Category Archives: Ranting

On Venting

Venting is important.

It is cathartic.

It allows us to come to grips with what is bothering us.

I need to vent.

The problem is that the best time to vent coincides with the worst time to vent. Venting feels the best when it is immediate. It provides instant gratification. It lets us exhaust as much baggage as possible, in as short a time as possible. It is an orgasm from the soul resulting from an emotion hate fuck.

And we end  up saying things that we don’t mean. Things that are irrational and just plain rude come out. We use words that are not normally a part of our vocabulary. We state opinions about people that come from irresponsibility in judgement.

Then we’re much better. At least, those of us that want to be are. Because venting is letting go of emotional baggage we didn’t want to hold on to in the first place. It is tearing down the damn we understand should never have been built.

The question arises, in my case, of who there is with which to vent. Typically it is a family member, friend, or lover that carries the burden. Those people are often in the same circle that includes the person which the venting is about. That carries its own responsibility and decorum. You have to be sure to vent to the person whom tomorrow won’t be caught saying, “Yeah, he called you that.”

One fix is that if you wait a while to vent, you are less likely to call them that. The longer you wait the less powerful the venting and the less apt you are to get lost in the moment. And the less exhausted you will feel when you’re done.

And the less it will feel good. If you wait too long, it will begin to feel bad. It should, anyway. When you vent about something that happened a week ago, it begins to sound bitter. If it was a month ago, you’re just bitching. If it was a year or more ago, you need to have dealt with it already, get the fuck on with your life.

More goes into venting that we think, but they are things of which we need to think. What is the problem we are venting about? Who else does this problem affect. How are other people affected. What is the relationship with the person whom the vent is about?

How much does it really matter?

In the grand scheme of things?


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Filed under Life, Ranting

Who Doesn’t Love Them Some Whoopi

Whoopi Goldberg flipped out on the view because a New York Times article about the lack of racial diversity in this year’s Oscar race didn’t mention her name. She said “I am embarrassed to tell you, but it hurt me terribly.” She went on to explain to say that she feels as if she had been dismissed and erased by the film critics.

The New York Times then released a statement to Entertainment Weekly saying that people are reading the story incorrectly.

Who the hell are they to tell me how to read their newspaper? When I read the offending article, I was surprised they didn’t mention Whoopi. The piece doesn’t come across exactly like they describe it, and if they were expecting it to then the blame should be placed on the shoulders of the writers, not the readers. With the incredible amount of name dropping apparent in the article it felt like the writers were trying to show off how many black people they could name rather than make much of an argument at all.

“Unstoppable,” the only Denzel vehicle this year, was the only working-class black film this year? I’m sure there were at least one or two working-class people in the film that Whoopi worked on this year – “For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enuf.” I realize that “Death at a Funeral” was too funny to be considered mentionable by people, but what about War Machine whipping Iron Man’s ass had anything to do with his color? This year, The Urban Daily reports that “2010 witnessed an impressive number of films starring African-Americans in lead roles.” The question raised by The Urban Daily is more of a qualitative nature, not a quantitative one.

The article in The New York Times isn’t focused on the movies of the year, it’s focus is on the Oscars – unless I’m reading it wrong. What black actor or actress do you most associate with the Oscars? If you’re in your thirties or forties, probably Whoopi Goldberg. Not only was she the first black actress to get a statue in forever, she hosted the damn spectacle a number of times. To many people, the names Whoopi Goldberg and Billy Crystal will be forever synonymous with the Oscar broadcasts of the eighties and nineties, a time-frame very clearly referenced in the Times article.

Whoopi has every right to be upset. Now I’m pissed, too. Don’t tell me how to read your article, learn how to write it.

And give the woman the credit she’s due.

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Filed under Media, Politics, Ranting, Television

Pissed Off Rant. Of Doom.

Well, my friends, you asked for it and life has yet again put me in the position to give it to you – another pissed-off rant and the first for this little piece of the web pie. I don’t know why people enjoy it when I go bat-shit crazy and use my words to vent, but I won’t argue with it because going bat-shit crazy feels so damn good.

However, for those of you that haven’t had to deal with an emotion fueled post from me before, I must warn you. The rest of this rant will be riddled with epithets, bad language, cursing, whatever you want to call it.

You’ve been warned.

I know a lot of people. A metric fuckton multiplied by an imperial fuckton squared. I know people that are the dregs of humanity and I’ve been blessed to know some of the few angels that have fallen from the skies and graced the Earth with their presence.

Unfortunately, the dregs are the predominant bunch.

Fortunately, I’ve recently met one of the angels.

So why am I writing a pissed off rant. Because: What. The. Fuck.

Why is it that people, especially amazing, beauty-full, intelligent, empathetic people, let life destroy their beauty? Why can’t people learn from their fucking experiences and build a better god-damn life because of them instead of letting them gnaw at their souls so they can turn into a bitter, hate-fueled monster.

I recently tried to get close to someone. Fuck that. I recently did get close to someone. And as soon as I did, I got pushed away followed by a big fuck you wrapped up in a burlap I-still-want-to-be-friends shit sack.

What truly pisses me the fuck off is that it came out of nowhere. Also, that this person’s problems are rooted in the past, but they claim that they’re not letting the past get in the way of their present.

Fuck you.

You want to talk about shitty circumstances that happened in the past, give me a bottle or three of vodka and start asking personal questions. I hope you have a lot of fucking time and a whole lot of fluid, because by the time I get done ruining your perfect little idea of me you’ll be so cried out and devastated you won’t know what to do with yourself. I’ve seen and been through shit that have made grown men cry, figuratively and literally.

So don’t give me some bullshit about not truly being able to understand. I don’t need to fucking understand to be empafuckingthetic.

If someone did something in the past that fucked up your world, and years later you still hate an entire gender because of it, guess what? Your god-damn past isn’t affecting your present. It’s fucking ruling it.

I’ve been given the line “I don’t need anyone else to get through life” by any number of people. By family. By friends. By lovers. And on the face of it, it is true. But who the fuck wants to get through life. What the fuck ever happened to living life? How can people that have so much to offer the world, so much love and intelligence and beauty and care, let themselves get shut the fuck down because some douche cannon pulled some shit in the before? And then rationalize it by saying that isn’t the case, after an emotional, rage-and-hate fueled rant that explains exactly why it is the fucking case?

I’m an asshole, so I’ll say it again. Because if you’re gonna say fuck me…

Fuck you.

We are human. We love. We hate. We get hurt. We hurt.

We move the fuck on!!!

Fuck you.

Taking a few months out of my life to get to know someone won’t ruin me. For as much as I hate humanity, I love humans. People are awesome even if peoples aren’t.

When I hear shit like “I would rather be despised than have someone care about me” my feathers get fucking ruffled. What kind of self-serving bullshit is that? You can rationalize that people despise you all you want, but the only one you’re lying to is your fucking self. You’re too good to despise. You’re fucking better than that and you fucking know it, even if you can’t fucking admit it.

“Don’t make it about you.”

Again, fuck you. It is about me. If it fucking affects me, even in the slightest, it is about me. It isn’t entirely about me. But that’s not the point. When someone close to me gets hurt, I feel fucking horrible for them. But, guess what! I feel horrible for me as god-damn well. That’s how empathy fucking works.

And when something some asshat shitheal piece of refuse did something years ago that affects me now, it’s still about me. Because it pisses me off that it happened, it pisses me off that it’s still doing damage, and it pisses me the fuck off that there’s nothing in the god damn world I can do about it.

I’m not one of those men that thinks they can fix everything that’s broken. People like that are scabs that cling because of their misguided belief that broken things need to be fixed. It might be a shitty analogy, but glow sticks only work after they’re fucking broken.

You know what. Check this song out, and listen to the fucking lyrics. I’m not a woman, but I can understand what the fuck she’s talking about. Because I bother to try.

I don’t fucking rescue kittens unless they need it, and I certainly don’t try to fucking rescue damsels in distress. I just try to fucking listen, pay attention and be there.

So fuck you.

If I try and talk about shit and the only response you can give me is a hate-filled rant, I’m not going to fucking play some “oh, I understand, let me fucking try and make things all roses and lilacs and fix shit that’s broken” game.

If you want to completely refuse to let anyone in to any degree, there’s obviously nothing I can do about it.

If you want me to care, that’s something I can do. I can care even better than I can write a pissed off fucking rant.

I’m an asshole. I’ve gotten fucking used to it.

Peace, love, save the fucking whales if it so moves you.

I’m skitten with x’s and o’s times twenty.


Filed under Dating, Life, Ranting