more gross stuff

Can't really tell what this is a picture of? It's a python eating an alligator. I was completely horrified and disgusted by this story. To read it, click on the link: http://msnbc.msn.com/id/9600151/

There was only one thing that disgusted me MORE today. While I was talking to a woman with a glass eye this morning, some type of gooey substance started oozing out from underneath it. Seriously, I almost vomited. I had to walk away from her.

For My Beautiful Friend(s)

Below are the lyrics to one of my favorite songs: So Unsexy by the great Alanis Morrisette. I'm posting them today for a friend of mine who I think needs them. Actually, I think that every woman needs them from time to time.

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Oh these little rejections how they add up quickly
One small sideways look and I feel so ungood
Somewhere along the way I think
I gave you the power to make Me feel the way I thought only my father could

Oh these little rejections how they seem so real to me
One forgotten birthday I'm all but cooked
How these little abandonments seem to sting so easily
I'm 13 again am I 13 for good?

(Chorus: )
I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful
So unloved for someone so fine
I can feel so boring for someone so interesting
So ignorant for someone of sound mind

Oh these little protections how they fail to serve me
One forgotten phone call and I'm deflated
Oh these little defenses how they fail to comfort me
Your hand pulling away and I'm devastated

When will you stop leaving baby?
When will I stop deserting baby?
When will I start staying with myself?

Oh these little projections how they keep springing from me
I jump my ship as I take it personally
Oh these little rejections how they disappear quickly
The moment I decide not to abandon me

ch..ch..ch..changes...

New look, but same great taste! Yes, so you can see I've made some changes on my blog page. Slow day at work today, kids.
Because I've made changes, I had to install a new site meter...which means we've started over at "1". This makes me sad because as of this morning, I think the hit count was over 1,600. Oh, well.

At the top of the page is the infamous Bridget. My pride and joy. Ain't she cute? If you want to see her adorable kitty face up close, you'll have to click. Just above is...me. In case you've always wondered what I look like...there I am...waving at you in reluctant glee. Your imaginations probably served you better. Just for the record, though...I'm REALLY unphotogenic. I promise I look better in person.

Don't Be a Creepy Guy--Part 5

I've received several recent requests for the next installment of the "Creepy Guy" series. I suppose it has been a while since I've done one. (..."done" an entry on creepy guys...not "done" a creepy guy. let me clarify.) The delay is not due to a shortage of encounters. There is, and always will be, plenty of creeps to go around. I just haven't thought to craft any recent encounters into a story. However, as I was watching the local news this morning, I was reminded of an encounter that I failed to report.

Several months ago I was forced to make a t.v. appearance to promote an event that I had planned for my now-former job. This event, by the way, caused me more stress than any other single element has caused me in my entire life. I truly felt that I was going to drop dead from a heart attack before it was all over with. Truly. Alas, I did not drop dead; in case you were wondering. Anyway, I did NOT want to do a t.v. interview, but it was either me or my boss. And, well, in cases such as those, it was always me. It was either that, or lose my job. Oh. Wait. Never mind.

I arrived at the studio early on this particular Saturday morning and attempted to fake my enthusiam for what was ahead. I HATE being filmed...especially on live television. As I walked in I wondered which anchor would be conducting my interview. Our city is not known for its outstanding news personalities. (Similarly, we're also not known for our high quality locally-made commercials.) I soon learned that one of the younger, more attractive; if there were such a category, anchors would be interviewing me. I had not met this one before, and I was immediately struck by his arrogance. It was not only blatant, but also completely unfounded. I couldn't help but wonder if he had done his own makeup that morning, or if there was a staff person specifically charged with the task. His foundation looked awful. Way too orangey for his complexion. His blush was too bright. Had he been wearing fake boobs and high heels, he would have been an ideal queen.

I'm a smart ass most of the time. When it comes to professional situations, however, I'm perfectly able to restrain myself. But there's something about arrogant men that brings it out in me. It doesn't even have to be obvious pomp. I'm like a bloodhound in this respect. If there's something subtle or non-direct that even hints at the scent of peremptoriness, I sniff it out with alarming proficiency. Because I smelled such an odor on this guy, I let several tarty comments slip out during our pre-show discussion. He laughed at something I said, and perhaps my sarcasm excited him, because his tone drastically changed at that point. He softened his eyes and gazed intently at me.

"Are you wearing vanilla?" he asked.

"Yes. I am, actually." I was, indeed.

"Oh my God. That smells so good. You smell delicious, really." (yes. delicious was what he said.)

I played it off. "Yeah. Haha. I always get comments when I wear this stuff." And, I do, by the way.

And then, before I knew it was coming, he smelled my neck. His nose actually touched my neck. Nose to neck. Neck to nose. And he let the nose linger there for several seconds before he pulled away. "Man, you smell good. What is that? Where'd you get it? Is it lotion or perfume? I've gotta get my wife some of that." And then he pulled the classic breast glance. Locked eye contact with me, let his eyes travel slowly downward, and then brought them back up to post-eye contact. We all know the move. Men and women alike. We know the move.

Before I could decide whether or not to respond, our turn was up and we were quickly shooed to our places under the heavy lighting. We were stationed on a fake kitchen set, at a high table with bar stools. I'm pretty sure I had a ceramic rooster behind my head somewhere. The cameras came on. During our interview, while his face was turned towards me and not at the camera, he did the glance several more times. When we went to commercial, he "helped me" undo my mic with a more gentle touch than was necessary. And as I was getting out of my seat, I happened to swing my head in his direction and caught him staring intently at my ass.

All I cared about at that point was that I had made it through the interview without making a complete fool of myself. And, honestly, I could care less who stares at my ass. But it still makes for a good story.

Disclaimer: As I continue to post blogs, don't discount what I said yesterday about it being wasted energy. I meant every word. I just have to keep myself busy and writing in the meantime.

I've been thinking. Why do I continue to spend my time writing blogs? If I really enjoy writing this much, then why am I not focusing on writing something more tangible and, possibly, more lucrative? If I took all the time and energy and thought I've placed into my blogsite and devoted it elsewhere, I could have had a book written by now. Who knows if it would be good enough for publishing, but at least it would be an attempt for something real. I need to be reminded of the concept of delayed satisfaction. This is fucking ridiculous. (pardon my language, but its that kind of day)

A Different Kind of Orphanage

One of the peculiar details of my experience in being me is how particular themes seem to coat my thought patterns. This happens routinely and without fail. Does this happen to everyone, or is it just me? Sometimes I assume these themes are supernaturally planted by God in order to draw my attention to something that I wouldn't have considered otherwise. Sometimes I assume that it's just another product of my obsessive personality; my subconscious producing ideas that are either purposed to distract me or further fuel my preoccupation with some particular emotion or idea (just as dreams are often illuminating illustrations of what's REALLY going on in our heads).

The most recent subject on which I've been fixated is orphancy. Have you ever thought about why orphancy is such a common theme throughout history in various (if not all) religions and literature? In the bible alone I can find 7 stories that mention orphans by name, and that doesn't include the many times that the concept is referred to outside of those stories. Think about literary orphans that have been iconic and stable in the ever-changing world of popular culture: Annie, Oliver Twist, Pippi Longstocking, A Little Princess AND The Little Prince, Pollyanna (my blog's namesake), Tom Sawyer, Harry Potter, Anne Shirley (from Anne of Green Gables), Frodo Baggins, and Cinderella. Luke Skywalker grew up without parents, and so did Princess Leia. Spider-Man, Batman, and Superman were ALL orphans. Did you know that even James Bond was orphaned at a young age?

Is it that human beings are so enchanted by orphancy? I think it's just the opposite: I think we're terrified by it, and we always have been. This is one definition of the word orphan:

An orphan is a person (or animal), who has lost one or both parents, often through death. One legal definition used in the USA is someone bereft through "death or disappearance of, abandonment or desertion by, or separation or loss from, of both parents". Common usage limits the term to children, (or the young of animals) who have lost both parents. On this basis half-orphans are those with one surviving parent.

The words "abandonment", "desertion", and "separation" are so cold and scary; but they very accurately pinpoint how most of us relate to orphancy. Due to spiritual engineering, there is something inside of us that makes us NOT want to be alone. Our souls as well as our physical bodies need connection and support, and in the extremes of our imaginations, being an orphan means being without those things. Because, to most of us, the pain of this is so unfathomable, we tend to heroize those who know the pain personally. It's an inspirational concept...overcoming all that accompanies aloneness and reaching happiness when all odds are against you. All of the orphaned figures that we've looked upon with favor act as a reassurance that we, too, can triumph over the empty plates we've all been served. Yes, even WE can save an entire household or community or even Middle Earth in it's entirety despite our shortcomings. (Interesting to note that most of the literary orphans I mentioned did exactly that...they were saviors or martyrs or redeemers or superheroes...and none of them started out the confidence or knowledge to be so.)

I guess I started pondering all of this subconsciously about a month or so ago when I was feeling particularly lonely. The loneliness was present for a while, and, momentarily, it knocked the breath out of me. All of the sudden, every time I heard or saw anything having to do with orphans or adoption, my stomach would flip. I took it personally without even realizing it. I think all the while I was being nudged to analyze exactly what I'm writing about today. I needed to find encouragement in an unexpected form.

I've always said that I want to adopt at least one child...someday. In fact, I told some coworkers last week that if I'm still single with no children in 5 or 6 years, I may consider adopting on my own. I've always loved the idea of bringing home a baby from some far off place to give him/her a life that he/she wouldn't have elsewhere. Of course, the romantic ideal is adopting a child from a foreign country, but we all know that there are plenty of children on our home turf that need loving, capable parents. I've developed a very powerful affinity of racial diversity within families. And by "families" I don't necessarily mean in the traditional sense. This affinity was always there...but it's grown stronger. It's beautiful to me; beauty in its truest and simplest form...almost like a tiny (tiny) glimpse of Heaven. The beauty being that there is (seemingly) no end to our cultural and racial uniqueness. I want that kind of family, I think (given that I have the funds to care for them all). I want to sit down for Thanksgiving dinner and look into the faces of God's creative genius.

Even though most of us have at least one parent, we've all been abandoned by something or someone. We've all been lonely. We've all felt the ache of separation. And if you haven't, then I'm sure you've laid awake and feared it. So maybe orphancy isn't so unfamiliar. And maybe that's why we're all here...to adopt each other from time to time.


and, by the way, I don't feel lonely anymore...