didn’t cover your balance IN FULL, now you owe me $84 + $16 in late fees totaling $100. When are you going to bring that over to us?”

AW MAN! I don’t know how I did that! I don’t understand, I need to make sure I have $100 left in my account!”

*what I was saying in my head…* Yeah…well…get on that shit, because you need to get your money in here, PRONTO.

He comes in and gives me $100. THEEEEEEEEENNNNNN….he calls me 20 minutes later.

Yeah…I have a question. I should have $15 somewhere over there as a credit.

Me: *hey, that’s not a question…it was more of a statement – an incorrect one at that…* How do you figure that?

My water sewer garbage is $40 and my rent is $899. I gave you a check for $855 and another one for $100.

Me: Yes, and you had a late fee of $16.

That should have gone to my water, sewer, garbage – right?

Me: No – the total owing you should have given me ON TIME would have been $939. You only gave me $855.

Right…so…where’s my $15.

Me: *brain exploding all over my office* Listen – it might be easier for you to stop by the office so I can show you the accounting of this in black and white, or you can write this down as I speak to you. Your RENT was $899. Your water, sewer, garbage was $40. That totals $939. You dropped a check for $855. That left you a balance of $84. Because you didn’t pay your rent IN FULL and ON TIME, you owe late fees of 20% on the balance due – that’s $16 in late fees. $84 + $16 = $100. There is no overpayment, there’s no credit due, you paid in full and your balance is now $0.00. You’re starting FRESH. Zero balance.

Yeah…ok…whatever.

You guys…just pay your motherfucking rent on time…it makes life so much easier.

 

Apartment Manager Tales: El Gallo! And broken windows…

20150827_150809_resized

El Gallo – aka The Motherfucking Rooster.

EL GALLO!!!!!!! a.k.a. The Motherfucking ROOSTER that one of my residents at my apartment complex has been keeping mostly in their van – but also in their APARTMENT. Yeah…let that sink in for a minute…

Let me paint you a picture – let’s rewind about 5 months ago…

We get a call from a concerned resident that there appears to be a Rooster making noise closeby. Complaining of early morning COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOOO’s and the accompanying rooster sounds that one assumes a rooster to do. We say – well? Where is it coming from?

THE VAN!!!

So, being the amazing managers that we – my co-worker – and I are, we spoke to the resident who was in possession of the rooster and calmly stated that this was against our rules and that they needed to get rid of the rooster.

Assuming that’s the last we’d hear about it – because – YOU CANNOT FUCKING HAVE A DAMN ROOSTER IN AN APARTMENT! And also – if it were a metal rooster – much like my blog idol Jenny Lawson covets…that’s one thing…that, I can deal with – and coincidentally – IT’S NOT AGAINST THE RULES TO HAVE A METAL ROOSTER IN YOUR APARTMENT.

But. I. Digress.

You’d think that simple phone call was all that was needed, right? Not so fast there, bub. Not. Even. Close.

2 months later…I get a call – and I’m paraphrasing here…

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggg……

Moi: Yo, Sassyland Apartments, this is Sassy…S’up?

Neighbor to the Illegal Rooster People: The Rooster. Is in their apartment. Again.

Moi: You have GOT to be GODDAMNED KIDDING ME!!!!!

Neighbor to the Illegal Rooster People: Nope. It got loose the other day and they were chasing it around the parking lot

So…this time I wait for them to come in and pay rent. This is going to need some face to face action…I can tell. Also? I use my handy-dandy maintenance dude for his Spanish Speaking Skills…I love him – and I’ll tell you why: HE REPEATS EVERYTHING I SAY!!! INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO; hand gestures, raising of my voice, and the scowl I get when I look at people like they are stupid. He’s pretty cool, you guys.

So, I say what needs to be said and he translates and they are 100% clear on what I’ve instructed them to do.

1 month later…my maintenance guy calls me on a Thursday and says:

EL GALLO IS HERE IN THE VAN RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! After I recovered from giving myself a facepalm, I consulted with my co-worker and we decided to call Animal Control. AND GUESS WHAT?! They came out within about 10 minutes of us calling – curiously enough, it takes the police about 20 minutes to get here when I call about a Domestic Violence situation – considering this was a stupid rooster, I’ll be lucky if I see someone show up at all…and also there was jokes about firing up the BBQ (from them, not me) – so…next thing you know…they actually SHOW UP!

The get to the apartment and the guy is SOOOOOO pissed. He doesn’t want to give them his I.D. – he doesn’t let them in, he won’t go to the van to show them, so the Animal Control people call the police to come out.

The police get there and as they go to walk up to the apartment they tap on the van and the rooster makes a noise. At this point, they weren’t 100% sure it was in the van – but NOW they know for sure that it IS!

The wife of the angry man came down and opened up the van – and told her husband to back off because he followed her down there and they get it open. They found the rooster in a box, on a hot day…no food or water…and they found something else.

A BABY ROOSTER…..

They wanted our resident to just sign over the rooster to Animal Control and they would not charge him with animal cruelty, but he refused. Now, he’s being charged.

Not only did we tell him on three separate occasions to get rid of the rooster – but at some point – he thought it would be a GREAT idea to get ANOTHER ONE! Can you believe the cajones on this guy?!

So Friday rolls around and I get to work – as I walk up to my French doors – which are glass paned, I see crackled glass and a hole. “Someone” broke the glass in our French doors to the office. I’m not pointing any fingers or anything – but it sure seems like a coincidence to me.

I love my job. Something tells me this is not the end of this story.

 

 

 

Apartment Manager Tales: Filling in at my old property…

So I’m sitting here at the desk of one of the properties that I used to manage, helping fill in while the current manager is off helping another property with some sort of tax somethingorother. This is the same property where one of my residents who hadn’t paid her rent and was in the process of getting evicted decided it’d be a great idea to just sort of climb through the window and charge at my desk after being repeatedly told I was going to call 911 if she didn’t leave. It was about 3-4 months later than I was given another property…but the stress that this caused is still lingering inside my body a little bit – even though this idiot fucktard is no longer a resident here and it’s been 2 years since I’ve managed this place…I’ve still got that twinge of PTSD running through my veins and ugh…

ANYWAY – yesterday, I was sitting here, things were pretty quiet. Like, reeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaalllllllyyyyyyyy quiet. I was just puttering around the internets and this lady walked in waving a sheet of paper all over the place.

Where’s she at?

Uh…are you referring to Deb? She’s at another property for the next couple days, what can I help you with.

angry02

I don’t know what she is doing giving me this notice! I paid my rent on time. I got money from the government to help pay my rent for the last two months! I was behind $500 and they gave me a check and…

(blah blah blah…it just kept going like that for a few minutes…all the while waving these two sheets of paper around about 2 feet from my face)

May I look at those papers please?

(shoves them at me, mumbling under her breath)

I’ve been screwed before, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to get screwed again…not by her or by anybody!

(As I look over the papers one thing becomes abundantly clear. The papers are dated from a month ago. A. MONTH. AGO.)

It appears that these papers were from April. Were you behind on your rent in April?

I just told you I was! But I’m all caught up – why am I getting these papers NOW?!

You didn’t *get* these papers NOW…they are dated for April 6th. You got them April 6th. Where did you find these papers?

One of my kids handed these to me.

Okay – well, these are old papers from when you were actually late with your rent. Let me look up your account to make sure you’re paid in full right now. *clicketty clicketty…type-type-type* It shows here that you don’t owe any money. These are old. You can just file them or do whatever you want with them.

Alright then.

 

Love is Love, Sassyland.

Ah yes, the subject that can either bond us as eternal equality seekers with a shared belief that people are free to love who they want, or tear us apart, causing a divide in our relationship. I’ll never turn my back on you, so it’ll have to be you that makes the move.

I’m comfortable within my own skin to share with you my thoughts on this subject without fear of retaliation or vicious backlash, because if you simply are so disturbed by what I’m about to write, my suggestion would be to please read this post in its entirety before you unfollow my blog, if that’s what you choose to do. I respect your decision and I’m in no way trying to get anyone to change their views on homosexuality and the LGBTQ community – but I am going to ensure that my voice is heard and that you know where I stand on this “issue” that shouldn’t really be an issue at all.

Love is Love. This is what I believe down to my core. The human race is a very emotional species and we require love to flourish in all ways possible. Whether it be love for your fellow man, for the earth, for a Twinkie, for a religion, for a nice cool alcoholic beverage…whatever it is, love is at the core of all we do.

Kindness and graciousness are forms of love. Judgement is not. Tolerance and acceptance is a form of love. Hatred and bullying are not. Now – if you are a regular reader of this blog, you’re probably yelling at your handheld device or computer monitor right now: SASSY! OMFG, YOU ARE SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO JUDGY AND DOWNRIGHT RUDE SOMETIMES, HOW CAN YOU TYPE THAT STUFF?!?!?! Give me a minute…I’ll try to articulate it.

I went to a church service last night which was a Christian gathering of people there to “Celebrate Recovery” and to support the wife of a friend who was going to share her journey to recovery. I had never gone to this church before nor participated in a “Celebrate Recovery” service. So to explain “Celebrate Recovery” to you, your “recovery” can be a myriad of things from; drug addiction, abuse, food addiction, self doubt, struggling with forgiveness, trust issues…so many more things were discussed last night, but the one that almost made me walk out of there was from a man that had been part of the worship team, in front of the gathering, singing worship songs, leading us in prayer…when it came time for him to share with us some updates for the church and before he discussed his talking points, he introduced himself and shared his recovery “category” if you will…(example: Hi, I’m Sassy and I’m recovering from using profanity and working through my Hostess Berry Pie addiction.)

His recovery item was a Recovery From Homosexuality.

This saddened me. I am not a theologian and I am NOT a frequent church goer – but I do consider myself a Christian – in training, because aren’t we all (?) and have accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior – just like Beyoncé. I think the word “from” in his statement concerned me the most. From. To take away from…to take away his homosexuality. Is this what I’m to understand he is trying to accomplish?

From my understanding – you cannot “recover” from Homosexuality no more than you can recover from being a Human Being. I was finding it extremely hard to get past this and clear my head enough to experience completely the story my friends wife shared. I was able to listen to her very touching account of the struggles she had faced growing up, in her 20’s and her marriage and was very impressed because I know how utterly accepting and gracious a person she is and to now know what she has gone through in her life and how for her, God has helped her through many trials and tribulations made me so happy for her journey – but…if I’m honest, that kids voice kept echoing in my head the whole time and my heart sunk in my chest a little bit.

But getting back to this recovery from homosexuality…I guess I’m just worried about this young man’s well-being. Stifling who you are for acceptance – seeking forgiveness and peace for something that you are so hard-wired to be, seems almost abusive in some way. I don’t really know how to articulate what I’m feeling. I do know that his journey is his alone. And you have to believe in SOMETHING…even if it’s nothing. For him, God is helping him understand himself. Perhaps I should have spoken to him after the service to truly understand what he meant. I don’t know.

I feel that God is the only judge that matters and for those that are Christian believers and should be following the bible (yes…there’s that whole passage about a man lying with a man and it being an abomination in Leviticus)…but there are also parts where it says that God is the only true judge.

James 4:12 There is only one Lawgiver and Judge, the one who is able to save and destroy. But you–who are you to judge your neighbor?

I believe that the God I love and worship in my own way, forgives when you ask to be forgiven, but living the truth of who you genuinely are and doing so with compassion when necessary, giving and asking for forgiveness when necessary, showing love and acceptance for those around you and giving respect to those that need and deserve it are things that we will ultimately be judged for…not by any human walking the earth, but by God, Himself.

I feel so flip-floppy with this post, because I realize this Blog is filled with me passing judgment in a satirical and profane way – which is something that it will ALWAYS have – but at the same time, those who know me know that I am extreeeeeeemely accepting of people – except the assholes – and truly – down to my TOES want people just to be happy. Gloriously drunk with JOY, is my wish for people of all kinds, shapes, colors…just happy-ness. And to feel loved, by me. I’m a pretty mushy bitch, y’all. Seriously.

Anyway – this was weighing on my heart and I needed to share it. And don’t you dare think for even one split second, that I am one of those groups of people that give Christian’s a bad name – because this is the sort of sign I’d be holding if I saw a group of these poor excuse for human beings anywhere in my vicinity:

I'd be the dude in the hat...only more girly and probably with a barrette in my hair or something.

I’d be the dude in the hat…only more girly and probably with a barrette in my hair or something.

 

I always get nervous when you people follow me…

You guys…I’m freaking out.

There are times when this blog gets more attention than others and apparently today is the day because I just picked up two new follows and I’m not really sure if you understand this blog enough to follow me…

Seriously though...low standards?

Seriously though…low standards?

HAVE YOU READ ANY OF THIS STUFF?! I mean…I drop F-bombs like I drop the ellipses…frequently…with ABANDON and…well…quite frankly, you’ve got me worried.

And another thing…if you think you are stumbling upon some “writer” that can form a coherent thought and can form proper sentence structure with ease…you’ve got another thing coming.

Usually the posts here are just my thoughts rattled through my fingertips with little regard for proper writing and punctuation, proper tenses…all of that crap that serious writers care so deeply about. WHICH I CAN APPRECIATE, but seriously. You followed a blog with the title “Sassypanties”. How proper can it possibly be?

Not. It’s not proper at all. Thankyouverymuch.

Oh yes, sometimes, I’ll surprise you with some heart felt mushy stuff and my sincere love for Music and hosting House Shows, but mostly it’s just my rantings about my job and how people piss me off and I’m not happy unless I add a “shit” or “motherfucker” in there for good measure. Because I can.

So…I guess you can consider this a warning or…a welcome aboard. Thanks for even considering clicking that follow button. If you choose to stay…I’ll do my best to chase you off.

P.S. You should be really proud of me because I sort of kept my profanity under wraps for the most part with this post. Pretty impressive, I must say.

P.P.S. The ellipses…dude…I told you…I use them…or should I say “mis-use” them…A LOT.