Breaking up is OKAY

Dear Rob Dyrdek,
How do I put this? I am not really good with feelings.
I’m breaking up with you.
I did enjoy your skate tricks, your dog, Big Black, your silly childlike brilliance.
You inspired me to the point of asking you to email me, our private relationship became my personal cell phone message, which I can’t figure out how to change back.
The same five people who call often get pissed about that one, Rob.
Maybe I should blame it on the Gingers mostly, Baby Bro, and my girl, Kat.
Baby Bro is a freedom lover, a Ron Paul supporter, and a great lover of documentaries.
He picks the best ones and when a clear day comes and he has a certain smirk on his face, I consider myself lucky, sit back, ready to really think and talk.

Not really a political girl, am certainly not Libertarian, Democrat, or Republican.
I like to imagine you like me, and the political bullshit ends when you fart on Big Black.
Truth.

There is nothing to fear, nothing to defend, nothing to hide.

That is why I love people who can really know how to spit truth. I certainly can not.
It is so easily seen but so cleverly disguised.
And for all you who preach nothing, I hunger you, so I watch and observe how you ooze with such awesomeness, you of course, have nothing to say.

I wish to be like you.

It took my friend Harpua, a Ginger, which is a mean name for a red head, but not from me, seeing as I have one of my own.

He believes red heads have been persecuted for years and deserve special attention.
Total bullshit. Lola stops traffic when she swings her red hair.
Gingers can’t really be trusted. It’s part of their charm.
So my Ginger friend Harpua and I agree that the most important question to answer a child with is a question, so that they think for themselves. Smart people tell you what smart people tell them so the questions leading back are all just answered from similar shades of the same “smartness.” But perhaps all the kids and the Gingers, or those in disguise, are the few who don’t even tell you what the smart people say.

Perhaps they just ask you the question right back.

Kat shot through a doctor today with this one simple question,

“Why sir, do you want my mommy to take medicine her body says isn’t okay?”

The man was holding up samples of LEXAPRO, promising me the only side effects were money, which he could take care of, seeing as he had so many samples.
No side effects? I asked again.

He laughed, the way smart old men with papers that tell them they are smart laugh when questioned by silly blonde girls, blonde girls who actually believe they know their own bodies.

Kat is a Ginger, disguised with brown hair, and intuitive.
That is my Kat. Asking questions with questions.
I wondered who I would become if I did the same.

And so, through Harpua, I have found someone you, Dear Rob, you can not even hold a candle to.

He looks for terrorists, to help police officers he assumes are impersonators of the police, mostly to offer hugs, and make announcements into megaphones, important messages like if you see a human body in another religion, to please physically attack them to change their minds.. I have 7000 people this silly blog reports read daily, and so, if one person knows how I can find this man, I don’t know what I would do with myself.

I might find a big black man to fart on too, Rob.

Stay tuned for Harpua and I to hit Atlanta, come join us with your questions as well, or for a lot of fun. I have a feeling Lola could draw a crowd, except Divorcee may not approve it for a school sick day. It would make a awesome school bus trip, a photo documentary, and if I don’t get kicked out of PTA for it, I’ll be pissed. Thank you Gingers, or if you are one in disguise or have wronged one in your day, stumble this on.
Do it.
Stumble and Google “The Love Police.”

As far as Rob, I am pretty sure he would agree, “Everything is Okay.”

Related articles

• Three Amigos (buddhathepig.wordpress.com)
• For all the broken, a love letter. (buddhathepig.wordpress.com)

Rob Dyrdek, My Other Half

I realized the other day that my own best friend does not understand what this Rob Dyrdek film is about, which makes me certain that you certainly do not. I need to break through some of your assumptions, for the sake of my own enterprise.
Main Misconceptions:
I am NOT in love nor am I an average obsessed fan of a celebrity. I am not even a skater, nor do I plan on becoming one. I do not want to stalk, become famous, or have Rob Dyrdek’s love child. Operation Rob is not a plan to get an autograph to put on a wall, or sell on ebay. I do not want bragging rights to meeting Rob, nor do I want a career in film. I hate having my picture taken, for God’s sake.
Now that you understand that much, let me explain something about myself. When I was a little girl, the greatest thrills of my life were over inventing and creating the impossible, gathering everyone in my sight to make that invention possible, seeing it happen, and counting the money after it happened. For instance, I decided we needed a neighborhood library. I collected every book I could find, convinced my best friend the most awesome idea in the world was to put K&N library stickers in every book of her house combined with mine, so we worked our little fingers off writing and carrying loads at a time down the hill, organizing rows and rows of books in my room.
Not one asshole brother of mine checked one book out.
Tragic.
But, I learned from it.
I decided to gather recipes, awesome ones, the best I could find, and convinced my best friend that what the neighborhood needed was a traveling dinner company, so she went door to door with me, and I showed them the possibilities, took their orders, collected the money.
The only problem was that I hadn’t asked my mom first, who refused, told me to take the money back.
No way.
So, I talked to her mom instead, much easier to negotiate, who loved my humor, so we named the company “Cookers Delight” and said we had to deliver the cakes, her mom went to the store, got the ingredients, stayed in the kitchen while I rolled on the ground with Pepper, the dog, until she had finished them just in time for our 3 day orders, and I remember to this day, one order of cookies were late, just one. A success, but not quite.
It was summertime, and it occurred to me, that parents needed a break from kids, and I needed a break from mine. I had big blue print plans of day camp, all booked with coloring activities and tables, snack breaks, and permission slips. I had fliers with cost options per child. Everything was ready but my mom said I wasn’t old enough to babysit myself, and no way was she going to be responsible for other kids. She said she had four of her own.
It didn’t stop me.
I decided we would color wood, and envelopes, my best friend, totally “Big Black” but blond and cute, probably 7, and easy to boss around. We sold them door to door, the profits were marginal, and I remember some people even gave us more than 10 cents per rainbow envelope. I made a note of that.
And then I saw, at 8, all those experiences had paved the way for “Charlie-O,” the syrup ice cream machine I talked my dad into buying, got her mom to get us the ice cream, plates, and materials for signs. Luck came with opportunity and the neighborhood flocked to us, all paying for ice cream sundae floats, and I will never forget the satisfaction of laying out all those dollars, stacking them in piles, counting them with my dad’s calculator.
The real truth is that I was born to make shit up.
If you were to look into my soul, I am Rob Dyrdek, but with breasts, and no penis.
I had forgotten my true self, saw him on television, and remembered he is everything I represent. I believe in HUGE dreams, calculated projects that everyone says impossible, for no financial reason or gain but to prove my point, that it may be absurd or ridiculous to YOU, but the fact is, I am going to go to school, learn enough to document a film, involve my children, community, and make a film where Rob sits back, sees his twin flame, an absurd genius, and in meeting me, will show that dreams and hard work become reality, when one is willing to believe.
The whole thing will be documented, by this blog, through all my projects, the filmed moment or photograph of Rob and I, not as a fan, but as his equal, his other half.
Best Recognize.
This is the U s of A.
Operation Rob is in effect.
I am going to have a hell of a lot of fun making it happen.
I appreciate all of your support, even the haters, because that makes victory that much more sweet.

Rob’s Grandma, Will You Adopt Me?

So, about Rob. I have an editor now, for the cinematic production. This 21 year old man cub approached me, completely blew me away in being a reader, a fan of “Operation Rob”, so adorable and enthusiastic, offering his editing skills when the movie is done. Things got serious when he lost his grandmother who meant the world to him. A marine cried when his grandma died. She must have been fucking awesome. I have always wondered what it would be like to have a real grandma, like a nice one, seeing as bird lady to the left is mine. For all you people with sweet adoring grandmas that make tea and cookies, call you sugar, go ahead, judge me. The word grandma is what bird lady was to me, the most warped human being on the planet. I still find myself suspicious of cute grandmas in walkers, wondering if they are soulless, the happy children around them perhaps unaware they might need to watch their back, seeing as you never know what a grandma is capable of. I realized bird lady was not in the majority, mainly by years of shocked faces, and the reality that none of your grandmas ash on their head, hate babies, accuse you of poking out antique doll’s eyes, flipp hamburgers with pooper scoopers, or put dishes on the floor for the dog to lick, only to put them back in the cupboards. “A dog’s mouth is cleaner than any of you,” she would say, her bony finger pointing, as if we were the disgusting ones. You can’t make this shit up. This is partly why my family is so close, because we kind of have to be, or no one would believe us. You ate pizza after a big fight, so you are full before you ate at her house, dad making us all go. Dog hair would be in the food, my aunt would laugh hysterically while making you gag by her hair ball noises, pointing to pieces of black dog hair in total sarcasm, saying, “Mmmm, protein.”
The family inside jokes are countless, the yellow jackets in the “Blueberry Delight,” her refusal not to blow smoke around infants, the way she caught bugs for her frog no one ever saw, the way she passed out checks to everyone but my mom and aunt, giving them ugly ass fake plants. If you didn’t write a thank you note, you got deducted the next year, which she would announce to everyone as she handed out the appropriate checks, which is why mine were usually pretty shitty. Bird lady was famous in the antique community, having her home in many prestigious magazines, and so I remember at night, big black iron gates opening, being in the back of the car and seeing presents in these sleds during Christmas season, always wondering if Santa were scared to leave them.

I guess it was our warm fuzzy moment when she sent me out to the dining room one day, alone, which is creepy, whispering this piece she would leave to me one day, if I were a good girl. What the hell am I going to do with a gallery art of some ancestor with four fingers? It is bigger than my house, and she insisted stay in the family, one aunt third removed supposedly had the same four fingers. It sickens me the articles on her stuff, her home, all of which had original photographs of black people picking cotton from Como, her Louisiana plantation, making her probably in the top five most racist people I have ever known or heard of in my life. Her maids were black, and she would accuse them of stealing everything from her silver to oranges. “You NEVER know,” she would say, signaling me to put my purse in the car, directly in front of these poor women, who I secretly hoped would end all our misery, for racism, for Dr. Luther King’s dream. She hated spending time with us so once a year she would take us school shopping, smoke out in the front until we were done, our couple hundred dollars spent, but every year I got scolded for not buying plaid. I thought for sure by the time I had a period, I wouldn’t be forced to open one more freaky antique doll, which I hated, the boys all got electric cars and flying planes. Even worse, she tried to make me wear furs, like minks with the head attached. My most fond memory was on graduation, her telling my father she had to be in Vegas out of town on that day, so unfortunate, but we saw her at a stop sign, and bird lady actually ducked as if we didn’t see her, all of us dressed, her head down like we didn’t know her car or my grandfather driving. When my grandfather died, she told everyone she was exhausted from having to fake cry all day, and funerals were horrible, seriously people, because it meant she had to wash her hair for them. My man cub friend bawling his eyes out over his Grandma was a little baffling, and I wondered if he were relieved, maybe because he never had to faint again opening eggnog, four years after expiring, with her yelling at you to not touch her 1700 iron collectibles. Then, it occurred to me, perhaps I could love a grandma too, after seeing the love and beauty of what this woman meant to man cub, a possibility seeing as he is a marine, and named after my dead dog. I thought about shopping around for looks I have seen that might appeal for a grandma more like “me,” a fit I feel oddly fun daydreaming of.
This looked like a fun group….Perhaps old people blog now, who knew?

A little too many of them to adopt at once.

She put a little twinkle in my eye…

Too much Panty, Not enough Granny

I like the look, I just don’t want to be caught shoplifting, unless you get away with it at 90…..

A little too "Joan Rivers" for me

Is this a mail order Russian Granny?

Not feeling it Granny Super Shopper

Now she looks pretty cute, and has a nice smile…..

Now isn’t she lovely? I bet she doesn’t own a bed with a bullet in it your ancestors were shot in….

And then, I found her! It’s my Grandma, I’m certain of it. I’m way too excited, am certain she wont be having me call her Grandma, but something more like She Real, or bad ass like that. I have no idea how these type of adoption proceedings occur, but I am certain that this is the perfect Grandma for me, and I bet she has some great ideas to help me find Rob..
Craig’s List, here I come.

Please Adopt Me Grandma Bad Ass

Finding Rob Dyrdek – The Miracle Magnet

I am a Miracle Magnet. It’s just the damn truth. I don’t even introduce myself to tables with my name anymore, now it is, “Hi, I am the Miracle Magnet. Would you like to start off with a nice cold margarita or some spinach dip?” You would be amazed at how many people even listen to anything you say if they are reading a menu. I could probably say, “Hi, I have a penis and would you like to dip it in ranch before ordering?” I PROMISE you at least half would say yes or no, still looking at the menu, or at their kid climbing the back of the booth, the mother usually interrupting your name to rattle off the drink order. It amuses me. Anyways, I had so many miracles happen yesterday it was insane, like when I got to work, my partner was puking in the parking lot. That my friends, meant I made serious dough, having to take all her tables while she wandered the parking lot with a tea pitcher, still on whatever it was she took last night. I went into Office Max, to buy a wall calendar, because even Miracle Magnets need organization skills. Organized people probably make loud screaming noises with their eyes rolling in the back of their heads just walking in that place. I have never in my life seen more post it note possibilities in my life. You can highlight and post now, with post its in shapes of pots and pans if you want, to post it calendars, for erasable post it notes if you want to keep that shit fresh. You can post a post it! When Jerry approached me for help, I was already irritable, not knowing which of the 40 billion calendars on a needed day, could save my life. He was probably in his forties, with extremely white teeth, either from having really good hygiene or being addicted to White Strips, but he had this big grin, annoying energy, like he were about to bounce around Office Max in song, like he were on a Broadway stage. Perhaps paper clips excite him.
He began with, “Hi there. My name is Jerry and I am in a Divorce Recovery Program where my therapist has instructed me to flirt with two married woman and three single each week.” I think my silence deafened even myself as I stared at him, wondering if I should laugh my ass off or leave with him in the fetal position, weeping for his mama. I decided to just be impulsive, like that would be anything new. “No you didn’t.” I said, bored. He started to stutter something else about having kids and searching for love, amused that I did not think he was amusing, which irritated me. Finally, I smacked my calendar on the ground and said, “Listen Jerry, I think that is by far on the scale of 32 years of living, the worst pick up line I have ever heard.”
His reply was, wait for this, “I like my coffee half and half.” I took a deep breath, told him to wait for me in the envelope aisle in the back so I could shop, grabbed some pens, heading straight to the check out line where a cute little teenage boy was waiting. “Thanks for shopping Office Max and Jerry wanted me to give you this.” He handed me a business card and looked away, his face red. I looked at his name tag. “Listen, Randy. The thing about Jerry is that he doesn’t know the only worse thing than men that have game are men that don’t and think they do.” He smiled. I thanked him, about to walk out when he yelled, holding Jerry’s card in the air. “Hey, Miss. We have shredders on aisle ten.” We laughed. Telling this story to Divorcee and Baby Bro as I walked in, Kat interrupted. She put her hands on her hips. “Why did you not tell this man that he is nothing like the man you really want!” Her little face serious and exasperated. Hands on her hips, she said, “Next time this happens, you just say you are waiting on a man named Rob.” God, she is a child genius. We have began our calculated plan of events, and she has decided to be my Black Mike, my bodyguard and financial manager, which is hilarious, being she is four feet, but not, cause she really could put the fear of God into anyone I think, if they crossed someone she loves. She has been handling my money too, plus she has been passionate as me, working on her role, coming up with some hilarious ideas.
Hey Jerry. You are a douchebag. If you want to touch my mind, my heart, my soul, and much less my body, you need to know I am only into someone like this………….

Finding Rob Dyrdek, the Beginning.

Have you ever just woke up one day and discovered your purpose, and it lit you up inside, like fire, and you knew without a doubt what you would be doing to leave your mark on the world?
Me either.
But, this is pretty damn close.
It all started with baby bro, laughing his ass off from the living room. He and I have very sick and some would say have a twisted sense of humor as well as a love for learning so I usually trust his judgment on what kind of t.v. or nature show or documentary he is finding.
It is an art form, the stuff he finds.
I would only say this because I know without a doubt he does not read my blog so keep my adoration of him on a down low. But, when this all explodes, which it will, I know he will want official credit from the beginning. He kept telling me about this dude Rob, that I would love him, and I wasn’t jumping on it until Clyde was laughing so hard on the phone a couple of weeks, talking about this dude named Rob skateboarding over an alligator or something. I put the one with the two, told divorcee to put on a little Rob, and that is when the magic began.
Perhaps my path is marked like a yellow highlighter, and I heard the call, the voice of heaven opened up, or maybe I saw Mother Mary floating in my cheerio bowl, but the point is, a spiritual message has been delivered.
I am to meet Rob Dyrdek.
Who is he?
I don’t really know. I think his show with Big Black is so effin awesome, that he is probably a creative genius, but I like the Spirit of him, because his ideas aren’t like Jackass or anything I have really seen, and he seems to have a genuine beauty in his heart, a child like innocence, definitely crazy, and he makes me laugh my ass off.
So, I don’t really care about the professional skating, or the fact that he is an entrepreneur, or famous, and I know if I saw this on the travel channel and he was unheard of, it wouldn’t matter.
I am destined to meet at the LEAST, wait for it. Rob Dyrdek.
I announced this like Moses, bringing down the tablets off the Mountain, and just like many of the non believers in his day, as all great prophets experience, I was not really being heard.
That is when Kat and Lola became part of the process. We needed a plan, to brainstorm, and the fact is, he is famous now, which is going to make the path harder to endure, and I am going to have no choice but to look in my heart and find the faith, the belief, when all the judgments and doubters come, which trust me, they already have.
I can see it in their faces.
So, we are going to be making a video, no, a cinematic adventure, that will land on his door or in his hand, which he will watch and have no choice but hear the calling.
These are the challenges. First, finding him. Clyde got a google map and address, a lot like Big Black, going along with something I’m pretty sure he is humoring, but that is okay.
Not everyone can be a prophet.
We came up with a few ideas, like starting a face book page but I told the girls what we had wasn’t big enough. To get Rob to meet me, we had to outsmart him and make him laugh harder than we do at him, which meant we had to get into his head, find the genius and TOP it.
So, here begins our journey. I am going to blog the process, just so that you guys know I am now a filmmaker, director, screen writer, and that even all of you with mediocre goals like financial success and saving orphan kids and becoming surgeons wont lose hope. Finding Rob Dyrdek will not be easy. I think I need at least a video recorder.
But, it isn’t something I want, it is something I have to do, not really a dream, but a self fulfilling prophecy. When we do meet, I am not a fan. Lets get that straight. I am not in love, have his face printed on my ceiling, or am obsessed with anything the media says about him.
I will not ask him to sign my breasts or come home and make sweet love with me, but if that is a result, so be it. I think the ultimate moment will be my own, and I will not say nice to meet you, but rather, I will hug my long lost friend, congratulate him and say,
“Finally, Rob Dyrdek, you found me.”

So, day one has begun in my research. I thought this was pretty good, but definitely able to be topped. I am open to any suggestions, help, but can not pay extras with anything other than maybe a pony keg for the crew, which divorcee will probably have to fund. We all start somewhere.