Friday, February 03, 2017

Comments Down

I've not posted for a long while, it's true. But for some reason I am being spammed with comments all of a sudden. So I've turned off the comments. I don't think any of you would be interested in sex cams, viagra or penis enhancement. I'll be back again sometime. And will reinstate the comments feature then. But for now........

to those spammy tricksters, it's Buh Bye For Now.

Friday, February 19, 2016


There is so much attention given to zombies. Just google "Zombie Apocalypse" and you'll find everything from 5 Scientific Reasons a Zombie Apocalypse Could Actually Happen, to the best cities for survival, to our own actual CDC's guide for preparedness!! for goodness' sake.

Of course there is the long running, award winning show The Walking Dead, which, if cancelled, will return as the "Zombified Walking Dead," and come to eat the brains from all the other shows left living. (There are times I wonder if this has not already happened)

So, I've been thinking of zombies. And I have questions.

If a zombie eats your brain, does this mean you're dead dead, or are you zombified?

How is a zombie actually dead dead when you cut off their head or blow their brains out? If it's a virus that simply animates organic material, wouldn't you then become a headless zombie? 

Why don't the zombies attack other zombies who have brains left and eat those brains?

If the only method of the zombie virus transmission is a bite, do toothless zombies pose no threat? 

These are important questions. 

The origin of zombies is, of course from Haitian voodoo that involved the use of toxic shellfish. Which raises another question for me, given the growing amount of toxic shellfish in the polluted world today and the current state of American politics. Then, George Romero created the iconic "Night of the Living Dead" that has exponentially exploded zombieism into the pervasive fame that it now enjoys. Personally, I find the folkloric history of George's making of this film (filming on weekends, using friends and family and lots of chocolate sauce) far more compelling. But perhaps that's because I'm generally squeamish when it comes to squishy, bloody flesh. 

But, my questions. These are important questions. Because what if the professorial exegesis of zombiedom is not at all a metaphor for the dumbing down of society by abusive, controlling and dominating political overlords, but rather a literal possibility as the Cracked site suggests?

I did the only thing a reasonable adult can do when plagued by these questions.

I asked my teenaged son.

He looked at me with kind sympathy and shook his head sadly.

"Mom, mom, mom. It's a virus. Like a hive. Of course it doesn't need a brain. The virus is connected to all the other zombies' virus."

And in the blink of an eye, right there on the spot, he concocted a logical, scientifically valid explanation for the possibility of zombie existence.  He whipped together a metaphoric PowerPoint presentation, complete with word slides and bibliography. 

I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a surge of pride. My son is a critical thinker who can postulate intelligently on his feet, thanks to zombies. And Microsoft. 

This gives me an idea.

Parents Everywhere! Heed the call! 

Buy your children zombie video games

Have Friday night movie binges with all of George Romero's brilliant films, while serving up a delicious zombie menu!!

What better way to get those cell phones put down for some quality family interaction: buy a zombie makeup kit (now on sale at Party City!!!) and enjoy weekend cosplay.

When a dicey issue arises that needs a discussion best served by making it metaphorical, use "WWZD?" as in "what would zombies do?"

Here is a wonderful opportunity to transform sullen, monosyllabic, zombie like teenagers into active and interactive, animated critical thinkers by making the zombie virus your bitch!! 

It's something you can sink your teeth into. 

Peace Out. Or, Piece Out.

Sunday, August 23, 2015


I know there are more like me out there. You know who you are. Like me, we are the ones with the magical refrigerator vision who can see where the mustard is parked in the door shelf. Or the two gallon jug of milk on the top shelf, in front, when "those who live in our shadow" peer and peer into the box of chill and see nothing.

We are the only ones who are able to manage "The Google" and can find the articles/instructions/recipes that are required immediately, because planning ahead is another skill lacking in those who are not us.

We are the only ones who know how to make the washing machine remove all the dirt and smells and instruct the dryer not to shrink the clothes before we impart our magical folding skills that annihilate all wrinkles.

We are the only ones who can enter the grocery store and exit with the exact items everyone in the family wants without overdrawing the checking account.

We are the ones who, in a medical emergency pinch, know exactly the medicine/ointment/pill to use because we are the only one who can calmly read a label in the midst of death throes screaming.

Perhaps it's a backhanded way of saying "I love you." More likely it's an anointed tribal position where we are designated the family medicine woman/man.

It doesn't matter that they could all figure things out themselves if they had to. It's just that we can do it ever so much faster/better/cheaper.

My 89 year old mom is understandable. She is old. She is in the years where watching the aftermath of forgetting is as entertaining as her crossword puzzle.

My sweetie is a man of great accomplishment who is used to having a personal assistant take care of the day to day minutia. But there is no more P.A. present. Just my magical self.

Then there is the teenager. The 16-year-old who wants to be so independent. "Mooooommmmmm, you don't have to worry...I can take care of everything myself. But would you please do my laundry/pick up my room/find the bread/find me a bandaid.... etc.

Understand, I love being needed so. It's a sweet elixir of existence. And oh so addicting. Of course I'll do that for you, because you could NEVER IN THIS LIFETIME DO IT AS WELL YOURSELF.

It's absolutely true. I fear for my loved ones, because I know that some day I will be old. And I will forget things myself. Like where the mustard lives in the refrigerator door shelf and how to google where the nearest pharmacy is for my old woman pills, and how the check is magically delivered to the place that makes the air conditioning run. It's going to happen. And then what will they all do?

So I'm reading this.....

Get back to me in 70 years to see if it's worked. 

Monday, February 09, 2015


When men see a hot woman sitting at a bar, all alone, they will crawl over each other to talk to her, send her drinks, slip her their phone number. Then they will high five each other in the bathroom or back at the table, after one of them actually scores. But only one. At a time.

These same men, when confronted with an identically hot woman who is with her boyfriend/husband/brother/male cousin/dentist will pat her companion on the back, give him a congratulatory thumbs up on choosing the finest woman in the room, and then shrug his shoulders as he walks back to the waiting guys to deliver the news that she is "taken." Because "taken" means off limits. Stand back. Respect the territory. 

When women sees a hot man at a bar/restaurant/grocery line/gas station pump/proctology waiting room, either all alone or with friends or with his wife and 5 children, they will walk over each other's dead bodies, their stiletto heels sinking deep into each other's eye sockets, to seductively ask the man if there is anything

 (as in A N Y T H I N G)

they can get him, as they slide their business card with their cell phone written on the back sealed with a zitz of perfume and the note "call me...I'm SOOO lonely), into the first pocket they find. Then they will hunt down any woman with him or who has approached him, talked to him or thought about him, befriend her and take her down any way they can. The same behavior applies for job openings, shoe sales and the last pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream on a dateless Friday night.

Women have no code when it comes to territory. There is no respect whatsoever for territory. The stronger one woman mistakenly believes her territorial boundaries to be set, the more powerful the onslaught will be from other women. It's rather like throwing down the gauntlet or slapping a dueling glove into an annoying little minx-ette's face. 

Young, old, fat, thin, well dressed, sane or crazy - a hot man of any connection is open season. Unless he is gay. Then, honey, watch out because you will be destroyed. No one is more deadly than a protective male gay lover. We attached females can learn from their elegant and lethal techniques. I wish one of them would write an instruction manual. Honestly. 

For the rest, if you have the challenge of being in a relationship with a hot man, especially one who sees nothing wrong in flirting aggressively because he likes the attention and considers it the incorrectly labeled "hapless" woman's fault if she thinks there is actually a party at the end of the invitation, then you will need to prepare some defensive and offensive techniques. Because these women are going to keep coming back for a perceived offer of "more" and will stalk your boyfriend/husband/dentist until they finally realize nothing will actually come of it. Or unless your boyfriend is in reality a cheating 'ho who has lost the power to say "no," and these women have no self respect whatsoever or are completely delusional and believe they are going to win in the end. And you have yet to receive relationship ending confirmation of said philandering behaviors. 

I am in such a position. It is not fun. It sucks the light out of the room, and the air out of the lungs. It is exhausting and disrespectful. But I soldier on, because I do love the man and have prepared some, so far effective, techniques. One involves a large trunk at the end of the bed. 

I would detail them more here, but remember, we have no code, so why the hell would I share?

And, by the way, one of the places where I have found the worst examples of this behavior on the part of we heartless women is church. Especially when it's the pastor who is the hottie. That one baffled me, until I came to learn how pervasively awful we women are to each other. 

We have no code. And there is no code medicine. Maybe it's the instinct we need to keep the herd going. I don't know. 

Next time around, I want a different planet.

"Can I get you .....anything else??"

Friday, October 03, 2014


All lies
Pretty little liars
We are all
Pretty little liars
Well, maybe some prettier than others.

I have pondered long and hard for most of my life on the nature of lying. I have had a protracted and painful war with myself over lying.

We all lie. People who love us lie. People who hate us lie. Our teachers lie. Saying that politicians lie is just redundant. We most especially lie to ourselves.

When I put makeup on in the morning, I am preparing to lie to the world about my face, which is already a giant fib because of plastic surgery. When I squeeeeeeeeze myself into a corset, I am going to lie to you about the size of my middle.

Take ten pounds off your weight. Lie.
Take ten years off your age. Lie.
Take 2 of your 4 ex husbands off a first date's conversation. Lie.

These are called "white lies." I'm not sure who originally picked the color. Probably to signify "innocence." But in a literal sense, a lie really is a lie really is a neon red Vegas sign lie.

Visiting my parents when my son was two, there was a plate of delicious cookies on the table. I told Ben that he could have two and that was all. I turned back to him and noticed an odd expression on his face. I said "Ben, did you take more cookies?" "Noooooooo," he answered with wide eyes and a slow shake of his head. Then he said "Just don't look under the table." I got up and looked under the table and saw he was holding two more cookies.  Ben got angry and said "I TOLD you not to look under the table!!!" Then he tossed the cookies back onto the plate and huffed away. A humorous demonstration of a strange phenomena that adults still practice: getting angry at someone we've lied to because they've discovered the lie.

While in a relationship with a morally compromised person, I caught him in several lies. He would finally admit to them, but never ever apologize or make amends. Time would pass, and when I would bring it up, he would say "Haven't we moved past that now?" As in "time heals all wounds and all lies are forgotten." Then there would be new lies he would be angry with me for discovering.

For a long time I viewed lies in terms of degree of injury. The degree of injury would often be how much energy I would expend based on the belief of the lie. For example, if you tell me you love me when you don't even really like me, and I believe you, I will take great care with your birthday and Christmas gifts and when you're in a pickle, I'll go out of my way to help you, you lying scumbag. This lie has cost me money and time, and the embarrassment of you laughing behind your hand at my expense while others watch. And other various such like scenarios. This view has been far more hurtful to me than it was for the self centered narcissists who told the lies. It also renders the dynamic of the interpersonal relationship a commercial transaction. In these cases, the lies become counterfeit currency to purchase my valuable time, affection and efforts. It's far easier nowadays for me to go out of business with someone who's looking to steal from my stores. Because it really is a HUGE waste of time.

One of the worst of lies I've seen involved a relative of mine. He had grown up believing that his mother's sixth husband was his biological father. The same father as his younger brother. When it came time for him to get his driver's license, his mother refused to give him his birth certificate, which he had never before seen. When he finally got one, ordered from the county, he saw "bastard" entered in the "name of father" box. This was a most injurious lie, to be sure. Considering that this was yet another pothole in the road to this young man's suicide. Not that his mother didn't love him. She did. This was a lie that sprang from shame and cowardice.

In my lifetime of trying to climb the mountain of lies in search of "truth," I spent time regarding the question of "truth." What the sam hill is it?

What I found is that "truth" is a squirrelly thing. I am fascinated by Derren Brown. He is a masterful illusionist, hypnotist and trickster. Watch his shows on YouTube. He "bought" a very expensive watch using blank paper as "cash." He made a fortune at the race track with losing tickets. In his work, he shows how very easy we humans are to lie to and fool. He is not at all obnoxious about this. He explains what he has done and is always respectful of the people who participate with him. He will even tell them straight up what he is about to do, and they are still hoodwinked. Amazing.

What Derren Brown has illustrated more pointedly to me is that lying is a participatory event. For me, being angry with myself for believing the packs of lies as told to me by cowards and scum of the past is what was the most crippling. And the biggest waste of time. And, after all, I do have to include myself in the coward and scum category for each time I've "lied" to myself. To be fair.

Recently I "busted" someone for changing the salient details in the retelling of a past event. His reply sent me on another inner thought voyage when he laughed and said, "well, it makes a better story." The so-called fact was that the event, as told, did happen, but the surrounding elements did or did not happen.  I intellectual-ified this into it becoming a "Relative Alternate Perception."

My mother loves to re-write our family history. For her, it tells a better story. As long as I am thinner in those versions, I don't mind.

When you think about it, nothing around us in our various stories at any given moment is as it seems. We think we're solid. We're not. We're defined as solid because we have a definite shape and volume. Glass is liquid that is moving verrrrrry slowly. Matter around us is made up of atoms with enormous quantum space between the elemental particles. We just perceive these things as solid.

Eye witness reports can be completely incorrect. Optical illusions fool us every time.

But how is a person to navigate through life when every single thing and person and event around us is all or part lie? What is a truth seeker to do to avoid self loathing breakdowns of frustration????

One could explode in a volcanic eruption of vitriolic venom without some kind of coping relief.

For me it comes down to decisions. I have to decide how I am going to perceive my environs on a daily basis. I have to dispassionately review and regard people and events around me based on new information, the need to discard old and irrelevant information and which underpants are clean. Sometimes the seemingly arbitrary has significance. And this process must be done as even handedly as possible without tendency to over-react, become paranoid or under-react and end up in landfill. I have had to become surgical in some cases where people around me fundamentally meant me harm, even if unintentionally.

Life is about fluid, relative alternate perceptions. It's the only thing I have to go on. Lying is going to rain down on me every single solitary day. I will be participating in this to some degree or another. That's just who we are as humans. I will tell you the truth. At least today's truth. Unless our day is going to be a whole lot happier if I tell you that butt ugly dress you're wearing is pretty.

It all comes down to the most profound song of all time. The one song that ultimately defines and positively instructs the healthiest, happiest, truest path we can take in our lives:

"Row, row, row your boat
gently, down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream."

Friday, September 12, 2014


I had my life planned and scheduled and budgeted. Yes I did. Ben would graduate high school, go off to college. I would devote my time to finding more work and get my mom situated in a nice place. Take up sewing again. Join a writing group and a book club. Exercise seventeen times a day. OK, maybe ten. Fine, three. Probably one. Every other day.

Then I got throwed off this track by my son. Coming up on two years ago, he said to me "Go get a life, mom. I'm going to be going off soon." He said this at fourteen. Because he is really forty-six and a half. 

The upshot was then again being throwed off by meeting the love of my life, who inspires me and inspired me to write this poem for him this morning:

If I could predict and then have as I say,
I would, of course, always have my way.
But life presents quite differently,
and the best of times come untethered and free.
While this fact of things can daunt and tease,
this fact of things is how life will please
and bring to fore loves finest and best
to fully enjoy till night's sweet rest.

Now that a new, improved, much happier path is laid here in front of me, I find myself still throwed off. Daily. By daily demands. Unexpected bills. Shoulder impingement. House fixings. More unexpected bills. More to do. More to do. More to do. The "To Dos" throw me off.

I'm not sure if it's a product of getting older, this fracturing of attention.  It surely is influenced by this. But now, after a flurry of disconcertment, I tend to settle down a bit faster because I know that being throwed off can and should be turned into a plus plus plus! and a nap.

Thus and therefore, I shall not fear horses, buses, islands, tracks or scents. I shall endeavor to forthrightly, heretofore and henceforth, redundantly seek to find the soft spot to land in any enclosure or experience where being thrown off is a distinct possibility.  Which is, in point of real time fact, everywhere. 

Because being throwed off is a gift, if you look at it correctly. 

What the living hell is this coming my way?
....Bring it!!

Tuesday, September 02, 2014


Extremely difficult to get to....

Spectacular and, at the same time, easy to be in. 
Also, best shared with others.

My life, so far,  has regularly alternated between the two.