How do you classify yourself? Many people identify themselves as being a “Child of the 60’s” of a “Child of the 70’s” or whatever. I’ve never actually figured out what I am. My childhood years were in the 50’s but I’ve always felt like a “Child of the 60’s” but also at times like a “Child of the 70’s”. I guess I’m more than a little conflicted. I enjoyed each of those decades to their fullest and each means as much to me as the others. That being said I can state emphatically that I’m not a child of the 80’s, 90’s, or God forbid the twenty-first century. Those born and raised during those years have my sincerest sympathies.
I realize that many of the readers of this blog identify with those years but do they really. Let’s take this short quiz to help answer at least one question, are you really a “Child of the 80’s” or not?
Take a look at this list. If you can identify with more than half of them, you are a child of the 80’s.
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You know the profound meaning of "Wax on, Wax off".
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You know that another name for a keyboard is a "Synthesizer".
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You were only cool if you hung out at the Roller Rink and actually knew how to skate.
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You can sing the McDonald’s Big Mack Filet-o-Fish, quarter pounder, French Fry song while jump roping.
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You wore 3-8 different colored socks in layers and thought that the more you could wear the cooler you were.
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You know who Mr. T is.
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You actually believed for a minute that K.I.T. (The night rider) actually was real.
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You know who Fat Albert is.
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You wore fluorescent, neon clothing.
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You could break dance, or wish you could.
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You wanted to be The Incredible Hulk for Halloween.
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You believed that "By the power of Greyskull, you HAD the power!"
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Partying "like it’s 1999" seemed SO far away.
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You thought that Transformers were more than meets the eye.
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You wanted to be on Star Search.
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You can remember Michael Jackson when he was still black.
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You remember the garbage pail kids, and owned some.
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You knew what Willis was "talkin’ ’bout."
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You HAD to have your MTV.
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You always wondered why Tootie always wore those skates.
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You actually thought "Dirty Dancing" was a REALLY good movie.
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You watched Purple Rain over and over again.
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Your all time favorite movie was Footloose and you actually thought that Kevin Bacon was HOT in it!!!
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You remember the episode of Good Times when Flo broke down after James’ funeral.
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You remember when ATARI was a state of the art video game system.
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You were led to believe that in the year 2000 we’d all be living on the moon.
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You remember and/or owned any of the Care Bear Glass collection from Pizza Hut or any other stupid collection they came out with.
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Poltergeist freaked you out.
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You carried your lunch to school in a Gremlins or an ET lunch box.
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You have pondered why Smurfette was the ONLY female smurf.
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You know what leg warmers are and probably had a pair.
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You wore biker shorts underneath a short skirt and felt stylish.
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You had a Swatch Watch with the Swatch Guard.
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You thought UTFOs "Roxanne, Roxanne" song was the bomb!
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You remember when Saturday Night Live was funny.
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You had Wonder Woman or Superman underoos.
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You know what a "Push Up" ice cream is.
Well, how did you make out. Are you really a child of the 80’s or not? If you really are then are you willing to admit it in front of your friends? All interesting questions and none of them likely to be answered truthfully. Stand up and be proud of your heritage, no matter how silly and stupid it is. We’ve all had to do that at some point in our lives and it wasn’t easy for us either.
I’ve been mentioning the Fryeburg Fair for a month now and today was the day. We were up at dawn and enroute to pickup the better-half’s daughter and one year old grandson. I’d pounded down two quick cups of coffee to get my heart started and to keep me alert during the fifty minute drive to Fryeburg, Maine. It was early, I hadn’t slept all that well, and I knew it was going to be a very long day.
I was looking forward to taking the grandson to his first Fair but everything else was up for grabs. As we entered the town of Fryeburg traffic was exactly as expected, grid lock. We moved very slowly through town to the area where the fairgrounds are located and parked in the front yard of a local resident for $5.00 bucks. Every house on the street approaching the fairgrounds has a sign up and a person waving a flag trying to entice idiots like us to park with them. Depending on the size of their yard they can turn a nice profit during Fair week. We unloaded the two hundred pounds of baby stuff, threw the little guy into his high-tech stroller and began walking the short distance to the main entrance of the fairgrounds.
When I say there were thousands of people swarming the area I’m not kidding. I have a minor phobia about large crowds and close quarters and I knew today was going to test me in a big way.
The better-half has a few things during every Fair visit that have become a tradition for her such as immediately buying a stack of postcards, a giant plastic coffee mug, and chowing down on a box of french fries. It took just a few minutes for those three items to be scratched from her to-do list and the rest of us were finally permitted to find a freaking rest room.
The crowds continued to grow, the sun came out, and it turned into a beautiful yet sweltering day. During the drive to the Fair the temperature was in the low fifties but within an hour of our arrival it started climbing into the mid seventies. An absolute scorcher as it turned out.
We visited exhibits, nibbled at various food items and delivered the grandson to the petting zoo for an introduction to a few of Mother Natures favorite animals. He was curious for a moment as he and his mother were mobbed by a herd of small goats looking for the food they were carrying. His interests in the goats waned a bit but then he discovered the straw covering the floor. It held his interest almost as long as the goats. Maybe next year he’ll be more interested in the animals.
We sat for a time in the shade of a tree and listened to a local performer singing a selection of songs and making nice with the crowd. We were able to catch our breath, cool off a little, and change our damp little boy. He had some fun clapping with the music and trying to dance and smiling and giggling at everyone. It was pretty cool.
It was as expected a very long day. We visited more animals, barns, horses, oxen, cattle, chickens, and llamas than I ever want to see again. We ate more food, drank more water and made many more trips to the restrooms. That for me is the biggest racket of all at this Fair. They have an assigned attendant in each restroom who I was expected to tip after relieving myself. Of course I left no tip because I refuse to pay someone to stand there and direct me to a urinal and then watch me take a leak. Something is just wrong and a little creepy about that and I refused to participate. I’d love to see just how those folks would list that job on their resume. I won’t even try to guess.
It was finally four o’clock and we’d been roaming around for almost eight hours. My back hurt, my feet hurt, I was hot and sweaty, and the baby was getting a little cranky. The better-half and her daughter were exhausted as well and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. So we did.
The soft seats of that car were the best part of the day. The baby instantly fell asleep and we made our way home. I was happy to be involved with his first official Fair visit and we were able to document it with hundreds of photographs. Next year he’ll be walking, talking, and be a little more aware of what’s going on around him. I’m already looking forward to that.
I’d really like to write more but I’m heading for the shower and then our nice soft bed. I am pooped.
As anyone who reads this blog regularly knows, I’m not a very religious person. As a kid I was dragged to church services by my mom every blessed week, kicking and screaming all the way. I was forced into catechism classes at a very young age which I hated. After a few years I was finally able to get my self ejected from them when I was caught reading a somewhat off-color magazine during a Sunday morning class.
I believe people should believe what they want as long as they leave me alone. Our church had the required illuminated sign out in front with those oh so interesting weekly announcements and even additional verbal notifications made during the Mass. There were wedding announcements, reading of the bans of marriage, and blah, blah, blah, blah. They were just as boring as you can imagine. Here are a few sample announcements that actually appeared on church bulletins boards or were announced during services that aren’t quite as boring as mine were. Have a chuckle or two on me.
You just can’t make this stuff up. Even the most pious of us can “screw the pooch” once in a while. Of course, I mean that in the most respectful and pious way.
If you count my years as a police officer, my time in retail investigations, and seven years working in an assortment of state jails and courthouses, you’d think I’ve seen and heard just about everything. If you thought that you’d be right. Those facilities offer up a list of experiences that most people would never experience or want to. People give me strange looks at times and really have a hard time believing some of those stories. Odd, weird, and unusual are everyday occurrences there whether they like to believe it or not.
I spent seven years, five days a week sitting in courtrooms and listening to testimony and statement by attorneys that were stupid, funny, and pitiful all at the same time. For the most part the judges were just highly paid referees between the attorneys and their ever so stupid defendants and witnesses.
These items were actual statements made under oath and recorded by court reporters. It’s a small sampling of how our criminal justice system really works.
* * *
Q: Are you sexually active?
A: No, I just lie there.
* * *
Q: What is your date of birth?
A: July 15th.
Q: What year?
A: Every year.
* * *
Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo or the occult?
A: We both do.
Q: Voodoo?
A: We do.
Q: You do?
A: Yes, voodoo.
* * *
Q: Now doctor, isn’t it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn’t know about it until the next morning?
A: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
* * *
Q: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he?
* * *
Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.
* * *
Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
A: Yes.
Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
A: I forget.
Q: You forget? Can you give us an example of something that you’ve forgotten?
* * *
Q: How old is your son, the one living with you?
A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can’t remember which.
Q: How long has he lived with you?
A: Forty-five years.
* * *
Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you when he woke up that morning?
A: He said, "Where am I, Cathy."
Q: And why did that upset you?
A: My name is Susan.
* * *
Q: Were you present when your picture was taken?
* * *
I really can’t explain to you the look on some of the defendant’s faces when they hear some of the questions their own attorneys ask. It doesn’t fill them with confidence that their court appointed attorney has no clue about what’s going on. The attorneys seem speechless at times when they hear their own clients testimony. I found my jaw dropping on many occasions when a defendant said just enough to convince the jury he was an idiot and a guilty one at that.
I’ve decided today will be all about our very first visit from the Good Humor Man. If I dare write about politics or religion I almost always piss someone off including myself at times. With the country’s current list of ugly situations such as a confused president, a borderline bad economy, illegal immigration issues, constant threats of war, our eroding inalienable rights, destructive healthcare plans, and terrorism there isn’t much left to laugh about.
I’ve always been an observer of people and that includes myself. I’ve noticed in recent months that the only successful way to maintain my mental health and general well being is to "bury my head in the sand" and IGNORE, IGNORE, IGNORE. For years I’ve been out there shouting, screaming, bitching, moaning and criticizing the never ending idiocy that is the human condition. What have I accomplished, not one damn thing. Learning how to ignore or zone-out some of this stuff has gone a long way to improving my life.
I thank my better-half for all her help in assisting and motivating me to learn some really important zoning-out techniques. It was just a recent fluke that got me to thinking that those simple yet effective techniques just might work with everyone and everything else as well. After that major epiphany my life suddenly took a turn for the better. I stopped watching and listening to TV and radio newscasts because I totally disagree with their liberal agendas. The Internet news sites like The Drudge Report after a period of time have morphed slowly into versions of the same bad news bearers, death, destruction, and politics that I shied away from on TV and radio. The talking heads from both political persuasions have become a constant drumbeat of opinions that I think are crap.
In order to keep a smile on my face and a song in my heart I have to ignore these idiots and their idiotic opinions. I’m slowly discovering that many of my own opinions make much more sense than theirs. Since they don’t wish to listen to mine or to use any sort of common sense in creating their own, I’m zoning them out. Today is a perfect day for our first visit from Mr. Good Humor. He always seems to bring with him a few items that will put a smile on our faces and help us forget the load of crap we are slowly being inundated with. Enjoy these funny, sometimes off-color jokes, limericks, and stories and try smiling a little.
There’s plenty of sand here on my beach for all of us to bury our heads in.
* * *
Little Billy came home from school to see the families pet rooster dead in the front yard. Rigor mortis had set in and it was flat on its back with its legs in the air. When his Dad came home Billy said, "Dad our roosters dead and his legs are sticking in the air. Why are his legs sticking in the air?" His father thinking quickly said, "Son, that’s so God can reach down from the clouds and lift the rooster straight up to heaven.""Gee Dad that’s great," said little Billy.
A few days later, when Dad came home from work, Billy rushed out to meet him yelling, "Dad, Dad we almost lost Mom today!" "What do you mean?" said Dad.
"Well Dad, I got home from school early today and went up to your bedroom and there was Mom flat on her back with her legs in the air screaming, "Jesus I’m coming, I’m coming" If it hadn’t of been for Uncle George holding her down we’d have lost her for sure!"
* * *
There once was a man named Barack
Whose re-election came as a shock
He raised the taxes we pay,
and then helped turned marriage gay
And now he’s coming after our Glock
* * *
John took his blind date to the carnival. "What would you like to do first, Kim?" asked the man. "I want to get weighed," said the girl. They ambled over to the weight guesser. He guessed 120 pounds. She got on the scale; it read 117 and she won a prize. Next the couple went on the ferris wheel. When the ride was over, John again asked Kim what she would like to do. "I want to get weighed," she said. Back to the weight guesser they went. Since they had been there before, he guessed her correct weight, and John lost his dollar.
The couple walked around the carnival and again he asked where to next. "I want to get weighed," she responded. By this time, John figured she was really weird and took her home early, dropping her off with a handshake. Her roommate, Laura, asked her about the blind date, "How’d it go?" Kim responded, "Oh, Waura, it was wousy."
* * *
The Dr. Seuss Purity Test
Have you done it on a boat? Have you done it with a goat?
Have you done it in a bed? Have you done it with the dead?
Have you done it in the ass? Have you done it, high on grass?
Have you done it in the car? Have you simply gone too far?
Have you done it on the beach? Have you done it with the teach?
Have you done it on your back? Have you done it strapped to a rack?
Have you done it in a box? Have you done it with a fox?
Have you done it in a tree? Have you done it with more than three?
Have you done it in the rain? Have you done it for the pain?
Have you done it ‘tween the tits? Have you done it wearing mitts?
Have you done it packed in rubber? Have you done it undercover?
Have you done it on a perch? Have you done it in a church?
Have you done it with a virgin? Have you done it with a sturgeon?
Have you done it with ropes and chains? Have you done it while insane?
Have you done it on the stage? Have you done it underage?
Have you done it with all your friends? Have you done it in both ends?
Have you done it with your dog? Have you done it on a log?
Have you done it under clamps? Have you done it with the lamps?
Have you done it without style? Have you done it up a mile?
Have you done it for all to see? Have you ever had VD?
Have you done it on Mother’s couch? Have you done it in your mouth?
Have you done it while on tape? Have you done it out of shape?
Have you done it on live TV? Have you done it whilst you pee?
Have you done it in the gym? Have you done it on a whim?
Have you done it on a dare? Do you really think we care?
Answer these and count your "no"s, pray this number never grows. Fifty questions we asked thee, score times two is thy Purity.
Are you smiling yet?
I hate to admit that in my high school days I absolutely hated English class and writing assignments. The only good thing about that class was the smok’in hot teacher (Ms. Walters) who was much better known for her long legs and colored bra collection. Unfortunately that’s a story for another time. She attempted to teach us morons grammar and other tools needed to write coherently. Two of her favorites things were the use of similes and metaphors. I really never cared much for those exercises and assignments and I’m sure most kids these days feel the same way. I’ll list the official definitions now and then offer up some actual samples from our current crop of students. I have to admit that even my first attempts weren’t as bad as some of these.
* * *
sim·i·le
/ˈsɪməli/ [sim-uh-lee] noun
1. a figure of speech in which two unlike things are explicitly compared, as in “she is like a rose.” Compare metaphor.
2. an instance of such a figure of speech or a use of words exemplifying it.
met·a·phor
/ˈmɛtəˌfɔr, -fər/ [met-uh-fawr, -fer] noun
1. a figure of speech in which a term or phrase is applied to something to which it is not literally applicable in order to suggest a resemblance, as in “A mighty fortress is our God.” Compare mixed metaphor, simile ( def 1 ) .
2. something used, or regarded as being used, to represent something else; emblem; symbol.
* * *
He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
She was as easy as the "TV Guide" crossword.
She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
Every minute without you feels like 60 seconds.
Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
McMurphy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
Even in his last years, Grand Dad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.
Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
"Oh, Jason, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a college freshman on $1-a-beer night.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.
I feel much better about my subpar efforts back in the day after reading this collection. Ms. Walter’s would have been even more unfriendly than usual after reading such drivel and I would have certainly received her favorite punishment. One hour of detention after school while she strutted her stuff around the room and drove us all crazy. Man that was one sexy women. Most of us would have volunteered to stay anyway. What a punishment.
It was a week ago that I received a letter in the mail from a government agency which will go unnamed for now. My household had been chosen from a cast of millions as a candidate for a new confidential study of some sort. Enclosed in the envelope was a two dollar bill to thank me for reading their introductory letter. Normally I’d just toss the letter and spend the money. So what did I do this time? I threw away the letter and spent the money.
I also took the time to read the letter before I trashed it which told me that I would be visited by one of their representatives within a few weeks who would ascertain my households eligibility to this mysterious study. If we were selected we could be paid as much as a whopping $85.00. Of course, the study could last a few years with periodic check-ins by telephone to question us. I shrugged it off, thought it was stupid and continued on with living my life.
A few weeks later I was at home busy with a myriad of chores my better-half assigns me. I think it used to be called a "Honey-Do" list or so my father told me. I never heard the doorbell but I did observe an unidentified man skulking around my front door. Before I could confront him he had entered a car parked nearby and drove away. I’ve been a wee bit paranoid since the robbery we had here a year ago and the fact that three more have occurred since in this general vicinity. I quickly grabbed my gun, my camera, my car keys and jumped in my vehicle and went to find him. He was parked near a nearby neighbors house just sitting along the road in his car. I slowed down long enough to get a very good picture of his car, license plate, and face. If anything unusual was then later reported I could supply police with the information. I am the freaking Neighborhood Watch, by God.
Three days later my better-half and I spot the same car and the same guy a mile or so from our house. We’d no sooner returned home when the guy shows up at my door. He’s the same A-hole sent by the government to make his highly confidential rounds through the area to interview survey candidates. I told him to park in my driveway but he refused. His instructions were to maintain complete confidentiality and not to allow anyone to find out what he’s doing and where he’s doing it. It’s just so freaking stupid!
Being the nice guy that I am I immediately checked his drivers license and government photo ID card. If I could have given him a DNA test and taken his fingerprints I would have done that too. What a dumb ass. We live in a rural area where strange cars and people can be spotted almost immediately. He was in our area for a just a few days and had been photographed by me, accosted by another Neighborhood Watch member, and stopped by the police.
A typical dumb ass government drone with no common sense whatsoever. I asked him in and he pulled out his laptop and began asking me questions about smoking and my use or non use of electronic cigarettes. This survey will most certainly be the first volley in the government’s war against the use of electronic cigarettes. In three years when this BS survey is completed I’m sure we’ll be blanketed with a media campaign explaining the evils of smoking electronic cigarettes and how they will kill us all. The survey will give the government as many statistics as they need to scare the crap out of everyone I’m sure. They feel required to save us all from that highly soon to be dangerous second hand water vapor.
He tried to convince me that the survey was being funded by the private sector and not by my hard earned tax money. I doubted that but said nothing. I tried not to laugh in his face because I’m just a really nice effing guy and I don’t trust the government when it tells me anything. I think he began to pickup on my skepticism and moments later after fiddling with his laptop for a few minutes I was told that the computer disqualified my household for the study. He was up and gone in mere moments. Good riddance!
Your hard earned tax dollars are hard at work apparently preparing to stack the deck with another confidential study. One that again will attempt to scare you to death about something they feel is bad for you. They obviously know best because we’re nothing more than a gang of mouth-breathing morons. That makes playing games with another national survey justified I suppose.
Land of the free, home of the brave? Not so much anymore.
There are a number of people both in my family and not who wonder why I live in Maine. Coming from the Pittsburgh area is a long, long way from Maine not just in distance but in the style of life. Pittsburgh was and remains a sort of blue collar community proud of it’s roots in the mines and mills that surrounded and supported the area. Second and third generations continue to be those hardworking, nose-to-the-grindstone individuals who made the area what it is. They play hard as well and raise their families with their good solid family values. It sounds great so why leave?
Even as a child I was drawn to places near water. I spent a lot of my childhood with friends hanging around the Allegheny River. We swam in it, we rode on things that floated on it, we jumped from bridges that crossed over it and it was all good. I just loved the three rivers but felt drawn to the ocean for some unknown reason.
Over the years we made quite a few family trips to Erie, Pennsylvania. I was fascinated by Lake Erie. It looked like an ocean to me but later after checking a world map I discovered it was only a mud puddle compared to the oceans. I attended college very near to Lake Erie and made dozens of trips to the lake to party and relax. It was about then I decided that being landlocked in Pittsburgh held no future for me.
Jump ahead six years and I’m still working in Pittsburgh at a job with a national company. I was offered a promotion which required a move to Boston and I jumped at it. The mere thought of living in Massachusetts and being near Cape Cod and the ocean made the decision for me.
Jump ahead ten more years and I found myself newly divorced and looking for a new place to live. I purchased a small cottage no more than fifty yards from the ocean in Kingston, Massachusetts and I was in heaven. For three years I was in the water every day except for winter of course and life was good. I’d swim far out into the ocean at night, float on my back for an hour, staring up at the stars. It was unbelievable.
Jump ahead three more years, my company declares bankruptcy and I’m again forced to move to find work. Looking at my choices Maine was my only answer. I loved the style of life there, the lower population, and the anticipation of no traffic jams. I also would be within minutes of the ocean. I made the move, bought a new home and settled in. I was twenty minutes from the ocean but still was able to go there as often as I needed. Standing on the shore, listening to the water, had a calming effect on me like nothing else.
Jump ahead nine more years, I’ve met the love of my life, I sold my house, and we settled in to make a life together. Also, we now lived directly adjacent to the Nonesuch River, ten minutes from the Atlantic Ocean, and fifteen minutes from Sebago Lake and a number of local beaches. These days I’m able to walk the beach in the summer and winter to relax and take photographs. I can visit a nearby cove and watch the lobsterman loading up and going to work. I can then return later to watch them bringing in their catch and mooring their boats.
I think I was meant to be here. Many years ago my late grandmother suffering from dementia sent me many letters when I lived in Massachusetts that were always addressed to ME instead of MA. I kept telling her I lived in Massachusetts but she continued to send me letters until she passed away addressed to Maine with a Massachusetts Zip code. Maybe she knew something I didn’t.
You hear the term used here often and it still remains true. Maine is "the way life ought to be."
What better way to start my day. I’ve been awake for no more than ten minutes just lying here trying to motivate myself into facing the day. Since my better-half has two days off we decided to sleep in an extra few minutes and relax a little, or at least I did. What’s the first thing I hear? Is it "Good morning honey" or "Wake up sunshine", of course not. She calmly rolls over, looks me square in the eye and says "I think I’ll help you with the compost pile tomorrow." I’m lying in bed looking out the window at the sunshine and thinking about how I’ll miss the warm weather and she’s thinking of a huge pile of compost. There has to be some sort of message there but I haven’t a clue as to what it might be.
Days off. When I was one of the working drones eking out a living I relished my days off. I waited patiently for them to arrive so I could just kick back and enjoy myself. They were crucial to my mental health and well being and I honestly forced myself not to think about work and the stresses involved there.
My better-half has yet to figure out how to enjoy a day or two without stress. She just can’t seem to grasp the concept of relaxation. Even on her days off she’s driven by her list of things to do. She spends all day accomplishing tasks and if at the end of the day they all haven’t been accomplished, she’s disappointed and upset. She has a work, work, work attitude and I’ve been trying to convince her to develop the ability to turn off the work mindset as soon as she arrives home. She’s improved a great deal over the last few years but there’s still a lot room for improvement.
I normally set aside about twenty minutes after she arrives from work for her to vent her frustrations, have a beer, and talk it out. Once that’s been taken care of she can then move on to her real life and possibly enjoy herself. I guess I was lucky. I was always able to turn off the work as soon as I entered my car to go home each night. I gave almost no thought to it until the next morning when I had no choice but to deal with it again. My jobs were always stressful and if I took all of that baggage home with me every night I would have lost my mind.
Well, she’s wandered off to get us some coffee but I refuse to leave the bed just yet. She’s already scurrying around the house to begin her To Do list for the day. I’ll try to coerce her into coming back to bed with my magnetic personality and huge amounts of sex appeal and charm. Don’t you dare grin or laugh, it’s all true. I hear the washing machine being turned on so maybe I’ve already waited too long to make my move. I guess that’s the real story of my life.
Oh no, here she comes now, my own little energize bunny sweeping through the bedroom, dumping out the hamper, and then gone in a swirl of dirty clothes and the smell of laundry detergent. Too late again. I’ll try one more time to slow her down but it could get ugly. I can see an extended middle finger in my future.
Here’s a little heads up for all of you. I just checked the national observances for September and was somewhat disappointed. I guess it’s official, September has nothing to offer, it just sucks. Contact your local politicians, write letters to Obama, alert the effing media because September needs an official designation besides being "Suck Month".
I guess I sound a little cranky today because I am. I’m in my seventh week of my new exercise and diet program and I’m hungry enough to eat the southbound end of a northbound mule. I’ve come to realize in the last seven weeks that an addiction to sugar is even worse than my former addiction to cigarettes.
I wasn’t a believer until I began this program which requires me to eat as little sugar as possible. I’ve always been a choc-o-holic with a sweet tooth that kept me eating huge amounts of sugar as often as possible. Life was good as long as I got my daily dose of chocolate, candy, or pastries.
After being advised by my doctor to eliminate sugar from my diet completely I never expected it to be so difficult. He directed me to start reading the labels of the things I’d been eating as well as the things I planned to eat. Ignorance was bliss to be sure. Every damn thing has some kind of sugar in it and it’s almost impossible to eat something healthy and actually sugar free. The cravings started almost immediately and increased with each passing day. It was making me a little crazy and I turned into a cranky and mean SOB that my better-half was ready to kill. I was forced to withdraw a little from her because I was on edge and picking fights with her about really stupid stuff. I knew it was happening but couldn’t really control it very well. It took almost five weeks before I physically began to feel a little better.
When I quit smoking in 1985, I did it "cold turkey" after being motivated by a panic attack I thought was a heart attack. Even then the worst of the physical cravings for nicotine passed within two or three weeks. I guess the solution to my problems is to take up smoking candy cigarettes.
I’m doing well now and have learned to almost not hate my treadmill. I’ve walked at a good pace for more than thirty-five miles and am starting to feel physically better. I’ve lost almost seventeen pounds so far but still have a ways to go before I’ll be satisfied.
It’s going to be a long winter but at the end of it I will be thinner, trimmer, and healthier. In my opinion that’s a pretty good trifecta.
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