Why can't we find happiness anymore? Where is it hiding? I'll bet it's hiding behind the stove or the fridge. Those are the last places anyone would think to look for it. Mainly because if you pulled the stove or the fridge out.. You'd be forced to actually hunt through or clean the dust bunnies, food and mysterious things that are under either appliance. Maybe happiness is just that clever. Maybe happiness is saying, ''If you want to find me, you have to clean where you've never cleaned before.'' I suppose happiness will elude us forever... Or until you move, then someone else might find it.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Happiness is...
Ahhh... Happiness. Always elusive. Happiness seems to only come in a bottle these days. Pill and liquid form. It's no wonder there are drive thrus for your pills and your liquor. Fast food restaurants should take note. '' I'll take a large cheeseburger combo meal with Paxil and a Jack and Diet Coke please.''
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Something to offend most everyone
I’ve been to Amsterdam a couple of times, and I can say, without reservations, the Dutch are lovely people. The Dutch are always very kind and helpful… They all speak English, which is very useful when visiting a country that speaks another language and you don’t know their language. Their country has cute little trademarks, like clogs, chips with mayonnaise, windmills, the Hague, the red light district, hash bars… Those kind of things. I often think of the words to that Katie Melua song… ‘There are nine million bicycles in Beijing,’ and think of words to my own song, like, ‘There are one million bicycles in Amsterdam…’ Only it doesn’t quite flow like her song does, and it’s kind of infringement, copyright and the like. But, it IS a fact, there are one million bicycles in Amsterdam. People cycle EVERYWHERE in Amsterdam! I’d be more worried about being run down by a cyclist than I would a motorist or a tram in Amsterdam. Only they have bells on their crappy ol’ bikes in Amsterdam and they aren’t afraid to use them to let you know they are coming and to get out of their way. They’re not aggressive about it though, they don’t ring the bell then yell obscenities at you if you don’t get out of the way, they just ring their bell again, not even insistently. They are very mellow people.
Apparently there is a reason for all the old looking crappy bikes in Amsterdam as well, bike theft is rampant, so everyone has shoddy, similar looking old bikes. If you had something flashy, it would most certainly get stolen. Mind you, that’s not painting a great picture of the Dutch, as bike stealers, but I reckon it’s not actually other Dutch people that steal the bikes. Amsterdam is a big city, there are all walks of life there.. And I mean ALL walks of life there. There is some story that the Dutch tell you about all the bikes too.. Something about German occupation during WWII and the Germans stealing the Dutch people’s bikes and how they want them back or something like that.. I won’t get into why I only partially know that story or how I possibly just made it up. I digress…
So, what I don’t understand, after having been to Amsterdam a couple of times and witnessing how lovely and mellow the Dutch people are… Why are there so many derogatory terms referring to the Dutch? ‘Going Dutch,’ ‘Double Dutch,’ ‘Dutch Courage,’ ‘Dutch Oven.’ What have the Dutch ever done to the rest of the world to make them sound like they are miserly, incomprehensible drunks who fart under the covers then pull the covers over their partner’s head? Do the Dutch just not care that there are these derogatory terms about them? Are they that mellow? Or have they been spending too much time in their own hash bars?? I just don’t understand why there are these terms out there and why there isn’t a retaliation from the Dutch over them? I mean, they still want their bikes back from the Germans from 60+ years ago.. Do they not want their good name back from the rest of the world?
I think the Dutch should come up with their own derogatory terms about other nationalities in retaliation, more fitting to the terms themselves. Like, ‘Going Jewish’ ‘Double Scotch’ (not on the rocks), ‘Irish Courage’ and a ‘French Oven’ (they don‘t call them stinky French for nothing). Seriously, the Dutch just need to get out of their hash bars, go put their orange clogs on, arm themselves with their bike bells and go get their bikes back from the Germans. Yes, the Dutch can get liquored up, give the Germans one miserly ring of the bike bell as warning, yell incomprehensibly at them, then sit on them and fart in their faces… That should do the trick.
Apparently there is a reason for all the old looking crappy bikes in Amsterdam as well, bike theft is rampant, so everyone has shoddy, similar looking old bikes. If you had something flashy, it would most certainly get stolen. Mind you, that’s not painting a great picture of the Dutch, as bike stealers, but I reckon it’s not actually other Dutch people that steal the bikes. Amsterdam is a big city, there are all walks of life there.. And I mean ALL walks of life there. There is some story that the Dutch tell you about all the bikes too.. Something about German occupation during WWII and the Germans stealing the Dutch people’s bikes and how they want them back or something like that.. I won’t get into why I only partially know that story or how I possibly just made it up. I digress…
So, what I don’t understand, after having been to Amsterdam a couple of times and witnessing how lovely and mellow the Dutch people are… Why are there so many derogatory terms referring to the Dutch? ‘Going Dutch,’ ‘Double Dutch,’ ‘Dutch Courage,’ ‘Dutch Oven.’ What have the Dutch ever done to the rest of the world to make them sound like they are miserly, incomprehensible drunks who fart under the covers then pull the covers over their partner’s head? Do the Dutch just not care that there are these derogatory terms about them? Are they that mellow? Or have they been spending too much time in their own hash bars?? I just don’t understand why there are these terms out there and why there isn’t a retaliation from the Dutch over them? I mean, they still want their bikes back from the Germans from 60+ years ago.. Do they not want their good name back from the rest of the world?
I think the Dutch should come up with their own derogatory terms about other nationalities in retaliation, more fitting to the terms themselves. Like, ‘Going Jewish’ ‘Double Scotch’ (not on the rocks), ‘Irish Courage’ and a ‘French Oven’ (they don‘t call them stinky French for nothing). Seriously, the Dutch just need to get out of their hash bars, go put their orange clogs on, arm themselves with their bike bells and go get their bikes back from the Germans. Yes, the Dutch can get liquored up, give the Germans one miserly ring of the bike bell as warning, yell incomprehensibly at them, then sit on them and fart in their faces… That should do the trick.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Wondering about the Dragon Years
Warren was watching one of his programs on Cbeebies the other day and they were going on about dragons. At the end of the program, they made sure to point out that dragons don’t really exist. It got me wondering. I think I have a closeted obsession with dragons. I have a big dragon tattoo on my back, I love films that have anything to do with dragons, I love looking at pictures of dragons. I wouldn’t call myself a fantasy fanatic, as in, into Dungeons and Dragons, Magic, Star Trek, etc. But I do have a penchant for the ol’ fantasy. I’m quite obsessed with the Harry Potter films and the Lord of the Ring films. I don’t go to conventions or anything and I most certainly don’t dress in Hogwarts school attire or as a hobbit. But, I do quite like the films, I’ve seen them all more than three times anyway.
What I was really pondering though, was if dragons really existed or not. I’d like to believe that they did. They want us to buy the ‘fact’ that massive lizard-like creatures ( or bird-like if you believe ‘Jurassic Park’ films) existed and roamed the earth. Big old lizards with massive teeth, huge muscular legs and teeny tiny little arms, ruled the roost. Yet, massive lizards that could fly and breathed fire, didn’t. Where’s the sense in that? Oh, I know, I know, they have found fossils of the dinosaurs and have never found fossils of dragons. I reckon, dragon’s fire breathing ability was also their downfall. I reckon that they never find dragon fossils because they all spontaneously combusted! How can they ever find fossils of creatures that spontaneously combusted? Seriously, at the end of the day, if you have the capability to produce and breath fire… It’s going to come back to bite you in the ass some day. They had to reach maturity before they got their fire, so they did have a short window to reproduce. Eventually, they just ceased to exist. How sad, I’d love to have a loyal pet dragon…. I’d call it Shishkebab. Mind you, I already had a semi pet hedgehog living in my garden that I called Shishkebab, but I’d recycle the name because I love it that much.. I just rolls off the tongue.
Another thing I’ve been pondering lately… They’ve been showing a lot of reruns of the Wonder Years on telly here. The Wonder Years really takes me back. I think the Wonder Years was like the soap opera of every child and teenager growing up during it’s airing. I remember how lovely Nikki Blick, a girl I went to school with, was constantly told, ’You look just like that Winnie Cooper on the Wonder Years!’ Now, I know that was a compliment in it’s own way, but poor Nikki Blick must have got sick of it! Nikki Blick and Derek Dummermuth… They were the Winnie and Kevin of our elementary school. Anyway, the Wonder Years was like a bible to every pre-pubescent youth that watched it! We looked up to that show, we watched it to guide us in current or future situations and encounters. The Wonder Years had all the answers!
Life just never pans out like fantasy does. We’ll never find that perfect, loyal, flying, fire breathing massive lizard, just waiting to be tamed, as our pet.. And we’ll never find our Kevin Arnold to our Winnie Cooper, perfectly flawed as they might have been. I can hope that the younger generations dare to believe in their own pet Shishkebab’s and that they catch reruns of the Wonder Years. Maybe they’ll hang on to that hope. It’s like a band that I absolutely hate once said, ‘Don’t stop believing, hold onto that feeling.’
Did you picture two lesbians roller skating when you read that? One being a battle axe looking prostitute serial killer? Ah, you watch too many fantasy movies!
What I was really pondering though, was if dragons really existed or not. I’d like to believe that they did. They want us to buy the ‘fact’ that massive lizard-like creatures ( or bird-like if you believe ‘Jurassic Park’ films) existed and roamed the earth. Big old lizards with massive teeth, huge muscular legs and teeny tiny little arms, ruled the roost. Yet, massive lizards that could fly and breathed fire, didn’t. Where’s the sense in that? Oh, I know, I know, they have found fossils of the dinosaurs and have never found fossils of dragons. I reckon, dragon’s fire breathing ability was also their downfall. I reckon that they never find dragon fossils because they all spontaneously combusted! How can they ever find fossils of creatures that spontaneously combusted? Seriously, at the end of the day, if you have the capability to produce and breath fire… It’s going to come back to bite you in the ass some day. They had to reach maturity before they got their fire, so they did have a short window to reproduce. Eventually, they just ceased to exist. How sad, I’d love to have a loyal pet dragon…. I’d call it Shishkebab. Mind you, I already had a semi pet hedgehog living in my garden that I called Shishkebab, but I’d recycle the name because I love it that much.. I just rolls off the tongue.
Another thing I’ve been pondering lately… They’ve been showing a lot of reruns of the Wonder Years on telly here. The Wonder Years really takes me back. I think the Wonder Years was like the soap opera of every child and teenager growing up during it’s airing. I remember how lovely Nikki Blick, a girl I went to school with, was constantly told, ’You look just like that Winnie Cooper on the Wonder Years!’ Now, I know that was a compliment in it’s own way, but poor Nikki Blick must have got sick of it! Nikki Blick and Derek Dummermuth… They were the Winnie and Kevin of our elementary school. Anyway, the Wonder Years was like a bible to every pre-pubescent youth that watched it! We looked up to that show, we watched it to guide us in current or future situations and encounters. The Wonder Years had all the answers!
Life just never pans out like fantasy does. We’ll never find that perfect, loyal, flying, fire breathing massive lizard, just waiting to be tamed, as our pet.. And we’ll never find our Kevin Arnold to our Winnie Cooper, perfectly flawed as they might have been. I can hope that the younger generations dare to believe in their own pet Shishkebab’s and that they catch reruns of the Wonder Years. Maybe they’ll hang on to that hope. It’s like a band that I absolutely hate once said, ‘Don’t stop believing, hold onto that feeling.’
Did you picture two lesbians roller skating when you read that? One being a battle axe looking prostitute serial killer? Ah, you watch too many fantasy movies!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Imagine
When I was a kid, I had a pair of red star shaped earrings. When times were particularly hard, I used to press on my earrings and call for Synergy (as in Jem and the Holograms) to come and save me. She never came to help me... bitch! Just a sidenote here, I blame Jem and the Holograms for the popularity of the name Kimber at some point in time in the 80's. It's just obviously one of those silly made up names that caught on. No offense to any Kimber's out there, only your parents.
Just the same as I used to press on my red star shaped earrings as hard as I could when times were bad; I used to take one of my books out into bushes beside my house and type as hard as I could on it pretending it was like Penny's computer book in Inspector Gadget. It never happened either, but it never stopped me from still trying and believing in it. I figured if I just kept trying, one day, Synergy would come save me or my book would finally turn into a computer like Penny's.
Thing is, when did we stop imagining and pretending like we did as kids? When did we stop believing? I love to live in my imagination now and I don't ever want to wake up because I don't want to stop dreaming. My dreams are so much better than the reality of bills, bills and more bills... and I have some pretty bad nightmares sometimes! If someone told me then that becoming an adult meant that you stopped imagining and pretending, I would have refused to grow up!
What made me start remembering and pondering all of these things is the shows Warren watches. Warren loves watching telly. I've made decisions as to what I think is and isn't alright for him to watch. He watches Playhouse Disney for the most part. I like the shows on Playhouse Disney because they encourage kids to use their imagination, teach them problem solving and teach them moral lessons. Warren also loves to watch Spongebob Squarepants. While Spongebob may not possess the qualities of the other shows on Playhouse Disney, it definitely has imagination, but lacks in consistency. But it doesn't matter because I love Spongebob as well. As much as I believe in using your imagination, there is this little girl in Higgley Town Heroes that annoys me! She always uses her imagination to come up with these outlandish solutions to problems and when she's told it won't work for whatever reason, she always says, 'Aw pickles.' God she annoys me, but Higgley Town Heroes in general annoys me, I can't stand that show! I digress...
I envy Warren and his childhood. His days of pretending and using his imagination ahead of him. I wish I could be on the same level as him. Although, I suppose there has to be that parent child boundary for obvious reasons. I just hope I'll be able to get on the same level as him to play with him. I'm refraining from saying, 'DOWN' on his level, because I don't think children are below us. I think they all have the upperhand. We should all be more like children. Then again, there's always that immature guy we all know that pretends he can get girls and imagines the day that he'll move out of his parents house... when he's 35! Maybe those immature guys hold the key to our future. Then again, maybe they just hold the key to their mom's minivan and go cruising for girls in it to bring them back to 'their' place, while their parents are on vacation!
Michael Jackson had the right idea, 'I believe that children are our future, let them laugh and let them lead the way'. He believed that so much that he put it to verse and had a hit with it. Or maybe he didn't, maybe someone else wrote it, who knows? Anyway, I don't know what was going through Jacko's head when singing that, but it's not a bad idea. Let children be our future, let them lead the way, let the children lead the world. The adults have had their chance and look how bad they've messed it up! I think the voting age should be lowered to 10 (but not the drinking age, that would be a bad idea). Just think, a 10 year old, all that newly acquired knowledge from school would be fresh in their heads. Their brains would be like sponges just waiting to soak up all kinds of new information. They'd be smarter than us! And, they'd know how to spell potato! No E! Just think of how wars would be fought if the world was ruled by 10 year olds? All we would need is a big cafeteria or alley as a war venue and make sure to have the school nurse at hand! Then again, everyone will be wanting to vote for their child, grandchild, niece, nephew, etc. I'm sure we could figure out a way around that.
Regardless, I'm nominating my niece Adena for president. She's a better candidate then any of them out there! She has a great imagination, and she'd rule with an iron fist and boss everyone around. She might even throw in some potty mouthed fighting words! Adena for president!
In summary, here are some words to live by, and I quote: I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys R Us kid, there's a million toys at Toys R Us that I can play with, from bikes to trains to video games, the biggest toy store there is, I don't wanna grow up, cause if I did, I couldn't be a Toys R Us kid.
I knew that by heart, I didn't even have to look it up! Sad, you say? I don't think so. Unfortunately, we were too poor to shop at Toys R Us when I was a kid.... That's where my vivid imagination came in.
Just the same as I used to press on my red star shaped earrings as hard as I could when times were bad; I used to take one of my books out into bushes beside my house and type as hard as I could on it pretending it was like Penny's computer book in Inspector Gadget. It never happened either, but it never stopped me from still trying and believing in it. I figured if I just kept trying, one day, Synergy would come save me or my book would finally turn into a computer like Penny's.
Thing is, when did we stop imagining and pretending like we did as kids? When did we stop believing? I love to live in my imagination now and I don't ever want to wake up because I don't want to stop dreaming. My dreams are so much better than the reality of bills, bills and more bills... and I have some pretty bad nightmares sometimes! If someone told me then that becoming an adult meant that you stopped imagining and pretending, I would have refused to grow up!
What made me start remembering and pondering all of these things is the shows Warren watches. Warren loves watching telly. I've made decisions as to what I think is and isn't alright for him to watch. He watches Playhouse Disney for the most part. I like the shows on Playhouse Disney because they encourage kids to use their imagination, teach them problem solving and teach them moral lessons. Warren also loves to watch Spongebob Squarepants. While Spongebob may not possess the qualities of the other shows on Playhouse Disney, it definitely has imagination, but lacks in consistency. But it doesn't matter because I love Spongebob as well. As much as I believe in using your imagination, there is this little girl in Higgley Town Heroes that annoys me! She always uses her imagination to come up with these outlandish solutions to problems and when she's told it won't work for whatever reason, she always says, 'Aw pickles.' God she annoys me, but Higgley Town Heroes in general annoys me, I can't stand that show! I digress...
I envy Warren and his childhood. His days of pretending and using his imagination ahead of him. I wish I could be on the same level as him. Although, I suppose there has to be that parent child boundary for obvious reasons. I just hope I'll be able to get on the same level as him to play with him. I'm refraining from saying, 'DOWN' on his level, because I don't think children are below us. I think they all have the upperhand. We should all be more like children. Then again, there's always that immature guy we all know that pretends he can get girls and imagines the day that he'll move out of his parents house... when he's 35! Maybe those immature guys hold the key to our future. Then again, maybe they just hold the key to their mom's minivan and go cruising for girls in it to bring them back to 'their' place, while their parents are on vacation!
Michael Jackson had the right idea, 'I believe that children are our future, let them laugh and let them lead the way'. He believed that so much that he put it to verse and had a hit with it. Or maybe he didn't, maybe someone else wrote it, who knows? Anyway, I don't know what was going through Jacko's head when singing that, but it's not a bad idea. Let children be our future, let them lead the way, let the children lead the world. The adults have had their chance and look how bad they've messed it up! I think the voting age should be lowered to 10 (but not the drinking age, that would be a bad idea). Just think, a 10 year old, all that newly acquired knowledge from school would be fresh in their heads. Their brains would be like sponges just waiting to soak up all kinds of new information. They'd be smarter than us! And, they'd know how to spell potato! No E! Just think of how wars would be fought if the world was ruled by 10 year olds? All we would need is a big cafeteria or alley as a war venue and make sure to have the school nurse at hand! Then again, everyone will be wanting to vote for their child, grandchild, niece, nephew, etc. I'm sure we could figure out a way around that.
Regardless, I'm nominating my niece Adena for president. She's a better candidate then any of them out there! She has a great imagination, and she'd rule with an iron fist and boss everyone around. She might even throw in some potty mouthed fighting words! Adena for president!
In summary, here are some words to live by, and I quote: I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys R Us kid, there's a million toys at Toys R Us that I can play with, from bikes to trains to video games, the biggest toy store there is, I don't wanna grow up, cause if I did, I couldn't be a Toys R Us kid.
I knew that by heart, I didn't even have to look it up! Sad, you say? I don't think so. Unfortunately, we were too poor to shop at Toys R Us when I was a kid.... That's where my vivid imagination came in.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Big Hair
Big Hair Current mood: crazy Category: Blogging
I used to have big hair. Well, big, frizzy, disgusting hair. But, big none the less. The big hair motto: The bigger the bangs the better. I went through so much environmentally unfriendly hairspray like water. The hairspray of choice: Aquanet. Dear God did that stuff stink too! With big ol' hair, you could only pray that it didn't rain. If your hairspray saturated bangs got wet, not only did they flatten, but they were reduced to this sticky, glue like substance. When you raked the brush through this sticky mess, you came out with gobs of sticky, white goo… white flakes when it dried. Then you could only start the whole merciless, curling, teasing and spraying process all over again.
My 6th grade teacher told me that I pulled out valuable brain cells when I did my hair.
I loved the 80's, I loved my youth. But the 80's style is one I never wanted to see return. Even more than the 80's style, the early 90's style is one I hope I never see again! Yet some people are just trapped in an era. I went to college, yes college, with this girl that was permanently stuck in the late 80's early 90's. She would come to class in her stone washed denim jeans with her matching stone washed denim jacket, complete with the pink lace filled cutouts. She even wore those terrible scrunchy socks and those witchlike looking, flat, pointy shoes. Her clothes weren't retro either, nuh uh, she was wearing vintage baby! You could tell she clung desperately to that era, the same as she clung to the clothes that she never bothered to throw out… even into the new millennium.
I see the young girls at the pubs on a Sat. night here. Sadly, they are trying to revive what is long dead. They think they are so cool and that their ensemble is complete when they find the big, dangly, electric blue earrings to match their electric blue top and electric blue high heels. All to compliment their stone washed denim skirts of course. I say, if they are going to do it, do it right for fuck's sake! If you are going to try to be 80's then break out the legwarmers, wear some crazy, bright makeup, with loads of eyeliner, curl, tease and spray your hair like there's no tomorrow!!
My big hair is gone, the 80's are gone and so is my youth. But I could still show these girls a thing or two about big hair! Just give me a curling iron, a brush and some Aquanet!
I used to have big hair. Well, big, frizzy, disgusting hair. But, big none the less. The big hair motto: The bigger the bangs the better. I went through so much environmentally unfriendly hairspray like water. The hairspray of choice: Aquanet. Dear God did that stuff stink too! With big ol' hair, you could only pray that it didn't rain. If your hairspray saturated bangs got wet, not only did they flatten, but they were reduced to this sticky, glue like substance. When you raked the brush through this sticky mess, you came out with gobs of sticky, white goo… white flakes when it dried. Then you could only start the whole merciless, curling, teasing and spraying process all over again.
My 6th grade teacher told me that I pulled out valuable brain cells when I did my hair.
I loved the 80's, I loved my youth. But the 80's style is one I never wanted to see return. Even more than the 80's style, the early 90's style is one I hope I never see again! Yet some people are just trapped in an era. I went to college, yes college, with this girl that was permanently stuck in the late 80's early 90's. She would come to class in her stone washed denim jeans with her matching stone washed denim jacket, complete with the pink lace filled cutouts. She even wore those terrible scrunchy socks and those witchlike looking, flat, pointy shoes. Her clothes weren't retro either, nuh uh, she was wearing vintage baby! You could tell she clung desperately to that era, the same as she clung to the clothes that she never bothered to throw out… even into the new millennium.
I see the young girls at the pubs on a Sat. night here. Sadly, they are trying to revive what is long dead. They think they are so cool and that their ensemble is complete when they find the big, dangly, electric blue earrings to match their electric blue top and electric blue high heels. All to compliment their stone washed denim skirts of course. I say, if they are going to do it, do it right for fuck's sake! If you are going to try to be 80's then break out the legwarmers, wear some crazy, bright makeup, with loads of eyeliner, curl, tease and spray your hair like there's no tomorrow!!
My big hair is gone, the 80's are gone and so is my youth. But I could still show these girls a thing or two about big hair! Just give me a curling iron, a brush and some Aquanet!
The Problem with the Middle East
The Problem with the Middle East Current mood: contemplative Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes
The Problem With the Middle East
By Leah Dunne
The problem with the Middle East is that it suffers from 'middle child syndrome.' Ancient and steeped in history as this part of the world may be, the problem lies within the name itself, 'Middle' East. It suffers from identity crisis. They are not a continent on their own, yet they're not European, they're not African, and although they are considered part of Asia, they are hardly Asian. They just don't know who they are! Poor souls. They're kind of like Central America, not quite North America and not quite South America. Confusingly enough, they're considered part of North America, although they're more like South Americans? At least they had the decency to call Central America 'Central' and not 'Middle' America! You don't see them terrorising other countries and starting wars with the world because they're confused about who they are! They are respecting enough to keep the fighting amongst themselves.
In researching this matter a little further, I found some interesting and coincidental people that were/are also middle children. Namely, Adolf Hitler, Saddam Hussein, Osama Bin Laden and Martha Stewart. Come on, the results speak for themselves! Mind you, there were plenty of other candidates I researched, but most of them turned out to be firstborns. That speaks for itself as well (bullies). Middle children all suffer from identity crisis, they're not the responsible (bully) eldest child, and they're not the free spirited (spoiled) youngest child. They are the monkey in the middle! These monkeys always feel they need to prove something to the world, make their mark. They start out going through a rebellious period to get attention, then they get a bit older and realise they are going to have to attain grandeur somehow to get that negative attention they so crave. They become tyrants to the weak and younger siblings, then they start invading their rooms or countries, the power goes to their head and they just start killing and bombing everyone. Well, Martha Stewart is a little more subtle and cunning about it, she baked cakes, did a mean ass grilled cheese and started some insider trading. All in all, you see the pattern here.
The question is: How do you deal with middle child syndrome? It's just as perplexing trying to deal with a middle child as it is a middle child part of the world. Everyone shaking their heads saying, 'What are we ever going to do with him/her?' Since I'm fresh out of Austrian nuns (that werent actually Austrian) to sing, 'How do you solve a problem like Maria' right now, I guess I'm going to have to come up with my own solution. Which, BTW, they never did 'solve' the problem of Maria, they just sent her off to get married to some militant type and left it up to him to solve her as a problem. Which, when you think about it, is not so dissimilar to the present situation in the 'Middle' East.
You see, not everyone in the 'Middle' East are middle children, just the problem few. It's hardly fair to punish so many others for the errant ways of the few. The best solution is usually to just ignore them. But if we ignore them, then we're leaving them to their own devices to pick on everyone. So, we round them up, spank them all, (spank in the 'Ow, that really hurts, Im gonna cry way', not spank in the 'Ohhh that hurts, do it again way') and send them all to 'time out' in Antarctica. Since we're dealing with a big crowd here, we're dealing with a bigger 'time out' time than say, 5 minutes. So, we'll have to make 'time out' more like 15 years. Yeah, I know they have words for these things like corporal punishment and exile. But, since were dealing with immature middle children here, we're going to do things like spanking (see above for exact kind of spanking) and time out. I know the poor people of Antarctica didn't do anything to deserve these bratty middle children being put on their continent for 'time out'. Since Antarctica is so big and the population so few, I figure we will be able to find a good, barren, populace less area to put them all in. they won't even know they're there.
While these problem middle children are gone, we'll be able to treat the poor people that have been tyrranised for years. We'll build them a 'Middle' East Disney and let them all have a free day to enjoy Mickey, Minnie, all the other characters and the rides . We'll make sure to make videos of this to send to the middle children in 'time out' in Antarctica and say , 'See, everyone else is having fun while you're gone! You were the problem all along!' After their 15 years are up, we'll do a little test run and see if they are fit to be part of the rest of the world again or not. If they aren't, we'll put them back in 'time out Antarctica' for another while. Don't feel bad for the middle children though, they'll have Martha Stewart with them, I'm sure she'll make a mean ass snow cone for them all. They just better hope when their re-evaluation comes up that Martha Stewart has to go back with them if they have to go back. Otherwise, they'll just be shit out of luck!
So that, boys and girls, is the problem with the 'Middle' East and my solution. Recapping: Middle children suffer identity crisis and start wars, so spank them (not in the enjoyable way) and send them to 'time out' in Antarctica (to eat Martha Stewart snow cones and hopefully get eaten by a polar bear).
The Problem With the Middle East
By Leah Dunne
The problem with the Middle East is that it suffers from 'middle child syndrome.' Ancient and steeped in history as this part of the world may be, the problem lies within the name itself, 'Middle' East. It suffers from identity crisis. They are not a continent on their own, yet they're not European, they're not African, and although they are considered part of Asia, they are hardly Asian. They just don't know who they are! Poor souls. They're kind of like Central America, not quite North America and not quite South America. Confusingly enough, they're considered part of North America, although they're more like South Americans? At least they had the decency to call Central America 'Central' and not 'Middle' America! You don't see them terrorising other countries and starting wars with the world because they're confused about who they are! They are respecting enough to keep the fighting amongst themselves.
In researching this matter a little further, I found some interesting and coincidental people that were/are also middle children. Namely, Adolf Hitler, Saddam Hussein, Osama Bin Laden and Martha Stewart. Come on, the results speak for themselves! Mind you, there were plenty of other candidates I researched, but most of them turned out to be firstborns. That speaks for itself as well (bullies). Middle children all suffer from identity crisis, they're not the responsible (bully) eldest child, and they're not the free spirited (spoiled) youngest child. They are the monkey in the middle! These monkeys always feel they need to prove something to the world, make their mark. They start out going through a rebellious period to get attention, then they get a bit older and realise they are going to have to attain grandeur somehow to get that negative attention they so crave. They become tyrants to the weak and younger siblings, then they start invading their rooms or countries, the power goes to their head and they just start killing and bombing everyone. Well, Martha Stewart is a little more subtle and cunning about it, she baked cakes, did a mean ass grilled cheese and started some insider trading. All in all, you see the pattern here.
The question is: How do you deal with middle child syndrome? It's just as perplexing trying to deal with a middle child as it is a middle child part of the world. Everyone shaking their heads saying, 'What are we ever going to do with him/her?' Since I'm fresh out of Austrian nuns (that werent actually Austrian) to sing, 'How do you solve a problem like Maria' right now, I guess I'm going to have to come up with my own solution. Which, BTW, they never did 'solve' the problem of Maria, they just sent her off to get married to some militant type and left it up to him to solve her as a problem. Which, when you think about it, is not so dissimilar to the present situation in the 'Middle' East.
You see, not everyone in the 'Middle' East are middle children, just the problem few. It's hardly fair to punish so many others for the errant ways of the few. The best solution is usually to just ignore them. But if we ignore them, then we're leaving them to their own devices to pick on everyone. So, we round them up, spank them all, (spank in the 'Ow, that really hurts, Im gonna cry way', not spank in the 'Ohhh that hurts, do it again way') and send them all to 'time out' in Antarctica. Since we're dealing with a big crowd here, we're dealing with a bigger 'time out' time than say, 5 minutes. So, we'll have to make 'time out' more like 15 years. Yeah, I know they have words for these things like corporal punishment and exile. But, since were dealing with immature middle children here, we're going to do things like spanking (see above for exact kind of spanking) and time out. I know the poor people of Antarctica didn't do anything to deserve these bratty middle children being put on their continent for 'time out'. Since Antarctica is so big and the population so few, I figure we will be able to find a good, barren, populace less area to put them all in. they won't even know they're there.
While these problem middle children are gone, we'll be able to treat the poor people that have been tyrranised for years. We'll build them a 'Middle' East Disney and let them all have a free day to enjoy Mickey, Minnie, all the other characters and the rides . We'll make sure to make videos of this to send to the middle children in 'time out' in Antarctica and say , 'See, everyone else is having fun while you're gone! You were the problem all along!' After their 15 years are up, we'll do a little test run and see if they are fit to be part of the rest of the world again or not. If they aren't, we'll put them back in 'time out Antarctica' for another while. Don't feel bad for the middle children though, they'll have Martha Stewart with them, I'm sure she'll make a mean ass snow cone for them all. They just better hope when their re-evaluation comes up that Martha Stewart has to go back with them if they have to go back. Otherwise, they'll just be shit out of luck!
So that, boys and girls, is the problem with the 'Middle' East and my solution. Recapping: Middle children suffer identity crisis and start wars, so spank them (not in the enjoyable way) and send them to 'time out' in Antarctica (to eat Martha Stewart snow cones and hopefully get eaten by a polar bear).
The Kitty Pimp
The Kitty Pimp Current mood: crazy
We have 7 cats. Not a fact that I'm proud of, but, fact none the less. I do love cats, don't get me wrong.. I just don't love how easily and how often my little kitties become 'baby mommas'. I'll give a bit of a family tree here, try to stay with me.. It is relevant. Papillon (aka, Pappy) is the matriarch of this clan. She had four kittens last year, two of which we kept, (against my will), Monkey, and Peco. This year, Monkey had four kittens, Peco has had a total of 8 now (technically 10, but two died), that's two litters Peco has had now. So, from Monkey and Peco's first litters this year, we have PJ (Peco Junior) and Chipmunk. From Peco's second litter this year, we have 2 six week old kittens that I call Bobcat and Blacky. I tend to give very generic names to kitties I don't intend to keep. Although, back to the 7 cats thing.. I don't win that argument too often. So, in order of age, Pappy, Monkey, Peco, PJ, Chipmunk, Blacky and Bobcat.
Lately, Pappy, who is usually very good natured, and Monkey, who just lives up to her namesake, have become very bitchy. Monkey comes in the garden at feeding time and hisses and growls at everyone, taking bitchy swipes at them. Monkey won't eat with everyone anymore either, she has to eat on her own. I attributed this to Monkey's very independent nature. Normally rather loving and mental, she always got on with everyone, but was a very terrible mother. She's extremely selfish. Now, Pappy has become very bitchy lately as well, smacking everyone and letting out the odd growl at them. That's very uncharacteristic of her. Pappy is the one who took over Monkey's brood because Monkey couldn't be arsed to stick around long enough to take care of them. So, with Pappy being bitchy, it got me wondering.
You see, cats can have multiple partners as the father(s) of their litters. There could be 5 fathers to one litter of kittens born. Thing is, most of our kittens all turned out looking uncannily the same. I know exactly who the father of all these kitties is. Lotto Plus One (the name is a long story I won't get into here). That black little bollox of a tom knocks all my kitties up. Which made me start thinking... The bitchiness of Monkey and Pappy isn't necessarily unfounded. In fact, I realised that we have quite the episode of Jerry Springer going on in our back garden. Monkey's first litter, who's the daddy? Lotto Plus One! Peco's first litter, who's the daddy? Lotto Plus One! Peco's second litter, who's the daddy? Lotto Plus One! Even Pappy was riding him! So, here we have mother and two daughters all riding the same bloke and all 3 of them have been knocked up by him.. Peco, twice!
We have trailer trash right here in our back garden! I know, I know, you might be saying to yourself right now, 'Why don't you just get them fixed?' Who would want to get them fixed and miss out on all the drama!? Yes, they cost us a fortune in cat food, but it's a small price to pay for something better than cable telly right on your doorstep. I mean, we got them a cat house, but I didn't know it was literally going to be a CAT HOUSE! Nevermind smitten kitten, I'm feel like the Kitty Pimp! Who else could say as much for themselves?
Aside from all of that, Chipmunk has proven to be our shining star. She produced, what was once thought to be a mythical creature in our area. She caught a mouse! Now, I know, a cat catching a mouse, big deal! But, a cat catching a mouse in an area where cats are in abundance, 7 of which are ours.. Now THAT, is a big deal. She was delighted with herself too. In fact, they all had a go at playing with the mouse after it was dead. I'm sure it was the first time most of them had even seen one. But.. then came the mystery.
Trev was out smoking the other night, and he saw something white at the side of the house. He just assumed it was a bit of paper or something and left it at that. We're not strangers to the odd thing being in our back garden. Since there is nothing much of interest for our cats to catch, they bring back whatever they can. Pappy knows of a house that has endless barbeques because she is forever bringing barbeque chicken, chicken wings and hamburgers to our garden for everyone to share. Sometimes they bring rolls or hotdog buns, sometimes they are lucky enough to get the hotdog itself. Peco once brought a big pile of plain, stuck together spaghetti noodles. The other day there was corn on the cob out there. Maybe these things crossed Trevor's mind when he decided to investigate this white thing. Or maybe it was because PJ was keeping very close watch on it. Either way, Trev called me outside to witness his find... Lo and behold, it was a seagull. Mind you, it wasn't a full grown seagull, but a big enough seagull none the less.
It's worth noting here that our garden is totally enclosed by a 6 foot solid wood fence. Anything the cats bring into our garden, has to come via their mouths, as they carry it over the fence with them. It's also worth noting that we live about a quarter of a mile inland. Not to say that I've never seen seagulls flying overhead, but it's not often and they never come close, they're always high in the sky. So, the enigma remains, how did a dead seagull get into our garden?
Pappy has trouble getting over the fence, and she's partial to pre cooked things that have been discarded. Monkey just couldn't be arsed, she's too lazy and too selfish to bring something like that back to everyone else. Peco.. she might be able to get it over the fence, but again, Peco only ever really brought us spaghetti before. PJ, he's a big boy, but the seagull would still be too big for him, and he's very timid, not into the whole, 'wildlife' thing. Chipmunk.. she's our new mouser, but the seagull was the size of her, I don't see her catching it, let alone being able to bring it over the fence.. Especially since she's pretty new to the 'over the fence' thing and not too good at it yet. Bobcat and Blacky are totally ruled out cause they haven't even left the garden yet since they're tiny and only 6 weeks old (in case anyone is looking for a couple of kittens)... Trev pondered the seagull running into the window or the house and killing itself. But, if it had hit the window there would have been a mark. The house? I don't know, but it still doesn't seem likely since seagulls never actually come out of the sky when they go inland a bit...
I reckon, trailer trash and wiley as our kitties are, one of the girls sent it as a message to the other girls, to stay away from her man. 'He who messes with Lotto Plus One, will be sleeping with with the seagulls.' I'm sure they wanted to say, 'with the fishes', but let's face it, if they caught a fish, they'd eat it and as cats, they're more likely to catch a seagull over a fish. I imagine they had a little trampoline on the other side of the fence and stuck the seagull on it and made one of the little kitties jump from the fence onto the trampoline to propel the seagull over the fence into our garden. I'm sure they would have written a message with it if they could, 'Lotto Plus One is MINE bitches!' But it's so hard to write anything with little kitty paws without thumbs. Ah, poor souls, mystery solved!
We have 7 cats. Not a fact that I'm proud of, but, fact none the less. I do love cats, don't get me wrong.. I just don't love how easily and how often my little kitties become 'baby mommas'. I'll give a bit of a family tree here, try to stay with me.. It is relevant. Papillon (aka, Pappy) is the matriarch of this clan. She had four kittens last year, two of which we kept, (against my will), Monkey, and Peco. This year, Monkey had four kittens, Peco has had a total of 8 now (technically 10, but two died), that's two litters Peco has had now. So, from Monkey and Peco's first litters this year, we have PJ (Peco Junior) and Chipmunk. From Peco's second litter this year, we have 2 six week old kittens that I call Bobcat and Blacky. I tend to give very generic names to kitties I don't intend to keep. Although, back to the 7 cats thing.. I don't win that argument too often. So, in order of age, Pappy, Monkey, Peco, PJ, Chipmunk, Blacky and Bobcat.
Lately, Pappy, who is usually very good natured, and Monkey, who just lives up to her namesake, have become very bitchy. Monkey comes in the garden at feeding time and hisses and growls at everyone, taking bitchy swipes at them. Monkey won't eat with everyone anymore either, she has to eat on her own. I attributed this to Monkey's very independent nature. Normally rather loving and mental, she always got on with everyone, but was a very terrible mother. She's extremely selfish. Now, Pappy has become very bitchy lately as well, smacking everyone and letting out the odd growl at them. That's very uncharacteristic of her. Pappy is the one who took over Monkey's brood because Monkey couldn't be arsed to stick around long enough to take care of them. So, with Pappy being bitchy, it got me wondering.
You see, cats can have multiple partners as the father(s) of their litters. There could be 5 fathers to one litter of kittens born. Thing is, most of our kittens all turned out looking uncannily the same. I know exactly who the father of all these kitties is. Lotto Plus One (the name is a long story I won't get into here). That black little bollox of a tom knocks all my kitties up. Which made me start thinking... The bitchiness of Monkey and Pappy isn't necessarily unfounded. In fact, I realised that we have quite the episode of Jerry Springer going on in our back garden. Monkey's first litter, who's the daddy? Lotto Plus One! Peco's first litter, who's the daddy? Lotto Plus One! Peco's second litter, who's the daddy? Lotto Plus One! Even Pappy was riding him! So, here we have mother and two daughters all riding the same bloke and all 3 of them have been knocked up by him.. Peco, twice!
We have trailer trash right here in our back garden! I know, I know, you might be saying to yourself right now, 'Why don't you just get them fixed?' Who would want to get them fixed and miss out on all the drama!? Yes, they cost us a fortune in cat food, but it's a small price to pay for something better than cable telly right on your doorstep. I mean, we got them a cat house, but I didn't know it was literally going to be a CAT HOUSE! Nevermind smitten kitten, I'm feel like the Kitty Pimp! Who else could say as much for themselves?
Aside from all of that, Chipmunk has proven to be our shining star. She produced, what was once thought to be a mythical creature in our area. She caught a mouse! Now, I know, a cat catching a mouse, big deal! But, a cat catching a mouse in an area where cats are in abundance, 7 of which are ours.. Now THAT, is a big deal. She was delighted with herself too. In fact, they all had a go at playing with the mouse after it was dead. I'm sure it was the first time most of them had even seen one. But.. then came the mystery.
Trev was out smoking the other night, and he saw something white at the side of the house. He just assumed it was a bit of paper or something and left it at that. We're not strangers to the odd thing being in our back garden. Since there is nothing much of interest for our cats to catch, they bring back whatever they can. Pappy knows of a house that has endless barbeques because she is forever bringing barbeque chicken, chicken wings and hamburgers to our garden for everyone to share. Sometimes they bring rolls or hotdog buns, sometimes they are lucky enough to get the hotdog itself. Peco once brought a big pile of plain, stuck together spaghetti noodles. The other day there was corn on the cob out there. Maybe these things crossed Trevor's mind when he decided to investigate this white thing. Or maybe it was because PJ was keeping very close watch on it. Either way, Trev called me outside to witness his find... Lo and behold, it was a seagull. Mind you, it wasn't a full grown seagull, but a big enough seagull none the less.
It's worth noting here that our garden is totally enclosed by a 6 foot solid wood fence. Anything the cats bring into our garden, has to come via their mouths, as they carry it over the fence with them. It's also worth noting that we live about a quarter of a mile inland. Not to say that I've never seen seagulls flying overhead, but it's not often and they never come close, they're always high in the sky. So, the enigma remains, how did a dead seagull get into our garden?
Pappy has trouble getting over the fence, and she's partial to pre cooked things that have been discarded. Monkey just couldn't be arsed, she's too lazy and too selfish to bring something like that back to everyone else. Peco.. she might be able to get it over the fence, but again, Peco only ever really brought us spaghetti before. PJ, he's a big boy, but the seagull would still be too big for him, and he's very timid, not into the whole, 'wildlife' thing. Chipmunk.. she's our new mouser, but the seagull was the size of her, I don't see her catching it, let alone being able to bring it over the fence.. Especially since she's pretty new to the 'over the fence' thing and not too good at it yet. Bobcat and Blacky are totally ruled out cause they haven't even left the garden yet since they're tiny and only 6 weeks old (in case anyone is looking for a couple of kittens)... Trev pondered the seagull running into the window or the house and killing itself. But, if it had hit the window there would have been a mark. The house? I don't know, but it still doesn't seem likely since seagulls never actually come out of the sky when they go inland a bit...
I reckon, trailer trash and wiley as our kitties are, one of the girls sent it as a message to the other girls, to stay away from her man. 'He who messes with Lotto Plus One, will be sleeping with with the seagulls.' I'm sure they wanted to say, 'with the fishes', but let's face it, if they caught a fish, they'd eat it and as cats, they're more likely to catch a seagull over a fish. I imagine they had a little trampoline on the other side of the fence and stuck the seagull on it and made one of the little kitties jump from the fence onto the trampoline to propel the seagull over the fence into our garden. I'm sure they would have written a message with it if they could, 'Lotto Plus One is MINE bitches!' But it's so hard to write anything with little kitty paws without thumbs. Ah, poor souls, mystery solved!
Sneaky Magpie Murderer
Sneaky Magpie Murderer Current mood: sneaky
Why I hate the PS3... Oh, let me count the ways. Ever since the PS3 entered our home, I look at it with utter contempt. I secretly dream of fucking it out the window then taking a hammer to it and smashing it into a million tiny little pieces. The PS3 consumes my husband's every free moment... Which can be seemingly endless hours sometimes. If' he's not actually playing a game, he's busy downloading demos to play (for seemingly endless hours) to decide if he actually wants to buy it and play it for hours on end. I wouldn't mind, but our only telly is in our sitting room/dining room/ kitchen. Unfortunately, the telly is the focal point of the whole room. So, I am forced to listen to or watch as he plays these games for hours, while I go about my business, when I have no interest in them whatsoever.
He rented out a game called Assassin's Creed, that's he's been playing for most of the week. He must have took a page or two out of the sneaky Assassin's Creed, for he's been very sneaky today!
He's been obsessed with this Drake's Fortune for I don't know how many months now. He downloaded the demo, he's watched extensive behind the scenes footage on how it was made, and has declared, I don't know how many times, 'I can't wait for this game to come out here.' Well, he's been playing what I thought was the demo to Drake's Fortune most of today. I found this odd for two reasons, 1. I thought he had already played the demo for it. 2. I thought it was lasting a REALLY long time for just being a demo. That's my only relief with demos.. I know he'll only play them for a few hours then the demo is over.
So, I've been listening to and watching him play Drake's Fortune all day and at this very moment. I made the comment that he was like a Magpie in the game because he was attracted to and always picking up shiny things. I also told him he was a murderer. He's spent the last hour killing people in the game. But I asked him only 15 minutes ago, 'What is the point in playing the demo, not once, but twice for hours on end, when I know you're going to get the game when it comes out and play it for hours on end?' That is when he put his sheepish grin on and said, 'I have a confession to make... This isn't the demo, I ordered the game off Ebay.'
Now, I heard the postman deliver the mail today while I laid in bed. I heard something heavy fall on the floor in the hall, which I assumed to be a package. But when I came downstairs, all that was on the table was a magazine, so I assumed that is what I heard. Trev, having come downstairs 20 minutes before me, had the fire going and was already playing his game. I didn't think much of it. Now, I KNOW it was his game I heard being delivered and not only did he burn the padded envelope it came in before I came downstairs, he actually put the case of the game in with all of the rest of the games so I wouldn't realise something was amiss!
I asked him why he wasn't sneaky when getting gifts for me, only when purchasing something for himself. Especially since I don't ever say 'no' to the child when he wants something, and I should! To which he had no answer of course... Only to blame his sneakiness on his mother (nice cop out).
Why can't he be sneaky about picking up his socks off the floor from under the coffee table every night? Why can't he be sneaky about doing the laundry or hoovering the floors or cleaning the bathroom? I don't really do sneaky, but maybe I'll start. Maybe I'll sneak some dirty boxers into his boxers drawer, maybe I'll sneak some petrol out of his car, maybe I'll sneak some holes into the arse of his jeans, OR maybe I'll sneak out while he's sleeping and smash his PS3 into a million tiny pieces! We'll see how he likes sneaky!
Why I hate the PS3... Oh, let me count the ways. Ever since the PS3 entered our home, I look at it with utter contempt. I secretly dream of fucking it out the window then taking a hammer to it and smashing it into a million tiny little pieces. The PS3 consumes my husband's every free moment... Which can be seemingly endless hours sometimes. If' he's not actually playing a game, he's busy downloading demos to play (for seemingly endless hours) to decide if he actually wants to buy it and play it for hours on end. I wouldn't mind, but our only telly is in our sitting room/dining room/ kitchen. Unfortunately, the telly is the focal point of the whole room. So, I am forced to listen to or watch as he plays these games for hours, while I go about my business, when I have no interest in them whatsoever.
He rented out a game called Assassin's Creed, that's he's been playing for most of the week. He must have took a page or two out of the sneaky Assassin's Creed, for he's been very sneaky today!
He's been obsessed with this Drake's Fortune for I don't know how many months now. He downloaded the demo, he's watched extensive behind the scenes footage on how it was made, and has declared, I don't know how many times, 'I can't wait for this game to come out here.' Well, he's been playing what I thought was the demo to Drake's Fortune most of today. I found this odd for two reasons, 1. I thought he had already played the demo for it. 2. I thought it was lasting a REALLY long time for just being a demo. That's my only relief with demos.. I know he'll only play them for a few hours then the demo is over.
So, I've been listening to and watching him play Drake's Fortune all day and at this very moment. I made the comment that he was like a Magpie in the game because he was attracted to and always picking up shiny things. I also told him he was a murderer. He's spent the last hour killing people in the game. But I asked him only 15 minutes ago, 'What is the point in playing the demo, not once, but twice for hours on end, when I know you're going to get the game when it comes out and play it for hours on end?' That is when he put his sheepish grin on and said, 'I have a confession to make... This isn't the demo, I ordered the game off Ebay.'
Now, I heard the postman deliver the mail today while I laid in bed. I heard something heavy fall on the floor in the hall, which I assumed to be a package. But when I came downstairs, all that was on the table was a magazine, so I assumed that is what I heard. Trev, having come downstairs 20 minutes before me, had the fire going and was already playing his game. I didn't think much of it. Now, I KNOW it was his game I heard being delivered and not only did he burn the padded envelope it came in before I came downstairs, he actually put the case of the game in with all of the rest of the games so I wouldn't realise something was amiss!
I asked him why he wasn't sneaky when getting gifts for me, only when purchasing something for himself. Especially since I don't ever say 'no' to the child when he wants something, and I should! To which he had no answer of course... Only to blame his sneakiness on his mother (nice cop out).
Why can't he be sneaky about picking up his socks off the floor from under the coffee table every night? Why can't he be sneaky about doing the laundry or hoovering the floors or cleaning the bathroom? I don't really do sneaky, but maybe I'll start. Maybe I'll sneak some dirty boxers into his boxers drawer, maybe I'll sneak some petrol out of his car, maybe I'll sneak some holes into the arse of his jeans, OR maybe I'll sneak out while he's sleeping and smash his PS3 into a million tiny pieces! We'll see how he likes sneaky!
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
ADD
ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder)
Many people do not understand ADD, many don’t even recognise it as a condition. ADD is very real, and can be very hard to live with in your adult life. It is a neurobiological disorder, which doesn’t mean that sufferers are all fit for the loony bin… It means that it’s something that is very hard to control. Sometimes, hard as you might try, you have NO control over it whatsoever. There are very definitive symptoms of ADD, symptoms, individually, that could be characteristic of many things. But an ADD sufferer will usually exude most ALL of these symptoms and sometimes other more annoying ones. You can’t just diagnose yourself by these symptoms, diagnosis consists of having had these symptoms from childhood into adulthood followed by psychological testing. Here are the symptoms (not to be used to diagnose yourself):
-Distractibility
-Procrastination
-Anxiety
-Mood Swings
-Relationship Problems
-Interrupting Others
-Disorganisation
-Chronic Lateness
-Depression
-Employment Problems
-Substance Abuse
-Incomplete Projects
-Forgetfulness
-Chronic Boredom
-Low Self Esteem
-Restlessness
-Fidgeting
-Losing Things
Whereas I suffer from all of these things aside from chronic lateness, I have an additional symptom of mild obsessive compulsive disorder… It’s special, let me tell you!
I was put on Ritalin in my teenage years. I have never suffered from hyperactivity, which most people associate with Ritalin. In truth, the Ritalin never helped me much. I suppose it suppressed one of my many annoyances, like being anxious all the time. But, as I got older and couldn’t afford to have a regular prescription of Ritalin, I used it recreationally in a sense. That is to say, I used what pills I had sparingly so I could make them last me. When my ADD was especially bad, I would take one. Which just served to make me extremely happy for a while, then very upset afterward. Most people know you can’t take pills in this way, you have to take them regularly to keep the drug in your body so it can do it’s job. I just couldn’t afford to do that at that time.
I don’t use my ADD as an excuse. Although, when I’m having a particularly bad day and my actions are extremely erratic and I’m easily annoyed, I feel I have to explain my behaviour is due to my ADD and I’m unable to control it at that time. At which point, I’m usually given a sceptical or disbelieving look. As if to say, ‘Your ADD is just an excuse, you CAN control your actions.’ No, I can’t, not always. It is very frustrating to me, to be acting a way I don’t want to act, but I don’t have any control over it. Even more frustrating to me, is to have people regard me as a liar, or as if I’m making excuses. NO ONE, unless they have ADD, can possibly know what it is like to be in my head on a daily basis.
I watched a program on Tourettes Syndrome the other day. While ADD is nothing like Tourettes, I’d liken these people trying to control their tics in public to trying to control your ADD from interfering with your life on a daily basis. When these people with Tourettes get home, they go into a room, all alone and get all the tics out that they’ve been holding in all day. I try to hold my ADD in all the time, it’s nearly impossible. I write to get it all out. I try to write constructively, but sometimes, I write just for myself and that is more like a never ending tangent or rant! It’s how I get all of my frustrations out. I try to hide the internal crap that I endure on a daily basis from the rest of the world. Don’t get me wrong, I have ADD, that is who I am. I try not to let it define me, but it is an integral part of me, of who I am. To love me, you have to love my ADD. You have to put up with me needing constant reassurances that you still like me, that I don’t annoy you, then me interrupting you when you try to answer me because I’ve just thought of something that I HAVE to tell you. Or you trying to tell me something and me constantly thinking about other things while I am desperately trying to listen to you, not because you bore me, but because I have the hardest time concentrating on one thing and sitting still to concentrate on that one thing that I’ve soon forgotten what it even was in the first place that I WAS trying to concentrate on, because I can’t remember anything!
My mind is CONSTANTLY going! I have a million and one thoughts running through my head at any given moment. I try to grasp just one of those thoughts, hold on to it, remember it, so I can tell you about it. Then it’s gone, sometimes before I ever got it out of my mouth.. Sometimes I blurt out utterly random things, something we weren’t even talking about, but in my head, I had what I call a ‘chain of event’ thought… Where I’ve linked something we were talking about to this, then it reminded me of that, and it was related to that other thing that I thought of at some other time and by the time I blurt it out, you have no idea what I’m talking about! So, if you want to know what it’s like to have ADD, I will let you inside my head for TWO MINUTES and two minutes only. I will let down all the defences I keep up all day long so people won’t know… Here is two minutes inside my head…
The filter on the fish tank is going, that filter really annoys me, the fish are so dirty, I hate reaching my hand into the tank it’s disgusting. It’s raining, did I leave the door open, because if I did the floor will get wet. Did I lock the door? If I did, did I check it three times? If I didn’t check it three times then it’s going to annoy me all day because someone might be able to break in if I didn’t check it three times! I’m glad we’ve been getting tissues, I don’t like using paper towels on my nose and I don’t like going into the bathroom to get toilet paper, it’s so much handier to just have the tissues right here, beside the computer. I really don’t like the web cam we have! Trev wanted that thing so bad and it was expensive too and it’s a piece of crap really, I don’t like it! I have all of this spring cleaning to do! Where will I start? I’ve started already but there is so much more to do and I just want our house to be clean!!!
That was two minutes inside my head as fast as I could type it! Is anyone any more enlightened than they were when they first started reading this? This is me! Like it or lump it!
Many people do not understand ADD, many don’t even recognise it as a condition. ADD is very real, and can be very hard to live with in your adult life. It is a neurobiological disorder, which doesn’t mean that sufferers are all fit for the loony bin… It means that it’s something that is very hard to control. Sometimes, hard as you might try, you have NO control over it whatsoever. There are very definitive symptoms of ADD, symptoms, individually, that could be characteristic of many things. But an ADD sufferer will usually exude most ALL of these symptoms and sometimes other more annoying ones. You can’t just diagnose yourself by these symptoms, diagnosis consists of having had these symptoms from childhood into adulthood followed by psychological testing. Here are the symptoms (not to be used to diagnose yourself):
-Distractibility
-Procrastination
-Anxiety
-Mood Swings
-Relationship Problems
-Interrupting Others
-Disorganisation
-Chronic Lateness
-Depression
-Employment Problems
-Substance Abuse
-Incomplete Projects
-Forgetfulness
-Chronic Boredom
-Low Self Esteem
-Restlessness
-Fidgeting
-Losing Things
Whereas I suffer from all of these things aside from chronic lateness, I have an additional symptom of mild obsessive compulsive disorder… It’s special, let me tell you!
I was put on Ritalin in my teenage years. I have never suffered from hyperactivity, which most people associate with Ritalin. In truth, the Ritalin never helped me much. I suppose it suppressed one of my many annoyances, like being anxious all the time. But, as I got older and couldn’t afford to have a regular prescription of Ritalin, I used it recreationally in a sense. That is to say, I used what pills I had sparingly so I could make them last me. When my ADD was especially bad, I would take one. Which just served to make me extremely happy for a while, then very upset afterward. Most people know you can’t take pills in this way, you have to take them regularly to keep the drug in your body so it can do it’s job. I just couldn’t afford to do that at that time.
I don’t use my ADD as an excuse. Although, when I’m having a particularly bad day and my actions are extremely erratic and I’m easily annoyed, I feel I have to explain my behaviour is due to my ADD and I’m unable to control it at that time. At which point, I’m usually given a sceptical or disbelieving look. As if to say, ‘Your ADD is just an excuse, you CAN control your actions.’ No, I can’t, not always. It is very frustrating to me, to be acting a way I don’t want to act, but I don’t have any control over it. Even more frustrating to me, is to have people regard me as a liar, or as if I’m making excuses. NO ONE, unless they have ADD, can possibly know what it is like to be in my head on a daily basis.
I watched a program on Tourettes Syndrome the other day. While ADD is nothing like Tourettes, I’d liken these people trying to control their tics in public to trying to control your ADD from interfering with your life on a daily basis. When these people with Tourettes get home, they go into a room, all alone and get all the tics out that they’ve been holding in all day. I try to hold my ADD in all the time, it’s nearly impossible. I write to get it all out. I try to write constructively, but sometimes, I write just for myself and that is more like a never ending tangent or rant! It’s how I get all of my frustrations out. I try to hide the internal crap that I endure on a daily basis from the rest of the world. Don’t get me wrong, I have ADD, that is who I am. I try not to let it define me, but it is an integral part of me, of who I am. To love me, you have to love my ADD. You have to put up with me needing constant reassurances that you still like me, that I don’t annoy you, then me interrupting you when you try to answer me because I’ve just thought of something that I HAVE to tell you. Or you trying to tell me something and me constantly thinking about other things while I am desperately trying to listen to you, not because you bore me, but because I have the hardest time concentrating on one thing and sitting still to concentrate on that one thing that I’ve soon forgotten what it even was in the first place that I WAS trying to concentrate on, because I can’t remember anything!
My mind is CONSTANTLY going! I have a million and one thoughts running through my head at any given moment. I try to grasp just one of those thoughts, hold on to it, remember it, so I can tell you about it. Then it’s gone, sometimes before I ever got it out of my mouth.. Sometimes I blurt out utterly random things, something we weren’t even talking about, but in my head, I had what I call a ‘chain of event’ thought… Where I’ve linked something we were talking about to this, then it reminded me of that, and it was related to that other thing that I thought of at some other time and by the time I blurt it out, you have no idea what I’m talking about! So, if you want to know what it’s like to have ADD, I will let you inside my head for TWO MINUTES and two minutes only. I will let down all the defences I keep up all day long so people won’t know… Here is two minutes inside my head…
The filter on the fish tank is going, that filter really annoys me, the fish are so dirty, I hate reaching my hand into the tank it’s disgusting. It’s raining, did I leave the door open, because if I did the floor will get wet. Did I lock the door? If I did, did I check it three times? If I didn’t check it three times then it’s going to annoy me all day because someone might be able to break in if I didn’t check it three times! I’m glad we’ve been getting tissues, I don’t like using paper towels on my nose and I don’t like going into the bathroom to get toilet paper, it’s so much handier to just have the tissues right here, beside the computer. I really don’t like the web cam we have! Trev wanted that thing so bad and it was expensive too and it’s a piece of crap really, I don’t like it! I have all of this spring cleaning to do! Where will I start? I’ve started already but there is so much more to do and I just want our house to be clean!!!
That was two minutes inside my head as fast as I could type it! Is anyone any more enlightened than they were when they first started reading this? This is me! Like it or lump it!
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Emily (Prologue, Part I)
Prologue
It all started when I got the letter. I had never got a letter before. I can’t say that I wish I hadn’t gotten this letter. But it changed my life.
I don’t have the letter here with me now. Frank took it from me, he probably threw it away or burned it. I didn’t even understand all the words in it. I just know they were the nicest words anyone has ever said about me.
Funny how a letter sticks with you. People may say something to you and you might not remember what exactly they said to you later if you try to recall. But a letter, even if you only read it once, you remember those words. It’s like the words are stuck in your head, whether you want them to be or not.
The letter is why I’m here. The letter is why Frank locked me up here in the attic. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, I don’t know why he locked me up here either. He’s so angry with me over the letter. He comes storming up here sometimes to hit me and have his way with me, but he won’t let me out. Sometimes he shouts at me, other times he says nothing.
I reckon this is my punishment for getting the letter. But if he locked me up here to make me forget about it, I suppose my punishment isn’t working. All I can think of is the letter. The words are always floating around in my head, even the ones I don’t understand. I don’t even know why he would write me such a letter.
It seems to me as though a letter is really a selfish thing. A letter is written so a person can get all their feelings out. They don’t care how the person the letter is going to will feel. They only care that they got their feelings out. I suppose the letter could make you have all kinds of feelings after reading it. But in the end, I just think it’s a selfish thing. So much thought is put into it when you are writing it, but so little thought after it is out of your hands.
All I know is I can’t stop thinking of the letter…
Part One
I first met Frank when I was eleven. We were married by the time I was twelve. I lived on the farm with my daddy, I tried to take care of him. My ma had died when I was two, daddy said she died from a broken heart from losing all of her babies. I was the only child they had that ever survived, I guess I wasn’t enough for her. I don’t remember her.
The land wasn’t any good to farm on anymore. All the crops dried up and died. Daddy started drinking a lot. He’d get angry when he drank and hit me and lift my skirts. But I kept the place clean and kept food on the table and got drink for daddy. We were in debt with all the people in the town, but they still gave me the things I needed to keep food on the table for daddy and myself. No one had much of anything then. I think they all knew we’d never be able to pay all our tabs.
Frank sold potatoes out of the back of a McDaniel’s truck in the town. He use to talk to me all the time and give me a few potatoes for the dinner. He told me he had a farm that was good for nothing. He had to work on the McDaniel’s farm like most of the failed farmers did. It was something most of them were very bitter about. They hated that their crops had all dried up on them while the McDaniel’s farm was so big and doing so well. They hated that they had to leave their farms to work on someone else’s to pay their debts from their own farms.
Daddy never went to work on the McDaniel’s farm because he was too proud. He would get the drink in him and say that the McDaniel’s had poisoned the land. That’s why everyone else’s crops had dried up but theirs. I think a lot of the other farmers thought this too, but were too afraid to say so. They couldn’t afford to lose their jobs at McDaniel’s and have the bank take their dried up farms and houses.
Frank always seemed interested in me when he saw me. He would touch my bruises, wherever they were, my face, my arms or my legs. He’d examine me like you would a prize bull. I could see that look in his eyes when he’d touch the bruises on my legs. It was the same look daddy had on his face when he’d lift my skirts. Frank was a widow with no kids. He was twenty-seven years older than me. His wife had died years ago from giving birth, along with the child.
One day, Frank came to our house in the McDaniel’s truck. He had never been to our house before, I didn’t even know he knew where we lived. I came out to meet him because daddy was sleeping in his chair. He told me to wait outside and he went into the house. He was in the house for about forty five minutes. I thought about going in, I was curious to know what was going on. Frank came out of the house with a suitcase, he walked right past me and told me to get in the truck. I asked him, ‘What about daddy.’ He just told me matter of factly, ‘You’re daddy is dead, you’re coming with me.’ I didn’t ask anymore questions, daddy always told me to never ask questions and never back talk.
Frank drove me straight to the doctor then he drove us to the church after. The doctor lifted my skirts but didn’t do what daddy usually did when he lifted my skirts. The priest in the church married us. That was the first and last time I’d ever seen a doctor or a priest.
We drove at least an hour out of town to get to Frank’s house after going to the church. I remember there were a lot of things going through my head then, but I didn’t dare say any of them. I wondered how daddy had died, was he dead when I thought he was just sleeping? Who was going to bury him and have the funeral for him, we didn’t have any money. I wondered what that doctor had done to me and why he had done it. Most of all, I wondered why Frank had just married me. I kept looking at the suitcase on the floor of the truck in front of me and wondering what was in it.
Even though it was an hour drive to Frank’s house, it didn’t seem long enough. The dirt road seemed to never end, but I wish it wouldn’t have ended. The truck kicked the dust up all along the road as we drove. I had looked out the window and tried to count the trees as we passed them but there were too many and we were going too fast. Neither one of us spoke a word.
When we got to Frank’s house he told me to grab the suitcase and go into the house. He showed me to our bedroom and told me to go into the bathroom and get washed up and leave my clothes off for when I came back out.
I had never been naked in front of anyone before, I had never even seen myself naked before. I remember a time later when I had just got out of the bath and looked at my naked body in the full length mirror in the bedroom for the first time. I was a skinny person, I had something in the way of breasts, but nothing too big. My red hair came all the way down my back. I had some freckles too. I didn’t seem very tall, I wasn’t short either, but I was at least a head shorter than Frank. I remember running my hands down my belly and wondering why I’d never been with child. Frank walked into the room and saw me looking at myself and beat me stupid before having his way with me. He accused me of running around on him and liking the look of myself too much. He took the mirror down after that.
It all started when I got the letter. I had never got a letter before. I can’t say that I wish I hadn’t gotten this letter. But it changed my life.
I don’t have the letter here with me now. Frank took it from me, he probably threw it away or burned it. I didn’t even understand all the words in it. I just know they were the nicest words anyone has ever said about me.
Funny how a letter sticks with you. People may say something to you and you might not remember what exactly they said to you later if you try to recall. But a letter, even if you only read it once, you remember those words. It’s like the words are stuck in your head, whether you want them to be or not.
The letter is why I’m here. The letter is why Frank locked me up here in the attic. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, I don’t know why he locked me up here either. He’s so angry with me over the letter. He comes storming up here sometimes to hit me and have his way with me, but he won’t let me out. Sometimes he shouts at me, other times he says nothing.
I reckon this is my punishment for getting the letter. But if he locked me up here to make me forget about it, I suppose my punishment isn’t working. All I can think of is the letter. The words are always floating around in my head, even the ones I don’t understand. I don’t even know why he would write me such a letter.
It seems to me as though a letter is really a selfish thing. A letter is written so a person can get all their feelings out. They don’t care how the person the letter is going to will feel. They only care that they got their feelings out. I suppose the letter could make you have all kinds of feelings after reading it. But in the end, I just think it’s a selfish thing. So much thought is put into it when you are writing it, but so little thought after it is out of your hands.
All I know is I can’t stop thinking of the letter…
Part One
I first met Frank when I was eleven. We were married by the time I was twelve. I lived on the farm with my daddy, I tried to take care of him. My ma had died when I was two, daddy said she died from a broken heart from losing all of her babies. I was the only child they had that ever survived, I guess I wasn’t enough for her. I don’t remember her.
The land wasn’t any good to farm on anymore. All the crops dried up and died. Daddy started drinking a lot. He’d get angry when he drank and hit me and lift my skirts. But I kept the place clean and kept food on the table and got drink for daddy. We were in debt with all the people in the town, but they still gave me the things I needed to keep food on the table for daddy and myself. No one had much of anything then. I think they all knew we’d never be able to pay all our tabs.
Frank sold potatoes out of the back of a McDaniel’s truck in the town. He use to talk to me all the time and give me a few potatoes for the dinner. He told me he had a farm that was good for nothing. He had to work on the McDaniel’s farm like most of the failed farmers did. It was something most of them were very bitter about. They hated that their crops had all dried up on them while the McDaniel’s farm was so big and doing so well. They hated that they had to leave their farms to work on someone else’s to pay their debts from their own farms.
Daddy never went to work on the McDaniel’s farm because he was too proud. He would get the drink in him and say that the McDaniel’s had poisoned the land. That’s why everyone else’s crops had dried up but theirs. I think a lot of the other farmers thought this too, but were too afraid to say so. They couldn’t afford to lose their jobs at McDaniel’s and have the bank take their dried up farms and houses.
Frank always seemed interested in me when he saw me. He would touch my bruises, wherever they were, my face, my arms or my legs. He’d examine me like you would a prize bull. I could see that look in his eyes when he’d touch the bruises on my legs. It was the same look daddy had on his face when he’d lift my skirts. Frank was a widow with no kids. He was twenty-seven years older than me. His wife had died years ago from giving birth, along with the child.
One day, Frank came to our house in the McDaniel’s truck. He had never been to our house before, I didn’t even know he knew where we lived. I came out to meet him because daddy was sleeping in his chair. He told me to wait outside and he went into the house. He was in the house for about forty five minutes. I thought about going in, I was curious to know what was going on. Frank came out of the house with a suitcase, he walked right past me and told me to get in the truck. I asked him, ‘What about daddy.’ He just told me matter of factly, ‘You’re daddy is dead, you’re coming with me.’ I didn’t ask anymore questions, daddy always told me to never ask questions and never back talk.
Frank drove me straight to the doctor then he drove us to the church after. The doctor lifted my skirts but didn’t do what daddy usually did when he lifted my skirts. The priest in the church married us. That was the first and last time I’d ever seen a doctor or a priest.
We drove at least an hour out of town to get to Frank’s house after going to the church. I remember there were a lot of things going through my head then, but I didn’t dare say any of them. I wondered how daddy had died, was he dead when I thought he was just sleeping? Who was going to bury him and have the funeral for him, we didn’t have any money. I wondered what that doctor had done to me and why he had done it. Most of all, I wondered why Frank had just married me. I kept looking at the suitcase on the floor of the truck in front of me and wondering what was in it.
Even though it was an hour drive to Frank’s house, it didn’t seem long enough. The dirt road seemed to never end, but I wish it wouldn’t have ended. The truck kicked the dust up all along the road as we drove. I had looked out the window and tried to count the trees as we passed them but there were too many and we were going too fast. Neither one of us spoke a word.
When we got to Frank’s house he told me to grab the suitcase and go into the house. He showed me to our bedroom and told me to go into the bathroom and get washed up and leave my clothes off for when I came back out.
I had never been naked in front of anyone before, I had never even seen myself naked before. I remember a time later when I had just got out of the bath and looked at my naked body in the full length mirror in the bedroom for the first time. I was a skinny person, I had something in the way of breasts, but nothing too big. My red hair came all the way down my back. I had some freckles too. I didn’t seem very tall, I wasn’t short either, but I was at least a head shorter than Frank. I remember running my hands down my belly and wondering why I’d never been with child. Frank walked into the room and saw me looking at myself and beat me stupid before having his way with me. He accused me of running around on him and liking the look of myself too much. He took the mirror down after that.
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