Mom’s Deathversary Year 8

It’s the 8th anniversary of my mother’s death, it’s Friday the 13th, and I’m in Facebook Jail for calling someone a stupid cunt. At the tender age of 33, I became an orphan. I knew very little about adulting then, but look how mature I am now.

I’d done a few ‘social experiments’ on Facebook before to see what Herr Zuck would tolerate, since a bunch of the crazies got thrown off Facebook (I’d share Alex Jones and Paul Joseph Watson crap just to see if I’d get censored ). Zuck, however, knows my actual political affiliation better than I do.

I wasn’t even trying to get in trouble, but the cunt who I called a cunt snitched on me. My mother, who was the nicest person, wouldn’t have approved. I wish I could talk to my mom. I’d tell her about being forsaken by various people since her death, Trump, and I’d apologize for a lot.

My friend, who doesn’t want anything much to do with me, has told me more than once that I could’ve saved my mom. If I’d taken her temperature or insisted even harder that she go to the doctor. Friends, am I right?

December 8th Birthday Post Finished January 30th Part 1

I’ve divided this huge post into 2 parts since it is over 2000 words.


If you’ve been following my blog of late, you might recall a couple posts back a post on being depressed. As always though, I can’t bear my blog turning into a total Festival of Self-Loathing, so I took to making fun of it. Amazingly, making fun of it made it feel less terrible and less real, the kind comments I got helped too! But yeah, depressed I have been and depressed I am over something silly. I tried and am trying not to show it too much to my mother, but I’ve been in one of those “No one will ever love me, life is hopeless, I’m about to cry” moods so popular with Emo-types. Boo the freaking hoo.

On my birthday, however, something magical seemed to happen and I actually woke up feeling good. The darkness that had engulfed me lifted. The day came and it didn’t seem to matter that I was a 33 year-old nothing. Life seemed good, almost like I had never found out that Ann Coulter and I shared the same birthday, puke and bletch (OK, I’m joking about minding that she and I have the same birthday, may blessings abound for her in the hopes whatever got stuck in her craw gets coughed up soon).

Happy Birthday, Fellow Bitch!!!

The day before my dear online friend who shares the same birthday as me instant messaged me a happy birthday one day early in case he didn’t see me on our birthday. He’s one of the most thoughtful chaps, and many people don’t like him due to his strange ideas and gentle ways, but I think the world of him because he always sort of looks after me.

I went to bed in that “Oh woe is me !”attitude, but something wonderful seemed to happen the next morning. I woke up not dreading facing another year of nothingness. Instead I was happy, like my life was going just as I had always hoped it would, like I wasn’t a 33 year-old virgin with little to look forward to but pining for unrequited loves and wondering how my life might have been different. I was happy, holy heck! The last several days I had been so lonely and miserable and now I was fine, like a wind had changed direction. I was grateful. I didn’t have to pretend to be joyous. I felt as though God had tossed me a gift and said, “Here, girl. Worry about being a loser tomorrow.”

And my answer to God was as if I said, “Well…OK!” (Insert maniacal laughter here).

I opened up my netbook, and what do you know, it was a love fest for me on Facebook. My bloggy friends were sending me birthday wishes and like the Grinch my heart grew big as I realized all the folks liked me enough to wish me a happy birthday. My chat room friends and old school friends too! I even received birthday wishes in a personal message from my best friend’s aunt. I was very impressed.

Now, there’s a great advantage in having a daughter like me. I can be pleased real cheap, which is a good thing if you have a $250.00 car payment added on to all the other bills. Mom brought me a little package wrapped in cheerful, flowery wrapping paper. “Where did you get that wrapping paper?” I asked, figuring I’d get the “December Baby Special,” i.e, Christmas wrap.

“Found it in the closet.”

“Oh cool!” Vague recollection of the pattern from a while back soon emerged.

I already knew what I had by the shape of the package: The set of 3 My Little Pony Ponyville miniature horses I had admired at that bastion of aesthetically  pleasing wares, The Family Dollar. I wouldn’t have turned down electronics, antiquarian books, or jewelry, mind you, but give me something I collect and I’m as happy as a pig in shit. I guess it returns me to the good times of my wasted youth. I was a big My Little Pony lover, as probably 75% of 1980s girls were. Compared to the ones that came out in the 80s, some of these regular sized modern ones with giant heads look like they were designed by someone sniffing glue, but I love them anyway.

In lieu of diamonds, send My Little Ponies.