Well it never ceases to amaze me that ever since little gals could squeeze the girls into their first push up bra, they have been on a man hunt, whoops boy hunt. Did God play a joke and at puberty swap our brains for boobies?
Apparently the divorce rate is 60% -- but really higher with many living unhappily ever after. Lots of nuts don't want to split the nuts so they are slugging it out to see who over doses first. Many a woman has sat in her garage, Lexus idling and three seconds from seeing the white light, said "no way that bastard isn't getting my wheels," and in she goes loaded for bear and another year. And by the look in her eyes, he just knew, this ain't over yet. Actually she should have driven those wheels to the nearest telephone booth, called Jay Nobel Daggart, Attorney at Law, and had the nuts split. Most people are slugging it out like in the War of the Roses. Do we all recall that movie? What a stupid woman -- let him have the house -- just get all the accessories. All houses are created equal. Want revenge -- take the accessories and your half of the cash. A good decorator is your best friend in divorce smudging out the Way We Were.
Anyhow it seems like puberty was the start of insanity? Before pubescence females and females -- females and males could sanely coexist in a seemingly civilized fashion. Kaboom the sprouting of the hair, it was like the incredible Hulk had emerged, the clothes tore apart and the parts were popping. The eyes turned red and the hunt was on. Normal thinking girls went immediately down to the local hardware to get a good size hunting knife for some serious back stabbing. The males read cover to cover Dr. Spock's Baby Book. Women went crazy and men remained lazy. And women, really fighting over one jackass that is forever remaining a teenager. Hogging the remote control. Basket balling his stinky socks into the hamper and missing the toilet seat. Buying you a new 9 iron than 9 red roses for your birthday. And whoops, golly gee didn't get you a woman driver. So the present went back to him in the long run. Surprise.
And here it comes, some other back stabbing, green eyed, siliconed breast popping, botoxed, guppy lipped female -- who used to play Monopoly with you on your Grandmas porch, got your Mr. Toilet Seat Up and now your Boardwalk. Well tip the game now, don't pass go and don't collect $200.
There you lay all night long making up the most stupid erotic fairy tales and punching the hell out of your pillow. Come on -- if he couldn't do the Antonio Banderas with you in your 1000 thread count sheets, now she's getting Porn Hunk of the Month. The only hunk that chick is getting is a hunk of Velveeta that he slapped on a plate, with a couple of saltines and is now calling it appetizers.
I vote we all go back to sanity girls. Men are not the golden Oscar, finest Pearls of the Orient, rare Diamonds of Africa -- they are at best, a prize in a box of Cracker Jacks. You know when you first got the prize you thought whoopee and then when you played with it a bit, it all fell apart and you said "rip off." Well, need I say more. Then you got your crazy glue and tried to glue it together and no matter how you tried, the dam thing just couldn't be fixed. Well its the same deal with men. They are flawed, non fixable and just because someone else picked up your prize and has purchased ten gallons of crazy glue, she can't get the dam thing to work or stay upright together either. In fact she is trying to find your phone number to see if you really do love him and want him back as he keeps telling her. Ditto the same fights over laziness, lateness, cheapness, and blankness, You know the blankness when you emotionally say "I've had such a tough day at work, I could quit" and he says "I have to go to the beer store, talk later?"
So why are intelligent women all fighting over a flawed prize???????
I say there is a solution, at least there was one before the breasts totally beat out the brains, it was called DATING. Yep. It was like you had the best of both worlds before the river of tears from all your fears.
Remember when you met Mr. Forever Young and he lived with his mother. He referred to her as the old bag, the whip cracker, the old lady and many other names that he since dubbed upon you. And you laughed at that though she lovingly did his laundry, lent him money to take you out, and even cleaned the car that he took you to see Two Weddings and A Funeral. And again you laughed when dear old Mom gave you those monogrammed towels at your shower that said His and His Old Lady's. Well you should have slid them back to her with a Card that said My Sympathies -- May You Find Each Other Again.
Yep, you have done this Muskrat Love thing once, maybe twice, maybe seven times like our Elizabeth. The kids are sick of it, the relatives are sick of it, because shacking up life feels like a dog chasing its tail. When you are single you are sad, and when you are married you are mad. Sad? Mad? Sad? Mad? Which emotion do you want, but you are going to get one of them. So I say why not pick dating -- its the glad between the sad and mad. You can walk past the dirty socks, pizza boxes, unopened mail, and cruise along home in your clean car to your princess palace. Better yet you can make friends with the other mad, sad females -- don't lie you know them -- and have them play at your house while you watch She Devil and the First Wive's Club. You can dress to the nines and thrive in date mode. Actually date mode drives men crazy.
In fact if you recall, in them good old days, the flowers came, he came on time, he smelled good, bought gifts and took you out to eat. He didn't even look over his shoulder at football when you were making out. He did everything humanly possibly to get himself resting on your fancy sheets and you then sent him home, in the cold night air, again to his Old Lady to take the crap.
So divorce hit you pretty hard --is it a gift from God or a free ticket back to Datesville?? Some see it like getting out of prison -- removing the orange jump suit, shedding the pounds and wearing pretty again; the unshackling of the ball and chain and to hell with cooking dinner at 5:00; the bye bye to the same space painted compromised beige and hello Blush Pink, and the best of the best, sianara to the snoring, the farting, the burping and any other array of bodily noises one human being can uncap in an eight hour sleep cycle and hello beauty rest.
So go figure -- the joy of dating? Give it some thought -- is marriage or shacking up a trick or a treat? One thing I do know is this -- Halloween -- the only night when the orange jump suit is considered stylish.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Yellow Line
Normally I try to be funny -- because God said "Let there be Laughter" -- and you thought God said Light eh? Well laughter makes the heavy light and life is heavy -- look at Simon Cowell. If I couldn't laugh about the freeway that runs up the middle of his hair of bamboo shoots, I would probably hire a hit man for those Kids on American Idol. For instance I live on a country road that's pretty dark at night. Like camp site dark. It is total isolation -- see about 3 cars a day. In fact when cars come down our road people act like they've just seen a space ship landing -- staring, mouths drooping, and taking licence numbers. Well, the other day I went out to take the dog for a walk, in the dusk I saw a solid yellow line painted right down the middle of my road -- yep, surprise, surprise, surprise let -- there -- be -- light!!! Now I have a florescent yellow line to light my road home.
My dog, who notices if I dye my hair, and who drags me from pillar to post like Owen Wilson in Marley, took one look at this yellow line and made a sharp right and dragged us into the ditch. As she did her business she kept looking over her shoulder panicked to see if the line was coming closer to get her. When I got her back on the road, she kept sniffing at it, but she wasn't crossing it. Since that day, the dog does not straddle the road. Still pulls like a Husky going home to the igloo, but stays and ain't crossing the line. Get the picture. Do you think God orchestrates all these jokes???? Anyhow, its her perception of a yellow line.
Moving along, there are times the unexpected yellow line gets drawn down your street of happiness. Death is the big line laughter whacker. It makes you veer to the emotional ditch and cower as you look over your shoulder. And just like the dog, you have to face the line. To some the line is the Vet who says " sorry, your lovely little four legged best friend -- who really thinks you are someone special despite what the neighbours think -- has to go to the other side of (the dreaded yellow line)." And the worse place scenario, who even big, bad, bald Dr. Phil said that would send him to the emotional garbage dump " the loss of his child." Now that's a hard yellow line for us to face if Dr. Phil calls "I'M OUT."
I equate the after the yellow line feeling to my daughter's night club. If I go in there when Hump Night is in full swing -- that's Ain't It Good To Be Gay Night -- its a blast! After the hoopla dies down, it's black, its hollow and its black empty. The life has been temporarily sucked out of the place. But, unlike death, in a couple of hours there will be people swinging from the mirror ball and my daughter will be threatening to take a bucket of water upstairs to the Mile High Club. Drunken jerks just don't know a toilet from the back seat of a car although people are pounding on the door screaming "I have to pee."
So how do I face the yellow line of death? I straddle it like a drunkin sailor. As a medium I don't straddle it, it is more like dragged back and forth. I feel for the folks who "death is death and I'm picking this side of the yellow line and case closed" just like my dog. They're gone and tell me how do I stop the pain?
And for other people they are acknowledging, or sniffing at the yellow line like the dog did at first and wonder what goes on over there? What if I crossed over the yellow line thinking "maybe my family member isn't gone forever, we can still be in touch?" But like I said there isn't really a yellow line in my world, and actually sometimes I would prefer to be talking to the folks on the other side, they give me less grief. Ah, well maybe not as you will read on.
From as long as I can remember I was always interested in the yellow line, especially at 10. I'm the kid who likes logic and likes answers. Well here is my answer after many years of searching. Initially, nothing amazing happens -- kind of like the feeling we get when we cross over the yellow line at the border. We originally feel, "big deal crossing into the States." Then kapooooooow, we realize we are leaving boring Canada to the Home of the Brave -- Disneyworld, Dollyworld, Hollywood, movie stars, Rodeo drive shopping, etc). In the USA we can be Amelia Earhart flying a jumbo jet and yet we never took a flying lesson. Its when the best of your dream world, becomes reality. You know when you wake up from a really good dream, you go dam why did I have to wake up!
I do that when I'm driving my powder blue Mercedes convertible tooling along the coast line of Italy. If the car falls off the side,because I'm having the time of my life, driving 200 kms per hour, hitting hair pin curves at break neck speed -- guess what? When I go over the side, I don't break my neck. How good is that? Somehow I just land safely, get out and head with the new best friends to my speed boat. And the theme song of this world is, the Dirty Dancing bestest version of -- I'm having the time of my life minus the Canadian reality choir screaming " what the hell are you driving 200 kms per hour -- are you crazy?"
Yep folks, we just cross over the border from no fun Canada to hang onto your seat belts kids USA. And how do I know this, well in my every day life, the AIN'T I GLAD TO BE IN THE AMERICAN CLUB NOW, (the land of the brave) just can't help but sending me Postcards from the Edge. They call back to Canada and let me know about all the fun I am missing. Don't you just love those "wish you were here calls."
And how do I receive their calls? If I could only count how many times I've gone out to my car, in a locked garage and grab the door handle in haste only to find my finger nails have been shortened abruptly. Gees. If I am asked one more time "why do you lock your car in your garage?" I am going to have the locks removed. Or I stand talking to someone and they say Arlene "your car just locked by itself." They are dumb founded, but more dumb founded that I say, "I know annoying isn't it, but thank God I have the keys on me this time." Or I am exercising and the radio cuts out. There is no power flicker in the room, and off the eliptical I get, but when I turn the radio back on, its always on a love song. And nothing better than being abruptly wakened at midnight (they love midnight) from my Italy driving dream, to hear Celine Dion belting out the tune from the Titanic. Up I get to turn off the radio, with a nod of thanks for letting me know you are missing us. These vacationing Americans are no respectors of Canada time.
But really who can blame the vacationer -- they are like the kid who got a pass out of school, which earth is just a school room. I know in their little heart of hearts, they miss us and can't wait until school is out for us too. But seemingly they don't possess a watch because its midnight here but they just have to let us know, why, because our wall of grief is too much for them to bear. See them like the friend, who should be happily enjoying recess, but who can't and is lovingly tapping on the widow of the kid still in the class room, who is sobbing their heart out. Grief is grief. Its all on which side of the line you look at it.
I could go on and on with the power love signs, but the animal ones are really great. I once was missing my father, and he took time out of his day and orchestrated a monarch butterfly to spend a half hour with me to cheer me up. It sat on my head -- when I picked it up and gave it to someone else, it just came right back to me. When I'm frustrated with earth school, he made squirrels lay flat down on a picnic table and stare at me until I laughed. The best, I was sitting writing my blog just like right now stressing about life and as I looked to my left sat a mouse just staring back at me. Well I headed out of that room, now laugh kids, just like I'd seen a ghost. I brought the dog to the door to scare the mouse, dog couldn't see it. This dog loves to chase mice. The thing vacationed in my den. It laid on the leather like it was suntanning in Florida. It did not run, it just relaxed. When I tried to catch it with a mesh waste basket, in got through the mesh. This little mouse had a purpose, to show me there is no yellow line and the relatives will show you so.
So folks its a joy to tell you that there is no yellow line. If you just open up your scardy cat thinking and notice what is. If you need a telephone call, well maybe you might have to hire me to be your Sprint Canada connection. Is there a mouse in the house, or Ken in the den????? Actually you want a few over on the other side before hand, they can brighten up your day - the supernatural way - in the funniest of ways.
And often times, as a medium, that's big people talk for being a telephone connection between good old USA and Canada, if I can get their attention, they will tell you, from the bottom of their hearts, heard through my words and seen through my tears, still belonging to them, besides locking every device, or sending animals, that "they so love you, they so miss you, but the Jumbo Jet with their name on it is waiting so drool baby drool. Be happy and be happy for me!" So crossing over -- the yellow line -- is your decision.
And for any of you that I love, THAT MAY BE MISSING MY HUMOR lookout, you may find a gorilla dancing in your back yard if the circus is in town. In my little ghost like state, all I have to do is take a walk down the road to the circus and lead my little dancing friend home to your house. And my funny for today. I just went into the kitchen hungry and got really excited. I saw a fantastic fruit pie on the counter, and then realized it was one of those realistic candle pies that I bought at the Craft Show yesterday. Its all in how you see things. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha
My dog, who notices if I dye my hair, and who drags me from pillar to post like Owen Wilson in Marley, took one look at this yellow line and made a sharp right and dragged us into the ditch. As she did her business she kept looking over her shoulder panicked to see if the line was coming closer to get her. When I got her back on the road, she kept sniffing at it, but she wasn't crossing it. Since that day, the dog does not straddle the road. Still pulls like a Husky going home to the igloo, but stays and ain't crossing the line. Get the picture. Do you think God orchestrates all these jokes???? Anyhow, its her perception of a yellow line.
Moving along, there are times the unexpected yellow line gets drawn down your street of happiness. Death is the big line laughter whacker. It makes you veer to the emotional ditch and cower as you look over your shoulder. And just like the dog, you have to face the line. To some the line is the Vet who says " sorry, your lovely little four legged best friend -- who really thinks you are someone special despite what the neighbours think -- has to go to the other side of (the dreaded yellow line)." And the worse place scenario, who even big, bad, bald Dr. Phil said that would send him to the emotional garbage dump " the loss of his child." Now that's a hard yellow line for us to face if Dr. Phil calls "I'M OUT."
I equate the after the yellow line feeling to my daughter's night club. If I go in there when Hump Night is in full swing -- that's Ain't It Good To Be Gay Night -- its a blast! After the hoopla dies down, it's black, its hollow and its black empty. The life has been temporarily sucked out of the place. But, unlike death, in a couple of hours there will be people swinging from the mirror ball and my daughter will be threatening to take a bucket of water upstairs to the Mile High Club. Drunken jerks just don't know a toilet from the back seat of a car although people are pounding on the door screaming "I have to pee."
So how do I face the yellow line of death? I straddle it like a drunkin sailor. As a medium I don't straddle it, it is more like dragged back and forth. I feel for the folks who "death is death and I'm picking this side of the yellow line and case closed" just like my dog. They're gone and tell me how do I stop the pain?
And for other people they are acknowledging, or sniffing at the yellow line like the dog did at first and wonder what goes on over there? What if I crossed over the yellow line thinking "maybe my family member isn't gone forever, we can still be in touch?" But like I said there isn't really a yellow line in my world, and actually sometimes I would prefer to be talking to the folks on the other side, they give me less grief. Ah, well maybe not as you will read on.
From as long as I can remember I was always interested in the yellow line, especially at 10. I'm the kid who likes logic and likes answers. Well here is my answer after many years of searching. Initially, nothing amazing happens -- kind of like the feeling we get when we cross over the yellow line at the border. We originally feel, "big deal crossing into the States." Then kapooooooow, we realize we are leaving boring Canada to the Home of the Brave -- Disneyworld, Dollyworld, Hollywood, movie stars, Rodeo drive shopping, etc). In the USA we can be Amelia Earhart flying a jumbo jet and yet we never took a flying lesson. Its when the best of your dream world, becomes reality. You know when you wake up from a really good dream, you go dam why did I have to wake up!
I do that when I'm driving my powder blue Mercedes convertible tooling along the coast line of Italy. If the car falls off the side,because I'm having the time of my life, driving 200 kms per hour, hitting hair pin curves at break neck speed -- guess what? When I go over the side, I don't break my neck. How good is that? Somehow I just land safely, get out and head with the new best friends to my speed boat. And the theme song of this world is, the Dirty Dancing bestest version of -- I'm having the time of my life minus the Canadian reality choir screaming " what the hell are you driving 200 kms per hour -- are you crazy?"
Yep folks, we just cross over the border from no fun Canada to hang onto your seat belts kids USA. And how do I know this, well in my every day life, the AIN'T I GLAD TO BE IN THE AMERICAN CLUB NOW, (the land of the brave) just can't help but sending me Postcards from the Edge. They call back to Canada and let me know about all the fun I am missing. Don't you just love those "wish you were here calls."
And how do I receive their calls? If I could only count how many times I've gone out to my car, in a locked garage and grab the door handle in haste only to find my finger nails have been shortened abruptly. Gees. If I am asked one more time "why do you lock your car in your garage?" I am going to have the locks removed. Or I stand talking to someone and they say Arlene "your car just locked by itself." They are dumb founded, but more dumb founded that I say, "I know annoying isn't it, but thank God I have the keys on me this time." Or I am exercising and the radio cuts out. There is no power flicker in the room, and off the eliptical I get, but when I turn the radio back on, its always on a love song. And nothing better than being abruptly wakened at midnight (they love midnight) from my Italy driving dream, to hear Celine Dion belting out the tune from the Titanic. Up I get to turn off the radio, with a nod of thanks for letting me know you are missing us. These vacationing Americans are no respectors of Canada time.
But really who can blame the vacationer -- they are like the kid who got a pass out of school, which earth is just a school room. I know in their little heart of hearts, they miss us and can't wait until school is out for us too. But seemingly they don't possess a watch because its midnight here but they just have to let us know, why, because our wall of grief is too much for them to bear. See them like the friend, who should be happily enjoying recess, but who can't and is lovingly tapping on the widow of the kid still in the class room, who is sobbing their heart out. Grief is grief. Its all on which side of the line you look at it.
I could go on and on with the power love signs, but the animal ones are really great. I once was missing my father, and he took time out of his day and orchestrated a monarch butterfly to spend a half hour with me to cheer me up. It sat on my head -- when I picked it up and gave it to someone else, it just came right back to me. When I'm frustrated with earth school, he made squirrels lay flat down on a picnic table and stare at me until I laughed. The best, I was sitting writing my blog just like right now stressing about life and as I looked to my left sat a mouse just staring back at me. Well I headed out of that room, now laugh kids, just like I'd seen a ghost. I brought the dog to the door to scare the mouse, dog couldn't see it. This dog loves to chase mice. The thing vacationed in my den. It laid on the leather like it was suntanning in Florida. It did not run, it just relaxed. When I tried to catch it with a mesh waste basket, in got through the mesh. This little mouse had a purpose, to show me there is no yellow line and the relatives will show you so.
So folks its a joy to tell you that there is no yellow line. If you just open up your scardy cat thinking and notice what is. If you need a telephone call, well maybe you might have to hire me to be your Sprint Canada connection. Is there a mouse in the house, or Ken in the den????? Actually you want a few over on the other side before hand, they can brighten up your day - the supernatural way - in the funniest of ways.
And often times, as a medium, that's big people talk for being a telephone connection between good old USA and Canada, if I can get their attention, they will tell you, from the bottom of their hearts, heard through my words and seen through my tears, still belonging to them, besides locking every device, or sending animals, that "they so love you, they so miss you, but the Jumbo Jet with their name on it is waiting so drool baby drool. Be happy and be happy for me!" So crossing over -- the yellow line -- is your decision.
And for any of you that I love, THAT MAY BE MISSING MY HUMOR lookout, you may find a gorilla dancing in your back yard if the circus is in town. In my little ghost like state, all I have to do is take a walk down the road to the circus and lead my little dancing friend home to your house. And my funny for today. I just went into the kitchen hungry and got really excited. I saw a fantastic fruit pie on the counter, and then realized it was one of those realistic candle pies that I bought at the Craft Show yesterday. Its all in how you see things. Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Osmond vrs. Osborne
My mission has always been to create a better earth starting with what I produce. Problem -- how do we identify sickos and not procreate with them? Thank God for menopause, but other problems still linger.
Oh how easily in the dating days do the deviants sell their unfair Terrible Childhood, hook in the kind hearted women story. How cleverly do the villains turn themselves into Victims? How the wolves love donning the good looking, red riding hood outfit. The deviants swagger; they zoom, zoom, in their fancy cars; boast about their smarts, education and resume; they pass the cash fast and create an illusionary lifestyle of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Women, always wanting to be vets or nurses, love the bad boys and believe they really can turn a Pitbull into a Poodle.
I like wise words and should have taken Sanity 101 instead of Science in High School. i.e. Maya Angelo and her "when someone shows you the first time who they really are, believe it" Well, that sounds very wise, but Maya, how do we activate our sense of awareness when the perpetrator is expert at deceiving their women?? How do we reroll the carpet of emotional and sexual connection and return to stoic logic when women instinctively believe that she can change any pitiful mess of masculinity? The only time you ever get to change a man is his diapers and from then on, damage done.
Maya, how do we unring the bell and erase the pain of stupid and maybe death? The Aids killer doesn't normally announce " No sex today, I have Aids ." The child molester doesn't give a clue like "I can't babysit, I'm court ordered not to go near a school yard." The deviant sociopath doesn't present "I can't marry -- I shoot people and sleep like a baby." Maya, where are the uh huh clues that should scream Run Forest Run? Do we all need a psychology degree to know whose who? We are like lambs going to the slaughter in the dating world and these guys know it, especially as the ladie's tooth gets longer. How do we identify the cold hearted, they look so darn charming, harmless and death certificate of the wife to prove WIDOW????? Maybe we just throw the dice, and if hell comes, round up the posse and do THE EYE FOR AN EYE THING.
Well here is one lesson the gals should have been taught over and over in school and not on friggin flowers -- its called genetics and pay heed if you want to escape the pain of pains -- women are only as happy as their unhappiest child.
I don't know if any of you are watching this bout of Dancing with the Stars. In the black corner we have the now wind out of his sales, Ozzie Osborne, the Prince of Darkness, dolled in black with the lovely $100,00 cosmetic job Sharon on his arm. Now frail, no doubt from all the chemicals known to mankind, pathetic guy in drag is clapping for Kelly like a two year old who just found his fingers. You need to be surrounded by heavy metal to just sit near this crazy nut.
In the white corner, Donnie Osmond, the Prince of Light, Mr. classy and clean living. He's robust,his teeth are like Chiclets and he moves like a 21 year old. Nothing but tea has probably gone past those lips and it probably was in a straw to keep those Chicklets sparklin. You just hope he gives you the nod to go home with him for an Osmond Xmas.
Well, question, what are the outcomes of these two sperm donors. I don't know whether to cry or marvel at Kelly being able to walk, talk without slurring and not having pupils the size of dimes. Isn't it a miracle how drugs can eat holes in your brain for years and she can still dance? Daddy's Little girl, certified drug user since 13, and living on suicide watch has been Ozzie's avid student and probably shares the Pent House suite with brother Jack at the Betty Ford. How does the world not get a light bulb moment of 2million watts so bright that it would bring in a 747 with the damage this crazy deviant has role modelled while his kids were growing up? Doubt Ozzie sees any connection or feels guilty. Come on ladies. Does Sharon really think drugged out, eat the head off a bat, Ozzie, makes him a good candidate for a Daddy. Apparently so and she will pay the price for that backwoods thinking.
As for Donnie's influence, I doubt we will see the fruit of his loins on TMZ crawling down some sidewalk without their underwear or speeding off in a black SUV only to be found later going the wrong way on the Expressway carrying enough Marijuana plants to start the grow house business in Utah.
And so I say: Ladies, don't be a dope. If you marry a dope, on dope and if you think he won't turn the kids into dopes on dope, you are a dope.
Oh how easily in the dating days do the deviants sell their unfair Terrible Childhood, hook in the kind hearted women story. How cleverly do the villains turn themselves into Victims? How the wolves love donning the good looking, red riding hood outfit. The deviants swagger; they zoom, zoom, in their fancy cars; boast about their smarts, education and resume; they pass the cash fast and create an illusionary lifestyle of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Women, always wanting to be vets or nurses, love the bad boys and believe they really can turn a Pitbull into a Poodle.
I like wise words and should have taken Sanity 101 instead of Science in High School. i.e. Maya Angelo and her "when someone shows you the first time who they really are, believe it" Well, that sounds very wise, but Maya, how do we activate our sense of awareness when the perpetrator is expert at deceiving their women?? How do we reroll the carpet of emotional and sexual connection and return to stoic logic when women instinctively believe that she can change any pitiful mess of masculinity? The only time you ever get to change a man is his diapers and from then on, damage done.
Maya, how do we unring the bell and erase the pain of stupid and maybe death? The Aids killer doesn't normally announce " No sex today, I have Aids ." The child molester doesn't give a clue like "I can't babysit, I'm court ordered not to go near a school yard." The deviant sociopath doesn't present "I can't marry -- I shoot people and sleep like a baby." Maya, where are the uh huh clues that should scream Run Forest Run? Do we all need a psychology degree to know whose who? We are like lambs going to the slaughter in the dating world and these guys know it, especially as the ladie's tooth gets longer. How do we identify the cold hearted, they look so darn charming, harmless and death certificate of the wife to prove WIDOW????? Maybe we just throw the dice, and if hell comes, round up the posse and do THE EYE FOR AN EYE THING.
Well here is one lesson the gals should have been taught over and over in school and not on friggin flowers -- its called genetics and pay heed if you want to escape the pain of pains -- women are only as happy as their unhappiest child.
I don't know if any of you are watching this bout of Dancing with the Stars. In the black corner we have the now wind out of his sales, Ozzie Osborne, the Prince of Darkness, dolled in black with the lovely $100,00 cosmetic job Sharon on his arm. Now frail, no doubt from all the chemicals known to mankind, pathetic guy in drag is clapping for Kelly like a two year old who just found his fingers. You need to be surrounded by heavy metal to just sit near this crazy nut.
In the white corner, Donnie Osmond, the Prince of Light, Mr. classy and clean living. He's robust,his teeth are like Chiclets and he moves like a 21 year old. Nothing but tea has probably gone past those lips and it probably was in a straw to keep those Chicklets sparklin. You just hope he gives you the nod to go home with him for an Osmond Xmas.
Well, question, what are the outcomes of these two sperm donors. I don't know whether to cry or marvel at Kelly being able to walk, talk without slurring and not having pupils the size of dimes. Isn't it a miracle how drugs can eat holes in your brain for years and she can still dance? Daddy's Little girl, certified drug user since 13, and living on suicide watch has been Ozzie's avid student and probably shares the Pent House suite with brother Jack at the Betty Ford. How does the world not get a light bulb moment of 2million watts so bright that it would bring in a 747 with the damage this crazy deviant has role modelled while his kids were growing up? Doubt Ozzie sees any connection or feels guilty. Come on ladies. Does Sharon really think drugged out, eat the head off a bat, Ozzie, makes him a good candidate for a Daddy. Apparently so and she will pay the price for that backwoods thinking.
As for Donnie's influence, I doubt we will see the fruit of his loins on TMZ crawling down some sidewalk without their underwear or speeding off in a black SUV only to be found later going the wrong way on the Expressway carrying enough Marijuana plants to start the grow house business in Utah.
And so I say: Ladies, don't be a dope. If you marry a dope, on dope and if you think he won't turn the kids into dopes on dope, you are a dope.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A Friend A Day keeps the doctors away!!
I think in my next life I will have a PHD in social science. Why? One because I love the subject of socializing. We also get mega impressed when we see a gold card with the flying dove hologram and thus respect. If I had that PHD in my wallet, I would flip it out faster than the RCMP at an illegal purse party. People would listen up and listen up pretty quick to Dr. Arlene's words of wisdom.
So here is what I have to say for today. The biggest epidemic we face in the 21st Century, is not the flue H1 whoever, whatever done that one virus -- here it comes --Loneliness. It shortens our lifespan, causes sleep dysfunction, high blood pressure, depression, SUICIDE , and yes the declining immune system, which says hello to the H1 -- and now for sure its the we're done flu.
This subject is mega important? We are social animals, built with an innate need for social contact, in depth connectedness with people, not technology to ensure emotional and physical wellness. (C O N T A C T of the real kind, like talking face to face, hugging,pat on back to be well). Untouched folks are flocking to Drs. for the Zanex and then herded to the councillor for a recipe for the depressive feelings from isolation. And how do we catch loneliness in this ever smart 21st century of sanitary wipes? Mainly we catch the loneliness virus from our self created isolation --faces stuck in screens of every kind even on the toilet and hiding in doors -- (the kiss kiss and hug hug on emails don't qualify for human contact) and the really big two -- Death and Divorce.
We are living longer, hence lonely widows - widowers and, the divorce craze -- single parent home. And where do they go to connect? We are being sold the divorce myth like a good Xmas gift-- live alone in neon lights -- be independent, self sufficient, etc. Forgot to tell you married people live longer. Yeah, and the reality of beautiful singlehood -- playing "I am a rock - I am an island" -- in dirty pyjamas, eating so much comfort food (can't even share half the fat with the spouse) that you need Dr. Phil and a crane to get your 700 pounder fat ass out of the house. Divorce solutions eh?
They call the divorced man today The Big Mac -- because he goes through the golden arches with his blow up doll ordering two adult Happy Meals with double, double everything. Then he sits alone in his beaten up old piece of shit, too depressed to even wash it and feeds the blow up an occasional fry. Even has her named Fanny. Now isn't this is a sad sight and there's many a guy buying a poodle to pamper claiming its for the wife? Don't laugh women --lonely has driven respectable women to sleep clutching the sweaters of boyfriends you dumped, begging on the phone to get back together, wearing rings again once fired out the car window, affairing like Meryl Streep and putting up with the relatives from hell askng "Why did would you want to be single again?" Answer: "I thought I would be happier alone."
Come on don't laugh this is serious business. How do you really feel with the silence after you put the dog down? Yeah, he ate anything that wasn't tied down. Yeah he peed on the floor. Yeah he laid around all day irritating the hell out of you licking and scratching himself -- well what is different between that and the spouse? When the vet says "times up" all those hyjinxs are forgotten and you go home weeping clutching only the leash in hand and the silence without your Fido is heart breaking.
Same feeling when all the yada yada dies down and you see the wedding ring sitting on the dresser which you either yanked off the corpse before they closed the lid so the grave diggers didn't get it, or you forced it off his hand with butter and spit because you still owe on it and he ain't getting it! He's out STAT. Well you voted for the sounds of silence ISOLATIONVILLE --the 6:00 p.m. eating alone silence, the 9:00 p.m. getting ready for bed silence, or the 3:00 a.m. silence -- you reach out and all you feel beside you is air -- cool air. And the dog died so you can't even hug the smelly old dog. LONELY? What a plan -- if I live alone, I can be mega selfish, happy and healthy. Well, even an adult spoiled brat needs company to be well.
I know a selfish woman who is in the throws of divorce and her mantra is Somewhere Over the Rainbow like Judy Garland minus Toto heading for for the Emerald City. When I ask her how she is going to deal with the loneliness, she says in her flippant way, " I'm not worried my mother did great." Her mother calls her 15 times a day to ask what she is cooking for dinner and the neighbours have a restraining order out on her! Also another woman, her lonely friend couldn't wait to convince her to leave the smart ass husband. Well surprise, the husband and the once lonely friend are together and now the kids live with them. Lonely Ex-Wife tricked by the friend has tried Suicide more times than you have fingers because she told me "I can't handle the loneliness. Its worse than I ever imagined.' Its like the kid in Home Alone -- two weeks into it, and it ain't so much fun any more and you wish the demonic family back. You start eyeing the sheets and wonder how much weight the upstairs bannister will hold.
We glamorize living selfishly alone. We actually believe we are solving the relationship problems with divorces and snazzy technology, but we are actually just creating mega unhealthy isolation. I once had a friend phone me up and say, "enough of this email crap Arlene" I want to hear your voice and you laughing. A Ha Ha Ha email is pretty flat compared to some chick sitting beside you laughing so hard, tears are running down her face, she is pounding your arm with her fist and her other hand is between her legs hoping she will make it to the bathroom. (put that in a facebook message). Next couples will be text messaging orgasms -- Ooh baby Ooh baby -- pretty flat next to someone screaming Hello Dolly in your ear. Talk about a disconnected bunch of emotionally and physically ill jerks we are becoming. I think the worse is that you write an email, forgot entirely what you asked and the reply comes two days later. That communication is like sitting talking to an Alzheimers patient. Eventually you think you are missing your nuts and bolts too.
So however you are selling isolation whether it be in caps, bolded, fancy font as self sufficient, independent, b.s. its LONELY and it will get you a full vial of Zanex to try to take the edge off, or a stomach pump when reality really sets in. And what's worse -- people are so ashamed to admit they are lonely because it suggests they are flawed, losers, unable to attract friends and others look down on them, like social lepers. They are whispering this to the councillor like they have a social disease and have done something terribly wrong and shameful. The problem isn't I done something wrong, its where have all the people gone??
Note from the universe says: you can be compassionate to the fat, the poor, the lonely, or you can learn it, and learn it the hard way, but you will learn to be compassionate to the lonely. Get out of your mega important self, hiding in your house, be friendly, make a phone call -- invite a widow, divorced person, a single, someone for dinner. Give them a hug. Show interest in their lives and give them God's caring. Babies die from loneliness, lack of touch, well so do adults.
And what is the point of being selfish asses to drive the best friend spouse away? Its like always starving and then pooping in your food . Science says connectedness is a must. I say its vogue to be face to facers, friendly, neighbourly, visible. With everyone cocooning the world is starting to look like a ghost town western. To prove a point -- I know many people who put in a pool, self included, expecting it to attract friends and were glad to get rid of it because most of the time it is an empty money pit. Look at community pools today -- the kids are in the house with their face glued to a screen. The best thing would be a power shortage to bring people back to sanity and a healthy weight.
Now for some people, they deserve a on screen relationship unless they sharpen those selfish social skills and fast. But for those who know how to treat other people well, play unselfishly in the sand box, I am so sorry if you are lonely. You need to play ball with friends everyday, but can't find a team to play on. No fun bowling alone -- gone are most of the bowling leagues thanks to Wii. IF YOU ARE Wiiing and feel lonely, its an alarm to bring people into our lives. The trick is how to find them and root them out of the swamps like the duck hunter with the duck.
So for all those mothers whose kids are embracing the trend to move away and are selling you a relationship with them on Skype and you are "yelling where the skype are you?" my sympathy I wish you a loving partner, neighbours, friends and at least, a great dog to cuddle up with to kill the lonely. (now isn't that Skype another technological plum of connected communication -- doesn't the heat from the computer on your lap feel lovely and bump up your immunity) and ain't it fun to hug the computer as you unwrap Xmas gifts via skype? Don't those short breads the daughter made taste yummy on screen? There was a guy who googled "I'm lonely, anyone want to talk" and he got mega replies so ISOLATION is here just like Katrina though no one talks about it. In fact what was sad about that disaster was the loneliness. Many of those people didn't even have a friend with a car to get them away from the disaster and sat on the roof waiting for their government friends.
So awaken to what is TO BE VALUED. We need people not more technology to be happy. We need real people to sit around with at night -- not sitting alone watching reality t.v. We need close confidants to share our hopes, woes, fears, and dreams. Someone we feel just so gosh darn relaxed and comfortable to be with despite the lovely bed heads we both share. A warm hand in the movie and in the popcorn bag. We don't even worry about no make up with this person. And while your at it, get a spare, some die.
So unless we wake up and smell the Sanka, yep, so continues the anti-depressant and drug problem courtesy of self imposed social isolation? I'd parallel park that great idea "I'd be so happy living on my own." Well I've seen the biggest arrogant lonely asses -- men pen palling Karla Homolka and many a once arrogant, now lonely women telling me on the couch "he wasn't my type, knew he sold drugs, but I was so dam lonely." REALLY i GET IT -- the pickins are slim.
No I proclaim there is a loneliness epidemic that is silent, contagious, deadly. Couples sit in the same room and couldn't be farther apart. Solution all they have to do is shut the dam idiot box off like in the old days. Put their arm around each other. Hold hands. Hug. Dance cheek to cheek. Go for a walk and maybe call on a widower and share a coffee and their stories, pictures of their grand kids. They're lonely with capital L. Everyone has a great story and better than the jerks on TMZ.
And so the joy and benefit of a spouse, a loving best friend and staying emotionally and physically healthy . And its not all about you getting your fix of I WANTS --its a two way street. Do your bit!!! The spouse needs a friend too - a friend to shop with, fish with, just like you did dating. You would be amazed what a husband will tell you in a boat, and a wife will tell you in a ride to the mall. A good spouse, a best friend a day really does keep the MD and psychiatrist away!!! Ask Oprah -- she's got Gail!!!
So here is what I have to say for today. The biggest epidemic we face in the 21st Century, is not the flue H1 whoever, whatever done that one virus -- here it comes --Loneliness. It shortens our lifespan, causes sleep dysfunction, high blood pressure, depression, SUICIDE , and yes the declining immune system, which says hello to the H1 -- and now for sure its the we're done flu.
This subject is mega important? We are social animals, built with an innate need for social contact, in depth connectedness with people, not technology to ensure emotional and physical wellness. (C O N T A C T of the real kind, like talking face to face, hugging,pat on back to be well). Untouched folks are flocking to Drs. for the Zanex and then herded to the councillor for a recipe for the depressive feelings from isolation. And how do we catch loneliness in this ever smart 21st century of sanitary wipes? Mainly we catch the loneliness virus from our self created isolation --faces stuck in screens of every kind even on the toilet and hiding in doors -- (the kiss kiss and hug hug on emails don't qualify for human contact) and the really big two -- Death and Divorce.
We are living longer, hence lonely widows - widowers and, the divorce craze -- single parent home. And where do they go to connect? We are being sold the divorce myth like a good Xmas gift-- live alone in neon lights -- be independent, self sufficient, etc. Forgot to tell you married people live longer. Yeah, and the reality of beautiful singlehood -- playing "I am a rock - I am an island" -- in dirty pyjamas, eating so much comfort food (can't even share half the fat with the spouse) that you need Dr. Phil and a crane to get your 700 pounder fat ass out of the house. Divorce solutions eh?
They call the divorced man today The Big Mac -- because he goes through the golden arches with his blow up doll ordering two adult Happy Meals with double, double everything. Then he sits alone in his beaten up old piece of shit, too depressed to even wash it and feeds the blow up an occasional fry. Even has her named Fanny. Now isn't this is a sad sight and there's many a guy buying a poodle to pamper claiming its for the wife? Don't laugh women --lonely has driven respectable women to sleep clutching the sweaters of boyfriends you dumped, begging on the phone to get back together, wearing rings again once fired out the car window, affairing like Meryl Streep and putting up with the relatives from hell askng "Why did would you want to be single again?" Answer: "I thought I would be happier alone."
Come on don't laugh this is serious business. How do you really feel with the silence after you put the dog down? Yeah, he ate anything that wasn't tied down. Yeah he peed on the floor. Yeah he laid around all day irritating the hell out of you licking and scratching himself -- well what is different between that and the spouse? When the vet says "times up" all those hyjinxs are forgotten and you go home weeping clutching only the leash in hand and the silence without your Fido is heart breaking.
Same feeling when all the yada yada dies down and you see the wedding ring sitting on the dresser which you either yanked off the corpse before they closed the lid so the grave diggers didn't get it, or you forced it off his hand with butter and spit because you still owe on it and he ain't getting it! He's out STAT. Well you voted for the sounds of silence ISOLATIONVILLE --the 6:00 p.m. eating alone silence, the 9:00 p.m. getting ready for bed silence, or the 3:00 a.m. silence -- you reach out and all you feel beside you is air -- cool air. And the dog died so you can't even hug the smelly old dog. LONELY? What a plan -- if I live alone, I can be mega selfish, happy and healthy. Well, even an adult spoiled brat needs company to be well.
I know a selfish woman who is in the throws of divorce and her mantra is Somewhere Over the Rainbow like Judy Garland minus Toto heading for for the Emerald City. When I ask her how she is going to deal with the loneliness, she says in her flippant way, " I'm not worried my mother did great." Her mother calls her 15 times a day to ask what she is cooking for dinner and the neighbours have a restraining order out on her! Also another woman, her lonely friend couldn't wait to convince her to leave the smart ass husband. Well surprise, the husband and the once lonely friend are together and now the kids live with them. Lonely Ex-Wife tricked by the friend has tried Suicide more times than you have fingers because she told me "I can't handle the loneliness. Its worse than I ever imagined.' Its like the kid in Home Alone -- two weeks into it, and it ain't so much fun any more and you wish the demonic family back. You start eyeing the sheets and wonder how much weight the upstairs bannister will hold.
We glamorize living selfishly alone. We actually believe we are solving the relationship problems with divorces and snazzy technology, but we are actually just creating mega unhealthy isolation. I once had a friend phone me up and say, "enough of this email crap Arlene" I want to hear your voice and you laughing. A Ha Ha Ha email is pretty flat compared to some chick sitting beside you laughing so hard, tears are running down her face, she is pounding your arm with her fist and her other hand is between her legs hoping she will make it to the bathroom. (put that in a facebook message). Next couples will be text messaging orgasms -- Ooh baby Ooh baby -- pretty flat next to someone screaming Hello Dolly in your ear. Talk about a disconnected bunch of emotionally and physically ill jerks we are becoming. I think the worse is that you write an email, forgot entirely what you asked and the reply comes two days later. That communication is like sitting talking to an Alzheimers patient. Eventually you think you are missing your nuts and bolts too.
So however you are selling isolation whether it be in caps, bolded, fancy font as self sufficient, independent, b.s. its LONELY and it will get you a full vial of Zanex to try to take the edge off, or a stomach pump when reality really sets in. And what's worse -- people are so ashamed to admit they are lonely because it suggests they are flawed, losers, unable to attract friends and others look down on them, like social lepers. They are whispering this to the councillor like they have a social disease and have done something terribly wrong and shameful. The problem isn't I done something wrong, its where have all the people gone??
Note from the universe says: you can be compassionate to the fat, the poor, the lonely, or you can learn it, and learn it the hard way, but you will learn to be compassionate to the lonely. Get out of your mega important self, hiding in your house, be friendly, make a phone call -- invite a widow, divorced person, a single, someone for dinner. Give them a hug. Show interest in their lives and give them God's caring. Babies die from loneliness, lack of touch, well so do adults.
And what is the point of being selfish asses to drive the best friend spouse away? Its like always starving and then pooping in your food . Science says connectedness is a must. I say its vogue to be face to facers, friendly, neighbourly, visible. With everyone cocooning the world is starting to look like a ghost town western. To prove a point -- I know many people who put in a pool, self included, expecting it to attract friends and were glad to get rid of it because most of the time it is an empty money pit. Look at community pools today -- the kids are in the house with their face glued to a screen. The best thing would be a power shortage to bring people back to sanity and a healthy weight.
Now for some people, they deserve a on screen relationship unless they sharpen those selfish social skills and fast. But for those who know how to treat other people well, play unselfishly in the sand box, I am so sorry if you are lonely. You need to play ball with friends everyday, but can't find a team to play on. No fun bowling alone -- gone are most of the bowling leagues thanks to Wii. IF YOU ARE Wiiing and feel lonely, its an alarm to bring people into our lives. The trick is how to find them and root them out of the swamps like the duck hunter with the duck.
So for all those mothers whose kids are embracing the trend to move away and are selling you a relationship with them on Skype and you are "yelling where the skype are you?" my sympathy I wish you a loving partner, neighbours, friends and at least, a great dog to cuddle up with to kill the lonely. (now isn't that Skype another technological plum of connected communication -- doesn't the heat from the computer on your lap feel lovely and bump up your immunity) and ain't it fun to hug the computer as you unwrap Xmas gifts via skype? Don't those short breads the daughter made taste yummy on screen? There was a guy who googled "I'm lonely, anyone want to talk" and he got mega replies so ISOLATION is here just like Katrina though no one talks about it. In fact what was sad about that disaster was the loneliness. Many of those people didn't even have a friend with a car to get them away from the disaster and sat on the roof waiting for their government friends.
So awaken to what is TO BE VALUED. We need people not more technology to be happy. We need real people to sit around with at night -- not sitting alone watching reality t.v. We need close confidants to share our hopes, woes, fears, and dreams. Someone we feel just so gosh darn relaxed and comfortable to be with despite the lovely bed heads we both share. A warm hand in the movie and in the popcorn bag. We don't even worry about no make up with this person. And while your at it, get a spare, some die.
So unless we wake up and smell the Sanka, yep, so continues the anti-depressant and drug problem courtesy of self imposed social isolation? I'd parallel park that great idea "I'd be so happy living on my own." Well I've seen the biggest arrogant lonely asses -- men pen palling Karla Homolka and many a once arrogant, now lonely women telling me on the couch "he wasn't my type, knew he sold drugs, but I was so dam lonely." REALLY i GET IT -- the pickins are slim.
No I proclaim there is a loneliness epidemic that is silent, contagious, deadly. Couples sit in the same room and couldn't be farther apart. Solution all they have to do is shut the dam idiot box off like in the old days. Put their arm around each other. Hold hands. Hug. Dance cheek to cheek. Go for a walk and maybe call on a widower and share a coffee and their stories, pictures of their grand kids. They're lonely with capital L. Everyone has a great story and better than the jerks on TMZ.
And so the joy and benefit of a spouse, a loving best friend and staying emotionally and physically healthy . And its not all about you getting your fix of I WANTS --its a two way street. Do your bit!!! The spouse needs a friend too - a friend to shop with, fish with, just like you did dating. You would be amazed what a husband will tell you in a boat, and a wife will tell you in a ride to the mall. A good spouse, a best friend a day really does keep the MD and psychiatrist away!!! Ask Oprah -- she's got Gail!!!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Do you need a ride to the LPH???
I am one of those people who if served scrambled eggs when I ordered over easy will probably eat them and happily shutty uppy than make the nice waitress unhappy. If someone cuts me off in traffic I often say "whatever." If I am parked on a hill and the standard shift car is rolling backwards, I maintain. In fact I'm often judged as happy and easy going. Why -- maybe because I was born a Libra -- or maybe God slipped up and gave me a double dose of the drug of humor and patience.
Maybe I just know all people crave attention -- I would rather have people respect me by doing and saying positive things. Maybe I know that no one likes to hear compulsive complainers because they kill the happiness level and I hate it when they do it to my good time. Maybe I am solution oriented, a positive thinker, but whatever I like happy regardless. So if I have a problem, I don't carp or whine, I fix it so it doesn't ruin my happy or so I thought I could do.
On Saturday a.m. I happened to look out my front window and spied what I thought were a pile of weeds face down on my front step. Another closer look and I discovered cellophane and in actuality the weeds were a $100 bouquet of gorgeous flowers sent by my daughter for my birthday on Thanksgiving weekend. The flowers had been left out all night, thrown face down like an old newspaper in freezing cold weather on cold cement. There was no delivery note to alert me they were there -- not a pre delivery phone call ever made. It was a fluke I found the flowers -- I was just eyeing the weather before I took off.
What started out as a perfectly good sunny day now had a note of dissatisfaction. However, as I believe everything is fixable and you get more flies with honey than vinegar, I calmly called the Florist in my humorous, relaxed way. I left a light message so we could make this unhappy event happy again. He didn't call -- I called back again. My daughter said "first mistake is in how you make a call. You're too nice Mom. Always start off like a shrieking bitch demanding that the owner send someone out immediately to pick up the ruined flowers or you will be in his store, in his face, in 20 mins. " She says, squeaky wheel seems to always get the oil. Now I know!!
Take note -- I spoke with Owner of Boxwoods on Richmond Street and he doesn't care a toot about satisfied customers. I have him filed under lying sack of shit in the roll-a-dex. Get this, the owner now joins or swipes my Victim role and is on to the blame game. He became expert in verbal stick handling excusing, avoiding, defending faster than Wayne Gretzky on Stanley Cup night.
As I said his victim blame game went like this -- "I have to use a crappy delivery system and suggest you call them and complain." I agreed awaiting any form of compassion or compensation. None came. Then he lied "we called, you were not home and anyhow we don't call in town orders." Deflect that lie. "No call was made to my home and your delivery sticker says an out of town delivery ." He skated left and then right and shot a good lying one to my chest -- "my staff didn't know your delivery was out of town" --I countered with " your store delivery slip states Mt. Brydges." Another lying Defense shot -- "Girl in store missed that one." This jerk was like trying to nail jello to the wall to get an apology or an ounce of compassion. All I could think of "how do asses like this ever get a business -- does his mother have money?"
When I mentioned my concern about keeping flowers that were face down on the cement -- well here's a whopper "flowers travel 3000 miles from the rain forests of Bora Bora all crushed together", and the frigid temp over night -- " his store coolers are colder than that" -- more than an Eskimo's just washed jock strap no doubt. This guy had a lie for every occasion.
Despite I still kept my blood pressure within the legal limit but there is a point when you can feel you have had enough. It feels kind of like the coming of the cramps before your period. You know it isn't going to be good but just as God programmed the body for the pain of creation, this jack ass has programmed you to give him the pain of a smack down. And like the incredible hulk, Goldie Hawn is slowly turning into Janice Dickinson.
Well in the second half of play, and still in sane solution seeking mode still skating around looking for compensation (knew compassion was impossible) sick slick met those with his repeated retarded shots to my brain as follows:
Me: Can I get some new flowers today for my birthday????
Him: No flowers in store, no person to deliver.
Me: Can you send someone to pick these up, or I can drive down town and return these for a refund?
Him: No flowers in store, no money back -- out of town order. Don't know if you daughter's credit card is good or not.
Me: Can I have new flowers on Tuesday?
Him: Maybe -- if you follow my instructions -- cut all flowers on the angle, put them in water so I can resell them. If you make a mess, you will only get a percentage of the refund.
Now the final puck to the head that I really didn't see coming and sent Goldie to Janice Dickinsonville -- I suggested to him that if he had a wife she would be very offended by the poor presentation and condition of these flowers. Hello!!!
Now BE ready here it comes in his highly offended soprano tone -- POW "I am offended that you would suggest I (and highlight the IIIIIIIII and hold your heart while you raise the I an octave or two) I have a wife." Well kill me now for that insult. It was a compliment more than an insult. When I said it I was truly wondering who would marry this jack ass and was feeling sorry for her!!
This is the moment of insanity when I, with the defunct flowers, am being reamed out for insulting him by saying that he had a wife when he was clearly gay and I should know better and here it comes "especially since I live with a woman and calls me a liar." Well what the hell has sexuality got to do with his flower screwup and if I could have thought fast enough, I should have asked him if his nose was growing rapidly as we spoke?
I now feel I am trapped in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest with Nurse Wratchett in drag. I do know this is the why -- you know, the why -- normal people hyperventilate, want to kill themselves or would rather drown their kids at birth -- than to hear those magic words "I am gay!" Even i wanted to join Jimmy Swaggart in his campaign to run off the gays. This is the poster child for crazy gay guy.
Anyhow as for my belief system -- when life gives you lemons, you work to make lemonade, what the hell can you do when crazy gay guy owns the juicer and refuses to turn the dam thing on? Well, on that note, and you know when all else fails, you roar at the jackass just like the Incredible Hulk until those little veins that run along the side of your temple are so popped out you look like an 80 year old man and the neighbours, well they are calling 911 because they think you are killing your own spouse equivalent.
And guess what, now crazy gay guy says he CAN refund my daughter's money and says in his rude tone, keep the flowers and is now calling me the crazy one. Tell me -- why is it always the crazies, who drive others to the edge of crazyville, call their victims crazy???? Oh God --the joy of my birthday and dealing with a crazy gay guy.l I thought last year's birthday event being hit by a hit and run tractor trailer driver on the 401 was the icing on my cake!!! Question -- what do you do with a drunkin sailor -- well what do you do with a CRAZY Lying Sack Of Shit?? Hit him -- hit him hard and Get Tee shirts made up that say " I Hit the owner of Boxwoods' to the back woods!" Kind of like I hit a home run -- and I don't believe I will be the only one wearing a shirt!!!
Maybe I just know all people crave attention -- I would rather have people respect me by doing and saying positive things. Maybe I know that no one likes to hear compulsive complainers because they kill the happiness level and I hate it when they do it to my good time. Maybe I am solution oriented, a positive thinker, but whatever I like happy regardless. So if I have a problem, I don't carp or whine, I fix it so it doesn't ruin my happy or so I thought I could do.
On Saturday a.m. I happened to look out my front window and spied what I thought were a pile of weeds face down on my front step. Another closer look and I discovered cellophane and in actuality the weeds were a $100 bouquet of gorgeous flowers sent by my daughter for my birthday on Thanksgiving weekend. The flowers had been left out all night, thrown face down like an old newspaper in freezing cold weather on cold cement. There was no delivery note to alert me they were there -- not a pre delivery phone call ever made. It was a fluke I found the flowers -- I was just eyeing the weather before I took off.
What started out as a perfectly good sunny day now had a note of dissatisfaction. However, as I believe everything is fixable and you get more flies with honey than vinegar, I calmly called the Florist in my humorous, relaxed way. I left a light message so we could make this unhappy event happy again. He didn't call -- I called back again. My daughter said "first mistake is in how you make a call. You're too nice Mom. Always start off like a shrieking bitch demanding that the owner send someone out immediately to pick up the ruined flowers or you will be in his store, in his face, in 20 mins. " She says, squeaky wheel seems to always get the oil. Now I know!!
Take note -- I spoke with Owner of Boxwoods on Richmond Street and he doesn't care a toot about satisfied customers. I have him filed under lying sack of shit in the roll-a-dex. Get this, the owner now joins or swipes my Victim role and is on to the blame game. He became expert in verbal stick handling excusing, avoiding, defending faster than Wayne Gretzky on Stanley Cup night.
As I said his victim blame game went like this -- "I have to use a crappy delivery system and suggest you call them and complain." I agreed awaiting any form of compassion or compensation. None came. Then he lied "we called, you were not home and anyhow we don't call in town orders." Deflect that lie. "No call was made to my home and your delivery sticker says an out of town delivery ." He skated left and then right and shot a good lying one to my chest -- "my staff didn't know your delivery was out of town" --I countered with " your store delivery slip states Mt. Brydges." Another lying Defense shot -- "Girl in store missed that one." This jerk was like trying to nail jello to the wall to get an apology or an ounce of compassion. All I could think of "how do asses like this ever get a business -- does his mother have money?"
When I mentioned my concern about keeping flowers that were face down on the cement -- well here's a whopper "flowers travel 3000 miles from the rain forests of Bora Bora all crushed together", and the frigid temp over night -- " his store coolers are colder than that" -- more than an Eskimo's just washed jock strap no doubt. This guy had a lie for every occasion.
Despite I still kept my blood pressure within the legal limit but there is a point when you can feel you have had enough. It feels kind of like the coming of the cramps before your period. You know it isn't going to be good but just as God programmed the body for the pain of creation, this jack ass has programmed you to give him the pain of a smack down. And like the incredible hulk, Goldie Hawn is slowly turning into Janice Dickinson.
Well in the second half of play, and still in sane solution seeking mode still skating around looking for compensation (knew compassion was impossible) sick slick met those with his repeated retarded shots to my brain as follows:
Me: Can I get some new flowers today for my birthday????
Him: No flowers in store, no person to deliver.
Me: Can you send someone to pick these up, or I can drive down town and return these for a refund?
Him: No flowers in store, no money back -- out of town order. Don't know if you daughter's credit card is good or not.
Me: Can I have new flowers on Tuesday?
Him: Maybe -- if you follow my instructions -- cut all flowers on the angle, put them in water so I can resell them. If you make a mess, you will only get a percentage of the refund.
Now the final puck to the head that I really didn't see coming and sent Goldie to Janice Dickinsonville -- I suggested to him that if he had a wife she would be very offended by the poor presentation and condition of these flowers. Hello!!!
Now BE ready here it comes in his highly offended soprano tone -- POW "I am offended that you would suggest I (and highlight the IIIIIIIII and hold your heart while you raise the I an octave or two) I have a wife." Well kill me now for that insult. It was a compliment more than an insult. When I said it I was truly wondering who would marry this jack ass and was feeling sorry for her!!
This is the moment of insanity when I, with the defunct flowers, am being reamed out for insulting him by saying that he had a wife when he was clearly gay and I should know better and here it comes "especially since I live with a woman and calls me a liar." Well what the hell has sexuality got to do with his flower screwup and if I could have thought fast enough, I should have asked him if his nose was growing rapidly as we spoke?
I now feel I am trapped in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest with Nurse Wratchett in drag. I do know this is the why -- you know, the why -- normal people hyperventilate, want to kill themselves or would rather drown their kids at birth -- than to hear those magic words "I am gay!" Even i wanted to join Jimmy Swaggart in his campaign to run off the gays. This is the poster child for crazy gay guy.
Anyhow as for my belief system -- when life gives you lemons, you work to make lemonade, what the hell can you do when crazy gay guy owns the juicer and refuses to turn the dam thing on? Well, on that note, and you know when all else fails, you roar at the jackass just like the Incredible Hulk until those little veins that run along the side of your temple are so popped out you look like an 80 year old man and the neighbours, well they are calling 911 because they think you are killing your own spouse equivalent.
And guess what, now crazy gay guy says he CAN refund my daughter's money and says in his rude tone, keep the flowers and is now calling me the crazy one. Tell me -- why is it always the crazies, who drive others to the edge of crazyville, call their victims crazy???? Oh God --the joy of my birthday and dealing with a crazy gay guy.l I thought last year's birthday event being hit by a hit and run tractor trailer driver on the 401 was the icing on my cake!!! Question -- what do you do with a drunkin sailor -- well what do you do with a CRAZY Lying Sack Of Shit?? Hit him -- hit him hard and Get Tee shirts made up that say " I Hit the owner of Boxwoods' to the back woods!" Kind of like I hit a home run -- and I don't believe I will be the only one wearing a shirt!!!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Monster Memories!!!
This morning I heard a little something about the drug problems today compared to the 50s and 60s. Why so much drug use today -- to escape -- what ???????? Hello, its the SPARE THE ROD -- SPOIL THE CHILD -- MAKE A MONSTER time . Its the tail not just wagging, but whipping the dog. Its the parent driving the 10 year old Tercel -- the kid the Celica convertible. Its the monsters not working but screaming "Show me the money." If they work -- heaven help who employs them -- they are spending it on booze, CDs and screaming for essentials like money to eat and wash their crappy underwear.
Now drugs of my day took the makings of a monster right out of you!!! Yep -- The parents got us up Sunday morning and drug us to church -- drug us into the bathroom first to clean up. If we were supposed to do the dishes and didn't, they drug us to the kitchen sink. If we had a foul mouth, they drug out the bar of soap and drug us to the bathroom and used it on us. They drug us to the neighbour's yard to be friendly and helpful. If the neighbour paid us for lawn cutting, the parents drug us back to return the money to know the good feeling of a favor.
Our parents drug us to family reunions, funerals, etc. with relatives we didn't necessarily know or like. If we were rude, they drug us out to the back seat of the car to sit for hours. If we didn't clean our room, they drug us by the ear to our bedroom and stayed there until we moved. And yes, in those days the neighbours, if we threw a stone through their window, the neighbour drug us by the shirt home to the parents. And what did our parents do, hello, they thanked the neighbour for dragging home their little monsters. If we stole they drug us back to the store to make amends. And this drugging took place anywhere, everywhere even at school -- we were drug down to the principal's office for the strap if we acted badly. We understood the worst we behaved the more we got drugged.
What really boggles my mind is 40 yr. olds (the jelly fish parenting team) deciding in therapy not to associate with their aging parents,or carrying a grudge, because of the drugging their parents did to civilize them. Holy Crap how do you and Dr. Phillette totally white wash a ton of your B.S? Are you both on drugs or do you need shock treatment to remember your meanness? And how is your jelly fish parenting working in your house -- why did your kid just Fbomb you or steal your bank card? Why are your superstars inhaling anything rolled up including the living room carpet to deal (what ever that stupidity means) with living with you -- you spoil them to be rotten don't you?
If you are boring me with your whining about your bad, bad, bad child hood memories -- go some place else. Your BAD, BAD, BAD BEHAVIOR produced those BAD, BAD, BAD CHILD HOOD MEMORIES. Like the song says, IT HAD TO BE YOU!
And without the drugging how are you enjoying lonliness? Is your best friend (if they can stand your arrogant self) your dog, your father and will you soon be pounding the concrete -- surrounded by concrete (could be rehab) -- or possibly under it.
For me, I thank God for the drugging every time I enter a room when I notice people don't sigh with disappointment, hide their purses or hold up a crucifix. Yes, I confess interacting with the yet to be civilized, I sigh hoping no one hears , I have locked the purse in the trunk. and said novenas while the parents deal with their uncivilized monsters. These are 23 year olds. For the adult monsters (baby werewolves grow up) I confess I have made up phony excuses like an urgent peeing dog and blinding migraines. I just hope they don't catch me tooling around some place else because they are stupid enough to put me on the spot with "Hey I thought you had a headache and couldn't stay for dinner." Love to say, "werewolf headache."
Question of the day -- Why are parents not drugging their negatively behaving kids? Second question -- why am I a bad person if I won't tolerate their kid's abuse too? How did my negative response ruin their monster kid's ego? Eventually, even with the patience of Jesus, there are only two choices when dealing with monsters -- fight or flight. If it is on my property, I won't be taking a flight.
I recall the first time I dealt with parents of a monster -- Fall of 87. I had a bakery and this woman brought in her two legged devil's spawn --if I parted his hair I could find the horns. The kid came through the door like the Road Runner and went from bun bin to bun bin fingering anything he could find. After that he introduced himself to my fresh pies cooling from the oven by climbing the pie shelves to have a look? If he was in motion, bakery goods were no longer for sale. What did the mother the uncivilized do, well she just let him disrespect my place. Occasionally she would stop her shopping and do her weak "stop its - slow down its" but ignored his abuse like it would go away. Yes I tried the nice way "please don't do thats" but when the kid from hell gives you that "mind your own ------- business look " well mama, " its time you please remove your disrespectful jerky kid from my store!!" She left, highly insulted, banging my door but at least her wild child was gone.
The next morning, the sperm donor of the Werewolf arrived to aggressively advise me that he is going to do some serious negative advertising to ruin my business. Is this not the moment when you wish there was a drive by shooting and this ass got caught in the cross fire so he couldn't reproduce further.
Well as Forest Gump says, Life is like a box of chocolates -- and there's a fair share of nuts in it -- you just have to know how to crush a few. In this case, I pointed out Bad Behavior gets Rejection and maybe he should teach his kid some better behavior -- he didn't get it. So I out trumped him with, "whatever -- you will be hearing from my lawyer and in my responsible efforts of honouring health regulations for my customers, you just might be rewarding me with your kid's college fund.' Doubt the kid would need it -- he would probably get kicked out of school and I hear you get a free college education in prison. Ask Karla Homolka -- she speaks French and I think she is a Lawyer in France.
In summary of my search for the joys of life -- The drugging in my youth have served me well. The joy of a good excuse. I propose parents would wake up and smell the blood --someone could be grinding the axe in the bedroom next door and with the axe you bought on your Gold Card just last night.
Now drugs of my day took the makings of a monster right out of you!!! Yep -- The parents got us up Sunday morning and drug us to church -- drug us into the bathroom first to clean up. If we were supposed to do the dishes and didn't, they drug us to the kitchen sink. If we had a foul mouth, they drug out the bar of soap and drug us to the bathroom and used it on us. They drug us to the neighbour's yard to be friendly and helpful. If the neighbour paid us for lawn cutting, the parents drug us back to return the money to know the good feeling of a favor.
Our parents drug us to family reunions, funerals, etc. with relatives we didn't necessarily know or like. If we were rude, they drug us out to the back seat of the car to sit for hours. If we didn't clean our room, they drug us by the ear to our bedroom and stayed there until we moved. And yes, in those days the neighbours, if we threw a stone through their window, the neighbour drug us by the shirt home to the parents. And what did our parents do, hello, they thanked the neighbour for dragging home their little monsters. If we stole they drug us back to the store to make amends. And this drugging took place anywhere, everywhere even at school -- we were drug down to the principal's office for the strap if we acted badly. We understood the worst we behaved the more we got drugged.
What really boggles my mind is 40 yr. olds (the jelly fish parenting team) deciding in therapy not to associate with their aging parents,or carrying a grudge, because of the drugging their parents did to civilize them. Holy Crap how do you and Dr. Phillette totally white wash a ton of your B.S? Are you both on drugs or do you need shock treatment to remember your meanness? And how is your jelly fish parenting working in your house -- why did your kid just Fbomb you or steal your bank card? Why are your superstars inhaling anything rolled up including the living room carpet to deal (what ever that stupidity means) with living with you -- you spoil them to be rotten don't you?
If you are boring me with your whining about your bad, bad, bad child hood memories -- go some place else. Your BAD, BAD, BAD BEHAVIOR produced those BAD, BAD, BAD CHILD HOOD MEMORIES. Like the song says, IT HAD TO BE YOU!
And without the drugging how are you enjoying lonliness? Is your best friend (if they can stand your arrogant self) your dog, your father and will you soon be pounding the concrete -- surrounded by concrete (could be rehab) -- or possibly under it.
For me, I thank God for the drugging every time I enter a room when I notice people don't sigh with disappointment, hide their purses or hold up a crucifix. Yes, I confess interacting with the yet to be civilized, I sigh hoping no one hears , I have locked the purse in the trunk. and said novenas while the parents deal with their uncivilized monsters. These are 23 year olds. For the adult monsters (baby werewolves grow up) I confess I have made up phony excuses like an urgent peeing dog and blinding migraines. I just hope they don't catch me tooling around some place else because they are stupid enough to put me on the spot with "Hey I thought you had a headache and couldn't stay for dinner." Love to say, "werewolf headache."
Question of the day -- Why are parents not drugging their negatively behaving kids? Second question -- why am I a bad person if I won't tolerate their kid's abuse too? How did my negative response ruin their monster kid's ego? Eventually, even with the patience of Jesus, there are only two choices when dealing with monsters -- fight or flight. If it is on my property, I won't be taking a flight.
I recall the first time I dealt with parents of a monster -- Fall of 87. I had a bakery and this woman brought in her two legged devil's spawn --if I parted his hair I could find the horns. The kid came through the door like the Road Runner and went from bun bin to bun bin fingering anything he could find. After that he introduced himself to my fresh pies cooling from the oven by climbing the pie shelves to have a look? If he was in motion, bakery goods were no longer for sale. What did the mother the uncivilized do, well she just let him disrespect my place. Occasionally she would stop her shopping and do her weak "stop its - slow down its" but ignored his abuse like it would go away. Yes I tried the nice way "please don't do thats" but when the kid from hell gives you that "mind your own ------- business look " well mama, " its time you please remove your disrespectful jerky kid from my store!!" She left, highly insulted, banging my door but at least her wild child was gone.
The next morning, the sperm donor of the Werewolf arrived to aggressively advise me that he is going to do some serious negative advertising to ruin my business. Is this not the moment when you wish there was a drive by shooting and this ass got caught in the cross fire so he couldn't reproduce further.
Well as Forest Gump says, Life is like a box of chocolates -- and there's a fair share of nuts in it -- you just have to know how to crush a few. In this case, I pointed out Bad Behavior gets Rejection and maybe he should teach his kid some better behavior -- he didn't get it. So I out trumped him with, "whatever -- you will be hearing from my lawyer and in my responsible efforts of honouring health regulations for my customers, you just might be rewarding me with your kid's college fund.' Doubt the kid would need it -- he would probably get kicked out of school and I hear you get a free college education in prison. Ask Karla Homolka -- she speaks French and I think she is a Lawyer in France.
In summary of my search for the joys of life -- The drugging in my youth have served me well. The joy of a good excuse. I propose parents would wake up and smell the blood --someone could be grinding the axe in the bedroom next door and with the axe you bought on your Gold Card just last night.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
The Fall of 69!!
For many people, today, tomorrow, next day, you may be getting the big Rs as I call it, I hope my take on this will help you survive. your R-fest. Yes, the date or mate has said, x-nay -- don't want you got someone else. The boss, the business partner has pulled out the pink slip -- don't want you. Even the dog has run away, died -- doesn't want you. For many of you that will feel like your CN Tower jumping time. It is so hard not to see any light in the black tunnel of machine gun rejection fire.
As I look back over my life I can remember the darkest before the dawn - The despair before the fresh air - The rift before the gift. You can call hell what you want but it seemed like that those succession of emotional kicks in my good life, or the peeing in my cheerios, had no end.
Yep Arlene's Pearl Harbor -- the Fall of 69. The love of my life was taking a hike -- but that's a footnote later. A disgruntled, jealous Manager was telling me to take a hike -- she found out I was applying elsewhere for my dream job -- a room with a view - Private Secretary. Didn't know Human Resources officer was my bosses bf (best friend) -bitch forever- - regardless she ratted me out and I was out of my idea of mecca employment - working at a University where I could get a good pick of the litter.
To add to the Fall to Hell, Fall from Happiness, Fall into Despair when I arrived home dragging my dejected, dazed self (you do sometimes feel dazed when undeserved bombs hit fast and hard) Herb, the king of get no sympathy here said, "well, figure out what you are going to do -- can't make the car payment - car goes Tuesday." Hello -- no Casanova, no career, no car. That is the moment when if you are mentally ill, you grab the floor lamp and knock him or anyone else nearby back into the Fall of 68, but I did not. I put my tail between my legs and headed down the long hall to my holding cell without the much needed padding.
So, as I sat in my room of rejection, totally humiliated and overwhelmed with life's injustices, and quickly drowning in a sea of justified tears, I had it out with God. Boy did I have it out with God. None of this would have happened if my supposed loving God was on the job and had my back. I felt he ( and it had to be a he -- a she wouldn't let these rejections happen) had not protected me.
I went total spazzo on God. How my life could be shambles in one quick swoop? I'd kept my moral compass when I wanted to be like my boozy, floozy, lying, stealing friends. I'd motorcycled for egg rolls in the pouring rain for sick old ladies, and this is what goodness got me -- a giant size portion of pain. You can bet I threw my Gold God Card in the trash next to my 3000 cigarette butts. Oh yes, my room was so thick with smoke, you thought I was holding a world's champion poker game. I contemplated suicide -- for me suicide is unhealthy living -- a rush into sex, drugs and hanging out at the race track. In my mind, I was on a rampage now to piss God off.
Anyhow, eventually before more hell broke loose, this time of my own doing, I abandoned all my insane thoughts and parachuted back to normal. I plodded through my daily despair, but a little idea popped into my bruised little mind. Work for the Government -- where in the hell did that insane thought come from? I fought it. To be a government clone -- ripping off my prize pendant with diamonds spelling UNIQUE. That was as ridiculous as getting a Communist to rip off his swastika. Well, beggars can't be choosers, so off I went to the hiring office, clutching my necklace for dear life and lo and behold God made a miracle happen. He had orchestrated my dream life and better -- I was getting a swanky private office with a view of a beautiful lake, limo and private plane travel , and status of working for a Cabinet Minister. Evidently I would be sitting all pretty like a poodle on a plush pillow with a better dating pool and classy parties galore. Sianara Carleton University.
Well home I strutted with my good news -- my rejection had now turned into a life of exception. And Herb now what did he say, " I should now trade in the little Mini Minor for a new gold Barracuda which would be more reliable and he would be glad to co sign for." Herb's girl needed a gold coach to carry his Star to the Stadium.
So what is all this rambling about? Just this -- when we are being rejected, rejected and again rejected -- is it a bad thing? Is it a good thing in disguise? Is God removing the crutches that are holding us back from our greatness. Are we living too small and missing great. If God doesn't remove the what you don't need, we will never get to what we do need. Kind of like pruning a plant. I'm sure if the plant could talk it would say, "drop those shears God -- ouch don't chop off those needed limbs." But once the plant grows taller and more beautiful than it thought possible "thank you God -- look where you knew I could grow to!"
In the Fall of 69, God had taken me from zero to hero and not only was I a woman with a view, but now given the green light to use my gift of writing as a Minister's Social Secretary. I wrote heart felt notes and letters of congratulation to constituents meeting their life milestones -- 50th anniversaries, team wins, births, graduations, etc. I expect those letters are still prized keepsakes in some dusty trunk waiting for grandchildren to admire and enjoy. You know, just like your prized autographed picture of Elvis. Many people were tickled pink to get a letter from the Prime Minister, Mayor, or some other city official (in those days they weren't as corrupt) and yours truly made it happen -- correction, God made it happen by putting me there.
So kids, God positioned me just where he wanted me! Hence, the joy of rejection, rejection and more rejection. P.S. As for the boyfriend, love of my life, father of my potential offspring, Casanova rejection -- he turned out to be Bipolar, Schizophrenic. Thank you God you removed the sniper and I dodged another bullet!! As always, I guess Father God Knows Best!!
As I look back over my life I can remember the darkest before the dawn - The despair before the fresh air - The rift before the gift. You can call hell what you want but it seemed like that those succession of emotional kicks in my good life, or the peeing in my cheerios, had no end.
Yep Arlene's Pearl Harbor -- the Fall of 69. The love of my life was taking a hike -- but that's a footnote later. A disgruntled, jealous Manager was telling me to take a hike -- she found out I was applying elsewhere for my dream job -- a room with a view - Private Secretary. Didn't know Human Resources officer was my bosses bf (best friend) -bitch forever- - regardless she ratted me out and I was out of my idea of mecca employment - working at a University where I could get a good pick of the litter.
To add to the Fall to Hell, Fall from Happiness, Fall into Despair when I arrived home dragging my dejected, dazed self (you do sometimes feel dazed when undeserved bombs hit fast and hard) Herb, the king of get no sympathy here said, "well, figure out what you are going to do -- can't make the car payment - car goes Tuesday." Hello -- no Casanova, no career, no car. That is the moment when if you are mentally ill, you grab the floor lamp and knock him or anyone else nearby back into the Fall of 68, but I did not. I put my tail between my legs and headed down the long hall to my holding cell without the much needed padding.
So, as I sat in my room of rejection, totally humiliated and overwhelmed with life's injustices, and quickly drowning in a sea of justified tears, I had it out with God. Boy did I have it out with God. None of this would have happened if my supposed loving God was on the job and had my back. I felt he ( and it had to be a he -- a she wouldn't let these rejections happen) had not protected me.
I went total spazzo on God. How my life could be shambles in one quick swoop? I'd kept my moral compass when I wanted to be like my boozy, floozy, lying, stealing friends. I'd motorcycled for egg rolls in the pouring rain for sick old ladies, and this is what goodness got me -- a giant size portion of pain. You can bet I threw my Gold God Card in the trash next to my 3000 cigarette butts. Oh yes, my room was so thick with smoke, you thought I was holding a world's champion poker game. I contemplated suicide -- for me suicide is unhealthy living -- a rush into sex, drugs and hanging out at the race track. In my mind, I was on a rampage now to piss God off.
Anyhow, eventually before more hell broke loose, this time of my own doing, I abandoned all my insane thoughts and parachuted back to normal. I plodded through my daily despair, but a little idea popped into my bruised little mind. Work for the Government -- where in the hell did that insane thought come from? I fought it. To be a government clone -- ripping off my prize pendant with diamonds spelling UNIQUE. That was as ridiculous as getting a Communist to rip off his swastika. Well, beggars can't be choosers, so off I went to the hiring office, clutching my necklace for dear life and lo and behold God made a miracle happen. He had orchestrated my dream life and better -- I was getting a swanky private office with a view of a beautiful lake, limo and private plane travel , and status of working for a Cabinet Minister. Evidently I would be sitting all pretty like a poodle on a plush pillow with a better dating pool and classy parties galore. Sianara Carleton University.
Well home I strutted with my good news -- my rejection had now turned into a life of exception. And Herb now what did he say, " I should now trade in the little Mini Minor for a new gold Barracuda which would be more reliable and he would be glad to co sign for." Herb's girl needed a gold coach to carry his Star to the Stadium.
So what is all this rambling about? Just this -- when we are being rejected, rejected and again rejected -- is it a bad thing? Is it a good thing in disguise? Is God removing the crutches that are holding us back from our greatness. Are we living too small and missing great. If God doesn't remove the what you don't need, we will never get to what we do need. Kind of like pruning a plant. I'm sure if the plant could talk it would say, "drop those shears God -- ouch don't chop off those needed limbs." But once the plant grows taller and more beautiful than it thought possible "thank you God -- look where you knew I could grow to!"
In the Fall of 69, God had taken me from zero to hero and not only was I a woman with a view, but now given the green light to use my gift of writing as a Minister's Social Secretary. I wrote heart felt notes and letters of congratulation to constituents meeting their life milestones -- 50th anniversaries, team wins, births, graduations, etc. I expect those letters are still prized keepsakes in some dusty trunk waiting for grandchildren to admire and enjoy. You know, just like your prized autographed picture of Elvis. Many people were tickled pink to get a letter from the Prime Minister, Mayor, or some other city official (in those days they weren't as corrupt) and yours truly made it happen -- correction, God made it happen by putting me there.
So kids, God positioned me just where he wanted me! Hence, the joy of rejection, rejection and more rejection. P.S. As for the boyfriend, love of my life, father of my potential offspring, Casanova rejection -- he turned out to be Bipolar, Schizophrenic. Thank you God you removed the sniper and I dodged another bullet!! As always, I guess Father God Knows Best!!
Friday, October 2, 2009
An Affair to Remember!!
Any idea how many people (guys and gals) would stand up in an AA meeting if the AA stood for Affair Anonymous? There would be a sea of people, and now we know David Letterman cheated too. Would Oprah also? Did she cheat with Gail and isn't saying it unless she too gets blackmailed? Do we need to forget Weight Watchers and get Affair Watchers started?
Yep, many, many, men and women are having affairs, or are thinking about the joy of having one. Despite how many axes you have to grind, people don't regard the need for a Marital Mechanic as mega important as the need for a good Car Mechanic. Most people are seconds away from an Affair Collision. Its not that we do not at some time feel drawn to another, because relationships are not for the weak, its how strong are you to not act on your desires? People need AA -- AA tries to keep you away from acting on the chemicals, you need the same for not acting on your desires for another.
The affair numbers are staggering today and just like being Gay, no one is coming out of the closet without being blackmailed. Participants are on the down low because who wants to be family and financially gutted. Yep your own family will hang you out (kids included) to dry even your own Mama, if she loves your spouse. The kids will be taken from you. The fallout is enormous. You will not get one ounce of empathy (feel and treated like a Leper in the Bible). But affairs come on us like getting the flu -- who do we punish for contacting the flu?
The affected spouses are flocking into the Counsellors office also in shame whispering "I've been cheated on" embarrassed hoping the neighbours don't know. Big tip off the neighbours do know. There is a car missing in the lane way, you are dropping weight faster than my dog sheds in the summer and you have been partying with Pee Wee Herman. Something is definitely wrong.
Lets face reality. Affairs happen -- who wants one. Monogamy is almost impossible even for the Clergy and they have God. If you could actually know the stats you would not feel so alone, ashamed of yourself for the doing of the Affair Club or having been done unto. Both parties are in shock. Stop looking for the person to blame just (JOIN THE CLUB). Even in societies where they have many wives, the men still see something else appealing. And the Nuns and the Priests despite, men wearing dresses, crucifixes the size of bananas around their neck and women only showing an ankle, with God in their ear that confessional is rockin and rollin like a tornado hit it.
Well seems like lack of biological understanding could play a big part, plus our societal standards have shifted towards our search for happiness. What used to be kept under cover is no longer viewed as a mortal sin - ask Bill Clinton? Let those who have no sinned cast the first stone -- well few were thrown. However shock to the men -- what has been good for the goose is now becoming good for the gander -- so look out she wants to be happy too.
Some say, people need to do more research on mate picking. Well, if 60% of men have affairs and probably just as many women -- because the men need women to affair with) how do you find the perfect monogamous mate? You can read the SECRET and chant "my Perfect Partner is on its way to me," then what when they get there if monogamy is out the window -- hell, you have to go shopping again?
So What's Up!!! First of all bad news, or good news,the subject is complex. This I know -- NO ONE IS IMMUNE FROM HAVING AN AFFAIR. You can feel pulled to one through attraction -- sex, companionship, curiosity, love etc. You can feel Pushed -- relief from pain, punish partner, attention, boredom, or you can feel lured by Society. Society loves selling glamorizing affairs to us with Soaps, movies, movie stars going public (Brad and Angelina) sweating profusely just looking at one another on the red carpet. Not to mention the marketing magic of selling men that the GOOD LIFE is having a bevy of beauties marching through their bedroom nightly. One woman just can't do it!
Its not so much why, but how do we face and handle the reality of Affairs? Some say less affairs would happen if we didn't marry the first dope that came along. Others say do not cower from Honesty. Honesty --not with holding relevant information like attraction to another. Can your partner come home and say "I find myself attracted to ______ and am thinking about running off?" Well let's try that one. Perhaps then all the sneaking around factor would be gone which is half the attraction.
Another thought - IGNORE AFFAIRS!! Men biologically see sex as food and like to eat often. They can elect to drive home to eat if she will make dinner that night, or they will go through the drive through and order what they want. Depending on the appetite, regardless men are designed to eat. Here's a heads up -- just like at Xmas, when they unzip their pants, eat till their eyeballs pop, they go into a horizontal position, roll over and go to sleep. Same in and out of bedroom. Also, men consider anything outside of intercourse -- acts of pure friendship. Women are saying, I want to feel desired and sexy too.
Also, women yearn for emotional connection. If Yo Yo is thoughtful enough to pick up some card, or a flower, on the way home that says "I Love You" he is good for sex for three weeks. Even if he tries to stay awake 3 minutes after sex, and breaths in her direction. she is good. I once knew a woman who secretly sent herself a bouquet of flowers each weekend with her husband's name on it. We all sighed -- she paid the bill of wishful thinking.
Without emotional connection women feel neglected, unappreciated and secretly pine for the gay guys to get a pill to go straight. However, with societal changes, women with women is looking next best to gay guy buying you that Prada purse plus some. Lack of emotional connection affects women's self esteem and they feel lonely and will looooook elsewhere for attention. So seriously guys, xnay on the three way. You could be left alone in the shower wondering if you have enough Canadian Tire money to buy yourself a fur mitt.
So, what is the answer? Even the straight laced Meryl Streep living her mundane dull perfect life went bananas in Brydges Over Madison County. She couldn't resist spicing up her bland everyday by having an Affair with Clint Eastwood when the guy just stopped for directions. Driving around in that pickup truck, hanging off a wooden bridge, having some guy look at her like she was a delicious bucket of Fried Chicken made her feet itch to run away from the husband and kids. That's a more true tale that we know.
Soooooooo, I think the only answer is that science should be working on an Immunization shot for the Law of Attraction that Meryl could have taken when she thought she was slipping into Ecstasy. Why, because the fallout is horrific. I have experienced the Affair spurned that have flung themselves off the Blue Water Bridge, closed the garage door -- turned on the key, have a permanent reservation on 3 East, tried to find a pistol to shot off his kumquats, or like our lovely Meryl -- lived a quiet deadly life after the joy of her Affair to Remember.
Yep, many, many, men and women are having affairs, or are thinking about the joy of having one. Despite how many axes you have to grind, people don't regard the need for a Marital Mechanic as mega important as the need for a good Car Mechanic. Most people are seconds away from an Affair Collision. Its not that we do not at some time feel drawn to another, because relationships are not for the weak, its how strong are you to not act on your desires? People need AA -- AA tries to keep you away from acting on the chemicals, you need the same for not acting on your desires for another.
The affair numbers are staggering today and just like being Gay, no one is coming out of the closet without being blackmailed. Participants are on the down low because who wants to be family and financially gutted. Yep your own family will hang you out (kids included) to dry even your own Mama, if she loves your spouse. The kids will be taken from you. The fallout is enormous. You will not get one ounce of empathy (feel and treated like a Leper in the Bible). But affairs come on us like getting the flu -- who do we punish for contacting the flu?
The affected spouses are flocking into the Counsellors office also in shame whispering "I've been cheated on" embarrassed hoping the neighbours don't know. Big tip off the neighbours do know. There is a car missing in the lane way, you are dropping weight faster than my dog sheds in the summer and you have been partying with Pee Wee Herman. Something is definitely wrong.
Lets face reality. Affairs happen -- who wants one. Monogamy is almost impossible even for the Clergy and they have God. If you could actually know the stats you would not feel so alone, ashamed of yourself for the doing of the Affair Club or having been done unto. Both parties are in shock. Stop looking for the person to blame just (JOIN THE CLUB). Even in societies where they have many wives, the men still see something else appealing. And the Nuns and the Priests despite, men wearing dresses, crucifixes the size of bananas around their neck and women only showing an ankle, with God in their ear that confessional is rockin and rollin like a tornado hit it.
Well seems like lack of biological understanding could play a big part, plus our societal standards have shifted towards our search for happiness. What used to be kept under cover is no longer viewed as a mortal sin - ask Bill Clinton? Let those who have no sinned cast the first stone -- well few were thrown. However shock to the men -- what has been good for the goose is now becoming good for the gander -- so look out she wants to be happy too.
Some say, people need to do more research on mate picking. Well, if 60% of men have affairs and probably just as many women -- because the men need women to affair with) how do you find the perfect monogamous mate? You can read the SECRET and chant "my Perfect Partner is on its way to me," then what when they get there if monogamy is out the window -- hell, you have to go shopping again?
So What's Up!!! First of all bad news, or good news,the subject is complex. This I know -- NO ONE IS IMMUNE FROM HAVING AN AFFAIR. You can feel pulled to one through attraction -- sex, companionship, curiosity, love etc. You can feel Pushed -- relief from pain, punish partner, attention, boredom, or you can feel lured by Society. Society loves selling glamorizing affairs to us with Soaps, movies, movie stars going public (Brad and Angelina) sweating profusely just looking at one another on the red carpet. Not to mention the marketing magic of selling men that the GOOD LIFE is having a bevy of beauties marching through their bedroom nightly. One woman just can't do it!
Its not so much why, but how do we face and handle the reality of Affairs? Some say less affairs would happen if we didn't marry the first dope that came along. Others say do not cower from Honesty. Honesty --not with holding relevant information like attraction to another. Can your partner come home and say "I find myself attracted to ______ and am thinking about running off?" Well let's try that one. Perhaps then all the sneaking around factor would be gone which is half the attraction.
Another thought - IGNORE AFFAIRS!! Men biologically see sex as food and like to eat often. They can elect to drive home to eat if she will make dinner that night, or they will go through the drive through and order what they want. Depending on the appetite, regardless men are designed to eat. Here's a heads up -- just like at Xmas, when they unzip their pants, eat till their eyeballs pop, they go into a horizontal position, roll over and go to sleep. Same in and out of bedroom. Also, men consider anything outside of intercourse -- acts of pure friendship. Women are saying, I want to feel desired and sexy too.
Also, women yearn for emotional connection. If Yo Yo is thoughtful enough to pick up some card, or a flower, on the way home that says "I Love You" he is good for sex for three weeks. Even if he tries to stay awake 3 minutes after sex, and breaths in her direction. she is good. I once knew a woman who secretly sent herself a bouquet of flowers each weekend with her husband's name on it. We all sighed -- she paid the bill of wishful thinking.
Without emotional connection women feel neglected, unappreciated and secretly pine for the gay guys to get a pill to go straight. However, with societal changes, women with women is looking next best to gay guy buying you that Prada purse plus some. Lack of emotional connection affects women's self esteem and they feel lonely and will looooook elsewhere for attention. So seriously guys, xnay on the three way. You could be left alone in the shower wondering if you have enough Canadian Tire money to buy yourself a fur mitt.
So, what is the answer? Even the straight laced Meryl Streep living her mundane dull perfect life went bananas in Brydges Over Madison County. She couldn't resist spicing up her bland everyday by having an Affair with Clint Eastwood when the guy just stopped for directions. Driving around in that pickup truck, hanging off a wooden bridge, having some guy look at her like she was a delicious bucket of Fried Chicken made her feet itch to run away from the husband and kids. That's a more true tale that we know.
Soooooooo, I think the only answer is that science should be working on an Immunization shot for the Law of Attraction that Meryl could have taken when she thought she was slipping into Ecstasy. Why, because the fallout is horrific. I have experienced the Affair spurned that have flung themselves off the Blue Water Bridge, closed the garage door -- turned on the key, have a permanent reservation on 3 East, tried to find a pistol to shot off his kumquats, or like our lovely Meryl -- lived a quiet deadly life after the joy of her Affair to Remember.
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