My endearing yet disdainful love of Walt Disney

Yeah..just laugh at all the psycological damage you've done.

Yeah..just laugh at all the psycological damage you’ve done.

I grew up believing in Happily Ever After. I believed I would grow up, get married, and that’s about it. I knew I would have a career and be rich (ummm..that hasn‘t happened either), but, of anything in this world I could attain, I wanted to be in love and have that love reciprocated.

My mother didn’t help break this fantasy, (mostly because she graduated high school and got hitched, like her mother before her). As a matter of fact, she fed the fantasy soda and candy lies like “Your prince charming is out there”, and “You’ll get married when you’re young”, and “Oh, you’ll never have to worry about being a spinster. You’re too pretty to not get married”. She never once told me love is hard. That it tends to not be what it’s all cracked up to be. And she’s not the only mother to do this irreparable damage to their little girl. Love’s not for the faint-hearted. The faint-hearted, like me, are the most vulnerable captors this unrelenting dictator called Love likes to ensnare. We’re foolish, hopeful, and resounding, always coming back for more.

So Disney. What could I possibly have against Disney?

Like every other little girl before and after me, I was enamored with Disney princesses and their Happily Ever Afters. I sat for hours watching Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Snow White, Aladdin, and especially, The Little Mermaid. Oh my God, did my sister and I love The Little Mermaid. (As an adult, I still do, but the penis discreetly hidden within the towers of Ariel’s mermaid castle on the movie poster is now my top favorite reason for loving it). But let me ask you this. What theme do all these Disney movies have in common? The most unrealistic of all conquers all and men stay forever, devoted to your every whim and need. You fart and he thinks it smells like Chanel #5. (That’s probably one of the funniest things I’ve written. Chanel # 5 farts.)

Now, I recognize Walt Disney didn’t write these stories. These stories were written and poised for female ego destruction hundreds of years ago, years before he was even born. But to me, there is a distinct difference between imagination and seeing imagination unfold before your very eyes. Mr. Disney saw a money gold mine when he decided to put into moving motion “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs”, and in doing so, re-shaped female childhood by helping us to honestly believe that happy ever after is attainable for all. What I’m basically getting at here is Disney’s as bad as our mothers for putting that shit up there.

I remember sitting at a bar with Charlotte Grant , (Yes, another bar, we sat, and still sit, at a lot of bars), being 22 or 23, when I had this eureka moment and was able to successfully finger Disney as being solely responsible for my pathetic yearning for this “Prince Charming” disease ridden concept. I think I was asking Charlotte why was it so important for me to be in a relationship and married, when suddenly, I made the distinct connection of watching Disney’s triumphant tales of true love unfold before my eyes for years as a child and watching it shrivel and die before my eyes as an adult. Love and Marriage made sense to me because it was all I knew. I’d watched it millions of times in colorful, twirling, singing, birds tittering, bunnies hopping, bunnies talking, mice cleaning, dancing, and “I’m going to stare intently into your eyes before I kiss you” style. This harsh reality of it being a nasty bitch was an earth shattering experience for me. Disney made it look so easy, so pleasing and inviting.

Lesson # 391-It’s taken YEARS of hypnotic chanting on my part to convince myself that being single is ok. That not having a string of “Prince Uncharming’s” is actually better and healthier then dealing with the bullshit bad relationships always provide in abundance. It’s also taken a lot of female balls to admit to myself that A.) The possibility of “Prince Charming” not existing for me and B.) Marriage not being in my cards of destiny is ok too. These are realistic expectations. It is unrealistic to expect your life to unfold the same way “Sleeping Beauty’s” did. (Although you have to admit, being able to sleep for years, then Prince Phillip shows up looking like Christian Bale to kiss you on the lips and whisk you away to get married and live in his castle with your fairy lady friends would be much more exciting. Damn you Disney.)

So, my words of wisdom this week to the lonely hearted and hearts of personal destruction is please, please, please stop looking for validation in someone else. Please start getting comfortable with yourself. Drop that scumbag who treats you less that you deserve because you can’t face loneliness. Loneliness is essential to getting to know ourselves and personal growth. Here’s a biggie..remember marriage is a religious institution, and if you’re not religious, you shouldn’t be in one. Religion has never been the choice as it is now, and for centuries before, it was required because everyone was required to be religious. There is no need for marrriage if you do not practice the religious laws which govern it.

Closing note to the mom’s out there..don’t crush your little girls world and ban anything Disney princesses out of your home. She loves those damn princesses, and we all know Natalie Wood’s “Susie” on Miracle on 54th street was one boring little bitch till she found imagination. But please, if you catch your little princess dreamily soaking in the Disney princess dancing with her prince, be sure to burst that bubble promptly by laughing, pointing at the screen, and letting Little Betsy know what a crock of bull shit that is.


God and Garden Tea Parties

tea partyFirst and foremost, I apologize for my deliquency in getting this post up. To be frank, my computer and I are breaking up….soon. The bitch has been anything but reliable as of late, and I can feel it coming. I can’t even talk about it…I’m so upset…let’s commence..and thank you for reading..

Charlotte Grant had a tea party last weekend. One of those old fashioned tea parties where the women and their young daughters arrive fully clad in flowing dresses, larger than life hats, white gloves, and high heeled shoes which sunk into the lawn as you walked, and you knew it was a huge mistake to wear them. We drank Buckingham English Tea (the same stuff the Queen of England serves), dined on cucumber sandwiches, and stuffed our faces full of Raspberry torte after insisting the cucumber sandwiches had done us in. When the Grandma’s left and the tea ran out, we cracked open bottles of champagne. While drinking the champagne, my mind began to wander (as it tends to) and I started thinking about the most fucked up relationship of all. That one relationship that guides our moral compass and dictates how we feel about ourselves and each other. Yeah..that’s the relationship I’m talking about. The Relationship.

Until this weekend, it had been ten years since I had last seen Charlotte’s Grandmother, Grandma Grant, and I saw her for the first time in a decade yesterday. Charlotte’s family is a highly religious bunch. Not in a they belong in a nut house way..just borderline. (And you can say this to Charlotte’s face..she knows.) Since my Grandma Robinson’s biggest piece of advice for me was “When you go to the casino, go all in”, Charlotte’s Grandma’s advice is a little more practical, chock full of biblical knowledge and wisdom. After hugging Grandma Grant yesterday, for some reason, I recalled something she told me years ago which made me start to think.

In my early 20’s, I asked Grandma Grant if she thought God has a sense of humor. I remember she laughed (she has one of those great grandma laughs, all twinkly), gave me a sideways glance, and said “Are you kidding? God has the greatest sense of humor of all. I mean, we’re here aren’t we?” So as I’m drinking champagne, getting plastered on Charlotte’s front lawn, I started wondering..

“Did God think it was funny that day I arrived at work, and for some reason I didn’t want to put on a shirt, so I put my coat on over my bra, and draped my shirt over my arm, and when I walked into the office, was surprised to find we had won a contest, and the higher ups were there, taking pictures of us, and everyone cheered as I walked through the door, and I was stunned thinking about the fact I was in my bra, and my boss knew I had this tendency to not get dressed, so he saw my shirt hanging on my arm, and just shook his head at me because he knew I wasn’t wearing anything under my coat?”

“Did God think it was funny that one and only time I hit a bong and got incredibly paranoid to the point I thought my friend was trying to kill me and ended up running down the hall of his apartment complex screaming he’s trying to kill me, and my friend caught me and threw me in the shower where I promptly puked everywhere?”

“Did God think it was funny that one night where I was so drunk and stumbling I lost my car in the parking garage and called Charlotte crying and crying about not knowing where my car was, and she was saying how was she supposed to know where I parked my car (being just slightly tipsy herself), and I was sobbing “I can’t believe I lost my car, I’m going to get raped out here by myself“, and she was like “no you’re not, you’re fine” and I said “No, I’m not, come get me” and she said “ just keep looking, it’s in the parking garage, I’ll stay on the line with you” where I promptly responded “Oh there it is” and hung up on her?”

“Oh and there was the time I didn’t like this group of girls at a club that were dancing too close to a male friend, so I ordered some beer, shook up the bottles, and sprayed the hell out of those bitches till they broke rank, screaming and running, the clackety clack of their heels sounding dangerously unclackety while slipping around in the beer? I hope God thought that was funny. Because to me, that’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever done.”

“And speaking of the fights we got into, did God think it was funny that time I wasn’t there, but Charlotte Grant cracked this girl in the jaw for touching her mink coat which happened because our other friend, Jean, was talking smack in the womens restroom where she was approached by a drunk chick who tried punching her in the face, but Jean got her first, and smashed the girl with her drinking glass, which prompted the girls friend to grab Charlotte who broke her jaw?” (I don’t make this shit up people, it all happened. Even classy chicks can act like trailer trash every now and then.)

So as I’m recounting my moments of shame and sin (And Charlotte‘s), Grandma Grant broke in again with her godly wisdom and I remembered something else she said to me. “God wants us to succeed. He wants us to do better and achieve more than those before us, and will be there every step of the way to help ensure your success”.

Back then, success meant one thing. Succeeding in my career and making money. As I’ve grown and evolved, life has had this funny way of opening up other arena’s which have been designed to test my abilities to succeed. Arena’s such as relationships, self worth, and Cat/Dog Momminess. Regarding success as a person, I look back on these things that I consider pivotal to have taken place and shaped the direction of my life:

1.) If the cowboy hadn’t broken up with me, I would have never taken my first personal banker job which was the first stepping stone to what my career is today.

2.) If I had decided not to see my psychic, I wouldn’t have broken up with a really nice, if wrong, guy, probably married him, and divorced him by now.

3.) If I had stayed with my addiction addled felon for a fiancé, I would have never realized the amount of strength, love, and respect I do have for myself and my friends/family. I would not have bought this amazing house and probably would not have adopted the love of my life, Charlotte Grace, this 111 lb St. Bernard who lords over my existence and beats my ass daily, but I love every second of it.

4.) And most recently, if I hadn’t have been fired from my dream job that was strangling the life out of me on a daily basis, I wouldn’t have rediscovered this gift for writing which has been allowing me to toss aside the shackles of the past, one bastard at a time.

So to tie this all together, I came to this conclusion. I don’t think God has been impressed by my drunken, naked, stumbling, high as a kite, madder than hell, having to impress the world, rambling blunders as I have been. God knows how impressed with myself I tend to be, and it’s a feeling I get that tends to say “Knock it off, Samantha.” But I don’t think God has been completely upset with me either. If he was, I wouldn’t be blessed with this life. This life that has taken so many wrong turns but has ended up so far with amazing friends, an amazing dog, new career aspects, and a renewed love of writing now coupled with an agenda to entertain and enlighten others. I would have to say Grandma Grant was right. God does want us to succeed, and in how we tend to get there is where the humor lies.

Mr./Miss. Office Bitch

It is of my opinion the office bitch tends to make their appearence as the result of being in over their head professionally. Bitchy co workers/managers are difficult to navigate. They tend to fixate on the little nitpicky things that shouldn’t matter and feel they are perfectly in their right to do so. They love to fixate on you if (Now, of course, excessive sick time taken and lateness are a problem. I’m talking about every now and then), you call in sick, are a few minutes late, or actually have the office opinion. Why do they occupy themselves on making our daily life hell? It’s easy..THEY SHOULDN’T BE IN THE MANAGEMENT ROLL THEY HAVE BEEN GIVEN. They shouldn’t be manager because they have difficultly focusing on what really matters. And what really matters is big manager stuff like sales numbers, office morale, coping with their own manager, and meeting what’s expected of them. No they can’t do that. So what they do is focus on you. And whatever about you they can control. Nice right?

And I’m going to stop everyone right here for a moment to get honest with everybody. If an identity of an individual which my words of wrath targets is identified and asked his/her opinion of my work ethic in the work place, it is very possible I would fall under this category. Though difficult for me to admit, my emotions tend to be all over the place, which has made me a challenge for some to manage. Have I been in over my head? Absolutely. However I must defend my actions to say I tend to get emotional when management misinterprets my emotions as weak. When I am judged harshly, I tend to go into a flight mode which renders me unable to fight. Although, this could also be shot down. I have been known to fight with others..but only when they deserved it.

With this being said I can now continue, with clear conscience, to testify that I have worked with male/female bitches. Back in the day I had a coworker, Nancy, who enjoyed using her office bitch status to unleash her stress by terrorizing everybody in the office. She was tricky because she could be really nice and enjoyable one moment, then pounce like a ravenous lion the next. I remember specifically her being in my face yelling about something I did incorrectly and every time I turned my head, trying to find an exit strategy, her medusa gaze followed. It took a manager to physically remove her from my personal space. (I should have hauled off and smacked the bitch in her face but I didn’t, and don’t ever do that!!)

In recent years, I have had the privilege of working for two bitch managers in a row. The first, I will give some slack, being I chalk a lot of her unkindness up to the fact she was so young and inexperienced. But God, could she scare the hell out of you. She had a look kind of like medusa’s before her. What was the worst about her was she was the passive aggressive type of office bitch. The type that would tell you you’re an idiot to your face then laugh..just really..laugh..seriously..I don’t think you’re an idiot..laugh. That type. But I dealt with her just fine. I find passive aggressiveness fun and called her an idiot many times. Laugh….no jk’s here.

The second was just sad and pathetic. This guy was probably the prissiest bitch I’ve met in my entire life..and I’m a prissy bitch. Everything had to work out according to his plan. He absolutely could not deal with “the curve ball”. I’ll paint you a story. I had the misfortune of breaking my arm a few years back by tripping on my Barbie heels and being rushed to the emergency room 1 minute before my sister’s wedding shower. (That was the only lucky thing that came out of this scenario). This was a Sunday. I took off Monday, went to work by my manager’s insistence Tuesday (he bitched about no evening coverage. God forbid he would stay so his employee with the broken arm could rest comfortably at home), took off Wednesday, had surgery Thursday, then was out on FMLA leave for two weeks. When I told him about the mandatory 2 week leave, he was very unhappy, bitched about how was he going to find coverage, but they would manage, I should have been more careful, look at what I was doing to him. The two weeks went by, and to my surprise, the arm healed within that short amount of time. As a joke, I called Mr. Office Manager Bitch to tell him I needed another 2 weeks for my arm to heal. You could feel the thunder start to roll even though it was nothing but silent on the other end. Then I heard him start banging his fists on his desk. I cut him off just as soon as the verbal assault was to begin. He tried smacking me with a warning when I went back to work for the two weeks I took off. But if I love a bitch, I love nothing better than a stupid one. I had FMLA coverage. He left very shortly after that being I set the target firmly on his back.

Lesson Number 165 -I have been successful at managing the Mr. or Miss. Bitch and maybe because I tend to be one myself. They’re looking for a reason to fight, so just don’t give them one. If they’re pissed because you called off sick, get a doctors note. Pissed because you were 10 minutes late, try your best to be 5-10 minutes early. And as advised in my previous post..avoid bringing HR into the situation at all cost unless you feel compelled they must know about the situation and there is no way you can be brought down. Here‘s a fun analogy. If Meryl Streep is to oscars, the office bitch is to manipulation, so use your own manipulation skills and defuse the bitch with their own manipulation tactics. Nothing renders the office bitch more powerless than you agreeing with their charge of you. My biggest piece of advise is just listen, swallow, and smile. If they accuse you of poor numbers you say your right, I do have poor numbers, and I could really use your advise on how to get them back up. (Imagine big eyes popping out of their heads here). For God sakes, Don’t EVER let them get you to argue back because this only pours fuel on the fire, and they just got what they wanted, a fight.

Oh, and finally, wait it out..they only have 1-2 years left (this is a high estimate) until they leave on their own accord or finally cross the no no line and get the axe. The bitchier they become, the closer you will see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or you can find a new job. No guarantees it would be any better. Bitches are everywhere!

My Strange Affliction for Men of the Cloth

priest and girlSssssssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….ok..not to my best attributes, but, for some reason I, long ago, developed this attraction to men who practice and preach religious beliefs and who have made the declaration before God to dedicate their existences to spreading the good word onto others. I have no idea why. I suspect it has something to do with

    The Thornbirds

. This show was very popular when I was a child and if you have never heard of this show because you were born after 1990, it was about a priest and a young girl’s forbidden love affair. I believe the show maybe somehow seeped into my psyche somewhere and influenced this naughty, dirty, BLASPHEMOUS obsession. However if you were to ask me if I wanted to marry a man of the word, absolutely a resounding no. attraction comes from a place of wanting to seduce a man who is supposedly unseduceable, winning over God, the power of feeling stronger than God. Yeah..that’s the draw. Absolute Power over the male species. The ordained male species.

Most disturbingly this burden arose when I was 18 years of age. It all started through an affiliation with my high school sweetheart. Hit me, but I was really lucky to have had the most incredible sweetheart ever. He opened doors, serenaded me with his sassy saxophone playing at prom, took me out every weekend (and was with me everyday), was never late, and always called on time when promised. He was also catholic. He was soooo catholic (you know the type ladies and gents??) and held on very tightly to the notion that sex comes only after marriage. And that is where my interest in him waned and I went looking for something that would satisfy the gaping hole only pressured virginity provides.

High School Sweetheart had a brother. A much older, intelligent, attractive, funny brother. This brother also had set his future on studying to be a man of the cloth. A Catholic Priest..forbidden to have sex or marry a woman. And being the wicked sinner I was (who am I kidding..still am) he became my seductive target.

Quite honestly, this morbid affair could have been nipped in the ass if he wouldn’t have returned my advances, but he seemed to respond very positively when I just so happened to move in too close for the kill. I think he knew I was coming on to him and he loved it. And where was High School Sweetheart? He was there..just too naïve to see what was unfolding right before his eyes. What did he have to worry about? It was his brother..who was studying the priesthood. And he had no idea what level of whore I was since he didn’t care to get to know that side of me.

Shamefully, I’m going to recount for you now a rainy afternoon where (let’s call him dirty daddy) Dirty Daddy called me to inform he was bored and wanted someone to play board games with him. I had just graduated High School and Sweetheart was working that day. I knew this was my opportunity to finally seduce and claim Dirty Daddy’s condemned soul as my own. I got ready to go over. I’m talking full hair, the hottest lipstick (which at the time was dark lip liner and metallic lipstick (shudder) 1999..burn in hell) low cut shirt for boobs and mid, and a gold butterfly necklace which Dirty Daddy and Sweetheart’s mother had given me for graduation (Sick). I went over and I can’t tell you what we played but I do know there was A LOT of sexual tension building up which was immediately deflated when Dirty Daddy’s mother arrived home from work. Deeply disappointed I left soon after and while driving home I felt anger that my plan of attack had been thwarted by the untimely arrival of mom.

It wasn’t that long after High School Sweetheart and I started going through our rough patch which ultimately ended with us parting ways after 3 years together. We pulled apart soon after the subject of marriage was brought up and he expressed he wanted to marry me. Freaked the fuck out, I somehow managed to blurt out I was in love with his brother. He looked at me like I had just blown a hole through his gut using an AK-47. But I didn’t feel bad for saying it. It wasn’t until after he left my house in a fury that it dawned on me I wouldn’t see Dirty Daddy again without his connection. I grabbed my car keys and rushed over to his house to find Dirty Daddy on the front stoop of their home. I knew everyone knew. I asked to speak to Sweetheart and Dirty Daddy said Sweetheart wouldn’t see me. I was hoping Dirty Daddy would say something to me, or ask me not to leave. But he didn’t. He just sat on the stoop and I knew my time there was done.

I heard later Dirty Daddy left his ambition to join the priesthood shortly after Sweetheart and I broke up. Even as I write this I hear “Family Guy’s” Stewie’s “Victory is Mine” play over in my head. Good Lord!!

Not done. A few years later Charlotte Grant and I decided the best place to meet rich men would be to join a church in an affluent area. Smart..except that we didn’t count on the fact typically married men with wives and children joined church services on Sunday Mornings. Since the pickin’s were slim, I started fixating on the church’s minister. He was much older (late 40’s) and there was something very distinguished about him and his nature. But also something Dirty. There was something about him where I knew he wasn’t what he seemed and while he was in the pulpit preaching the good word, only God knew I was dreaming of the dirty things he might do to me. I can’t tell you how many times Charlotte would look over at me and see my glazed over eyes. She would typically nudge to remind me we where in God’s house and ask me to come back to mental place of sanctity.

Lesson 21-For God sakes, leave the men of cloth alone. I know it’s dirty and appealing to think they would abandon God for you, but lets face it. If they abandon the church it’s because higher powers are calling them to do so. Do yourself a favor and decide against eternal damnation for yourself, even if leading others to it is fun and exciting.