Jonestown, Massachusetts

God knows, my faults run as deep as the Mariana Trench, though the worst of them could likely be considered my best qualities on paper.  Vanilla-Girl Scout do-gooder traits and all I've got to show for them is dozens of invisible scars scratched across the four chambers of my bleeding heart and a drained 401K account thanks to divorce. True, there could be far worse things than drinking Cumberland Farms coffee instead of Starbucks during retirement but it's embarrassing to be so misguided.

The short list:
I am kind to animals, having transported various woodland creatures for treatment to the local veterinarian's office more times than I care to remember.  I am overly generous and pay it forward to people who expect rather than appreciate with high-hopes not of re-payment but instead of lessons learned.  I regularly wave people ahead of me in traffic and much to my mother's chagrin when I was a kid, I have craned my neck left-right-left looking for pedestrians in cross-walks since before I even had a driver's license.

Former Catholic Catechism Doctrine Student and Now a Teacher Disclaimer:
I can't take credit for the pedestrian benevolence quirk as it is the result of pro-bono advice given to me in the second grade by a classmate's personal injury attorney father rather than springing from a well-intentioned core.  (By the way, you can be sued for double the damages if you run someone over while they're in a cross-walk regardless of fault.  You're welcome.)


Sure, kindness, generosity and elementary school practicality are the bare-bones ethical standards most human-kind come with but witnessing baby squirrel, mother-less bunny and tiny chipmunk euthanasia by way of a stomping vet-tech foot can cause anyone to doubt the most well-intended of efforts.  Truth is, where I've run into real trouble comes from a life-long subscription to the blind faith and trust thing.  And an unwavering preponderance towards loyalty.  What a dummy.

The only thing I've deducted from my flawed character is this: if I was anywhere near The People's Temple in Guyana in 1978 and married to the Reverend Jim Jones, I would have been first in line to get my Dixie-cup of purple Kool-Aide.  I would have ignored the signs Jim was going off the deep-end and my 15-minutes of fame would have come on the cover of Newsweek Magazine lying dead alongside all the other retarded Jonestown cult-members dressed in hideous 70's fashion.

Which is not the most opportune place to be.  Five years ago, the Patriots lost a playoff game to the Ravens on January 10, 2010 and my husband of eighteen years left, never to return.  Since then, I've pulled my body up from the mess and gone about the business of rebuilding a life but my insides; the parts of me that make up what I thought mattered; have been stuck stapled to the past.  Unanswered questions, humiliation, betrayal and loss have kept me from gathering up what I once thought defined love and commitment and family, locking it in the far, far corner of the basement and throwing away the key.  Five years is a long time.  If I don't get going and pull the rest of me up, I might as well get on a flight to Africa tomorrow.  

After much self-reflection , I've decided I'd be infinitely better off with a moral compass guided by a set of brass Judas-Brutus ovaries instead of my true magnetic Tammy Wynette north.  Faith in people is for the weak and needy.  Loyalty and trust is for losers.  Self-absorption and narcissism is where it's at.  Pope Francis is a super cool Pope but he certainly didn't make it all the way to the Vatican without stepping on a few sandaled toes. 

2015 is going to be my year, the year I will prove my theory that assholes do in fact finish first.  And they do so dressed better, with taut bodies and wrinkle-less faces.  They take what they want and sleep soundly at night.  Assholes make more money and go to fun parties and swim with dolphins.  They are not burdened by thoughts of those left in the wake of their decisions and life is easier for them.  They are loyal only to themselves and their desires and they get what they want even if what they want hurts someone else.  And they post it all on social media for the world to see.  They have no shame.  Only pride. 

And I am all in.

Happy New Year, bitches!