Archives

It’s Been a While

Yes, folks, I have been AWOL.

Aggressively Waxing Only Legs.
Assuming WordPress Over Limits.
(An) Alcoholic With Out Liquor.

pink yellow thin line

Just now got through the massive pile of inquiries as to why I’ve been in writing remission.

Umm, yeah… none of the above are true. I think all of one person might have mentioned something in passing, during a summer lull. (Bless you, my son.) Really, that’s okay. Having interested readers is frosting on the cake ornaments on the tree, not the ink that instigates me. I’m driven by internal movitation — which is why there is sometimes no one behind the wheel. 😉

I’m not going to waste your time or mine detailing my hiatus. Suffice it to say, through commitments and casualties, I didn’t make it happen. I’ve played around with different themes for my return post, and opted to keep it light and simple. And timely. It’s the holidays, and I am festive of spirit, in a party mood. Deck the halls and sing the classics. Presence of thoughts, and thoughtful presents.

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. It may or may not bear striking resemblance to my past. Any similarities to the author, written or implied, will not be admissible in a court of law. Or the dinner table.

pink yellow thin line

Ah, there’s nothing like heading out for a night of fun, that bubble of excitement ramping up. Primped, polished, and psyched, the road, and all of the evenings’ possibilities, lie before you. “Take pictures”, says your friend who can’t make it. And you have the best intentions of doing just that. Simple enough to snap a few photos, right? Seriously, you’re not a lazy bitch. (Just a defective drunk.)

We now join the party in progress. Let’s take it step by step, and see how daunting a task alcohol-impaired shutter bugging can be:

1. Two and a half drinks down; da gang huddles for a kodak moment.
2. Reach in your purse for your phone slash iPod slash GPS slash flashflight slash “Stepbrothers” soundboard slash [wait for it] ……. camera.
3. Graze against tube of lipgloss, decide you probably need a swipe.
4. Pucker up and apply a fresh coat of MAC.
5. Take out phone, see a missed call and two missed texts.
6. Attempt a reply, painstakingly type four letters then erase three…
7. Friend places fresh drink in your hand; texting can wait.
8. Take sip, amazed how tasty vodka is.
9. Chug-a-lug.
10. Two things suddenly strike you: Bladder is full; Line to the ladies room is long. A headache starts to set in (as is usually the case when one is struck).
11. Across the room, Hottie McStudmuffin gives you a wink and a wave.
12. You attempt to get a closer look at him on your way to pee.
13. Standing in line, you can’t feel your toes. Note to self: high-heeled designer shoes were a mistake; must never wear again.
14. Curse the fact that there are only two stalls, both built for Muppets.
15. Observe there is more TP on the floor than the holder.
16. Exit lav to see O’Sexy (was that his name? Twas something Irish…) making out with the runner-up to Miss USA.
17. Take comfort in the fact that she didn’t actually win. Sour grapes.
18. Grapes! Order a glass of wine.
19. Try to remember why you went in your purse a half-hour ago.
19. Say the word ‘purse’ repeatedly in your head, thinking how funny it sounds.
22?. Realize you can no longer count correctly; switch to alphabet.
C. Graciously* accept another cocktail.
(*loose definition: You refrain from dousing the uggo who bought said drink with said drink, while making it clear he’s not getting in your pants.)
D. Yell ‘woohoo’, and start singing loudly to the music while declaring it’s your favorite song — again.
E. Apparently “woohoo’ is code for ‘Let’s do some shots!”. There are now three lined up before you.
F. uggit. Why do you need to order the steps? Slam back that last Barbie-sized drink with full authority.

Three different chicks mention how awesome your Chimmy Joo stilettos are. Note to self: These shoes rock; must wear more often.

Someone pulls you in for a picture. Smile, baby! Blinded by the flash, you stare to the right of your photog friend’s head, asking the empty space “Can I get a copy of that?” They reply in the affirmative, then indicate it will be electronically available for viewing later. (What they actually say, because they’re cool, is: “Sure — check Facebook”. )

You are regretting those last three shots. Strange how repellent vodka is. Joint liver commission announces Last Call. In a flurry of hugs and kisses and declarations to ‘do this again soon’, everyone clears out and heads home.

As soon as the car door shuts (it’s a taxi, cause you’re VERY repsonbile; err, reponsabel; … you’re a good girl), you let down your hair and take off those gorgeous, toe-crippling, love-hate shoes. Ah, there’s nothing like heading home after a night of fun, that relaxed feeling of winding down. Brick & mortar is a beautiful sight. Disrobe as you walk to the bed; whatever’s still on when you get there becomes your sleepwear. Hit the pillow and pass out.

What on earth is that throbbing? Feels like you’re being repeatedly probed by a nice prick.
Whoopsee, that should be, your head feels like it’s being repeatedly probed by an ice pick.
And is that the sun, or are your eyes on fire? Oh well, nothing a few aspirin and some coffee can’t fix. Plus you’ve got those captured memories to look forward to; all the fun, none of the fuzz.

You start the computer, load FB, and find your friend’s album. Holy hell!! Who is that hideous beast tagged with your name? Eyes mid-blink, hair a mess, lipgloss on teeth — in every shot. And why does your beautiful pink top look orange? You look dead in orange. Freaking lighting. Untag. Untag. Untag.

Two days later, when that friend who couldn’t make it asks to see pictures of the event, you start your web of lies. So sorry, your phone was on the fritz, nobody else had juice left, etc. It was a great time, though; promise you’ll get pics next time.
pink yellow thin line

They say the camera never lies. Not really a problem in this digital age, since Photoshop is more than happy to tell some whoppers. Funny thing is, the picture you detest today will remind you how good you looked (felt, were…) years from now. More importantly, internal beauty never grows old or wrinkled. Any given day, it’s as young, sweet, and perfect as you will it to be.

Pinkitude:
“Pleasure is the flower that passes; remembrance, the lasting perfume.”

~ Jean de Boufflers

May you have a most magical holiday, and a healthy, happy New Year!  

Impassioned by the pen,

Platinum Pink

Bombs Away

The F Bomb.
Sheer genius or universally offensive?

pink yellow thin line

Fair warning:  This is going to be an expletive-heavy entry. If you are uncomfortable with profanity — STOP HERE.

This isn’t an angry diatribe.  I’m not mad at anyone or attempting to disguise a mouthing off.  There won’t be any public ass-whoopings here today.  This is merely a light-hearted examination of an extremely malleable and oft-used word.  I realize not everyone will enjoy this piece, even though it is tongue-in-cheek.   For those with a stronger tolerance, perhaps even childlike glee in waxing potty-mouth, read on.

I’ve never spoken like the stereotypical truck driver.  I grew up with a mother who said things like “ding dab nab” and “oh sugar”, and a father who carefully censored what he said at home.  It entertained my sister highly to try and get our mom to say the f-word, “C’mon mom, nobody else is here and we won’t tell anyone.  Just once…”  but she couldn’t break ma’s Shirley Temple tongue.  This same sister ran fast & loose with the dirty words.  Not in a meaningless way; she only used them in fitting circumstances.  Actually, I’m amazed how many circumstances she can still successfully fit them to. 🙂

As a lover of language, I feel compelled to examine slang, especially that of the four-letter variety.  There are many good curse words, but I’m going to focus on the “F” word, since I’m truly fascinated by the multitude of uses it has.  Noun, verb, adverb, adjective; compliment, criticism, condemnation, comedy.  It is truly the Onesie of the English language.

Being able to construct a single thought almost completely from derivatives of a single word is pretty effing amazing.  Consider the following: “Fuck that fucker.  He’s fucked me for the last fucking time”.   Limited vocabulary, or Master of the art of insult?  Let the listener decide.

We’re not limited to verbalization either.  Can’t talk?  No worries, you can flip the finger.  Or swiftly karate-chop your elbow with your other hand, allowing the impacted arm to swing up quickly.  Or slide a stiff hand from you neck up under your chin in an exaggerated motion.

In mixed company?  Not a problem, since you can easily disguise your fuxspressions.  Simply put your ring finger, index finger, and forefinger straight up together, saying ‘read between the lines’.   Or use your longest digit, independent of it’s neighbors, to purposefully scratch your forehead, nose, cheek, etc.

Still too harsh?   Try a handy-dandy substitute.  They’re a bit watered down, but they still have some oomph to them.   And there are a fair amount to choose from:  frick, frack, freak, friggin, fudge.  Or just a bunch of symbols: $@#*!, which can mean shit as well as fuck, and is now affectionately pronounced ‘bleep’, due to the popularity of it’s use in a current hit sitcom.  That’s right people, these vernaculars are becoming more and more prevalent in all areas of life — literature, advertising, music, art, film, etc.  Rap originated as a medium to speak to a syncopated beat, a melodic poetry reading, if you will.  It’s now become a contest to see who can cram the most vulgarities into 4 minutes of sampled music.  Take away these colloquialisms and Rap becomes Raffi.  (Well, a Raffi who gets drunk and high and bangs alot of chicks.)

You can have even more fun if you cross-breed languages.  For example, the French word for Seal is ‘phoque’, pronounced just as you think it would be.  Now imagine replacing that in some very popular American sayings.  Such as: “Sealed with a kiss”, or “The Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval”.  It’s wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap gold.

We’ve got a slew of cultural blends too.  Because sometimes you just can’t get your point across without a f*ck somewhere in there.  Fugly, fuck buddy, fucktard, F’d in the A, Fuckville.  Oh, and lest I forget, Fukitol (<– my favorite Rx).  It’s also given birth to many acronyms: SNAFU, FUBAR, LMFAO, MILF, WTF.  Peruse some social sites, phone texts, or instant messaging, and you’re likely to see quite a few initialed representations of one of the strongest curse words out there.  

Sidebar: Personally, I’m waiting for the day FB invokes ‘the bird’ button (akin to the thumbs-up “Like”) to slap on people’s posts who aren’t currently in your good graces.

It can even mean the exact opposite of itself.  “Getting screwed” can be an awesome thing that puts a smile on your face, or a crappy thing that ruins your day, depending on its’ context.

I ask you, what other word has that kind of flexibility and stamina?

I’ll end this classy soliloquy with some elegant quotes I compiled:

“Fighting for peace is like fucking for chastity.” ~ Unknown
“Half of life is fucking up, the other half is dealing with it.” ~ Henry Rollins
“There is more to fathering than fucking” ~ Angela Carter
“Nobody dies a virgin…  life fucks us all.” ~ Kurt Cobain
“Fuck today, it’s tomorrow.” ~ Freddie Mercury
“A mind is like a parachute.  If it doesn’t open, you’re fucked!” ~ Don Williams, Jr
“Graffiti and Philosophy can be classified solely by the presence or omission of  the word fuck.” ~ Unknown

pink yellow thin line

Swearing can be trashy or mean.  But it can also be a great stress reliever.  Ever stub your toe to the point of hearing bones crunch and seeing stars?  “Dammit” just isn’t as good a salve as “FUCKing-motherfucker”.  I have no idea why.

It can also turn humdrum to haha.  George Bush: “I can’t spell for fcuk.”

Cussing is the salt of life.  Sprinkling a bit here and there makes for a very satisfying diet.  Pouring it heavily over everything creates a nasty dish no one wants to go near.

Pinkitude:
“When angry count to four; when very angry, swear.”
~ Mark Twain

Impassioned by the pen,
Platinum Pink

Peek-a-Boo

It’s face-off time.

pink yellow thin line

But I’m not talking about hockey. This is about my big reveal. I’m removing the cloak and mask, coming out of hiding, pulling back the Prada curtain. Admitting my true identity! I’m ready to step into the light, fully aware I risk highlighting any wrinkles by doing so.

Most of my readers are friends (aka family), so you already know who this is.
For those who don’t (aka strangers) ….

Platinum Pink is Janette Burhans!!!

I realize that means nothing if you don’t already know me. I’m not a world-renowned blogger, and that’s A-Ok with me. The constant spotlight would be a living hell… always being under the microscope; your every move, mistake, and moronic moment picked apart by the masses and captured for eternity in print or photographs. Too fat, too thin, too old, too plastic, too opinionated, too aloof. It’s seemingly impossible for even the most perfect of human specimens not to be condemned for something they are (or are not). Fortune I’d take. Fame — No thanks.

Sidebar: What are the positives of being famous, anyway? Tons of freebies? Who cares — you’re swimming in benjamins, you don’t need handouts. VIP treatment? Nice, but how enjoyable are those front row seats and backstage passes when you’re knee-deep in bodyguards? Countless friends? Iffy. It would be really hard to know who likes you for you, and who just wants to ride your coattails or raid your wallet. Maybe it’s the adoring fans. Celebs have huge egos that must be constantly fed. With a diet of mostly coffee and Oxycontin, they need something for fuel. 🙂 Nameless, faceless worshipers seem the most obvious choice. If you ask me, those are empty calories; I need something more substantial to satisfy. Life is trying enough without having to question the motives of your inner circle.

It’s 2011 — Do you know where your friends are? I’ve discovered mine in assorted and sundry places. Some are where I last left them, in familiar locations, ready and willing to pick up wherever we left off. Others were discovered, quite unexpectedly, among the vast recesses and resources of the internet. Others still I’ve yet to find; we are currently unknown to each other, but with the advent of international social networking and cyber-space cafes, it’s only a matter of time until we bump into each other.

If love is blind, friendship is power goggles. It’s seeing everything with perfect clarity, and still enjoying the view. An old song I learned as a child advocated friendships old and new, stating one as silver and the other gold. Both precious metals. Antique and modern. Fully matured and freshly minted. Those who know all of your warts and weaknesses and still think you’re strong and beautiful; and those who don’t even know about the zit that erupts monthly, let alone your accompanying impression of Haggar the Horrible. Those who not only encourage your stupid ideas but actually engage in them; and those who have not yet been treated to your idiocy but someday hope to.

A friend can be someone you rarely talk to, or someone you see several times a day. Completely platonic, or deeply intimate. It doesn’t matter what distance lies between you, because you are in each others hearts. That is the true essence of friendship: People who care about each other, support each other, defend each other, and ground each other. An enhancement, not a validation. Solidarity not dominion. There is no tangible limit to the number of these bonds one can have, so go ahead and be greedy. Or be picky. But be available; a friend can’t find you unless you are visible.

pink yellow thin line

You can never have too many friends, but all you really need is one good one. One who will take your deepest secrets to the grave. One who will tell you you’re ass doesn’t look fat in those jeans when you need to be consoled, not confronted. One who will tell you the other pair looks better when you need honesty, not flattery. One who laughs at your lame jokes, and forgives your personal transgressions. One who gives you space, but also fills it.

Pinkitude:
Friendships and people can change, and if you’re lucky, a certain few will change you. ~ Unknown

pink yellow thin line

A big thank you to the many people in my life who have provided me with peace, pleasure, and positivity.
I dedicate this post to my perfect trifecta: LB, LR, & GH.
Three musketeers who’ve made my life a heightened adventure, and a transcended reality.
Honorable mention to MK, HB, & YC. I treasure your generosity, understanding, kindness, and love. xo xo xo

Impassioned by the pen,
Platinum Pink