Dearly Departed

After driving from Boston to South Carolina and back... twice... in three weeks, I am no closer to understanding the roadside shrine. You know what I speak of. The cross on the spot where 10 year old Mikey McIntyre was struck and killed by some 80 year old, shriveled man who can no longer see over the steering wheel. Or the ribbon on the tree that snuffed out that high school kid who had one too many Jager Bombs. I do not need to know where your crackhead, niece dropped dead when she was just starting to get her life together. Correct me if I am wrong but I thought that that is what we have cemeteries and mantles for.

It must have something to do with the place where your loved one took their last breath. Right? If that’s the case why don’t we all create shrines at the spot where we each took our first breath; our mother’s crotch! Celebrate life! Don’t dwell in the negative and don’t force you woe begone ways on everyone else. Why can’t we all be like the Brits and suffer in silence? Why do we have to advertise our pain?

I think the only thing more offensive to me is the gang banger who’s been eulogized in the rear window of his brother’s Escalade. Get a tattoo and be done with it!

One more thing, if you insist on the roadside shrine, pass on the stuffed animal that after weeks of exposure to the elements looks like a third world dog. It’s a real downer.

Word of the Day

demorial (də-môr'ē-əl)

-noun

Anything intended to celebrate or honor the memory of a person but in the end corrupts or undermines with the use of fake flowers, popsicle stick crosses, and/or stuffed animals.

Uncle Sam and the Mammogram

The word is out! Woman under 50 do not require mammograms. Boy am I relieved. I have been avoiding a mammogram since I turned 40 two years ago. Every six months I get a letter from my PCP reminding me that I haven’t had one yet. Now I can relax. When my friends hassle me I can tell them Uncle Sam has decided that I don’t need one until I am fifty. All that worry for nothing!

It would seem Uncle Sam has a problem with commitment. Perhaps he is just looking at things from a different angle. I say, flim flamming is just a fancy way of saying; “He’s keeping his options open”.

Quinkie dink? Coincidence? I don’t think so. Universal Healthcare is just around the corner and there’s one corner they are sure to cut; screenings. How could we think that the government doesn’t have our best interest in mind?

I think the U.S.D.A should start administering mammograms. Women on their 50th birthday travel to Troy, NY for their exam, they get a fancy stamp on their breasts to show they’ve been inspected. It could be like a rite of passage and a great way to ensure that no woman exceeds her alloted screenings.

Whatever the outcome, I have a bigger burden; how am I going to deal with the shame of years of unnecessary breast self exams? I feel violated.

Word of the Day

sammogram (sam-uh-gram)

-noun

The governmental control over the administration of x-rays of the mammaries.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

The 12 Steps of Facebooking

1. 1. We admitted we were powerless over Facebook- that our lives had become unmanageable.
   

2. 2.Came to believe that a website greater than ourselves could restore us to vanity.
   

3. 3.Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of Facebook, as we understood it.
   

4. 4.Made a searching and fearless inventory of our “friends”.
   

5. 5.Admitted to Facebook, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of what we are doing moment by moment.
   

6. 6.Were entirely ready to have Facebook remove all defects of character through editing.
   

7. 7.Humbly asked It to remove our shortcomings.
   

8. 8.Made a list of all persons we had harmed and became willing to remove them from our “friends list”.
   

9. 9.Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would draw attention to ourselves.
   

10. 10.Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly hit “delete”.
    

11. 11.Sought through chatting and email to improve our conscious contact with others, praying only for knowledge of Facebook’s will for us and the power to carry that out.
    

12. 12.Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of Facebook, we tried to carry this message to the masses, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
    

Word of the Day

diffusional (di-foo-zhuh-nl)

-adverb

The misled belief that broadcasting your status over Facebook is of interest to anyone but oneself.

The Best Offense

Why is it that when you point out that someone has behaved like an asshole (of course you have used kinder words) you somehow become the asshole. It is as though by merely suggesting that someone was being dickish, you become the bearer of the label. I really want to understand this phenomenon so that I can better guard myself against it. Let’s look at the two scenarios; It is clear that when you act like an asshole and I rise above and ignore it, I am not praised for being the bigger person I merely get the consolation prize of not becoming the asshole that you just had the liberty of being. But if I initiate the assholeness, and you are the bigger person and ignore my behavior, I get to be an asshole with no repercussion. If you call me out on it, I can then dump on you and say you are hypersensitive or overreacting thus making you the asshole. For the sake of clarity, becoming an asshole by default is not a winning proposition. You must be the initiator to come out ahead.

Let it be said that on this day of September 5th, 2009 I am resigning as “Bigger Person” and will be running for “Asshole” effective immediately.

Word of the Day

capassity (kuh-pas-i-tee)

-noun

quality or state of being susceptible to a given treatment from an asshole.

In Defense of Fart Sucking

Recently a neighbor came by for a beer and conversation. The discussion turned to her defiance against ass kissing. She claimed she has never and will never, kiss anyone’s ass. “Obviously, you wouldn’t either since you claim to be the ‘Queen of Irreverence’”, she boldly pointed.

She was wrong. I have and do kiss ass, almost daily. Does this mean I am no longer deserving of the title “Queen of Irreverence”? My irreverence isn’t just inflicted on others, it is also inflicted on myself. I hate kissing ass. It almost kills me to do so but, there are times when my feelings about it just don’t matter. Times when the “end” justifies the means.

This doesn’t compromise my position as irreverent to the one receiving the ass kissing either. While they have something I want, stroking their ego is an outward expression and no reflection of what I really feel about them. Besides, is it my fault they are so wrapped up in themselves they can’t see the truth? How much more irreverent can I be if I tell you what you want to hear to get what I want and I really don’t give a shit about you in the end?

Obviously, if you are reading my blog you are not someone who should be concerned about my insincerity. You have exhibited sound judgement and good taste by visiting my site and I would never kiss your ass! (wink)

Word of the Day

nanal (neny l)

-adjective

of or pertaining to gratification derived from having one’s nose up someone’s anus.

Splashdown and Quarantine

July 20th marked the 40th anniversary of the first Lunar Landing. Shortly thereafter I experienced a lunar landing of my own. I gave a tour to 28 thirteen year olds.

The tour started out with the usual cacophony. The kids laughed, quacked, and shouted expletives. I was feeling confident that this would be like every other tour I’d given to teenagers; the usual controlled chaos.

The mood turned abruptly when the students realized the tour might actually be educational. In an effort to keep the kids engaged I will often ask them to finish my statements on historical facts. This it usually met with an eagerness to shout the right answer. My first...

“...and that is where sextant Robert Newman hung the two lanterns as instructed by Paul Revere indicating one if by land, two if by...”

Silence. Nothing. Not a sound spare for the slight echo of the wind down a long vacant hall. Our ‘descent’ into deep space had begun.

They must not have heard me, I thought, scrambling for an explanation. Undeterred, I made another attempt.

“The USS Constitution is the oldest commissioned warship afloat in the world. Also, known as....”

No Old Glory, no Old Yeller, something... anything. Again, nothing.

I looked in my rear view mirror to see staring back at me, the starkness of craters and desolation. I was as awestruck as I would have been if I had actually landed on the moon.

I realized I “had a possible abort situation to contend with, but our procedure throughout the preparation phase was to always try to keep going as long as we could so that we could bypass these types of problems.” (Armstrong) So, I forged ahead unrelenting as I spouted off facts about the history that belonged to by this big group of stupid.

Alas, we arrived at the Charles. That dirty water had become a venerable desert oasis. Three, Two, One... splashdown!!!!

I am not a religious woman but, when we splashed down there was a hope in me that the waters of the Charles might somehow serve to cleanse and rejuvenate my defeated spirit. Sadly, I knew it was not to be when, from the back deck of the duck I heard,

“Are there alligators in this water?”

Word of the Day

quaranteen (kwawr uhn teen)

-noun

a strict isolation imposed on teenagers to prevent the spread of stupidity

Splashdown and Quarantine

July 20th marked the 40th anniversary of the first Lunar Landing. Shortly thereafter I experienced a lunar landing of my own. I gave a tour to 28 thirteen year olds.

The tour started out with the usual cacophony. The kids laughed, quacked, and shouted expletives. I was feeling confident that this would be like every other tour I’d given to teenagers; the usual controlled chaos.

The mood turned abruptly when the students realized the tour might actually be educational. In an effort to keep the kids engaged I will often ask them to finish my statements on historical facts. This it usually met with an eagerness to shout the right answer. My first...

“...and that is where sextant Robert Newman hung the two lanterns as instructed by Paul Revere indicating one if by land, two if by...”

Silence. Nothing. Not a sound spare for the slight echo of the wind down a long vacant hall. Our ‘descent’ into deep space had begun.

They must not have heard me, I thought, scrambling for an explanation. Undeterred, I made another attempt.

“The USS Constitution is the oldest commissioned warship afloat in the world. Also, known as....”

No Old Glory, no Old Yeller, something... anything. Again, nothing.

I looked in my rear view mirror to see staring back at me, the starkness of craters and desolation. I was as awestruck as I would have been if I had actually landed on the moon.

I realized I “had a possible abort situation to contend with, but our procedure throughout the preparation phase was to always try to keep going as long as we could so that we could bypass these types of problems.” (Armstrong) So, I forged ahead unrelenting as I spouted off facts about the history that belonged to by this big group of stupid.

Alas, we arrived at the Charles. That dirty water had become a venerable desert oasis. Three, Two, One... splashdown!!!!

I am not a religious woman but, when we splashed down there was a hope in me that the waters of the Charles might somehow serve to cleanse and rejuvenate my defeated spirit. Sadly, I knew it was not to be when, from the back deck of the duck I heard,

“Are there alligators in this water?”

Word of the Day

quaranteen (kwawr uhn teen)

-noun

a strict isolation imposed on teenagers to prevent the spread of stupidity