Let’s go back to Validating our Feelings

Remember this post? Yeah, I’m still angry.

I still don’t get why in this day and age I need to tolerate people that I don’t like nor want to tolerate. Why do I have to be nice to people if I don’t want to? Why can’t I dislike someone just for the fact that they rub me the wrong way or I just don’t LIKE THEM.

They call this intolerance. So that’s what I am. I’m an intolerant person. If you’

re in my life, you’re there. I tolerate you. I like you. Hell, I might even love you.

My personal life has a societal heirarchy. It may not seem like it does, but it does. Is that so wrong? Am I a bad person because of it?

I love my family, I love my friends. I tolerate strangers and I also tolerate people I work with (though I love some of them too). I tolerate the bus driver who lurches the bus making me almost fall to my ass.

We don’t have to like every person we come in contact with. In fact if you do, you’re crazy. I’m not that crazy one, YOU ARE.

I tolerate the clerks at Tim Horton’s when they take 10 minutes to make a small coffee. I tolerate my Mother and my Father (whom I love dearly).

Don’t think any of this makes me crazy, I think it makes me honest.

I mean look, I tolerated these people (from Germany). At the Hollow Tree in Stanley Park.


god or God?

I have a hard time writing god capitalized these days. It seems that t he

deserving nature of a capitalization of a word really depends on how I feel about that particular ‘thing’.

god & Me. me & god. We used to be cool, really cool. I think? Looking back, I’ll never really know.

Did he help me when I was addicted to drugs? Was that him? Who the fuck knows.

These days I’m bitter. I’m bitter about religion and god and praying and all things christian. See, I can’t even capitalize the word christian anymore. I used to be one. The days of church going and acting like you were one of ‘them’ are gone. I could never be what they wanted me to be or act how they wanted me to act. There were too many rules and regulations. That’s not how religion (or is it?) is supposed to be.

I’m happy with my path. I’m happy without god or ‘God’ or whoever is supposed to make it all ‘better’.

I don’t want to be preached to anymore. I don’t want to know how GOD has helped you. A lot of people don’t take credit for their own goodness, and instead credit their god. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for MY good decisions, not someone elses.

I am myself, I am happy, with or without ‘god’, without being told that someone is going to save me. Because honey, the only one that can save you is yourself.

And you know what? Amen to that, because it’s the truth.


I rarely talk about my father to people. It’s not that he’s a bad guy, he just wasn’t there.

The way I understand it is that when my Mom was 21 she fell in love with a much older man. In the Vancouver Croatian community and being catholic.. being pregnant and not married was a sin. Wait, with any religion it is, right? Whatever.

My Mom married my Dad (she was 21, he was 35) when she was 6 months pregnant with me. I was an accident as well as almost being aborted. In the world of free choice, I’m glad she chose me 😉

My Dad was a fishermen and he’d be gone at months at a time. When he wasn’t fishing, he wasn’t doing anything as I understand. My Mom got fed up and off she went with me & my brother in tow to Seattle. I was 6, he was 4.

I grew up in Seattle until I was 12. My Dad probably saw us 10 times in 6 years (if that). He was never the type of guy to go out of his way. He’s not a bad guy, he just wasn’t there.

Fast forward to when I’m 14. I see my Dad. We’re cool. I see him

again when I’m 16. Then again after I come back from California when I’m married.. I was 18 when I got married, 20 when I came back to Canada.

I saw him off and on for a while. Fast forward to 2 years ago when I really wanted a relationship with him. We were good and then I stopped calling and he started calling a lot more.

Last night I received a phone call from him. “My daughter, I love you.. it’s your Daaaad.” I always think he’s drunk when he calls and that puts me right off. He’s an alcoholic (will never admit it, but he knows he is).

Today I went to visit him. I hadn’t seen him in 9 months. All he wants is love. And all I want is for him to be loved. Even though he’s not all there (he’s a little dumb, forgive me for saying this) and he thinks he looks like Gene Simmons!

I never stopped loving my Tata and I never will. I need to make him important again in my life as long as he’s here.

Frank & Lucky the Crazy Dog.