I don't like you, yeah you.
In fact I might even go as far as to say I hate you. You are the one that gives a bad name to the rest of us. I hate to think someone groups us together as one.
Don't label me.
Just because I might like the same music, live in the same town or have the same ethnic background as that prick over there. It doesn’t mean I'm anything like him or her.
I understand generalizations are hard not to make but please don't live by them. If you think I'm just like them or we are the same you are WRONG! There is no one in the world like me for good or bad. I'm different. And so the fuck are you!
You know that lonely feeling you get. That one that makes you want to connect to someone or a group. That feeling that causes people to join fraternities and sororities. A way to feel less alone and more joined to the people around you. That’s your mind reminding you that you are different. No matter how hard you try to fit in or how many groups you join you will always feel that lonely feeling. You know why? Because it's just you in that head of yours. And until you realize that you better start fucking liking yourself before you will ever stop feeling alone. You will wander from person to person group to group looking for something that isn’t there.
It's ok to be different. And it's ok for them to be different too. You don't have to like them. Hell, you can even hate them. But just leave them, us, and you alone to find ourselves for who we are. You can't stop yourself from judging people at first glance or even trying to group them together. It's human nature. What you can do is give them a chance to show you who they are. We can’t all agree on everything, but we could at least try to not get in each others ways of trying to like ourselves. It works both ways don’t think your anymore special than someone else because your black, white, gay, straight or any of those boxes you check on a government form. All we can do is try to be tolerant and not step on anyone elses toes while trying to be ourselves. Wouldn't you want someone to do the same for you?
Try to be nice to that man siting next to you and if he ends up being an asshole remember that was “that guy” not the next guy that comes along sits down. But if "that guy" does show up again feel free to let him know he's a dick.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
A visit with grandma
I love my Grandma. She is one of the most interesting people I have ever met and will ever meet. She has one of the most expressive personalities with a no holds bar attitude, and yet a truly sensitive nature. She has been a nurse and stage performer. Her personality is larger than life. She is truly amazing.
Here is a story about her and I that happened recently.
Lately I have been spending a lot more time with my grandma because she is sick and needs some help around the house. I go over pick up her medicine from the drugstore, buy her cigarette and straighten up the house. Stuff like that.
Well the other day I was at work when I received a call from my mother.
"Julie, I need you to go to grandmas and help her find her medicine. She is in pain and can't find it."
My work isn't far from my grandmother’s house so it wouldn’t take long. So I tell my coworkers that I must leave for a family emergency and get in my car and go. On the way there I realize I forgot my keys to my grandmother’s house. "Oh shit" This is not a good thing. My grandmother isn't one to let a thing like this slide. In her defense she did ask me to put them on my key ring last time I was over. My nerves set in I'm scared.
I call mommy.
I stand at my grandmother’s door hesitant to ring the door bell.
Julia: "Mommy, I forgot my keys to grandma's house. And I know she is going to yell at me."
Mom: "Julie, don't be silly just ring the doorbell."
Julia: "But I know she is going to yell at me"
Mom: "Ok if she yells at you I will handle it"
I ring the door bell... and wait... and wait...
A ruckus slowly approaches the door. At its loudest the door opens. (Remind you I still have my mother on the other end of the cell phone to defend me in case of attack.)
Grandma: "WHAT! You didn't bring your god dam keys." The chaos ensues. Cats and dog clamor in excitement around the door happy to see a new face. "Oh for crying out loud, I had to get the fuck up out of bed and walk all the way to the front door. Why didn’t you bring your keys?"
“Tell her to calm down.” Mom says through the other end of the cell phone.
“You tell her to calm down she is pissed at me enough already” I say in reply.
Grandma yells to me "Don't let the cats out for Christ sake. The other day I had to run down the street half naked trying to catch that one there" She points to a white colored flat faced cat that is struggling to breath do to its bread for cuteness deformities. “Luckily some young girl helped me catch that little bastard in the end."
My imagination starts going. All I can see is my grandma run out in the street with just a towel on screaming at this young art student with funny colored hair wearing some tunic garb. (It probably wasn’t even a girl). While grandma screams "Help me get that fucking cat!"
I bring my self back to reality and talk into my cell phone "Mom, I'm going to get off the phone with you so can get this done."
Pushing my way through the door with pats and petting to get through the animals and into the house." O.k., Grandma I'm sorry. So where did you drop your pills." I say ready now to take on the task of searching for the missing pills.
“Next to the bed, Sweet heart." Oh god, I'm in so much pain” she replies.
I feel so bad for her. The shingles that cover her shoulder look incredible painful. But I know my grandmother and she is tuff and can handle more pain than most men triple her size. She may be small but she is one tuff cookie.
So I enter her tiny room where she has a small bed and a big flat screen T.V. my Mother got her for her birthday last year. This is where she likes to spend most of her time. The room is cluttered with notes to herself, articles of events past and photos of her beautiful family. (That includes me of course)
I search around the room looking by the fish tank, near the T.V., under the dresser and chair. No luck. So I kneel next to the bed to see if the pill bottle was kicked under. It’s dark and hard to see but it looks like one of the cats is under there. I call to my grandmother to get me a flashlight in order to get a better look. She brings me the flash light and I turn it on to examine further.
“Grandma there is a cat under your bed.” I call out.
“Oh yeah he likes it under there. That one always hides. He doesn’t come out much.” she replies.
“I think it might be dead” I say hesitantly.
Irritated that I would even say such a thing she replies “No it’s not”
“Could you get me a stick or something so I can poke it?” I say not trying to upset her.
She leaves the room and returns with a broom.
I grab the broom and maneuver it around the chairs, fish tank, and other pieces cluttering the tiny room, so I can get it under the bed and to “poke around” as it where. I poke the light colored lump of fur, nothing. The cat lies still. My worst thoughts were true. It’s dead.
I yell out to grandma “Yeah it’s definitely dead”
Grandma replies in denial “No it’s not”
“I’m sorry grandma” I say.
“I hope it’s not the one I like” she says seeming slightly annoyed.
I get on the phone to my mother. And explain the situation.
“I can’t go under there and get it.” I tell her.
“Well neither can I. I’ll call your father.” she says and gets off the phone to call for reinforcements.
This was a Friday and every Friday my father has a breakfast meeting with the accountant in his office. So he can be difficult to reach.
I try to make my grandma comfortable while we wait for my father to get out of his breakfast meeting and arrive to handle the situation.
“This is the worst fucking pain I’ve felt in my life.” grandma announces.
“Grandma, go sit down and relax until Graham gets here” I say trying to ease her.
I lead her over to the bed, (the dead cat still underneath) and help her sit down.
We wait with the T.V. blaring at full volume. I decide to call my dad, Graham, and find out what’s taking so long.
“Graham, where are you. Are you going to come and get this cat?” I say slightly annoyed that I’m still at grandma's instead of being back at work.
“I’m at the shop I needed to get a bag and shovel. How long do you think it’s been there?” He replies.
“I don’t know. How would I know? I will see you soon” I say and get off the phone.
Grandma and I go back to waiting. The doorbell rings finally and once again the chaos ensues. The dog barks and the rest of the living cats go to the door to greet my father. I quickly walk to the front of the house to open the front door.
My dad walks in with a huge shovel and one of those black construction trash bags.
“So how long do you think it’s been there?” He says with a slight smirk on his face.
“I don’t know.” I now say a little aggravated having to keep answering the same question.
“Does it smell.” he replies.
“No, not really.” I say recalling if I could smell anything over the abundance of cigarette smoke.
“Well, I’m gong to need your help. You're going to have to hold the bed up while I shovel it into the bag." He says.
“Really!” I replay not expecting to be involved with the disposal.
We enter the room where grandma sits on the bed that the dead cat lays under.
“Joan, you’re going to have to go sit in the living room while we do this." my dad says while motioning to me to get to work.
Grandma leaves and we get to the act of disposal. I lift the bed to reveal the cat lying limp and lifeless. As my dad takes the shovel and tries to scoop it up into the bag.
While trying to maneuver the carcass onto the shovel my dad announces: “Well it doesn’t smell. So it probably hasn’t been their long.” He seemed relived about his concerns of how long it had been there.
I say nothing trying to hold my breath and the bed up at the same time.
“Ok” he says as he closes the bag.
Grandma, yelling from the other room. “I want to see its face to know if it’s the one I liked.”
My dad throws the cat filled bag into the back of my pick up truck and I go back to work. Like most things that are put in the back of my pick-up it sits there for awhile. Until I ask my dad to remove it.
The next day or so my mother talks to my grandmother on the phone. The conversation went something like this:
My Mom: “Hi, Mommy, sorry about your cat. Wasn’t it the one with the brother?”
Grandma: “Yeah, I had both siblings”
My Mom: “Do you think the other sibling cat is morning the loss of the one that died?”
Grandma: “How the fuck would I know? Do I look like a fucking cat?”
Here is a story about her and I that happened recently.
Lately I have been spending a lot more time with my grandma because she is sick and needs some help around the house. I go over pick up her medicine from the drugstore, buy her cigarette and straighten up the house. Stuff like that.
Well the other day I was at work when I received a call from my mother.
"Julie, I need you to go to grandmas and help her find her medicine. She is in pain and can't find it."
My work isn't far from my grandmother’s house so it wouldn’t take long. So I tell my coworkers that I must leave for a family emergency and get in my car and go. On the way there I realize I forgot my keys to my grandmother’s house. "Oh shit" This is not a good thing. My grandmother isn't one to let a thing like this slide. In her defense she did ask me to put them on my key ring last time I was over. My nerves set in I'm scared.
I call mommy.
I stand at my grandmother’s door hesitant to ring the door bell.
Julia: "Mommy, I forgot my keys to grandma's house. And I know she is going to yell at me."
Mom: "Julie, don't be silly just ring the doorbell."
Julia: "But I know she is going to yell at me"
Mom: "Ok if she yells at you I will handle it"
I ring the door bell... and wait... and wait...
A ruckus slowly approaches the door. At its loudest the door opens. (Remind you I still have my mother on the other end of the cell phone to defend me in case of attack.)
Grandma: "WHAT! You didn't bring your god dam keys." The chaos ensues. Cats and dog clamor in excitement around the door happy to see a new face. "Oh for crying out loud, I had to get the fuck up out of bed and walk all the way to the front door. Why didn’t you bring your keys?"
“Tell her to calm down.” Mom says through the other end of the cell phone.
“You tell her to calm down she is pissed at me enough already” I say in reply.
Grandma yells to me "Don't let the cats out for Christ sake. The other day I had to run down the street half naked trying to catch that one there" She points to a white colored flat faced cat that is struggling to breath do to its bread for cuteness deformities. “Luckily some young girl helped me catch that little bastard in the end."
My imagination starts going. All I can see is my grandma run out in the street with just a towel on screaming at this young art student with funny colored hair wearing some tunic garb. (It probably wasn’t even a girl). While grandma screams "Help me get that fucking cat!"
I bring my self back to reality and talk into my cell phone "Mom, I'm going to get off the phone with you so can get this done."
Pushing my way through the door with pats and petting to get through the animals and into the house." O.k., Grandma I'm sorry. So where did you drop your pills." I say ready now to take on the task of searching for the missing pills.
“Next to the bed, Sweet heart." Oh god, I'm in so much pain” she replies.
I feel so bad for her. The shingles that cover her shoulder look incredible painful. But I know my grandmother and she is tuff and can handle more pain than most men triple her size. She may be small but she is one tuff cookie.
So I enter her tiny room where she has a small bed and a big flat screen T.V. my Mother got her for her birthday last year. This is where she likes to spend most of her time. The room is cluttered with notes to herself, articles of events past and photos of her beautiful family. (That includes me of course)
I search around the room looking by the fish tank, near the T.V., under the dresser and chair. No luck. So I kneel next to the bed to see if the pill bottle was kicked under. It’s dark and hard to see but it looks like one of the cats is under there. I call to my grandmother to get me a flashlight in order to get a better look. She brings me the flash light and I turn it on to examine further.
“Grandma there is a cat under your bed.” I call out.
“Oh yeah he likes it under there. That one always hides. He doesn’t come out much.” she replies.
“I think it might be dead” I say hesitantly.
Irritated that I would even say such a thing she replies “No it’s not”
“Could you get me a stick or something so I can poke it?” I say not trying to upset her.
She leaves the room and returns with a broom.
I grab the broom and maneuver it around the chairs, fish tank, and other pieces cluttering the tiny room, so I can get it under the bed and to “poke around” as it where. I poke the light colored lump of fur, nothing. The cat lies still. My worst thoughts were true. It’s dead.
I yell out to grandma “Yeah it’s definitely dead”
Grandma replies in denial “No it’s not”
“I’m sorry grandma” I say.
“I hope it’s not the one I like” she says seeming slightly annoyed.
I get on the phone to my mother. And explain the situation.
“I can’t go under there and get it.” I tell her.
“Well neither can I. I’ll call your father.” she says and gets off the phone to call for reinforcements.
This was a Friday and every Friday my father has a breakfast meeting with the accountant in his office. So he can be difficult to reach.
I try to make my grandma comfortable while we wait for my father to get out of his breakfast meeting and arrive to handle the situation.
“This is the worst fucking pain I’ve felt in my life.” grandma announces.
“Grandma, go sit down and relax until Graham gets here” I say trying to ease her.
I lead her over to the bed, (the dead cat still underneath) and help her sit down.
We wait with the T.V. blaring at full volume. I decide to call my dad, Graham, and find out what’s taking so long.
“Graham, where are you. Are you going to come and get this cat?” I say slightly annoyed that I’m still at grandma's instead of being back at work.
“I’m at the shop I needed to get a bag and shovel. How long do you think it’s been there?” He replies.
“I don’t know. How would I know? I will see you soon” I say and get off the phone.
Grandma and I go back to waiting. The doorbell rings finally and once again the chaos ensues. The dog barks and the rest of the living cats go to the door to greet my father. I quickly walk to the front of the house to open the front door.
My dad walks in with a huge shovel and one of those black construction trash bags.
“So how long do you think it’s been there?” He says with a slight smirk on his face.
“I don’t know.” I now say a little aggravated having to keep answering the same question.
“Does it smell.” he replies.
“No, not really.” I say recalling if I could smell anything over the abundance of cigarette smoke.
“Well, I’m gong to need your help. You're going to have to hold the bed up while I shovel it into the bag." He says.
“Really!” I replay not expecting to be involved with the disposal.
We enter the room where grandma sits on the bed that the dead cat lays under.
“Joan, you’re going to have to go sit in the living room while we do this." my dad says while motioning to me to get to work.
Grandma leaves and we get to the act of disposal. I lift the bed to reveal the cat lying limp and lifeless. As my dad takes the shovel and tries to scoop it up into the bag.
While trying to maneuver the carcass onto the shovel my dad announces: “Well it doesn’t smell. So it probably hasn’t been their long.” He seemed relived about his concerns of how long it had been there.
I say nothing trying to hold my breath and the bed up at the same time.
“Ok” he says as he closes the bag.
Grandma, yelling from the other room. “I want to see its face to know if it’s the one I liked.”
My dad throws the cat filled bag into the back of my pick up truck and I go back to work. Like most things that are put in the back of my pick-up it sits there for awhile. Until I ask my dad to remove it.
The next day or so my mother talks to my grandmother on the phone. The conversation went something like this:
My Mom: “Hi, Mommy, sorry about your cat. Wasn’t it the one with the brother?”
Grandma: “Yeah, I had both siblings”
My Mom: “Do you think the other sibling cat is morning the loss of the one that died?”
Grandma: “How the fuck would I know? Do I look like a fucking cat?”
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Lost Fairy Tales
Women and men are lost. When was the last time you have seen a truly happy marriage or one that didn’t end in divorce? Civilization is deteriorating; it’s only a mater of time before men start clubbing women over the head and dragging them back to there cave. Or people start just fucking in the streets like dogs.
Why is this happening? Maybe because children are treated like animals or even worse accessories. Some not treated any better than your average house pet. Food, water, shelter, expected to be enough. No stability, no structure, spoiled with treats and bribes to keep them quiet. Left unattended to teach themselves the ways of the world. Only having their observations of there parents dysfunctional relationships as a guideline.
Society is creating a loveless horde of selfish beings that consume themselves with their own self pity. So focused on “ME” that children are lost to grow up without guides to show them the ways of compassion.
Love has become a story book fairy tale lost in fantasy land never to be recovered. Where are the parents to tell the bedtime stories that have taught us the lessons of life and love?
Little do we realize the thoughts that roam around in those little brains and linger as they grow. Wonders of why and is it ok? Do they love me? Do they like me? Am I just in there way? Even if they do feel love their questions are much the same. “Did they want me? Would they be happier if I wasn’t in the way? This is how they will see themselves and the partners they in counter on the way. As they grow they will continue the cycle with children of their own. Each generation is less human than the one prior. So focused on there own troubles unable to connect with another.
Should the new title of the classic children’s book “Are you my mother?” be changed to “Which one of you is my father?”
Why is this happening? Maybe because children are treated like animals or even worse accessories. Some not treated any better than your average house pet. Food, water, shelter, expected to be enough. No stability, no structure, spoiled with treats and bribes to keep them quiet. Left unattended to teach themselves the ways of the world. Only having their observations of there parents dysfunctional relationships as a guideline.
Society is creating a loveless horde of selfish beings that consume themselves with their own self pity. So focused on “ME” that children are lost to grow up without guides to show them the ways of compassion.
Love has become a story book fairy tale lost in fantasy land never to be recovered. Where are the parents to tell the bedtime stories that have taught us the lessons of life and love?
Little do we realize the thoughts that roam around in those little brains and linger as they grow. Wonders of why and is it ok? Do they love me? Do they like me? Am I just in there way? Even if they do feel love their questions are much the same. “Did they want me? Would they be happier if I wasn’t in the way? This is how they will see themselves and the partners they in counter on the way. As they grow they will continue the cycle with children of their own. Each generation is less human than the one prior. So focused on there own troubles unable to connect with another.
Should the new title of the classic children’s book “Are you my mother?” be changed to “Which one of you is my father?”
Men, Remember This
Men remember this the next time a Woman treats you like shit, leaves you for another man, and takes your children with her. You helped make that woman.
Look in to your past and remember that girl you slept with and never bothered to call. Remember the girl you lead to believe you were together until you got her in bed and then decided to ignore her calls. Remember the one that wasn't pretty enough to meet your friend. Remember the one you took home when you were drunk and... Oh wait you can't remember that last one.
Karma's a Bitch.
For Jen
-JSW
Look in to your past and remember that girl you slept with and never bothered to call. Remember the girl you lead to believe you were together until you got her in bed and then decided to ignore her calls. Remember the one that wasn't pretty enough to meet your friend. Remember the one you took home when you were drunk and... Oh wait you can't remember that last one.
Karma's a Bitch.
For Jen
-JSW
Monday, April 26, 2010
It's not all that complicated
It's really not all that complicated.
You're the one that made it that way.
Stop reading into it. The surface is usually the truth.
Don't make excuses for others behaviors. They do have a reason for what they did. Even if they can't admit to it themselves. They still meant it when it happened. They may feel sorry later, but be sure to know that it will most likely happen again.
The root of a person never changes. You are who you are. And They are who they are All we can do is try to make ourselves better.
Better than the people that hurt us.
Find people you can exist harmoniously with. Stop struggling to be with the wrong people. Live for today because you will always be running out of tomorrows.
-JSW
You're the one that made it that way.
Stop reading into it. The surface is usually the truth.
Don't make excuses for others behaviors. They do have a reason for what they did. Even if they can't admit to it themselves. They still meant it when it happened. They may feel sorry later, but be sure to know that it will most likely happen again.
The root of a person never changes. You are who you are. And They are who they are All we can do is try to make ourselves better.
Better than the people that hurt us.
Find people you can exist harmoniously with. Stop struggling to be with the wrong people. Live for today because you will always be running out of tomorrows.
-JSW
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