Jacked Up Wisdom


Long story here, short story now.

Lower left hand (not lower stage left. As in, lower left hand like the hand I don’t use to write) wisdom tooth has been coming in super slow for years. Decides one steamy July eve to begin what I can only call “bumpin”. As in aches, throbs, irritations, and the kind of you-know-what that makes me want to rip it out myself. It’s just one, not all four. The one on the right has been cutting too, but the left one has been the cutter with mild teething irritation for years in my late 20s.

So yeah, pain upgrades and I go see a dentist. Not my first, but the one who says “all four come out” vs “let’s see how it goes”. At the time of “Let’s see”, I was 28 and it wasn’t bothering me. I am 30, have an appointment on the 8th for gas and removal, and I’ve been taking two 650 mg pain killers every 5-7 hours since two weeks ago. I’m trading that in for soft food, upright sleep, and PLEASE PLEASE SOMETHING ABOVE 650 MG. Vicodin, yes?

None are infected or impacted, so that’s good.

I was already broke, but now I’m going to be even more broke, and called myself posting a fundraiser to help with the cost of my limited food regimen and medical apparatus I need, but people are better at signal boosting than…helping. Which is better than no boosts at all, and none of them owe me, but I’m seriously about to be out of 1 to 2k of bucks of money I already don’t have. Scared ain’t the half of it.

…From a Boomer to a Millennial, About Marriage

So while my body has been jolting me awake at 4AM to rinse and repeat the song and dance of food and pill, my brain has been mulling over this super sexist idea my dad came up with/believes about women who are unmarried at a certain age. I’m 30, past my 20s, and probably looking into my crazy cat lady and poetry life as we speak, so it GOT to me. I’m also a liberated womanist, so it DOUBLY got to me, because my “All-American Raised” dad has this idea that any woman over 40 who isn’t married/has never been married has something wrong with her.


I get it. He was born in 1953 like a day after Lucille Ball’s son. So this whole idea of motherhood, wifehood, home maker-hood, and any other hood you can throw has been hard-wired into his head. For crap’s sake, digital media and digital apparatus have been singed into mine since the late 80’s, and Nintendo and Sony could wipe me clean if selling organs got me games. I get it. All generations have their….thing.


I get into this (respectable) debate with him about it all the time. I’M not married. With my luck with men and women, I might not even have a life partner. So what is he saying about MY potential future as a single woman? Some people don’t want to get married. Some people just…never do. There’s nothing wrong with them. A lot of people also have attitude problems that carry over, no matter WHAT kind of relationship they’re in. But the human experience shouldn’t be dwindled down and demeaned into this…thing where not being married–and this is usually geared at women–is a huge red flag.

He always refers to my cousin and her friend, his ex. And yes they are both the most flashy cops you’ll ever meet in Chicago, but they are also on their own terms sexually and relationship wise. My cousin’s friend wasn’t a match for dad because she likes to spend more than she makes. Which is…her problem, not his. My cousin is on an adjacent boat, but her “problem” is that she doesn’t keep a man “or know how to”, and I’m like….


What if she doesn’t want to? What if she has seen what marriage is like/can be, and decided that having fun is better than the risk?

What I hate is that dad is all “do you want to die alone”, and of course nobody does. But if marriage isn’t a part of my future, would you rather I force it? I could still be married and end up alone. I really don’t think there is anything wrong with being unmarried or just having a partner. And that’s not necessarily a “Millennial thing”. I’m tired of THAT, too. Everything free and liberal has to be “our thing” because we don’t follow the rules, like the Gex X folks followed all of them.

I guess it makes me mad/upset because it makes me feel like yeah, there is something wrong with me if I never get married. That all the things people like about me don’t mean anything, and that there is, again, this force that won’t allow closeness of any kind. I would be the exception in my dad’s eyes because I’m young (ish), and his kid. Yet facing all my old school friends and internet friends who ARE with someone, the idea of “something is wrong” is already there. Hearing it from a figure I admire just….makes it worse.

But then again he could be internally worried. He’s a Capricorn. Having him admit anything means it really bothers him or it’s a midnight hour deal. Considering how he feels about wanting grandkids and acting super weird when I tell him about the dating pool and relationships in this age, he’s probably beyond worried.

I guess I’m not worried enough?

The crippling embarrassment, moist poetry, and sadness usually cover it well.


…About the Internet

Rule of  thumb, feed ye not the trolls.


Another rule: Feed ye not the snooty asshole in the comment section of BuzzFeed’s video about whitewashing, because he’s a picky, irritating, smart ass purist. They’re everywhere and they know everything. Spare yourself the….everything. Mute notifications despite the maddening urge and the shaky hands.

Rinse and repeat, try not to get into a flame war at the age of 30. It’s bad. It’s on your Internet permanent record. You are NOT going to get published. You’d think after years and years of pushy boys on the adult swim forums, the cheezeburger political section, and YouTube in its early days, I would learn? Yeah.

Deepest sighs.


Somebody To Love

Which is, in fact, one of my favorite songs in this entire world.

But we’re talking about my lovelife this early morning. I’ve been crying over it, reflecting over it, and just missing lots of people who’ve gone to the great beyond. How did it all start? Cleaning. I’m cleaning every drawer in my grandmother’s room, trying to figure out WHERE I put her crystal jewelry. It belonged to her mother, and I stored it away so it wouldn’t get lost. I stored it away SO well that it’s lost. Typical Roni.

So I go through EVERYTHING.

She has this box under her old sewing machine storage table that’s full of funerary effects, her mom’s death certificate, and the family bible. I go through the box, thinking the jewelry might be in there. It’s not, but I find all these funeral programs that I haven’t seen or missed out concerning info. In my free time, I update our family tree on ancestry.com. So I leapt at this chance to look at programs, read, and update.

I cry thinking about how I wish grandpa Fred were still here. Cry a bit for my mother, because it’s always a thing to want her here. Cry about my brother–he was stillborn. I guess I got upset about that, because I have always wanted a brother. My dad didn’t exactly tell me I had one until he had to explain what my maternal aunt was talking about. She let the cat out of the bag, and his face dropped having to explain to his nine year old kid. Years later, the ache is still there. Deeply for him, having lost his son first and THEN his wife–but also for me. Not remembering her, and never getting a chance to be around him. I have always wondered what it would have been like, knowing full well the horror of my dad’s years with his brother. Still, I wanted one.

So all that sadness and emotion washed over me as I sorted things out. Once I found some new papers and dates, I added them. When I started looking over all the marriages and births, I got emotional. Again.

I mean, yes it would be AWESOME to get that writing career going. To be able to pay off crap, get my credit in order, and blossom like the person I’m supposed to be. But I also want to be somebody’s wife, somebody’s mother, and SOMEbody’s reason. I don’t have to be the queen of the thing, but at least be able to take one last breath on this Earth, knowing that somebody loved me body, mind, and soul and felt like I was a good partner/spouse. I want that.

I want to matter to someone. Not to say “you complete me”, but rather “you compliment me” and “we compliment each other”. I want to inspire someone, make them feel loved and wanted. I want the same in return. Is that asking for too much? I don’t want it to be some sickening, perfect piece of white picket fence work. But, I want something real and authentic. Not just someone who sees me and uses me as a cure for their loneliness. I would never do that to someone. I know what it feels like to think you’re loved, only to realize you were someone’s piece of boredom killer, or someone’s cover for an inability to face their own lonely.

At the end of the day, I just want real love.

We don’t have to skip in fields of flowers, but it would be nice. We don’t have to hook arms and sip bubbly, but it would be nice. I would be just as happy chillin’ on the back porch, drinking Seagram’s and popping sunflower seeds. I just want the kind of comfort and happiness my aunt and uncle have–the simplicity of getting each other a snack before bed, the joy of doing for the other person, to hold them up.

And, of course, I want kids. I don’t have to have a huge van full of them. Give me three, four. I’ll take two, will have even one. Just let me have some kids. Some wacky, crazy carbon copies who’ll probably do all the nonsense things I did as a child, but have the intelligence I had to work hard to get. I don’t want perfect kids, ’cause goodness knows they’ll all probably be asthma machines like me….but I want my little family. Some rusty-butt boys, some sass pot lil girls….just more people to love and nurture.

I’m kinda feeling like in this town, that won’t happen. Everyone is either not interested, too old, too young, already taken, too nuts, or y’know “I just don’t date Black folk, but I’ll sleep witcha!”

Slim. Pickins.

But I’m here to work on myself, and get some actual money and finish college. But I’m also 30. Way past my family timeline starting at 24. We won’t dig into the past to discuss who was to be husband and father, but you can imagine my disappointment with myself when that ship not only sailed, but sank in the ocean of life ablaze with the tense BGM from Titanic in the background.

I guess reading all those eulogies with family members full of life and full of families got to me. Especially the big ones. My grandma would always say “there wasn’t much to do down there but have some babies.” Would that be so bad? Have some kids, keep the home up, garner some income? It’s hella hard work, but these same people were so deeply loved. These same people have these beautiful biographies written about them. They were missed. I want somebody to miss me.

I felt bad about that.

I know my family will miss me. If any of them are still alive by the time I’m ready to exit this plane, I know they will shed a tear or two. Why is it so important for somebody to love me, outside of blood? To have kids, to matter? There is a cliche explanation for it, but all I can say is that I have that desire deep inside of who I am. It’s not some kind of “thing” where it’s superficial–I just want to connect and feel like I am in somebody’s heart. As simple as that sounds, as optional as every part of it is–I WANT that option. I want to experience it. I have tasted faux love and purged it. I want authentic love.

I don’t need the moon, I don’t need the stars, and I don’t want rose petals at my feet. I don’t need to be worshiped, but a little adoration and excitement wouldn’t hurt. And above all else–give me sincerity….not crap.

I have seen true love in so many forms, and all I want is my turn in the Sun.