262,800 Hours

In less than 26 hours, I will be leaving the second decade of my life and entering the third. I don't know about the others who have transitioned already, but it has really caused me to take a mental inventory of how I've used my time and what my plans are for it in the next ten years. Those hours will be spent quite differently.
I'm a little older now and have found that I have developed a new mantra, a new MO if you will. It's called "I don't give a crap." Now, please don't mistake that with, "I don't care." I care about lots of people and lots of thing. The crap I am referring to is living up to everyone else's standards. Let me give you a few examples. In my twenties, I drank an enormous amount and acted like an idiot. I'm dumber because of it. I imbibed because it seemed fun, I was pretty good at it and it seemed to be expected of me. But truth be told, I don't find it all that fun, I really can't stand more than one or two and have been convicted of it throughout the whole phase. Most drinking is generally gross and turns me into Tonya Harding most of the time and the next morning I always feel like my digestive tract is made of rubber automotive tubing. I'd much rather have a clear conscience and good sleep. Will I continue to partake of adult beverages, sure. But don't order me another one. I don't need the extra calories and kitten breath to make an idiot of myself. I'm doing just fine on my own.
Example number two- Friday nights. I know that everyones supposed to live it up, go on dates, undo your collar on Friday nights, etc. You know what? I like to clean my house. I hit up the Redbox on the way home for the latest B-lister flick and get absorbed in it while relishing in the beauty of Countertop Magic shine glistening off my green linoleum. There's just something about doing mind-numbing housework after a long week of restless constant noise that really smooths me over like a fresh bikini wax. I don't want to get dressed up and have the sloppy office newbie spill their drink all over me just to be out with the "it" crowd. Give me a tub and some scrubbing bubbles and I'll show you a real party. Think I'm a loser? Kiss my ass. My house is cleaner than yours, you filthy camel.
I especially enjoy just speaking my mind now a days. I heard that kinda came with the territory of being thirty. I've been John Mayering up and saying what I need to say. For instance, I can't wait until the next person says, "Well what are you waiting for? How come your not gettin married? You aren't getting any younger!" I'm going to reply with, "Why aren't you getting a face lift and why are you skipping your tutoring sessions with Miss Manners?" First off, don't be a Potsy and ask such a stupid question when it's obviously not an individual decision in the first place. It's not like I'm going shopping for underwear and just taking my time deciding between the comfort of full coverage or sex appeal of string bikinis. And what part of being in my thirties requires me to get married? Do you lose body parts in your thirties and are going to need someone to charge up your Hoveround for you? And if you make any reference to my eggs or my biological clock, I'm going to tell you you have ugly kids and your parents should have chosen genetic partners more wisely.
So, in short, my next 87,600 hours will be chock full of significance rather than apprehension to false standards. I am no longer going to spend my precious hours worrying about senseless crap. If you don't like me, great. If you think I'm self-centered or am not very smart, hit up Facebook and make a new friend. I'm ok with it. If I'm too thin or too fat, share your opinion with me and I'll put it in my back pocket until I see the nearest trash receptacle when you're not looking. Think I'm not a good enough Christian to hang out with you? Hit up Romans 3:10 and start worrying about yourself. If I don't make enough money, feel free to go work your face off to continually unimpress others. I am going to spend more time with people who see value in me, not people who find that I'm quite resourceful in a tight spot. I want to pour myself into others and finding out what they are all about and showing them the value in themselves; not sitting around devaluing others and myself. If that sounds like something that interests you, post me up sometime and lets spend a few hours together.

I Got Your Detainees Right Here

Is anyone else just floored by this whole Guantanamo Bay junk? Its really cause me to call into question the singular and combined brain power of the people we chose to be in charge. And question number two- why is it that we are just now sending these 911 ding dongs to trial? If there is any example of the idiocy of our judicial system, there it is on a nice plastic platter from Target.

If you think you know a right-wing nut job here in America, you need to redefine your definition. This guy wants to kill you because you listen to tapes (he's never seen a CD and thinks an mp3 is some sort of western ammo) and because your girlfriend likes to feel the wind in her hair. Truthfully, I think he's just mad because even the ugliest woman in Iran wouldn't play spin the bottle with him. Is he growing AstroTurf under his long johns? This man, we'll call him Kent because Kahlil is hard to type, thought that by killing thousands of Americans, he would be exalted in the afterlife. So we decide it would be a good idea to pay thousands of dollars to keep Kent locked up for almost ten years on the idea that maybe if we become good enough friends, he might tell us some info. These whack jobs, like Kent, annihilate themselves on the off chance that allah likes those kinds of fireworks and might give them a whole bunch of virgins or kumquats or something once they've blown themselves to smithereens. Do you really think electrocuting him or aspirating him with water is really gonna make him think-"Man, this sucks. We should really just tell them osama is just an Old Navy mannequin we glued some old pubes on. The Taliban- crap! We just wanted to join the Kiwanis club but they wouldn't let us in!" Folks, if this guy's ok with vaporizing his own intestines, you could slap him all day with a wet two-by-four full of nails and he probably thinks his tab is just wrackin up with kumquats.

And why does this guy get a trial? I know its the American way and due process and all that mess. However, I think we should roll the parliamentarian way. All those in favor of letting Kent swing in the wind for killing thousands of innocent people because someone told him we suck, say "Aye." Nays?

Why, on God's green Earth, are we giving them a good old American Homecoming? If it were up to me, I'd take them sailing. No need for a long drawn out trial, I'm not going to kill them or lock them up. We're gonna take a catamaran named "The Wet Dream" and head to some where back home towards the middle east. On this boat, I would have Captain Jack Sparrow, Craig Groschel, Perry Noble, Beth Moore (sans burqua), Billy Graham, three Tulsa Talon cheerleaders and a mini horse. Jack Sparrow would be there to sail the ship, and all the pastors would be there to show the love, share the word, shout the truth and preach the holy fire that is our Lord Jesus Christ because God knows, if they can't save them, no one can. The three cheerleaders would be there to show them what a beautiful woman looks like and the mini horse would be there just to throw them off. Once we got to the middle of the Indian Ocean, I would partially blow up a pair of $0.99 floaties from Kmart for each on of them, give them a fruit rollup and a speedo (you can't wear all those robes, Kent! You'll sink!) and let them swim home. No harm no foul. If they don't make it- virgins everywhere (hope they can swim) and if they do- bonus. They'll probably get shot for wearing a speedo in public.

All in all, let's remember who the mass MURDERERS are, dear Presidente. You're bringing them to your home state. We are not to be the ones punished. There are better ways to handle this then to purposely bring terrorists back onto our scarred terrain.

Is there any day that doesn't turn into an adult day?

Welp. It's the first week of November and I am still wearing shorts. Thank you, Oklahoma. And being that its the first week of November, it means that I haven't written in a long time. I apologize.

Its just that in the past few weeks, I have had my life run over by my life. You know, the days when you have a meeting sandwiched between two other meetings and you're eating cans of spaghettios on the fly? By the time you get home, you realize you haven't peed all day and that's why your skirt is fitting like your four months pregnant. You've got a to-do list forty miles long and you're pretty certain there are mice rooting around in your laundry since you can't remember the last time you did laundry. Forget working out. You're so tired you sit on an upholstered chair for more than three minutes and next thing you know you're dreaming about purchasing a fainting goat and riding a Ferris wheel with it. I'm so stressed out, there's gallons of cortisol pouring out of my liver and I can hear myself getting fatter.

I was in Target today buying crap for work and in the line to check out, there was an eleven month old sitting in a boppie in the cart. He was all kicked back, leg up on the side of the cart, flirtin with the people in line, suckin on his fingers. It made me wonder if they made boppies for adults. Can you imagine what life would be like if you were five all over again? Instead of worrying about how to make it to the next paycheck, I'd be worried if someone was gonna make me take a bath that night. Screw needing fiber so my colon won't fall out of my anus, I'd be eating fishsticks and mac-n-cheese like it was filet mignon. Yesterday, my friend's kid was picking her nose at dinner and pulled out a serious whopper. I asked her, "What are you gonna do with that?" She gave me a crafty, sideways grin then stuck the booger in my water glass. It was hands down the funniest thing that's happened to me in a while and I longed for such a mind-set to stick my mucus in someone's drink and not give a crap.

I don't care how old I get, I still want to climb the jungle gym. I want a power nap on my kinder mat. I want to run around for hours chasing a dog or drawing fake cities on my driveway with sidewalk chalk and bustin out my big wheel all around it's roads and parallel park it in front of the monkey grass boutique lining my parents flowerbed. Do they make adult sized big wheels? Or even better, I want to jump in the foam pit at gymnastics in a leotard and legwarmers (without any self consciousness or fret of having side boobs and a muffin top) and then go color in a coloring book for a while until I pass out with a marker in my hand and wind up drawing all over my face in my sleep. Technically, I could still do all these things if I really wanted to. If I could only find the time to enjoy my one and only life.