Two Hundred Years and One Day in the Life of Charles Baudelaire

 When I fuck up, I really fuck up.

Yesterday was my birthday. Thank you to those who are connected to me IRL and sent me birthday wishes. It sucked. Not the wishes, the birthday. But that's not your fault.

But see, it wasn't just my birthday. It was the birthday of my nom de blog and muse, Charles Baudelaire.

Shown here looking typically joyful.

And it wasn't just CBau's birthday, it was his 200th birthday. The bicentennial. The big two-oh-oh. After sweet 16 and 42 (the year you finally realize it's not in fact the answer to life, the universe, and everything), probably the biggest milestone birthday any of us will see in our lifetimes. Or something.

And I missed it. Completely. Totally. Utterly.

I should have been celebrating it all year. I should have had a big buildup, a multi-post commemoration, stanzas of questionable style and taste written in his honor.

But I didn't. Because although he and I share a birthday, I have Charles Baudelaire squarely beaten in the being a horrible person department. Which is saying a lot, seeing as he was a drunk, a prodigal, and a pretentious git.

I have no excuse. After years of using heavy drinking to explain away egregious lapses of memory and propriety, I can't exactly point to five months of sobriety (as of yesterday) to excuse same now. I can't blame Covid, because like most people I've spent the last 14 months desperate for anything to take my mind off Covid for one damn minute. I briefly considered holding Tucker Carlson responsible, but that would require me to think about his stupid punchable face, and I don't need that aggravation in my life.

Owning the libs by looking like you're watching the end
of 2001: A Space Odyssey in your head at all times.

So it comes down to me just whiffing on the opportunity to celebrate the life of the poet who inspired this blog. No biggie. Maybe after another 53 years on this planet I'll do better.

But I want to try to make up for my existential breach by presenting a list of fascinating facts about Mr. Charles Baudelaire. These are all true and not made up by me on the spot in a continuation of my failure to honor the man in a manner befitting his legacy. If you read this blog you're likely to believe this.

Charles Baudelaire - 10 Fun Facts About a Super-Fun Guy

1. To make money as a struggling poet, young Charles would wrestle alligators that he dragged up from the sewers of Paris. 

2. Baudelaire was an admirer of Edgar Allan Poe and invented the po'boy sandwich in his honor.

3. He suffered from amaxophobia (fear of riding in a car), which went undiagnosed due to the automobile not being invented in his lifetime.

4. Baudelaire once wrote a 20,000-word poem about eye boogers. He was so crushed by the negative critical reception that he bought up all the published copies and fed them to stray cats in his neighborhood.

5. Speaking of cats, at one time he owned every cat in Luxembourg, although he allowed the citizens of the country to care for them when he wasn't there.

6. In 1840, Baudelaire changed his middle name from Pierre to Ono.

7. It is widely believed that Baudelaire turned into a werewolf when the moon was full, but only for about 20 minutes.

8. His first published book of poems, Les Fleurs du mal, was originally going to be titled There's a Wocket in My Pocket!, which was later used by Dr. Seuss in his honor.

9. Baudelaire became addicted to opium partly to dull the pain of carpal tunnel syndrome caused by excessive playing of the Japanese pinball game pachinko.

10. After his death, it was discovered that Charles Baudelaire was actually three exotic modernist poet dwarfs in a trench coat.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Baudelaire. I'll try to do better on your semiquincentennial. See you then. Love, Chuck

Adorable Animals, Ranked

<ambient keyboard whooshing>

<officious pinging sounds>

Welcome to today’s presentation of adorable animals for May 14, 2019. These rankings have not been certified. Repeat, these rankings have not been certified. Please register your challenges with Central Control. Thank you.

<computer noises...beeps and boops and shit like that>

Rankings commence...now.

Number Ten: Juvenile Corn Snake

Number Nine: Otter in Swimming Pose

Number Eight: Guinea Pig, Multicolored

Number Seven: Capuchin Monkey, Dressed As People

Image mismatch detected. Recalculating.

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Number Seven: Capuchin Monkey, Dressed As People

Number Six: Beagle, Puppy Stage

Number Five: Crow Wearing Expression of Curiosity

<clicking, as of a computerized brain achieving sentience>

Cross-reference Curious Crow Cannabis Company of Tonasket, Washington.

<Long electronic whistle, like R2-D2>

Number Four: Smiling Gecko

Number Three: Baby Tiger, Extreme Cuteness Mode

Number Two: Hedgehog in Slightly Furled Position

Number One:

Number One:

Number One:

<Old-timey Windows 3.1 error thud sound>

We are experiencing technical difficulties. Please wait.

Adorable animal loading now.

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Number One: Alligator On Casual Friday

This concludes today’s ranking of adorable animals. Thank you.

Five Faves on Social Media

Lately I've spent more time reading/watching social media than writing/contributing. Life ebbs and flows, and right now that's where the ebb it's been going. See what I did there?

Anyway.

I thought I'd share a few of my current favorite social media accounts with you, so you can see where my head's at. Note: I define social media as Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube. I'm too old for Tumblr and far too unhip for Instagram*, although some of my faves definitely may be active on those platforms in addition to the ones I list here.

*I do have an Instagram, but frankly it baffles me, so basically I only use it to stalk Fredrik from "Million Dollar Listing New York."

In no particular order, here are the accounts you could follow if you wanted to see the world through my eyes (good God, why?)

WeRateDogs (@dog_rates on Twitter): They're good dogs, Brent. Home of the best doggos and puppers, heartwarmingly and hilariously ranked for your convenience. A true phenomenon.

Single Dad Laughing (Facebook): Parenthood, dating, and lifestyle blogger. I follow him mainly for his daily roundup of memes, which I regularly steal/share on my own Facebook page.

Pictures in History (Facebook): The guy who runs this account consistently posts unique and fascinating photographs - not just the ones that are repeated and repackaged ad nauseam in clickbait articles (and I would know because I'm a sucker for clickbait articles - come at me, bro). Fun stuff.

Moshow the Cat Rapper (@IAmMoshow on Twitter and Facebook): Just what he sounds like - a dude who raps about cats, with his cats (he has five). But more than that, he's a sweet, genuine guy who spreads positivity with every post. If you could use a smile several times a day, give him a look.

Tiny Snek Comics (@TinySnekComics on Facebook and Twitter): The artwork here is so ludicrously simple it's beautiful; the jokes are so blase they're profound. The young man who draws Tiny Snek comics has created an entire visual and verbal language that conveys depth and sincerity through extreme silliness. He just graduated from college, but I hope the real world doesn't end his comics.

*****

There's five. I'll come up with five more another time. In the meantime, do me two favors:

1. Share your favorite social media accounts.

2. If you visit any of mine, tell them Chuck Baudelaire sent you.

I'm off to check my notifications. G'night.

Charity Begins on the Internet

Top Ten GoFundMe Campaigns That Didn't Reach Their Goal

10. Send My Nana to Pole Dancing Camp ($46 of $250 raised)

9. The Fender Blender (Make Delicious Smoothies While You Navigate the Pothole-Infested Streets of Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio) ($912 of $3,006 raised)

8. The Campaign to Obtain and Destroy All Existing Copies of Richard Harris' "MacArthur Park" and the Master Recording Too ($817 of $25,000 raised)

7. Let's Make Smoking Cool Again ($143.17 of $2,500 raised)

6. Help Me Self-Publish "The Festering Pustule of Hate in the Pit of My Soul: A Book about Feelings" ($25 of $3,200 raised)

5. Howie's Fund for Howard Goldblatt's Earlobe Transplant ($1,800 of $63,250 raised)

4. Need a New Steam Iron Please Help ($12 of $110 raised)

3. Cuddle Scales: The Thundershirt for Nervous Snakes ($122.50 of $4,000 raised)

2. Just Four Ounces of Halfway Decent Weed ($650 of $800 raised - so close!)

And the Number One GoFundMe Campaign That Didn't Reach Its Goal:

1. My Fucking Stepmom Screwed Her Way into My Dad's Will ($963 of $100,000 raised)

Thanks for your support.

Twenty-Eight Things I'm Certain Donald Trump Has Never Done

Why 28? It's my favorite number.

I'm 99.44% sure Trump has never:

1. Rolled out a homemade pie crust.

2. Placed a receipt from a paid parking lot on his dashboard.

3. Worn the mesh bag from a Thanksgiving turkey as a hat.

4. Attended a Renaissance Faire (in or out of costume).

5. Impulse-bought something from the Dollar Spot at Target.

6. Attended a dollar movie theater.

7. Looked in his sofa cushions for enough money to buy donuts.

8. Wandered aimlessly around the adjoining shopping center while his mom shopped for groceries.

9. Checked a payphone coin return for change.

10. Binge-watched "The Big Bang Theory."

11. Walked home from somewhere because he missed the last bus.

12. Cleaned out the nasty soap scum and hair mixture from the bathroom sink drain.

13. Repainted the spare bedroom.

14. Responded to a newspaper ad offering original Beatles records for sale.

15. Wondered how he could afford to pay his income taxes.

16. Sat in the cheap seats at a sporting event.

17.  Made homemade Christmas gifts for loved ones.

18.  Sweated a job interview and/or offer.

19.  Changed a burnt-out porch light.

20.  Vacuumed the upholstery of his car.

21. Bought an underground title at an independent comic book store.

22.  Bought an alcoholic beverage at a convenience store.

23.  Bought tamales from a little Latino door-to-door salesman.

24.  Bought a Powerball ticket.

25.  Gone commando because he soiled his underwear.

26.  Sought out the non-MST3K version of an MST3K movie.

27.  Laughed knowingly at a Monty Python reference posted on social media by an old friend.

28.  Issued a sincere apology to someone he treated badly.

In case you're wondering, I've done ALL of these things.

If you can provide proof that Trump has, please let me know. I'm not really anticipating that, but sure, why not? I'll totally issue a retraction.

BTW, "issuing a retraction for saying something stupidly and demonstrably false" would be #29 on my list.

Bits N Pieces

Some short takes for a long weekend:

• My guest post for The Booklynite is up. Check it out, and then check out the whole blog, because she's a pretty kick-ass person and my newest Friend I've Never Met.

• With college football season kicking off, I feel the need to watch (for the 80,000th time) my all-time favorite Key and Peele bit:

• Drummer Boy and I will be watching Gene Wilder movies this weekend. We will laugh, and possibly cry. I wonder if he's ever seen The Producers?

• Here's a big one: Precocious Daughter and I will be spending Thanksgiving week in my hometown. My parents have moved into their new house in suburban Milwaukee, and we're going to visit. I'm excited to see it again, and even more excited to show PDaughter her mom's old haunts. I hope that's not weird. Is that weird? I hope not.

• I just found out that Netflix is re-booting one of my all-time favorite shows, "One Day at a Time." It will feature a Cuban-American family, with Rita Moreno(!) as the grandma. All the characters will be new, except Schneider. Exactly as it should be. Oh, and I tweeted about it, and the show's producer responded. Sweet.

• Finally, this: It's September, even though New Year's Day was, like, three weeks ago. Damn, 2016, though. I feel as if we will have to face at least one more major celebrity death in the next four months. Give me strength, Drunkards. We're all going to need it.

More tomorrow. If I haven't told you lately...I love you guys.

Books As Old As You

A couple of months ago, Good Housekeeping published a pretty cool slideshow called "The Most Popular Book the Year You Were Born."

It covers the years 1930 to 2016. I'm not sure how many babies born this year are already reading popular literature, but for those who are, you best get your chubby little hands on a copy of Ron Chernow's biography of Alexander Hamilton, pronto.

There's so much more than his famous duel
with Aaron Burr! Also, I made poopie!

I bookmarked GH's list because I thought it would be fun to read every book on it that I haven't already made it through. For the record, I've read only 15 of them, which kind of stinks, although many of the ones I haven't read have been on my reading bucket list for a long time. That...sort of counts? No, it doesn't. I'm lame and way behind on my reading. Hence my bookmarking.

The most popular book the year I was born was John Updike's Couples. I've never read it, although I've read a couple of Updike's Rabbit novels. So I'll be seeking that out pretty soon. The most popular book the year Precocious Daughter was born was Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. She was amazed to learn that the Harry Potter books predate her. Apparently the universe began when she was born, which I guess is a pretty normal attitude for a 16-year-old.

I'll let her believe it while she can.

Anyway, I thought it would be fun if you guys checked out the list and then shared which book was most popular the year YOU were born. And whether you've read it. Or want to. It would be crazy cool to hook someone up with a new favorite book this way. Also, I'll get to find out how old/young my Drunkards are. Then I can leverage that data into...Fuck it, I don't leverage data. I'm just nosey curious.

How about it? Let me know the name of the book that defined your birth year, and whether it defines you or just seems like a sign that you were born in messed-up times. (Spoiler alert: We were all born in messed-up times.)

Ready, set...go.

Very Most Favorite Songs

My pal Allie Cat did a blog post today about the 1966 hit "Red Rubber Ball" by the Cyrkle. I love that freaking song.



How adorable is that video? Very adorable, that's how adorable.

Anyway, that got me thinking about the select group of songs that I consider among my Very Most Favorite in the World Ever. These are songs I never turn off if they play on the radio, that I would add to my highest quality playlists, that I would never, even under Guantamano Bay torture, renounce.

I went there, Dick Cheney.

This isn't an exhaustive list, but it's a good sampling. Check it out.

"Baker Street" - Gerry Rafferty
This is the single version rather than the album track, but it's the best video I found.



"Roll with the Changes" - REO Speedwagon
There are some bands that just capture a specific, significant moment in your life. REO Speedwagon does it for me. Love this song. Love Kevin Cronin's hair.




"Step," Vampire Weekend
Based on the musical structure of Pachelbel's "Canon in D." But with gorgeous, inscrutable vocals. So beautiful. My heart breaks.




"Like a Rolling Stone," Bob Dylan
Still the most electrifying, polarizing, norm-defying song I've ever heard. Listen to each backing instrument individually if you can - Al Kooper's revolutionary organ riff, Mike Bloomfield's sinuous lead guitar, Paul Griffin's plaintive piano. And absolutely kick-ass Tom Wilson production bringing them all together.




"Crazy," Patsy Cline
This is my go-to karaoke song, not that I do it justice. One of Willie Nelson's finest compositions (which is really saying something). We lost Patsy way too soon. Amazing performance of an incredible song.




"Don't Go Back to Rockville," R.E.M.
You may know that I'm a huge R.E.M. fan, and that I consider five of their albums to be among the greatest American rock ever recorded. Their 1984 album Reckoning probably literally saved my life back in the day, and this song is my very favorite among a group of utterly brilliant tracks. The piano is heartbreaking (a particular weakness of mine - see "Like a Rolling Stone" above), the lyrics manage to be universal despite telling a very specific story. Thanks, R.E.M. I still don't forgive you for "Shiny Happy People," but, you know....




"River Deep, Mountain High" - Tina Turner
Written by Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich, produced by Phil Spector, and sung by the incomparable Tina Turner, this song is by any measure a masterpiece of pop music. And it was a total slop when released in the U.S. in 1966. Let this sink in for a moment: Phil Spector became crazy because this song wasn't a hit.  Powerful stuff.



What's on your list, Drunkards? I totally want to know.

Things to Do When You're Alone

Update: I left two things off this list. First, go to Wayfair.com and order all the things. Guiltily take most of them out of your cart before placing the order. But definitely buy the pot rack. Second, watch multiple episodes of "Beachfront Bargain Hunt." Wonder for 870th time how the hell these people can afford to just pack up and move to a beach and/or how you get one of those "jobs I can do from anywhere."

OK, now the list is complete. Go on with your life.

**********

I'm learning how to be a grown-up single person. It's different from what I'm used to.

That's me in the middle of everything I used to know.

Grown-ups have to learn to deal with disappointment. I totally get that. But single-lady disappointment is different from married-lady disappointment. Married-lady disappointment typically consists of not being alone when you want to be, while single-lady disappointment tends to involve being alone when you don't want to be.

I'm learning.

Yay, it's fun.

Here are a few things I learned today about coping when you've planned an adult playdate, complete with sleepover, and instead ended up spending the entire day (and night) by yourself.

1. Drink all the alcohol. All of it. The bottle you bought five days ago that you promised would last two weeks, the small bottle of the good stuff your estranged spouse bought you to distract from shafting you $1500 on Christmas Day, the two bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade that otherwise might have stayed in the fridge forever because you don't really like Mike's Hard Lemonade. It will solve nothing. Do it anyway.

2. Spend some time checking out your ass in the new jeans you bought this weekend. They're a smaller size than anything you've worn in at least five years. And while I don't recommend the end your marriage, sell your house, and ruin your credit diet, you can't argue with the results. Your ass looks great. Admire it, because no one else will.

3. Color your hair. Over the last few months, taking care of your hair has taken a back seat to pretty much everything. You're sick and tired of your mousey-blonde, gray-streaked roots. Color it. Yes, you're going to get a lot of your new highlights chopped off later this week, but who cares? You love the smell of the conditioner.

4. Dance naked. Because you can. No one can see you or your cottage-cheese thighs. Enjoy your killer moves.

5. Turn off the alarm. You're sleeping in tomorrow. If you must sleep alone, at least sleep late. You deserve it.

Good night, Drunkards.

Thoughts (Not Deep)

I started to write a post last night, but I got drunk and fell asleep.

That's probably a good thing. One of the sentences I wrote was "Pardon my French, but fuck me in the ass with a rusty beer can."

So there were overall tone issues with the post.

Instead of what I was going to write, here's a picture of a bathtub full of puppies.

That's much better.

Now, here are my thoughts of the day.

Beetlejuice should not have a sequel. Seriously. It's a perfect film. Leave it be.

Donald Trump is an idiot. Hardly an original thought, but it comes from the bottom of my heart.

I think that both the Bill Cosby and Caitlyn Jenner Halloween costumes are hilarious. If you're offended by social satire but are OK with 10-year-olds trick-or-treating as sexy witches, you need to abandon this holiday, please.

It's probably not emotionally healthy for me to be helping my almost-ex find an apartment. But I'm doing it. Because I do not know the meaning of the words "emotionally healthy."

Actually, "fuck me in the ass with a rusty beer can" is a pretty good oath.

Why do so many people hate snakes? Snakes are awesome.

I really need to make a doctor appointment so I can get back on my meds. I ran out a couple of weeks ago, and the crazy is barking to come in.

And on that note...let's all try to have a good day and not kill anyone, OK?

Just One More Thing

D'oh!

Can you believe there are people in their 20s who have
never lived in a world without the word "D'oh!"?

In last night's post, I made a list of things I did yesterday. If it seemed kind of random, that's because I fell asleep writing it, woke up late, and very quickly finished and posted it.

But the thing is, there was supposed to to be a point to my list.

The point was that I was going to list all these fairly mundane things, and then finish it up with the kicker. The kicker being the thing I said I was going to do in the post before last night's post.

The filing-for-divorce thing.

Yeah, I did that yesterday.

I could not find a single stock photo of a lefty
filling out a form. That's offensive.

Turns out if you're broke and you don't own anything or have any investments and your kid is old enough to decide who she wants to live with, getting divorced is pretty damn easy. Not that I'm advising anyone to be broke and not own anything or have any investments. Myself, I look forward to rectifying those things. Hell, if I had those things I probably wouldn't be getting divorced. Probably.

Anyway, so I blew the kicker to last night's post. But I just wanted to put it out there belatedly.

Confidential to Smee: $50K for a motorcycle? The mind boggles.

House Rules

Hi, Drunkards! I love you all and thank you for reading my little old blog!

You'll get used to my ambivalent attitude toward Internet fame eventually.

I do have some new followers here, so I thought I'd briefly explain the house rules for this blog, both for the benefit of new readers and to remind faithful fans that they're crazy for keeping up with me.

I want you all to enjoy reading my humble words as much as I enjoy writing them. Which is approximately a shit ton, give or take a bunch. And I don't want anybody to get offended, or affronted, or bent out of shape by anything you may read here. Not that I care if you do, per se, but I'd like to avoid having to kiss your hurt butt if I can.

Therefore, I present:

Chuck Baudelaire's House Rules for This Here Blog

• I write about whatever I feel like writing about. Sometimes it's monkeys, sometimes it's my unraveling marriage, sometimes it's crazy-ass right-wing nutjobs. Oooh, sometimes it's completely random crap that tickled me at a particular moment. I hope my scribblings amuse you, but if they don't, it's best you leave.
• I don't like to be pigeonholed. Typically, liberals think I'm too conservative, and conservatives think I'm too liberal. I don't support Hillary Clinton, I don't like guns, I believe government at every level is probably too big and convoluted, and I think any attempt to legislate a woman's reproductive choices is repulsive. 
• Although I believe in God, I don't identify as Christian. I am friends with many devout Christians. As long as they don't talk smack about gay people or abortion, I respect them completely.
• I like vodka. A lot. I'm pretty sure that once I'm divorced I will cut back my alcohol consumption by 90% of more. In the meantime, I'm guessing you'll be able to identify what I wrote while drunk.
• Benedict Cumberbatch makes me happy. Because he's handsome and talented and a good person, and because his name is Benedict Cumberbatch and he owns that shit.
• Sometimes I curse. I won't stop.
• I'm 47 years old. If you think I'm an old lady with nothing relevant to say...fuck you.

There are probably more rules. But you get the gist. Also, I welcome your comments. Please comment on this or any other post. Really. I love engagement. Just remember it goes both ways.

I love you already.

Chuck and Chuck's Principles for Life

Precocious Daughter gave me a whole stack of bookmarks featuring Chuck Norris' Principles for Life.

Starring Chuck Norris.

My child knows me so well.

Chuck Norris, of course, is the founder, sponsor, and spirit animal of PDaughter's karate organization. And the reason I willingly drag myself to whatever corner of Texas is holding the state karate tournament each year. Because I can't miss my yearly opportunity to yell "Hi Chuck!"

This is as close as I am legally and ethically allowed
to get to Chuck Norris.

Anyway, PDaughter's karate instructor happened to have a stack of these bookmarks sitting around, and she snagged them for me because she is wonderfully tolerant of my Chuck obsession, as long as I stop short of actually inspiring a restraining order.

So I'm reading through Chuck's Principles for Life - as one does - and I realized a couple of things.

One is that, if Chuck is true to his words on this bookmark, then he essentially is Jesus in black pajamas.

Second is that there is no way Chuck can be true to his words. Human beings were not created to be this perfect.

Mostly we are made of derp.

I know that Chuck has an image to protect, a persona to project. And I'm willing to cut him plenty of slack when it comes to his bookmark o' principles. If I were Chuck, I would pretend to live my live this way, too.

But I don't.

So if you admire the icon that is Chuck Norris but despair of ever approaching his level of Chuckness, then I've got good news.

I've created some alternate principles for life for the rest of us. They parallel Chuck's principles, but they're a tad bit more accessible to those of us who don't reach the pinnacle of Mt. St. Walker Texas Ranger.

In the following list, Chuck Norris' Principles for Life are in bold, and Chuck Baudelaire's Principles for At Least Not Failing are below.

Mix and match, if you feel so bold.

Chuck's (and Chuck's) Principles for Life

I will develop myself to the maximum of my potential in all ways.

I will remember that crushing, humiliating failure means I at least tried

I will forget the mistakes of the past and press on to greater achievements.

I will rewrite my personal history as often as necessary, or at least until the new version starts showing up on Google.

I will always be in a positive frame of mind and convey this feeling to every person that I meet.

I will endeavor not to physically attack people who smile at me before I've had my coffee.

I will continually work at developing love, happiness and loyalty in my family and acknowledge that no other success can compensate for failure in the home.

I will love the children I had with the spouse I divorced, the child I had out of wedlock, and the kids I had with my second wife, and will consider it a win if I do. 

I will look for the good in all people and make them feel worthwhile.

I will wish nothing but the best for the sister-in-law who shunned me after I separated from my spouse and who has now decided she'd rather have sex with women than with her unfaithful husband.

If I have nothing good to say about a person, I will say nothing.

If I have nothing good to say about a person, I will write a blog post.

I will always give so much time to the improvement of myself that I will have no time to criticize others.

As long as vodka counts as self-improvement.

I will always be as enthusiastic about the success of others as I am about my own.

I will swallow my envy and resentment of successful people until it appears that I am just thrilled for them.

I will maintain an attitude of open-mindedness toward another person's viewpoint while still holding fast to what I know to be true and honest.

I will never, ever subscribe to that "love the sinner, hate the sin" bullshit. Being a judgmental hypocrite is a way worse sin than anything one can do by being true to oneself.

I will maintain respect for those in authority and demonstrate this respect at all times.

Unless those in authority act like assholes. Then all bets are off.

I will always remain loyal to my God, my country, family and my friends.

I will remain to loyal to people and entities whose actions inspire loyalty. I won't defend anyone for being a shithead.

I will remain highly goal-oriented throughout my life because that positive attitude helps my family, my country and myself.

I will remain highly goal-oriented throughout my life despite what my family or my country thinks, and I will rise above my own doubts so that I can transcend the arbitrary opinions of others.

The thing about principles is that we can create our own, and as long as we live by them, no one can call us a failure.

Right?

Safe Words

So, guys, if I'm ever abducted by aliens and replaced with a cyborg-clone-pod, how would you ever know?

Because they can be convincingly lifelike.

I mean, some of you know me pretty well, and some of you only know me through my writing, and some of you have little private jokes with me that go back decades, and some of you have only known me as a mom and...the point is, any reasonably sophisticated impostor could probably fool most of you, most of the time. With that power, who knows what they could incite you to do based on your faith and trust in me as a person?

Uh...sure, I guess a few of us could jump into your mouth.
You've never steered us wrong before.

That's why I think we need some safe words. Because an impersonator will always slip up sometime. Like when a spy pretends knowledge of a secret program that doesn't actually exist, or a con artist claims friendship with someone who died years earlier. Or when Norman Bates charged into the fruit cellar dressed as his dead mother and his wig fell off.

Everyone knew Mrs. Bates was a leftie.

In order to thwart the aliens, I'm going to give you some seemingly innocuous statements that nonetheless should alert you to something being amiss. These are things that the real me would never, ever say, so if someone who appears to be me utters them, you know you're in the presence of a cyborg-clone-pod. And you should whack them with a large melon before they can realize whatever evil scheme they planned to perpetrate by pretending to be a beloved writer, before they completely screwed up by abducting me instead.

Got that?

Just know that if I ever make any of these statements, I'm a goddamn alien, OK?

"I'm sorry, but there aren't enough grilled onions on my hamburger."

"I think my next dog will be a Shih Tzu, or perhaps a Pomeranian."

"Please accept this mixtape of my favorite songs by the Eagles."

"I would love to attend your Bible study, but next week you must attend mine."

"A cold glass of tomato juice sounds refreshing."

"If only Al Gore had won in 2000. He would have been the best President ever."

"I want a man who hasn't fallen for that feminism bullshit."

"I don't really listen to the lyrics."

"Winning a huge lottery jackpot just seems to create more problems than it solves."

"Just give me a full-size pickup truck and a case of Bud Light, and I'm a happy girl."

"Ted Cruz for President."

"I'm going to try steaming my vagina like Gwyneth Paltrow."

"I own way too many earrings."

"Let's go to Starbucks!"

"Benedict Cumber-who?"

Remain vigilant, Drunkards. They're out there.

Ten Things

OK, so I stole this from something Bill the Butcher posted on Facebook. But I'm a firm believer in the "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery" school of plagiarism inspiration.

Ask this chimp.

Anyway, Bill posted a list entitled "Ten Things I Can't Do (among many others)." Probably the "among many others" is the part I identified with most. Which which I most identified. Whatever.

But I like lists, and I certainly am always up for self-denigration. So I thought I'd post my own list of things I can't do. It goes without saying that 10 barely scratches the surface of what I'm no damn good at. But you gotta start somewhere, right?

Right.

I decided that I would apply the limitation that I couldn't use any entry that appeared on Bill's list, since we share a few. Fortunately, that's not a huge limitation. There are so many things I can't do, after all.

So here we go: Ten Things Chuck Baudelaire Can't Do.

1. Play video games well. (I get defeated and/or bored very quickly)

2. Control my temper. (I've been told by my daughter that flipping off scowling Latino men in hoodies after they cut me off in traffic is not a wise course of action. Hey, I'm still here. They must think I'm cute.)

3. Wear miniskirts. (I don't even try. You're welcome.)

4. Stop drinking. (That's not "can't" so much as "won't," but I know some people refuse to make that distinction. Those people have no imagination.)

5. Forgive those who have wronged me. (Abandoning Christianity has made holding grudges much easier.)

6. Knit. (Those of you who can, I am in absolute freaking awe of you.)

7. Watch movies set in the Marvel universe. (I saw the first Iron Man. I enjoyed it. I'm good stopping there, really.)

8. Understand people who think homosexuality is a sin. (This is not an original thought, but: IF YOU DON'T LIKE GAY MARRIAGE, THEN DON'T GET GAY MARRIED.)

9. Keep a clean house. (Pick two rooms, and I'll keep them clean. Beyond that, embrace the chaos or move along.)

10. Overcome inertia. (Hey, inertia...fuck you. Seriously.)

On the other hand, I can change a flat tire, cook an awesome Thanksgiving turkey, make my teenager laugh, and sing high harmony.

What are YOUR cans and can'ts? Don't be afraid to share - it's what makes us awesome.

I'm Too Old to Think of My Own Blog Topics, Apparently

Yesterday, Michelle at Rubber Shoes in Hell wrote an amazing post called "9 Things I Am Too Old For." She's on your blog feed, right? You read her stuff, right? Because if you don't, I will totally wait while you add her.

Victor Habbick/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

But, like, I don't have all day.

Long story short, I'm stealing her topic. Hey, it's my kid's birthday; I don't have time for original thinking, and also I age a decade for every year older she gets, so at this point I'm decrepit. You people are lucky I can still type. I may short-circuit the keyboard with my old-lady drool at any moment.

graur razvan ionut/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I just took this selfie.

But I digress. Michelle wrote this funny and wise list of things she's outgrown (including uncomfortable shoes and finding the good in people). I'm not feeling particularly funny or wise, but here are six things I feel I'm just too damn to deal with any more. With which I feel I'm too damn old to deal. Whatever.

1. Being afraid of disappointing other people. People have been telling me (explicitly or implicitly) what I should do and what I should be for just about as long as I can remember. And my terror - not too strong a word - of losing the approval of others has paralyzed me my whole life. I'm too damn old for that nonsense. If I keep it up, I won't have any life left, and the person I'll have disappointed the most is myself. Screw that.

2. Being afraid, period. I have a ton of fear in me. Always have. I'm afraid of change, of anger, of being poor, of losing control on an overpass and plunging over the side. I am, let's face it, more than halfway through my life, and none of the things I'm afraid of have managed to destroy me. So it's time to outgrow that destructive emotion.

3. Dieting. The only times in my life that I've successfully lost weight are when I've been consumed by bigger matters than food: Love, illness, caretaking, depression. In fact, I've learned that focusing on what I eat is probably the least effective means of controlling what I eat. There are so many other facets of life that deserve more effort and attention than the size of my thighs, and when I tend to them, I find that either my weight takes care of itself, or I just don't care what size I am relative to the current fashion. It's just food; it's not that bloody fascinating.

4. Delayed gratification. I'm not a particularly impulsive person, and I certainly can exercise self-control when I need to. But I'm so over the concept that self-denial and parsimony are virtues for their own sake. What if I save everything for a rainy day, only to regret that I never enjoyed myself when the sun was shining? If I keep delaying gratification, I'll be too old to be gratified. No thanks.

5. Laziness. I'll never be a clean freak. On the other hand, I enjoy a tidy environment, and I'm willing to put in the effort to not live like Oscar Madison. Chilling on the couch is great, but I've indulged my inner sloth enough to last a lifetime. I'm too old to pretend I don't appreciate a clean house.

6. Acting my age. Younger people try to appear older. Older people try to appear younger. Everybody wants to fool everybody else into thinking they're at a different stage of life from where they are. That's exhausting. What are we trying to accomplish? I'm 46 years old, and society says that I should try to be anything but middle-aged. So if acting my age means not acting my age, then I don't want to act my age. I don't want to act any age. I just want to be me, which means being the responsible mom and sometimes eating a bag of trail mix for dinner. 

So there's that. What have you outgrown lately?

The Party Line

My friends Bek and Chris are having a party in August, and to my horror, I've been invited. Partly I'm horrified that they would invite someone like me to a party. Why am I friends with people who would do something like that?

Besides their general awesomeness, of course.

Mostly, though, I'm horrified at the thought of going to to this party. There will be people I know there, and there will be people I don't know there. And honestly, both groups are equally terrifying to me. My social awkwardness does not discriminate.

But Chris is bugging me to accept their invitation. He's gone so far as to separately invite Precocious Daughter, and of course she wants to go, because she has a party personality. So that's just dirty pool.

This is my party personality.

The thing is, I have a very legitimate reason to skip this party. Loads of legitimate reasons, in fact. Cromulent reasons, even.

You want to hear them?

• I have an appointment to have my earlobes waxed that day; my lobe stylist is booked months in advance, and I cannot miss my spot.
• It's a religious holiday, for a religion I plan to start between now and August.
• The Farmer's Almanac emphatically states that short blue-eyed southpaws born under Aries should not make public appearances that day. You do not need to look this up.
• There's a feral cat adoptathon happening, and I've volunteered to be an ear-clipper.
• I'm testifying before a Senate hearing on Dork-American issues.
• Someone has to stay home that day and wait for the fish installer to show up.
• Nickelback wants me to play acoustic theremin on their next album, and that's our only rehearsal day before we hit the studio.
• I'm pretty sure I'll be under a gypsy drooling curse by then.
• It might rain frogs. That's a total non-starter. Gross.
• The Squirrel Mafia has put a hit out on me, and I hear it's going down on the same day.

I could go on.

I am fabulous at making lists.

Ball's in your court, ChrisS. You got anything to go up against a gypsy drooling curse, huh?