wtf

As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been uncharacteristically quiet lately. Not for lack of something to say, trust me, it’s just that sitting back and letting others do the talking was on the menu for June and I was only too happy to shut the fuck up. 

But as you can imagine, people, my friends, (and a few of you who I count as friends although that’s a slippery slope of a conversation for another day because you only exist via social media) still sent me lots of funny stuff that other people wrote in the meantime. Smarter people. Braver people. Funnier people than me.

One such rant they sent me (the author who shall remain anonymous because after an exhaustive search, no one wanted to take credit) and I think that’s because this long, rambling, stream of consciousness diary entry could have been pulled from the pages of mine or yours or any man, woman, child or pet’s who’s had the distinct pleasure, honor,   bad timing to inhabit planet Earth this year.

So without further ado, here it is! Read it and weep. Or laugh. Or both. Simultaneously. Like me. 

xox Carry on

And hang in there, we’re half-way through the year and besides, aren’t you curious about what in the holy fuckery comes next because you can’t make this shit up!

“Dear Diary 2020 Edition

In January, Australia caught on fire. I don’t even know if that fire was put out, because we straight up almost went to war with Iran. We might actually still be almost at war with them. I don’t know, because Jen Aniston and Brad Pitt spoke to one another at an awards show and everyone flipped the fuck out, but then Netflix released Cheer and everyone fell in love with Jerry, but then there was thing happening in China, then Prince Harry and Megan peaced out of the Royal family, and there was the whole impeachment trial, and then corona virus showed up in the US “officially,” but then Kobe died and UK peaced out of the European Union

In February, Iowa crapped itself with the caucus results and the president was acquitted and the Speaker of the House took ten years to rip up a speech, but then the WHO decided to give this virus a name COVID-19, which confused some really important people in charge of, like, our lives, into thinking there were 18 other versions before it, but then Harvey Weinstein was found guilty, and Americans started asking if Corona beer was safe to drink, and everyone on Facebook became a doctor who just knew the flu like killed way more people than COVID 1 through 18.

In March, shit hit the fan. Warren dropped out of the presidential race and Sanders was like Bernie or bust, but then Italy shut its whole ass down, and then COVID Not 1 through 18 officially become what everyone already realized, a pandemic and then a nationwide state of emergency was declared in US, but it didn’t really change anything, so everyone was confused or thought it was still just a flu, but then COVID Not 18 was like ya’ll not taking me seriously? I’m gonna infect the one celebrity everyone loves and totally infected Tom Hanks, but then the DOW took a shit on itself, and most of us still don’t understand why the stock market is so important or even a thing(I still don’t), but then we were all introduced to Tiger King. (Carol totally killed her husband), and Netflix was like you’re welcome, and we all realized there was no way we were washing our hands enough in the first place because all of our hands are now dry and gross.

In April, Bernie finally busted himself out of the presidential race, but then NYC became the set of The Walking Dead and we learn that no one has face masks, ventilators, or toilet paper, or THE GOD DAMN SWIFTER WET JET LIQUID, but then Kim Jong-Un died, but then he came back to life… or did he? Who knows, because then the Pentagon released videos of UFOs, and we were like man, it’s only April….

In May, the biblical end-times kicked off historical locust swarms and then we learned of murder hornets and realized that 2020 was the start of the Hunger Games but people forgot to let us know, but then people legit protested lockdown measures with AR-15s, and then sports events were canceled everywhere, But then people all over America finally reached a breaking point with race issues and violence. There were protests in every city, but then people totes forgot about the pandemic called COVID Not One Through 18. Media struggled with how to focus on two important things at once, but then people in general struggle to focus on more than one important thing, and a dead whale was found in the middle of the Amazon rain forest after monkeys stole COVID 1 Through 19 from a lab and ran off with them, and either in May or April (no one is keeping track of time now) that a giant asteroid narrowly missed earth.

In June, science and common sense just got thrown straight out the window and somehow wearing masks became a political thing, but then a whole lot of people realized the south was actually the most unpatriotic thing ever and actually lost the civil war, and there is a large amount of people who feel that statues they don’t even know the name of are needed for … history reasons, but then everyone sort of remembered there was a pandemic, but then decided that not wearing a mask was somehow a god given right (still haven’t found that part in the bible or even in the constitution), but then scientists announced they found a mysterious undiscovered mass at the center of the earth, and everyone was like DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH IT, but then everyone took a pause to realize that people actually believed Gone With The Wind was like non-fiction, but then it was also announced that there is a strange radio single coming from somewhere in the universe that repeats itself every so many days, and everyone was like DON’T YOU DARE ATTEMPT TO COMMUNICATE WITH IT, but then America reopened from the shut down that actually wasn’t even a shut down, and so far, things have gone spectacularly not that great, but everyone is on Facebook arguing that masks kill because no one knows how breathing works, but then Florida was like hold my beer and let me show you how we’re number one in all things, including new Not Corona Beer Corona Virus, Trump decides now is a good time to ask the Supreme Court to shut down Obama Care because what better time to do so than in the middle of a pandemic, but then we learned there was a massive dust cloud coming straight at us from the Sahara Desert, which is totally normal, but this is 2020, so the ghost mummy thing is most likely in that dust cloud, but then I learned of meth-gators, and I’m like that is so not on my fucking 2020 Bingo card, but then we learned that the Congo’s worse ever Ebola outbreak is over, and we were all like, there was an Ebola outbreak that was the worse ever?

In July…. Aliens? Zeus? Asteroids? Artificial Intelligence becomes self-aware?”

I’m adding and now the EU is open but the US isn’t invited.

“Would you enjoy a trip to hell? …then you might enjoy a trip to Death Valley. It has all the advantages of hell without the inconveniences.”
~ 1907 advertisement in a local mining paper.

“Hey, whatever happened to ‘What the fuck Friday?'” asked no one, ever.

I haven’t written one of these WTF stories in a while but I was reminded of this one by a story I heard on the Moth recently, about a woman dealing with her fabulous but haunted apartment in Paris.

Let me just preface this by stating a not-so-obvious fact: Ghosts love me.

How does she know this? You might ask, convinced that I must have fallen and hit my head, or eaten some questionable shrimp for dinner.

All I can say is, I have the evidence to prove it. They make themselves known to me in such hard to dismiss ways such as hijacking my technology, changing the radio station, or stealing my clothes that I can no longer avoid the fact that—
ghosts love me.

They are attracted to me like a moth to a flame. I’ve made peace with it and I’m more discerning about who gets to visit, nevertheless, I have many, many stories. This one’s pretty cool.

“Let’s go on a ride to see the super bloom,” my husband announced one day referring to the proliferation of wildflowers that sprung up around Los Angeles a few years back. Every April, if we get more than our usual teaspoon full of rain, the hillsides and deserts explode with color.

“It’s a sight to behold!” he said, trying to convince me that I’d love it, as he prepared the motorcycle for the ride to Death Valley. He loves the desert. He thinks its stark, desolate brownness is beautiful. And the heat doesn’t bother him at all. He’s ridden the wildflower trail to Death Valley half a bazillion times and as he tells it—it Takes his breath away every single time.

We could not be more opposite. I despise heat and crispy, brown, flora makes me mad.

And yet, I did have my breath taken from me—but not on the ride. It happened at the Furnace Creek Ranch which only lives up to one half of its name. It is hotter than a furnace there—but there’s not a creek in sight. Let’s put creek in the name! Someone from marketing said, obviously delirious from the heat.

Anyway, the flowers were pretty, at least what I could see of them through my bug-splattered visor. Super blooms have a tendency to invite super swarms of every bug imaginable. By the time we arrived at the ranch, the entire front of my husband, and less so myself because I sit behind him, was dyed the bright neon yellow of bug guts.

So, not only did I hate the desert, I’d taken thousands of bugs down with me on my way to hell. Good times.

Get to the ghost part! you’re saying, so I will.

Since the outside temperature was a few degrees cooler than high noon on Mars, I spent the rest of the day in the ranch’s heated pool. Yes, you read that right, you can’t make this shit up. Trust me, it was better than sitting inside, where the air conditioning was a thousand years old and ready to throw in the towel. The ranch, which was built in 1927 felt like it was ALL ORIGINAL if you catch my drift. Even though our room had a ceiling fan to help the AC along, I could tell a coup was afoot.

That did not bode well for our stay that night.

Staying wet as long as I could, I was forced out of my swimsuit by the NO SWIMSUITS ALLOWED rule prominently displayed in the dining room.
Well now, how fancy.
Hanging my suit on the bathroom door to dry, along with my towel and a hat, I showered and put on something white and gauzy for our dinner in the not-super-fancy dining room with all the fancy rules. The food was colder than the ice in my drink and that was not on purpose. Let’s just say it was far as you could get from fine dining and still have cloth napkins. I do remember having chocolate pudding for dessert and that tells you a lot about the menu.

It also saved the trip as far as I was concerned.

Later that night, with my husband tucked in beside me, snoring his face off, I turned off the light, eager to forget all the bug lives we’d tragically snuffed out so that the two of us could gape at a bunch of wild poppies.

That’s when I felt something or someone lay on top of me.

It felt heavy, like a body, and its “face” was right in front of mine in the dark. Even though my eyes were closed I could feel it staring at me. I wasn’t about to open them and have the bejesus scared outta me. I have my limits.
“Get him off of me,” I managed to say to my husband as I poked him in the side with my right hand, trying like hell to wake him up, “I can’t breathe!”
“Huh, what?”
“Oh, thank god you’re awake, jeez it took you long enough, I can’t feel my legs. Turn on the light!”
“Why?”
Just DO IT!”
I felt him reach over and turn on the light—and when he did, the pressure subsided.

Now, you have to picture me, laying on my back, eyes shut tight, breathing hard, sweaty and frantic.

“There was something laying on top of me, I couldn’t breathe!” I gasped. Sitting up, I finally opened my eyes. Suddenly, the room had taken on a decidedly more sinister vibe. I shot imaginary laser beams, like you do, into all the corners to kill the boogie men who were hiding there. Could you blame me?

“There’s somebody in this room and he’s messing with me!” I said, staring over at my husband for some kind of support.

That’s when the ceiling fan stopped spinning.

Cool as a cucumber because this is, by far, not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to us, he looked over at me, and with a voice dripping with compassion said, “I don’t see anyone.”
Then, HE TURNED OFF THE LIGHT!

Against my better judgment, I laid down, but the moment I did I could feel the weight of “it” on top of me again.
“Turn on the light!” I screamed.
“Oh, for the love of… seriously?”
“I’m not kidding!” I was struggling for breath.
“I’m not saying you are… maybe you’re just hot.”
“Now is not the time for a debate! I can’t breathe! TURN ON THE LIGHT!”
The minute the light came on, the passive-aggressive ghost went away.
Jumping to my feet, I checked the windows, looked in the bathroom, opened the closet and all the drawers, and ever so timidly checked under the bed for the pervy perv who’d snuck into our room and was laying on top of me—in bed—next to my unsuspecting husband. Surprisingly, I didn’t find anyone.
“We have to sleep with the lights on,” I announced, after a sweep of the perimeter. “It, he, won’t leave me alone otherwise.”
“Fine,” my husband mumbled, rolling over and falling immediately back to sleep.

That is a talent, and one I don’t process; being able to sleep like a baby in a haunted room.

Needless to say, I was up all night.

Packing up is easy on a motorcycle, especially if you know you’re gonna sweat. You don’t give two shits. No shower, no blow dry, you just brush your teeth, wash your face, change your underwear, and put on the same gear you spent an hour scraping dead insect body parts off of—and go.
“Have you seem my bathing suit?” I asked my husband who was busy cleaning our visors for the ride. “It was hanging right here with the towel and my hat,” I said, pointing at the door.
“That’s where I saw it last,” he said, sounding slightly annoyed. “I stepped in the puddle it left on the tile when I got up to pee last night.”

So I checked everywhere—twice. That’s so weird, where could it go? I mean, it couldn’t just walk away.

Later, at breakfast, we, he, had a good laugh as the waiter relayed a story about the place being haunted by a former chef. “You dissed the food last night,” my husband remarked with a smile, “That’ll teach ya.”

Ha ha ha ha. Not funny.

What it did teach me was that I needed a gatekeeper. Somebody to monitor my energy. Because what I learned was that if I was ornery, which we can all agree I was that night, then that’s the kind of ghost who would show up. You have to be a match. I decided that I like ghosts who are friendly. Ones who respect personal space boundaries. Ghosts more like Casper. Or Nora. So I became my own gatekeeper. Who better than me to tamp down the ornery?

By the way, I never did find my bathing suit. Apparently, it simply vanished into thin air. Or maybe the ghost took it for a friend. It was very slimming.

Carry on,
xox

https://themoth.org/radio-hour/ghosts-angels-and-motorcycle-rides