Pantsless Weirdo

Like any good procrastinator, I have put off writing my first post here for eight months. Almost to the day, actually. Back in December of last year, I finished off a weekend that I had almost certainly spent working from home in my underwear by purchasing this domain name, probably with the gentle encouragement of an entire bottle of cheap red wine. I can’t remember exactly, thanks to all the wine that one can consume in an eight month period. Since that night, I’ve passively toyed with the idea of actually keeping a blog going, of reintroducing myself into the world of having an online presence. And now here we are. You and me on a Saturday afternoon, me in a bathrobe hiding from the August afternoon sun in the cool darkness of my apartment. You? Maybe you’re grilling out with your friends, or taking a lazy weekend nap, or playing a game with your kids, or doing some yard work, or participating in a wild swingers orgy like you do on the first weekend of every month. I have no idea. I don’t know you, not yet. But I hope to. I’m hoping that in opening my world up to you, we can build a rapport and develop a relationship where we’re comfortable enough with each other that we can be honest about our weekend exploits, and our weekday mundanity. I want us to be close enough that if swingers orgies with strangers is your thing you can tell me with reckless abandon, sparing no detail. And to facilitate that closeness, I am going to be as honest with you as I can be without losing my job or hurting anyone I love. In that vein, most everyone I write about here will go by a nickname of my choosing.

Oh, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Sabrina, though I mostly only go by that name in a professional context. I have gone by nicknames since before I was born, so I find it comforting. Bean, Beanie, Beaner, Bri, Brina, Beeda, Beeds. I am brought to you by the letter “B”. You can call me whatever you’d like, though I think beeds might be my moniker of choice at the moment… all lowercase just like that, as if we are chatting on mIRC or AIM in 1999.

Since we have touched on orgies, I think it is most appropriate to dive in with a disclaimer as a first post, don’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t always weirdly address you as if we’re having a conversation. But when I do, feel free to pretend that there is a pause after each sentence when I have addressed you so that you can verbally respond to your screen as if you are watching a children’s show. Everybody secretly likes doing that, regardless of whether they’ll admit it. So, I should go ahead and be up front about the fact that I am very honest and open. Lots of people say that, and then they recoil in disgust when you start talking about poop. We will talk about poop here. Not in the charming and darling way that new parents talk about it, but in the way that I sometimes fail to be present in the moment and pay attention to what I’m doing and then I end up with dog poop under my fingernails for the twenty minutes it takes to complete the walk back to my apartment with my dog. And of course I can’t find a trash can anywhere that will at least relieve me of the steaming bag of excrement that I have just retrieved from a stranger’s lawn, so I attempt to rationalize tossing the bag into a recycling receptacle, all the while steering the dog and holding a poop bag in one hand whilst holding the caca-covered other hand out in front of my body, bumbling like a shit covered, one-armed zombie.

This brings me to my next point: I use “foul” language. I prefer to think of it more like colorful and descriptive language, but if you find a little well-placed cussing offensive, I recommend that you don’t hang out here much. I also recommend that you find something more useful be offended by, like the reprehensible selfishness that seems rampant in today’s Amurican culture, or the fact that some people can afford to spend $11 million on a watch while millions go hungry, or maybe the fact that rape is still a thing that happens in 2013. It is my opinion that we get hung up on silly things while the more important things go unchecked because it’s easier to feel indignant about something like some random person’s gratuitous use of “fuck” than it is to challenge ourselves to try to change the big stuff.

As you may have noticed, I get all soap boxy at times .  If you find that I am opining about something and you’re all yo, beeds or whatever the hell your name is… girl, you wrong, then I encourage you to tell me so. I live by a moral compass that dictates that we as individuals recognize that we’re all alone together on this giant rock (a pale blue dot, if you will) floating through outer space. I was raised highly evangelical in the southern United States, and the unwavering message that I have carried with me through my adulthood is that we should love each other. Even if each other is sometimes stinky or annoying or greedy or potty-mouthed. This is not to say that I do not struggle. I do. Hard. There are plenty of days when the notion of breaking my coffee cup over the head of a stranger or a coworker or a friend or a family member seems preferable to even breathing the same air as them. But that’s what this whole life is about, right? The human condition, wherein we are accosted by confusing feelings for the entirety of our lives and by the time we finally figure out which emotion we are facing and how to appropriately handle it, that emotion has morphed into a different one. It’s like being in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language and the only way you can get home is by doing this scavenger hunt, and by the time you finally figure out what the instructions say – frantically thumbing through a translation dictionary – it’s time for the next exercise. Got you again, stupid American!

I also use a lot of metaphors. A lot.

The main thing you should be aware of is that I will talk about all sorts of things that may be taboo in some circles. I have not lost my faith in God, but I challenge religion, and especially Christianity. It is my opinion that modern-day Christianity frequently misses the mark, which is another post for another day. I have experienced great loss, have struggled with depression and anxiety for most of my life, have weathered terrifying health problems, and have basically spent twenty-nine years dodging land mines and trying to maintain a sense of humor in the process. I’m going to be wide open with you, totally candid about poop and sex and death and everything in between. I hope you’re as excited as I am.