Tis the season once again. Are you ready? Presents wrapped, bows tied tight, garland strung from hearth to doorway and everyone on your Christmas list has been checked off whether they’ve been naughty or not? How about the house? Is it all decorated up to gaudy seasonal standards? Me? Why do you ask? Isn’t it slightly rude to answer a question with another question? If you must know the front of my house is adorned with red berries and cinnamon scented pine cones, evergreen trees and symbols of seasonal sentiment; splashes of red and green here and there give this troubled spirit some semblance of a time to be merry and happy. And I say that with all the sarcasm I can muster at this point, thank you very much.
*shrugs*
Yesterday, (ok this entire month) I’ve struggled with the lack of Holiday cheer. It’s been very difficult to be joyful and not let my children down. Unfortunately, I failed miserably. For the last so many years a huge tree with sparkling lights and glistening ornaments was placed in front of the big window in the living room. It was an event to behold when setting it up. Umteen boxes of delicate glass trimmings, unwrapped so carefully, were placed just right where they needed to be, almost like the small spaces and defects in the tree were naturally there for just that purpose, all the while soft holiday music played in the background. Hours later and all done, lights would be turned off and we’d pile outside to look at it from the front yard.
The outside was just as decorated. Garland and ribbons, wreaths for every window, icicle lights dangled from gutters and the porch posts where wrapped like candy canes. Little did anyone know but I always decorated the outside of the house to match that which had adorned the big front window on the inside. Call it what you want. I wanted it to be perfect. Why? I don’t know, maybe I wanted to project the Holiday spirit to each and every driver that sped by on the busy street in front of the house just in case they didn’t have quite enough to get them through their day…Maybe I wanted them to slow down, take the time and remember the reason we celebrate every December 25th for hundreds and hundreds of years.
This year, I barely have anything outside. Just a wreath on the garage door, a small span of garland over the window held up by two bows. No lights, no candy canes, no ribbons and no 8ft tree in the big front window. Drivers pass by as they usually do, paying no attention the little blue house. This year, I brought up only 4 boxes, not the 30 or so that sat in the basement. Just the red berries, a few little evergreen trees and decorative boxes to sit under the table where the tree usually sat til Jan 2nd. On top of that little table was a lit tree with a few smaller ones sitting on a fluffy white cloud of fluff. Not the 8ft tree by any means. And as I looked around the house, not much holiday spirit, either. Sad really. But for the sake of my children, I gave it my best shot and went through the motions that always took place the day after Thanksgiving. Even though, to be perfectly honest, it took me until just last week to finish. Almost time to rip it all down…
I remember when I was younger, the lights were magical, the sounds and sights were glorious, and I was awe struck the moment the tree was cut down and drug home. We had this huge box, brought back from England when we lived there. I couldn’t wait until my father brought the stuff up from the basement and we could get all the decorations out. White bottom, Red lid, I could sleep in it, it was so big. Omigosh, the smell of Christmas as soon as mom cracked the seal, would overload my senses and I was in La La land. I’m sure everyone has memories like that. Remember tinsel?? Static shock the moment you touched someone. Draggin’ your footied pjs across the floor on purpose and racing after your big mean sibling just so you could give them a good shock, lol.
Us kids would play like that while mom sorted out all the decorations, right down to the little blue felt balls that my brother bit as a baby. She’d climb up ladders to hang mistletoe as my brother and I would chase each other or play with the blue sparkly metal garland. Like I said before, it was magical the moment the lights were plugged in, along with the other 10 things in a 2 gang outlet. Christmas morning, Charlie and I would wake with the dawn and creep downstairs, peek through the banister to see if Santa was still there. Wasn’t, of course, but WOW presents!! So we’d run all the way to mom and dad’s room and wake them up. “Can we open presents? CAN WE CAN WE??!!??” All said and done, we’d get ready in our new clothes we just got and pack ourselves in the Rambler and head to the Grandparents for a HUGE dinner and more presents and sing Christmas carols with Grandma as she poked away on the organ. I was happy, content, and full of Holiday spirit.
What happened? Some say that the moment we no longer believe in Santa Claus, we lose the very spirit that fuels the season. Some, I said “Some”. I had it until a few years ago but I hadn’t believed in the fat man since the 2nd grade. It’s like someone has pulled the plug and all the magic has dried up. This year, I didn’t put up the 8ft tree. I couldn’t even bare the thought of dragging it up stairs. This is what it’s become, I suppose. The Christmas season. Nothing more than dedicated decorations unearthed for only a month out of the year then placed back into its longevity til next time. It’s been summarily commercialized and placed for you and yours to buy buy buy the few weeks before Halloween in hopes that everyone will give the almighty dollar to an already fat cash cow.
I’ve lost my Christmas spirit. I’ve lost the magic. I’ve lost the ability to believe.
I layed in bed last night, for hours since I didn’t sleep; went through some wonderful memories of days gone by. Then I could have kicked myself for not letting my children have the same opportunity as I did. They helped me decorate, don’t get me wrong, I did put up quite a bit, just not as much as I used to. I keep thinking to myself, have I ruined it for my kids? I feel horrid for not putting up a tree and decorating it. What have I become? I’ve become Scrooge in a sense and to be perfectly honest, I wish for those 3 symbolic spirits to come visit me tonight. I want the magic back. I just don’t know how.
The last couple of years haven’t been the greatest in the Karr household. Wish it was back to normal and my family back together. I don’t mind the shuffling and hurried time spent with several different sides of the family, I just want that feeling of togetherness that I used to have when I was a kid, the magic. I want to be kissed under the mistletoe and tinsel shocked. I want to be woke up before dawn to open the bevy of presents that magically appeared after midnight and see the faces of my children light up when they rip off the pretty paper.
Tis the season to give and not receive. Mommy doesn’t care that she’s not anything to open. Just the excitement in a flourish of ribbon and shouts of “oooh” is good enough for me. I seem to not be able to get passed the fact that I can’t give my kids what we used to. Give my family just the same. Sort of negates any and all feeling of seasonal cheer. I can’t really get into the holiday spirit if I’m so distraught over the fact that I feel like a failure. I’d much rather forget the 25th of December all together. But I can’t do that to my kids who still believe in the magic.
As I lay there, I began to think of all the things I have to give and what’s been given to me. Doesn’t cost money, it’s not the price tag or check mark on the Christmas list. I need to get over myself and get back to being Toni and give my children the best Christmas that I can.
The only thing I wish for Christmas can’t fit in a stocking or wrapped up in pretty green and red paper and tied with a bow. The only thing I want for Christmas is the magic. I wish this gift for everyone. EVERYONE. Take the time, people, relive and remember how it used to be. Give the gift that someone can believe in. It opens up so many feelings and euphoric sensations, makes a person happy. I want to be happy. So in closing I’ll say this simply and I hope you take it with all the sincerity of a woman who used to overflow with Holiday Cheer and wants so badly to get it back...
Merry Christmas!!
Merry Christmas to you and your family!!
Merry Christmas you yellow snowman on the lawn!!
Merry Christmas you old building and loan!!
Light up that tree and sing till you puke eggnog out your nose, go caroling and drive through the town, looking at all the pretty lights. Catch that Holiday spirit before it’s gone and give it out all year long because the more you give the more the magic grows.
Believe in the magic. Believe in yourself. Believe!!
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Let's talk about sex baby
So…when is it a good time to talk to your kids about “Things”? And by “Things” of course I’m referring to that ooh so tender moment when you break out the Unabridged Encyclopedia of the Smart Ass and point at the engrossly enlarged picture of the male anatomy and say “Keep that away from THAT until you’re married” while pointing to the picture across the page of pretty little “Flower”.
I understand that next year Bubba is going to get the chance to watch the “This is your body” movie with the rest of his male brethren in a cold and stale classroom environment but he won’t listen. I’m not oblivious, I know my son. They’ll talk amongst them selves and giggle then get grossed out when either the PE or GC will point to the diagram of the “penis” and explain what happens when the blood flows but neglect to explain WHY.
And yes I said “penis”; after all, in our family the ratio is 3 boys to 2 girls (I’m including the dogs since Sir Captain Crapsalot can’t quite seem to keep his >for lack of better words since I don’t know one< not out…OMG! it’s touching my carpet again!!). Therefore, we have a plethora of Penis’s in the house. Did I spell that right? Penis’s? Or is it peni? Penises? Sad thing is, my office assistance didn’t tell me I fugged up so I don’t know!! Maybe I should use Scrotum but that could lead me back to the same situation. Scrotums? Scroti? Scrotumes? Which is more scientific and embarrassing? I want to use THAT one!
Ok back to the PE teacher and his stick trying to explain Morning Wood to 30 boys who thought it funny that the whole time the stick was precariously touching the anus… Hey I remember hearing the next room of laughing cootie ridden boys when I was 10! They should have sympathy for us girls, we got the talk about Aunt Flo but nooooo, we had to endure a week or more of x-ray vision goggle stares and nerds carrying around their notes while whispering outloud “Yeah, that’s what they really look like…” Not to mention that’s when bra snapping commenced because we started growing in places a lot faster than those boys did. Laugh it up boys…Laugh. It. Up. You’ll get yours soon enough, sort of like, NOW when your mother wants to talk about your PENIS and she’s not afraid to say PENIS because she knows it embarrasses the hell out of you! HA HA
Maybe I should explain why I feel the need to concern myself with this conversation…
Bubba, who’s 9, on more than one occasion, has had a girlfriend or two. Yup, you guessed it, my son is a playa… I used to tease him about this one girl a couple of years ago that his younger brother let spill, that I affectionately called “Petunia” because he never would tell me her name. Now, no matter who the girl is, Petunia is brought up.
Mom: (obviously when the moment hits me to embarrass my son) So…How’s Petunia?
Bubba: Mooooom, her name isn’t Petunia
Mom: Oh, so you admit, even if inadvertently, that you have a girl then? Is Petunia pretty? When do I get to meet her? *points to any girl in the school yard* Is that her?
Bubba: Mom, Ima hurt you…
Mom: Oooooh, so I’ve hit a nerve have I? That means she’s here. Her? Her? How bout her? Come on, boy, give a dog a bone, tell me!
Bubba: *growls as his face gets a bit redder* Moooom
Mom: What??!! *smiles in silent satisfaction*
Ooooh you should have been there at Parent/Teacher conferences! The family was walking into the school and this girl walks out with her mother. Cute little thing, all dressed up to impress no one…except my son. What happened next, I will never let my son live down….
Mom: This door, Bubba? *points to the door as SHE walks out*
Bubba: *head immediately drops and face flushes* yes
Petunia: *smiles with the biggest shit eating grin there ever was, turns around in a flourish with her skirt and says at the same time in a long drawn out husky voice…* Hi….Trevor Karr! *waves*
Bubba: Hi (did he really say it? It went so quick I could barely hear him)
Mom: (this was after we all stopped dead in our tracks to assess the situation) Trevor’s got a girlfriend! And she’s cute! *pokes Bubba in the side*
Dad: Who’s that Bubba?
Poo: Bubba’s got a girlfriend!
Bubba: SHUT UP she’s not my girlfriend, she’s not Petunia and her name is Kaitlin. Can we get over this now?
Did we hit a nerve? *laughter* And of course I had to embarrass my son at Thanksgiving with that little diddy of a story to which EVERYONE enjoyed at his expense. Not to mention tell a few others who had to give him shit about. I love being a mom… BUT then…. The other day, the boys come home from school and he bursts into my room and says
Bubba: Mom? Can Rachell come over?
Mom: Rachell? Who’s Rachell? Petunia, is that Petunia?
Bubba: Moooom….seriously she’s like my best friend in the whole world and she’s wants to meet you, so can she please please please?
Mom: (after stammering a bit since I was blindsided by the notion my son wanted a girl to come over) She can’t go passed the front room
Stays but a half hour and she’s got to go home. Phew…
Mom: Petunia’s really cute
Bubba: Mooooom!
*ring ring*
Caller: Tell Bubba, let the force be with you (er something like that )
Mom: They say Let the force be with you *laughter*
Bubba: Moom! *growls* Can’t you just feel the sexual force around me *uses hand motions to accentuate*
Mom: *the sound a needle on a record makes when you pull it back harshly* WTF
So yeah… um That was soo not the comment I was looking for… I was mortified, or just shocked, I’m not sure what I was. Just the other day, this boy of 9 was running thru the house naked yelling “They’re after my lucky charms!!” and now he’s referring to his SEXual force?
Once again…so yeah…um…When is it time to have that talk? Do I need to?
Petunia…Oooh Petunia
I understand that next year Bubba is going to get the chance to watch the “This is your body” movie with the rest of his male brethren in a cold and stale classroom environment but he won’t listen. I’m not oblivious, I know my son. They’ll talk amongst them selves and giggle then get grossed out when either the PE or GC will point to the diagram of the “penis” and explain what happens when the blood flows but neglect to explain WHY.
And yes I said “penis”; after all, in our family the ratio is 3 boys to 2 girls (I’m including the dogs since Sir Captain Crapsalot can’t quite seem to keep his >for lack of better words since I don’t know one< not out…OMG! it’s touching my carpet again!!). Therefore, we have a plethora of Penis’s in the house. Did I spell that right? Penis’s? Or is it peni? Penises? Sad thing is, my office assistance didn’t tell me I fugged up so I don’t know!! Maybe I should use Scrotum but that could lead me back to the same situation. Scrotums? Scroti? Scrotumes? Which is more scientific and embarrassing? I want to use THAT one!
Ok back to the PE teacher and his stick trying to explain Morning Wood to 30 boys who thought it funny that the whole time the stick was precariously touching the anus… Hey I remember hearing the next room of laughing cootie ridden boys when I was 10! They should have sympathy for us girls, we got the talk about Aunt Flo but nooooo, we had to endure a week or more of x-ray vision goggle stares and nerds carrying around their notes while whispering outloud “Yeah, that’s what they really look like…” Not to mention that’s when bra snapping commenced because we started growing in places a lot faster than those boys did. Laugh it up boys…Laugh. It. Up. You’ll get yours soon enough, sort of like, NOW when your mother wants to talk about your PENIS and she’s not afraid to say PENIS because she knows it embarrasses the hell out of you! HA HA
Maybe I should explain why I feel the need to concern myself with this conversation…
Bubba, who’s 9, on more than one occasion, has had a girlfriend or two. Yup, you guessed it, my son is a playa… I used to tease him about this one girl a couple of years ago that his younger brother let spill, that I affectionately called “Petunia” because he never would tell me her name. Now, no matter who the girl is, Petunia is brought up.
Mom: (obviously when the moment hits me to embarrass my son) So…How’s Petunia?
Bubba: Mooooom, her name isn’t Petunia
Mom: Oh, so you admit, even if inadvertently, that you have a girl then? Is Petunia pretty? When do I get to meet her? *points to any girl in the school yard* Is that her?
Bubba: Mom, Ima hurt you…
Mom: Oooooh, so I’ve hit a nerve have I? That means she’s here. Her? Her? How bout her? Come on, boy, give a dog a bone, tell me!
Bubba: *growls as his face gets a bit redder* Moooom
Mom: What??!! *smiles in silent satisfaction*
Ooooh you should have been there at Parent/Teacher conferences! The family was walking into the school and this girl walks out with her mother. Cute little thing, all dressed up to impress no one…except my son. What happened next, I will never let my son live down….
Mom: This door, Bubba? *points to the door as SHE walks out*
Bubba: *head immediately drops and face flushes* yes
Petunia: *smiles with the biggest shit eating grin there ever was, turns around in a flourish with her skirt and says at the same time in a long drawn out husky voice…* Hi….Trevor Karr! *waves*
Bubba: Hi (did he really say it? It went so quick I could barely hear him)
Mom: (this was after we all stopped dead in our tracks to assess the situation) Trevor’s got a girlfriend! And she’s cute! *pokes Bubba in the side*
Dad: Who’s that Bubba?
Poo: Bubba’s got a girlfriend!
Bubba: SHUT UP she’s not my girlfriend, she’s not Petunia and her name is Kaitlin. Can we get over this now?
Did we hit a nerve? *laughter* And of course I had to embarrass my son at Thanksgiving with that little diddy of a story to which EVERYONE enjoyed at his expense. Not to mention tell a few others who had to give him shit about. I love being a mom… BUT then…. The other day, the boys come home from school and he bursts into my room and says
Bubba: Mom? Can Rachell come over?
Mom: Rachell? Who’s Rachell? Petunia, is that Petunia?
Bubba: Moooom….seriously she’s like my best friend in the whole world and she’s wants to meet you, so can she please please please?
Mom: (after stammering a bit since I was blindsided by the notion my son wanted a girl to come over) She can’t go passed the front room
Stays but a half hour and she’s got to go home. Phew…
Mom: Petunia’s really cute
Bubba: Mooooom!
*ring ring*
Caller: Tell Bubba, let the force be with you (er something like that )
Mom: They say Let the force be with you *laughter*
Bubba: Moom! *growls* Can’t you just feel the sexual force around me *uses hand motions to accentuate*
Mom: *the sound a needle on a record makes when you pull it back harshly* WTF
So yeah… um That was soo not the comment I was looking for… I was mortified, or just shocked, I’m not sure what I was. Just the other day, this boy of 9 was running thru the house naked yelling “They’re after my lucky charms!!” and now he’s referring to his SEXual force?
Once again…so yeah…um…When is it time to have that talk? Do I need to?
Petunia…Oooh Petunia
Dear Burglar
Dear Burglar,
I want to take this opportunity to thank you for letting me know that my heart does indubitably tick, and not just tick, I mean wild and off the scale. It’s been pretty numb of late for obvious reasons, and only races when I have to “P” and I’m a whole house away from the Loo or when I get my cell phone bill. You, on the other hand, made my heart feel as if it was going to jump entirely out of my chest this morning. I felt alive and invigorated and I’m sure, if need be, the adrenaline boost it gave could have helped me lift a double-decker bus.
Why you ask? Well, I’ll be more than happy to explain why I am soo happy that you decided to trespass on my property.
Today, morning as usual, I fall out of bed, grab the inhaler and head towards the front of the house to see if by some chance the lottery fairy left me a million bucks on the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, there was no such lump sum just the lump in my throat as you laid a trap for me half way down the hallway. What? What was that I heard you say? You’re not a very good burglar, are you? Flunk out of Breaking and Entry 101, did ya? Maybe you should go back to school and try that class again, but before you leave, please do me a favor and turn off the lights and furnace in the garage…
Oh and before you go, I want to thank you once again for shoveling the 2 feet of snow from in front of the garage door. I know I wouldn’t have been able to do that myself, asthma and all. I even thought last night as I watched the footage of the white powdery stuff fall from the sky… Toni, you’re a goof, you left the snow shovel in the garage and you can’t even see the steps to get off the porch, how you gonna get out?
I’m sure it was tedious to get in there since the blizzard last night. Maybe that’s the reason there was only one set of footprints leading TO the garage and not from and the very reason you decided to sleep in my car. No that’s ok, I didn’t mind so much not leaving part, since it makes it easier for the police to apprehend your stupid ass. What really pissed me off was that you decided to plug in the furnace that hadn’t been serviced or even turned on in well over a year. I understand it’s the Holiday season and it IS better to give than to receive but that very furnace prolly cost me about $100 to make you all cozy and toasty warm. Oh, I’m sorry, it wasn’t the furnace that made you toasty? Silly me, I didn’t realize you came already insulated…
I’m curious, though. Answer me this, since you were already in the car, why didn’t you just open my wallet up and set ablaze my checkbook and any cash that was in my purse? Probably would have been a hella lot cheaper than to plug in that old furnace. Especially when you could have stomped out the measly little pile of burning fundage a lot easier than the possibility of burning down my fucking house.
Well, I must close here. I’ve could have written a lot more, but you best be on your way. The police, even though the roads are treacherous, thought it comical when I called them up with this information and wanted to get here post haste. If I were them, I’d be a little let down actually. You know, the thrill of the chase. Not so much a thrill if your suspect is still lounging in the passenger seat of the car in the garage he so chose to trespass. But they prolly just wanted to see with their own eyes, the most stupid burglar in the world. It’s entirely too bad that the only pair of handcuffs in the vicinity was under my bed and not in the car. You could have apprehended yourself.
Farewell, Burglar
Home Owner
PS. please leave my checkbook in its entirety on the front seat of my car, lock it and give the officer the keys. Dudley Doo Right can give them back to me when he fills out the police report. Thanks so much, you’re too kind, REALLY!!
I want to take this opportunity to thank you for letting me know that my heart does indubitably tick, and not just tick, I mean wild and off the scale. It’s been pretty numb of late for obvious reasons, and only races when I have to “P” and I’m a whole house away from the Loo or when I get my cell phone bill. You, on the other hand, made my heart feel as if it was going to jump entirely out of my chest this morning. I felt alive and invigorated and I’m sure, if need be, the adrenaline boost it gave could have helped me lift a double-decker bus.
Why you ask? Well, I’ll be more than happy to explain why I am soo happy that you decided to trespass on my property.
Today, morning as usual, I fall out of bed, grab the inhaler and head towards the front of the house to see if by some chance the lottery fairy left me a million bucks on the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, there was no such lump sum just the lump in my throat as you laid a trap for me half way down the hallway. What? What was that I heard you say? You’re not a very good burglar, are you? Flunk out of Breaking and Entry 101, did ya? Maybe you should go back to school and try that class again, but before you leave, please do me a favor and turn off the lights and furnace in the garage…
Oh and before you go, I want to thank you once again for shoveling the 2 feet of snow from in front of the garage door. I know I wouldn’t have been able to do that myself, asthma and all. I even thought last night as I watched the footage of the white powdery stuff fall from the sky… Toni, you’re a goof, you left the snow shovel in the garage and you can’t even see the steps to get off the porch, how you gonna get out?
I’m sure it was tedious to get in there since the blizzard last night. Maybe that’s the reason there was only one set of footprints leading TO the garage and not from and the very reason you decided to sleep in my car. No that’s ok, I didn’t mind so much not leaving part, since it makes it easier for the police to apprehend your stupid ass. What really pissed me off was that you decided to plug in the furnace that hadn’t been serviced or even turned on in well over a year. I understand it’s the Holiday season and it IS better to give than to receive but that very furnace prolly cost me about $100 to make you all cozy and toasty warm. Oh, I’m sorry, it wasn’t the furnace that made you toasty? Silly me, I didn’t realize you came already insulated…
I’m curious, though. Answer me this, since you were already in the car, why didn’t you just open my wallet up and set ablaze my checkbook and any cash that was in my purse? Probably would have been a hella lot cheaper than to plug in that old furnace. Especially when you could have stomped out the measly little pile of burning fundage a lot easier than the possibility of burning down my fucking house.
Well, I must close here. I’ve could have written a lot more, but you best be on your way. The police, even though the roads are treacherous, thought it comical when I called them up with this information and wanted to get here post haste. If I were them, I’d be a little let down actually. You know, the thrill of the chase. Not so much a thrill if your suspect is still lounging in the passenger seat of the car in the garage he so chose to trespass. But they prolly just wanted to see with their own eyes, the most stupid burglar in the world. It’s entirely too bad that the only pair of handcuffs in the vicinity was under my bed and not in the car. You could have apprehended yourself.
Farewell, Burglar
Home Owner
PS. please leave my checkbook in its entirety on the front seat of my car, lock it and give the officer the keys. Dudley Doo Right can give them back to me when he fills out the police report. Thanks so much, you’re too kind, REALLY!!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Life is Beautiful
The projector came alive, popped and crackled. Heat from the light burnt holes in the old film of a life that was very familiar as it was played not on a screen but over a motionless body as I sat across the room watching, irresistibly paralyzed with my eyes wide open. Torturous curiosity mesmerized me over this silent scene being played out in improbability and melodramatic overtones. I wasn't sure just quite how to interpret or even if I should have but I sat there, totally incapable of even a blink of understanding.
Several times I felt a part of the motion even called by name to go somewhere that was never defined. "Toni, it's time to go…" The voice, soft and soothing, said in redundancy almost chiding me to pay attention as if I was lost in retrospect. "Go where? Where are we going..?" getting up from a chair I never left. "Toni, it's time to go…" was said again. Even though I wanted so badly to have reached out, grabbed the shirt sleeve of a voice and demanded an explanation, my hand fell to my lap in silent protest. "Wait! Tell me! Where, please?" I would have said, should have said, but there was nothing there but a transparent memory of something that never happened.
I was not alone as I sat in a chair across the room from a woman leaning over a bed with a quiescent hand in hers. That very hand was that of my own and attached to a body that lay just as dormant as the cold floor. I was asleep. But I wasn't exactly. Out of mind, out of body, I watched my mother hold my hand begging for signs of warmth as tears fell from her cheek. The old movie played on…layered over the surreal in ambiguous intent.
Time, itself, become of no issue since I don't remember how long I sat there and watched myself and the movie play in repetition. I couldn't move. Didn't want to. But, alas, it finally did when the voice changed in tone and melody. No longer was it familiar but it was still soothing as I took a deep breath in and stood up from the chair I had never left. Carefully I placed a hand on my mother's without her notice and squeezed. Immediately she woke and looked up at the woman lying in the bed as the whole perspective changed. I was not across the room, I was not watching the silent film hanging over the woman in the bed. As heavy as the concern in my mother's eyes, I was once again laden with in the sheets with the reverberating sound of that voice telling me one last time…
"Toni, it's not your time to go"
Was this a dream? Or was this a sign from a higher being telling me that it was indeed not my time to leave this world? Lately this haunts me. Things in my life have turned it upside down, sideways and backasswords. I've not been quiet about it. Quite vocal actually. My marriage fell apart, relationships and friendships fail and die, health problems and personal issues have seriously dampened a spirit that used to be free and gay. I've likened my existence to that of a hole dug not only by your's truly but others just the same. That hole has become such a deep and dark oblivion that I wake at night shivering and lost and not wanting to go back to sleep. I sit alone at the most of the time, dwelling, crying and drowning in my own pity, and asking myself when the nightmare will be over as if there was some magical button hidden in plain sight the entire time that when pushed, my worries would be all behind me. There is no such thing.
IF there was a more deserving time for such a creation, it is now.
My life has yet again taken a turn to throw me off track. Not even sure how to explain it. I'm still in shock and disbelief and to be honest, numb. Took me some time to actually break down and tell the people closest to me. Even then I kept the rest at bay for no real excuse but to keep from cracking further. Emotionless? No. Cold? No
Afraid…
Afraid of what individuals might think of me, treat me different or worse, ignore me just like I had done to a woman who so dearly needed me many years ago. This was punishment, I guess, really. I failed my best friend, for what reason…. I have no answers except to say I couldn't handle the inevitable and ran away when I needed to be right there by her side, holding her hand till the day the end of her movie played out.
Now, it's me. I need my best friend, will you be there for me? I am petrified. I hope you realize this.
I find myself pushing everyone away when I need them most. I'm desperately trying to claw my way out of that proverbial hole and slapping away the very hands that offer to help. WHY? I'm afraid to hurt and disappoint those who have offered when I fail, when I scream and bite and say "I just can't do it anymore" "I don't want to do it anymore" "I'm just tired". The body is weak and the soul is very exhausted.
At one point in time, I thought the only way to stop the pain and anguish that is my cross to bear was to give up and fall back down into that blackness, literally dying inside. I was close. I have been for along time. Letting the body be a cold shell with nothing inside was appealing to me when the times got really tough. Trust me. Especially lately. Being told you have cancer isn't like falling down and scraping one's knee. This is the big one. Losing flesh and will when a Band aide doesn't quite cut it. Now it's me facing the probable, the impossible, and the inevitable.
"Toni, it's not your time to go…" I think that was my subconscious trying to get me to realize that it was time for me to wake up, take control of my life and live.
This past week made me realize something. I can't do it alone. I need help. I need my family. I need my friends. I need support and some days, I'm sure, I'll need some silent understanding. I have the beginning of one hell of a fight laid out before me and I am afraid that I won't be able to beat a very vicious and cunning opponent. I look around my person, my life and see things that IF I give up and throw the fight, will never be the same.
I have two beautiful little boys who rely on their mother. Do I dare fathom them growing up with out me? Who is going to kiss the boo boo's or hear the genuine laughter? I want to be the one to cry when pride overwhelms at the littlest accomplishments to the most grandiose. I have a mother who is my like my sister that relies on me just as much as I do her. All I want to do is to crawl up in her lap and have her rock me to sleep, assuring me that everything will be ok. A mother, who I gladly let tie the apron strings a bit tight. No parent should out live their child, especially not two… There is this man who I call my best friend. We've been there for each other through so much already. Who will he talk to when he needs it the most? How dare I put him through it again. I want to be the one who laughs at his stupid jokes and I want to be the first person he calls when he says "Guess what, Toni, I found the one…" I have a family who loves me. I have friends who do, too. They both see the strengths in me that I've forgotten and I realize that I'm just as much a strength in them as well. We all need one another to live
Granted, Life goes on and voids will undoubtedly be filled eventually but I can't do it. Call me selfish, call me gluttonous, call me what you will but I don't want to be NOT there. I'm not ready to give up. I'm going to fight this. I may stumble, I may fall, but I am praying that my family and friends help me pick myself up. Not asking for them to do it all, just help me when I don't quite the capacity to do so. From this day forward, I won't regret a thing, I'll keep Hope with me at all times and I'll take the necessary chances to ensure that I see how beautiful life is.
I have a lot to live for. I can do this…
Several times I felt a part of the motion even called by name to go somewhere that was never defined. "Toni, it's time to go…" The voice, soft and soothing, said in redundancy almost chiding me to pay attention as if I was lost in retrospect. "Go where? Where are we going..?" getting up from a chair I never left. "Toni, it's time to go…" was said again. Even though I wanted so badly to have reached out, grabbed the shirt sleeve of a voice and demanded an explanation, my hand fell to my lap in silent protest. "Wait! Tell me! Where, please?" I would have said, should have said, but there was nothing there but a transparent memory of something that never happened.
I was not alone as I sat in a chair across the room from a woman leaning over a bed with a quiescent hand in hers. That very hand was that of my own and attached to a body that lay just as dormant as the cold floor. I was asleep. But I wasn't exactly. Out of mind, out of body, I watched my mother hold my hand begging for signs of warmth as tears fell from her cheek. The old movie played on…layered over the surreal in ambiguous intent.
Time, itself, become of no issue since I don't remember how long I sat there and watched myself and the movie play in repetition. I couldn't move. Didn't want to. But, alas, it finally did when the voice changed in tone and melody. No longer was it familiar but it was still soothing as I took a deep breath in and stood up from the chair I had never left. Carefully I placed a hand on my mother's without her notice and squeezed. Immediately she woke and looked up at the woman lying in the bed as the whole perspective changed. I was not across the room, I was not watching the silent film hanging over the woman in the bed. As heavy as the concern in my mother's eyes, I was once again laden with in the sheets with the reverberating sound of that voice telling me one last time…
"Toni, it's not your time to go"
Was this a dream? Or was this a sign from a higher being telling me that it was indeed not my time to leave this world? Lately this haunts me. Things in my life have turned it upside down, sideways and backasswords. I've not been quiet about it. Quite vocal actually. My marriage fell apart, relationships and friendships fail and die, health problems and personal issues have seriously dampened a spirit that used to be free and gay. I've likened my existence to that of a hole dug not only by your's truly but others just the same. That hole has become such a deep and dark oblivion that I wake at night shivering and lost and not wanting to go back to sleep. I sit alone at the most of the time, dwelling, crying and drowning in my own pity, and asking myself when the nightmare will be over as if there was some magical button hidden in plain sight the entire time that when pushed, my worries would be all behind me. There is no such thing.
IF there was a more deserving time for such a creation, it is now.
My life has yet again taken a turn to throw me off track. Not even sure how to explain it. I'm still in shock and disbelief and to be honest, numb. Took me some time to actually break down and tell the people closest to me. Even then I kept the rest at bay for no real excuse but to keep from cracking further. Emotionless? No. Cold? No
Afraid…
Afraid of what individuals might think of me, treat me different or worse, ignore me just like I had done to a woman who so dearly needed me many years ago. This was punishment, I guess, really. I failed my best friend, for what reason…. I have no answers except to say I couldn't handle the inevitable and ran away when I needed to be right there by her side, holding her hand till the day the end of her movie played out.
Now, it's me. I need my best friend, will you be there for me? I am petrified. I hope you realize this.
I find myself pushing everyone away when I need them most. I'm desperately trying to claw my way out of that proverbial hole and slapping away the very hands that offer to help. WHY? I'm afraid to hurt and disappoint those who have offered when I fail, when I scream and bite and say "I just can't do it anymore" "I don't want to do it anymore" "I'm just tired". The body is weak and the soul is very exhausted.
At one point in time, I thought the only way to stop the pain and anguish that is my cross to bear was to give up and fall back down into that blackness, literally dying inside. I was close. I have been for along time. Letting the body be a cold shell with nothing inside was appealing to me when the times got really tough. Trust me. Especially lately. Being told you have cancer isn't like falling down and scraping one's knee. This is the big one. Losing flesh and will when a Band aide doesn't quite cut it. Now it's me facing the probable, the impossible, and the inevitable.
"Toni, it's not your time to go…" I think that was my subconscious trying to get me to realize that it was time for me to wake up, take control of my life and live.
This past week made me realize something. I can't do it alone. I need help. I need my family. I need my friends. I need support and some days, I'm sure, I'll need some silent understanding. I have the beginning of one hell of a fight laid out before me and I am afraid that I won't be able to beat a very vicious and cunning opponent. I look around my person, my life and see things that IF I give up and throw the fight, will never be the same.
I have two beautiful little boys who rely on their mother. Do I dare fathom them growing up with out me? Who is going to kiss the boo boo's or hear the genuine laughter? I want to be the one to cry when pride overwhelms at the littlest accomplishments to the most grandiose. I have a mother who is my like my sister that relies on me just as much as I do her. All I want to do is to crawl up in her lap and have her rock me to sleep, assuring me that everything will be ok. A mother, who I gladly let tie the apron strings a bit tight. No parent should out live their child, especially not two… There is this man who I call my best friend. We've been there for each other through so much already. Who will he talk to when he needs it the most? How dare I put him through it again. I want to be the one who laughs at his stupid jokes and I want to be the first person he calls when he says "Guess what, Toni, I found the one…" I have a family who loves me. I have friends who do, too. They both see the strengths in me that I've forgotten and I realize that I'm just as much a strength in them as well. We all need one another to live
Granted, Life goes on and voids will undoubtedly be filled eventually but I can't do it. Call me selfish, call me gluttonous, call me what you will but I don't want to be NOT there. I'm not ready to give up. I'm going to fight this. I may stumble, I may fall, but I am praying that my family and friends help me pick myself up. Not asking for them to do it all, just help me when I don't quite the capacity to do so. From this day forward, I won't regret a thing, I'll keep Hope with me at all times and I'll take the necessary chances to ensure that I see how beautiful life is.
I have a lot to live for. I can do this…
What are you thankful for?
I dare ask anyone. Do we as a whole even know what Thankful means. Many of us can look around at the expensive things we use every day like the TVs, cell phones, computers, game consoles and that shiny car out in the driveway and be thankful we're keeping up with the Jones's not even realizing how much we take for granted. It's not about the substance, it's about the feeling in the soul that says I'm grateful for the things that money can't buy. I can tell you right now that I am very thankful for a lot of things.
I'm thankful for the love of my family and friends, the strength that they give me when I feel I can not even lift my head. Grateful for the unconditional Love that they freely give to me especially when the world is so hateful. I'm grateful for my two children who make me smile when I can barely find it within myself to cope. Even thankful to the man who gave them to me even though he saw fit to tear my heart out. I am grateful for the many advances in modern technology that has kept me here on this earth that without, there would be no Super Ozzie. To be perfectly honest, I'm just grateful to be alive.
I'm thankful for the warm shoulders and understanding hugs, friendships that sprouted from nothing and I'm very thankful that I have the freedom to even pen this message when so many die for merely their beliefs.I say once again as you engorge yourself in tradition of turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce and naps by the tv while football plays in the background, what are you thankful for?
I'm thankful for the love of my family and friends, the strength that they give me when I feel I can not even lift my head. Grateful for the unconditional Love that they freely give to me especially when the world is so hateful. I'm grateful for my two children who make me smile when I can barely find it within myself to cope. Even thankful to the man who gave them to me even though he saw fit to tear my heart out. I am grateful for the many advances in modern technology that has kept me here on this earth that without, there would be no Super Ozzie. To be perfectly honest, I'm just grateful to be alive.
I'm thankful for the warm shoulders and understanding hugs, friendships that sprouted from nothing and I'm very thankful that I have the freedom to even pen this message when so many die for merely their beliefs.I say once again as you engorge yourself in tradition of turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce and naps by the tv while football plays in the background, what are you thankful for?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Direction Hidden
Direction hidden, you gaze upon a puffy white orb, a Dandelion, a weed infinitely more beautiful than its grassy fellows, endless, and identical to
.
You
.
You
.
You feel akin to this fluffy oddball. You are drawn almost childlike as you grasp the delicate stem
.
Broken
.
Bringing it near to your lips, you make a wish, a prayer. A wish for peace, in the world, and in your heart. You wish not for just any love but true love. You wish for direction, and hope. You blow with all your breath, wish with all your being, and
disperse millions of miniature white parachutes of your aspirations and desires, even a fear hidden deep within your mind. You, too…
.
Detach
.
A million different directions you will go, explore and learn. You are the Hopes, dreams, the prayers and wishes of a world and of a generation, peers and family.
You are carried by a passing breeze, soft and gentle. Then…
.
Blown away
.
Grabbed by a far more violent gust, forced to
.
Fall
.
You feel akin to this fluffy oddball. You are drawn almost childlike as you grasp the delicate stem
.
Broken
.
Bringing it near to your lips, you make a wish, a prayer. A wish for peace, in the world, and in your heart. You wish not for just any love but true love. You wish for direction, and hope. You blow with all your breath, wish with all your being, and
disperse millions of miniature white parachutes of your aspirations and desires, even a fear hidden deep within your mind. You, too…
.
Detach
.
A million different directions you will go, explore and learn. You are the Hopes, dreams, the prayers and wishes of a world and of a generation, peers and family.
You are carried by a passing breeze, soft and gentle. Then…
.
Blown away
.
Grabbed by a far more violent gust, forced to
.
Fall
.
Tumble
.
.
Rise
.
.
Overcome
.
You change directions in an exhale, a gasp and a sigh. You have traveled far and you have far yet to travel. No one knows just how far, but you are NOT lost, just searching for a purpose, a reason, an answer, a place to land, safely.
.
.
You change directions in an exhale, a gasp and a sigh. You have traveled far and you have far yet to travel. No one knows just how far, but you are NOT lost, just searching for a purpose, a reason, an answer, a place to land, safely.
.
To take root
.
Grow
.
Blossom
.
Grow
.
Blossom
Friday, October 19, 2007
Pliers, Flappers, and Eyeliner, OH MY!
Ok…so I've never been the one to say I can't do something. Well at least when it comes to things around the house, yard and in the garage within my limits. I can change the oil in my car and bolt a header on my children's college education, shingle a roof, know the 100 and 1 uses for Goop, refill the weed wacker's line, clean gutters, build a wall, even know and understand the usage of all MY power tools from the table, miter and jig saws to the drills, router, joiners and so on. Installing cabinets, counter tops, flooring, and light fixtures don't give my hives and spider webs and 4 inches of sewage backed up in the basement doesn't make me puke anymore.
So…
Why can I not fix the fuggin toilet flapper thingy??????
For months the water bill has crept up like the hemline of Brittney Spears' new tragic fashion faux pas and I can no long afford it; well, for that matter, neither can Brittney but her issues are not mine even though they are funny as hell to read in the grocery store checkout while I'm waiting for the X-press 20 items or less line to move a little faster than a constipated turtle. Several times, to prevent the water from constantly draining into the village's petty cash, I've taken action but unfortunately, it hasn't stopped it. Today I went out and bought a new assembly in hopes to once again fix a problem that has given me headaches after each and every flush.
Easy right?
So it seems.
Read the directions
Pretty explanatory.
I'm prepared.
Tank drained, sopped up, water shut off. Instructions said only tools needed were screw drivers and plumbing tape. I GOT IT. Not a problem. Sitting backasswards on the loo I'm disassembling the old and found a problem. W.O.N.T come out. Read the directions, again. Hmmmm.quite a quandary. (I'd rub my temples in contemplation but the assurance that the tank water was nothing short of sanitary was far beyond my grasp…) Looking under the tank I realized the directions forgot something very important to add to the list of tools needed to accomplish the job but not without bashing my head on the edge of the counter first that was barely 6 inches from the loo itself. A little flippin' plastic nut was between me and the completion of a very simple project.
…sigh
Pliers, I have pliers!
So basement I go since they were not present in the junk drawer ( the last place I put them ) and guess what…Nooo pliers. Ok out to the garage I went, Hell Rich had to have left something in the garage for me to use, after all, my tools had to go somewhere, right? I searched thru dust and web covered tool boxes and counter tops, the oil dry'd floor amidst thrown car parts that fit prolly nothing made from this millennia, and under and in boxes littering the sides of the 2-car garage to no avail. Unfortunately, what I did find was things that have been missing from my house for along time.
Glass Pyrex bowls, ladles, spoons, forks, well…there's my steak knives, ?a baby bottle?, not sure why my eyeliner was out there, a shoe from when my son was prolly no older than 4, contact case, MY BRA!, stainless steel bake ware including the 8qt bowls and loaf pans, Maple syrup, tweezers, ketchup, pizza pan, and funnels. Not one pair of pliers…WTF! Only thing I could think of was that Bimbo was enjoying my tools as much as she was my husband and I seriously didn't want them back after she touched either one of them. To be honest I'd like to shove this toilet flapper thingy up her….
As far as the pliers were concerned, looks like I'm headed to the hardware store, again….
I'll get this done.
If it kills someone or
Tidy bowl man…
Don't knock on my door, you might meet your end by means of the old toilet flapper thingy.
So…
Why can I not fix the fuggin toilet flapper thingy??????
For months the water bill has crept up like the hemline of Brittney Spears' new tragic fashion faux pas and I can no long afford it; well, for that matter, neither can Brittney but her issues are not mine even though they are funny as hell to read in the grocery store checkout while I'm waiting for the X-press 20 items or less line to move a little faster than a constipated turtle. Several times, to prevent the water from constantly draining into the village's petty cash, I've taken action but unfortunately, it hasn't stopped it. Today I went out and bought a new assembly in hopes to once again fix a problem that has given me headaches after each and every flush.
Easy right?
So it seems.
Read the directions
Pretty explanatory.
I'm prepared.
Tank drained, sopped up, water shut off. Instructions said only tools needed were screw drivers and plumbing tape. I GOT IT. Not a problem. Sitting backasswards on the loo I'm disassembling the old and found a problem. W.O.N.T come out. Read the directions, again. Hmmmm.quite a quandary. (I'd rub my temples in contemplation but the assurance that the tank water was nothing short of sanitary was far beyond my grasp…) Looking under the tank I realized the directions forgot something very important to add to the list of tools needed to accomplish the job but not without bashing my head on the edge of the counter first that was barely 6 inches from the loo itself. A little flippin' plastic nut was between me and the completion of a very simple project.
…sigh
Pliers, I have pliers!
So basement I go since they were not present in the junk drawer ( the last place I put them ) and guess what…Nooo pliers. Ok out to the garage I went, Hell Rich had to have left something in the garage for me to use, after all, my tools had to go somewhere, right? I searched thru dust and web covered tool boxes and counter tops, the oil dry'd floor amidst thrown car parts that fit prolly nothing made from this millennia, and under and in boxes littering the sides of the 2-car garage to no avail. Unfortunately, what I did find was things that have been missing from my house for along time.
Glass Pyrex bowls, ladles, spoons, forks, well…there's my steak knives, ?a baby bottle?, not sure why my eyeliner was out there, a shoe from when my son was prolly no older than 4, contact case, MY BRA!, stainless steel bake ware including the 8qt bowls and loaf pans, Maple syrup, tweezers, ketchup, pizza pan, and funnels. Not one pair of pliers…WTF! Only thing I could think of was that Bimbo was enjoying my tools as much as she was my husband and I seriously didn't want them back after she touched either one of them. To be honest I'd like to shove this toilet flapper thingy up her….
As far as the pliers were concerned, looks like I'm headed to the hardware store, again….
I'll get this done.
If it kills someone or
Tidy bowl man…
Don't knock on my door, you might meet your end by means of the old toilet flapper thingy.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Boogie Man
One day when I was younger I went into the basement with a flashlight to get something Mom had asked me to get on my own. As I reached the stairs on my way out I suddenly felt someone's presence. I made a mad dash out of the basement and slammed the door not wanting to ever go back down there. Who was there, why was the hair on the backs of my arms standing on end and why do I suddenly have this warm wet spot in my britches? But luck would have it, Mom and Dad made me and after a few years ( lol ) I learned there was nothing in the basement but my own fear of something I never laid eyes on and misunderstood. The basement, I said. Just the basement.
Time passed and I was soon 13 years old. I was no longer scared of the Whatever in the basement but that didn't stop me from screaming my head off at my sleepover with 13 other girls my age after my brother and his friends saw fit to scare the shit out of us on purpose. Banished he was from anywhere near the house til the next day, the girls and I went on about our sleepover with dread and fear of the unknown every time we heard a noise we couldn't explain or shadow that passed before the nightlight after the last lamp was turned off.
The Boogie Man?
Many of us can recall a time as children when we were gripped by trepidation. Those fears controlled many aspects of our young lives. One such angst was our belief in the 'Boogie Man.' While we never actually saw the Boogie Man, we instinctively knew that he lurked in the dark recesses of our room and meant to do us harm. His evil presence was palpably felt and had a profound effect upon our mood, and our behavior. So we would be so racked with fear, we'd scream holy terror in the middle of the night praying someone would come rescue us from whatever it was that scared us the most.
Now fast forward a few years, ok a lot of years. I'm a grown woman with children of her own, on her own. Only thing that protects me from the Boogie Man is my own 37 year old rational, motion lights and a 110 pound dog. He still exists. The trees blow in the wind and limbs tap on the window panes when I have no trees near the house, the dog barks at phantom randomness, and my kids crawl into bed every other night when the Boogie Man visits their room and sprinkle nightmare dust over their sleeping bodies. No he doesn't attempt to eat them, he just intends to give them and me some of the worst dreams one could fathom while hiding in the corner in the eerie shadows, feeding off soundless screams for his sick amusement. His sustenance to exist.
When it comes down to it, the Boogie Man doesn't actually exist anywhere out of our own imagination, our own fear, our own fallacies and misconstruals. We're in the dark, not seeing what is truly there. So how do we get rid of the Boogie Man? I know it sounds cliché or even corny, but it's actually time to turn on the proverbial flashlight and shine it in the darkest recesses of our minds and shed some light on what we really fear.
If the monster lives under your bed, then turn the light on and throw back the covers revealing, yep you guessed it, nothing but dust bunnies and discarded toys.
If he exists in the closet, open the doors and pull the chain to flood the small space with such lumen to burn any monster to ash.
The basement holds nothing but silence till you open your mouth and introduce yourself to the spiders and boxed up Christmas decorations.
Nightmares, well they are just dreams about issues in our own lives that we can't always handle when awake. Irrational fears and delusions, even ignorance. Only way to get rid of the nightmares is to wake up. That's right, wake up and realize you, not the Boogie Man, are in control of your own destiny and you'll soon find Boogie Man fades away with the flip of a switch.
IF after all that, the Boogie Man still exists, invite him over for pizza and a cold beverage. The shock alone that acknowledges his existence should settle him down quite a bit. Might even become a great friend. Go on vacations. Bike rides. Sleepovers…..
Time passed and I was soon 13 years old. I was no longer scared of the Whatever in the basement but that didn't stop me from screaming my head off at my sleepover with 13 other girls my age after my brother and his friends saw fit to scare the shit out of us on purpose. Banished he was from anywhere near the house til the next day, the girls and I went on about our sleepover with dread and fear of the unknown every time we heard a noise we couldn't explain or shadow that passed before the nightlight after the last lamp was turned off.
The Boogie Man?
Many of us can recall a time as children when we were gripped by trepidation. Those fears controlled many aspects of our young lives. One such angst was our belief in the 'Boogie Man.' While we never actually saw the Boogie Man, we instinctively knew that he lurked in the dark recesses of our room and meant to do us harm. His evil presence was palpably felt and had a profound effect upon our mood, and our behavior. So we would be so racked with fear, we'd scream holy terror in the middle of the night praying someone would come rescue us from whatever it was that scared us the most.
Now fast forward a few years, ok a lot of years. I'm a grown woman with children of her own, on her own. Only thing that protects me from the Boogie Man is my own 37 year old rational, motion lights and a 110 pound dog. He still exists. The trees blow in the wind and limbs tap on the window panes when I have no trees near the house, the dog barks at phantom randomness, and my kids crawl into bed every other night when the Boogie Man visits their room and sprinkle nightmare dust over their sleeping bodies. No he doesn't attempt to eat them, he just intends to give them and me some of the worst dreams one could fathom while hiding in the corner in the eerie shadows, feeding off soundless screams for his sick amusement. His sustenance to exist.
When it comes down to it, the Boogie Man doesn't actually exist anywhere out of our own imagination, our own fear, our own fallacies and misconstruals. We're in the dark, not seeing what is truly there. So how do we get rid of the Boogie Man? I know it sounds cliché or even corny, but it's actually time to turn on the proverbial flashlight and shine it in the darkest recesses of our minds and shed some light on what we really fear.
If the monster lives under your bed, then turn the light on and throw back the covers revealing, yep you guessed it, nothing but dust bunnies and discarded toys.
If he exists in the closet, open the doors and pull the chain to flood the small space with such lumen to burn any monster to ash.
The basement holds nothing but silence till you open your mouth and introduce yourself to the spiders and boxed up Christmas decorations.
Nightmares, well they are just dreams about issues in our own lives that we can't always handle when awake. Irrational fears and delusions, even ignorance. Only way to get rid of the nightmares is to wake up. That's right, wake up and realize you, not the Boogie Man, are in control of your own destiny and you'll soon find Boogie Man fades away with the flip of a switch.
IF after all that, the Boogie Man still exists, invite him over for pizza and a cold beverage. The shock alone that acknowledges his existence should settle him down quite a bit. Might even become a great friend. Go on vacations. Bike rides. Sleepovers…..
Thursday, September 27, 2007
10 years
Ten years ago I woke up just as tired as I am today. Routine as usual, my legs hung over the side of the bed as I took a deep breath ready or not so ready to take on the day. THE "Day". I was so nauseous, unsure and afraid of what the rest of our lives was going to be like. Was I going to be June Cleaver donning aprons, meatloaf and kissing her husband Good Morning and Night everyday without fail? or like the many couples who end up divorced by the 3rd year, wondering why they did it in the first place… I remember looking over my shoulder at a man that wasn't there. Maybe he was just as lost in thought as I was because that "day" was the very one that started our lives together. Sounds sort of stupid even romantic, I know, but I even remember ruffling through the drawer to stare at my ring, impatient as I was. I wanted to wear it right then but I had to wait, omg! hours till it was slipped on my finger by a man who said he loved me.
"I now pronounce you, Mr. and Mr. So and So" was shouted not 12 hours later amongst laughter and applause from a hundred people watching us holding hands and smiling, and afraid as Hell. Yes, I said Mr. and Mr. The pastor was just as nervous as we were. Even made us say our vows twice. Guess he wanted to make sure we knew the rules to longevity and a life time of happiness. Were we not listening…?
Fast forward to a year later. I woke up just the same as I flung my legs over the side of the bed but a little more carefully. Our little boy was sound asleep between me and cold spot and I was once again wracked with nausea. This time it wasn't from being September 27th, though. It was son number 2 making it known that he too, would soon be my routine. I looked over my shoulder to a man that wasn't there. It was the last race of the season.
I was quickly reminded that even though it was our 1st anniversary, first meaning not the 2nd or 3rd was just a day and not so important. What's the ideal gift you give on the 1st one? Paper right? Paper I had. It was a paper plate with a plastic spoon and napkin left sitting on the cooler near the trailer. No candlelit dinner on fine china in a dimly lit room full of hormones and testosterone. The flame was that of a match used to light the grill so I could burn a few burgers and hotdogs for all who came to cheer him on. June Cleaver I wasn't but the meatloaf and kisses I could handle.
Years later, the same day passes by with the same routine of paper plates and plastic spoons. September 27th became not our anniversary but the end of the season and something he looked forward to. Oh I enjoyed myself, no doubt. I was proud of him. That man flying down the drag strip at a 130 some miles an hour was my husband. I worried sick every time he got behind the wheel to the point it was nauseating but I cheered him on while snapping pictures of the same thing over and over again before going back to the trailer to prepare for the next meal or pick up after the last one. Soon as he came back and climbed out the car, I took the time slip from trembling fingers, not of mine but my husband's. Sometimes I couldn't help but pause with my hand on his and looked at the rings we slipped on each other's fingers so many years ago. It truly didn't matter if we hadn't the usual and customary anniversary as long as I was with him. Just sometimes I had wished for the surprise date or something written on the inside of my card that was still in the small grocery bag. I have no regrets, please remember that. I loved him. I loved the thought. It became a tradition of sorts.
Fast forward one last time, ten years later. I wake up as tired as I had then and carefully dropped my legs over the side of the very same bed. This time I couldn't get up. I had no strength. I looked over my shoulder to a man that wasn't there. That side of the bed hadn't been slept in for along time. I felt just as lost as that very day 10 years before. June Cleaver I wasn't. Never made any claim to be so. But we did become like the majority that split before making the mile stone for reasons better left unsaid.This year, I'll celebrate alone. No paper plates other than the ones my boys will eat from later in the evening. This year I have nothing to be proud of but those very children that came from a love that was no longer anything. I won't be at a race track sitting in the bleachers holding a camera full of pictures of THE day, but numbly watching the little white lines passing me by as I drove for hours not wanting to go back home to an empty house.
This year, I found myself behind the wheel nowhere near in control of my own life, searching for some or any direction other than the cold metal signs on the side of the highway. I seriously feel just as empty as the fields that pass me by. Right now, I wish for an unsigned card in a Wal-Mart bag waiting for me on the counter when I do get home... But I know better. As I have learned for the last 10 years, September 27th is just a day like any other.
Maybe I will light a candle tonight at 7:00 pm sharp. If for anything, its to shed some light on the ring that no longer adorns my trembling finger.
Maybe…
"I now pronounce you, Mr. and Mr. So and So" was shouted not 12 hours later amongst laughter and applause from a hundred people watching us holding hands and smiling, and afraid as Hell. Yes, I said Mr. and Mr. The pastor was just as nervous as we were. Even made us say our vows twice. Guess he wanted to make sure we knew the rules to longevity and a life time of happiness. Were we not listening…?
Fast forward to a year later. I woke up just the same as I flung my legs over the side of the bed but a little more carefully. Our little boy was sound asleep between me and cold spot and I was once again wracked with nausea. This time it wasn't from being September 27th, though. It was son number 2 making it known that he too, would soon be my routine. I looked over my shoulder to a man that wasn't there. It was the last race of the season.
I was quickly reminded that even though it was our 1st anniversary, first meaning not the 2nd or 3rd was just a day and not so important. What's the ideal gift you give on the 1st one? Paper right? Paper I had. It was a paper plate with a plastic spoon and napkin left sitting on the cooler near the trailer. No candlelit dinner on fine china in a dimly lit room full of hormones and testosterone. The flame was that of a match used to light the grill so I could burn a few burgers and hotdogs for all who came to cheer him on. June Cleaver I wasn't but the meatloaf and kisses I could handle.
Years later, the same day passes by with the same routine of paper plates and plastic spoons. September 27th became not our anniversary but the end of the season and something he looked forward to. Oh I enjoyed myself, no doubt. I was proud of him. That man flying down the drag strip at a 130 some miles an hour was my husband. I worried sick every time he got behind the wheel to the point it was nauseating but I cheered him on while snapping pictures of the same thing over and over again before going back to the trailer to prepare for the next meal or pick up after the last one. Soon as he came back and climbed out the car, I took the time slip from trembling fingers, not of mine but my husband's. Sometimes I couldn't help but pause with my hand on his and looked at the rings we slipped on each other's fingers so many years ago. It truly didn't matter if we hadn't the usual and customary anniversary as long as I was with him. Just sometimes I had wished for the surprise date or something written on the inside of my card that was still in the small grocery bag. I have no regrets, please remember that. I loved him. I loved the thought. It became a tradition of sorts.
Fast forward one last time, ten years later. I wake up as tired as I had then and carefully dropped my legs over the side of the very same bed. This time I couldn't get up. I had no strength. I looked over my shoulder to a man that wasn't there. That side of the bed hadn't been slept in for along time. I felt just as lost as that very day 10 years before. June Cleaver I wasn't. Never made any claim to be so. But we did become like the majority that split before making the mile stone for reasons better left unsaid.This year, I'll celebrate alone. No paper plates other than the ones my boys will eat from later in the evening. This year I have nothing to be proud of but those very children that came from a love that was no longer anything. I won't be at a race track sitting in the bleachers holding a camera full of pictures of THE day, but numbly watching the little white lines passing me by as I drove for hours not wanting to go back home to an empty house.
This year, I found myself behind the wheel nowhere near in control of my own life, searching for some or any direction other than the cold metal signs on the side of the highway. I seriously feel just as empty as the fields that pass me by. Right now, I wish for an unsigned card in a Wal-Mart bag waiting for me on the counter when I do get home... But I know better. As I have learned for the last 10 years, September 27th is just a day like any other.
Maybe I will light a candle tonight at 7:00 pm sharp. If for anything, its to shed some light on the ring that no longer adorns my trembling finger.
Maybe…
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Why
I look in a mirror. My eyes are wide but tired. Leaning in a little closer, I gently place a small amount of lotion near the corners of my eyes and mouth trying to relieve some of the tension lines that seem to be multiplying daily. It doesn't do me much good I'm sure but I do it anyway. I notice my finger trembling as it lingers on the edge of my lips, tracing what once was a smile. Hurts too much anymore. Deeper…and nothing like the scars that riddles the back of my hands as I balled them up in anger of absolutely nothing.
Sighing, I open the third drawer below hoping that I have a clean, dark shirt to pull over my wet hair and shoulders, stopping just slightly to catch a glimpse of what I was trying to hide. In a huff I pull the T-shirt all the way down and throwing on a pair of pants too big but forgiving. Brushing my thinning locks up and out of the way, a strand of hair falls down my face. I just let it. I have no will to care. It's there for the day as I am. I look back at the woman in the mirror, not recognizing her. Some days I refuse to. It's me, there's no way around it. Just some times I wish I could be like the women in the magazines with nary a hair out of place, perfect complexion and perky breasts. Or better yet, the woman in so many pictures smiling and laughing that litter the family album collecting dust under the coffee table.
Running my fingers thru the stray strands of hair, I get the day started as I have done every day for the passed so many years. I clamp my eyes shut of the person I wish I was as I turn the alarm clock off five minutes before it's supposed to chime. Why I bother with one, I don't know. I don't sleep but a wink here or there. Even when I do, I'm still aware of everything that goes on around me. It's so easy to turn off the alarm clock. Why isn't so easy to turn off the world?
As I drug myself, one foot sluggishly after another to get the boys ready on time, I can remember when routine wasn't in my vocabulary. We slept in and did nothing but what we wanted to do and it was fun. Now its butter on this side of the bread, jam the other, not forgetting the notebooks, folders, tennis shoes and I love you's as they're shuffled out to the bus.
I refuse to go outside to see them off. I have before but don't anymore. I got tired of the points and giggles from the "other" kids making comments about the woman on the front porch of the blue house. Oh my ears never heard a thing any of them said. But in the back of my mind, it was my own voice that made the taunts matching the stares and snobbish little faces. As my hand struggled to grab the handle against a blustery wind, I shut the door to the world. I was once again to myself. Devoid of laughter, chaos, and self worth.
Walking down the hallway, I ignore the pangs of hunger emanating from my rumbly stomach. Today I prolly won't eat. I don't feel like it. Or maybe I do but just can't bare the thought of what I did yesterday. Not this day. I swore just a few hours before that I wouldn't become weak again and continue a pattern I promised myself for years to overcome. I failed just like I have at so many other things in my life. All I had to do was to stand before the mirror I turned away from this morning and remind myself of how hideous I was, justification became simple.
Picking up the discarded clothes the boys left and throwing them in the washer not but a few feet from the very room I wanted to ignore, I tried to forgot that I was hungry. I didn't dare go to the kitchen, though. Temptation is sinful. I knew I needed to do the dishes from the night before but the smell of the food was nauseating. Hungry or stubborn, it would throw me off. I've lived this day before. For years… One day became two, two became three. No worries. By the third or fourth day, I didn't recall the pangs or dizzying effects that taking a step forward would have on me.
Backing away from the counter, I lit a candle to disguise the odor and walked back down the hallway to my room. The day was sunny and the warmth gradually raised the temperature in my cold escape. Sitting down at my computer, I brought up the mornings news on the internet, trying hard to remain deaf to the sounds in my midriff. Today, it didn't work, and I found myself walking back down an empty hallway towards the kitchen.
My hands shook as I opened up the cupboard. It was full of nothing edible. Atleast to me. Nothing palatable to anyone but a growing boy of 8 or 9 or a man that no longer wanted a snack before dinner. So I grabbed a bowl and poured in a healthy amount of something that tasted a lot like cardboard, forcing myself to swallow as the spoon penetrated a very defiant set of lips over and over again. Defiance quickly became overindulgence and the sickening feeling in my stomach was no longer hunger. It was disgust and pity. And it gave me such a horrible after taste that I had to rid myself of it. The very tool I used to feed one obsession soon became the tool to rid me of another.
I failed again.
Not sure of why or how, but sleep came to me quickly lying on the floor no where near my bed. Maybe it held too many memories or nightmares to let me rest, I don't know. But the floor was cool and forgiving like the rag-o-muffin dogs curled up beside me. Nothing I ever did was wrong in their eyes. Why couldn't the world see me as they did. But their minds weren't twisted and manipulated by the masses as every else was. Even my own children who once said "Mommy, you're pretty" or "Mommy, you're the best" saw fit to tell me they'd rather have a new puppy when given the option of just one more dog or a healthy mom. That was one of the worst things I could ever hear.
Then it hit me.
Why do I hate myself so much? Why do continually torture myself for the acceptance of another? WHY! Does it take me becoming sickly and stick thin again to gain the love of someone who only sees as shallow as he is? Does it take me practically killing myself, again, to be like WHO? That woman in the mirror is me. Like it or not. That is me. Why can't you love her, me, for who I am? Why can't I love myself for the very same reason?
Some one please tell me. If not now, later, because right now I have to lift this very heavy burden off the floor….
Sighing, I open the third drawer below hoping that I have a clean, dark shirt to pull over my wet hair and shoulders, stopping just slightly to catch a glimpse of what I was trying to hide. In a huff I pull the T-shirt all the way down and throwing on a pair of pants too big but forgiving. Brushing my thinning locks up and out of the way, a strand of hair falls down my face. I just let it. I have no will to care. It's there for the day as I am. I look back at the woman in the mirror, not recognizing her. Some days I refuse to. It's me, there's no way around it. Just some times I wish I could be like the women in the magazines with nary a hair out of place, perfect complexion and perky breasts. Or better yet, the woman in so many pictures smiling and laughing that litter the family album collecting dust under the coffee table.
Running my fingers thru the stray strands of hair, I get the day started as I have done every day for the passed so many years. I clamp my eyes shut of the person I wish I was as I turn the alarm clock off five minutes before it's supposed to chime. Why I bother with one, I don't know. I don't sleep but a wink here or there. Even when I do, I'm still aware of everything that goes on around me. It's so easy to turn off the alarm clock. Why isn't so easy to turn off the world?
As I drug myself, one foot sluggishly after another to get the boys ready on time, I can remember when routine wasn't in my vocabulary. We slept in and did nothing but what we wanted to do and it was fun. Now its butter on this side of the bread, jam the other, not forgetting the notebooks, folders, tennis shoes and I love you's as they're shuffled out to the bus.
I refuse to go outside to see them off. I have before but don't anymore. I got tired of the points and giggles from the "other" kids making comments about the woman on the front porch of the blue house. Oh my ears never heard a thing any of them said. But in the back of my mind, it was my own voice that made the taunts matching the stares and snobbish little faces. As my hand struggled to grab the handle against a blustery wind, I shut the door to the world. I was once again to myself. Devoid of laughter, chaos, and self worth.
Walking down the hallway, I ignore the pangs of hunger emanating from my rumbly stomach. Today I prolly won't eat. I don't feel like it. Or maybe I do but just can't bare the thought of what I did yesterday. Not this day. I swore just a few hours before that I wouldn't become weak again and continue a pattern I promised myself for years to overcome. I failed just like I have at so many other things in my life. All I had to do was to stand before the mirror I turned away from this morning and remind myself of how hideous I was, justification became simple.
Picking up the discarded clothes the boys left and throwing them in the washer not but a few feet from the very room I wanted to ignore, I tried to forgot that I was hungry. I didn't dare go to the kitchen, though. Temptation is sinful. I knew I needed to do the dishes from the night before but the smell of the food was nauseating. Hungry or stubborn, it would throw me off. I've lived this day before. For years… One day became two, two became three. No worries. By the third or fourth day, I didn't recall the pangs or dizzying effects that taking a step forward would have on me.
Backing away from the counter, I lit a candle to disguise the odor and walked back down the hallway to my room. The day was sunny and the warmth gradually raised the temperature in my cold escape. Sitting down at my computer, I brought up the mornings news on the internet, trying hard to remain deaf to the sounds in my midriff. Today, it didn't work, and I found myself walking back down an empty hallway towards the kitchen.
My hands shook as I opened up the cupboard. It was full of nothing edible. Atleast to me. Nothing palatable to anyone but a growing boy of 8 or 9 or a man that no longer wanted a snack before dinner. So I grabbed a bowl and poured in a healthy amount of something that tasted a lot like cardboard, forcing myself to swallow as the spoon penetrated a very defiant set of lips over and over again. Defiance quickly became overindulgence and the sickening feeling in my stomach was no longer hunger. It was disgust and pity. And it gave me such a horrible after taste that I had to rid myself of it. The very tool I used to feed one obsession soon became the tool to rid me of another.
I failed again.
Not sure of why or how, but sleep came to me quickly lying on the floor no where near my bed. Maybe it held too many memories or nightmares to let me rest, I don't know. But the floor was cool and forgiving like the rag-o-muffin dogs curled up beside me. Nothing I ever did was wrong in their eyes. Why couldn't the world see me as they did. But their minds weren't twisted and manipulated by the masses as every else was. Even my own children who once said "Mommy, you're pretty" or "Mommy, you're the best" saw fit to tell me they'd rather have a new puppy when given the option of just one more dog or a healthy mom. That was one of the worst things I could ever hear.
Then it hit me.
Why do I hate myself so much? Why do continually torture myself for the acceptance of another? WHY! Does it take me becoming sickly and stick thin again to gain the love of someone who only sees as shallow as he is? Does it take me practically killing myself, again, to be like WHO? That woman in the mirror is me. Like it or not. That is me. Why can't you love her, me, for who I am? Why can't I love myself for the very same reason?
Some one please tell me. If not now, later, because right now I have to lift this very heavy burden off the floor….
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Red
The big bad wolf, remember him? He was the menacing and cunning young wolf that followed Red through the forest all the while befriending her in order to gain information just so he could eat her. Brothers Grimm did a great job, really they did. Other adaptations written later by several authors did it some justice but the message remained the same. The wolf was a cad and between the lines was a vivid lesson to be learned.
Let's set the scene.
Here we have Red, wanting to get to Grandma's house in order to give the ailing woman some goodies in hopes to cheer her up. Lil' Red, being that she's barely out of her own yard, is inundated by the fact that the forest is scary and hides many a danger. It doesn't take long until she is seen by our villain, the Big Bad Wolf and almost immediately he senses her naïveté and takes advantage of the situation in order to procure a 'meal'.
Light conversation here and there, Red begins to loosen up and talk quite a bit, revealing just a little too much to our disguised villain. Enticed even more, the Wolf offers his assistance, trying to be nice and set the scene to gain her trust; while doing so he never once revealed his true intention. The Wolf then suggests that she pick some flowers as a distraction and placing even more sweet thoughts in her head about the stranger she encountered as he whisks himself to Grandma's house so to clear the way for her arrival in hopes he can have her all to himself without any distractions.
Arrived did he, tussle and tossle, Grandma became his snack…
Whatever happened to Grandma anyway? Was she really eaten whole? I sincerely doubt it to be honest. So I imagined the bitty sitting by the pool side sipping her martini and eating fresh strawberries with hellatious cream and sugar to dip them in when the knock came from the door by our Big Bad Wolf. Since she barely had anything on but her swimsuit, robe and high heeled fuzzy slippers, the Wolf immediately became intrigued by the older woman. Now we can't blame old
Grandma, now can we? Young and wild knocking on her door after all these years since Grandpa went away, the woman must have been throwing out some major pheromones as she invited him in.
I'm sure the morning went well, both satisfied but the thought of Red coming made our Wolf uneasy. Sweet talking Grandma, who is sure she found her youth again takes his suggestion, as she accepts the $50 he slipped her, that the he sleep and gain back his energy while she goes into town to shop since she obviously felt better. Watching her drive away, he senses Red and hurries and scammers to find a disguise just before she knocks upon the door.
"Grandma! It's Red, can I come in?" she exclaims after several knocks on the door with no return.
Shoving himself into ruffles, a shower cap and sheets that smelled like sex the Wolf shouts for her to come in. "Grandma? You're voice is so rough, I'm so glad I got here in time, I have some goodies for you to make you feel better" as she pushed her way through not one but several to get to her bedroom door.
Along the way, the flamed haired little lady noticed clothes scattered about the floor including two empty martini glasses and plaid boxer shorts precariously dangling from a picture of Grandpa hanging crooked on the wall. Eye brow went up as curiosity peaked she wondered just what in the world Grandma was up to. Sitting next to the bed, Red tried with several attempts to get the covers lowered from Grandma's face. After almost giving up, Red slipped her hand into her basket and pulled out a piping hot muffin, pretending to devour the morsel herself. Not so much to her surprise, the covers fell down in temptation but the sight she looked upon rendered her in terror.
"Oh Grandma! What big eyes you have!" exclaimed the flame haired vixen.
"Better to see you with, my dear" said the big bad wolf as he licked his lips and groped himself under the covers…
Calming down a bit, Red saw through the rouse as she recognized the Wolf who so tame, obliging and gentle back in the forest. Sensing that he took advantage of her being naïve and not to mention her grandmother, she decided to play along just long enough to uncover, embarrass and teach Wolf a lesson.
"Oh Grandma! What are you doing under the sheets, do you have an itch since you can not stop moving?" Red said with almost a giggle "I'll get you something to sooth that." as she rushed into the bathroom. Poking about in Grandma's cupboards she finally found what she was looking for and returned with much haste. "Here let me sprinkle this on you" sitting back down on her stool.
"Oh dear me" the Wolf croaked as the idea of Red touching something that was obviously in the way made him uneasy. Stuttering, he begged her to cease and desist promising he could do that himself after a bit. Defeated, Red put down the powder and proceeded to decloak herself, placing the red hooded cape over the end of the bed. In doing so, the Wolf's problem under the sheets became more evident as Red bent over just a little bit too much in her attempt to get more of a rise out of him.
"Oh Grandma! You need a bib or something because you are foaming at the mouth, not to mention your breath stinks! What in the world have you been eating?" she chided as she sat back down on the stool, leaving her legs uncrossed. Her plan was working and she was proud of herself in her attempt to unmask the Wolf.
"No no no" stuttered the wolf even more as he could hardly contain himself any longer. "The cappuccino machine gave me too much foam and it keeps coming back up on me. I'll be ok, dear, I promise." He lied, lied, lied ! through his teeth and it became even more clear that he couldn't keep the plan a foot much longer. "Maybe, if you gave me something to drink, I'd be better"
Red, leaning forward a bit to lift herself from the stool, went to fetch 'Grandma' a sip as asked but stated on the way out the bedroom door that she would bring her her toothbrush and paste in hopes it would get the taste out of her mouth. As she came back, she couldn't help but gasp in disgust as Grandma was 'scratching' herself in up most speed and need. Caught he was, the Wolf jumped out of bed in claims that he couldn't keep up the disguise since Red turned out to be a tease and chased her around the room. Little Red, even though her intent was grand and with well intent, found herself in a situation she couldn't get herself out of.
Screaching blood curdling wails could be heard throughout the country side as the pursuit continued through the afternoon. Finally, someone brave enough to help poor Red's plight took it upon himself and with one shot, castrated the once Big Bad Wolf and left him crying on the floor for forgiveness. Whisked away by her savior, who was nothing but a hunter himself, Red was relieved to be rid of this menace and happy he was finally taught a lesson. Little did she know that she became the hunted herself as the very man who saved her was nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing.
So there you have it. Red in all her glory, the Wolf in all his afterthought and Grandma in all her afterglow tied up in the closet with nothing on but Grandpa's silk ties in a scene that was cut and fell upon the cutting room floor.
I dare say, but what is the moral of this story? Whether intended or not, the Brothers Grimm wrote a story to be handed down through the ages and has become a harsh morality tale warning women of the advances of men and becoming victims of well rehearsed intent. We see Red as the young woman almost eaten alive by a more experienced and devious foe. Grandma herself fell victim as well when encountered by the same line over and over and over again. Some take the bait and regret befalls them later, some wise up quickly to unmask those who prey. The Wolf himself was not entirely defeated since he got what he wanted but replaced by a more cunning adversary, the hunter.
So story told, story revealed, I say to all "Reds" to be weary of all the "Wolves" in hopes that they will not become a victim of their intentions. Wise up and take haste of this lesson and maybe the friendships later in life even with the Three Little Pigs won't fall to regret.
Have a nice day, ladies…
Let's set the scene.
Here we have Red, wanting to get to Grandma's house in order to give the ailing woman some goodies in hopes to cheer her up. Lil' Red, being that she's barely out of her own yard, is inundated by the fact that the forest is scary and hides many a danger. It doesn't take long until she is seen by our villain, the Big Bad Wolf and almost immediately he senses her naïveté and takes advantage of the situation in order to procure a 'meal'.
Light conversation here and there, Red begins to loosen up and talk quite a bit, revealing just a little too much to our disguised villain. Enticed even more, the Wolf offers his assistance, trying to be nice and set the scene to gain her trust; while doing so he never once revealed his true intention. The Wolf then suggests that she pick some flowers as a distraction and placing even more sweet thoughts in her head about the stranger she encountered as he whisks himself to Grandma's house so to clear the way for her arrival in hopes he can have her all to himself without any distractions.
Arrived did he, tussle and tossle, Grandma became his snack…
Whatever happened to Grandma anyway? Was she really eaten whole? I sincerely doubt it to be honest. So I imagined the bitty sitting by the pool side sipping her martini and eating fresh strawberries with hellatious cream and sugar to dip them in when the knock came from the door by our Big Bad Wolf. Since she barely had anything on but her swimsuit, robe and high heeled fuzzy slippers, the Wolf immediately became intrigued by the older woman. Now we can't blame old
Grandma, now can we? Young and wild knocking on her door after all these years since Grandpa went away, the woman must have been throwing out some major pheromones as she invited him in.
I'm sure the morning went well, both satisfied but the thought of Red coming made our Wolf uneasy. Sweet talking Grandma, who is sure she found her youth again takes his suggestion, as she accepts the $50 he slipped her, that the he sleep and gain back his energy while she goes into town to shop since she obviously felt better. Watching her drive away, he senses Red and hurries and scammers to find a disguise just before she knocks upon the door.
"Grandma! It's Red, can I come in?" she exclaims after several knocks on the door with no return.
Shoving himself into ruffles, a shower cap and sheets that smelled like sex the Wolf shouts for her to come in. "Grandma? You're voice is so rough, I'm so glad I got here in time, I have some goodies for you to make you feel better" as she pushed her way through not one but several to get to her bedroom door.
Along the way, the flamed haired little lady noticed clothes scattered about the floor including two empty martini glasses and plaid boxer shorts precariously dangling from a picture of Grandpa hanging crooked on the wall. Eye brow went up as curiosity peaked she wondered just what in the world Grandma was up to. Sitting next to the bed, Red tried with several attempts to get the covers lowered from Grandma's face. After almost giving up, Red slipped her hand into her basket and pulled out a piping hot muffin, pretending to devour the morsel herself. Not so much to her surprise, the covers fell down in temptation but the sight she looked upon rendered her in terror.
"Oh Grandma! What big eyes you have!" exclaimed the flame haired vixen.
"Better to see you with, my dear" said the big bad wolf as he licked his lips and groped himself under the covers…
Calming down a bit, Red saw through the rouse as she recognized the Wolf who so tame, obliging and gentle back in the forest. Sensing that he took advantage of her being naïve and not to mention her grandmother, she decided to play along just long enough to uncover, embarrass and teach Wolf a lesson.
"Oh Grandma! What are you doing under the sheets, do you have an itch since you can not stop moving?" Red said with almost a giggle "I'll get you something to sooth that." as she rushed into the bathroom. Poking about in Grandma's cupboards she finally found what she was looking for and returned with much haste. "Here let me sprinkle this on you" sitting back down on her stool.
"Oh dear me" the Wolf croaked as the idea of Red touching something that was obviously in the way made him uneasy. Stuttering, he begged her to cease and desist promising he could do that himself after a bit. Defeated, Red put down the powder and proceeded to decloak herself, placing the red hooded cape over the end of the bed. In doing so, the Wolf's problem under the sheets became more evident as Red bent over just a little bit too much in her attempt to get more of a rise out of him.
"Oh Grandma! You need a bib or something because you are foaming at the mouth, not to mention your breath stinks! What in the world have you been eating?" she chided as she sat back down on the stool, leaving her legs uncrossed. Her plan was working and she was proud of herself in her attempt to unmask the Wolf.
"No no no" stuttered the wolf even more as he could hardly contain himself any longer. "The cappuccino machine gave me too much foam and it keeps coming back up on me. I'll be ok, dear, I promise." He lied, lied, lied ! through his teeth and it became even more clear that he couldn't keep the plan a foot much longer. "Maybe, if you gave me something to drink, I'd be better"
Red, leaning forward a bit to lift herself from the stool, went to fetch 'Grandma' a sip as asked but stated on the way out the bedroom door that she would bring her her toothbrush and paste in hopes it would get the taste out of her mouth. As she came back, she couldn't help but gasp in disgust as Grandma was 'scratching' herself in up most speed and need. Caught he was, the Wolf jumped out of bed in claims that he couldn't keep up the disguise since Red turned out to be a tease and chased her around the room. Little Red, even though her intent was grand and with well intent, found herself in a situation she couldn't get herself out of.
Screaching blood curdling wails could be heard throughout the country side as the pursuit continued through the afternoon. Finally, someone brave enough to help poor Red's plight took it upon himself and with one shot, castrated the once Big Bad Wolf and left him crying on the floor for forgiveness. Whisked away by her savior, who was nothing but a hunter himself, Red was relieved to be rid of this menace and happy he was finally taught a lesson. Little did she know that she became the hunted herself as the very man who saved her was nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing.
So there you have it. Red in all her glory, the Wolf in all his afterthought and Grandma in all her afterglow tied up in the closet with nothing on but Grandpa's silk ties in a scene that was cut and fell upon the cutting room floor.
I dare say, but what is the moral of this story? Whether intended or not, the Brothers Grimm wrote a story to be handed down through the ages and has become a harsh morality tale warning women of the advances of men and becoming victims of well rehearsed intent. We see Red as the young woman almost eaten alive by a more experienced and devious foe. Grandma herself fell victim as well when encountered by the same line over and over and over again. Some take the bait and regret befalls them later, some wise up quickly to unmask those who prey. The Wolf himself was not entirely defeated since he got what he wanted but replaced by a more cunning adversary, the hunter.
So story told, story revealed, I say to all "Reds" to be weary of all the "Wolves" in hopes that they will not become a victim of their intentions. Wise up and take haste of this lesson and maybe the friendships later in life even with the Three Little Pigs won't fall to regret.
Have a nice day, ladies…
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Word to ya mutha!
4t night In da Crib
Poo: Wassup, Dawg?
Me : Yo Yo, ma homie…
Bubba: Sit in da squishie wit me and catch some Yoda
Me: Throw back some slice o roni?
Bubba: Ye'noit
Me: We be subwoofin and I got handcuffs, yo… bump it Uuuup ..:
Bubba: Sho thang
Poo: You is Furek Mamacita
Bubba: Word…
*Moments later*
Bubba: 7.4 on the Rectum scale! Ooooh yeeeeaaaah
Translated for the older folks….
Last night at home
Poo: Hey, Momma
Me: Hey there, Sweetie
Bubba: Wanna sit on the couch and watch Star Wars with me?
Me: Pizza's done, want to eat in the living room while we watch?
Bubba: Yeah
Me: Hey, Sweetie, my hands are full, would you turn the TV up?
Bubba: Sure
Poo: You're the best, Momma
Bubba: Word….
*Moments later*
Bubba: I farted! Ooooh Yeeeeaaaah
Yeah, explanatory…
Poo: Wassup, Dawg?
Me : Yo Yo, ma homie…
Bubba: Sit in da squishie wit me and catch some Yoda
Me: Throw back some slice o roni?
Bubba: Ye'noit
Me: We be subwoofin and I got handcuffs, yo… bump it Uuuup ..:
Bubba: Sho thang
Poo: You is Furek Mamacita
Bubba: Word…
*Moments later*
Bubba: 7.4 on the Rectum scale! Ooooh yeeeeaaaah
Translated for the older folks….
Last night at home
Poo: Hey, Momma
Me: Hey there, Sweetie
Bubba: Wanna sit on the couch and watch Star Wars with me?
Me: Pizza's done, want to eat in the living room while we watch?
Bubba: Yeah
Me: Hey, Sweetie, my hands are full, would you turn the TV up?
Bubba: Sure
Poo: You're the best, Momma
Bubba: Word….
*Moments later*
Bubba: I farted! Ooooh Yeeeeaaaah
Yeah, explanatory…
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Bangs head on desk...
Have you ever wondered why you do stupid things for no reason? It was a redundant question, dumb ass...
Take for instance…whyyyyyyy did I give so and so my email addy? Now I have 386 spam messages smashed into my inbox on an hourly basis… Act NOW and receive 1 yes 1! Million dollars by the end of the business day on the 5th Sunday every Month!!
Why did I do I bother getting dressed this morning? It's not like anyone important is going to see me but my children and pfft, they've seen me at my worst already. *scratches ass*
Any known reason why I decided to hold onto the metal part of the vacuum plug as I placed it with in the appropriate slot? ZZZZSST *twitch*
What happened to my common sense when I threw caution to the wind and walked to the mailbox without my over the shoulder boulder holder on? She's just a swingin'…
Do you think it normal that I watched an ant roam around in circles for about a half hour after I torched his antenna and thought it as interesting as the Daytona 500? They're makin' a left turn! OMG OMG OMG They're makin' another left turn!!!
Seriously considered finding out if a hamster could float…*girgle girgle blurb blub…unresponsive…floats*
When did it become customary and fashionable to wear Qutips in one's nose? *snort* Look ma! I'm a walrus!!
Is it entirely on purpose that hotdog buns only come in packages of 8? *Hey honey! Does this mean the two licked by the dog aren't edible?
Ever notice that you get your face bit off if you blow in a dog's face but take the mutt for a flippin' ride and she's got half her damn body hanging out the car window? Don't you dare scratch my car…don't slobber omg you just flinged snot on me!! *smells strangely of Oscar Meyer…*
Considering the fuel consumption vs price of said fuel, why did I flip off an SUV driver today as I flew by him wasting half my tank of gas? You son of a motherless cow, next time you wash your windshield and I'm behind you, Ima slit your tires!!
Who said Larry the Cable Guy could act? *click click PULL!* Yes I'm that close not watching it for the 10th time today…
And just why did I answer the cell when I was sitting on the throne? Who were you wanting? Oh yes, this is she. What can I do for you? *bowl rattling fart* Sure, I'll hold…
Me thinks that today needs to come to an end, my head hurts, I've wanted to go to bed since I got up today and the reason why I haven't thrown my ass back in there still eludes me considering my children were in bed 3 hours ago… Yes, I think this tops the whole shebang of stupid things I've done today so I'm going to bed. Good night, Gracie *falls asleep at the keyboard…* zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Take for instance…whyyyyyyy did I give so and so my email addy? Now I have 386 spam messages smashed into my inbox on an hourly basis… Act NOW and receive 1 yes 1! Million dollars by the end of the business day on the 5th Sunday every Month!!
Why did I do I bother getting dressed this morning? It's not like anyone important is going to see me but my children and pfft, they've seen me at my worst already. *scratches ass*
Any known reason why I decided to hold onto the metal part of the vacuum plug as I placed it with in the appropriate slot? ZZZZSST *twitch*
What happened to my common sense when I threw caution to the wind and walked to the mailbox without my over the shoulder boulder holder on? She's just a swingin'…
Do you think it normal that I watched an ant roam around in circles for about a half hour after I torched his antenna and thought it as interesting as the Daytona 500? They're makin' a left turn! OMG OMG OMG They're makin' another left turn!!!
Seriously considered finding out if a hamster could float…*girgle girgle blurb blub…unresponsive…floats*
When did it become customary and fashionable to wear Qutips in one's nose? *snort* Look ma! I'm a walrus!!
Is it entirely on purpose that hotdog buns only come in packages of 8? *Hey honey! Does this mean the two licked by the dog aren't edible?
Ever notice that you get your face bit off if you blow in a dog's face but take the mutt for a flippin' ride and she's got half her damn body hanging out the car window? Don't you dare scratch my car…don't slobber omg you just flinged snot on me!! *smells strangely of Oscar Meyer…*
Considering the fuel consumption vs price of said fuel, why did I flip off an SUV driver today as I flew by him wasting half my tank of gas? You son of a motherless cow, next time you wash your windshield and I'm behind you, Ima slit your tires!!
Who said Larry the Cable Guy could act? *click click PULL!* Yes I'm that close not watching it for the 10th time today…
And just why did I answer the cell when I was sitting on the throne? Who were you wanting? Oh yes, this is she. What can I do for you? *bowl rattling fart* Sure, I'll hold…
Me thinks that today needs to come to an end, my head hurts, I've wanted to go to bed since I got up today and the reason why I haven't thrown my ass back in there still eludes me considering my children were in bed 3 hours ago… Yes, I think this tops the whole shebang of stupid things I've done today so I'm going to bed. Good night, Gracie *falls asleep at the keyboard…* zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Little Pink Houses
This morning I read a bulletin from an old friend (and I hope she forgives me when I say old but she is the same age as me and I AM older than snot) discussing the downfall of the place we both grew up in when we were younger. When you think of things of your youth, one usually romantizes and remembers things the way they were right down the the marks left in a tree of that particular boy or girl you liked at age 9 or the park you monotonously drove around for hours after school only to stop long enough to run in for a slice of La Roni's pizza or a round of pool. Not to mention let your kids go to the park unattended and worry not. You waved at neighbors for no reason and sometimes even brought them a homemade pie or fresh pickens from your garden.
It was Coooool.
I remember those things. Even remembered the time I walked into a stop sign cus I couldn't quite take my eyes off this boy I liked hoping maybe that day he would hold my hand. I recall a day in the park on a tetter totter with a friend my age, trying to see how far we can "bump" each other when hit the ground. Then feeling very very bad when I did a big one, sending that girl face and lip down on the wood causing her some major pain. Or the jungle gym we sat in with 4 other friends playing truth or dare. The Fall Festival were that boy FINALLY kissed me for the first time.
Times have changed. The tree with the heart carved in it is now cut down to make room for an empty lot, the park is now stands in trashy ruins with broken lamps and odd furniture laying about. Teeter totter is gone and replaced by cold metal "Safe" but in need of repair play things. But Hey! That girl came out ok. She remembers LeRoy, too. That's why she wrote that bulletin. The pizza place is still there just stands empty like 3/4 the shops up town. The pool hall? Well don’t go in there. Unless of course you're in there for one purpose and one purpose only. There's people on the street, maybe. But what you see are just mindless zombies merely existing to make it home and closing the door on life fleeting by. People lock there doors at night and God forbid you wave at anyone because it can be construed as a gang sign or attempt on someone's life. Don't forget to close your curtains, as well, because, if you haven't forgotten, your business is there business.
I did some more thought and remembered a lot more. I didn't know till I left LeRoy but none the less it happened. Happened a lot. Mom was a great woman. Raised two goofy kids, taught us to know better when confronted with peer pressure and most of all, sheltered us from all that might have harmed us amidst social and economical diversity. We became upstanding individuals among citizens that led dirty and scandalous lives, leading us to eventually question their moral ambiguity and learning the truth. Its amazing that the town of LeRoy has lasted this long.
What fuel drives it? Power. Money. Greed. Envy. I'll tell you the same I told her.
Take a look at history my friend. Ever wonder why it wasn't until the 90s that a coloured family was able to reside in the area? Ever wonder what goes on at town meetings when its a closed session? Lots of wonders, skepticism, fear has had this town in its grips since the land was cleared and ripped away from the Indians 200 years ago. Whether they're wearing white sheets, blindfolds, or dunce hats, this town is being choked to death by its own ignorance. Unfortunately it happens everywhere. Just more prominent in a smaller town only because they believe they can get away with it.
Look around you. How many people do you really know anymore? Look again and ask yourself how many people can you really trust. It may not be evident to the passerby and prospective homeowner but LeRoy, a town of about 3k is made up of very few people.
First there's the The Hypocritical Supremacy that rules the roost. Now that doesn't necessarily mean they sit at the heart of the town. It's the closet KKK member (obviously a generational development), vigilante or, for lack of better terms, the pimp that pushes their beliefs down your throat. Either you get high off on the feeling and be played like a puppet or be thrown to the dogs and ripped apart for not conforming to their "drug". Hell they even own the ability to make your life miserable even nonexistent for merely farting in your own home then turn around and ripping one in public that gags you and the neighborhood. Its the obvious
"Paid protection program" that only a few are privy to.
The "Scratch my back and slip me a $50 and I didn't see a damn thing".
Or my favorite, "I love you, *smokes cigarette* if you will excuse me I have to meet my wife at the school board meeting so we can discuss our teens, abstinence and family values in less than 5 *washes the sex off genitals and runs out the door"
And last but not least "Behind closed door policy" where if you press your ear firmly but quietly you can hear everyone talking about you, your neighbor and their best friends and we're not talking about how nice your hair looks either, honey...
And when I refer to supremacy I don't mean the size of your pocket book. Don't get me wrong, money does by a lot in LeRoy. But you can blame society as a whole there because that happens everywhere. Sometimes its all in a "Name". Sometimes its all in how you look. And other times its all in how you stand up to conformity. I'm talking about the people that believe their way is the only way, the ones who are so filled with the power taken from others that they toy and play with your very existence just because it gives them some sort of sick amusement. I'm sorry, the colour of your skin is too dark, you have to move.
I'm sorry, but you belong to a family of less than substantial monetary development, you need to live on THAT side of town.
I'm sorry , did I key your car, kill your dog, and/or break your teeth, window, and will to live? Well you shouldn't have done what you did in the first place. Besides you must have me mistaken for someone else…
Did you go to church Sunday and listen to the Pastor's sermon about Love Family and all that stuff? No, I didn't but I did see the Pastor leaving her house at 2 in morning before her husband got home...
OMG! Your kid got beat up by my kid for looking at him the wrong way, WHAT are YOU going to do about it!?!
There's The Following Pessimist who lifts their glass to their Lord and Leader then realizes their cup is half empty, profusely leaking disdain towards the people that have cups runith over and shrug at the peasants whose cup is empty. They are the ones that are allergic to change so they take their medicine and hope the symptom goes away instead of getting rid of the cause because they believe they are too weak to stand up for themselves... They are the ones who hear the speech that boasts longevity, effort and freedom but turn a deaf ear on their own abilities to let go and be more just because, eh I don't know, it wouldn't work anyway, right? They are the narrow minded individuals who see only one pea on the plate when in the middle of a feast, dine and go hungry for the mere fact that that's what everyone else is doing, why bother with the effort. They are the ones being led down a path that leads not to a cross road but to a dead end yet pack the car up for the vacation anyway.
Do I need to explain more on that issue. Why bother feeding an already starving society when their going to die anyway right? Their parent, grandparents and ancestors lived there, that's where they are. I'll just let them go on their merry oblivious way….
Don't get me started on the "Jones" Act, dress, eat, sleep, and defecate just like me and everything will be OOOK.... While they payoff Lord and Leader and shut the blinds to the world that just aren't good enough to be "them"
The Wayward Optimist is a very small group made up almost entirely of Good doers who don the parka and hand out the life preservers while holding on for dear life as they ride out the storm on an obvious sinking ship, oblivious to the rats abandoning for good reason. They are the ones who have the potted plants on the front porch and white picket fences. Mow the lawn even when the grass doesn't grow and they show up at school functions even after their kids have graduated and moved away. They take an afternoon and volunteer for the clean up and restoration projects for the sake of the community, not themselves. They are the ones who look in on their neighbors just to say Hi without fear of being shot and or cursed at for invading ones privacy. They are the ones who go to McD's, order an extra meal and deliver it to the homeless man walking thru town.
Their efforts, no matter the intent, sometimes ends up misdirected and unseen like that starving homeless man wanting warmth and sustenance, not money, but a meal and blanket, spat at by the obese bully slobbering on a corndog wearing designer clothes and jewelry, and a pair of pants that's dragging half off his ass cus of all the lunch money he's stolen from the kiddies at school. Can't knock them for trying really though. But that's the sort of effort that's made invisible by the people, your neighbors, friends and enemies, who loathe and fear change they don't understand.
Now I said wayward for a reason. Sometimes people lose sight of their intentions and take on that "I refuse to let you get ME down" attitude but in the end give up. You know that feel you get from when people begin to hate you for being that one little ray of fucking sunshine and browbeat you down to almost nothing...then....you get so tired of fighting a losing battle that you become envious when you see that the grass is greener "over there" Yet know you can overcome animosity so you try and try and try then end up the outcast thus leaving all together, either forced or at your own will.
A town that once bustled with elegance and family value on the surface is now a ghost town littered with empty homes, empty lives, for sale signs and drug paraphernalia... Sinking ship? I'm the rat that abandoned it. I left. I'm happy for doing so. Where did I go? To another town and city where it still happens. Different faces, different situations, different dangers, I became a different person.
It was Coooool.
I remember those things. Even remembered the time I walked into a stop sign cus I couldn't quite take my eyes off this boy I liked hoping maybe that day he would hold my hand. I recall a day in the park on a tetter totter with a friend my age, trying to see how far we can "bump" each other when hit the ground. Then feeling very very bad when I did a big one, sending that girl face and lip down on the wood causing her some major pain. Or the jungle gym we sat in with 4 other friends playing truth or dare. The Fall Festival were that boy FINALLY kissed me for the first time.
Times have changed. The tree with the heart carved in it is now cut down to make room for an empty lot, the park is now stands in trashy ruins with broken lamps and odd furniture laying about. Teeter totter is gone and replaced by cold metal "Safe" but in need of repair play things. But Hey! That girl came out ok. She remembers LeRoy, too. That's why she wrote that bulletin. The pizza place is still there just stands empty like 3/4 the shops up town. The pool hall? Well don’t go in there. Unless of course you're in there for one purpose and one purpose only. There's people on the street, maybe. But what you see are just mindless zombies merely existing to make it home and closing the door on life fleeting by. People lock there doors at night and God forbid you wave at anyone because it can be construed as a gang sign or attempt on someone's life. Don't forget to close your curtains, as well, because, if you haven't forgotten, your business is there business.
I did some more thought and remembered a lot more. I didn't know till I left LeRoy but none the less it happened. Happened a lot. Mom was a great woman. Raised two goofy kids, taught us to know better when confronted with peer pressure and most of all, sheltered us from all that might have harmed us amidst social and economical diversity. We became upstanding individuals among citizens that led dirty and scandalous lives, leading us to eventually question their moral ambiguity and learning the truth. Its amazing that the town of LeRoy has lasted this long.
What fuel drives it? Power. Money. Greed. Envy. I'll tell you the same I told her.
Take a look at history my friend. Ever wonder why it wasn't until the 90s that a coloured family was able to reside in the area? Ever wonder what goes on at town meetings when its a closed session? Lots of wonders, skepticism, fear has had this town in its grips since the land was cleared and ripped away from the Indians 200 years ago. Whether they're wearing white sheets, blindfolds, or dunce hats, this town is being choked to death by its own ignorance. Unfortunately it happens everywhere. Just more prominent in a smaller town only because they believe they can get away with it.
Look around you. How many people do you really know anymore? Look again and ask yourself how many people can you really trust. It may not be evident to the passerby and prospective homeowner but LeRoy, a town of about 3k is made up of very few people.
First there's the The Hypocritical Supremacy that rules the roost. Now that doesn't necessarily mean they sit at the heart of the town. It's the closet KKK member (obviously a generational development), vigilante or, for lack of better terms, the pimp that pushes their beliefs down your throat. Either you get high off on the feeling and be played like a puppet or be thrown to the dogs and ripped apart for not conforming to their "drug". Hell they even own the ability to make your life miserable even nonexistent for merely farting in your own home then turn around and ripping one in public that gags you and the neighborhood. Its the obvious
"Paid protection program" that only a few are privy to.
The "Scratch my back and slip me a $50 and I didn't see a damn thing".
Or my favorite, "I love you, *smokes cigarette* if you will excuse me I have to meet my wife at the school board meeting so we can discuss our teens, abstinence and family values in less than 5 *washes the sex off genitals and runs out the door"
And last but not least "Behind closed door policy" where if you press your ear firmly but quietly you can hear everyone talking about you, your neighbor and their best friends and we're not talking about how nice your hair looks either, honey...
And when I refer to supremacy I don't mean the size of your pocket book. Don't get me wrong, money does by a lot in LeRoy. But you can blame society as a whole there because that happens everywhere. Sometimes its all in a "Name". Sometimes its all in how you look. And other times its all in how you stand up to conformity. I'm talking about the people that believe their way is the only way, the ones who are so filled with the power taken from others that they toy and play with your very existence just because it gives them some sort of sick amusement. I'm sorry, the colour of your skin is too dark, you have to move.
I'm sorry, but you belong to a family of less than substantial monetary development, you need to live on THAT side of town.
I'm sorry , did I key your car, kill your dog, and/or break your teeth, window, and will to live? Well you shouldn't have done what you did in the first place. Besides you must have me mistaken for someone else…
Did you go to church Sunday and listen to the Pastor's sermon about Love Family and all that stuff? No, I didn't but I did see the Pastor leaving her house at 2 in morning before her husband got home...
OMG! Your kid got beat up by my kid for looking at him the wrong way, WHAT are YOU going to do about it!?!
There's The Following Pessimist who lifts their glass to their Lord and Leader then realizes their cup is half empty, profusely leaking disdain towards the people that have cups runith over and shrug at the peasants whose cup is empty. They are the ones that are allergic to change so they take their medicine and hope the symptom goes away instead of getting rid of the cause because they believe they are too weak to stand up for themselves... They are the ones who hear the speech that boasts longevity, effort and freedom but turn a deaf ear on their own abilities to let go and be more just because, eh I don't know, it wouldn't work anyway, right? They are the narrow minded individuals who see only one pea on the plate when in the middle of a feast, dine and go hungry for the mere fact that that's what everyone else is doing, why bother with the effort. They are the ones being led down a path that leads not to a cross road but to a dead end yet pack the car up for the vacation anyway.
Do I need to explain more on that issue. Why bother feeding an already starving society when their going to die anyway right? Their parent, grandparents and ancestors lived there, that's where they are. I'll just let them go on their merry oblivious way….
Don't get me started on the "Jones" Act, dress, eat, sleep, and defecate just like me and everything will be OOOK.... While they payoff Lord and Leader and shut the blinds to the world that just aren't good enough to be "them"
The Wayward Optimist is a very small group made up almost entirely of Good doers who don the parka and hand out the life preservers while holding on for dear life as they ride out the storm on an obvious sinking ship, oblivious to the rats abandoning for good reason. They are the ones who have the potted plants on the front porch and white picket fences. Mow the lawn even when the grass doesn't grow and they show up at school functions even after their kids have graduated and moved away. They take an afternoon and volunteer for the clean up and restoration projects for the sake of the community, not themselves. They are the ones who look in on their neighbors just to say Hi without fear of being shot and or cursed at for invading ones privacy. They are the ones who go to McD's, order an extra meal and deliver it to the homeless man walking thru town.
Their efforts, no matter the intent, sometimes ends up misdirected and unseen like that starving homeless man wanting warmth and sustenance, not money, but a meal and blanket, spat at by the obese bully slobbering on a corndog wearing designer clothes and jewelry, and a pair of pants that's dragging half off his ass cus of all the lunch money he's stolen from the kiddies at school. Can't knock them for trying really though. But that's the sort of effort that's made invisible by the people, your neighbors, friends and enemies, who loathe and fear change they don't understand.
Now I said wayward for a reason. Sometimes people lose sight of their intentions and take on that "I refuse to let you get ME down" attitude but in the end give up. You know that feel you get from when people begin to hate you for being that one little ray of fucking sunshine and browbeat you down to almost nothing...then....you get so tired of fighting a losing battle that you become envious when you see that the grass is greener "over there" Yet know you can overcome animosity so you try and try and try then end up the outcast thus leaving all together, either forced or at your own will.
A town that once bustled with elegance and family value on the surface is now a ghost town littered with empty homes, empty lives, for sale signs and drug paraphernalia... Sinking ship? I'm the rat that abandoned it. I left. I'm happy for doing so. Where did I go? To another town and city where it still happens. Different faces, different situations, different dangers, I became a different person.
Friday, March 9, 2007
And they're off...
As I walked into the house tonight after visiting the pet store, new fish in bucket ready to be plopped down into the tank, the many things raced through my brain that I had to do before I could give our new Texas Chichlid (Loving called Fishstex and pronounced Fishsticks, Tex for short) a home. Change the filter, run the water, clean the gravel, pick the powerhead, position the tube, fluff the plants, reposition the plants, no no they looked better where they were, replace the rocks
Starting gates open, dust cloud emerges and they're off! Little Miss Horsepower rounds Corner One as Super Poo closes in, Bubba Joe in third keeping the rear…
Ok so maybe its not that exciting but that's how I feel when the mood hits me to do "Something". Motivated I'm not but I'll be damned I could just sit idlely by and be overtaken by the day to day trappings that has piled up in my abode.
"Bubba grab your bag and take it to your room, Poo pick that up"
"Pick what up, momma?"
"That thing you just put down, Bubba did you put…oh here take this with you…"
All the while I'm running water, take the dogs out, start a load of clothes, open the curtains, turn the fan off, empty the dryer, load the dryer, load the washer, scoot "toy" I told Poo to just pick up a minute ago "POOO!!!" fill the dog's dinner dish, reach for the fabric softener that just fell, fold a load, make the bed, lays down for 2 secs...
"Why in the hell am I making the bed if I'm just going to get in it in a few hours?"
Super Poo makes a break for the lead as he steals wind from Little Miss Horsepower, Bubba Joe coming up hard on the right flank on corner Two…
Hop up, load the dishwasher, scrub the skillet, "Good Night! Look at those spots on that mirror!"
Spray the Windex, grab the Pledge, dust the Murano, dry the dishes, scour the stove, and swipe the microwave, tie the trash bag, replace said bag "Bubba! Trash time!" grab the broom, sweep the floor, grab the mop, break out the Swiffer, change the light bulb…
"HOLY FREAKSHOW!! That's a HUGE spider!!"
Grabs the broom, spider makes a run for it, scream! fight for my life, protect my children, dance on the table merely because I think the damn spider is on my person, Spider is dead, change my underwear…
Corner Three takes a turn for the underdog, Super Poo passes Little Miss Horsepower, but it's Bubba Joe that grabs the lead…
Pay the water bill, pick up the towels, change the tp, clean the tub, refill the shampoo, spray the toilet, visit tidy bowl man, empty the washer again, reload the dryer, fold yet another load of laundry, grab the vacuum, unknot the cord, fluff the pillows, close the curtains, lock the door, turn off the front porch light, kick shoes out of the way, water the plants, kick "Toy" out of the way…
"Bubba grab your bag and take it to your room, Poo pick that up"
"Pick what up, momma?"
"That thing you just put down, Bubba did you put…oh here take this with you…"
Déjà vu`
Hang the coats, grab a Coke "pisshhhhhhh", guzzle down, grab another, winding down, pop popcorn, turn the TV on, pick a movie, change to pajamas, call the kids in while racing to get to the desk before they do...
It's the home stretch now, Little Miss Horsepower speeds back up as Bubba Joe and Super Poo are neck and neck in the lead… Who will take home the Trophy? Best prize of all prizes, and its….its….its …..
OMG! Little Miss Horsepower turns on the gas as she passes the rookies! It's over, folks! She's done it again! Crowd goes wild…
"Oh Crap!" I forgot all about the 8'' fish flopping away in a bucket 10 times too small.
Starting gates open, dust cloud emerges and they're off! Little Miss Horsepower rounds Corner One as Super Poo closes in, Bubba Joe in third keeping the rear…
Ok so maybe its not that exciting but that's how I feel when the mood hits me to do "Something". Motivated I'm not but I'll be damned I could just sit idlely by and be overtaken by the day to day trappings that has piled up in my abode.
"Bubba grab your bag and take it to your room, Poo pick that up"
"Pick what up, momma?"
"That thing you just put down, Bubba did you put…oh here take this with you…"
All the while I'm running water, take the dogs out, start a load of clothes, open the curtains, turn the fan off, empty the dryer, load the dryer, load the washer, scoot "toy" I told Poo to just pick up a minute ago "POOO!!!" fill the dog's dinner dish, reach for the fabric softener that just fell, fold a load, make the bed, lays down for 2 secs...
"Why in the hell am I making the bed if I'm just going to get in it in a few hours?"
Super Poo makes a break for the lead as he steals wind from Little Miss Horsepower, Bubba Joe coming up hard on the right flank on corner Two…
Hop up, load the dishwasher, scrub the skillet, "Good Night! Look at those spots on that mirror!"
Spray the Windex, grab the Pledge, dust the Murano, dry the dishes, scour the stove, and swipe the microwave, tie the trash bag, replace said bag "Bubba! Trash time!" grab the broom, sweep the floor, grab the mop, break out the Swiffer, change the light bulb…
"HOLY FREAKSHOW!! That's a HUGE spider!!"
Grabs the broom, spider makes a run for it, scream! fight for my life, protect my children, dance on the table merely because I think the damn spider is on my person, Spider is dead, change my underwear…
Corner Three takes a turn for the underdog, Super Poo passes Little Miss Horsepower, but it's Bubba Joe that grabs the lead…
Pay the water bill, pick up the towels, change the tp, clean the tub, refill the shampoo, spray the toilet, visit tidy bowl man, empty the washer again, reload the dryer, fold yet another load of laundry, grab the vacuum, unknot the cord, fluff the pillows, close the curtains, lock the door, turn off the front porch light, kick shoes out of the way, water the plants, kick "Toy" out of the way…
"Bubba grab your bag and take it to your room, Poo pick that up"
"Pick what up, momma?"
"That thing you just put down, Bubba did you put…oh here take this with you…"
Déjà vu`
Hang the coats, grab a Coke "pisshhhhhhh", guzzle down, grab another, winding down, pop popcorn, turn the TV on, pick a movie, change to pajamas, call the kids in while racing to get to the desk before they do...
It's the home stretch now, Little Miss Horsepower speeds back up as Bubba Joe and Super Poo are neck and neck in the lead… Who will take home the Trophy? Best prize of all prizes, and its….its….its …..
OMG! Little Miss Horsepower turns on the gas as she passes the rookies! It's over, folks! She's done it again! Crowd goes wild…
"Oh Crap!" I forgot all about the 8'' fish flopping away in a bucket 10 times too small.
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