Sitting around talking with a co-worker one afternoon, the conversation got around to why her two front teeth were implants. This was her story:
She had just moved into her new apartment in the city and had gone out to celebrate with her friends. She wore a pair of jeans and a shirt with two breast pockets. They met at a neighbourhood bar. This was a big night for her.
After a few drinks, she decided it was time to go home since she had a lot of unpacking to do. On her way out, she remembered she had no ashtrays at her new place, so she decided to steal a couple of ashtrays from the bar. She slipped one in each breast pocket and proceeded to head out the door.
On her way out, she tripped over the leg of a chair and fell face down on the floor. On the way down, she remembered her ashtrays and, for fear of them falling out of their pockets and having everyone see that she’d stolen them, she put her two hands on her breast pockets so they could not fall out. She crashed on the floor and knocked out her two front teeth.
She had a big dental bill but saved a buck on ashtrays.
Then, another case I heard about. A woman tried to commit suicide by jumping from her fifth floor apartment balcony. Unfortunately, the shrubs below broke her fall and she ended up with a broken back. She’s been in a brace from that day to this.
I love my son, but then, he’s forty. I love being with him. He has a great sense of humour and a real zest for life. However, looking back to when he was a baby and later, a toddler and still later, a teenager, it was all absorbing. Man, it was boring and later, just plain stressful. Still, I would not have missed the experience. But I’d never do it again. Read more…
I’ve never understood why some men lust children. Hell, they haven’t finished cooking yet. What is it that is so attractive to them? Take that Ramsey girl, for instance. When her mother didn’t dress her up like a twenty year old, she was just another kid – spoiled, probably. Come to think of it, what was her mother thinking? Was dressing her up like playing with Barbie dolls, only a living one? Well, that can’t be it. Barbie is tall and thin and all grown up. Isn’t she? (I was never one for dolls. I liked my teddy bear when I was a kid. What kid? I still do)
I think it’s disgusting for women to take their little girls, put makeup on them, dress them up like grown women and parade them in front of a crowd. Those women need to be horse whipped and then sent to a shrink to find out what possessed them.
Children – boys and girls – need to be protected and nurtured. The odd time, they need to be disciplined to keep them in line and to let them know the world out there requires stepping into line. It won’t change for little Tommy or Susie. There’s nothing wrong with spanking children. They will always try to push the envelope to see how much further they can get away with things. And don’t forget – nobody likes a spoiled brat. Nobody wants them to spend time with their kids and they don’t even want the parents of spoiled brats to visit.
I remember one family. Take a nice Sunday afternoon. The house is clean, and everybody is happy. Into the driveway pulls that dreaded family – mother, father, two kids in the back seat.
Being a good hostess, I smile and open the door. The kids waste no time and head upstairs where they promptly start throwing toys around and making a mess and yelling. Meanwhile, the parents make themselves comfortable in the living room, drinks in hand and turn a deaf ear to the noise.
One time, I got so mad. I’d been upstairs several times, telling the brats to keep the noise down and play nicely. They just ignored me. So I finally grabbed the ring-leader and hit him on the arm. Well, you should have been there. He was crying and running to his mother. “She hit me”. I made no appologies. If they don’t like it, they can leave right now, I thought. Guess what? They just kept sitting there and drinking.
I can’t remember them ever coming back, but I might be mistaken.
But to get back to the Ramsey girl. Her mother put her in harm’s way by parading her like a circus horse. Let that be a lesson to all you weird mothers out there. Keep your daughters home where they’re safe. Let them be children. Childhood is short as it is and the real world will be waiting there, soon enough.
No, not the submarine or Otto von, but my dog, Bismarck, a beautiful German Sheppard – long deceased. I don’t know why I dreamed of him but it was so real. I was walking him in the park beside our house after dinner, along with all the other dog owners and their dogs. He was so well trained and fiercely loyal to me, in his lifetime.
The trouble with dogs is that their life span is very short. Fourteen years is about all you can hope to have them and then they pass away. When they do, your heart breaks into pieces. You think you will never recover – but you do. While alive, they will guard you with their lives. They will protect you from all that may harm you. In return, all they ask for is food and love. They give you unconditional love. They don’t care how you look, dress, smell, rich or poor. They will lick your face first thing in the morning when you have morning breath. Where else can you find such devotion? Not even parents give such unconditional love. At least, mine didn’t.
Somehow, Bismarck always knew when I was sick or sad. He would sit at my feet and look at me. He’d put his head in my lap and look at me. He knew when I was happy and would bounce around, looking oh so happy himself.
Why he appeared in my dream last night, I don’t know. After so many years, for him to be so real to me. Wherever he is, I hope he is safe and happy and loved.
The other day I was interviewing a nice young Chinese man with degrees up the yin yang who had trouble finding the job he wanted. Seems that the MBA has held him back to some degree, since he discovered his real love is sales. Once upon a time (and not that long ago), MBAs, like PhDs, were a rarity. Now, every other person or so has more than a BA. If someone could come up with a degree higher than a PhD or a fellowship, you’d find over time there would be more and more students going for it. Nowadays someone, with only a high school education, is in the minority. But I digress.
So this young man is being interviewed by other head-hunters like myself and nothing is happening. I asked if said head-hunters were young. (I find that inexperienced personnel recruiters will be afraid of using their own judgment and are apt to follow the lead of an older, more experienced, person in the company. If this older, more experienced person feels that all Chinese lack verbal communication skills because of their difficulty with our consonants, or that all East Indians smell of curry, he or she will pass these prejudices on to the inexperienced recruiter.) Again, I digress.
My young Chinese candidate said, “No, they were old. One was at least 36 or 37 and the other around 30 or 32.”
Ah, life is nothing but perception. When I was 12, 30 seemed very old. When I was 30, 60 seemed old. Now that I am 63, 85 doesn’t seem that old anymore. Not as long as one has a positive outlook and enjoys good health. In my opinion, all of life is how we perceive it. There is no real, concrete truth. Truth, like everything else, is but an opinion. My truth is different from your truth. It depends on whose window you’re looking out of.
It is said there are three sides to every story – yours, mine and the truth. I say there are as many sides to a story as there are people involved in the story. If you can find a common denominator of all the opinions of all the people involved, I guess that would be as close to the truth as you could get.