SuperGurl

Hey Ya’ll

SuperGurl here. Yep, blog is back purring like her old self, kind of, thanks to RedNeck. And forgive me for not busting out a post at 7am Monday when things first started working again. I have a full time job though, people, you know this. Do not think your whining has been fruitless, the undying optimism out there has been encouraging to me in a major way. You’ve just been etching more ink on my soul skin. SuperGurl truly appreciates your concern. You are a blown-eye after my own doches, you are.

And besides my blog taking a three week dump, just last weekend, some mismatched software update issues prevented any form of internet access for three days. It was painful. I had so much to tell you, too. The blogmeet, the vacation, and oh my goodness, we have had much progress with the stand-by guy. But everything that survived in draft mode is pretty much passed shelf life now. Not to mention, I still can’t upload images here. All that adds up to clean slate country to you.

I like clean slate country. Where the past is forgotten, and forward is the only way left to go. It helps with work too, which took a turn for the worse whilst I was sunsoaking in the Bahamas. May I please urge you with all my might to spend your next bear market in beautiful tropical seclusion? It was a capitalistic inoculation for the bear bite I didn’t know I’d suffered. Probably kept me alive. But bears not only bite, they blow, so I happily move on to clean slate country.

And now that I have made a conscious effort to move on, I can’t think of squat to say. Good to be back though!

‘Neck was here, and I can upload images…

I’m going on two weeks of solid Mondays, folks. LIFE SUCKS.

The stand-by guy? You wanted an update, I bet. Well, he came home ten days ago and I haven’t heard a word. Not an email, not a blip. That’s right, scuff of a lifetime, folks. I had a man that flew all the way around the world to stand me up. I am devastated. While the kindest part of me is hoping he is badly maimed or incarcerated, I’m wise to these signs. Early guesses: married, or better yet, an alcoholic. At least, I hope it’s him and not me.

Work is happening in nightmare quantities. Not all of it good, but pretty much. I keep busy, but my mind is not right. I am having hardcore steady conflict with my workwife. She is begging for a divorce. Lately, she likes to tell me that I just don’t seem happy. I am utterly disgusted with the irrational puppet world that might expect that anyone should be happy. It is a flawed fucking planet, people. Is anyone happy? Deep down and all the time?

I spend plenty of time happy. I am one funny individual and I crack myself up. Doesn’t mean I expect happy, not as my idle spot. I idle at reserved but trigger freaking happy. Do not even think of the surprise attack or I will murderize you. The thought of the whole recurring conversation makes me want to kick her teeth in. On second thought, maybe she’s right.

I simply have a lot of short lived stress in my life. It’s summertime, which means 24-7 kid care. My annual meeting, better known as Constipation Fest 15, is in one week. The Blown Eyed blogfest is in just over two weeks. And three days after that, we are going on a Disney cruise, just the boys and I. And all of that is awesome wonderful mcdreamy stuff, but a lot to work around, plan for and pay for, as well. So pardon fucking me if I don’t seem happy all the time.

Add to all of this, my air conditioning is dying in my car. Yes, my car is black. And yes, it is very hot in Texas, especially in a suit. Get two boys wrestling in the back seat and temperatures can easily break through the 120 degree level.

It’s funny the way things always seem to go together, though. I was reading this article over at Fox news today, and became so perplexed wondering who the heck would be protesting the democratic convention? Do any of you know? I thought all the usual lefty nutcake protestors would most assuredly be inside giving keynote addresses and setting the agenda items into motion. Just who would be protesting a gathering of embicillic protestors?

I was so thoroughly engrossed, flipping through the pages of my mental protestor database that I almost missed the whole point of the story. Some evil genius has created a weapon that makes you crap yourself! Not just created a shit yourself weapon, but it comes with a cute nickname as well, the brown note. Classic, I love this country.

But then it occurred to me, it seems someone has taken aim at my poor life with this newfangled technology. See, I’m not an unhappy person, my life is merely taking a dump. It’s all very natural, green even.

And now, you, my dear sweet reader, have stewed in my stench. Feel free to light a match in the comments.

Played hookie and spent the day with the boys to celebrate their last day of adventure day camp. Forgive me for the mommy overload, but you know how I dig photo poaching. Here are a few of my favorite stills, a slideshow of the day and there are more updates at the meet site for your ocular enjoyment! I’m too tired for much else.

Happy Family Fun Day to all of you!

It all started a week or so ago, and oddly enough, intersected exactly at the onset of the plague that has currently befallen me. I think it’s an allergy, but I have had a severe headache everyday now since Wednesday. Which makes sense, everything is in bloom down here and absolutely beautiful. I’m allergic to beauty.

So one night, after I’d exceeded the daily dosage of nearly every over-the-counter pain remedy I own, I found myself in my chair shutting down in front of the tube, when like a nightmare I heard the words ring out, “one in every five adults has genital herpes.” Um, the hell you say?

And I have no idea why this commercial hurt me so bad at the time, but it did (maybe the fever?). I stewed in my chair, as I was in no mood for wandering elsewhere. I was as thankful as I could be for my herpes free state. I should have filed it under useless information and incinerated it immediately but the whole thought process was dark and cruel and it stuck with me for days. Look, I couldn’t get laid if I hid gold up my cooch right now. Just ain’t going to happen. But knowing that every fifth person has freaking genital herpes? Sheesh, I don’t want to know that. Seriously. Imagine how uncomfortable any gathering will be from here on out? With ratios like that, I don’t want leave the house.

And it was during the same general confluence of personal tragedies that my workwife, the frothing middle-aged sorority queen, Red, approached me with shock and awe one day and said, “Whoa! What happened? You look so….feminine.” Thank goodness I was so dehydrated from all the daylong drugging or I might have cried. Instead, I shot her my glazen evil eye and asked, “Was that supposed to be a compliment?” knowing full well that it was.

I do have some standards left despite my newly engaged defeatist attitude. I refuse to defile my children here, even though during this five day rough patch they have served up a principal-teacher conference, an in-car puke, and a repulsive yet typically obnoxious outbreak in front of one of my clients. Yep. One of those “Oh, why can’t I be stricken dead now in this moment rather than persist in this shameful state” affairs. I nearly cooked my brain alive with all the blushing. Humiliation is hot like that. Kids are fun.

But persisting in a humiliated state is kind of becoming my schtick. After all, I put the severe in persevere. It hurts to go on. This world is cold comfort to a forlorn and forgotton superhero. You have some pain in your world, friend? Well, don’t hold it in. By all means, let me have it. I was made for this shit.

Are you like me, friend? Tired of finally turning off your television set only to hear the same lunacy parroted back at you from all directions? Do you sometimes feel uncomfortable in conversations about the economy simply because you haven’t spent a lifetime mired in it’s minutiae? Well, fret no longer, mon frere. SuperGurl, however absentminded, is here.

For today, and today only, I am prepared to offer you a challenge. In five paragraphs or less, I believe I can arm you with some new tools and complex sounding verbage which will elevate you easily to the top of the heap among your know-it-all friends. And why would I do such a thing, you ask? A sick, deranged, drooling capitalist like myself? Surely, you’re wondering already, “Yeah, but what’s in it for SG?” Right? It’s cool, I’ll get there. And while everyone loves a skeptic, let’s have some fun before we start talking compensation, shall we?

First, it’s important to recognize and assess your threat as soon as possible. Since ten times out of ten, the person you’ll be facing off with has no basis in fact, relax. Second, I find it very disarming to double down on depression. No matter how bad they say it’s going to be, make your prediction worse. Much worse. It’s a fantastic way to win over the terminal pessimist. Generally, they are the most depressing person they’ve ever been around, so you will really endear yourself to them if you employ my patented “double down on depression” move.

You are such a quick study! Now, memorize some nonsensical financial chatter that you can inject into any conversation. These are safe topics, much like bridge building in the sales culture, you know, when you find common ground with your subject that you can retreat to when the conversation gets beyond your control. Now if you were trying to sell them something, you would want to build that bridge out of benign and comfortable materials, a verbal respite for a conversation gone awry. But we aren’t selling, kids, we’re winning and the rules are totally different.

Nah, this needs to be a dilapidated bridge. Build it of refuse and as much catastrophic imagery as you can cram into as few words. If inventing fictional financial analogies eludes you, try these mad libs style practice phrases until you find one that’s uniquely you:

[any industry/commodity]+[any natural disaster] of [any year]
You follow? It should sound something like the corn epidemic of ‘74 or the currency avalanche of ‘68, you see? Or add a competing G7 locale for extra flavor, like the Italian gelato drought of 1945, that was a bad one. Diabetes almost completely eradicated from the earth. Now you can really cripple your cryptic foe. Play with it. Add a disdained president. Change up the order. Stretch out the enunciation of the fictitious year. Most of all have fun, remember, this bridge should self-combust on delivery. That is the point. Now, to say it with a straight face, that is the art. You want to use these as comparative studies, like, “reminds me of,” or “yeah, just like..” and sprinkle them heavily throughout the conversation.

Never hurts to throw in a, “Hey, I thought if we made it through that we could make it through anything. Now, I’m not so sure.”

You ready to draw blood? Cool, cause here comes the kill…

Once you and your foe have worked your way into a frothing nothing-left-to-live-for existence, affirm his depression with my favorite, “You’re right, it’s kind of a death spiral.”

The longer you are able to keep the fiction flowing with relative sobriety, the more confident you should become with this exercise. End it with something that sounds ugly, but rings true. Something like “You remind me of everything that’s wrong with this country. Which reminds me, I need to put some more hay in the barn.” Because seriously folks, the time to invest is when there is blood running through the streets and Nostradami springing up on every corner to predict the future. I’d venture to guess if you can carry a conversation using only made up bs like I’ve given you here, an alarm should sound in your head. A deafening alarm to remind you the future is now, Prosperity Now.

Prosperity Now to you, pal. Are you disappointed? I know it sucks to hear the truth sometimes, but e.s.p. has no place in your long term investment plans. When you find yourself battling about how bad the future will be, or find yourself faced with someone who claims they know the future, run thee with haste and throw a few extra bricks on your foundation. Refocus your priorities, be vigilant and don’t forget to put extra hay in the barn.

Finally, compensation. As far as compensating you goes, I’d like to see your best financial analogies in the comments. Anything I can slip by my peers in conversation with relative believability will earn a dedicated post, to you on your topic of choice. Now go out there and strive to beat these crazy coots to death at their own game. That will be compensation enough for me.