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Bitching is My Life

Yeah, This is another one of my bitch/gripe essays. How can I keep up the challenging pace? It’s not easy but I work at it. I try to find something negative in everything I see and do. And it works for me. Just yesterday in AZ everyone woke up to a blue sky and warm temps, but I quickly dispensed with that happy development. All I had to do was walk out on our fake grass and I was hit with one big negative after the other. Our fake grass seems to have been infected with real grass and the two don’t complement each other. So I bitched about that over breakfast and pretty soon I had my husband outside pulling out the real stuff. Boy was he miserable! But I scored again! Then in the afternoon I went to the supermarket, and sure enough, I found something else to gripe about. It’s an upscale store. I mean it’s got a Starbucks, a salad bar, about a million bottles of French and domestic wine…..and a homeless guy hanging around at one of the exits. That’s disgusting. Maybe most people do
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I Never Had a Nickname

They say it's the little things in life that destroy marriages: he doesn't lower the toilet seat; she never listens to his work anecdotes; he eats with his fingers; she never can find her car keys. The same adage applies to self image or self concept. It's the little things that can build or destroy egos. Although my parents had baby names for me that they used at times--for example, "cookie" and "pussycat," these never morphed into appropriate adult nick names. For instance, no one in my house ever called me Jan. That would have been the most common and appropriate nickname for "Janice," but no one ever came up with it. Was it a severe lack of creativity? I don't think so. In hindsight it said more about parenting style than it did about their opinion of me. My parents ran a rather strict household. We laughed but it was either behind the parents' backs or at a time when my father decreed a joke or anecdote was funny. My point is tha

Shopping for a Shrink (in an ideal world)

You need help. Fast. You have been told by friends, relatives and even your boy/girl friend that you could use some therapy. Even strangers on the street are giving you the hairy eye.. Some of your acquaintances bluntly suggest a shrink; others say you need to confront your demons; still others suggest that you find a sympathetic relative to cosy up to and relay your woes. You give in to the majority. If everyone on the planet, it would seem, thinks you'd be better off seeing a shrink, then by crackee, you'll get the best one  that money and a sad story can buy, taking into consideration his/her pay scale, location, gender, and psychotherapeutic techniques. Nah. Those things don't really count. Just get someone who doesn't laugh in your face or fall asleep. The truth is you want the very best for the very least, and everyone understands that. You're not making a six-figure salary yet and ramen is getting expensive. But while shopping for a shrink (in a perfect w

The Sandbox Parable

I don't like to get into politics in this blog, especially since I respect all points of views. But as of late the political characters playing roles in our nation's shutdown are about as dysfunctional as it gets. The main players seen to be Pelosi and Trump. Imagine if they were kids playing in a sandbox. I know this takes a huge effort, since if you're me, you can't imagine Trump doing anything but goosing women and drinking lots of booze. As for Pelosi, I'd say she was a born nurturer---dull, dull, dull. But it may be worthwhile imagining them as kids to understand how people with tunnel vision can squabble over territory and often mature into big adults who quarrel and make bad decisions. So Pelosi and Trump are in this smallish sandbox. They each have their pail and shovel --Trump's shovel is bigger and redder, but we won't hold it against him--and are having a wonderful time making sand castles and knocking them over. As little children are won

What Would My Memoir Look Like?

With all the memoirs of writers, celebs and nobodies floating around Amazon, it's easy to conclude that the world doesn't need another one. After all, what exactly is so special about my life that it might deserve a reading? Have I pursued an amazing challenge like Cheryl Strayed (she hiked more than 1,000 miles across the Pacific Coast Trail )? Not on your life! I would have cut PE in school if I thought I could get away with it. To put it succinctly, I've never done anything physically remarkable if you don't count walking around the Disney entertainment venues until I wore out my best pair of Nikes. You might even call me an exercise flunkee since the only program I never tried was the Outward Bound one where they airlift you to some jungle and you have to use a scythe and a toothpick to build a hovel and feed yourself and three darling macaws. So, forget any physical starring roles! Next on the memoir list: Have I survived an atrocious childhood in which I w

Resolutions that Rock (at least for me!)

Every year I make at least two or three resolutions that I'm pretty sure I'll never be able to keep. Why? Because they're hard for me, doofus! That's why What is hard for me may be easy for you and vice versa, but we're talking about me right now, and I have great difficulty keeping resolutions that have to do with relationships, eating, showing gratitude, and a million other weeds taking up space on my crabgrass. So I've decided that the only way to win at resolutions is to make ones that you can keep, easily (so help me god, cross my heart and hope to die). Here are a few of mine. Maybe they'll inspire you to create your own list of resolutions that rock (because you can keep them with little effort on your part)! 1. I resolve to get my money's worth of Netflix and any other streaming services I subscribe to this year. Vegging out at least one day a month should do the trick. 2. I resolve to use the electric toothbrush and water flosser everyday

Should Old Acquaintances Be Forgot?

In the Scottish dialect of the old New Year's Eve song Auld Lang Syne, the composer posits the question: Should old acquaintances be forgot? The short answer to this is "Sometimes." One example will suffice. A "friend" of mine emailed me the other day and although she is not a writer, her words spoke plenty. Her first rebuke was that I don't answer her calls, and this is a claim I cannot deny. But the accusation was caustic, mean-spirited--it was as if I had neglected to visit her in the hospital, that's how grievous my omission was. She insinuated so much by those few harsh words. Why did she call? Purportedly to inform me of her physical status and that of her dog Murph. Being the obedient child I still am, I did call her afterwards, and we spoke. Mostly S spoke of her new illness--osteoarthritis of the spine--and her dog's possible diagnosis of valley fever. I listened and listened and listened until I just couldn't take it any more. The