Pondering, Damn It All

Really!

Today has not been bad. It’s been … meh. preceded by much of the same. What do you do when you don’t know what to do?

The “experts” say the happiest people in this world are grateful, no matter what their circumstances. Cool. God knows I’m grateful. Just haven’t reached the “no matter what the circumstances” zone. Definitely something to aspire to.

i am going to start saying this!!

I get this way sometimes. Good grief, at this stage of the game, you’d think I’d have this life stuff all tied up in a bow. Maybe it’s dull routine, maybe it’s a long weekend stretching ahead.

Lethal

In the olden days, my “escape plan” from these feelings was not well thought out, but a plan nonetheless. Just get on I-10 and head west and eventually I would end up in California. Like I said, not much of a plan.

truth.

Painful but oh so true. And it’s pretty much self-inflicted as “others” have no concept of my expectations and that’s not fair to them.

So true

Note to self: No Instagram or Facebook until further notice.

Weight Loss Motivation How To Find It And Keep It

I like that idea. Lighten up and move on down the alphabet.

dance...

PERFECT!! My favorite thing to do. So I think I will dance and eat a bunch of chocolate.

Lord, listen through my heart.

That would sum it up.

Off to dance, eat chocolate, and pray.

Later.

Iz

How to Stay Alive, So Far

Warning: the photo at end of this includes a word that some might find offensive. So sue me.

I will tell the story of the past 48 hours when later. Maybe. Have just two words for you : BE CAREFUL.

Despite the fact that I’ve always lived in nice places and have behaved myself sometimes, I’ve been a witness in a murder trial, thrown in the back of a car by two men (they were saving me from rapist), and almost shot while having a cocktail. I repeat, my lifestyle isn’t sketchy.

Night before last, a young woman was shot to death in her car. Within walking distance of my home. It is so tragic.

Already in possession of a serious alarm system, locked gates, a butcher knife by my bed, other accoutrement, and a ferocious dog, I’ve been forced to take things one step further. (Ferocious dog has hot spots, vet said to put him in baby t-shirt. I don’t have any baby t-shirts so Ferocious is wearing a smocked dress my eldest wore when she was three months old. Not very off-putting to criminals; dog won’t look at me). So, I have posted the following statement on all doors….

Here’s hoping criminals can read. And that the police find the %$#$ who killed an innocent woman. Very soon.

Pissed. Off to terror management.

Later. Hopefully.

Home

 

OMG. Have been a shut-in for too long. Having the flu is a good reason to stay inside but it’s gone to my brain. I just cried my eyeballs out WATCHING AMERICAN IDOL. Before you delete me permanently, let me explain.

This contestant, a brilliant young man with a big old voice, came on stage. I barely glanced up from my computer. And then he sang … and the tears started. He sang, “A House Is Not A Home“, and he sounded just like Luther Vandross. I love this song and I realized, while he was singing, it explains what I cannot. Tried in the past, but just keep it to myself now.

“A chair is still a chair

Even when there’s no one sitting there

 But a chair is not a house

And a house is not a home

When there’s no one there to hold you tight

And no one there to kiss goodnight.

Burt Bacharach and Hal David wrote this; enlightened men, indeed. But that’s not my point.

I have a house.

I want a home.

Just. Not. Right.

Reading the news today, I was struck by two stupid standouts:

  • Justin Bieber is “penning” his “memoir”.  He says he’s “still living his dream”. Let’s hear it for Justin! He is 16 years old. A memoir? His baby book, perhaps? And as for “still living his dream”? He is 16!  Spare me.
  • Giselle Bundchen, bless her poor little model heart, should stick to what she knows… which would be the runway. Her recent comments about breastfeeding have enraged mothers everywhere. She allegedly said there should be a “worldwide” law that mothers must “breastfeed their babies for six months.” Last time I checked, Giselle, you were a model, not a pediatrician, an authority on raising children, or a nutritionist. In her defense, she did manage to remove both of her feet from her mouth long enough to issue an apologetic explanation of what she meant to say. Spare me x 1000.
  • Tom Brokaw did a documentary on BOOMER$; it aired on CNBC Sunday night. The information presented was interesting and thought-provoking. One segment really hit a nerve with me. A man, professional, had been out of work for two years. This man is well-educated, well- spoken, well- dressed, and well-kept. The problem is … he is 52 or 53 years old. He has applied for hundreds of jobs over the past 24 months – some that would be perfect for him, many of which he is overqualified for AND pay 1/4 of what he made pre-layoff. And still no job. This situation is not limited to men. Women fill this boat, too. If you own your own business or have a talent/profession that is in demand, no problem. Otherwise, experience does not count. A great track record does not count. It’s all about age. In the job market, the older you are, the less respect you get. And if you are lucky enough to get employed, don’t count on any benefits. And you’d best budget around a minimum wage salary. This is just my observation. And I believe these practices are patently wrong on many levels. Experience should count for much. Age, if used correctly, should be respected. A daily dose of humble pie is NOT nourishing. Pressing onward through humiliation should NOT be an occupation. The pay sucks.

Rant over.

Later.

Are You KIDDING Me?

Am pretty sure I’m going insane. Before I go, there is something I’d like to get off my chest. Normally, I don’t know that I’d give this thought a thought; under self-induced house arrest for the past two weeks, well, I’ve made my life crazy and small.  Just for today, I wish I were someone else. So if you don’t agree with me, blame it her/him/it. Rock, paper, scissors. Whatever.

  • Am I an idiot because I don’t understand the “historic significance” of President Obama appearing on “The View” tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I like Whoopi and some of her gang. But I don’t understand all the self-promotion of this upcoming show; it is not the Second Coming. To make matters worse, poor Barbara Walters is leaving her sickbed to be on hand for the Big Event. I would think, hope, pray that our President would have a million more important items on his agenda for tomorrow before he’d get to #1,000,001- Appear on daytime tv talk show. 

Whirled peas, my ass! Off to watch paint peel…

Later.

Who Are You & How Can You Do This?

 

 

Last night, I watched Boston Med, ABC’s new medical reality docu/drama. I thought it was excellent … and disturbing.  One of the stories told was that of Marvin Pollet, a 55-year old man from Louisiana.  He suffered from amloidosis, a protein disorder that can attack vital organs.  If the heart comes under attack, cardiac failure can occur.  And so it did, in Marvin. His cardiologist at Mass Gen was Dr. Kimberly Parks.  Apparently, Marvin was scheduled to see Dr. Parks three weeks earlier but an alleged insurance snafu delayed his visit. He desperately needed a heart transplant, but he had to get to Mass Gen to be evaluated in order to be put on the transplant list.  He lost three weeks, his health deteriorated rapidly, and despite Dr. Park’s determination to save his life, he went into cardiac failure and died before a donor could be found.

What I find so disturbing is the insurance link in his tale. There are too many Marvin stories in this country. People who pay for health care only to find that if they become very ill, it’s a “too bad, so sad” situation. Insurance declined. Insurance Company says, “No”. The ridiculous maze of hoops we must jump through, just to get a portion of health care we pay dearly for, could also be cause for cardiac arrest. If you are very wealthy, a public figure, or a celebrity, well, you’re golden. For the rest of us, unless we hit a goldmine, the pot at the end of our rainbow reads, RIP, Insurance was Declined.

Who sits on these health insurance death squad committees? You know, the statistics gang who will decide whether you and I live or die someday? Any day? Is this a vaunted position? What are your credentials, seriously? Is it easy to sentence people to death because they are just names on paper? How does it feel to bankrupt Average Joe? Now he sits in his house that has been foreclosed on because his medical bills took him to the bank and closed his account. Do you get paid big bucks to let people die? How does it feel to know that you have, in your special way, contributed to the ruination/end of an untold number of lives?  Every Single Day. Sleep well? Hope not.  Just sayin’…

Later.

Feel A Big Cry Coming On

I hate when this happens.  And it always happens when I find myself at the corner of What’s Next? and Which Way Do I Turn? Making changes in life is a necessary, ongoing process. Individual evolution and all that. And I totally own my decisions to hold ’em or fold ’em. But I keep forgetting I’m directionally dyslexic. Temporarily paralyzing.  Bear with me as I try to ward off the waterworks. Think happy thoughts, damn it….

  • Eldest daughter snagged dream job. Rah!
  • Youngest daughter is blissfully happy. Rah!
  • My parents are alive and vital. Rah!
  • My sister is hanging in and hanging on. Rah x 100!
  • Cooking Partner is so good to me. Woo!
  • Miss my heart friends (the ones who know me best and love me anyway). So lucky to have them. Hoo!
  • Am absolutely blown away by the people I know who are fighting major battles, with smiles on their faces. My heros. Rah!
  • Every time I read JoDee Luna’s blog, I come away with much to think about.  Her post today included the phrase, “Maybe the only treasures in this world are relational…”. I BELIEVE this with all my heart. It makes me happy. And sad for the people I know who can’t be bothered to consider this and act accordingly. Oy!

Oh no! Eyes are welling up with sad liquid. Would go find a bath sheet and let it flow… but have a haircut scheduled   this afternoon. Must think here. Stiffen upper lip. Go to hair deal. Come home. Allow dam to break unless divine intervention occurs. Whatever……

Later.

Oh, DO SHUT UP!

... and I mean it!

Disrespectful behavior. Unsolicited opinions. Judging others with a harshness you would never turn on yourself.  I’m not mad as hell, but I’m not gonna take it anymore.  As a repeat offender of all of the above, I beg for blanket forgiveness. Am currently undergoing Think Before You Speak Rehab. Am also offering a 20 for 1 Free Won’t You Join Me deal for this course. It’s said that the characteristics we dislike most in others are probably ingrained in ourselves. I’m in rehab and trying to mind my own business.  So, what’s your excuse when you say:    

  • “Do you still see what’s her/his name?”  If you know me, you know very well I do.  Your disdain/dislike for people I welcome into my life is Not appreciated. 7 bitch slaps
  • “How is the situation going with _____ <insert loved one>?”  Do you have dementia? Seriously? I’ve answered this question of yours about 100 times.  Your lack of concern is duly noted. 14 bitch slaps
  • “That’s the only brilliant idea you’ve ever had!” Maybe so, maybe not …but you look and sound like a condescending shrew when you throw this one out in front of a group of people. 21 bitch slaps
  • “We don’t approve of that/her/him/it?” Funny, I don’t remember asking you for your opinion of that/her/him/it. I do remember you weren’t born with a silver spoon crammed in the lower portion of your face. So pitiful not even worth lifting my hand
  • “What were you thinking (in reference to personal choices)? Gee, I was thinking about what works for me and what makes me happy. And thinking a bit longer, you and your expectation hoops never crossed my mind.  If your opinions are so important, run for judge. 11 hits to the side of head with heavy gavel

Don’t mean to start the day as Ms. Grumbleton. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to accept anymore of this nonsense with a smirk.  Nor will I use the words brewing in my head when I hear such things … you have shit for brains, obviously your frontal lobe stopped developing when you were 11, and surprise! you are an inflatable gas bag. Where’s a pin?    

Instead, I better work on keeping my own behavior in check. Eyes on own paper and all that.  But as a perpetual Girl Scout, I will be prepared….    

Now where’s that duct tape?    

Later.

Porcupette Intervention: Not My Job

 I was wandering around a bookstore yesterday and the book pictured below JUMPED into my hands. 

How To Hug A Porcupine: Easy Ways to Love the Difficult People in Your Life

 

 An interesting title, always room for improvement on the journey, quick read, like “easy” in title although often a misnomer but what the heck.  Have found myself with too much time on my hands lately so why not investigate the care and feeding of porcupines. Looks funny.  Obviously, the sharp little rodent is used as the symbol for a difficult, defensive person.  We can all be difficult at times, some more than others.  

 Read it last night (it is not War and Peace).  I don’t believe it is “a powerful tool” as described in the foreward.  And while there are some pro duh points, there are far more cons regarding how we treat each other. Likening a problematic human to a porcupine, this book implies that the combative, defensive personality develops at the “porcupette” stage-when the porcupine is a baby.  At birth, the porcupette has soft, flexible quills.  In just hours, these quills turn into hard weapons.  Ok, I get it … scarred by childhood. Next. But next is bizarre. My opinion is that this innocent looking little book is a misguided strategy manual – a how-to-be-happily-codependent on- the-abusive -personalities-in- your-life map. I cannot imagine this is what the anonymous author meant to advocate. There are few tidbits that are acceptable; as for the rest, well, the advice is shocking, at least it is to me. 

Probably: 

  • Perpetual porcupines lead a solitary life.  They are loners.  They do have a soft side (underbelly) but that location is very difficult to get to.
  • The painful “quills” are the result of  bad experiences, fears, and failed relationships;  “quills” represent harsh words delivered in a loud voice.
  • “Keep a safe distance.” Really?
  • “Don’t be manipulated.”
  • “State your limits.”

I won’t bore you with all that appalled me on these pages, but here are the highlights(paraphrased); they are offered as survival techniques(!): 

  • Learn more about the porcupine and adapt your behavior.  Excuse me?  I’m not the one with the behavior problem.
  • Don’t take it (a quill fest) personally.  HAHAHAHAHA.
  • Use kind words when attacked.  Be prepared and plan ahead. This is scaring me.
  • Compromise.  Be the best you can be. Apologize. Be a good companion.  Now terrified.

I can’t stand this.  “Acknowledge your shortcomings, be a support system.”  And, interestingly enough, there is no chapter on “How to Hug a Porcupine”.  Instead of offering good behavior advice to porcupines, page after page essentially berates the friend, lover, parent, child of, rattling off suggestions for change and preparations for attacks. 

This book is a total and dangerous waste of paper.  

Just my opinion. 

Yikes!

Gone Fishing!

Puh-lease!  It happened AGAIN.  Grocery store crying.  Something’s gotta give here.  I’ve got to change stores.  This is getting ridiculous.  Last month, my mother and I blubbered all over aisle 6.  Today, I walked in and Sanna, who always helps me, said, “I’m retiring tomorrow – come to the party!”  Well, blow me over with a feather.

I’ve known Sanna for 25 years.  He is most awesome.  Originally from Pakistan, he came here to make money for his family back home.  He always has a smile on his face, he always asks about my daughters – by name – and their friends, my family, beyond kind.  We always talk when I go to the store, I mean, Sanna IS the store.  And today he tells me he’s retiring… tomorrow!  There’s a big sign posted about his party.  Walking up and down the aisles, I could only think about Sanna not standing there smiling anymore.  Most of the shoppers were doing the same thing I was, shaking their heads and making sad faces.

I asked Sanna what he was going to do, where he was going ?  He said, “Fishing.”  I don’t know if that meant Galveston, a lake, the Pacific Ocean – didn’t want to pry.  I did get him to give me his address so I can send him cards and check on him.  Wow. It is totally weirding me out.  I took it for granted that Sanna would always be there.  But no.  I hugged him so hard about a dozen times. I’m going to miss that wonderful man.  Hugged him again, just for good measure, got in the car and cried all the way home.  

I’m happy for him, so so happy.  He’s worked so hard for so long.  He deserves to go fishing.  I hope he catches any and everything he wants. Go Sanna!  sniff… sniff…sniff….