I know, I know, the song is it's You Were Always On My Mind by Kenny Rogers, but I'm talking about sex with the Who -- whomever the who is -- in prison or otherwise. You've heard of conjugal visits - right? Even the system recognize the prisoners need sex -- it keeps the rioting down. Hello - the public pays for the bad kids to get sex too.
I don't know if it is the Whitney story recently but here are my thoughts on sex. Whitney would take Bobby back in a New York minute if he wasn't a cheating dog because the sex was fantastico . They had the vibes -- the touch -- the chemistry and she don't look too happy without it and him sharing it around. Ever seen the movie Same Time Next Year -- they had the sizzle.
I was a product of the sixties where the mother and father swore on the bible they were not having sex -- and their direction -- "nor should we partake." FYI we found out the parents were liars, big fat liars. Ah hell, you can see the scratch marks on the hardwood where they frantically pushed those twin beds together.
Well after that parent scare-a-thon, the 80s brought us Madonna and when she did her little sexual stunts on stage, all modesty blew out the window. I had to hide my kid's eyes. She was a blast of sex. Mothers immediately said novenas and cringed at the thought their son's might bring home a boot wearing, whip snapping, in your face sex crazed chick called Madonna? Isn't that a sacrilege to the Catholic Church to call a dominatrix Madonna? And do tell me about Michael Jackson's contribution to sex, isn't the sequined glove and gold chastity belt the result of too much crotch grabbing?
And now in 2009, as I gear up tonight for So You Think You Can Dance, the show will be a bomb unless the dancers will be gyrating on top of one another and getting crotch shots of some chick in their faces. The judges are sweating and it isn't from the bright lights.
Well back to the world of sex. As a teen, I used to think after your teens, once you got the sexual highs out of your system, life became normal. By normal I mean you coasted sexually and respectably to the back page of the paper -- surrounded by 20 grandchildren wishing you another 50 years of marital bliss minus sex. Wouldn't that make you 120?
Well apparently there are going to be fewer of those anniversary pictures. It is not uncommon today to hear Grandpas jumping the marital fence taking only the clothes on their back and clutching the Viagra prescription in a death grip. Some young chick is gunning his new Corvette parked around the corner and they are Tijuana bound. You think I'm kidding, well I'm not -- heard a case recently. And what is Grandma doing -- reeling over from the shock no doubt that Grandpa still can and wants to wave the magic wand. Now any of us that have a brain cell ticking know, Grandpa is also packing the Gold Card. He also has enough air miles to take you from here to hell and back many times over from buying the Blood Pressure medication. However, he is going for one last kick at the can and when he comes squealing into the Pearly Gates, he wants it with a smile on his face as big as Hugh Hefner's -- smiles that last from lust. Grandmas are thinking about donning the leather and becoming cougars. What a sexual revolution!!!!
So where am I going with all this? Ladies we were lied to -- sex is not an accessory, it's the necessary little black dress. Women were not told even if you can't walk, no time to exercise, a good tumble can get the heart rate up to 130 beats per minute. A 120 lb. woman can burn 4 extra calories per minute -- keep going and you can eat as much cheese cake as you want. The lovely endorphins (not dolphins) increase your well being. You sleep deeper and relax better. And the biggie, improves blood flow to the skin which makes it more vibrant, supple and healthy. Your aura, the inner glow makes you look and feel younger -- do the research lady. Now what do you think of them there facts?
So ladies -- rethink sex. Its not a bargaining tool, a threat, a bone you throw out on Xmas or Birthdays, its a gift to you for your well being. And as for your bod - men are not as concerned as you think. You don't need to take the belly dance lessons, order the stripper pole and while you are putting that 10 watt bulb in the lamp shade to camouflage your thighs, wrinkles and rolls, you might as well put that lampshade over your head -- they don't see what you think they see!!! They want quantity not quality. Now on the other hand there's a big push towards women loving women, then you might have to rethink the 10 watt bulb.
The joy of sex -- ladies -- ladies -- get on the program and power up that aura menopause or not, 60, 70 or not. Its the glue between the bricks and you may think its a gift to lose Grandpa at 72 1/2 but not half the assets. See First Wives Club for reading research on life without assets.
Regardless, sex is good for you. I know I hear you -- don't feel like it ladies, but you will. Its like riding a bicycle, a tandem bicycle. You never forget and once you just start peddling, its a great ride.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Let go that Ego!!!
People have suggested to me I need to have an Ask Arlene Anything show. After all the folks I've met in and out of counselling, I've seen it all and there is advise to give. For instance, I'm asked anything from how to buy a great house to how to pick a great spouse?
The house thing is easy because if you make a wrong decision, you make the wrong decision right. Sell it - redo it- rent it!! Ah hell, burn it and rebuild. The list is endless, but make it right.
Now the the wrong spouse, you pay. You can't regene or reraise a controlling brat who has to have everything their way. They get the Oscar in blame. if you didn't say what you did, you wouldn't have got your car keyed or they wouldn't have gotten drunk and slept with 5 girls. If the wife left them - she was lured away. If you are upset, you didn't ask them 20-30 times to help out. The two year olds of two year olds. Baloney -- selfish people in their heart of hearts, don't like doing anything for anyone else, anytime, anyhow unless "there is something in it for them." Case closed.
I tell parents if you don't want hell back on your steps, better start raising that selfish kid like you want them to be your son-in-law, etc. You should see how many faces drop when i say that one. There is no way they want their angry, rude daughter or son as an in law -- well I don't either nor married to mine!!
Big problem for us non relatives -- Looking mature doesn't guarantee maturity!! (I've sadly seen some Mamas, NaNas, DaDas, and Papas that never matured. I once took a 4 hour bus ride with a guy that his wife spent the whole time telling 70 yr. old George to quiet down. He loved to control, to be defiant and complained, insulted and antagonized. He started verbal combat with a 60 year old woman over getting off the bus first. I finally asked Joyce, "when you brought this guy home, what did your parents say?" Well in short, they begged her not to marry George and George, well he roared with her answer. And despite what you think, he didn't amount to much, this arrogant, controlling jerk was some big wig in Hydro and made life hell there too.
It amazes me when surveying the flock or just looking in the mirror, God isn't more blatant and helpful. We see big bodies, wearing size 8 barbie shoes or brogues. They even wear undies that spell "big girl" "big boy" and buy adult fare at the show. Well I beg to differ. The undies lie.
Joy for me is to interact with the MATURE EGO!! MATURE people who respect others feelings who don't make life a combat zone with their controlling stupid. I like people who when something is unsafe, illegal, stupid or unhealthy -they don't participate. They know what is appropriate to say or do? They know the difference between right and wrong, without being told. I like mature people who are interested in treating others well anytime and don't behave like a teenager. They do right without attitude even when they don't feel like it.
Here's the million dollar question -- how to detect the spoiled brats so I can avoid and maintain joy? The angry brat flosses their teeth, pay bills, cleans, gets As, and goes off to work -- in fact often overdoes the above. They are often the big achievers like George. Is it that I feel the constant frustration of doing business with a defiant terrible two or a snarly teen. How do I get past the unshaven face in the I Need Weight Watchers now body -- the size 14 dress. Is it the continual trantrums that tip me off. If they don't get their way or are confronted on their stupid, they are out of the room faster than a Mexican traveller with the trots looking for the can.
I once had a defiant teen in a woman's size 16 body tell me, with a straight face, that she was a swinger. Yep I met a real live one -- might have been fishing or giving me free shock treatment. When I asked "does your partner swing with you? " Her answer "no way -- if she did that, I would freak." And as I said this is a 40 year old, driving an old lady Hyundai SUV, had a house with a pool, and had the "big girl" undies - she was possesed with the attitude of a controlling, spoiled brat. You know, do what I say, not what I do or I'll kill you. Oh where can you get a quick drink of bleach when you need one fast ?
In answer -- I have a wake up call for all you arrogant, controlling, rage-a-holic Divas and Bad Ass Georges. Firstly, the cab driver doesn't turn down the covers or bring the bed pan after they drop you off from the Chemo Clinic. No man or woman is an island -- you will need people for so many tragic reasons than you want to know, so get nice and get nice right now or you will be sitting alone in an empty house -- wife dead or left -- waiting for a letter from Ungoowoo like Jack Nicholson in All About Schmidt.
So on your mirror -- get etched and read over and over and over this equality statement -- what's good for the goose is good for the gander. Or do only what I want done unto me -- 3 million times until your immature self gets it.
What's in it for my anyone to stick with crazy, childish you? In a room full of lovely, mature great people to choose from, do I want my spouse to go off with someone grownup? |f you don't see the benefits of growing up, better get the Lord on Board --you will so need it.
The house thing is easy because if you make a wrong decision, you make the wrong decision right. Sell it - redo it- rent it!! Ah hell, burn it and rebuild. The list is endless, but make it right.
Now the the wrong spouse, you pay. You can't regene or reraise a controlling brat who has to have everything their way. They get the Oscar in blame. if you didn't say what you did, you wouldn't have got your car keyed or they wouldn't have gotten drunk and slept with 5 girls. If the wife left them - she was lured away. If you are upset, you didn't ask them 20-30 times to help out. The two year olds of two year olds. Baloney -- selfish people in their heart of hearts, don't like doing anything for anyone else, anytime, anyhow unless "there is something in it for them." Case closed.
I tell parents if you don't want hell back on your steps, better start raising that selfish kid like you want them to be your son-in-law, etc. You should see how many faces drop when i say that one. There is no way they want their angry, rude daughter or son as an in law -- well I don't either nor married to mine!!
Big problem for us non relatives -- Looking mature doesn't guarantee maturity!! (I've sadly seen some Mamas, NaNas, DaDas, and Papas that never matured. I once took a 4 hour bus ride with a guy that his wife spent the whole time telling 70 yr. old George to quiet down. He loved to control, to be defiant and complained, insulted and antagonized. He started verbal combat with a 60 year old woman over getting off the bus first. I finally asked Joyce, "when you brought this guy home, what did your parents say?" Well in short, they begged her not to marry George and George, well he roared with her answer. And despite what you think, he didn't amount to much, this arrogant, controlling jerk was some big wig in Hydro and made life hell there too.
It amazes me when surveying the flock or just looking in the mirror, God isn't more blatant and helpful. We see big bodies, wearing size 8 barbie shoes or brogues. They even wear undies that spell "big girl" "big boy" and buy adult fare at the show. Well I beg to differ. The undies lie.
Joy for me is to interact with the MATURE EGO!! MATURE people who respect others feelings who don't make life a combat zone with their controlling stupid. I like people who when something is unsafe, illegal, stupid or unhealthy -they don't participate. They know what is appropriate to say or do? They know the difference between right and wrong, without being told. I like mature people who are interested in treating others well anytime and don't behave like a teenager. They do right without attitude even when they don't feel like it.
Here's the million dollar question -- how to detect the spoiled brats so I can avoid and maintain joy? The angry brat flosses their teeth, pay bills, cleans, gets As, and goes off to work -- in fact often overdoes the above. They are often the big achievers like George. Is it that I feel the constant frustration of doing business with a defiant terrible two or a snarly teen. How do I get past the unshaven face in the I Need Weight Watchers now body -- the size 14 dress. Is it the continual trantrums that tip me off. If they don't get their way or are confronted on their stupid, they are out of the room faster than a Mexican traveller with the trots looking for the can.
I once had a defiant teen in a woman's size 16 body tell me, with a straight face, that she was a swinger. Yep I met a real live one -- might have been fishing or giving me free shock treatment. When I asked "does your partner swing with you? " Her answer "no way -- if she did that, I would freak." And as I said this is a 40 year old, driving an old lady Hyundai SUV, had a house with a pool, and had the "big girl" undies - she was possesed with the attitude of a controlling, spoiled brat. You know, do what I say, not what I do or I'll kill you. Oh where can you get a quick drink of bleach when you need one fast ?
In answer -- I have a wake up call for all you arrogant, controlling, rage-a-holic Divas and Bad Ass Georges. Firstly, the cab driver doesn't turn down the covers or bring the bed pan after they drop you off from the Chemo Clinic. No man or woman is an island -- you will need people for so many tragic reasons than you want to know, so get nice and get nice right now or you will be sitting alone in an empty house -- wife dead or left -- waiting for a letter from Ungoowoo like Jack Nicholson in All About Schmidt.
So on your mirror -- get etched and read over and over and over this equality statement -- what's good for the goose is good for the gander. Or do only what I want done unto me -- 3 million times until your immature self gets it.
What's in it for my anyone to stick with crazy, childish you? In a room full of lovely, mature great people to choose from, do I want my spouse to go off with someone grownup? |f you don't see the benefits of growing up, better get the Lord on Board --you will so need it.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Less is More -- Less is Peace!!
Yesterday as I watched the MacKenzie Phillips' interview unfold, especially the part her father wanted her to be his wife, I thought here we go again. Grab the Zanex -- last week Whitney bearing her sordid past to us and breaking the dream of her music. I didn't know whether to cry or laugh because often we think our lives seem screwed up. What behooves me is how Oprah stays so calm as the bombs drop all around her from her movie star royalty?
I think it is becoming a trend now -- like fishing stories -- whose life is the most sordid? Well MacKenzie Phillips beats Whitney for the brain gone bad prize. No doubt in a week or so the lovely Latoya, not to be undersold, will be professing Michael had a threesome with his parents up until the week he died and lo and behold that is the reason why he had to be knocked out nightly. Yes what a bunch of Whackos -- hence Whacko Jacko and daily more joining the club.
All I know is that after that info yesterday, gone is the way the public will ever again view American Graffiti, One Day At A Time Again or sing along to California Dreamin by the Mamas and Papas. Knew things were bad down in Hollywood, but Holy Cow -- and its not the booze and the drugs that cracks the moral compass -- not sure they came with one. Guess it will no longer be the Mamas and the Papas but the Mamas and the Priest -- only a sick person could wear that fur hat anyhow.
And so, in decorating, less is more. In life, I vote for the same and have peace. In the counselling office, the place where people let all the crazy hang out to us, which is where MacKenzie should have unloaded hers, the stories do make an impact on our lives. One client said to me "does all this affect your life", well it does, certainly does. It discolours the way you look at humanity -- my dog behaves better than some people. I really can't get this need to air your stuff publicly -- or it is just hype to boost the book sale -- because "we is broke?" I hope it was all fabricated for her sake because the fallout on her is going to be more than the twin towers.
There is an expression that goes something like this "sometimes it is better to close your mouth, than to open it and leave others in doubt." It should be added, or get hurt.
The bottom line is -- what came first chicken or the egg? Well what came first is the gene pool -- then the sex, drugs and rock and roll. Marry a nut -- get a nut. I'll bet Chynna Phillips is glad she has another MaMa but still highlights her father and step sister have their nuts and bolts missing and she's related. After this, the Osbornes are starting to look good but I'm sure there is a bombshell there as to why all their kids are in rehab regularly.
Anyhow, to me there is tremendous joy in not having all the sordid details. Kind of like when you see a bad accident -- its the joy of being rerouted and and avoiding ten years of nightmares. Well what is the public going to make of this train wreck???? Question -- what normal people name their kids MacKenize and Chynna anyhow or APPLE? There's a story there no doubt!!!
I think it is becoming a trend now -- like fishing stories -- whose life is the most sordid? Well MacKenzie Phillips beats Whitney for the brain gone bad prize. No doubt in a week or so the lovely Latoya, not to be undersold, will be professing Michael had a threesome with his parents up until the week he died and lo and behold that is the reason why he had to be knocked out nightly. Yes what a bunch of Whackos -- hence Whacko Jacko and daily more joining the club.
All I know is that after that info yesterday, gone is the way the public will ever again view American Graffiti, One Day At A Time Again or sing along to California Dreamin by the Mamas and Papas. Knew things were bad down in Hollywood, but Holy Cow -- and its not the booze and the drugs that cracks the moral compass -- not sure they came with one. Guess it will no longer be the Mamas and the Papas but the Mamas and the Priest -- only a sick person could wear that fur hat anyhow.
And so, in decorating, less is more. In life, I vote for the same and have peace. In the counselling office, the place where people let all the crazy hang out to us, which is where MacKenzie should have unloaded hers, the stories do make an impact on our lives. One client said to me "does all this affect your life", well it does, certainly does. It discolours the way you look at humanity -- my dog behaves better than some people. I really can't get this need to air your stuff publicly -- or it is just hype to boost the book sale -- because "we is broke?" I hope it was all fabricated for her sake because the fallout on her is going to be more than the twin towers.
There is an expression that goes something like this "sometimes it is better to close your mouth, than to open it and leave others in doubt." It should be added, or get hurt.
The bottom line is -- what came first chicken or the egg? Well what came first is the gene pool -- then the sex, drugs and rock and roll. Marry a nut -- get a nut. I'll bet Chynna Phillips is glad she has another MaMa but still highlights her father and step sister have their nuts and bolts missing and she's related. After this, the Osbornes are starting to look good but I'm sure there is a bombshell there as to why all their kids are in rehab regularly.
Anyhow, to me there is tremendous joy in not having all the sordid details. Kind of like when you see a bad accident -- its the joy of being rerouted and and avoiding ten years of nightmares. Well what is the public going to make of this train wreck???? Question -- what normal people name their kids MacKenize and Chynna anyhow or APPLE? There's a story there no doubt!!!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Women are Crazy and Men are Stupid!!!
As a designer/solutionist, I've often thought, how can people live together (same gender or not) especially the Odd Couples? How much north and south is just too, too much?
We laughed at that show of the Neurotic (perfectionist) Felix being kicked out by his wife and the Moronic (slob of slobs) Oscar taking him in, but then tossing him out because his constant clean-a-thon drove him and the poker buddies crazy.
Case in point -- She does a thirty yard dash to get the coaster under his beer bottle -- he cleans spilled up coffee off the floor with her designer tea towel. She freaks that he is swilling orange juice right out of the carton -- she gets out the Windex to clean the door knobs.
I've come to believe that in order to be joyous, the farther you are from normal, the harder to find BLISSFUL JOY.
I've had girlfriend Cinderellas find their prayed for "Prince Charming" but once climbing out of the pumpkin and hitting the castle, demanding him take off the white leotards immediately and and make friends with her 20 gal Javex bottle.
Seriously, I've friends, lonely women, who have begged the universe to send them a partner, only to become hostile that he missed the toilet seat -- ever heard of two bathrooms (his designed like the corner gas station). Then she blew a gasket when he didn't want to watch Gone with the Wind and was clutching the Trailer Park Boys. Ever heard of two t.v.s? Then when he has had enough minute by minute criticism for not meeting her White Glove status, she is devastated he doesn't want to train for a position with Sparkles Cleaners or buy a franchise with her. Is it that he wants out -- or that his Dr. says he is suffering from second hand Pine sol fumes?
I've seen some good out of the box solutions. Condo apartments across the hall from each other. The other was a large bungalow with two one bedroom condos on level one, and the basement designed for the off spring.
He can joyously snore his head off and let his dog Buddie, emit air like a squashed basketball and she can lay her bad ass mean old self on her 1000 thread count sheets. Its your spot -- do what you want!!
What is wrong with these solutions-- not a darn thing! In fact it may spice up the love life -- your place or mine tonight?? But extreme still is what it is -- diff-diff-difficult.
We laughed at that show of the Neurotic (perfectionist) Felix being kicked out by his wife and the Moronic (slob of slobs) Oscar taking him in, but then tossing him out because his constant clean-a-thon drove him and the poker buddies crazy.
Case in point -- She does a thirty yard dash to get the coaster under his beer bottle -- he cleans spilled up coffee off the floor with her designer tea towel. She freaks that he is swilling orange juice right out of the carton -- she gets out the Windex to clean the door knobs.
I've come to believe that in order to be joyous, the farther you are from normal, the harder to find BLISSFUL JOY.
I've had girlfriend Cinderellas find their prayed for "Prince Charming" but once climbing out of the pumpkin and hitting the castle, demanding him take off the white leotards immediately and and make friends with her 20 gal Javex bottle.
Seriously, I've friends, lonely women, who have begged the universe to send them a partner, only to become hostile that he missed the toilet seat -- ever heard of two bathrooms (his designed like the corner gas station). Then she blew a gasket when he didn't want to watch Gone with the Wind and was clutching the Trailer Park Boys. Ever heard of two t.v.s? Then when he has had enough minute by minute criticism for not meeting her White Glove status, she is devastated he doesn't want to train for a position with Sparkles Cleaners or buy a franchise with her. Is it that he wants out -- or that his Dr. says he is suffering from second hand Pine sol fumes?
I've seen some good out of the box solutions. Condo apartments across the hall from each other. The other was a large bungalow with two one bedroom condos on level one, and the basement designed for the off spring.
He can joyously snore his head off and let his dog Buddie, emit air like a squashed basketball and she can lay her bad ass mean old self on her 1000 thread count sheets. Its your spot -- do what you want!!
What is wrong with these solutions-- not a darn thing! In fact it may spice up the love life -- your place or mine tonight?? But extreme still is what it is -- diff-diff-difficult.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Karma, Karma wherefore art Thou Karma!!!
There is such a joy in being around the unselfish, relaxed, generous, kind, giving, don't break the law folk. The folks that when their number comes up on speed dial, or you see them in a store, you yell "Yea - where ya been ?" As I wait to see about my new position, I do worry. A few weeks ago, I spent three days of training under the Sales Manager from hell -- the Child of Hitler and the Devil Wears Prada, who I dubbed the Pitbull. Why do the bullies, the Dictators, somehow make it to Supervisor. Usually the miserable and the bullies have to go work for themselves, -- who else can stand them? I know if this guy was calling me, I would be hiding in the closet screaming "Oh Shit! I had hoped you had been hit by a bus!!!"
Sadly, I had to terminate that offer because I loved the product but hated the Pitbull. Mr. Bully pants said reporting to him daily was a must, and I knew I'd be screaming "Shit, Shit, Shit" more than an outhouse cleaner .
If you are lucky you can do the tolerate, the avoid thing but what do you do if these bullies seep into your Pleasantville -- a relative, boss, sister, neighbour -- you are so cooked??? Heads up -- bullies don't always show their fangs right away and give you a good reason to depart and depart fast. In fact they often appear helpless, pathetic, whining, and in need of Jesus!!
I recall a lovely empty house I bought ten years ago (now I know why it was empty for so long ) and had to sell it after 6 months. After moving in, Mr. Friendly, Welcome to the Neighbourhood Guy, told me day one in his Pitbull way "I couldn't put up a fence on my own property, because it would make his walk way too small." His kid's tree house was staying on my property as well and too bad if I had a problem with his kids using my hot tub as their jungle gym. According to Mr. Pitbull my Casa was his Casa and there was no negotiation. I would have called Bully Busters but they don't exist, although some people claim I am to call the Banditos. Since you can't fix stupid, I hammered in the For Sale sign on the lawn and phoned Karma instead.
Hard to do, just walk away from a bully and let him have his way but who needs hell - life is short. So I leave it to Karma to deal with the bullies. I really want to know what Karma brought him -- I do know his company collapsed, maybe his abused wife left too with the kids and a heart attack or two later, he doesn't have a house so he can dictate to the new neighbour where they can or cannot put their fence. Only problem big bullies make little bullies -- so the tribe is runing around somewhere.
I often tell clients if they act like Hitler, look out, Karma's a coming. Or in a hope of offering some consolment to the victims of the bullies, that they will get their KARMA will take care of them - be sure. Next question is always "what is Karma?" Karma is an Eastern Religious concept - fruits of your actions. If you act horribly to others, you will reap a whole orchard of miserable back -- its a big "GET LOST!" over and over -- who wants to to do business with the mean ones.
Just to highlight that point, i had the joy of seeing Karma in the flesh on Saturday. I worked for a scam artist real estate Broker. With her harmless mousy exterior she didn't look like a mean one but she was. Probably was a writer on that movie "The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels." Scam, scam the folks and couldn't care less!!! In our short time, she stiffed me on some rental commissions, gave away potential listings I worked on and lied like a rug, and expected me to cover for her -- it was her company. She obviously didn't come with a moral compass.
If the mouse's lips were moving she was lying . One day I had enough and gave her a big "G- E - T L - O - S - T " and walked out of her office with a bit of advice "this office would fold its doors." She lifted her mousy little face and just gave a great, big smug smile. I remember sitting in the car and thinking "one day I'll be doing the laughing."
Well lo and behold Karma didn't let me down. I found out mousy embezzled over ONE MILLION DOLLARS and spent a year under house arrest, lost her broker's licence, and probably hasn't a friend to her name. Well Saturday I was out and Karma thought I needed the last laugh with my smart ass bully. How the starch was out of her smug face -- she was half the size, aged, and just kept her hand over her mouth the whole time -- she ain't laughing now.
I once heard a joke that a man was sitting in church and the devil appeared on the alter and cleared the place in two minutes, except for one peaceful looking man. The devil got right in his face and roared " stupid, why are you sitting there -- why aren't you terrified of me and running out of here?" He got right in the devil's face and said "you don't scare me, I have been married to your sister for years."
Anyhow I am going to keep acting in my usual cooperative way with folks regardless of what bullies I encounter -- knowing Karma will make sure that they get theirs. Ain't Karma something????
Sadly, I had to terminate that offer because I loved the product but hated the Pitbull. Mr. Bully pants said reporting to him daily was a must, and I knew I'd be screaming "Shit, Shit, Shit" more than an outhouse cleaner .
If you are lucky you can do the tolerate, the avoid thing but what do you do if these bullies seep into your Pleasantville -- a relative, boss, sister, neighbour -- you are so cooked??? Heads up -- bullies don't always show their fangs right away and give you a good reason to depart and depart fast. In fact they often appear helpless, pathetic, whining, and in need of Jesus!!
I recall a lovely empty house I bought ten years ago (now I know why it was empty for so long ) and had to sell it after 6 months. After moving in, Mr. Friendly, Welcome to the Neighbourhood Guy, told me day one in his Pitbull way "I couldn't put up a fence on my own property, because it would make his walk way too small." His kid's tree house was staying on my property as well and too bad if I had a problem with his kids using my hot tub as their jungle gym. According to Mr. Pitbull my Casa was his Casa and there was no negotiation. I would have called Bully Busters but they don't exist, although some people claim I am to call the Banditos. Since you can't fix stupid, I hammered in the For Sale sign on the lawn and phoned Karma instead.
Hard to do, just walk away from a bully and let him have his way but who needs hell - life is short. So I leave it to Karma to deal with the bullies. I really want to know what Karma brought him -- I do know his company collapsed, maybe his abused wife left too with the kids and a heart attack or two later, he doesn't have a house so he can dictate to the new neighbour where they can or cannot put their fence. Only problem big bullies make little bullies -- so the tribe is runing around somewhere.
I often tell clients if they act like Hitler, look out, Karma's a coming. Or in a hope of offering some consolment to the victims of the bullies, that they will get their KARMA will take care of them - be sure. Next question is always "what is Karma?" Karma is an Eastern Religious concept - fruits of your actions. If you act horribly to others, you will reap a whole orchard of miserable back -- its a big "GET LOST!" over and over -- who wants to to do business with the mean ones.
Just to highlight that point, i had the joy of seeing Karma in the flesh on Saturday. I worked for a scam artist real estate Broker. With her harmless mousy exterior she didn't look like a mean one but she was. Probably was a writer on that movie "The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels." Scam, scam the folks and couldn't care less!!! In our short time, she stiffed me on some rental commissions, gave away potential listings I worked on and lied like a rug, and expected me to cover for her -- it was her company. She obviously didn't come with a moral compass.
If the mouse's lips were moving she was lying . One day I had enough and gave her a big "G- E - T L - O - S - T " and walked out of her office with a bit of advice "this office would fold its doors." She lifted her mousy little face and just gave a great, big smug smile. I remember sitting in the car and thinking "one day I'll be doing the laughing."
Well lo and behold Karma didn't let me down. I found out mousy embezzled over ONE MILLION DOLLARS and spent a year under house arrest, lost her broker's licence, and probably hasn't a friend to her name. Well Saturday I was out and Karma thought I needed the last laugh with my smart ass bully. How the starch was out of her smug face -- she was half the size, aged, and just kept her hand over her mouth the whole time -- she ain't laughing now.
I once heard a joke that a man was sitting in church and the devil appeared on the alter and cleared the place in two minutes, except for one peaceful looking man. The devil got right in his face and roared " stupid, why are you sitting there -- why aren't you terrified of me and running out of here?" He got right in the devil's face and said "you don't scare me, I have been married to your sister for years."
Anyhow I am going to keep acting in my usual cooperative way with folks regardless of what bullies I encounter -- knowing Karma will make sure that they get theirs. Ain't Karma something????
Sunday, September 20, 2009
My Fair Lady!!
Ain't it a hoot to go to the Fall Fair? Hello its the parade of Canada's Most Wanted. Its the absolute best people watching show of the year. Its the Creme de la Creme of the scary -- the tattooed, the nose ringed, the Hells Angels, the pot heads, the stalkers, the ladies of the night, and us! Its all of the weirdest folks that you ever want to see in a clump.
What amazes me the most is the folks who arrive, courtesy of Para Transport, in motorized wheel chairs sailing through the crowds like slalom skiers with one hand clutching the joy stick and the other the pogo dog. I had one chick, I shouldn't say chick -- looked like she escaped from my ex mother-in-law's apple doll collection -- throw the candy apple red scooter into reverse, back into my knee caps, slam it back into forward and never acknowledge my screams at all.
The folks are as thick as black flies and you do want to swat a few, often. Especially the ones doing the thirty yard dash to the next ride, that whack your shoulder so hard, you're wiping Diet Pepsi off your glasses. And what do they say, oops, sorry, ha ha !!! You would think they were giving away free million dollar bills. Funny how you see dispensers of foam sanitizer all over the place except at the Fair. How come? Can you just imagine what a swab of the handles on those rides would come up with -- enough crap to kill an army.
But you don't want to miss it!! Yes, I hear everyone lament about the good old days. You remember the 70s -- the days when you went primarily to see the buildings and our future -- it was Halloween night for the adults. You crawled home loaded with plastic bags full of promotional crap with key chains, bottle openers, pens, car wax, to dog shampoo. And if you were really lucky, a Canadian maple leaf lapel pin courtesy of our smiling flamboyant man of the hour Pierre Elliott Trudeau from the Federal Government booth. You know -- the one with the Mountie in cardboard. No doubt you didn't see it because probably there was a family of Chinese all huddled around it while the daughter is taking a picture to send back home to say "we've arrived."
Pre recycling and shredder, you had flyers galore coming out your ying yang in case you wanted to build a new shed, kitchen, or outhouse . You had test ridden the products of the future like lazy boy chairs, the vibrating bed, and had drunk enough bottled water and health juice samples to overflow the urinal. Your dogs were barking from walking the miles and miles of vendors who not only offered you everything including their first born to stop, but seemed to have rights to a balloon factory and paper hats.
It was a marketing frenzy, a taste tester's paradise, a hoarder's eureka, and least but not least, a kid's worst nightmare. What kid wanted to stand hour on hour, balancing from foot to foot staring at a sea of zippers and belt buckles, while Mom and Dad got railroaded into buying a magic mixer. That thing promised to do anything from whip up a cake to cleaning grandma's choppers from some never to see again snake charmer.
Now that E Bay, Kijiji and Home Club Shopping Club have given the fall fairs a kick in the cornflakes, it still hasn't taken away the romance and magic that those yellow light bulbs can produce. Even if we dug up Marilyn Munroe today she would look heavenly by the light of the silvery moon and the midway lights. Couples that you could drive an eighteen wheeler between on the couch ordinarily are walking the midway hand in hand reminiscing about the wearing of the heart -- the necklace with the boyfriend's name engraved on it. On the spot engraving of the lover of your life was a big business -- may have been scratched off by the next weekend, but you were blinded by the engraved bling, bling of the romantics.
But come on -- the high volume carnie music is still pumping, the smell of diesel or whatever drives those rides is as familiar as Old Spice for Men. The screams from the wanna be scared out of your pants scary ride crowd remains, the high prices for food that would kill your dog have stayed but most of all there is still the Joy of just walking around and around the midway like trained hampsters on a wheel wonderful. I'm going back again today -- wouldn't miss it!!!
What amazes me the most is the folks who arrive, courtesy of Para Transport, in motorized wheel chairs sailing through the crowds like slalom skiers with one hand clutching the joy stick and the other the pogo dog. I had one chick, I shouldn't say chick -- looked like she escaped from my ex mother-in-law's apple doll collection -- throw the candy apple red scooter into reverse, back into my knee caps, slam it back into forward and never acknowledge my screams at all.
The folks are as thick as black flies and you do want to swat a few, often. Especially the ones doing the thirty yard dash to the next ride, that whack your shoulder so hard, you're wiping Diet Pepsi off your glasses. And what do they say, oops, sorry, ha ha !!! You would think they were giving away free million dollar bills. Funny how you see dispensers of foam sanitizer all over the place except at the Fair. How come? Can you just imagine what a swab of the handles on those rides would come up with -- enough crap to kill an army.
But you don't want to miss it!! Yes, I hear everyone lament about the good old days. You remember the 70s -- the days when you went primarily to see the buildings and our future -- it was Halloween night for the adults. You crawled home loaded with plastic bags full of promotional crap with key chains, bottle openers, pens, car wax, to dog shampoo. And if you were really lucky, a Canadian maple leaf lapel pin courtesy of our smiling flamboyant man of the hour Pierre Elliott Trudeau from the Federal Government booth. You know -- the one with the Mountie in cardboard. No doubt you didn't see it because probably there was a family of Chinese all huddled around it while the daughter is taking a picture to send back home to say "we've arrived."
Pre recycling and shredder, you had flyers galore coming out your ying yang in case you wanted to build a new shed, kitchen, or outhouse . You had test ridden the products of the future like lazy boy chairs, the vibrating bed, and had drunk enough bottled water and health juice samples to overflow the urinal. Your dogs were barking from walking the miles and miles of vendors who not only offered you everything including their first born to stop, but seemed to have rights to a balloon factory and paper hats.
It was a marketing frenzy, a taste tester's paradise, a hoarder's eureka, and least but not least, a kid's worst nightmare. What kid wanted to stand hour on hour, balancing from foot to foot staring at a sea of zippers and belt buckles, while Mom and Dad got railroaded into buying a magic mixer. That thing promised to do anything from whip up a cake to cleaning grandma's choppers from some never to see again snake charmer.
Now that E Bay, Kijiji and Home Club Shopping Club have given the fall fairs a kick in the cornflakes, it still hasn't taken away the romance and magic that those yellow light bulbs can produce. Even if we dug up Marilyn Munroe today she would look heavenly by the light of the silvery moon and the midway lights. Couples that you could drive an eighteen wheeler between on the couch ordinarily are walking the midway hand in hand reminiscing about the wearing of the heart -- the necklace with the boyfriend's name engraved on it. On the spot engraving of the lover of your life was a big business -- may have been scratched off by the next weekend, but you were blinded by the engraved bling, bling of the romantics.
But come on -- the high volume carnie music is still pumping, the smell of diesel or whatever drives those rides is as familiar as Old Spice for Men. The screams from the wanna be scared out of your pants scary ride crowd remains, the high prices for food that would kill your dog have stayed but most of all there is still the Joy of just walking around and around the midway like trained hampsters on a wheel wonderful. I'm going back again today -- wouldn't miss it!!!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
September morning!!
How do you describe the joy of a September morning? The fog over the fields, the sun shining and the air conditioning not pumping for once like Arnold in the Terminator. Off to Trails End I headed looking for Barley Green. (Barley Green Guy is gone) Well as I arrived the chip wagon lady was firing off her first batch of artery cloggers -- Poutine and guess what, at 8:00 in the a.m. they are throwing back fries, tacos and any other thing that isn't walking around the place.
I have had many a good memory there -- don't you just love it when the kids say "see ya" and 2 hours later you are not sure if they have been abducted or not. Unfortunately, not. As you sit up in the dining room in the sky, surrounded by more plastic, and insulation than you install in a fishing shack, you look down and see one of yours weaving in and out of the stalls like a drunken sailor. As you lean over, screaming like a fish wife, "come up here now" there becomes a moment of dead silence in the land of fruit and all eyes look up to the balcony. Do I do the Queen Elizabeth wave at my fans? Or are they looking because I have just cracked a flat of eggs?
So to cut it short today -- Joy the the World, My Painter Came, Let Arlene receive her Peace -- I have to don the white helmet and oversee the site. While I was blogging we already had a wrong wall painted -- was discussed before -- but now its my problem. Ah, but that's another subject. The Joy of subtrades.
I have had many a good memory there -- don't you just love it when the kids say "see ya" and 2 hours later you are not sure if they have been abducted or not. Unfortunately, not. As you sit up in the dining room in the sky, surrounded by more plastic, and insulation than you install in a fishing shack, you look down and see one of yours weaving in and out of the stalls like a drunken sailor. As you lean over, screaming like a fish wife, "come up here now" there becomes a moment of dead silence in the land of fruit and all eyes look up to the balcony. Do I do the Queen Elizabeth wave at my fans? Or are they looking because I have just cracked a flat of eggs?
So to cut it short today -- Joy the the World, My Painter Came, Let Arlene receive her Peace -- I have to don the white helmet and oversee the site. While I was blogging we already had a wrong wall painted -- was discussed before -- but now its my problem. Ah, but that's another subject. The Joy of subtrades.
Friday, September 18, 2009
The Mirror never lies!!!!
If you are a Baby Boomer and can look in the mirror and say "I look so good I almost scare myself," well you seriously need to burn the marijuana patch before you get an all expense paid vacation to the Kingston Pen. courtesy of the Government ? That is the only thing you will ever get for free from our Government and they truly don't give a dam if they cart you off at 80 so heads up.
The reality of age is that we are all white knuckling it and hoping that nature will be kind, and I'm on my knees to her. Personally I am kind of pissed off at the lack of good research in my day. When I was a teenager they gave me that crap, as they were all puffing away -- quit all that smoking -- you will die. When you have barely given up breast feeding what does dying mean to a tween???????
If they had said easy on the smoking, drinking, and sun tanning you will look old as your Grandmother, a few more beer cans and butts might have been heaved out of the back window of the Impala at the Mustang Drive in. There would have been far less towels ruined with all that baby oil. We obviously all liked third degree burns and how about those peeling contests? Kind of makes you cringe today.
Personally until 58 and 1/2, I never thought much about wrinkles. I used to hear Katherine Hepburn say she really liked turtle necks, well that one finally hit home and so the closet is stacked.
When I think back, to when I was young, I saw many a wrinkled face -- who didn't have a 50 year old grandmother that looked like 70. No really, Grandma really was fifty (although looked like she had been run over by a reindeer). Look closely at the photo, because she wasn't a sun worshipper -- it was the old lady outfit, the non dyed hair, and orthopedic shoes that made her look like a fossil. The face was permanent press, almost wrinkle free. She may have had a scowl on her puss like Kate Gosslin looking at a picture of her old man and his new girlfriend frolicking in the Bahamas , but the skin was pretty good. Noxzema was religiously applied nightly like polyfilla so without the 3 Bs -- Butts, Booze and Beams, skin was as smooth as the baby's bum.
So what do I do now? Well I can ask for Botox certificates from all the kids for Xmas, or you say, forget that, how's my spirit? Personally I would much rather hang around with a wrinkled face, overweight gal with a young spirit that shines so bright it almost blinds me. That is my pick -- BEING young spirited. I couldn't care less if you are wearing pampers as long as you are dancing the twist with me. If you possess the spirit of a teenager that never grew up and are willing to run as fast as your orthopedic knees will allow you, we are in business.
Its so funny to think about a number because truly I can recall like it was yesterday my friends and I being 18 -- I know we were 18 because we were in the last year of high school and parents kept reminding us "wait until you are 18, done high school and out on your own, then you will have a laugh on the other side of your face." Yep that was the threat followed by the old man (probably 50) who zorroed the car brush and whacked you for being a smart mouth. The days before CAS took the weapons away from the parents and you understood the consequences of being a smart mouth even at 18.
But as I recall my glory days, which I doubt I have left, I realized I had friends who had an age of 18 (it was on their driver's licence -- I checked ) sadly had the spirit of an 80 year old. You had to beg them to put down the books for an hour and go cruising to the A & W. God forbid if you drove off with the tray on the roof, they went home and told their mother right away. They had to finish the six pack of Lonesome Charlie before they could release the spontaneous -- would crack a smile, let loose and cut some dance moves.
So Age, depending on the Botox Budget, I may get to look like 40,50,60,at any given time. But the spirit has an age and its forever young. Now is the time when you can shout "who cares." I was once standing around a mall, and this lady came up and said "love your hair." The little grand daughter said "Grandma, do you know that lady? " Grand ma said "no, I'm old now and I can do and say what I want."
So don't worry so much about who you see staring back at you in the mirror -- it will scare the crap out of you. Looks like your mother eh, or worse Grandma? But if you want to make it all disappear, haul yourself up real close to the mirror, stick out your tongue, cross your eyes, or better yet, slap your backside, and wiggle around the room like Beyonce singing All the Single Gals !!! Now there's the joy of your teens resurfaced and the mirror never lies!!!!
The reality of age is that we are all white knuckling it and hoping that nature will be kind, and I'm on my knees to her. Personally I am kind of pissed off at the lack of good research in my day. When I was a teenager they gave me that crap, as they were all puffing away -- quit all that smoking -- you will die. When you have barely given up breast feeding what does dying mean to a tween???????
If they had said easy on the smoking, drinking, and sun tanning you will look old as your Grandmother, a few more beer cans and butts might have been heaved out of the back window of the Impala at the Mustang Drive in. There would have been far less towels ruined with all that baby oil. We obviously all liked third degree burns and how about those peeling contests? Kind of makes you cringe today.
Personally until 58 and 1/2, I never thought much about wrinkles. I used to hear Katherine Hepburn say she really liked turtle necks, well that one finally hit home and so the closet is stacked.
When I think back, to when I was young, I saw many a wrinkled face -- who didn't have a 50 year old grandmother that looked like 70. No really, Grandma really was fifty (although looked like she had been run over by a reindeer). Look closely at the photo, because she wasn't a sun worshipper -- it was the old lady outfit, the non dyed hair, and orthopedic shoes that made her look like a fossil. The face was permanent press, almost wrinkle free. She may have had a scowl on her puss like Kate Gosslin looking at a picture of her old man and his new girlfriend frolicking in the Bahamas , but the skin was pretty good. Noxzema was religiously applied nightly like polyfilla so without the 3 Bs -- Butts, Booze and Beams, skin was as smooth as the baby's bum.
So what do I do now? Well I can ask for Botox certificates from all the kids for Xmas, or you say, forget that, how's my spirit? Personally I would much rather hang around with a wrinkled face, overweight gal with a young spirit that shines so bright it almost blinds me. That is my pick -- BEING young spirited. I couldn't care less if you are wearing pampers as long as you are dancing the twist with me. If you possess the spirit of a teenager that never grew up and are willing to run as fast as your orthopedic knees will allow you, we are in business.
Its so funny to think about a number because truly I can recall like it was yesterday my friends and I being 18 -- I know we were 18 because we were in the last year of high school and parents kept reminding us "wait until you are 18, done high school and out on your own, then you will have a laugh on the other side of your face." Yep that was the threat followed by the old man (probably 50) who zorroed the car brush and whacked you for being a smart mouth. The days before CAS took the weapons away from the parents and you understood the consequences of being a smart mouth even at 18.
But as I recall my glory days, which I doubt I have left, I realized I had friends who had an age of 18 (it was on their driver's licence -- I checked ) sadly had the spirit of an 80 year old. You had to beg them to put down the books for an hour and go cruising to the A & W. God forbid if you drove off with the tray on the roof, they went home and told their mother right away. They had to finish the six pack of Lonesome Charlie before they could release the spontaneous -- would crack a smile, let loose and cut some dance moves.
So Age, depending on the Botox Budget, I may get to look like 40,50,60,at any given time. But the spirit has an age and its forever young. Now is the time when you can shout "who cares." I was once standing around a mall, and this lady came up and said "love your hair." The little grand daughter said "Grandma, do you know that lady? " Grand ma said "no, I'm old now and I can do and say what I want."
So don't worry so much about who you see staring back at you in the mirror -- it will scare the crap out of you. Looks like your mother eh, or worse Grandma? But if you want to make it all disappear, haul yourself up real close to the mirror, stick out your tongue, cross your eyes, or better yet, slap your backside, and wiggle around the room like Beyonce singing All the Single Gals !!! Now there's the joy of your teens resurfaced and the mirror never lies!!!!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Respect the domino effect!!!!!
Where have all the manners and arranged marriages gone --- long time passing? No I'm not talking about what they still do in Balliwood, or in Mennonite country. Tthere was a time when it was the mannerly thing to do to introduce the relatives to the intended. The relatives gave the thumbs down on your unmannerly date, and get this, the kids respected their opinion and dropped the sucker faster than a New York Minute trusting the relatives knew best.
I think the mistake lies in today's myths. The myth -- kids believe everything turns out okay -- there is no effect from behaving badly or marrying a bad ass. (hello Whitney, you shot your voice). Second myth -- kids believe if the parents don't approve its because they are control freaks and need something home to control. Now if I rounded up 100 mothers, I think I could get an amen from the choir if I said," after 20 years of kid hell," could you use a little break and have them live with another decent human being. The amen would probably blow me across the room.
It seems we have gone from respecting input from elders to "to hell with what the elders think." And guess what -- its the elders who pay for all the Kleenex, the anti depressants, the gas to drive to the psychiatrist appointments (lest they commit suicide), take the grand kids before CAS nabs them, lends you their car, bank card, gas card, and let you live basement free like Arthurritis on King of Queens.
So what about t.v. last night? At least on More to Love, the Luckey Luke, took the wifely choices to meet the fam. and actually paid attention to what his parents thought about his wife to be. Good old Dad was suckered in by the Queen of I'm It To Win It. Good old Mom saw through the I'm as shallow as Anna Nicole's explanation that she loved the 90 yr. old guy in the wheel chair. Mom's silence spoke volumes when Luke asked Mom if Miss I'm So Wonderful would make a good wife?
So back to my title, everything in life has a domino effect -- say hello to the fat that arrived after the Domino pizza driver left many of those wagon wheel sized dressed pizzas and you said exercise was too hard. Or to gum disease from not flossing, speeding tickets from speeding, sitting home alone from bad manners.
But most of all, pay attention to the results of getting involved with a train wreck of a person. It is sad to see such a disintegration of the magical voice Whitney Houston was blessed with and I'll lay my Snowie on the line that Mama Whitney said "don't date that dog Bobby" "don't do the drugs!" If it wasn't for the miracle of voice regulators, Whitney couldn't make us believe she can sing --raspy is the golden voice today.
So God made good parents for a reason -- there is a joy in having wise parents put in their two cents -- its effects may be just like winning the lottery.
I think the mistake lies in today's myths. The myth -- kids believe everything turns out okay -- there is no effect from behaving badly or marrying a bad ass. (hello Whitney, you shot your voice). Second myth -- kids believe if the parents don't approve its because they are control freaks and need something home to control. Now if I rounded up 100 mothers, I think I could get an amen from the choir if I said," after 20 years of kid hell," could you use a little break and have them live with another decent human being. The amen would probably blow me across the room.
It seems we have gone from respecting input from elders to "to hell with what the elders think." And guess what -- its the elders who pay for all the Kleenex, the anti depressants, the gas to drive to the psychiatrist appointments (lest they commit suicide), take the grand kids before CAS nabs them, lends you their car, bank card, gas card, and let you live basement free like Arthurritis on King of Queens.
So what about t.v. last night? At least on More to Love, the Luckey Luke, took the wifely choices to meet the fam. and actually paid attention to what his parents thought about his wife to be. Good old Dad was suckered in by the Queen of I'm It To Win It. Good old Mom saw through the I'm as shallow as Anna Nicole's explanation that she loved the 90 yr. old guy in the wheel chair. Mom's silence spoke volumes when Luke asked Mom if Miss I'm So Wonderful would make a good wife?
So back to my title, everything in life has a domino effect -- say hello to the fat that arrived after the Domino pizza driver left many of those wagon wheel sized dressed pizzas and you said exercise was too hard. Or to gum disease from not flossing, speeding tickets from speeding, sitting home alone from bad manners.
But most of all, pay attention to the results of getting involved with a train wreck of a person. It is sad to see such a disintegration of the magical voice Whitney Houston was blessed with and I'll lay my Snowie on the line that Mama Whitney said "don't date that dog Bobby" "don't do the drugs!" If it wasn't for the miracle of voice regulators, Whitney couldn't make us believe she can sing --raspy is the golden voice today.
So God made good parents for a reason -- there is a joy in having wise parents put in their two cents -- its effects may be just like winning the lottery.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The joy of not being famous?
How many of us secretly long to be famous? Don't lie -- we all do!! We envy Oprah's money, her status; maybe not the looks, but it would be wonderful to be rich, rich, rich. How about having people say "yes Miss Winfrey, anything you want Miss Winfrey." What a lovely change that would be for our egos than from the crappy attitude we normally get.
When we ask for a bottle of water (could be the waiter) we get the nod, a deep sigh like you asked for their first born. Or from the loving spouse "okay if I have to," or "ah get off you ass and get it yourself -- I've worked all day too." Or better yet the spouse will fire it from the kitchen to the living room like a 50 yard lateral pass on Grey Cup day. Only problem you don't have the bionic woman ability to leap off your comfy chair, grab the sucker on the fly and do the dance of joy in the end zone when you touch down. What a far cry from the queenly dating days eh?
I don't know if any of you had been awaiting the Oprah interview with Whitney but I was glued to my seat yesterday. I wanted to know why a talented, glamorous woman let herself become such a blatant tabloid jerk. Like movie stars aren't aware the tabloids tell us their dirt? Once the t.v. got fired up, even the dog had orders not to snore or she was out.
As I listened to her tale of the love affair with Bobby Brown and her drugs, she quickly got demoted from woman to teenager. Why? No responsibility - just blame. She wasn't that upset with her drug use on herself, the pain she caused her family, she demolished her career, her front row seat she provided her daughter (we thought the Osbornes were trash) but was majorly angry with his serial cheating.
She often coyly smiled when reminiscing which looks to me like, she enjoyed the ride , would have stayed longer, but Mama came and dragged her home from the party with the Sheriff. And just like a teenager, don't that suck. The things in life that are the worst for the kids are the funnest and even two, spoiled, rich teenager super stars can't play nice in the sandbox and need the law !!! She hesitated to say he was jealous (no doubt threw a rock through her window last night) -- well, who wouldn't be jealous after "I- I - I- I- I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU," doesn't any more. I can hear you all singing kids -- great song to make you even forgive son of your satanic mother-in-law for running over your beloved dog. Anyway who was this Bobby Brown clown before we heard Whitney dated him?
There was also another thing that she commented on that she didn't want Mr. Bobby Brown to fly beneath her wings -- be cold in her shadow or be dubbed Mr. Whitney Houston. I noticed Miss Oprah, nodded in agreement, so I guess power women have to make sure their men don't become the Mrs.
Anyhow, Body Guard super star Whitney, tried to make herself small -- as the back seat wife and mother and let him make the decisions and give the control away to the other teenager. Now how is that ever going to happen with a diva -- she should have done like Celine Dion -- found a fatherly, old dude, nobody to carry her bags,donate the eggs pre chemo, babysit the kid and she remains her ADHD, teenage prima donna self.
So I guess the lesson to this story is if you get big and famous, and have the brain sense of a 13 yr. old, you will be in the Tabloids and if you are not famous, on the Jerry Springer Show. I would just love to have the shirt business on that show -- the shirts come off quicker than Bill Clinton's zipper goes up and down.
Anyhow, I guess there is a real joy for all of us not being famous or born in the back woods -- our passion stays off the tabloids, we dodge Jerry and we can hold up our heads.
In closing, lest we ever forget the old man looking, teenage Prince Charles' message to become his Camilla's tampon. Holy gees how can that guy walk around in public after we know that business and maybe we have the answer why his hair thinned so rapidly. Once he dons the ermine cape on Coronation Day, well I think he achieved his biggest goal -- a tampon. And we don't need to go into the adolescent, paranoid Jacksons now do we except after seeing Latoya on Barbara Walters, round up the troops, she needs serious help hunting down the killers of her brother. Is this a crazy world or not??
So a new joy to add to my list -- The joy of not being famous with the brain sense of a teenager or having to work for them. Enjoy the day!! We'll see how Whitney stacks up tomorrow!!!
When we ask for a bottle of water (could be the waiter) we get the nod, a deep sigh like you asked for their first born. Or from the loving spouse "okay if I have to," or "ah get off you ass and get it yourself -- I've worked all day too." Or better yet the spouse will fire it from the kitchen to the living room like a 50 yard lateral pass on Grey Cup day. Only problem you don't have the bionic woman ability to leap off your comfy chair, grab the sucker on the fly and do the dance of joy in the end zone when you touch down. What a far cry from the queenly dating days eh?
I don't know if any of you had been awaiting the Oprah interview with Whitney but I was glued to my seat yesterday. I wanted to know why a talented, glamorous woman let herself become such a blatant tabloid jerk. Like movie stars aren't aware the tabloids tell us their dirt? Once the t.v. got fired up, even the dog had orders not to snore or she was out.
As I listened to her tale of the love affair with Bobby Brown and her drugs, she quickly got demoted from woman to teenager. Why? No responsibility - just blame. She wasn't that upset with her drug use on herself, the pain she caused her family, she demolished her career, her front row seat she provided her daughter (we thought the Osbornes were trash) but was majorly angry with his serial cheating.
She often coyly smiled when reminiscing which looks to me like, she enjoyed the ride , would have stayed longer, but Mama came and dragged her home from the party with the Sheriff. And just like a teenager, don't that suck. The things in life that are the worst for the kids are the funnest and even two, spoiled, rich teenager super stars can't play nice in the sandbox and need the law !!! She hesitated to say he was jealous (no doubt threw a rock through her window last night) -- well, who wouldn't be jealous after "I- I - I- I- I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU," doesn't any more. I can hear you all singing kids -- great song to make you even forgive son of your satanic mother-in-law for running over your beloved dog. Anyway who was this Bobby Brown clown before we heard Whitney dated him?
There was also another thing that she commented on that she didn't want Mr. Bobby Brown to fly beneath her wings -- be cold in her shadow or be dubbed Mr. Whitney Houston. I noticed Miss Oprah, nodded in agreement, so I guess power women have to make sure their men don't become the Mrs.
Anyhow, Body Guard super star Whitney, tried to make herself small -- as the back seat wife and mother and let him make the decisions and give the control away to the other teenager. Now how is that ever going to happen with a diva -- she should have done like Celine Dion -- found a fatherly, old dude, nobody to carry her bags,donate the eggs pre chemo, babysit the kid and she remains her ADHD, teenage prima donna self.
So I guess the lesson to this story is if you get big and famous, and have the brain sense of a 13 yr. old, you will be in the Tabloids and if you are not famous, on the Jerry Springer Show. I would just love to have the shirt business on that show -- the shirts come off quicker than Bill Clinton's zipper goes up and down.
Anyhow, I guess there is a real joy for all of us not being famous or born in the back woods -- our passion stays off the tabloids, we dodge Jerry and we can hold up our heads.
In closing, lest we ever forget the old man looking, teenage Prince Charles' message to become his Camilla's tampon. Holy gees how can that guy walk around in public after we know that business and maybe we have the answer why his hair thinned so rapidly. Once he dons the ermine cape on Coronation Day, well I think he achieved his biggest goal -- a tampon. And we don't need to go into the adolescent, paranoid Jacksons now do we except after seeing Latoya on Barbara Walters, round up the troops, she needs serious help hunting down the killers of her brother. Is this a crazy world or not??
So a new joy to add to my list -- The joy of not being famous with the brain sense of a teenager or having to work for them. Enjoy the day!! We'll see how Whitney stacks up tomorrow!!!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Arlie's Angels
Yesterday I went to St. Jacobs and as I walked along the store front area, occasionally as I looked down I sighted on the sidewalk a little silver/gold angel. Well for any of you that know me well, next to my Ramblin Rose love in a motor home dream,( could be a song eh kids), I'm a paid Intuitive and I love angels. Yes I said it and if you want to phone the LPH that I'm certifiable -- you go for it girl!!!
And like Martin Luther King, I have a dream. I have a dream to build a salute to Angels. To build the town of Angelwood so everyone can know Angels do exist and we have something real to hang onto when we find out Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are disciplinary tools the parents use oh so cleverly to keep us in line. Anyhow, back to the St. Joseph's tale, my first thought as an intuitive is -- is this a sign for me and then as I continued on I realized, BONANZA this is a fantastic marketing tool. I l-o-v-e simple, good marketing ideas.
Some smart woman, notice I said a woman, had sprinkled probably a whole bag of angel like confetti along the side walk to lead the flock to her angel store. Now I'm sure she was breaking some city ordinance, but she did it anyway to get our attention and I was glad she caught mine.
Her store was lovely for all of you who are angelaholics (second to being a chocaholic) and she could not keep up with the counter trade. It reminded me of my old bakery days when the ham and cheese croissants were coming out of the oven and people were almost as ridiculous as the stampede at the Jewish Bazaar.
Now this is just a suggestion kids, not a direction. I think everyone should have an angel memento or a room, if you are so bold, to inspire and remind you each day; no. 1. If you think you are alone well, you is wrong and no. 2. There is an Asshole or an Angel in each of us, its our daily choice!!!
Does anyone remember 9/ll and how Assholes turned into Angels -- oh yes. The same guy who gave the beggar the finger and four letter directive that meant "get your ass off my step", was the same guy who passed out free meals to anyone who was working to free the trapped in the towers. We became beautiful people who prayed and watched goodness unfold on the t.v. There were people from London that piled into vehicles to see if they could help dig and some to council. That was the moment when our universal wings just pushed through our clothes and we stood proud and gleaming just like the day when we arrived straight from heaven.
So, that is what is on my plate for today before I start out on another mini holiday to Petrolia. Do you remember how you felt before 9/ll -- and how you felt after 9/ll -- well stay like the person after. Don't be the asshole who has to lean on the horn and scare the crap out of the driver that just made an error in judgement. No one is perfect, hello. Don't you think they aren't already in a state of terror tooling down a one way street the wrong way? Like you leaning on the horn, shaking your bony little fist and mouthing "stupid asshole" is going to solve the problem.
There is such a gift of joy in being compassionate and to bring peace in all situations. So I'm going to try to CHOOSE to be an angel. You just never know, I may find little white feathers sprinkled all around my feet. Want to join me??? P.S. This is Blog No. 13 -- my lucky no. so this one must be important.
And like Martin Luther King, I have a dream. I have a dream to build a salute to Angels. To build the town of Angelwood so everyone can know Angels do exist and we have something real to hang onto when we find out Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are disciplinary tools the parents use oh so cleverly to keep us in line. Anyhow, back to the St. Joseph's tale, my first thought as an intuitive is -- is this a sign for me and then as I continued on I realized, BONANZA this is a fantastic marketing tool. I l-o-v-e simple, good marketing ideas.
Some smart woman, notice I said a woman, had sprinkled probably a whole bag of angel like confetti along the side walk to lead the flock to her angel store. Now I'm sure she was breaking some city ordinance, but she did it anyway to get our attention and I was glad she caught mine.
Her store was lovely for all of you who are angelaholics (second to being a chocaholic) and she could not keep up with the counter trade. It reminded me of my old bakery days when the ham and cheese croissants were coming out of the oven and people were almost as ridiculous as the stampede at the Jewish Bazaar.
Now this is just a suggestion kids, not a direction. I think everyone should have an angel memento or a room, if you are so bold, to inspire and remind you each day; no. 1. If you think you are alone well, you is wrong and no. 2. There is an Asshole or an Angel in each of us, its our daily choice!!!
Does anyone remember 9/ll and how Assholes turned into Angels -- oh yes. The same guy who gave the beggar the finger and four letter directive that meant "get your ass off my step", was the same guy who passed out free meals to anyone who was working to free the trapped in the towers. We became beautiful people who prayed and watched goodness unfold on the t.v. There were people from London that piled into vehicles to see if they could help dig and some to council. That was the moment when our universal wings just pushed through our clothes and we stood proud and gleaming just like the day when we arrived straight from heaven.
So, that is what is on my plate for today before I start out on another mini holiday to Petrolia. Do you remember how you felt before 9/ll -- and how you felt after 9/ll -- well stay like the person after. Don't be the asshole who has to lean on the horn and scare the crap out of the driver that just made an error in judgement. No one is perfect, hello. Don't you think they aren't already in a state of terror tooling down a one way street the wrong way? Like you leaning on the horn, shaking your bony little fist and mouthing "stupid asshole" is going to solve the problem.
There is such a gift of joy in being compassionate and to bring peace in all situations. So I'm going to try to CHOOSE to be an angel. You just never know, I may find little white feathers sprinkled all around my feet. Want to join me??? P.S. This is Blog No. 13 -- my lucky no. so this one must be important.
Friday, September 11, 2009
9/ll again
Today is the 8th anniversary of 9/ll. That day thousands of husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, friends or , aunts, uncles, etc. got up, got dressed and went to work-- and never came home again. If you have been reading my blog, most of what I write about is finding my joys in life, big and small and enjoying life every day no matter how long or short the ride.
Today some wonderful woman sent me a joyous email entitled "I want to be Trailer Trash." This was a bit of a tongue and cheek take on the most fabulous motorhome I have ever seen and could not believe a fantastic sports car was stowed under the motorhome. I was ecstatic, appreciative and aware that some other woman took my dream seriously and high five to her. I thank her for giving my dream more than a head shake like "Arlene"s losing her marbles."
Most women, ah to hell call it as it is, people do not understand my dream -- QUEEN OF THE ROAD or just anyone's dreams. So guard your dreams from the dream squashers.
Who are the dream squashers? Call themselves the realists. Its a lie -- they are the pessimists, the negatives, who have aged more rapidly than Joan River's face, and have somehow have got out of touch with reality. Joy is placed inside of each of us that allows us to be real or true to who we really are.
Anyhow, when I see a motorhome going down the 401 -- the woo woo woo just escapes from somewhere deep inside and I get so excited for them. Do I know how to drive a motorhome -- n-o-o-o!!!! Am I going to join the Gilbert Grape caravan, who knows!! But I do know there is a dream that lays inside me, from forever, and I celebrate it as much as possible and if you don't get it, too bad for you.
So for today I think of all those people who said goodbye eight years ago and put their travel dreams on hold until what -- kids left home, became 65, won a lottery? Who know what crazy, lame excuse they came up with. If you watched the movie All About Schmidt you can see exactly what a curve life can throw you and you will be travelling down the highway alone in your motorhome.
So the joy of today, is to enjoy the ride and get a real nice ride to make the ride s-o-o-o enjoyable.
Today some wonderful woman sent me a joyous email entitled "I want to be Trailer Trash." This was a bit of a tongue and cheek take on the most fabulous motorhome I have ever seen and could not believe a fantastic sports car was stowed under the motorhome. I was ecstatic, appreciative and aware that some other woman took my dream seriously and high five to her. I thank her for giving my dream more than a head shake like "Arlene"s losing her marbles."
Most women, ah to hell call it as it is, people do not understand my dream -- QUEEN OF THE ROAD or just anyone's dreams. So guard your dreams from the dream squashers.
Who are the dream squashers? Call themselves the realists. Its a lie -- they are the pessimists, the negatives, who have aged more rapidly than Joan River's face, and have somehow have got out of touch with reality. Joy is placed inside of each of us that allows us to be real or true to who we really are.
Anyhow, when I see a motorhome going down the 401 -- the woo woo woo just escapes from somewhere deep inside and I get so excited for them. Do I know how to drive a motorhome -- n-o-o-o!!!! Am I going to join the Gilbert Grape caravan, who knows!! But I do know there is a dream that lays inside me, from forever, and I celebrate it as much as possible and if you don't get it, too bad for you.
So for today I think of all those people who said goodbye eight years ago and put their travel dreams on hold until what -- kids left home, became 65, won a lottery? Who know what crazy, lame excuse they came up with. If you watched the movie All About Schmidt you can see exactly what a curve life can throw you and you will be travelling down the highway alone in your motorhome.
So the joy of today, is to enjoy the ride and get a real nice ride to make the ride s-o-o-o enjoyable.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Happy 999 Day! Live, Laugh, Love!!
Started this day delivering my 2009 Mazda to the body shop to have the scratch on the car door repaired -- 2009 on 999. Anyhow as I was driving home, I saw a first -- a parade of Mazda Miata convertibles zoom zooming happily along the 401 going somewhere. My heart started racing. There is something exhilarating to me to see people in motor homes, or driving some wheels -- loaded up -- going somewhere. I love the joy of an adventure even if I'm just going to Parks Blueberries in Chatham -- its still an adventure!
You could tell it was the retirement boys out in their Miata toys with who looked their mothers, but really were their wives. What caught my attention as I passed each car was the couples' faces. The men looked ecstatic -- the women looked like they were awaiting their yearly PAP test. Ladies, that's why men have a young woman on their Bucket List -- along with a threesome. But that last one is a bomb -- they just don't know it.
What else made me laugh were their hats. Did you ever see those long brimmed sun hats oriental women wear sight seeing -- all that was missing were fur coats and ear muffs to cut out the road noise. The windows were up on each side to keep the little Mrs. warm (probably had the heat on as well ) and as I said, no woman I saw was cracking a smile. The whole experience clearly looked torturous.
Lately I've been thinking about " the golden years" -- its a trick -- there are none. The only golden thing about the golden years is your urine and if you drink a lot of water the golden will be gone. I wonder how much Ibuprofen those folks had to take to pretzel themselves into those cars and then hoist themselves back out?
Last night I went to say Bonn Voyage to another Goldie, but this time a woman, who was loading up her motor home. Last thing she said to me was, "see you next Spring." She even wanted to sleep in her motor home so she could get a jump start on the adventure. She has to be in California in two weeks, then to fly to Hawaii for two weeks. After that she will drive from California to Florida for Xmas.
There is a lot to say for hitting the road, or the spouse if they won't stop the nagging and whining and get joyous. Life really is like a roll of toilet paper -- it goes faster as you get closer to the end.
Remember at 18 the joy you felt when you would sneak out to meet the boyfriend somewhere, and jump in his car to ditch the folks for a day of adventure. It was fantastic to play hooky -- well look in the mirror -- are you those old farts now? LORD HAVE MERCY I hope not because you are missing the Joy of Adventure!!! Let 999 be the day all that is not working in your life be changed because its all in your hands -- just put the key in the ignition and zoom, zoom, zoom.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Colour Power
The colour Orange. The Colour Yellow. The Colour Blue. If I was to paint the same room any of those three colours, I would feel totally different and my feelings produce my actions. Yet how little thought do people give to the power of their colour and the taming or the waking of the shrew?
I really do take exception to the design colour council that is holed up somewhere in this world -- probably Paris-- armed guards at the door (needed), that undemocratically with their magic wand, pronounces gray is my colour for the next two years etc. In my book too much gray makes people feel gray and act gray. So the clothes, towels, the sheets, candles, the furniture fabric, and the pictures are all into mass production in what colour -- in unison kids -- g - r - a - y!!!!
Holy Hell -- no wonder we have an anti depressant epidemic on our hands! And just like cows going to the barn, folks will obediently colour their world gray, feel gray, act gray and then unconsciously take their nightly Zanex. And did you ever notice the colour of the doctor's office where you got that prescription for Zanex or the colour of a hospital -- no wonder we all freeze in dread at a stint in a hospital or wrapping ourselves in those putrid coloured gowns!! Look what happened to Michael Jackson -- he made his own at home hospital so he too could avoid the bleak and power up with his use of colour. But word of caution -- check out the personnel before they give you the nighty night medicine -- who knows how long that guy was playing with the Playboys in the bathroom?
Now in the prison world there is another colour council. They elect to paint pastel colours to keep the inmates calm. Even they have jumpsuits that are bright orange to keep them happy and be seen if they have to pick them off with a shot gun at 20 paces. I often wonder did the prison group come from the parents who gave the kid a basement bedroom, a bucket of black paint, rolls of Kiss Posters, and a box of blue light bulbs? What or who is going to emerge from the bowels of that design faux pas?
So, as I never wanted to be a cow going to the barn, and high five my unique, although I like my pastel house, I have on my bucket list the colour white. Is white a colour? Let's debate that!! What feeling/behavior that will produce in me? White on white, brushed chrome, mirrors, chrystal, and me swathed in black with splashes of colour here and there. At least I will look slim. Will I feel and act like I'm in a five star loony bin, or the star of the show, the chic of the chic?
There is so much power in colour, and if you don't believe me just look out the window and see what those trees are up to. By Oct. 13 they will have gone from green to yellow, orange, red -- and you will comment "now don't those trees look perky?" And you know who, who has been lazing around all summer, will now feel perky and undertake losing weight, going apple picking, pumpkin lookin, but there will be movement. Did you ever think -- colours just might affect our energy? Anyhow, they're the same trees kids just with colour changes. Just another joy I celebrate -- the joy in colour!!! So use it or lose it -- do you want to jump start or retard your mood? Things we never think about -- little things don't mean a lot, they mean everything!!!
I really do take exception to the design colour council that is holed up somewhere in this world -- probably Paris-- armed guards at the door (needed), that undemocratically with their magic wand, pronounces gray is my colour for the next two years etc. In my book too much gray makes people feel gray and act gray. So the clothes, towels, the sheets, candles, the furniture fabric, and the pictures are all into mass production in what colour -- in unison kids -- g - r - a - y!!!!
Holy Hell -- no wonder we have an anti depressant epidemic on our hands! And just like cows going to the barn, folks will obediently colour their world gray, feel gray, act gray and then unconsciously take their nightly Zanex. And did you ever notice the colour of the doctor's office where you got that prescription for Zanex or the colour of a hospital -- no wonder we all freeze in dread at a stint in a hospital or wrapping ourselves in those putrid coloured gowns!! Look what happened to Michael Jackson -- he made his own at home hospital so he too could avoid the bleak and power up with his use of colour. But word of caution -- check out the personnel before they give you the nighty night medicine -- who knows how long that guy was playing with the Playboys in the bathroom?
Now in the prison world there is another colour council. They elect to paint pastel colours to keep the inmates calm. Even they have jumpsuits that are bright orange to keep them happy and be seen if they have to pick them off with a shot gun at 20 paces. I often wonder did the prison group come from the parents who gave the kid a basement bedroom, a bucket of black paint, rolls of Kiss Posters, and a box of blue light bulbs? What or who is going to emerge from the bowels of that design faux pas?
So, as I never wanted to be a cow going to the barn, and high five my unique, although I like my pastel house, I have on my bucket list the colour white. Is white a colour? Let's debate that!! What feeling/behavior that will produce in me? White on white, brushed chrome, mirrors, chrystal, and me swathed in black with splashes of colour here and there. At least I will look slim. Will I feel and act like I'm in a five star loony bin, or the star of the show, the chic of the chic?
There is so much power in colour, and if you don't believe me just look out the window and see what those trees are up to. By Oct. 13 they will have gone from green to yellow, orange, red -- and you will comment "now don't those trees look perky?" And you know who, who has been lazing around all summer, will now feel perky and undertake losing weight, going apple picking, pumpkin lookin, but there will be movement. Did you ever think -- colours just might affect our energy? Anyhow, they're the same trees kids just with colour changes. Just another joy I celebrate -- the joy in colour!!! So use it or lose it -- do you want to jump start or retard your mood? Things we never think about -- little things don't mean a lot, they mean everything!!!
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