Feebs - Musings from a cynical native New Yorker

Does anyone have a conscience anymore?

2011-11-11T23:35:00.001-05:00

Haven't posted in awhile. Once again I will make a vow to try and write on a regular basis.

Been sitting here reading about and thinking about the Penn State scandal, just wondering how could things like this go on for so long with no one going to the police? I will never understand why people refuse to open their mouths and stand up for what is wrong and to denounce what is wrong. It does no good to hide behind closed doors and pretend the evildoers will just heal themselves.

If someone back in the 1990's had reported Jerry Sandusky to the point of him getting his sorry ass put in a federal penitentiary, who knows how many young men could have been saved the horrible sexual abuse they sustained because of him?

The janitors at the facility had a meeting the night the one janitor saw him having oral sex with a kid about ten. That janitor was extremely distraught and they thought he might have a heart attack, but the group of janitors met and none of them made the decision to report this, because they feared losing their jobs. How about losing their souls? If I have to choose between saving a child's life or losing my job, chuck the job, it's a child for cripes sake.

The others at Penn State who saw inappropriate behavior, including him actually having sex with a ten year old boy, none of them made sure the police were contacted, or the kids parents, or social welfare authorities. Did they really think the political beings at the school would take care of that child's needs and make sure he was safe? I can only imagine, we'll probably hear in the weeks to come how someone was paid off. The prosecuting DA or investigator disappeared in 2005 and has now been declared legally dead. I wonder if he is living in south america or some other place, paid off, or if he was ""retired" by some of those rich benefactors of the Second Mile club"

I'm just so disgusted at the apathy of the common man. Does anyone have a conscience anymore?

We Haven't Killed Each Other, yet.........

2011-08-21T23:47:00.003-04:00

It's been over a month, and we are still all alive. It's been a really long time since I have lived with someone else. Living with your kids is one thing, but living with another unrelated adult and someone elses kids is completely different. Sometimes I look over and it feels so wonderful to have someone there next to me. Other times, I look over, and well, I just feel like puking. Ughhhhhhhhh, I need to hide!

The animal situation has been a little crazy, but things are settling down. Total count is one goldfish, (recently moved into a larger body of water), two border collies (with a LOT less running room who no longer like to go outdoors), and three cats (one - my princess) (two of his - one feral cat, one older cat). I rarely see his one cat. He hides upstairs and occasionally comes down stairs to take a peek and then makes a mad dash upstairs to the third floor. It's funny to see this cat, who lived most of his life outdoors fighting off whatever lays beyond the bushes and tall grasses, but yet is afraid of me, my son, the other cat who is one fourth his size, and the two dogs. He needs to understand both dogs are deathly afraid of him. They lived during the reign of Catherine the great. The great gray furrball who ruled our house for about six years. Her favorite past time was to lay across any doorway she knew the dogs wanted to cross, just so she could torment them. They wouldn't dare cross her path.

My cat, Frappechina Mocha Roe Boufeaux, aka "Mocha" tried to pretend that she didn't really like the dogs, but that didn't last long. She realized how much fun they were to have around and she loves playing tag way too much to do that hissing thing.

Living with someone elses children is "different." I learned a long time ago from my friends on the stepwives board what rights I have and what rights I don't have and what to do if I want a lot of friction and what not to do if I want peace and tranquility. So I have been trying really hard to comply with the "what not to do's". I don't ask them to do chores. I don't ask them to clean their rooms. I don't ask them to go to bed at a decent hour. I just wait for their father to ask them. On most days, I go to sleep "waiting."

Living again with another adult in the house is challenging. I can't just do what I feel like anymore. If I don't want to watch what he is watching on TV, I have a choice, watch what he wants, speak up and risk an argument, or go to bed. Lately, I have been catching up on many years of missed sleep.

I wanted to watch the finale of the Glee Project tonight and before it came on, I was talking to my son about the musical Wicked, and "the other adult" made some snide comment about talking through the show that was on or something to the effect that I was being "rude." arghhhhh. I was excited to talk to my son about what I had read about Wicked, because neither of us have ever seen it and we just listened to the CD for the first time and are learning the story. My first instinct was to say "screw you" and keep on talking. BUT, I chose to just go to my room and watch my TV show alone, while he sulked on the couch. I actually enjoyed watching it by myself. Maybe after all these years of being on my own (almost 14 years now), I have finally learned to enjoy doing some things on my own, and don't need "another adult" here with me like I thought I did.

Then again, I know there are times when I definitely want another adult around. Just not right now.

Joy Robbers and Energy Stealers

2011-06-21T01:49:00.004-04:00

I have been trying to be in a better mood, be more optimistic. However, I've been giving the joy robbers in my life too much power. The kind of people that just suck the like out of anything you do. You find them on the job, amongst friends, amongst family members, at the places of business you visit, everywhere.

I went to Goodwill on the way home today, a different one from the usual one I go to, where I have been writing checks for years. The cashier was a young snippy little thing who told me I could not write a check there since my drivers license isn't from NC. I told her it doesn't matter, as long as the bank account is NC and the policy is posted on their walls, as it is posted on all of the walls in Goodwill. She told me she would get the manager, but she "knew" they weren't going to take it. I wait, because I really wanted the bowl set I found in there and after fifteen minutes, yes apparently I was correct and they can take a check after all. Its' so frustrating. And it wasn't just her telling me I couldn't, it was the whole attitude of treating me like I was inferior. arghhhh. But I let her rob my joy. I fretted and stewed over it and finally got in the car with my stuff and was so tense driving, my muscles started to ache.

So I am going to make an active vow, to eliminate as many joy robbers as I possibly can. I can go to work and keep my door shut. Do my own thing at lunch time, and don't talk to anyone about what is going on in my life, that way I dont have to be criticized for not making the decision someone else thinks I should make. Let's see how far I get

the Weiner scandal

2011-06-14T21:19:00.002-04:00

Okay, one news item: the Weiner scandal. I wish they would leave this poor shmuck alone. He was stupid enough to take picts of his weiner and send them out from his telephone. He has already gotten what he deserves, public humiliation. It makes me laugh, thinking how people are so upset, demanding he step down from his position as congressman in NY. His constituents want him, apparently he does his job. I just wonder what he thought was going on, on the other end of the telephone, by the person who received it. Knowing women, I would bet the bank that whoever received it laughed when they saw it. No matter what it looks like, I bet she laughed. And then she probably showed a bunch of her friends, who also laughed. What else could the response have been? Is it possible to be turned on by a telephone picture of some guys dick? shaking my head, all I would do is snicker if some guy sent me a picture of himself. As a nurse, I have seen thousands of penises and maybe I am just de-sensitized, but I guarantee you if I had seen it and thought about a guy going through the trouble of dropping his pants to take a pict............... nothing but total laughter comes to mind.

another day in the neighborhood

2011-06-14T20:55:00.002-04:00

geez its been a long time!!! let me see, what has happened.........

well tracy is still driving me nuts and despite my threats to send him to the frozen tundra (nebraska) he just didn't believe I would follow through. I guess I don't fault him, as he has only known me about 15 years and 10 months. I may be slow to follow through, but sooner or later I get er done.

So when January rolled around and his grades were still in the toilet and I didn't know where he was spending his time while I slaved away at work, I purchased a one way ticket to Omaha for him to stay with the Galloways. They used to be the "Galloways" of Iowa, known for being the only black family in Iowa. I know, because I drove the state several times and all I ever saw were white people, and fields of corn. but the Galloways moved to Nebraska, where Mr. Galloway is a teacher.

He is responsible for the class of kids otherwise known as "future felons" or "future janitors and McDonald's cooks" because these are the kids who just don't listen. They want to screw off all day and torment teachers, and really believe they don't have to be responsible for their actions. One step away from being arrested.

So tracy went to stay with them, and lo and behold, we discovered, that Tracy can actually (a) read (b) do homework, and (c) do as he is told. In one short semester he brought his grades up high enough I think to be on the honor roll. He did his homework on time, even if it meant getting up and doing homework on a saturday morning at 7 am (" because Johnny said I can't go anywhere unless its done." I could threaten him with grave consequences and he would smile and lie through his teeth that he had it done. So since he did so well the last five months, I was gracious enough to let him come home for the summer, figuring he has learned his lesson. (yes, I still have multiple episodes of stupidity).

Since he has been home we have had to clarify the rules on a daily basis and go through definitions of common terms again. "Clean the house" means exactly that, clean your room, the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, and do laundry." "staying on our block" means staying on our specific street, which is only one block long-it doesn't mean going down to some apartments three or four blocks away and hiding out at their pool. "being home by 7 pm, regardless of any other circumstance" means just that, have your ass in the house by 7 pm. But Tracy apparently has mental confusion whilst living in NC because he is back to his old tricks, and there are current plans underway to send his hiney right back to Omaha.

hmmm, what else? well the military dude and I are planning on moving in together, with our combined sons, dogs and cats. If Tracy is allowed to stay, we will have a 16 year old, a 19 year old, a 21 year old, two old dogs (that would be Bill and I), two old canines, and three cats. Its a test to see if we will kill our kids, our pets, or each other. If we manage to go six months without any of the above occurring, the other option will be on the table. so now the issue is just finding a place. Been looking all over Cary (to get tracy out of current school district) and get his sons closer to their mom and gramma, and bill closer to his brother and sister. Now the catch is finding a house that is big enough, that has a fence, that will allow pets, that is affordable, which won't care that I have a house under foreclosure in Orlando. Time is running out and there are plans in the making to put our stuff in storage and sleep under the trees if necessary. Time to be thankful North Carolina has a lot of forestry :)

I'm in a new position now, legal nurse consultant. Fancy term for meaning I read medical records from patients to see if they have suffered due to malpractice, in a significant way that is worth pursuing it in court. I have been happy to discover that 99% of the cases we get are not malpractice, just poor health. And the cases that actually appear to be neglect, almost zero from nursing. I have gained more respect for nursing, but lost respect for some physicians. I have known of three or four bad docs at a couple institutions, but I didn't realize how stupid some doctors really are. Because of confidentiality, I can't say specifics, but I know for sure, I will never ever undergo a laparascopic cholecystectomy no matter who does the surgery, nor will I ever have back surgery. screw that shit. If they need my gallbladder, just cut my belly wide open and take a good look around at everything that is there and hold it up in the air to see what you are really cutting. For my back? I'll eat pain pills until I die before I would ever let someone put a scalpel through my spine.

still have my old doggies and "the cat" faithfully by my side. My old brownie has a bad back and is having a hard time getting around these days. It appears that the only time his back isnt' hurting is if there are cookies, pizza or some other goodie left on the kitchen counters. All of his muscles and bones work magically to retrieve these items if necessary. I've had it out with the vet over appropriate meds for him, but thats another story for another day that I should title "Losing my mind and the people I have yelled at over the past two months". Mocha the cat is now friends with Lobo and they play together, although they pretend they don't. If they see me watching, they look the opposite way, because I am not supposed to know they get along.

well thats enough for tonight, let's see how long my promise to post regularly lasts :)

Being lost after "Lost" and now being found :)

2010-05-25T01:09:00.004-04:00

I started off as a die-hard fan of the TV series Lost. I remember watching and then re-watching every episode the first couple seasons trying to figure out any clues that I missed. Somewhere around Season four, life got busy and I have just kind of followed along. I ended up missing most of last season, or watched it sporadically, since I don't remember much about it.

I saved all of this season on my DVR and watched the season on Saturday, all ready to see the finale Sunday evening. Initially, I felt about as lost as the passengers on Oceanic 815. Then I thought about what my interpretation of the show is or was and here is what I have come up with so far (I may change my views once I re-watch the series):

I believe that they were all dead, except possibly Hurley, Desmond and Ben. The three of them were the only ones who knew the purpose of meeting at the church. Just as Jacob had time travelled back and forth from the island, perhaps these three could as well. Ben may still be alive, Hurley may still be protecting the island and Desmond may live on forever. Hurley could have given that gift to Desmond, as the gift was given to Richard. Or Ben may be dead but not ready to "move on yet."

I believe everyone else either died in the manner they were shown, or died after leaving the island, and all at different times. I believe the only ones who made it off the island were Kate, Sawyer, Sayid, Claire, Miles and Lapidus. I felt all along that each of them were brought to the island for redemption, they were all flawed.

I believe the Oceanic 6 did all initially get off the island and then returned to the island. I think they were given a second chance at redemption. They had to go back to the island, because they initially left the island still flawed: they all lied about the plane crash and rescue, and went on to lives in which they were all still seeking something.

I think for each of them, their redemption came after they returned to the island, and then died. they all had a period in the afterlife, where they lived the life they wanted and all dreams came true: Jack having a son; Sawyer being a cop and finding Juliet; Juliet being the OB doctor who met back up with Sawyer; Sun and Jin being together with their baby, Claire and Charlie being together with Aaron, Kate and Sayid being rescued from being in prison and meeting back up with those they loved, etc.

I don't think they were meeting at the church just for Jack, but for each of them to receive redemption, and let go. I believe the empty casket was a message for all of them, that although they may have experienced death, they do live on. I think their meeting together was a celebration, for all of them to rejoice in realizing that their spirit does continue on.

So I think some of the messages the writers wanted to convey with "Lost" is that 1) everyone gets a second chance. 2) there is a powerful force in the universe where good versus bad, dark versus light and right versus wrong does exist and its a struggle every day for all of us to balance these forces, 3) dreams can and do eventually come true, 4) we need to let the past go, and not worry about the future because the only thing that matters is the right now, 5) redemption exists , and lastly 6) our spirits do continue on

2009-10-15T23:13:00.000-04:00

Two Dogs and a Cat

2009-10-15T22:35:00.003-04:00

I found this picture of my pets on the computer. I wondered what they did when I am not around. When I get home, they are waiting by the door, pretending to have sat there all day just waiting for my arrival. Obviously, from the picture, that's a fallacy.

Brownie (the third) is black and white and a little overweight. Okay, more than a little overweight. But in his defense, he can't just go outside and run around the yard since there isn't any fence. And he can't turn away food, because there are dogs starving in Africa. He's actually my best friend and the most devoted friend I have. When I am home, he never leaves my side (unless someone else in the house has food, and then he has to guard the food, to make sure nothing gets thrown away; its his job). He's sitting here staring at me now because there is a plate with pie on it just sitting there, tormenting him. He has scared me half to death a few times in the middle of the night when I hear loud banging noises in the other room, only to find out he tried to climb on top of the table or counters to sneak food.

Lobo (the third) is my dark brown and super intelligent border collie. He is a proud graduate of the pet training program at petsmart, only he was then banned, because he had a silly little episode of trying to bite a small toddler. He really wasn't trying to be vicious and rip the kids arms off, I am sure he was just playing. He's like that. He can learn anything without treats, he just likes to please and will do anything to be petted. At nighttime, I can just say "it's time for bed" and he runs upstairs to climb into bed with Tracy. Sometimes he acts walks with his shoulders hanging down, acting like the teenager he rooms with, but he goes up the stairs. Occasionally in the middle of the night, I will hear a little tip toeing going on and will notice him wrapped in a ball on some pillows on my bedroom floor. He is a barker in the car, the one thing I haven't been able to get him to stop. If I take them for a ride and go in a store, when I come out, he has been barking the whole time, his tongue hanging out. The only thing he appears to be afraid of is one tiny little cat, name Mocha.

Mocha, otherwise known as Jamocha Frappuchino Roe Boufeaux, came to live with us last year after it was discovered that my granddaughter was allergic to cats. She was my daughter's cat and a very spoiled cat. She is tiny for a cat. I am used to big fat country cats. But she is a tiny little thing, but has a great big voice. She talks all the time, and insists on being petted and having attention. One of her favorite things to do is wait until I am running late for work in the morning and just as I go out the door, she sneaks past me and races for the trees. She loves to have me worry all day whether she is dead or alive. Around 11 pm she will come screaming at the door to let her in. Another of her favorite games is to torment my dog Lobo. She loves Brownie and will kiss him and lay on him and play with him, but for some reason, she likes to make Lobo cry. She will purposely lay across the doorway of a room I am in just to make sure he won't pass by. He won't even look at her. I've tried to explain to him that he is more than 20 pounds heavier, is three feet taller and has more teeth, but he won't listen. Apparently he's smart enough to know that her little claws can tear his eyes out if she wanted to.

I don't know what I would do without the three of them. I know my dogs love me unconditionally. I am pretty sure Mocha is willing to tolerate me and share the house on an equal basis. I fear that when I am older and the kids are all gone, I am going to end up being the cat/dog lady. You know every neighborhood has one, the old person who just collects pets. the person that strangers drop off litters of cats in front of their house, knowing they will take them in. The kind that picks up stray dogs and lets them come in "just for the night".

Okay Brownie and Bo, it's time for bed. Mocha, let me show you something out in the garage :) g'night

Teenagers, how they dress and personal hygiene

2009-10-14T22:28:00.005-04:00

If my son could have his way, this is a close representation of how he wants his hair. I gave him the option of not cutting his hair, as long as he combed or picked it out on a daily basis, but he went over a week at a time without combing it, so I cut it this week. You would have thought the world had ended.

This is a touchy topic for many parents of teenagers. It's not a new topic for me, it's one I have dealt with for over 15 years now. Where do you draw the line between allowing children to express themselves versus making sure what they wear is appropriate?

Some would argue that teenagers are old enough to make the decision on what to wear and how often to take a bath, but looking around at youth today I don't think that's true. As a parent, I am still ultimately accountable and responsible for my children. So I do have the right to tell my daughter, you can't wear clothes that show your breasts or butt cheeks hanging out and I can tell my sons they aren't going to wear anything that shows a butt crack or pants that fall off the hip tied on with shoestrings.

Its the same thing about personal hygiene. If most toddlers had their way, they would never take a bath, have their hair combed or brush their teeth, but we don't let toddlers get away with "having their way" because they are just kids and they don't know any better. I don't believe that maturity automatically shows up by virtue of a given birthday. If you have to be told to take a bath because you smell or to comb your hair because it looks like a dust mop, you aren't mature.

All children, regardless of age need to be taught matters of personal hygiene, i.e.: taking a bath daily, brushing their teeth, and combing their hair. Our bodies are constantly shedding dead skin cells and the those dead cells are abundant with bacteria, viruses, and other microscopic organisms. Those critters don't just fall off our bodies as we shed our dead cells. They must be washed off, and combed off, on a daily basis.

While letting a child express themselves is important to a child's comfort with themselves, and strengthens their ego's, it doesn't overrule the obligation to be sanitary in caring for our bodies. Personal hygiene is not optional, its a requirement for everyday living. I find it disgusting for anyone to go weeks and months without ever putting a brush or comb through their head. If you've ever had to sit with a 16 year old girl who hasn't combed her hair through for months and found one big mass of matted hair, you'll understand how heart wrenching it is to continue sitting there with your arms around them as they cry on your shoulder, because at that point, there is no "cure" for matted hair except to cut it off.

My children can try to convince me I don't care or that I am being mean, or try to guilt me into letting them have their way, but it's my job as their parent to do what is best for them despite all of their accusations. Do they think I enjoy arguing every day over clothing and hygiene? There's a million other things I would rather be doing, but since I am the only "parent" and only "adult" in this house, I don't get to take a break from my responsibility.

Not to mention, what about my feelings as a parent? Should "my" feelings count? Should whats important to "me" matter to anyone? Or do I no longer matter??? It appears to be the case around here.

A few weeks ago at a football game for my son, I was standing on the sidelines when I overheard a group of about 6-7 teenage girls discussing my son, and how "ugly" he was, because of his refusal to comb his hair. I felt like crying, for both of us. Over the past month, I have had friends, co-workers, cashiers at the store, and other people as they go by comment about my son's hair, about how he needs a haircut. For my son to go out in public resembling a homeless person who can't afford shampoo and a hairbrush, it makes me look bad.

The same thing about when he wears pants out in public that show his butt crack and are tied together around his hips with a shoestring. It is a reflection of me and how I raised him. It is not appropriate. I don't care what color he wears, and I don't care what type of shirt or pants he wears, as long as its decent. No shirts with foul language. No pants so low you can his nether region or "hairline". No pants with holes large enough to see underwear through.

I have visions of teacher's writing notes about my son saying things like, "child comes to school every day with dirty clothes and unkempt hair." That's the kind of stuff I don't need to be dealing with. If anyone questions his appearance, I am the one going to get judged and rebuked, not him.

Are my rules stifling his "style"? Well if they are, too bad. The sooner he learns that there are acceptable rules of social behavior the better. When he goes into the working world, he isn't going to be going to work looking like a bum, no one is going to hire him. There will be dress codes and the sooner he learns to comply the better.

The issues of personal hygiene are also for his benefit. Once a kid gets a reputation as a kid who "stinks" or is "dirty" or has "ratty" hair, its almost impossible to lose that reputation. I speak from experience. I was branded with a nickname in junior high school that stuck all the way past graduation. I was picked on and teased over my hair every single day. I know what its like to be ridiculed for having ubangee type hair and I don't want my son picked on because of his lack of personal hygiene.

It isnt just his hair, its the bathing issues, clean clothes issue, wearing his glasses or contacts, etc. Even animals in the wild groom themselves or they groom each other. The two dogs and one cat I live take better care of their hair than my son does.

Despite what people may think, what is important to me, also matters. I have feelings and as a parent, my feelings should be considered. I shouldn't have to be stressed every day, worrying about my kids and how they look or how they smell. I am not going to be one of those parents who allow their children to put tattoos all over their body, and piercings through their nostrils or nipples, or wear T-shirts with foul language or symbols.

Hopefully one day my son will forgive me for being a parent and doing things that are for his own good.

Musicals ................

2009-10-13T22:36:00.004-04:00

I just finished watching Bye Bye Birdie with Ann Margaret and Bobby Rydell. It was one of my favorite musicals as a kid. Our local town did this a few times over the years, not really sure who played the parts, but I loved it.

I used to go to all of the musical productions the school had; my favorite was You're a good man Charlie Brown. Some of my favorite classmates to hear singing were Georgia Swan, Michael Sharrow (who had the voice of an angel), Maureen Sharrow, Terri Hand, Leslie McMartin. So many talented people.

I would give anything to be able to sing. I truly believe that the angels must sound like some of the voices I hear on this earth. I get chills down my spines and feel all teary eyed listening to some voices. I heard a new voice a few weeks ago, Declan Galbreath or something like that. It was so tender, so beautiful, so pure.

Growing up, we would get all of the commercials for the big musicals and my sister Judy and I wanted to go to New York City to see a real live musical. We had planned to take a bus and go see Evita, or Fiddler on the Roof, anything. I'm almost 50 and still haven't made it to NYC, but I have seen some musicals on stage.

When I lived in Dallas, the first musical I got see on stage was Fiddler on the Roof. It was really good, I loved all of the songs. I am pretty sure it was Topol who starred in it. Had to be over 20 years ago now.

I then got to see My Fair Lady with Richard Chamberlain. I loved Richard Chamberlain. I remember him first for Dr Kildare, such a handsome man. Then I adored him in all of the mini-series/TV movies he did: Shogun, the Bourne Identity and then my favorite: The Thorn Birds. I thought he was the epitome of Father Ralph Debriccassart. When I heard he was coming to Dallas in My fair Lady, everyone joked that he was gay and I begged to differ. There was NO WAY. We jokingly argued for weeks about his sexuality. Little did I know. I was so excited to see him at the summer musicals and then, well, his feet never touched the floor. He glided from one side of the stage to the other. We got to meet him afterwards at a charity event for AIDS and it was very apparent. I remember him looking so polished, so pristine, and extremely effeminate. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. I wanted him to be the man I wanted him to be. Oh well, lol, it was years later that he came out to the world about his sexuality. He did do a good Professor Higgins though.

Then I went to see Evita. It was good, although I think it would have been better to see it on Broadway. That was my favorite commercial as a 12-13 year old, was the previews for Evita. I can still hear the song "Don't cry for me Argentina". I remember having tears fall listening to it on stage.

I didn't get to see the broadway shows Jesus Christ Superstar, Rent, or Dreamgirls, but the movie versions were wonderful to me. I loved JCS so much I joined a fan club for the lead, Glenn Carter. I liked the movie version with him better than the older one with Ted Nugent. My favorite scene is his solo, singing in the garden of gethesemane, such a beautiful voice. It was interesting to find out that the actor who played Christ was not even a Christian or anything similar to christianity. Ever heard of Raelians? if you want interesting readings, look them up one day. They claimed to have cloned a baby and I wouldnt' doubt it.

I loved the movie version of Rent and think I like Rosario Dawson better than the original broadway actress. I also liked Tracie Thomas as Joanne. I think that cast is one of the most talented one as whole of any I have seen. I could watch it over and over and over. Its one of those musicals that I love every single song in it. My favorite songs are the ones sang by Adam and then the ones by Jesse.

For me, Dreamgirls was the redemption of Jennifer Hudson. the first time I heard her sing I had chills. She was so talented and I thought from the beginning of that season of American Idol, so far ahead of every other singer that season, including Fantasia. She nailed Dreamgirls. I like Jennifer Holiday, but when I heard Jennifer Hudson sing the songs of Effie, it felt like those lyrics and that music was written just for her. I loved Eddie Murphy and thought he also deserved the Oscar. I saw it on a sneak preview night at a local movie theater in Orlando and it was the only time in my life I ever witnessed something like that, at the end of the movie, the whole entire audience stood up and screamed and gave a standing ovation, to a movie screen. That speaks for itself.

I miss going to see musicals. I am hoping that I get to see some here in Raleigh/durham. Maybe the colleges will put on some musical productions. I'd love to see other versions of the musicals listed above, or a few I never got to see. I never got to see Miss Saigon, so maybe one day.

For now, I will settle on listening to my showtunes in the car or on my IPOD as I fall asleep.

Can I have the Instruction Manual please???

2009-10-13T00:06:00.004-04:00

The other day I went out of town and a friend gave me some tie down straps for my SUV to use while I was transportating a mattress set on top of my car. They seemed fairly easy to use, clamps, buckles and some straps. Well after I put the mattress and box springs up there, turns out, they weren't so easy. Finally after about twenty minutes of fidgeting with it, I pulled out the directions and read them and then figured out how to work the thing. I managed to make it home safely to chapel hill without losing the mattresses. Of course, I didn't use just the straps. Even though the instructions said they were good to handle over 300 pounds, I wanted plan b in action, so I bought a bunch of rope and tied it on there as well.

Doing things with direction/guidance is so much easier. We waste so much time trying to figure things out on our own, when we really should have the instructions or guidance there in front ofus. So I am officially requesting my "life instructional manual." I want to figure out my life and where it's going. I want to know if North Carolina is going to be my last home of record, and whether I am going to be spending my life alone or with someone in particular. Should I plan to stay in this job, or should I get out while the going is good?

It would just be so much easier. I wouldnt feel like I was wasting my time. I just want to get on with whatever it is and then I can make better decisions. I don't want much, just a little guidance. Tell me whether I am Carolina dependent or will be off to the wild blue yonder. Am I going spend my life with someone I've aleady met or someone I am to meet soon, or yet, am I to spend it alone?

For now, I would prefer to stay here, I like the weather and the people seem really friend. its small enough to have a local flavor to it,b ut yet its big enough to have target, some movie theaters, restaurants. etc.

Yearbook notes

2009-10-12T00:34:00.002-04:00

I still can't find my yearbook from 1978, but I thought I would read some more signatures from my 1973 one.

"Phyllis, remember how much trouble Cathy had trying to wear a dress. Good luck, Linda" I remember this event. Cathy Beauchamp was one of my best friends and she liked wearing dresses about as much as I did. Usually, we would pick one day a year our whole gang would wear a dress and everyone would be shocked at us. We were the tomboys who played sports and were generally better than half the boys. Linda was probably the biggest tomboy I knew as a kid. She grew up on a dairy farm near my Aunt Joan's. She was definitely the strongest girl I had ever met. She could run like the wind and she could do more pull ups than any boy I knew. I used to go to her house to ride horses with her. I remember when we were about five, her coming by my aunt's house on a horse and just being amazed that a girl my age could commandeer an animal that big.

She came from a big family, a bunch of girls and one boy, Robert. He was so wild, seemed to be angry at the world. He was actually the one who taught me how to ride, and to ride bareback. He never talked much, but I fell in love with him. He was so good, and so strong and could ride so fast, he seemed like he must have been part Indian. I wonder if he remembers me at all.

I'll always remember Linda. When we were in I think 7th grade, or 8th, there was a fire out on their farm and she was running through the cornfield towards it. Her mother was driving their station wagon at the same with half the kids in it, trying to get to the fire and not seeing Linda, she accidentally ran over her. She didn't kill her, but she ran her legs over. Linda was never the same afterwards. She couldn't run like she used to. I don't think she ever even came back to school. I went to see her, but it made me so sad. It felt like she didnt' want me to see her like that.

I hope that she finally healed and is living a good life. She had a really good heart and hilarious sense of humor, and always made me feel good about myself.

Looking through the yearbook, its funny looking at the pictures of the teachers. Someone wrote "fem" on about ten of the male teachers pictures. It just makes me laugh thinking about it. And the teachers look so much younger than I remember them.

It made me think about the Mrs. Flemings that taught at Kennedy school when I was little. One taught I think it was second or third grade and one taught fifth grade. I remember back then thinking they were 90 years old. I wonder how old they really were. I remember the fifth or sixth grade one was my social studies teacher and i remember her setting up the movie reels we would watch every class. Learning about pygmies and native tribes of south america. Did those classes really matter to me as an adult? Could I have made it through adulthood without ever learning about them? I think I could have. Maybe I needed more science and more literature. I definitely needed more science and even before I was a nurse.

I turn another page and see a picture of Mrs Peck, a PE teacher and I wrote "peckerhead" next to it. And I also put a huge X across her face. If I hadn't done that, I dont' think her name would ever have registered with me. Its so weird to look back and think that, at one point they were so important, or at last that is what I thought. Why did I write "tutu" next to Mr Garafalo's picture?? Maybe ellen will remember, I will have to ask her :)

but I do thank my teachers in the little town of Ogdensburg, New York for my education. For those who fed my eagerness to learn, for those who challenged me to seek the answers to what I wanted to know, from Mrs. Tracy in first grade to Mrs Bateman in fifth. A special thank you to Penny Raftis Sharrow for teaching me the things that books and formal classes can't teach and for believing in me when no one else in the world seemed to. while we may have thought they were "fems" or "peckerheads" they provided us with a valuable education.

"A child miseducated is a child lost." John F. Kennedy

Quote of the Day

2009-10-08T00:03:00.002-04:00

We know full well the faults of our democracy-the handicaps of freedom-the inconvenience of dissent. But I know of no American who would not rather be a servant in the imperfect house of freedom, than be a master of all the empires of tyranny. Robert F. Kennedy

Do you remember me??

2009-10-07T23:50:00.003-04:00

I sat here earlier looking for a certain book and ended up coming across a yearbook from my high school years. It was 1973, the year my sister Amber graduated. I was a seventh grader myself. Going back through the pages gives me a sense of familiarity, of belonging. The pictures are funny to look at: the hairstyles and clothing, seeing some of the cars, etc. Almost 40 years ago now. Then I started reading some of the quotes. "To a real great fuzzy haired bug. Hope to see ya in the future yrs. Lots of love and luck, your pal. Laurie Tulip, '73 sci room, ". It just made me smile reading it. I wonder if Laurie Tulip even remembers me or if she would know who I am if she saw me. I still have that same fuzzy hair, but I don't think I resemble myself in any way. Then there's the note from Kathy Trivilino )(the name I remember her by) When you get married and have twins don't come to me for safety pins. Kathy Kelley-Good luck in the future (bubbles). "bubbles???" I don't have a clue what that reference is to. From Sue Bradley "to a good kid lots of luck in the future. (toe). "Toe?"" I will have to email her and ask if she remembers. So looking back gave me an idea, I wonder how many of these people I remember, or what my memories of them are. I'm going to look for my senior yearbook and then start going through it and I want to go over the names one, by one and see just how many people I actually remember and if there is a specific memory I do have. when I find the yearbook, I'll start writing :)

For the love of the Tenderhearted

2009-10-06T23:36:00.003-04:00

As I sit here to write, I have two men in mind. There's almost a 20 year difference in age, but they are so amazingly alike.

The first is a man, almost fifty, who I knew back when we were just young twenty year old's. He was a promising young military officer, brought up by loving, educated, decent parents. Very handsome, athletic, and extremely intelligent. One of the nicest people I had ever met; always with a smile on his face. We worked together for a few years and I don't ever remember him not being happy go lucky. He would tell me about his latest girlfriend, about the trips across Europe he would take, and all of the weekend's social events going on around the base. He always managed to put a smile on my face. Over the years, we kept in contact sporadically.

I knew he married not too long after we returned from Germany. He'd written to me about getting married and the excitement of buying his first house and having his first child "on the way." I'd contact his mom every now and then to get an update on his address to send Christmas cards or drop him a line. I knew he was living in Florida, so when I moved there in 2000, I tried to look him up, to no avail. His mom had moved so I was unable to pinpoint exactly where he was at.

About 18 months ago, I was finally able to reach him through his brother and mother, finding out he was living in North Carolina. We started emailing each other and had a few phone conversations, where I found out things had not turned out too well. His wife turned out to be a serious drug addict who was on a path of destruction very early in their marriage, not caring what happened to her husband and her two young sons.

He told me the whole, heartbreaking story. The drug addiction, the cocaine addiction, the crack addition and everything that goes along with that: financial nightmares, never knowing when she would be home or gone, and when she was gone, never knowing if she were dead or alive. Having to deal with two little boys who wanted to know where their mommy was at and not knowing what to tell them. Having to work to support them, but not being able to be there with them, making sure they were safe. And not wanting to give up on a marriage, because thats not the way he was raised. His parents were married over 40 some years when his father passed away. He loved his wife and didn't want his sons to be raised without a mother.

His son's would call him at work and tell him "mommy is gone" and he'd have to hurriedly leave work to go take care of them. Sometimes it would be a night or two, sometimes weeks would go by and he would never know. When she was there, money would be missing, household items, even cars would disappear-sold to buy crack.

Along with the drug addiction came adultery, he could only imagine and fear what she was doing. When her boyfriends got tired of her, she'd come back home and "promise" it wouldnt' happen again. But it happened, again, and again, and again, and again.

Over the years, he kept telling himself it would get better, she'll stop. He tried everything he could to try to get her stop. Changing himself, trying to change the surroundings, trying one option after another, hoping and praying that something would trigger inside of her to get her to stop. But you can't stop a person like that who doesn't want to stop. You can't make someone change just because you want to, you have to accept they are who they are. You can't make someone treat you with respect. You can't make someone else be a good parent. You can't make someone else turn into someone they never were to begin with.

She finally left him for good, deciding drugs were more important than her family, more valuable to her than anything else.

so what did she leave behind? A trail of disaster. Two sons who are so emotionally scarred that they don't leave the house. They have very little communication with the outside world. Two sons who have built a coat of armor around themselves, around their hearts that virtually enslaves them. They don't have friends. Neither finished school-both dropped out. Neither has learned a trade or attended college. Neither have girlfriends, or best friends that they are involved with. Some online friends-but thats the extent of it. But they do have their dad, what's left of him.

The happy go lucky friend I had? He's a broken shell of a man. The former military officer with the promising future ended up losing a succession of jobs because of his wife. He works two small part time menial jobs. He's been to jail twice because of some things she did and she was responsible for, but he was held accountable.

He's a good dad and he loves his sons, but he's afraid to hurt his sons. Therefore, he can't force them to go to school-they won't go. As much as he won't admit it, he's afraid of the repercussions from forcing them to do anything-they'll hate him, they'll leave and go live with their mother, they'll reject him, they'll abandon him, etc.

He doesn't have any real friends himself. He doesn't have a "real" life either. He can't afford to much more than house and feed his sons, so he hasn't been out of his house for years except to go to work. I've lived here in North Carolina for less than 12 weeks and I already know the area better, because I have gone out and looked around. He doesn't go look around, because he can't afford the gas.

When he comes around, if we have a disagreement, he goes running. He can't stay and discuss anything, he just runs. All that he has heard for the past twenty years is the negative stuff his wife had said to him, and the negative comments from others about being divorced, or being arrested, or losing his job. He hasn't had any positive comments in years. No one has paid any attention to him, so he has just convinced himself he's the bad guy. He's the one with the shortfalls. He's somehow responsible for all of the bad things that have happened to his children. He alone. There are smiles, but it's a game. He smiles because its polite and friendly to smile at others, and thats how he was brought up. You don't people your problems, you keep them to yourself, and you don't tell others. You don't ask for help-real people don't ask for help, any losers do. You get my point. It's been breaking my heart just to see him.

So how does he deal with it. Well he drinks his cares away. He doesn't go out to bars and unless you caught him pouring alcohol into a cup, you'd never know it. You don't really smell it. He doesn't act crazy or violent, or fall down. He just sits on his couch and has a drink every night until he falls asleep. It started off as a way to just drown out the bad times, but then it became a habit. I think he has just numbed his heart from all of the pain and sorrow he has been feeling over the years.

Then the other guy. The young guy. He too was a happy go lucky young man, as a teenager. Had friends, was going to college, played sports, had his whole life ahead of him. But like the first guy, he got married young. Too young. Like the first guy, "had" to get married. Thats what you do when you get a girl pregnant, you marry her. Even if its a great possibility the baby isn't yours. Thats not how you were raised. You marry whether you really love the person or not. Thats the "right" thing to do.

So he gets married, and while his wife isn't into drugs immediately, they are on the way. Her initial "drug" is power. Power over him. Using the children as weapons to maintain that power. "Do this or I will take the kids." "Do this or you will never see the kids again." "Quit this job, or I am leaving and taking the kids." He quits college because now he has a family to take care of. He gets jobs pretty easy, but quits as his wife demands, (she doesn't like it when there are other women in the workplace).

He goes in the army at her demand, and then he gets out as soon as he can at her demand. They move across the country for a new start, but move back to her mother's at her demand. Always with the, "do this or I will take the kids and you will never see them again, ever."

He's no longer the happy go lucky kid he used to be. He doesn't go out much in public anymore. He's got nervous twitches, "tics". He talks to himself. He's convinced himself that he is the bad guy. He loves her. He won't leave her no matter what his behavior is, because he doesn't want to be that guy who leaves a wife and kids. He won't leave with the kids, because he doesn't want to be the dad that took his kids away from their mother.

And she has progressed with her addiction, to real drugs. Initially it was just marijuana, but has grown to pills, alcohol, "oxy" parties, and occasionally cocaine. He too has been arrested. He too has made poor decisions. He too has tried to justify her behavior, change her behavior, try to change the surroundings so maybe her behavior will change, all to no avail. Because he also doesn't get: you can't make people change. You can't make people be who they aren't. They are either going to do the right thing, or the wrong thing, but it's their choice and no matter how hard you try, it has to be their decision, their action, it has to be a part of their "being" to be what they are.

As I look at the younger guy, I realize, he is just the younger version of my older friend. This is how the destruction of a life happens. I've watched it from the beginning and I've watched how his personality has changed. I've watched as he has made bad decision after bad decision after bad decision, all because he doesn't want to give up on a marriage, doesn't want to be away from his children, and doesn't want to accept that his life with his wife is never going to be what he wants it to be, ever.

He's now sitting in jail. He hasn't turned to alcohol to drown out his sorrow-at least not yet. He's in the "I don't know how to fix this but I will do 100 stupid things to try and fix it" stage. And he's going to end up paying for it. He's an army war veteran with a college degree with years of work experience who has been fired, been arrested, and believes he is the cause of all of the problems in his family and his life. His self esteem is also completely shattered. While he was not perfect beforehand, he is not even a shell of who and what he used to be.

so what do these two guys have in common? What is it about them, that they have taken the paths they have taken?

They are both tender hearted.

They have the kind of hearts that will forgive over, and over and over. they will accept blame and responsibility because they are willing to "understand and forgive" the other person, over and over and over again, no matter how destructive it is to themselves. They don't want to stop loving. They don't want to give up hope. They just believe in love and that love will fix everything. They've loved the people in their lives so much more than they loved themselves, that they both now believe they are unlovable.

Many people don't understand people with a tender heart. I understand. I've been there. I made the same mistakes they made. I've lost jobs. I've been to a jail cell. I've blamed myself for "causing" my husband to leave me. I've convinced myself that I don't deserve to be loved and that its easier to just close out the world. I got to the point where I literally begged on my knees.

I shudder now at the thought of what I allowed to happen. I understand now that my intentions were good, they were right. My intention was to hold my family together. My intention was thinking that it really could be fixed if I just gave a little more, did a little more, said a little less, complained a little less. You do that long enough and you really do convince yourself that you do not matter. Thats its okay not to matter. You do everything you can to try and protect your heart, not realizing that you are giving another person the ability to destroy your heart.

Over the past couple years, I've had people tell me I am "heartless". That I am "mean," or "callous" or whatever they want to call me. I am not heartless. i still have a heart. I feel it pounding inside of me every day. I see and think about some things and I do my best to hide my tears. I figured I cried enough in the past 14 years that I don't need to cry anymore. I stand up for myself now and refuse to take any crap from anyone. Anyone wants to ignore my feelings or step all over me, I no longer tolerate it. And I speak up. I don't bite my tongue anymore. I don't cower away afraid of being rejected because of having my own opinion. I am no longer afraid of being me and standing up for what I believe in.

I am not closed off to love. I have found that out a couple times over the past year. I'm not closed off to trust, I do have some trust, I just don't blindly trust by nature anymore. I'll trust you while holding one eye a little more open than the other.

I wish I could do something to protect these two men. I too, wish I could change them into being how I want them to be. but I have learned, you can't make someone be who you want them to be. They have to want to be that person themselves. they have to take action on their own and it has to be a part of their being.

I hope they both know that I love them with all of my heart. That they are lovable, that they did not deserve what happened to them, and that they do deserve to be loved.

And I hope they both learn to love themselves.

the Kennedys

2009-10-06T00:03:00.001-04:00

I finally got to use my barnes and nobles gift card and went looking for books. I found a wonderful book of quotes by the Kennedy brothers. Only thing is, I really don't care what Ted Kennedy had to say. So I skipped over his words and finished it up today.

ten months later.............. :)

2009-10-05T23:40:00.003-04:00

I didn't intend on abandoning my blog. Sometimes life just gets too busy. So I made a promise to myself, I will try to get back in the habit of writing daily.

The last time I posted, I was living in Orlando, Florida in my own home, with three teenagers, and two dogs. I am now living in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, with one teenager, two dogs and a cat. Amazing how much can change in such a short amount of time.

It seems as though my string of bad luck has continued, but I am trying to keep the words of Robert Kennedy in mind as I go through this life. "Good luck is something you make, and bad luck is something you endure."

I got here to NC a couple months ago, and right around my second week, I asked for permission to leave a little early so I could go to my son's football game. I got about two blocks from the parking garage and was following a careless teenage girl who was driving some mammoth vehicle. She was flying down the street and I could see she was on her cell phone, just talking away. I tried to stay 3-4 car lengths behind her, keeping a close eye, as it was rush hour traffic in Durham. Suddenly I noticed that she was not paying attention and was going to smash into the car in front of her. I honked my horn and slammed on my brakes. She hit the other car as soon as I honked my horn and I skidded into her bumper. My car came to a complete halt once it hit her bumper, barely scratching the rubber on her car, but mangling my front end of my Tucson, arghhhhhhh. I got out to make sure every one was okay. The girl in front was a young girl, who seemed okay, thankfully, as her car was sent flying. The teenager with the phone addiction didn't put down her cell phone to check on anyone and seemed to ignore what happened. We were lucky no one was injured as there were a bunch of people walking right there who had just stepped off the bus.

I call my insurance company, which is still in Florida, and after a small run around, get my car towed and get a ride home. The next day, the rental car agency delivers a car to me at my rental house. I get in the car with my son and my niece, and driving less than a mile away, a rock pops up and cracks the windshield of the rental car. Double arghhhhhhhhhhh!! I have to trade out the rental car for a new car. I have that car a couple days and that windshield gets a crack in it from a rock. I think get a van to take to orlando to try and pack up my stuff to return to NC.

Everything in Orlando went fairly well (another long story) and I returned to Chapel Hill. I turn in the van and pick up my car, after it being in the repair shop for almost a month. Driving home from the repair shop, a rock is pitched from the truck driving in front of me and sure enough, I now have a crack in my windshield. Thats sort of how my life has been. I can be driving a long, and someone throws a rock at me, slows me down. I get up and start fixing things and start picking up the pieces. While I am still there picking up the pieces, someone else throws a rock. before to long, I am being burdened down picking rocks up off from being tossed in different directions. I say it is now someone elses turn.

Christmas memories

2008-12-19T22:37:00.002-05:00

With Christmas less than a week away, I've been thinking about memories of Christmas past. Growing up, even though we were pretty poor, I always got what I asked for. Someone asked me the other day what my favorite Christmas present was and for me, it was a doll named Swingy. She was a blond doll who danced. She just kind of moved all around in a circle. At one point I had broken her, I think I actually threw her across the room for some reason. I remember picking up her head and crying because she was broke. What felt like months later, my mom called me into her bedroom and there she was, all fixed and dancing across the floor. I don't know if she fixed her or if she bought a new one, but I was happy as can be.

One year, I wanted a vanity. I came down the stairs and there it was, right in front of the tree. I ran to it and just knew it was mine. It was one of those antique white plastic vanity's with the pink top and little drawers to put things in. I sat there looking in the mirror not wanting to get up, but Mom and Dad made me sit at the table to eat breakfast before I could play with it.

I remember the year my sister Judy got four barbie dolls in one case. One of them was called Casey and she had short brown hair and had modern clothes. There was a black doll in the case, and I think her name may have been Teresa. The barbie I got that year was a Skipper doll with bendable arms. She had long long blond hair, just like Jan Brady. I loved that doll. I remember having a scooter doll with her and I looked more like Scooter than Skipper.

A few years, I had to laugh at my gifts. I was surprised one Christmas to receive a guitar. I didn't ask for one, but my brother John did. My mother couldnt' remember who asked for it, and she thought it was me. I don't know why I didn't just give it to John. I had no interest in learning the guitar. I played the drums. I wanted to play the flute, but I wasn't any good at sound instruments.

Then one year, my sister Tisha and I were snooping in Mom's room to see what she was hiding. She used to hide things under the clothes in her closet. This was right around 1968-1969 and I had never owned a pair of jeans or pants, other than an occasional stretch pants that I could only wear at home. We didn't wear pants to school or really outside. We wore snow pants with our dresses. Tisha and I found this bag and there was this ugly pair of pants in it, it was sort of brown and green patchwork. They looked sort of like camouflage. We laughed and talked about how ugly the pair of pants mom got for John was. They were hideous. Well on Christmas morning, much to my surprise, I opened one gift and there were the ugly pants, for me. Here I wanted the cool big bottom blue jeans like Amber had, and I had the ugliest pants in the world.

When we were married, my ex husband was never very good at buying christmas presents. For the first few years, I didn't really receive anything. Then one year, he bought me a pink sweatshirt. It was cute. And then my mom sent me a pink sweatshirt. I thanked both of them for the gift. This was around 1982 or so when sweatshirts were "in". Then for at least the next ten years, both of them bought me pink shirts, sweatshirts or sweaters. I quickly learned to despise pink shirts of any kind. But oh, those were the days.

My most favorite gift I received as an adult was a book by Jimmy Stewart. He used to come on Johnny Carson and read his poems and I just loved them. One poem, he wrote about his dog named Beau. We had a dog named Lobo and it just reminded me of him. I still have that book :)

I wish I could recreate the excitement of the holidays that we felt as kids. Every year Tisha and I were going to stay up all night and just catch Santa Claus (no, we never did). One year me, Tisha and brother John were looking out the window trying to see if we could see Santa and it must have been a falling star, because we saw this sparkle in the sky. John assured me it was Santa Claus. Even though we would all do our own thing throughout the year, every year on christmas morning the five of us would race down the stairs to scramble under the tree and pick out the packages with our names on them.

As we got older, Tisha and I realized that the one's who stopped writing to Santa Claus received less and less each year. So we continued to write Santa Claus well into our early teens, to the point that our mother told us, "No, there is no such thing as Santa Claus. It's just us." We argued and pleaded that no, we still believed, we still believed :)

I don't know what the holiday is going to be like around here next week, but at least I have the wonderful memories of a house full of giggling kids watching their dreams come true.

Merry Christmas :)

So six months later ......................

2008-11-16T02:02:00.003-05:00

I can't believe six months has passed by since my last blog.

I just finished reading a blog from a former christian discussing why he doesn't pray anymore. He decided that this many years later, he just doesn't believe in "the big guy." So sad, for him anyway.

I think I have probably prayed more this year than any other year in my life, active prayer that is. I've prayed for the election. I've prayed for a close friend whose marriage has come to an end. I've prayed for my children: for the oldest to mature and be more responsible with his family, for my middle one who plans on seeking out her birth mother in less than a year, and then there is the prayer for my youngest. He is the one I pray for the most.

I imagine being 13 is a lot more complicated these days than it was in 1973. Our lives were so much easier. We went to school, came home and did chores, ate as a family at the dinner table, watched a TV show and went to bed. We didn't have 100's of TV channels to captivate us until the wee hours of the morning. We didn't have computers or IPODS and we damn sure didn't have cell phones. We went to school with the same kids from kindergarten until we graduated. Every once in awhile we would get a new student and everyone wanted to be the first one to make friends.

My 13 year old wrote a paper for his English class this week in which the theme was "Memoir". He wrote about the "worst years of his life". He talked about how many times he has changed schools, how many times he has had to start over making friends, trying out for teams, trying to fit in-somewhere. As I sat there reading it, was it any wonder he has progressively gotten into trouble at school and having problems fitting in? I never had to worry about being the new kid in school. I grew up with Ellen and Freddie and then added several other friends along the way. My best friend now is the same best friend I had in junior high school. We may not live near each other, but I know that, if I need her, she'll come.

As a former army wife, I moved just about every other year, and have left a "best friend" in just about every community I have ever lived in. Gabby in Thatcher, Arizona; Erma and Ann in Killeen; Denise, Gabby, Teri, Tina, Cindy, Pat and a bunch of others in Dallas; Kathy up in Maryland; Bill P who is now in NC. Since I've been here in Orlando, I've been able to make several close friends who I love dearly: Doreen, Pat, Lenny, Pam, Lisa, Kesha, Nesha, Isabel, and Beth. Then I have my internet friends: Linda in CA, Carol, Mia, Dani, Sandra, Diana, and Dale :)

And then there is Johnny :) He actually used to be my ex-husbands best friend. Man, for the first couple years, he used to drive me nuts. I would get so mad at him, I couldn't stand him. We are like night and day, polar opposites. At several points, we lived in the same house and actually got along. Before I knew it, Johnny grew on me, so much so, that I don't know how I would have made it over the years. He can always make me laugh. He knows how to comfort me when I need it. He knows how to calm me when I am in a rage. I think out of all of the friends I have had over the years, he is the one who truly "gets me". Who'd a thought :)

When I read about the man who stopped praying and didn't believe in God anymore, it just made me think about all of the friends God has givenme over the years. I don't believe that the people I have as friends were just coincidentally living in the same place as me. They are all angels in my eyes, heaven sent. Each one of them just seemed to be there when I needed someone. They showed up right on time in my life. I think they are all answered prayer. On so many nights when I didn't know what to pray for, I would pray to God for comfort, for love. Just to know that someone out there cared about me. And so he sent a friend.

At home, as a young teenager thrown away by my closest friends, God sent Debbie to pick me up off the ground. I don't even remember how it happened that we became such good friends, she just showed up when I needed a friend. When I got to Arizona, away from home for the first time, and feeling lonely, and definitely not fitting in with anyone, Gabby showed up out of nowhere. When I went to Germany, God sent Erma my way. We ended up buying houses together down the street from each other, and having kids at the same time.

When I think back now, when I lived in Dallas, I had so many wonderful friends, I was so lucky. I don't think it was mere coincidence that I had so many "best" friends all at one time, because little did I know, but I ended losing my marriage there. I fell so completely apart and lost my will to live, that it took a village of friends to bring me back to life.

God has continued his pattern of sending me the friends I need as I go along in life. How can I doubt the existence of God? How can I not pray? I think so many times we ask God for things and then we don't see them when He sends them. I didn't realize at the time, but every time I asked for comfort or asked for a sign that someone loved me, He sent his troops in in the guise of these wonderful angels. All I had to do was open my eyes to see answered prayer.

Its taken me these 48 years to realize the power of prayer. To all of my friends out there in the world, thanks for coming into my life and lifting me up. Thank you God, for sending them.

Okay, enough already, here's a story :)

2008-05-21T18:39:00.005-04:00

(This is Thatcher, Arizona, where the sign says on both sides "Eastern Arizona College". It is the only stop light in town.)

Eastern Arizona College

Joy Duncan - wearing my bathing suit

Since I have been nagged by a few friends to write some more, here goes, this one's for you Lenny:

A long time ago, in a galaxy, far far away, in a land called Arizona, I went to college. I picked Arizona because the family that I used to babysit for were planning on relocating there and I figured heck, if I couldn't get to Hawaii, Arizona could be the next best thing. Eastern Arizona College. The brochure the school sent was wonderful, obviously meant to paint a fraudulent picture of life in Thatcher, Arizona. It showed pictures of the ocean, pictures of beautiful mountains, rivers etc. Very picturesque. For those of you who may not know anything about eastern arizona, there is no water, no rivers, and it is not near an ocean. There are mountains though, rocky mountains. Picture a desolate desert town, with a few buildings and one stop light.

I was visiting an older brother in Arkansas who put me on a greyhound bus to my destination in Arizona. The "kind" greyhound bus driver told me he was dropping me off in the front of the registration building, such a nice, caring man. I grabbed my two little bags and hopped on off and was a little slow in noticing that I was dropped off in front of a crowd of about 100 big muscular guys. Just happened it turned out to be the boy's dormitory. Keep in mind, I had only seen maybe two or three minorities tops, in my entire life (seeing that St Lawrence County in NY is made up of only white, french, catholic, short people).

Two guys walked up to me and told me that I shouldn't be headed in that direction, that it was indeed the boy's dorm and they offered to walk me to the Registration building. I remember thinking how kind they were. On a side note, I ended up marrying and later divorcing one of them (thats a whole volume of stories).

I was assigned a room in Nellie Lee Dormitory, being the third female to arrive on campus that semester. I could take my pick of rooms. I unpacked my belongings which included some sports jerseys and trophies from high school. (Proud soccer, basketball and softball player for the OFA Blue Devils). I had one picture I made in shop class out of copper, where I engraved the face of the devil on it and painted the perimeter blue, in keeping with our theme.

As the dorm is filling up, I was assigned a roommate, Sydney. Beautiful girl, blond haired, pretty enough to be an actress. We was rather quiet those first two nights, didn't talk much and I figured she was shy. On Day three, when I got back from lunch, she was gone, bags and all. She had moved to a private room. Her reason? She believed me to be a devil worshipper because of my copper blue devil. She was only the second person in my life I had ever met who wasn't a Catholic. She was a member of the Mormon church, which most of the campus was.

After that, the dorm was filling up rapidly, but no one wanted to be my roommate, because I was a New Yorker. I had girls ask me, "so what is it like to shoot heroin? and have you ever worked as a hooker?" I couldn't believe it. They thought I was some big city tramp with a drug problem, just because I was from NY. I tried in vain to explain that where I am from in NY, its just a little tiny town on the border of Canada and the worst crime reported in the newspaper back then was "Dog found running at large.". Needless to say, I was without a roommate until a week before classes started.

The dorm mother, the wonderful Martha Winkler, comes to me and asks me if I would consider this girl, Joy, to be my roommate. She was also from New York. I was like, "sure, no problem, why wouldn't I?" Well, I was told, "well Joy is a 'colored' girl". Everyone else refused her as a roommate. I couldn't believe it. And come to find out, she was from Auburn, New York, which wasn't far from my hometown.

Joy Duncan. Her mom came with her to school and her mom stayed for the first two weeks. Joy was such a nice quiet girl. The mother was so nice, too. At the end of the two week period, Joy's mom headed on back to Auburn. That night, the first night her mom was gone, Joy went to dinner and didn't come home. I was scared to death. I remember thinking that someone kidnapped the black girl because they didn't want a minority in our building. I had visions of all these horrible things happening to her. Poor little Joy. The security guard just kind of laughed at me when I told him at midnight, that Joy was nowhere to be found.

I went to breakfast the next morning, and who shows up? Well, Joy, with about a thousand hickies all over her. She was a lighter skinned black girl, but do you know how hard it is to have that many hickies on that kind of complexion? I told her I was worried sick about her and where in hell did she go. Well she told me, she spent the night with Randy "mad dog" Jackson, this little scrawny white guy from Georgia. I look around and Randy is sitting with the rest of the football team and showing all of them his "hickies", including the ones that were below the belt line, if you catch my drift. Ah, to be so young and so naive. (translation - stupid). And I worried about her nasty ass.
Over the next semester, she would come back to the room every few days and finally take a bath. She never brushed her teeth. One day, a few other friends and I grab her and drag her to the bathroom and hold her down on the floor and take a toothbrush and toothpaste and brush her teeth, telling her that her breath smelled like shit and we couldnt' take it anymore.

Next thing, she starts wearing my clothes. Not just my clothes like jeans or shirts, but my underwear. Now I grew up in a house full of girls, but I would never wear any of my sisters underwear, still gross just thinking about it. So I would take my clothes from the bottom of her closet and wash them, and toss the underpants in the trash. At this point, we started arguing on a daily basis. "Don't wear my shit, especially with your nasty whorish ass, and your stinky no teeth brushing breath." She kept it up. And she kept up her late night escapades in the boys dormitory.

So much so, she ends up getting kicked out of school. So for a few weeks, she was trying to get up enough nerve to tell her mother she had to come home and made up some story. I gave her an ultimatum, get out of my room and don't touch my stuff.

I am off with another weird friend one day, looking at the accident site where a fellow student, Greg Morales died (thats another story) We had to ride bicycles to get to that place, because it was a few miles out on the highway to Safford, Arizona. This friend comes by in his car and tells me that he just took Joy to the greyhound station and she was gone. I remember feeling such relief.

Then he tells me. "She packed all your shit, all your clothes, your blankets, everything, your shoes, underwear, everything. She took it all." WHAT?????? So he tells me again, "yup, she took your suitcases, and packed everything of yours and took it all with her home to NY. I told her not to, not to be like that, but she said too bad." ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I thought it had to be a friggin joke. He gives me a ride in his car and I am in tears, still not sure whether to believe him or not. Well he wasn't lying. I get back to the dorm, and back to my room, and it was all gone, everything. Absolutely everything. Well she left me the hotplate and a hairdryer. But everything else I owned was gone. The clothes, the linens, even my hairbrush, all gone.

All I could think about was how naive I was, once again, "will you let this poor girl be your roommate? no one else will. And her mother is such a nice lady, she is here with her and her mother approves of you." hhmmphhh.

One of the first people who came to console me, was my original roommate of two days, Sydney the Mormon. We had become friends afterall over the months of that first college year. She decided about three weeks into school that she no longer wanted to be a member of the Mormon church and plotted ways to get ex-communicated. I think her final action which worked was she slept with the local bishop. She got ex communicated all right. Then she threw this wild ex-communication party. It was one of the best parties I ever went to in college.

Is there a moral to this story? Not really. It just taught me a thing or two about first impressions. The crazy Mormon chick might be your best friend a year from now, and the familiar voice from home may be your worst nightmare. Oh yeah, and never have a roommate.

to be continued.............

For Pete

2008-02-05T00:41:00.000-05:00

Everyone once in a while I feel motiviated to write, just a little. Here is my latest, a poem for my friend and buddy Pete:

What do you say when you want to give a friend hope.
You want to make sure, that they survive, and not end up, with their neck through a rope.
You want to tell them stories that encourage them and promise great joy and true happiness.
Let them know that they can come out alive, from their current life mess.
So where do you go, to find what you want to say, and what stories to tell,
The bookstores have books on this, which they would be more than happy to sell.
There are books by men named Max Lucado and TD Jakes,
Which are a million times better than the ones written by some Christian fakes.
My favorite is probably max’s book, He Still Moves Stones, in Chapter Three.
In a story about a man God has called to set his people free.
Born to a slave, who set him upon the Nile to find the pharoah’s daughter,
To prevent him from being one of those babies killed in Ramses infant slaughter.
Raised as a king’s son, in the palace with no expenses spared,
But when witnessed a slave murdered, his actions showed that he cared.
He killed the man who killed the slave and to the wilderness he fled.
I’m sure old Ramses just thought he was dead.
But God had other plans for this man they called Moses, a shepherd he was to be
Because he would be responsible for helping the Hebrews to be set free.
One night while sitting around a certain bush, thinking about his sheep
The bush became engulfed in fire, it was so quiet, at first Moses couldn’t hear a peep.
But then came the voice from Heaven, for it was God who would now speak.
Telling Moses to take off his shoes, and letting him know on holy ground he stood
Explaining that he could lead his people to freedom, walk right out of Egypt he could.
I wonder what Moses was thinking when the creator of the universe explained his plan to him that day
Probably, “there is no way in heck I can do this, there is just no way”
I am just a nobody, an old man who tends sheep
Why do you bestow your faith on me, Dear Lord, isn’t this a giant leap?
I imagine the Lord giggled, I am sure he has a sense of humor
Remember the armadillo? God laughed when he made it, of this I heard a rumor.
“Why Moses, you wonder, why I chose to select you for this important mission
I know all, I hear all, and I see all, imagine this vision:
My people will walk from the west to the east
They will take their belongings and all of their burdens of beast.
I know there is a sea, that is directly in your path, on the way to your new land.
But I will be there, like always, and I will give you a hand.
For god is all powerful, all knowing and mighty as can be,
With the wave of his rod, he allowed Moses to part the Red Sea.
Nothing can stop the Lord, from what he chooses to do,
Not the actions of little old me, or little old you.
When God makes up his mind that there is an action he wants you to take
He uses all kinds of drastic measures, causing you to choose the option you must take.
It may not seem like magic, the ways that he chooses to help us all out
Sending us to jail to help us? We surely do doubt.
Being in jail tends to put people where they belong, way down on their knees
But God is there, he is there always, He never leaves.
He wants us to think about the life he has given us, what a great gift that is
We always choose our own ways, instead of following his.
He has given us the rules, the Ten Commandments, we know them well
Living by those rules, never breaking them, is a story I would like to tell.
But we are mere humans, not Godly and perfect like He
But one day in heaven, that is exactly how it will be.
Every day we see glimpses of heaven all around us, here and there
I have seen a few of them, and I have a few stories to share.
I’ve seen a boy named Payton with a dog named Brownie, laughing and running
I’ve seen a bride out in Texas, the prettiest, the most stunning.
I’ve watched people run to those in need to help out
In places like New Orleans, when Katrina caused so many to doubt.
I’ve watched the birth of babies, many who weighed less than a pound.
They have survived, all miracles, we’ve found.
I’ve seen people with no legs, who have learned how to walk
You see Jesus performs real miracles, he speaks the real talk.
You may think he doesn’t know about you, young Peter Lalonde, yes you.
But I assure you not only does he know you, he really loves you.
His death on the cross washed away all of our sins
And for this reason, we can do nothing but win.
Life is about dreams, and the hope that they one day come true.
Look up at the skies, and watch the stars following you.
God is upstairs watching over you and me
He loves us so much, he wants us to be happy.
When life leaves you doubting about what is wrong and what is right
Look up into heavens, and look for that bright light.
God loves us all so much Pete, I hope you can feel it tonight
Say your prayers, believe in Him, and He will make things just right.
As proof of above, he has already given you the best gift of all
A daughter named Adrian, and for her you must not fall.
You just have to learn from your mistakes and have faith in the Lord,
Keep busy, make plans to do things for when your life becomes bored.
Learn to love yourself Peter, is the message God told me to give to you
God loves you, you belong to him, yes, you most certainly do.
I wrote this for you my friend, my buddy, my little Pete
You have always been special to me, yes my little sweet.
God says to tell you, he has a special message for you,
“Hey Pete, this is God, I really do love you.”

It's just another day in the neighborhood, another day....

2008-01-29T19:27:00.000-05:00

Just sitting here thinking about what to write, and all of a sudden I was thinking of Fred Rogers, not really quite sure why, and probably don't really want to know. A couple friends told me they were looking for my next blog, so I am trying to oblige...

It's been almost ten days since my last blog, so trying to remember what has happened in that time. The Giants of course are on their way to the superbowl with the Patriots. The cowboy fans in the house are now planning to root for the Patriots. Not me, I just can't join that Tom Brady bandwagon. Something about the whole abandoning a pregnant girlfriend thing and being a schmuck. So when Sunday arrives, I'll be in my recliner cheering on the Giants. I am a New Yorker after all.

Youngest son is still trying to drive me straight to the funny farm. He has gotten detention probably 9 of the past 12 school days. It is still "never his fault." It's a conspiracy. He was only asking a question. He was only trying to twirl his erasers, he really wasn't trying to hit the girl in the back of her head. He makes my brain numb, because I just don't get it. How can anyone enjoy public scolding on a daily basis and then come home to a livid mom who wants to beat you?

It was a bad week for one of my friends and I felt so bad for her, I wanted to search out the piece of scum who hurt her and destroy him. Why is it always the really nice people that get hurt? The ones who so quickly open their hearts and help others, who truly know how to love people, they are the ones that the evildoers just wreck and destroy. This girl, it just kills me, I have watched her for about four to five years now, she is such a beautiful girl, in site, in personality, and in her heart. She is the type who would do anything for anyone in need. If she were on her way to the ball, but if on her way, she came across a poor unfortunate soul who needed a ride, or food, or someone to make a phone call for them, anything, she would drop her plans and do for them. When I think about all of the times I have had bad attitudes, and done negative stuff, or lost my temper, it just makes me feel so very humbled when I think of how she is. She is truly, genuinely one of the kindest souls God has ever put on this earth. Unfortunately, I don't know how find the cretin who hurt her. I feel like calling my friend Jackie in New Orleans, and having her put that "potion" on him. If I had his picture, Jackie would show me how to put it in the hollow of the tree, and make the wind blow him away, forever. I better make sure my friend doesnt' have any underwear planted in her front yard. Since I am a Christian, I have to turn to God for help and I hope and pray the Lord deals with him, in just the right way.

The other highlight of my week was going to a "women's get together" with some friends. It was supposed to be to just get out of the house, have some laughs, and spend time with other women. Hey if you don't have a guy to spend time with, women with a sense of humor are the next best thing, or so I thought. I offer to drive the one friend to the hosts house. We get there, absolutely stunning house. I look around, and its about 20-25 really young women, 20ish. It's a catalog party, but what I didn't really understand, its a sex toy catalog party. Sooooooooooooo the last place I would have wanted to be on earth, was at this type of party, especially with a bunch of skinny, snotty little 20 year olds. The sales lady, (and I feel very generous using the word lady), had a table of products. They had gels and lotions and during the party, she had several of the girls go into the bathroom and put these products on, and come out and tell us how they made us feel. I leaned over and asked my friend, (is this supposed to be for lesbians, because they KNOW WE ARE NOT, RIGHT?). She tells me its just for fun. They mix product show and tell along with games, for entertainment. One of the games required all of the women to write down phrases said during sex. Everyone put their papers in a pot, and then drew one out. When they called your number, you were supposed to stand up and shout out, with emotion, the words written on your paper. Initially I just stood in the corner, and refused to write anything. I finally jotted down, "oh shit! this is stupid and disgusting." referring to the game. The lady came and took my paper. When they handed them all back, I managed to get my own paper back, which made me chuckle. I ended up deciding this was no place for me, and I went outside and looked around her house and yard, admiring the beautiful tile in the driveway. If I hadn't brought the other ladies, I would have left as soon as I saw the products on the table. But I felt bad because I was the driver so I sat in the corner, just watching the others. In one chair was two lesbians. One had a teri cloth sort of wrap on, the kind of thing you wear over a bathing suit. Only this chick wasn't covering a bathing suit, she was butt naked underneath. She decided to spread her legs and give us all a view, and then stand up and bent over right in front of us, several times. As a nurse who had to go to labor and delivery for years, I have seen about 1000 more naked women than I ever wanted to, so I just shook my head. No one said anything. I sat there thinking I am nuts, as I am the only person apparentlybothered. Or so I thought. I started watching the sales lady and after closer examination she reminded me of this one particular prostitute I was aware of named Sherrie. At that point, I wanted to vomit and told my friend that I was leaving. Most of the people had gone by that point. My friend was thanking the host for inviting her and I noticed one of the other women go over to the chair that the britney wannabe was sitting in, and she sprayed lysol all over it and wiped it down. I think I would have opted to throw the damn chair away.

As I left the party, I accepted the fact that the world doesn't' believe in tupperware parties anymore. I picked up my kids and went home and made the decision that if I am ever invited for anymore "women get togethers" I think I will just pass. While I don't relish staying at home listening to my 12 year old son tell me excuse of the day, I would rather sit in my bed playing solitaire on my laptop.

I never thought the day would come when I would admit, I miss Mr. Rogers

Kids can drive you to drink, amongst other things..............

2008-01-21T21:18:00.000-05:00

All three of my sons have drove me nuts today. My youngest, with the attention span of a fly, did everything but the things I told him he needed to do. I guess its my fault, because I should know better than to ask him to do anything when I am not right there to instruct, monitor and guide all along the way. He did manage to find time to talk to girls half the day on the telephone.

Second son joins everything he can possibly can, with our relationship being chauffeur and person being chauffeured. He thinks that because his activities are all at church, I should be happy and it should all be allowed. I am supposed to provide rides on Monday evenings, Wednesday afternoons and evenings, Thursday evenings, occasional Friday evenings, Saturday afternoons or evenings, and Sunday morning and afternoons. If I can't get him there, he will ride his bike, which should make me happy. However, the road to church is a major four lane thoroughfare, which crosses under a major toll road and the road where more pedestrians have been killed than any other street in Orlando. He comes home and tells me how he made the team for one more activity. Yippee............ arghhhhhhhh. I am happy for him, I just hate the thought of spending one more minute on that road going back and forth everyday. I should have been a cab driver.

The third son is the biggest PITA. He and his wife separated just before the holidays. I don't believe in divorce, but realize this was something doomed to happen from the beginning. I am not going to say anything about her, I will leave her to her mother, handling my son is enough. He is the epitome of immaturity. The father of four kids, yet he can't get off his butt and make a better life for those kids. He wants to, just doesn't have the wherewithall to get up off his rump and do something about it. He can come up with excuses just as quick as a five year old when they break something they weren't supposed to be touching. Tough love is such a hard thing to do. You don't want to see your kids or your grandkids go without. But giving them every penny you have doesn't change anything either, because they will lose, give away, or destroy anything you do give. If only he were 12 years old, I would go pick him up by the scruff of his shirt and beat his ass. There are so many guys his age (28-30) who can sit for hours and hours each day in front of the latest gimmick from Sony, any nintendo, play station, Wii, any game system in the world. Those things they can concentrate on. But leaving the house to apply for a better job, no way. They are crippled. Cleaning up their apartment? Well they can pick up all the empty drink cans and throw them into a trash bag in the corner, and wipe the food off the TV stand and get rid of all the pizza boxes, but they can't make their beds or wash their bathtubs out. While they can afford the games that cost a few hundred bucks, they will not splurge on an iron and ironing board, heaven forbid. My grandkids aren't into reading books, but they can beat all of their aunts and uncles in any mario brothers games. I don't think my son has any higher aspirations than working as a waiter at Red Lobster. After all, he doesn't need to own a house. He doesn't care if they never have real furniture-heck, all you need is a mattress on the floor in front of the TV/game system. He's not into the finer things like a real set of dishes for four people, or bath towels that don't have holes all through them. Who needs a washer and dryer? You can wait until get you get 20 loads, and then run to the laundromat and do it all together, just once a month. Kids don't really need socks, they can just wear sandals, after all, they live in Texas. You barely need even sandals out there most of the year. If they actually went outside they would need them to protect their feet from the heat of the pavement, but no, the kids don't like going outside. When they lived here, my oldest granddaughter became hysterical when I made her walk around the block with us. She was sure a big dog was going to come and get her.

Thank goodness my daughter and her wonderful husband are not the same way. Their daughter is as normal as I am (hehehehe). She already loves to be read to, and I am sure will read on her own soon (and will learn to say, "I know thats not my Nana, Mama, it's a banana"). She loves going to the park to play with other kids, climb monkey bars, and to go see the animals at the zoo. I don't think she will be owning any electronic games anytime soon, if ever. They had a really nice set of furniture before I ever did. Their house is generally cleaner than mine (although, these days, Mama may be a little busier with someone little to run around behind). There is no way their daughter would ever be running around with no clean clothes available.

I guess it all averages out, the kids who drive you crazy with the kids who put a smile on your face. God surely has a keen sense of humor and knows how to make one chuckle :)

Some of my favorite quotes about children/parenting:

It would seem that something which means poverty, disorder and violence every single day should be avoided entirely, but the desire to beget children is a natural urge. ~Phyllis Diller

You don't really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around - and why his parents will always wave back. ~William D. Tammeus

It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn't. ~Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

The beauty of "spacing" children many years apart lies in the fact that parents have time to learn the mistakes that were made with the older ones - which permits them to make exactly the opposite mistakes with the younger ones. ~Sydney J. Harris

Sing out loud in the car even, or especially, if it embarrasses your children. ~Marilyn Penland

You will always be your child's favorite toy. ~Vicki Lansky, Trouble-Free Travel with Children, 1991

There may be some doubt as to who are the best people to have charge of children, but there can be no doubt that parents are the worst. ~George Bernard Shaw

Now the thing about having a baby - and I can't be the first person to have noticed this - is that thereafter you have it. ~Jean Kerr

Labor Day is a glorious holiday because your child will be going back to school the next day. It would have been called Independence Day, but that name was already taken. ~Bill Dodds

Parents are not interested in justice; they are interested in quiet. ~Bill Cosby

If your kids are giving you a headache, follow the directions on the aspirin bottle, especially the part that says "keep away from children." ~Susan Savannah

Go Giants!!

2008-01-13T21:20:00.001-05:00

Little did I realize I was amongst traitors until I sat down to watch the New York Giants score an easy win over the Dallas Cowboys this afternoon. I am happy to report that the members of my household who were rooting for the 'boys are rather silent, as they do their chores this evening. Not that I would gloat or anything, but I just couldn't be happier this evening, thinking about the cowboys having to watch the superbowl from the privacy of their own homes :)

My feelings about the cowboys started such a long time ago, when I was a mere child growing up with my older irritating brother John. I would be happily sitting in the living room on the footstool watching either the Partridge Family or the Courtship of Eddie's Father, some nice little family show, and he would come running into the living room, tackling me onto the floor, shouting out the name of some dallas linebacker. You would never have caught me singing the virtues of the likes of some guy like Roger Staubach.

Years later, when I was forced to reside in the state of Texas thanks to the US Military, it just reinforced my hatred for the cowboys. The longer I lived there, the more the cowboys seemed to embody everything I didn't like about Texas. For a short while, I started to suffer a little loss of brain function and actually thought about "maybe" trying to be a fan, but then they fired Tom Landry and that thought never entered my brain again.

Tom Landry was one of the nicest men, of who I had good fortune to meet, once upon a time. I met him under unfortunate circumstances with the illness of his daughter, who succumbed to cancer at a very young age. It was such a tragedy.

Then between Jerry Jones and Jimmy Johnson, I learned to despise the cowboys even more. I lived in Dallas during the times that just about everybody on the team besides Troy and Emmitt were arrested. To me, Michael Irvin represented everything I did not like about the team. Occasionally some of the local radio stations would give away tickets to Texas stadium to see the cowboys and I would rush out to whatever intersection they were at to win a pair, just so we could go to the game, to boo the cowboys. I don't care who they played, it was great fun to stand in the stands full of fans and yell YOU SUCK DALLAS!!

At the time, I worked at Baylor University Medical Centers NICU, and the other nurses all loved the cowboys. They used to bring in cowboy material to make the beds of all the babies in the unit on the weekends they had games. I would scramble all over dallas to find material for whatever the team of the week was who was opposing them. I would have my two babies beds decorated with everything I could find for the other team.

Even though it was a long time ago, I still get a big smile whenver I see the cowboys lose. The topping on the cake today, was having them lose to the Giants. Who better to beat a Texas team than a New York team :)

So in addition to my blog tonight, I am sending big smiles to Cindy G, Fay, Patbo, Tina Wina, Gabby, and brother John :)

Public Area Pet Peeves

2008-01-08T00:00:00.001-05:00

After spending quite a few days out in public over the holidays, I've run into a few of my old favorite pet peeves. The things that people do in public that just make you wanna go crazy and say some stuff, you know you don't really have any right to say.

One of my least favorite things about being in crowded public places is the fact that so many people don't know how to get to hell out of the way. They are in the middle of a large walkway, but decide to stop on a dime, for no apparent reason, or perhaps to do something like just stand there and talk to whoever it is they are with, or better yet, to someone on their cell.

I went to Disney over the holidays, first with my daughter, and then with my friend from Texas and her adult son. With my daughter and I, we were just walking along, in a New York walking pace, trying to get through the crowds. With my friend, I was pushing her in a wheelchair through the crowds. Notoriously, people would stop dead in front of me and just stand there. First thing in the morning, my tolerance for their ignorance is pretty good. I have been known to say, "excuse me, excuse me, ummm excuse me" a number of times and then smile as I push my way through them. By the end of the day, I have zero tolerance. I limit myself to one very loud and New Yorkerese "EXCUSEEEEEEEEEEEEE MEEEEEEEE" at which point if they don't immediately move, I have no qualms about taking a baby stroller or a grocery cart, or a wheelchair and just ramming it into their heels as sharply as I can. I feel zero remorse or guilt. I don't care if they are five years old or fifty five years old. My children have told me I am mean as did my friends son. I admit it, I don't care. I really don't give a shit if I rip the skin off their heels. My belief is that if you are going to be in front of people and you need to stop, for any reason, then move to hell out of the way. I could not believe the people who walked right in front of my friends wheelchair to hurry up and get in front of her, just as I couldn't believe the people who when she was walking with her cane, hurried up to get in front of her, not caring if they knocked her down or not. It happens all of the time when I have my granddaughter in a stroller in the mall or the airport, anyplace public. I guess the nimrods don't realize the force of forward motion when someone jumps in front of them and comes to a complete halt. Matter doesn't stop on a dime, but apparently these people have never heard of or understand inertia. So in my sick little mind, if I am going to run into them anyhow, I may as well give a little extra umph, and push whatever I am commandering into them with a little extra force.

I must have gotten the ankles of at least ten unruly children whose parents were in outer space over the last two days. Which brings me to my second pet peeve: retarded parents who should not be breeding.

At one of the attractions, my friend and I were looking at the couple in front of us. Mom appeared to be mostly normal. Dad was definitely a chromosomal aberration of some sort. The three boys with them apparently received more of dads genetics than moms. They just had that "look" that most neonatal nurses are familiar with. We used to call it the 5P look. The piss-poor-protoplasm-poorly-put together. The kids who are born and we all know there's an extra allele or something or maybe Mom and Dad are relative, if you catch my drift. One of the boys of this family kept running around stepping on people, bumping into people, bumping into the walls, etc. At one point, he runs head on into the wall and strikes his forehead into a metal ornament on the wall, actually hard enough he could have spliced his forehead open. The parents never noticed. The kid staggers, trying to fight tears, holding the skin on his forehead together, looking like he probably had a pretty good concussion. Mom and Dad are looking around the walkway not paying attention to any of the kids. We next go up some stairs, which has a door blocking the downstairs, and chains and other items apparently set to block anyone from trying to go down the stairs or look over the banister. The same boy who hit his head, wants to look over the banister. So Dad the dumbass lifts him up, and hoists him over the barrier so he can look over and see whatever may be down there, that he apparently thought was worth the risk of killing his son should he drop him. Just amazing. As a former pediatric nurse, I know the kind of parent all to well. We used to deal with parents like this all the time, as we would shake our heads in disbelief at how stupid some people are.

My third pet peeve came around lunch time. At any of these amusement parks, its always the same thing. A bunch of little expensive food stands, selling burgers, fries, an occasional salad, different kinds of ice cream treats, and your stand bottles of water and soda. And why are the lines so long?????? Because dumb ass one and two at the head of the line can't make up their minds. The ones who could read the menu from fifty feet back in line and had 20 minutes or so to make up their minds before they ever hit the cashier, but no, they can't decide. Like all of a sudden the menu from Red Lobster is going to show up and they really will have a choice of more than a burger, hot dog and fries. THATS ALL THEY HAVE FOLKS. It's the menu for yesterday, its the menu for today and when you come back to Disney ten years from now, it will still be the menu. And if you havent' been able to make up your mind after 30 minutes in the line, go to the back of the line and let the next person order their food. These must be the same rejects who go to Mickey Dees or Burger King and sit there at the window for ten to fifteen minutes perusing the menu. Can anyone in america really not know the entire menu at a mcdonalds in this day and age? Kids may not know how to write their address, but they all know everything on the menu at mcdonalds.

My last pet peeve is probably my biggest, and that is people who bring small children to these large amusement parks, Disney, Universal Studios, Seaworld etc. None of these parks is for small children, none of them. Sorry Walt, but even magic kingdom is no place for a two year old to spend more than one to two hours. I typically feel zero pity for children, but this is one of my exceptions. These poor little babies do not need to spend 8-15 hours strapped in a stroller, in the hot sun, being pushed around an amusement park like they are. If you stood near the exits when people are leaving, you'll see all these pathetic little toddlers, strapped into strollers, almost always sunburned, crying or screaming. They are exhausted. So the parents have just spent a small fortune dragging these poor kids through this. For a family of four, its now over $300 a day to get in the park and get something to eat for one meal. Most of the day is spent waiting in long lines for rides, or in the bathroom line waiting to have a diaper changed. The rest of the time is spent passing out in the stroller from exhaustion, or waiting in a food line behind the retards who cant' decide between a cheeseburger or a chicken leg.

I want to conduct a study one day whereby people are photographed and interviewed at their entrance to the park, and then photographed and interviewed when they exit. The study needs to include all the money they spent for the day so when the results are tallied you can send the parents a report showing how much they paid to take their kid home at the end of the night screaming with "pleasure".

I sure miss Johnny Carson

2007-12-21T01:46:00.000-05:00

Another sleepless night. I really wish Johnny were on TV. That was my routine for the first 20 or so years of adulthood, watching Johnny before going to bed. My parents watched Johnny Carson and I remember sitting upstairs on the top step and listening to the jokes and to the conversations, listening as mom and dad laughed. Dad would always be a little perturbed when Johnny would make a local joke about California, because no one in NY knew what he was referring to. But I just loved Johnny. I adored his sense of humor. He was so quick witted. I didn't care much for the characters he played, but I loved listening to him ad lib lines as his guests went on talking about their latest movie. He was always dressed so sharp. He was one of the most intelligent men on TV. I remember when Jodie Foster was a young girl, and attending the expensive French school she was in, she had a conversation completely in French with Johnny. My mother, who was fluent in French said he spoke perfect French. I remember he loved to go to the Keukenhoff in Holland and when we went as adults, I had always secretly hoped we would run into him. He was so good with people from all walks of life, from celebrities, to writers, to the child actors and musicians who came on, to the various oddballs that would do their thing, like the potato chip lady. I still remember that night when she thought he had eaten one of her prize potato chips. I loved the animal segments with Joan Embrey and Jim Fowler. The Tonight show with Johnny Carson was such a staple in American Society for so many years, I truly felt our nation paused with a sad sigh on the last night of his show, when Bette Midler came on and sang to him. I've ordered some of the CD's of his shows, but none of them show a whole show, just little bits and pieces of segments here and there. If there were any way of ordering whole shows, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I enjoyed the comfort he brought into my home every night all those years.

Some of my favorite Johnny Carson quotes:

If life was fair, Elvis would be alive and all the impersonators would be dead.

I know a man who gave up smoking, drinking, sex, and rich food. He was healthy right up to the day he killed himself.”

Happiness is your dentist telling you it won't hurt and then having him catch his hand in the drill.”

“Never use a big word when a little filthy one will do.”

Your chances of getting struck by lightning go up if you stand under a tree, shake your fist at the sky, and say "Storms suck!"”.

Never continue in a job you don't enjoy. If you're happy in what you're doing, you'll like yourself, you'll have inner peace. And if you have that, along with physical health, you will have had more success than you could possibly have imagined

We really loved you Johnny, RIP.

The Jan Brady Syndrome

2007-12-19T12:55:00.000-05:00

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be Jan Brady. It all started, I believe, with my sister Amber. She was the really pretty one, with the long flowing blond hair. She was the prettiest girl ever. I remember watching her taking her long pinstraight hair, scooping it up into a ponytail above her head and then letting it cascade back down her back. I used to try to imitate her. I would go in the bathroom and get a white towel (did they have colored bath towels when we were young??). I would take the towel and wrap it around my head, and then I would climb onto the top of the commode so I could see in the mirror, then I would turn sideways and let go of the towel and watch it flow on down my back, pretending it was those long luscious locks like my sister. But, notoriouslly, my light brown haired curls would sprout out, sticking straight out like Rosanne Rosannadanna. I would do it over and over, praying that one day I too would have that hair. For awhile, I lived vicariously through my Skipper doll. Skipper had the best hair, much better than Barbie. I had hair worse than Scooter and Midge. I would comb Skipper's waist length hair over and over. I was lucky enough to have the Skipper with bendable arms. Then in around 1970 when the Brady Bunch came on TV, I fell in love with Jan. I actually wrote off to be an official member of the Jan Brady fan club. I think I cut out the order form from the back of a Tiger Beat magazine. Remember those? I used to get two of them in case David's picture was on both sides of a page (Cassidy of course). I remember receiving the kit and showing everyone. It included a letter from "Jan" and a litte vinyl record that you could put on an old victrola and play on 45 speed. I don't remember if she sang or talked, because someone stole my little kit two days after I got it. I took it over to Michelle Brunet's house and somehow while I was upstairs "it magically disappeared." She tried to tell me her brother Joe or her brother Richie took it, but I was not dumb, even in the fifth grade. I cried forever over that one. My adoration of Jan continued on into high school and college. My best friend Debbie, of course, had the long flowing Jan Brady hair. I used to watch her comb it and brush it whenever we were getting ready to go somewhere. I used to tell her, "you have the prettiest hair, and my hair is ugly as hell." And she would simply say, "yeah, I know." Then when I was around 30 (and starting to get fat), I went to a Halloween party with my friend Denise, who was also a little on the pleasingly plump side. We decided to dress up as Marcia and Jan Brady. Mind you, Denise is about 6 feet tall, and hispanic. She has dark dark brown straight hair, brown eyes, and her skin color is a little on the mocha side. We went out to the adult costume stores and bought two long blond haired wigs. Then we went out and actually found Jumpers for girls our size (Lane Bryant anyone?). Next, we looked forever, but finally found knee socks that would fit. Lastly, we found some buckle shoes to complete our outfit, and we were ready to go. Denise's wig was a little shorter than mine, and she put these two barrettes in it, the way Marcia used to wear hers. Then I had the really long long blond haired wig. We were dying laughing getting dressed, and kept saying, "NO ONE IS GOING TO KNOW WHO WE ARE." But it didn't matter, because for one day, I was Jan Brady. Off we go to the party, where if I remember correctly was at Mona's house around Allen, Texas. We walked in, and everyone exclaimed, "Oh my God, it's Marcia and Jan Brady!!". I have to admit, it was one of the best days of my life (I officially acknowledge how pathetic that is). We had such a blast, and laughed for hours over that one. Everyone noticed our fine sense of detail, including our turtleneck shirts under our jumpers. I have the picture here in my house somewhere, I will have to find it and post it.

I think my fascination with blond hair must have rubbed off on my oldest children, because both my son and daughter are married to blonds. :)

I dedicate this post to Amber Harriet, the prettiest sister ever............

Quotes of the Day - Liars and Cheaters

2007-12-18T22:16:00.001-05:00

For me, one of my biggest pet peeves is cheating, which is just one more form of lying. I have never tolerated cheaters or liars and I believe there is a special place in hell reserved for just those folks. I think that the act of lying probably causes more human pain than any other action a human can take. As I write, I have one person on my mind in particular, that I wish would read this, just so they understand exactly how much I hate anyone who cheats (and no, it's not my ex).

Some of my favorite quotes on this topic are listed below:

Integrity is not a conditional word. It doesn't blow in the wind or change with the weather. It is your inner image of yourself, and if you look in there and see a man who won't cheat, then you know he never will. Author: John D. MacDonald

I think we all know deep inside whether or not we are the kind of people who are cheaters or liars. For me, integrity is not optional. I was taught by both my mother and father that integrity is a must. It's one of the most important things about your character and once you lose integrity, nothing else matters.

I would prefer even to fail with honor than to win by cheating. Author: Sophocles

To me this is where your conscience comes in. My conscience rules me. I wonder about people who appear to be devoid of conscience, how do they live with themselves? Have they never looked in the mirror at their own reflection.

If you marry a man who cheats on his wife, you'll be married to a man who cheats on his wife. Author: Ann Landers

I miss Ann Landers, and her sister Abby. I adored their wicked sense of humor when dealing with these issues. I don't understand the philosophy that women have, who cheat with a married man. Why do they think the man won't do the same thing to them? Do they really believe they are that wonderful and beautiful that they could prevent a dog from being a dog? They are stupid enough to blame the wife for anything wrong in the marriage and never seem to believe the man is ever the problem. Those women get my vote for the Idiot Award. 1) if the woman was that stupid, fat, lazy, or whatever the husband claims his wife to be, why in hell did he ever marry her? 2) Would you want to be married to someone that stupid? 3) Why on earth would you want a relationship with a man who cheats period? For anyone who puts any faith in statistics, they show that second marriages have an almost nil success rate. It is higher than a 75 percent divorce rate. To me, they get what they deserve

My favorite quote comes from Kim Cattrall: “Men cheat for the same reason that dogs lick their balls... because they can.”

enuf said :)

Having to deal with Customer Service nimrods

2007-12-17T21:54:00.000-05:00

I needed to get a new cell phone, so last Friday, I went into my local Cingular office. I have had a couple Razr phones and I wanted another one. When I got there, the guy kept trying to talk me into getting a different phone. I told him if I didn't get another Razr, I wanted a blackberry or phone with a keyboard. He said the new phone with the keyboard is scheduled to go on sale December 26th. Then he tells me I am eligible for another new phone on my other number for the kids. So I figured I would get that phone for now, until the price drops on the other one.

He decides to put the pressure sale on me for this red samsung phone. It looked okay, but I really still wanted the Razr. Finally after about 30 minutes of him telling me all the wonders of this red phone, I get it. Then I get home, and I hate the phone. It's hard finding where everything is. God forbid, I should actually have to open the owner's manual and read the directions. I just didn't feel like it, I wanted the Razr since I know where everything is and I not in the mood for having to read about a new phone.

So tonight I go to take the red phone back. I get to the store, and tell the lady I want to return it, and just get the Razr. She starts razzing me about the phone, and how easy the phone is, and wants to show me how to use it. I really don't give a shit about the phone, I just want the razr. Then when she tries to show me the new phone, it doesn't work right. Come to find out, there is something not right with the phone, and she says its because it was programmed wrong and how she can program it correctly. Again, I keep telling her forget it, I just want the Razr. Then she asks for my receipt, which I left at home. I told her I didn't have it, she tells me to come back tomorrow.

I walk around the store and am reading about other phones and then I go back and ask her, "well don't you have it in the records, since I purchased it in here?" She says, yeah, they have it, blah blah blah. Then she tells me it will "take awhile" to get the receipt out of their system. Now I start to get really pissed. She makes a couple other comments like I am bothering her or wasting her time. So I scooped up the phone and tell her never mind, I will come back when there is a customer service who apparently isn't overly fatigued at having to help me. We exchange a few snide sarcastic remarks to each other and then she tells me, "well if you come back, "I" am the manager. I told her I didn't give a rat's ass if she were the president of Cingular, I would not take up her sweet time with something as wasteful as customer service.

I was so pissed I could have decked her. I was pissed at myself for letting the guy talk me into the phone, knowing full well I didn't want the damn thing to begin with. I don't need a new technology or anything upgraded, the razr works just fine for me. I don't know why I get so mad at these idiots, they are nothing but sales people, who to me, are some of the lowest lifeforms on the planet.

Anyhow, that is my bitch of the day.

Quote of the day

2007-12-16T23:42:00.002-05:00

Apathy is one of my biggest pet peeves, so for my quote of the day, from Robert Francis Kennedy:

Laws can embody standards; governments can enforce laws--but the final task is not a task for government. It is a task for each and every one of us. Every time we turn our heads the other way when we see the law flouted--when we tolerate what we know to be wrong--when we close our eyes and ears to the corrupt because we are too busy, or too frightened--when we fail to speak up and speak out--we strike a blow against freedom and decency and justice.

I really hate loudmouths

2007-12-16T19:35:00.000-05:00

Tonight, our church had a christmas concert, with full choir and orchestra. I love to go each year. Everyone dresses up, they put the christmas lights all around the church, and have the mist machine going, it's just very christmasy. So tonight, there are more people than usual that show up. I make sure to get there early, so we can get decent seats. As the church starts to fill, they make continuous announcements asking everyone to move to the right, so people can find a place to sit. Well the low-life's behind me, there are three of them stretched across one large pew "saving seats" for someone who is "on their way." I can see saving a seat if someone is going to be there in five minutes or less, but not for someone that they havent' even left their house yet. I know this to be true, because loudmouth number one was talking to whoever it was on the phone, "girl you better leave, you're gonna be late." At least 30 people minimum asked to sit there, but were denied, because of the whole saving seats issue, which just burns me to begin with. During this whole time, the music pastor is talking, and the loudmouths talk even louder to make sure they talk over the speaker system. By the time the musical started, there are over 100 people left standing, but yet, the seatsavers behind me refuse to let any of these people standing have the seats. And they continue talking, and talking, and then talking louder. As the music went louder, so did they. After the third song, I turned around and asked them in as polite a voice as I can muster as a pissed off native new yorker, "are you going to talk all night? Because if you are, I would rather leave, since I can't hear anything but your conversation." Then I get the staredown. They look at each other, and then stare at me, and then continue right on with their loudmouths. This is usually when my hearing deficit gets even worse, and somehow manages to overamplify the conversation I didn't want to hear to begin with. They go on and on and on, I can repeat the whole conversation. Now their friends come in, and the talking gets louder and with more people. Fifteen more minutes go by, and the only thing I hear is the conversation of now 7 people sitting behind me. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!! Now what I don't understand, is why do these nimrods bother showing up for stuff? You know the kind, the ones who when you are at the movies, talk and converse loudly throughout the whole movie. You go to church, and they sit behind you discussing their past week, obviously not paying attention to anything the pastor has to say. You go to a meeting at work, and the loudmouths sit behind everyone, talking about whatever bullshit they feel is more important than what the meeting organizer had planned for people to listen to. I just don't have the patience anymore to sit quietly by and not say anything to their rudeness. If it were legal and I thought I could get away with it, I'd shove them on their ass, or do something that would quickly make them realize that I am pissed off and really don't want to hear their stupid conversation. I wish the seats at public events had little shock buttons, that if someone was being obnoxious, you could push a button and send a shockwave right through to their spine. You would think they would feel shamed when someone calls them on their rudeness, but that is never the case. They are typical narcissistic people who truly believe the world wants to know about their life. Anyhow, thats my gripe of the day. I finally just left and drove home before I turned around and smacked the biggest loudmouth right in the face.

Tis the Season.......

2007-12-16T01:58:00.000-05:00

This is the time of year when you think people would be friendly and kind to each other. These are not exactly the sentiments I witnessed today while shopping at the mall. I try to avoid the mall most of the year, but particularly so during the holidays. Too many people and not enough room, I feel closed in. But today one of my friends needed some help and asked me to pick up a gold ornament for her, to take to an ornament exchange tonight. So off to Macy's I went, where the ornaments were 40 percent off. I found a lovely glass ornament, striped gold and white, about the size of a softball, very elegant looking. I took it to the gift wrap counter where they told me that there was one person in front of me. I told them I would return in about an hour to pick it up.

I then trotted through the mall to Penneys to look for hoodies for the boys, which were supposedly on sale. They were not to be found, but thats another gripe for another day. After three hours, I returned to Macy's and noticed my ornament was still not wrapped. The customer service wrapping lady told me she would do it next. The other wrapping lady (do they have an official title?) was busy listening to another customer complaining about her wrapping not being done yet. Next thing I know, the customer goes into a tirade so bad, you would have thought they had kidnapped her child or something. She screams so bad, about 15 other customers come from nearby to listen to what is going on. She goes on for over 5 minutes straight, berating this poor little lady trying to wrap these gifts, and the wrapping lady had a major meltdown. She flew out of there through some back door, and apparently was so distraught, they had to call an ambulance to get her to take her to the hospital. Everyone else in customer service runs to the back to help with her. One of the managers of a clothing department came over to try and help wrap presents. I told them I was in no hurry. So while she was wrapping the very first present, she accidentally gouged her wrist with the scissors and blood starts shooting everywhere. Now she is on her way to the hospital to get stitches, because she cut it so bad. Now do you think the other customers there would have the decency to realize the fact that if their presents weren't wrapped today, it wouldn't be the end of the world as we know it? Apparently they were confused and thought that if their gifts weren't wrapped immediately, the earth would stop spinning, because three or four of them started bitching at the other ladies who had come over to help out. They were ugly and very loud. I couldn't help it, I started giggling. I kept thinking, "have they watched the news? Do they realize what is going on in the world today? " I guess not, because they truly acted like they would just friggin die if their gifts weren't given priority over everything else. During this madness, two ladies had requested the same wrapping paper in the same size box. One lady had a men's shirt to be wrapped and the other one had some girls panties and a wallet for her teenage daughter. Well, the lady who came with the men's shirt, left with the teenage panties and wallet and didn't realize it. The male shirt was still there. So I don't know what guy is going to end up opening up the box with the panties and wallet, but boy I bet he will be surprised. I hope its not for someone's boss. At this point, everyone was laughing almost to the point of tears, except for the snot in front of me. She had 14 gifts to be wrapped and so far, they had only completed 7. She chose identical wrapping paper for all 14 boxes. The paper was this hideous olive green and the little ornament looked like a huge yellow teardrop. She calls the head of customer service and requests that all three ladies who are there now, all work on no one else's gifts, but hers. While they are wrapping the rest of her gifts, they are talking about the yellow ornament, and one of them says it looks like a lemon. So the customer went beserk and demanded they take the yellow "lemon" off all her 7 boxes and put something else "Christmasy" on her boxes. They tried to explain that it wasn't really a "lemon" just a yellow ornament that could actually look like a lot of things, like the tear drop of a giant or something. She started screaming and became hysterical. The one wrapping lady who was helping me started laughing so hard, she had tears running down her face. I just wanted to shake this customer and tell her, there are children starving in Africa or something, that it wasn't the end of the world if the recipients of her gifts actually received a pretty "lemon" ornament with their present. But I held my tongue, because you never know what kind of crazy people you are dealing with. Even though she was a 60ish caucasian lady, she could have been packing an uzi in her bag, or worse yet, she could be the wife of one of my upper management level bosses. So I just snickered as she huffed and puffed her way on out of the store.

At that point, I figured I better get my ass out of that store and home where I will be safe and sound away from the mean people of the world. If I ever completely lose my mind over the gift wrapping on a present I have bought for someone, please feel free to have me Baker acted.

Every job has one......

2007-12-13T00:31:00.000-05:00

I have worked in a multitude of positions all across the country. I am originally from northern New York, then went to college in a small town in Thatcher, Arizona. From there, I moved with my then husband to a college in Clarksville, Tennesse. Once he joined the Army, we lived in Alabama, Texas, and Germany. I now live in Florida. One thing I have learned, is that no matter where you live, or what job you have, there is always at least one royal pain in the ass on the job. Everyone knows the type: the person who does everything better, whose kids are superkids, and whose spouse is the best person ever ............ These are the people that are usually married to someone who is an outright jerk, and the kid is the teacher or athletic coach's nightmare.

In my last position, her name was "Amanda". Well I can tell you her whole life history, where she was born, when she got married, about all of her pregancies and labor history, about her ever so wonderful hubby who is just the best person ever, ever, ever!!, and all about her wonderful, super-talented, super-beautiful, should be "models" children.

My office was several doors down, but it doesn't matter where anyone is. Because the OPITA (office pain in the ass) makes sure that everyone hears their stories. They hang out at the fax machine, in the breakroom, or wherever they can have an audience. If they only knew how much they were loathed, by everyone, including the kind souls who actually pay attention and listen, because they don't want to be rude. Not me.

One of my favorite games to play with the OPITA is "match it or beat it." Gather a couple people at the job, and discuss a specific topic ahead of time. Find a topic that someone knows a lot about, or is an expert on. Then, when the OPITA comes in, start discussing the topic with each other and time, just how long it takes the OPITA to either match the story, or beat it. Then they get extra points for involving their super children or super spouses.

We used to play this game with a doctor we worked with. He was the PITA in the NICU I worked in. One day we picked out fishing, as one of our coworkers was into lobster. She came in with these pictures of the hugest lobsters I think I have ever seen that they caught off the shore of Florida. Just humongous. Well Dr Know It All came in, and we started discussing these lobsters and within 5 minutes, he talked about how that past weekend, he caught a shark. Not a big shark, a baby one, but it was much bigger than the lobster. And he wasn't planning on catching a shark, it just happened. By the time he left our area, he had the hugest smile on his face, knowing that he had "beat" our expert on the fish story of the day. If only he knew, lol. What made it even better was noticing two other physicians sitting on the other side of the room, giggling while listening to us. I can only imagine the stories they hear.

Since there is one on every job, you have to decide whether or not you are going to leave your place of employment because of them. Chances are, unless you are independently wealthy, you'll have to suck it up and tolerate the OPITA, so playing match it or beat it can at least put a smile on your face once a day.