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Wednesday, December 8, 2010

The Luck Starts Here...

Have you ever had a near-death experience? I don't think I have. I mean, I know I've been in situations that could have gone horribly wrong, but I don't consider those "near-death" experiences. I was in a car accident that could have gone wrong. I jaywalk a lot which can always go wrong. I've choked on a piece of steak. I've drunkenly slipped on ice and fallen like a sack 'o flour, which could have gone wrong. You won't hear me say that any of those were "near-death" experiences. But actually, shit, when we're being honest, aren't we all technically "near-death" at every moment? If things like jaywalking can go wrong, aren't we near-death every time we wake up? Anyreaper, though creepy and morbid, that's not what I want to be talking about here.

I've noticed that right after someone talks about their near-death experiences, the next thing out of their mouth is "I'm lucky to be alive". It happened on Oprah this morning, Wynonna was talking about her two near-death experiences and followed them up with "I'm lucky to be alive". Interesting. But not really. I've noticed that people tend to say the right things when faced w/ death and near-death..."This makes me realize how precious life is. I won't take things for granted. I'm so lucky to be alive". Well I don't know about the rest of you, but my luck started November 30th, 1976, when I was born healthy. My luck at being alive is 34 years old. I am lucky every. single. day. And not just on days when I'm jaywalking and cheating death. Luck is something every one of us is born with, simply because we were born.

This also makes me think of all the times in my life when I've wished not to be alive, times as a child or as a teenager when I would say "I didn't ask to be born". What an asshole thing to think and an even more asshole thing to say. No, I didn't ask to be born, but someone sure done asked for me. My parents asked for me, they asked to be blessed(snerk) with a gift that ended up being me, something they may have decided against had they met teenage me first. No wonder they asked for another gift. But regardless, they asked for me. My sister and I, we are the miracles my parents asked for. We are miracles. I am a miracle. Someone asked for me. Someone asked for us all. How lucky I am. How lucky we are.

Luck. We're born with it, it's something we have, it's a part of us, it's ours every day because we're alive. Every day I am alive, I am lucky because I get to walk outside, I get to see a tree, a bird, a dog, I get to read words, be touched, feel my heart beat, pick a booger, smile, listen to a song, have a memory, miss someone, hear a voice, take a shower. Every day I get to be a daughter, a sister, a wife, and know love. Every day I get to be a friend, have a friend, share my life, and laugh like crazy. Every day I am alive, I am lucky.

And yes, every day I pick a booger.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010


Recently, my friend's mom died. I'm overcome with sadness for her. I'm at a loss, I don't know what to do. I've known her for 21 years, and for the first time I have no idea what to say to her. All I wish I could do is fix her. I want my hug to be as comfortable as a mother's hug, since that's what she's missing now more than ever. I want to sit on the couch with her and rock her as she cries and have that be enough. But it's not.

I want to fix people when they are broken. I thought this was a good thing, a nice thing, but it's an unrealistic thing. I can't fix anyone. Nothing I can say to someone will fix them. Nothing I can do for someone will fix them. No joke I can tell will make someone laugh all their troubles away. I can't fix anyone.

I'm completely and utterly co-dependent in my relationships. I have a desperate need to be needed. It's quite possible that I am only attracted to people who appear to be in a place of need. I've always always thought that I was just a good person, a good friend, and that I had a desire to help people, to try and make their lives better. And I might be, all of that could very well be true...but the real story, the headline to this, is that I need to be needed to feel any sort of self-worth. It all comes from a good place, a good heart...I truly want to be something positive in the lives of the people I care about. I want to bring support, and laughter, and impressive dancing to every life that I'm blessed to be a part of. But I need to be needed. You've never seen someone as happy as I am when The Joyous One is sick, because she needs me. Someone as fiercely independent and responsible as The Joyous One needing someone like me, so irresponsible, so co-dependent...why wouldn't that bring me to happy? I need to be needed.

Don't misunderstand me, I'm not implying that I somehow wish for bad things to fall on the people in my life so I can be needed, so I can try to fix them. Like I said before, I can't fix anyone. I want my people to be happy, and I want to be a part of getting them there. I want to be the light that they see when everything is dark. I want to put a smile on their face. I want my invitation to hang out to be the thing that gets them out of the house. I want to be something utterly impossible. The biggest problem? Me saying "I WANT"...because it's not about me. That's selfish, and that's not me.

I need to change this. I need to stop trying so hard, because when I try too hard, I ruin it. When I try too hard, my natural compassion becomes unnatural...forced...not me. I need to flip the script here, and start hoping for things, instead of wanting, desiring. Hope is spiritual. Want is greedy.

I hope that when I hug my friend whose mom just died, she gets some comfort out of that. I hope that when we spend time together, it brings her some relief and takes her mind off things for a moment. I hope I am something positive in the lives of the people I care about. I hope I can bring support, and laughter, and impressive dancing to every life I'm blessed to be a part of. I hope that when The Joyous One is sick, I take care of her well.

I hope for my friends happiness. I hope I can add to that in their life. I hope that I can be something they see as a light, something they can go towards to get out of the dark. I hope I can bring a smile to their face. I hope my invitation to hang out is something they consider. I hope I can be something utterly possible.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Dan Savage Just Keeps Getting Better...

For those of you who don't know, Dan Savage is an author, journalist, and writer of an internationally syndicated advice column about sex and relationships. Recently, after the upswing in gay teenage suicides, Dan and his partner started the "It Gets Better Project", in which gay adults tell gay kids that yes, it will get better, just stay alive and you'll see that it does get better. I read Dan's column from time to time, it makes me laugh, makes me think, and every now and again makes me uncomfortable. The following column just made proud. In light of all the bullying that's been taking place which has led to the death of too many kids, I thought Dan's response to L.R. was right on target. He managed to put onto "paper" what a lot of us gays(and gay supporters) would like to say, but usually end up screwing up due to the foaming of the mouth caused by anger and least that's what happens to me. I hope you take the time to read this, and also to visit Thank you,

Meta Kroker

I heard an interview with you about your It Gets Better campaign. I was saddened and frustrated with your comments regarding people of faith and their perpetuation of bullying. As someone who loves the Lord and does not support gay marriage, I can honestly say I was heartbroken to hear about the young man who took his own life.

If your message is that we should not judge people based on their sexual preference, how do you justify judging entire groups of people for any other reason (including their faith)? There is no part of me that took any pleasure in what happened to that young man.

To that end, to imply that I would somehow encourage my children to mock, hurt, or intimidate another person for any reason is completely unfounded and offensive. Being a follower of Christ is, above all things, a recognition that we are all imperfect, fallible, and in desperate need of a savior. We cannot believe that we are better or more worthy than other people.

Please consider your viewpoint, and please be more careful with your words in the future.

Dan's response:

I'm sorry your feelings were hurt by my comments.

No, wait. I'm not. Gay kids are dying. So let's try to keep things in perspective: Fuck your feelings.

A question: Do you "support" atheist marriage? Interfaith marriage? Divorce and remarriage? All are legal, all go against Christian and/or traditional ideas about marriage, and yet there's no "Christian" movement to deny marriage rights to atheists or people marrying outside their respective faiths or people divorcing and remarrying. Why the hell not?

Sorry, L.R., but so long as you support the denial of marriage rights to same-sex couples, it's clear that you do believe that some people—straight people—are "better or more worthy" than others.

And—sorry—but you are partly responsible for the bullying and physical violence being visited on vulnerable LGBT children. The kids of people who see gay people as sinful or damaged or disordered and unworthy of full civil equality—even if those people strive to express their bigotry in the politest possible way (at least when they happen to be addressing a gay person)—learn to see gay people as sinful, damaged, disordered, and unworthy. And while there may not be any gay adults or couples where you live, or at your church, or in your workplace, I promise you that there are gay and lesbian children in your schools. And while you can only attack gays and lesbians at the ballot box, nice and impersonally, your children have the option of attacking actual gays and lesbians, in person, in real time.

Real gay and lesbian children. Not political abstractions, not "sinners." Gay and lesbian children.

Try to keep up: The dehumanizing bigotries that fall from the lips of "faithful Christians," and the lies about us that vomit out from the pulpits of churches that "faithful Christians" drag their kids to on Sundays, give your children license to verbally abuse, humiliate, and condemn the gay children they encounter at school. And many of your children—having listened to Mom and Dad talk about how gay marriage is a threat to family and how gay sex makes their magic sky friend Jesus cry—feel justified in physically abusing the LGBT children they encounter in their schools. You don't have to explicitly "encourage [your] children to mock, hurt, or intimidate" queer kids. Your encouragement—along with your hatred and fear—is implicit.

It's here, it's clear, and we're seeing the fruits of it: dead children.

Oh, and those same dehumanizing bigotries that fill your straight children with hate? They fill your gay children with suicidal despair. And you have the nerve to ask me to be more careful with my words?

Did that hurt to hear? Good. But it couldn't have hurt nearly as much as what was said and done to Asher Brown and Justin Aaberg and Billy Lucas and Cody Barker and Seth Walsh—day in, day out for years—at schools filled with bigoted little monsters created not in the image of a loving God, but in the image of the hateful and false "followers of Christ" they call Mom and Dad.


I just love Dan Savage, and I'm so glad he's on my side...

Friday, July 23, 2010

Huh, maybe it was a hate crime...

Yesterday after work, I was making the grocery store rounds to buy up supplies for my famous tuna melts. And no, that's not a euphemism for anything, you pigs, I truly was buying vegetables and tuna and english muffins. You see, my seriously pregnant friend Annie was coming over for dinner, and she loves tuna melts and I make a truly outstanding tuna melt. The more I write "tuna melt", the more disgusting and euphemism-y it starts to sound. Anyfishy, I had just finished hitting the Jewel for the muffins(heh), the cheese, etc and was fixing to hit the Whole Foods for the tuna.

Off topic(and I've already forgotten what the topic is, but I'm sure I'll get back to it in roundabout fashion), as I pulled into the parking lot, there was a couple playing the most vigorous public game of tonsil hockey that I have ever seen, leaned up against a parked car. I think they were playing for the Suckley Cup. Seriously, faces mashing, over-the-clothes fondling, the voyuer/porn director in me wanted to walk right up to them and be like "Now, grab his ass. Caress her boob...circular-like, uh huh. Okay tilt your head to the right a little, let him bite your neck. Yeah, that's nice. Do you mind if I take some snaps?"...but I refrained. I can just imagine my mother reading this last part and saying to my dad "Your daughter's a real pig, you know that right?" Or just going right to the source and calling me..."I read your blog. You're a real pig, you know that?"...this pig's for you, Momma! Wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Whole Foods...

So, I head into Whole Foods, make a beeline for the tuna, grab what I need and head to the register. I'm standing there, entranced by some new juice they were displaying nearby, my mind roaming with thoughts of reusable grocery bags and should I buy yet another one, when all of the sudden I feel something bang into my rear bumper. No, not of my car dummies, I'm talkin bout my ass. Startled, I looked around to see what has just rammed me in ba-donk-a-donk and I see a cart rolling away from me, looking suspicious. It appeared that my solid rear bumper was no real match for the shopping cart, cuz that sucka was nearly at the entrance of the chip aisle. Big ups to my big butt. Slightly embarrassed, I said "Well alright then. That was...interesting." A lady the next aisle over who saw the whole thing started giggling a little, which only contributed to my embarrassment. Then she told me that some guy had been pushing the cart, let go of it and ran out of the store. She suggested that maybe he had an emergency and didn't realize the cart was still rolling. I jokingly said "Or maybe it's someone who doesn't like me very much and rammed me with their cart...hahahahahahehe..hmmmm" Joking had turned into "what if..", and I started to really think that maybe this was some man who didn't care for me and flung his cart recklessly in my general direction, hoping to clip my Achilles or trip me or something. I racked my brain, thinking of who could it be, wondering who had I wronged in the past, or who might have a vendetta against me. Sure, I'm in the Geh Mafia, married to the Gehdmuddah, but I thought that was joke between me and my gehs.

I was still thinking about who attacked me as I left the Whole Foods, my ears were at full attention, listening for the sound of a revving motor as I crossed the street. My eyes were alert, scanning the people in the parking, hoping to catch some questionable activity. As I scanned, my eyes picked up the Parking Lot Porn stars, still locked in a full embrace. I tilted my head, said "Wow. Good for them" and all hate crime was forgotten as I started to sing "Parking Lot Makeout"

Friday, May 14, 2010

Gaga for La Ga...

I have not been able to stop picking up my banana and singing the beginning of "Telephone" into it (if you don't know who sings "Telephone", get out of my life). It started at my parents house this morning, when I asked my mom if I could take a banana and she made the mistake of telling me "yes". I immediately grabbed it, put it up to my ear and sang "Hello, hello baby you called I can't hear a thing. I ain't got no service in the club you see...see. Wh-wh-wh-what did you say? Oh you're breakin up on me. Sorry I cannot hear you I'm kinda busy...k-kinda busy. K-kinda busy. Sorry I cannot hear you I'm kinda busy." She stared at me with a blank look, I decided I wanted a different banana, so I chose another and did it again. More blank staring. I decided again that I wanted a different banana (listen, I'm not a fan of banana-bruising, so I'm kinda picky about my bananas. That's probably why I'm off the bananas permanently...HEY OH!!!!), so I selected one more and started the routine again to which I got a prompt "Will you shut up?" from my mother. Cue blank staring from me.

Fast forward to work, I set my banana on my desk, caught a glimpse of it an hour later, picked it up and..."Hello hello baby..." Throughout the morning and early afternoon this happened at least 7 more times until about 15 minutes ago, when I ate the banana. Guess I'll have to move on the the stapler. Or...wait for it...the telephone...

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

It's natural, baby...

My friend Jessica wrote a hilarious/disgusting Facebook update today that made me laugh and yet feel sick at the same time. But mostly it made me laugh:

Jessica Aimee Cakuls Yesterday I'm puking and I think how funny it'd be if people tried to eat their puke like dogs. Could u imagine walking down a street in Lincoln Park at 2am & seeing 10 girls on their knees, furiously scooping puke back into their mouths? So I laugh into my toilet and then go back to bed. After 20 seconds, I hear some weird noises. I go back into the bathroom and my dog is trying 2 eat my puke out of the toilet.

This status update also made me think...first, about why Jess wouldn't flush the toilet after horking to avoid Diego munching it up. But then it made me think about other animal habits that would be utterly hilarious if done by humans.

A girl in her early 20's is at a meat-market bar looking to meet someone. She weaves through the crowd, eyeing folks until someone catches that eye. She walks over to them and promptly buries her nose in their butt, sniffing merrily away. She doesn't like their scent, so she moves on, casually sniffing butts as she passes people.

A young child hears the doorbell ring at their parents house. They leap excitedly as a family friend walks through the door. They crouch down on all fours, back end wiggling away, and pee all over the floor. Their parents see the piddle puddle and say "Oh look, he's excited to see you!". Several weeks later, this same family is getting ready to go on vacation. The parents tell their son to go outside and play for a bit before leaving, hoping he will release some energy and sleep in the car. They call him into the house only discover he's rolled around in something that stinks to high heaven, most likely raccoon scat. Trip delayed.

You're at a Cubs/Sox game at Wrigley. A couple guys in front of you get in an argument about spilled beer. Of course, one is a Cubs fan, one is a Sox fan. The argument begins to escalate, each of them puffing up in anger and you fear the fight may start getting physical. The Cubs fan, blowing his top first, poops into his hand and flings it at the Sox fan. The Sox fan retaliates with a poop fling of his own, and before you know it, the sh*t is literally hitting the fan(s). You jump on the back of a large stranger and try to get out of the stadium, much like a bird might hitch a ride on the back of a hippo. As payment, you begin to eat the bugs and other parasites off the large stranger's back. Then you get a tapeworm.

I'm sitting in my living room on my couch and my butt starts to itch. I pull down my pants, get on the floor, and scootch my butt along the carpet to relieve the itch, all the while hearing The Joyous One scream "Bad girl! No! No! Bad girl!". The yelling is ignored, butt-on-carpet-scootching continues until the itch is satisfied, pants then get pulled up and couch sitting resumes.

Yes, I know a lot of these have to do w/ butts and poop, but face it, that's what most animal habits have to do with...butts and poop. And butts and poop are hilarious and you know it...

Monday, March 29, 2010

Here we go again...

Oh friends and faithful boog readers, all 3 of you, I must apologize yet again for neglecting my boog writing. I know it's not an excuse, but I've been writing March Madness basketball recaps for the NCAA Tournament pool that I run, and have completely abandoned any and all other writing. I'm a bitch like that. But not to worry, the tournament will be over soon, so if you'll have me, I'd like to come back and write about the ridonkulous thoughts that cross my brainscape. I know it's a lot to ask, but please keep coming back to my boog and I promise you that I will have some new stuff soon-ish.

I was going to write something last night, but "The Rock" was on for the second Sunday in a row and god forbid I miss a showing of "The Rock", I mean, I've only seen it 874 times. Seriously, what is it about that movie that hooks me like a meth-head? I used to tell myself it was the hotness of Vanessa Marcil, but let's be serious people, she's in the friggin movie for like 10 minutes. She's sho 'nuff hot though. Dag. Anyhotbod, I hate Nick Cage, and I mean hate I know it's not him. The dude from Candyman scares the sh*t right outta me, and I'm only a semi Ed Harris fan. So it must be Sean Connery. I guess Sean Connery is what keeps me coming back for more "Rock".

Although now that I think of it, I have a similar addiction to "Con Air", which is another Nick Cage joint. I watch it every time it's on, but I've always told myself that I love it despite Nick Cage being in it. Perhaps I'm denying something deep inside me, an undying love for Nick Cage. Oh my. This is not how I wanted my Monday to go at all...

Friday, February 12, 2010


This poem is dedicated to the pile of carrots I discovered in my street yesterday...

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
How did you end up there?
Perhaps tossed from a car
By a jerk, who did not care

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
Are those peppers among your ranks?
Thank God you're not alone
For that I will give thanks

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
Had I not seen you, I'd have slipped
But I did, so I stepped over
And wondered how you'd be w/ dip

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
You may have tasted nice
Now you're smooshed down flat
Under a sheet of snow and ice

Oh pretty pile of carrots,
Your sad story makes me cry
Soon the street sweeper will come
And we will say "goodbye"

Adios, pile of carrots. You're the most random thing I've ever stepped over.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

When in doubt, blame God...

I was over at my parents house this morning...I know what you're thinking, you're thinking "it's not Friday, what in the hell was Meta doing at her parents house?". Well let me tell ya, if you're thinking that...then you obviously read everything I write and are potentially stalking me if you remember every little detail. And if you're thinking "I already knew that Meta was at her parents house today", then you are absolutely stalking me and you followed me there(One question: why didn't you clean my car off when I was in having coffee?). I'm not complaining, if anyone loves a stalker, it's this girl. Stalk away, my friends, stalk away! Only don't judge me when you're stalking me and you see me pull into the gym parking lot, pretend like the lot is too full and turn right back around and head to Tasty Dog.

Anycreepy, my parents and I got on the subject of concerts this morning, probably because my dad was reading an article in the paper and dared to ask me if Lady Gaga was any good. By the way, it took a full 5 minutes of me sneering at him before I responded with "Are you f*cking kidding me?" After my disgust, I went on a rant about how she writes her own stuff, plays a kick ass piano and actually sings live unlike a lot of today's pop tarts(sorry Brit Brit. I love ya, but ya cain't sing, girl!). My dad then said "It's like that Milli Vanilli thing. Why aren't people more upset about this?"...I explained to him that it's not exactly the same since Milli Vanilli never actually sang on their tracks at all. PS...hearing your dad talk about Milli Vanilli? Is hilarious. Anybraids, my mom then asked me if I still had fun at the Milli Vanilli concert even though they were lip-syncing. I looked around to make sure no cool people were around to hear me admit to going to the Milli Vanilli concert, and once that was confirmed I said that yes, I did have a really good time.

My dad then said "So they weren't the ones that cancelled their concert? There was a band you were going to see, and they cancelled their concert. Who was that? Rose something?". My mom said "Oh, Axl Rose" and I said "Yeah, Guns 'N Roses, I forgot about that. I'm bummed I didn't get to see them!" Then my mom said "Personally, I think God was responsible for cancelling that concert because you were such an asshole, Meta." I busted out laughing, but my dad(bless his heart) said "Why was she an asshole?" and my mom said "Because she was a teenager!" at the same exact time as I said "Because I was a teenager!"

So, what's the point of all this? Well, I'm not sure. I think just to say that teenagers can be assholes. And La Ga is the shit. And that yes, I did go to see Milli Vanilli. And that no, I was not alone, I did have friends with me. They may not admit to it, but they know who they are!

Rock on!