Funk Stew Recipe

While I was away in la la land, skipping and singing la la's... I basically lived off of this amazing stew that really satisfied my ravenous hunger.  I actually became a HUGE fan of this recipe, so much in fact, that I ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I never got tired of it.  Ever.  Perhaps it could use a little tweaking, and I'm sure there are a few substitutions that could be made here and there... but for the most part, it's perfect just as it is.  On a cold, rainy, windy, gloomy night, go ahead and make this for yourself.

FUNK STEW:

1 TSP of internalized rage (substitute with depression)

1 cup of WTF... Really?

1 cup of bewildered confusion

2 TBLSPN of loss of control

2.5 cups of severe social anxiety

8 oz. of endless analyzation

**you may add a good old fashioned pour of Vinegar, to increase the bitterness to mouth puckering "holy pucker batman" level.

*Additional notes/ variations for recipe: (thanks to some friends adding their $.02)

- Internalized rage solidifies into depression if you let it sit too long. (JW)

- A little Maylox may be helpful if you suffer from acid reflux and or bitterness. (EM)

- Garnish with a hearty dash of hopelessness and serve it w/ a bottle of Jack. (LH)

- Add an extra fifteen minutes of aggression and tantrum-ing. (W)

Mix the above together with a few dashes of fruitless worry and a handful of bullsh**.  Stir until all the ingredients form a hard unmoving ball of impossible-ness.  This dish is best suited as the main course of a formal dinner, and be sure to serve politely with a fork, knife, and white linen cloth.

I'm baaaaaack!

Hello friends, it's your favorite nut ball, back from the depths of the Black Hole I crawled into last year.  Before you ask (because the Aliens gave me mind reading capability there)- I'll just answer:Yes, it was dark.  Yes, it was scary.  Yes, I got REALLY tired of relentless meteorites smacking me in the head when I *just* wanted to lay out on the deck.  But, I digress.  Being in a black hole is also very rejuvenating for your soul, in a way.  You can't help but be introspective, to the point of obsessiveness.  Because, well, what the heck else are you going to do while sitting in a black hole?  So I thought, and thought, and thought some more.  I realized I didn't want to think anymore.  I did, however, want to keep writing.  So here I am again, to bother the lot of you with my insane dribble about nothing, and how nothing is out to get me personally.  What is my purpose in life if I can't pretend like people actually give a poo about my verbal diarrhea?

What's it like living in a black hole? 
There were some great bars there - even better drinks.  The aliens were nice to me.  I slept a lot.  Whined a lot.  Was kind of pissy for a bit.  Then got my act together, and decided to return to the land of the living where carbon and oxygen reside.  Then I also decided to just throw caution to the wind and join Twitter.  I know, what am I thinking right?  You're saying to yourself... "slow down there killer!".  Something inside me inherently feels as if I have to make up for the slacking, and the lost time during my hiatus. 

Consider this a warning.  I'm going to verbally puke all over you.  

Not by the hair on my chinny chin... WTF?

Ok, so I'm more than comfortable stating that I'm getting older.  Unlike my sarcasm, my body doesn't seem to be maintaining it's fresh and youthful demeanor.  As I continue to age, I feel equal parts of peace and enraged hatred at this reality.  On one hand you have to recognize that you are losing your youth, but you are gaining wisdom and insight.  Personally, I could take this idea of gaining wisdom if it didn't come with a peppering of body hair in random areas all over my body. 

What the hell is the deal with the chin hairs?  I mean, COME ON.  REALLY?  The worst is when you're in a meeting with your peers (or at a play date with a new mom), and you find yourself unable to stop the back and forth motion of your thumb while its feeling around for the little chinny's.  That light scratch of the firm hair protruding from your chin on your finger tip is frigging addictive.  Throwing away the tweezers and shaving my face from below the line of my eyebrows all the way to my chin would be considerably less effort.  Maybe I could just grow everything out to relieve that bearded lady from her circus commitment (thinking to self: I have been wanting to change careers, and see the world more).  The more I pluck, the more I consider adopting a beard and twisting it like a 16th century Spanish soldier's mustache.  It could prove to be an excellent ice breaker, and I'm really not that skilled at conversation to begin with.  I could twist and fondle it as I pondered world politics... "Hmmm... that's IN-TER-EST-ING."  That twisting fondle motion with facial hair always comes across like you are a deep and philosophical person in the movies. 

Even more problematic is the specimen that I like to call, the "Unicorn Hair".  I found one of these growing out of the middle of my boobs.  AWESOME.  It was (as they are usually found) randomly placed outside of any normal area for hair and in a twisted little piggie tail curl smack in the middle of my chest - like a Unicorn Horn protruding from my body.  My question to the universe was, "How the hell did I miss this long ass hair growing out of the middle of my chest?"  Letting out a "GASP" upon its discovery, I quickly and covertly reached down into my cleavage and angrily ripped it out like a weed in a rose garden.  Looking around praying to god that no one saw it.  How many Target employees saw this horn and didn't say anything?  Was this what the creepy old man at the inspection station was staring at, and NOT my boobs?  Is that why he said, "I like my women a little natural." with that equally creepy toothless smile? 

Crap.  It's official... I am going to laser my whole body, starting with my shoulders.