Tabitha Takes on Bad Choices

Note: Page admin Tabitha really wants to write the last post of 2013 (or, depending on where you are in the world, the first post of 2014). If she wants to spend her New Year's Eve ranting, who am I to stop her? I wish all my Drunkards a very Happy New Year, and as always, I have no control over what she writes. Apologies as necessary. - CB

she is so stupid.

hi, y'all. tabby here. i'm going to tell you a story.

snuggle up, everyone.

last night, a certain blogger - who i won't name but who is a huge loser and doesn't let me guest-post nearly often enough - got upset with a certain friend. turned off the computer and went to bed, in fact. because - oh listen to this, this is beautiful - because he said he was going to eat frosting out of a can.

that's a fucking coping strategy, amiright?

she won't admit this to anyone, but this unnamed blogger - who is an aries and has a weird fixation with monkey art - minds deeply that her friend makes unhealthy choices. takes it as a slap in the face, if you will. like maybe she thinks she should be worth staying alive for? i don't know.

don't ask me to go inside her head. it's scary. and fat.

here's the funny goddamn thing, though. while she's getting upset over her friend's bad choices, she's polishing off a bottle of vodka that she bought two days ago. i guess because she loves him enough to brine her liver for him.

there's a word for that, right? hyp...hippo...hypocree...

the hell with it. i'm not wordish. this works just as well.

people. own your bad choices. omigosh, i make bad choices, like, all the time. like that time i tried to ride an alligator. they are mean, nasty fuckers. i think that smile they make is a total scam. if those kittens hadn't come along and distracted the alligator, i don't know what might have happened to little old me that day.

feel free to infer that the fearless kitty vanquished the
large, killer reptile if it will help you sleep.

anyway. i've been reading all these end of the year blogs lately. and either everyone had a crappy year, or every blogger on the internet has been having a yearlong period with wicked cramps and their favorite panties keep getting ruined. because my gosh, the whining.

"my marriage tanked." "my mother got cancer." "i lost my job." "i'm a failure."

well, boo-fucking-hoo, people. I paid $2 extra for the spot-free rinse on my car wash, and there were spots on my car. you don't see me falling apart as if my dog died.

of course, i don't have dog.
they're so goddamn clingy.

my point is, i made the choice to shell out good money on a spot-free rinse, and i got burned. as the saying goes, caveat emptor (which is latin for "tough titties, bitch," if i'm not mistaken). all of our choices have consequences. you smoke too much, drink too much, sleep around, hang out in dive bars...there's gonna be consequences. you live a good, clean life and contract some horrible disease anyway...hell, you must have done something wrong. maybe your jesus isn't white enough.

if he doesn't look like ted neeley, i cannot even help you.

my point is, stuff happens. bad stuff. just, like, terrible stuff. because we're all awful people and deserve what we get. i mean, for some of us, it's pretty much a fucking injustice because we are slammin' hot and sexy, while other people should maybe actually breathe a sigh of relief because, when you balance what happens to them against what a drag they are, probably they're coming out a little ahead, although it may not feel that way to those people because they suck like a hull breach in deep space anyway i'm totally not naming names CHUCK.

brb. going to my happy place for a mo.

my point is, if stuff happens that makes you feel like a loser, you don't have to handle it like a loser. you don't have to go all drama queen and roll your damn eyes just because you've rolled snake eyes in the craps game of life, or because someone you love is destroying yourself right in front of you and you can't do anything about it because fuck you, you're not their mother. be cool, fool.

you know those people who nothing bad ever happens to them and their lives are perfect? like, their kids are all precious angels dipped in full-ride scholarships, and their house contains three specks of dust that they call "this horrible mess," and they're always apologizing for only bringing five dozen homemade cookies to the band concert because they had church, an hoa meeting, and accepting parent of the year from the pta all on the same day?

and their jesus makes ted neeley
look like some kind of semite.

you don't hear those people complaining, do you? certainly not about putrid little nothings like doubt, remorse, fear, or insecurity. the people who appear most perfect have learned to shut the hell up about shit like that. instead they focus on the positive, like how they're going to pull off pretending they can totally afford two car payments. or making themselves seem taller by throwing everyone else under the bus (it's hard to be tall when you're under the bus, yo).

and the result of all that positive attitude is that nothing bad ever happens to those people and they are so way better than you. they make that happen. purely by denying the reality of anything that might mess with their 10-foot jenga tower of forcing themselves to seem happy at all times.

is that really so damn difficult?

to sum up (in case you're a dumbass like some bloggers i know): if you want a good life, make good choices. then everything will be perfect. if you make bad choices, you'll never learn or grow or discover the inner strength that comes from admitting vulnerability. because that's not how life works, duh.

and if someone you love makes bad choices, what the hell do you care? it is soooo much easier to cut the off like an abcessed testicle than to see your own frailties reflected in theirs and try to accept them and yourself for what you are.

knowhutimean?

you could, like, make that your new year's resolution or something. or not. whatever.

don't start thinking i care. that's for chumps.

ciao, people. catch you in 2014.