tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65019245653735451982024-03-08T07:58:14.911-08:00What does it matter as long as you're healthyDebbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-61070352197315886932017-08-17T13:01:00.000-07:002017-08-17T13:01:58.368-07:00Heritage Gone Tomorrow<div align="justify">
DISCLAIMER: The opinions expressed herein are strictly my own. If you don't agree me, that's cool. I'm not trying to talk you into anything. Well, I still think you should get out and see more local theatre, but that's not relevant now. Please don't berate me if you disagree with me. You are entitled to your own opinion. Just keep your Tiki Torches at home.</div>
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I never really thought about it till the current shitstorm rained down, but I don't really get the concept of being proud of your heritage.</div>
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I am a straight white female American. My ancestry is half Irish, one quarter Welsh and one quarter unknown, because my grandmother refused to discuss her family's past. (Unfortunately, not because it was juicy, but because my grandmother just didn't believe in talking much.) I didn't choose any of this, it was all just an accident of birth. If my mother had married the guy she was engaged to at the time she met my father, I would have been 150% Irish. And as scary as that thought is, it still would have been just a random chance. I don't feel any personal pride in the Irish or the Welsh, just because people with a lot of my DNA came from those places. I love Ireland and Wales, because they're beautiful countries, but I love Italy too, and I can't claim any "heritage" from there.</div>
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If I'm proud of anything, it's the decisions I've purposely made. I'm proud to be a mom. I'm proud to be involved in local theatre. I'm proud to be a cat owner. I'm proud that I don't judge people by the color of their skin, or their sexual preference, or their selection of music genre. I'm proud that in spite of being emotionally ruined by a string of unsuccessful relationships, I can still cry with joy when I see people I love in love. I'm proud that I still believe in this country and its system of government, though lately that's been a tough one. I'm proud that I choose not to believe in a mythical, misogynistic, homophobic immortal, who purportedly wrote one book over 2000 years ago that's supposed to be what we live by. (Come on, even Harper Lee wrote 2 books!) </div>
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And I'm proud of my friends who battled demons and won, even though I know every day is a struggle for them to keep on keeping on. And I'm proud of my kids, because they are the best people in the universe, the end.<br />
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But I'm not proud to be a Mick and a Leek, that's just the roll of the dice. In the end, what counts is not what boat your ancestors stepped off of, but what path you choose to walk today. I've certainly chosen to go down my fair share of deadends, but as my paths are growing shorter, I'm proud of where I'm walking now.<br />
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-61584252608852552482017-06-14T09:40:00.001-07:002017-06-14T09:49:28.717-07:00Musings on Being Old<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I hate when people say, "You're not old." Yes, I am. 65 is old. I hope to be older, but 65 is still old. I'm not pretending to be 25, so you don't have to pretend I am, either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have been asked why I don't hang out with people my own age. The answer is because I'm not in preschool. There may be a time when I get chucked into a home and they'll put me in the rising 85 year-olds (a small group, with a high drop-out rate), but for now I prefer to hang out with people with whom I have similar interests and who refrain from telling me I'm not old. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I am still freaked out every time I look at my hands and they're the hands of an old person. I'm used to the dark circles under my eyes and the impressive chin wattle, but I still wonder every time I look down, "Who stuck my mother's hands at the end of my arms??"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My quality of life diminished greatly after my divorce, and never recovered. I no longer own a home, washer/dryer, and/or dishwasher. I don't have or ever will have a significant other. I have adjusted amazingly well to this; but I sometimes still miss having a washer/dryer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Many people get more religious as they get older, I've gotten less. I never accepted the construct of heaven or hell, once I stopped believing in Santa Clause or Congress. I like the idea of reincarnation, but I think it's entirely possible that once you're dead, you're dead. I find that comforting. At least I won't miss having a washer/dryer anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have accepted the fact that every day there will be at least one part of my body in pain. It's kind of fun getting up in the morning (itself a plus!) and discovering which body part hurts today. It took me awhile to get over the, "Oh my God, my elbow hurts, I have elbow cancer!" phase, but I thankfully have landed in the resignation phase, "Life's a bitch, and then you die." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">It has also taken a long time for me to accept the fact that I will never be the person I want to be. I will always have my demons. At one point, I thought realizing why I have demons would make them go away, but it hasn't. I just have to come up with coping mechanisms to learn to live with them, which I have. In the words of the great Jack Nicholson, "This is as good as it gets." This fact no longer reduces me to a sobbing, inconsolable pile of poo. Most days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Yes, I am rapidly spinning towards the end of my mortal coil, but I am beyond lucky/grateful to have my amazing kids, their partners, and my grandbabies, theatre, and my loving theatre friends, and my cats. Not bad for an old lady.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-25427547434260327442016-06-09T09:13:00.000-07:002016-06-09T09:13:26.604-07:00You Gotta Have Faith<div style="text-align: justify;">
You just did the other two faiths in your head, didn't you?? Ha! I knew it!</div>
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Anyroad, much like flipping your mattress every six months, or standing by your man, I don't think you really have to do what my title says.</div>
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Well, maybe <i>you</i> do, and that's cool, I'm not judging. (Unless your faith is in murder or rape or Trump, you know, something disastrous. Then I'm totally Judgey MacJudgerson.)</div>
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There have been several times in my life that I have had religious faith. Hell, in fourth grade I wanted to be a nun. Which probably would have destroyed the Catholic Church as we know it, so maybe I should have followed through with that. But in any case, all my forays into Religious Faithdom ended up with me doubting more and more any religious teaching whatsoever so that now I don't believe in any dogma and have two cats. </div>
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I don't even have faith that that terrible joke worked...(it didn't, I'm sure)...but maybe that's what happens when you reduce your concept of "God" to a mythical creature like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, just not as generous.</div>
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I won't bother going into losing faith in our democratic process, or the judicial system, or beauty products, cause we all swim in that same bullshit sea, amIright?</div>
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But the loss of faith that strangely brings me the most comfort is the lack of faith in people. People REALLY suck. While Santy didn't bring me the bike I wanted for Christmas and God didn't make Drake Tressler like me in 7th grade, the disappointment and heartbreak actual human beings have given me is what has put me in an emotional wasteland. And I like it here.</div>
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Oh, I still cry when I watch Field of Dreams, my heart swells with love whenever I see my kids, and my friends are the best. But 90% of my life I float along, aware of the stupidity, the meanness, the lack of compassion, and I view it all as though I'm on a distant planet (I wish! One-way ticket to Risa, please!). I no longer subscribe to your religion, people. Namaste.</div>
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It's calm here. Bullshit still happens (have you read my posts about my job??) but it doesn't phase me. Just a humorous anecdote to share over adult beverages. I may not have the joys I had when I was still invested in people, but I also don't have the gut-wrenching pain, and I don't miss that at all. I have no expectations of life, and therefore I am never disappointed. </div>
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I'm sure this state I refer to as Faith Understandably Completely Knockered, (you figure it out) is probably largely due to age. You naturally care less as you get older. It's the creepy amusement park ride operator's way of telling you the roller coaster is slowing down, so just sit back and enjoy the ride.</div>
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Please do not read this rambling as a cry for pity or a "poor me" post. I am in the best place I have ever been in my life. I am proud of my accomplishments; I have weathered my tribulations (some of which are good stories, and I will write about them later); and I am still here and thriving. Being faithless is the best thing that ever happened to me. </div>
Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-56405925902348637832016-04-06T10:07:00.000-07:002016-04-06T10:07:47.383-07:00How Did We Get to Here From There?<div align="justify">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Me: Sure, why not?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Coworker: They should impeach our President.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I just walked away, cause I believe murder is wrong, and I didn't have my non-existent gun on me, but it really angered me. I mean REALLY angered me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I know I am surrounded by a bunch of knee-jerk conservatives, but I come from a long line of knee-jerk conservatives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">In high school, I was an anti-war supporter during Vietnam. I wore a black armband and refused to say the Pledge of Allegiance in homeroom. My parents disapproved of my behavior, and thought the war was justified (even though it was being perpetuated by a Democrat and they were die-hard Republicans). Their attitude irritated me and we had some heated arguments about it, but I never got really angry about it, nor did they.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Back when the Watergate Hearings were happening, my father and I had many discussions about Nixon. In my father's eyes, RMN could do no wrong, despite the fact that before both our sets of eyes, we were watching the truth unfold. But I never was angry at daddy for his beliefs, even though I felt them to be wrong. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When the Roe v. Wade decision was handed down by the Supreme Court, I don't remember a lot of backlash. There was no such thing, as I remember, as Pro-Life and Pro-Choice. There were people who were totally against abortion and would never have one, but they didn't see anything wrong with women obtaining one legally under safe medical conditions, instead of in a back room with a rusty coat hanger. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">(You will notice I use the phrase "as I remember" a lot. That's because in the early 70's my diet consisted mainly of gin and tonics and random drugs, so I may have missed a lot of what was actually happening. Good times.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But my point is, in spite of the political/moral divisions I had with those closest to me, we were all rational about our differences. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Now every time someone disagrees with me, I feel a Hulk attack coming on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I am sure there are people more politically savvy then myself (which would include almost everyone except my cats) who have a logical, though long-winded, explanation for the reason there is a cloud of anger/bitterness/righteousness that hangs over our country and makes us all feel like going postal. I probably wouldn't understand it, though, if I heard it. Those years of gin/tonic/drugs have taken their toll.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But I do believe that all this almost palpable negativism is the cause for the rise of cute animal videos. You have to do something to calm down so you won't kill your fellow employees. I guess. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The result of all this National Crankiness is that it makes me feel old. I worked hard in my youth to stand up for what I believe is right, and we had a couple of victories. For a while the country chugged forward with people still disagreeing, but generally just staying out of each other's way. And now it's all gone haywire, and I find myself caught up in it. If my coworker doesn't like Obama, that's her business and her right. I mean, 'Murica, right? Her random comment (inappropriate as it seems to me) about impeaching him shouldn't make me shoot red laser beams out of my eyes and reach for my phaser. This is not me. Has someone been spiking my PBR? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But, hey, have you seen that YouTube of that cat in that box?? It's adorable!</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-35222029798204000102015-12-10T08:31:00.000-08:002015-12-10T08:31:06.749-08:00Even If I Don't Fits, I Sits<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">With two notable exceptions, I have never fit in with where I am. I was a ten-month baby, and in my mind, it was because along around 9 1/2 months I realized who I would be living with and was, like, "Whoa, these are not the droids I want." (I was one of the early Indigo Children). Anyroad, I ended up with them and always seemed like a stranger in a strange land. I was definitely a part of the family unit, but I always felt like I was wearing a pair of undies that were too small and kept riding up my butt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">School was the same way. Then I had a brief fling with theatre, but we broke up, because theatre wasn't into long-term commitments. My first job in The Real World was with the FBI and I don't think I have to tell you my comfort level there. (Though the NYC Office was cooler than the Pittsburgh Office. I got to be in NYC for the birth of Disco, it was glorious.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My first notable exception was during my motherhood/wife-life phase. Until the wife-life tanked, which led to the second notable exception when I got back together with my high school boyfriend, theatre; with the understanding that either of us could pull out whenever we wanted. (TWSS, but it should be noted that theatre broke up with me last year, and we got back together in August.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">ANYROAD, all of the above is just exposition to my point today, which is I don't feel comfortable in the current social environment. I know I am not alone in this, thank Dionysus, but it hit home this morning when I heard a woman in my office say, "I don't understand gun control." Now, I don't know if she meant she doesn't understand how it works (or, actually, doesn't work), or if she doesn't understand why we need it. But either way, I can't wrap my head around it. Surely, she doesn't think it's okay for a mentally unstable human being to walk into a school and shoot people. Doesn't she realize that stricter gun regulations may have prevented that man from obtaining a gun? Why am I asking you? You guys are on my side (I'm guessing)...you know this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But it's shit like this, and shit like people believing that Trump is an actual human being capable of national leadership, and not Zombie Hitler, that just make me want to crawl into a hole (although a comfy hole, with my cats and beer and Netflix) and never emerge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I thought we fixed this in 1970, people! You mean I wore a black armband, refused to salute the flag and worshipped John Lennon for NOTHING?? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Well, it just proves, once again, that Star Trek was right...resistance is futile. And, if I have to accept the inevitability of assimilation, I supposed I can be comforted by the fact that I"ll get Jeri Ryan-like tits. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But I'd rather people would quit shooting each other.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-78760913387563460932015-12-02T13:21:00.001-08:002015-12-02T13:21:15.633-08:00In Memoriam<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When I was 15, I decided I wanted to be an actor. My mother was aghast. She was sure this would lead to me having sex all the time. (She was always afraid I was going to be have sex all the time. How wrong can you get.) Anyroad, my aunt thought me taking acting lessons was a wonderful idea and, wanting more than anything to please her new sister-in-law, my mother signed me up for Saturday morning acting lessons at the Pittsburgh Playhouse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">My teacher was Thom Thomas. Thom was on the faculty of Point Park College (affiliated with the Playhouse). He had graduated from Carnegie-Mellon and worked briefly in LA. He was in the process of starting a summer theatre in Pittsburgh, The Odd Chair Playhouse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">It is no exaggeration to say that Thom Thomas changed my life. He told me I had some ability. He taught me the basics of theatre, including theatre etiquette, which is just as important as acting. I worked at Odd Chair for seven years, attended Point Park because I wanted to continue studying with him, and grew from a lonely, insecure little girl into a woman who found her calling and her tribe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">A few years ago, we became FB friends. I took that opportunity to express to Thom how much I loved and admired him and to thank him profusely for giving me a love for theatre, which truly made me into the Debbie I Was Meant to Be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">I'm so glad I did that. Thom passed away today, and I can't stop crying. With the exception of my kids, no one has ever had such an enormous positive effect on my life. In addition to being terrified of me becoming a sex machine, my mother was also convinced that I would commit suicide. Perhaps I would have, if I hadn't met Thom... that's how important he was to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Rest in peace, my dear, dear, teacher, mentor, and friend. I'm sure I'm just one of many lives you rescued. </span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-63044234156126775952015-09-29T09:13:00.000-07:002015-09-29T09:13:21.303-07:00There's no earthly way of knowing....<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hi, guy(s)! Long time no blog. I think about writing about something every now and again, but then I get all paranoid that I've written about that before, and I'm lazier than I am paranoid, so I don't check to see if I've written about it and just play solitaire instead. It's my circle of life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But now I'm reading Jenny Lawson's second book, Furiously Happy, and she's so brave and honest (and hysterical) in writing about all her demons, I figured I can afford to let my Senility Slip show a little under my Supposedly Perfect Journalistic Dress. So if I've written about this before, fuck all y'all, I'm doing it again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When I was younger, I thought I would handle advancing age better then I am. I pictured Fred and me retired in a smallish, but exquisite cottage by the sea, with the kids visiting regularly and frequent trips to the British Isles and Europe. Fred would putter in the garden and I'd meet my equally chubby aging friends in town for a champagne cocktail or two and witty repartee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">So I end up working forty hours a week at The Most Conservative Law Firm Ever, living in a lovely, though dilapidated apartment with two cats, scraping together the cash to see my kids a couple times a year, and drinking beers at Rojo with a bunch of young actors. I AM NOT COMPLAINING!!! I love my life as it is now, and shit happens and this is where I am and I can't imagine ending up any other way and feeling so right about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">No one's life turns out the way they expect it to.....that's how the game is played, figuring out what to do when you pull a Bad Luck card out of the deck. I think, all things considered, I've weathered the shitstorms in my life fairly well, at least I've survived them all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But I guess I thought by now I'd be content, have all the answers to life at my fingertips and radiate a Peaceful Worldwise Glow. The only glow I radiate now is after one of the aforementioned evenings at Rojo. And I know nothing, NOTHING!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I am still continually shocked, dismayed, horrified, surprised and freaked-out by pretty much everything that goes on in the world, except by my kids and my cats, because my kids are the Two Most Amazing People on the Planet, and....cats. I fought in the Hippie Wars (1968-1972) to eradicate useless wars, racism, homophobia, and misogyny, and look out the window, people....THAT SHIT'S STILL HAPPENING!!! Plus, we had the extra bonus of Richard Nixon shooting himself in the foot so politicians would then change their selfish, greedy ways, and well...see above sentence. It's disheartening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But overall, I don't think I would go back and change anything I've done in my life. (Except dating Bad Steve. That was <em>definitely</em> my Life's Ultra Stoopy Moment.) Because all those things I've done helped create what is rapidly turning into the Finished Product, and I'm pretty pleased with the result. It's kinda like I started out with the intention to make Miso Soup and I ended up cooking Tater Tot Casserole, with extra cheese and bacon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I might not be as good for you, but I'm a helluva lot more delicious.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-13298722338846643612015-05-07T10:06:00.001-07:002015-05-07T10:06:46.409-07:00I Want to Be Alone (Sometimes)<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">There are many advantages to being a Semi-Recluse:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1. You can do what you want, when you want</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2. Your domicile can be a Hoarders candidate, because no one sees it but you </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">3. Your jokes are always funny</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">4. You never waste time juggling events on your social calendar</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">5. Being awkward with yourself is easier than being awkward with actual people</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But since I am just in the Semi Stage of Reclusivity (great things take time), when I actually interact with people after a 3-4 day hiatus, it can be tricky. (I do interact with my co-workers on a daily basis, but I don't consider them "actual people".)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">For example:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have to mute my audible stream of consciousness. (I talk all the time at home, it amuses the cats. I only hope they are recording my constant flow of wisdom for when they publish my biography.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have to wear a bra. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have to close the bathroom door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I can't fall asleep in the middle of a conversation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have to keep my cursing to a minimum. (Ha! Ha! JK!! If I quit swearing, people would think there was something fucking wrong with me.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">So far I've been able to make the transition pretty well. I imagine, though, as old age arrives (approximately 37 minutes), it will be more difficult. So if you see me walking the streets in my jammies, ranting about that time in college Martin almost got us arrested, just call Rojo and J Clyde to come and get me. They know the drill.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-88559900515435183612015-04-09T09:17:00.000-07:002015-04-09T09:17:04.407-07:00Sorghum Lives<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Since working in The South, I have been accused several times at various jobs of being rude. When I worked in The North, (in Pittsburgh and New York) I was never accused of this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">There are three possible explanations:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1. I was born with a latent CrankyPants Gene, which did not develop till I stepped over the Mason-Dixon Line; </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2. The intense Southern humidity triggered my genetic Irish predilection to drink beer, eat shamrocks and be a bitch-on-wheels;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">3. My concept of Business Professionalism and my Southern employers' concept of BP are incompatible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">(There is no right or wrong answer to this quiz. Your opinion matters. Personal mileage may vary.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Due to my above-mentioned predilection to beer and my cats' love of food, I have had to adjust to SBP (Southern Business Professionalism) in order to maintain my present employment status, but it ain't been easy. I believe in calling a spade a spade (but in the metal yard tool kind of way, not the racist slur kind of way), so if I have to put your call on hold for a millisecond while I transfer you I will say, "Hold on", not "Well fiddle-dee-dee, I hate it, but I'm going to have to put y'all on hold for a hot minute and I dooooo so apologize, but I promise it won't be but a sec, bless your heart!", cause I got shit to do. (Those WWF games don't play themselves!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I've become pretty adept at the whole Sir and Ma'am thingy, although my inner child cringes every time I say it because when I was a kid, if I said "Yes, ma'am" to my mother she yelled at me (her favorite phrase being, "You little snot!"). She took that to mean I was being a SmartAss, which I probably was, but I grew up thinking ma'am was a derogatory term. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I also have a sneaking suspicion (another Irish trait) that plainly speaking your mind might be considered fine and dandy for males but totally unladylike, bordering on sluttish, for females. But, surely, in this 21st Century world of total equality, that can't be the case. (Sarcasm is one of my favorite Irish traits.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Well, as the old saying goes, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."...no, wait, wrong saying..."When in Rome..."--<em>that's</em> the one I was looking for. I will never consider myself A Southerner, but I've managed to develop a respectable camouflage that's kept me afloat the last 35 years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Although I still don't care for Southern comedies and if you tell me to have a Blessed Day, I'm likely to kick you in your genitalia. Old habits die hard.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-9243048561724232172014-12-03T10:06:00.000-08:002014-12-03T10:06:08.277-08:00History, Herstory<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Only time will tell what momentous events stand out in history. For instance, it appears that the assassinations of Lincoln and Kennedy are big deals, while the assassinations of Garfield and....whatshisname, not so much. McKinley! That's who it was, McKinley. But I think you get my point.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">That even holds true with wars. WWI and WWII are memorable, but almost no one talks about the War of the Roses anymore. (Not even the movie. Which wasn't bad. Didn't see that whole chandelier thing coming. Oops, sorry, spoiler alert!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">At the end of the day (I am using that phrase as a metaphor for when you're dying. I thought I'd explain that for any Asbergery-types that may be reading this.), I think what really matters is your own personal history--the people and events that impacted you, helped define who you are and how you view life. And sometimes historical events end up influencing that as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I was in high school when the Vietnam War protests started and, in my own small way, I supported the protest. I wore a black armband to school and refused to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. </span> <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Rebel Lite. I didn't get in trouble for this--I was a Theatre Kid, and everyone knows they're Weird. My parents were confused, more than anything. But then, they never understood me and didn't feel the need to. They figured my liberal leanings were a passing phase, like when I was in seventh grade and thought I was John Lennon. So they just let me alone. Irish Parenting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Anyroad, those liberal leanings stuck. I still believe in peace and equality, even if those things are as elusive as unicorns and a comfortable bra. I just don't have the emotional energy to be vocal about it anymore. Also, due to my current employment status, I have to keep my mouth shut so the kibble and beer may continue to flow at Maison de Debala. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But of all the Momentous Historical Moments I might see in my lifetime, the one that would make me the happiest, (other than scientists determining that Hot Fudge Sundaes are an essential part of a nutritionally balanced breakfast) is if women were finally universally not seen as inferior. That, all over the world, they could get any education and job they wanted. They could wear whatever clothes they wanted, and feel free to say whatever was on their mind. And that the entire world held the belief that a woman's mind, despite the fact that it is encased in a body that bleeds once a month, and pushes out tiny humans on occasion (or not), is every bit as intelligent and worthy of respect as the minds that are encased in the bodies with dangly bits between their legs. That is my dream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Hey, it ain't no MLK, but what do you expect from a Weird Theatre Kid?</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-56601981917789518022014-11-20T08:24:00.000-08:002014-11-20T08:24:08.322-08:00Loathing of Fear in Birmingham<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>Preamble: </em>My subject for today's discourse is fear and I decided to look up some famous quotes about it. I came across this gem:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it. - Bill Cosby</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Sometimes the jokes just write themselves.....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Anyroad, I lost interest in research after that (why I didn't enter academia), even though I had to throw out a funny FDR joke. (Again, writing itself.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Let us, dear reader ((s)?? No, that seems overly optimistic, I'll stick with reader.), harken back to an earlier time, right before the last election when campaign ads were blaring, "A vote for a Democrat is a vote for Ebola" and "ISIS is only one letter less than Obama. Coincidence? I think not!!", and other assorted bullshit. And then the election happened and nobody talks about those things anymore, even though ebola and ISIS are both still around, and just as deadly. But Fear served its purpose, so we can put it back in the closet, next to the dustbuster and the Murphy's Oil Soap. Tale as old as time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">It's the selectivity of Political Fearmongering that bothers me. It's okay to encourage fear of ebola and ISIS, two nasty buggers, for sure, but let's totally dismiss the growing threat of climate change, because to acknowledge that would acknowledge our dependency on foreign petroleum and all the delicious, delicious money pouring into corporate pocketbooks. And, yes, sir, I <em>DARED</em> to use the word pocketbook!! Harrummpphhh!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Evidently, there is a Large Portion of the Population (aka Idiots), that crave Fear. They will go out of their way to be afraid of something just to be afraid of something. This would explain the viewership of TLC. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">For example, this morning at work a co-worker started moaning and kvetching that there is a threat of tornadoes this Sunday. It's forecasted for South Alabama, BUT STILL!!!! THERE IS AN INFINITESIMAL POSSIBILITY THAT THE WEATHER IN BIRMINGHAM MIGHT BE NOT SO GOOD ON SUNDAY!!!! AHHHHHHHH!!! Thanks, Obama.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I realize that I live in the Land of Unicorns and Rainbows more than most people, but, please, stoopy hoomans, stop by for a drink and a piece of cake. Just for a moment. And listen as the birds sing this happy refrain:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Shit happens. Nine times out of ten you can't do anything proactive until the shit actually does happen and worrying about it beforehand will not help the situation when it does happen. So chill out. And be grateful for the all the awesome shit that you do have. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Cause tomorrow ISIS could drop an ebola bomb in the middle of a tornado and you'll be toast. </span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-47625388373773112892014-09-04T13:52:00.000-07:002014-09-04T13:52:25.025-07:00Blest Be the Sides that Blind<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Everyone gets blindsided at some point in their life. But sometimes it feels like I've made a career out of it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I will not bore you with the list of blindsideries I've endured. You're welcome. But, I would like to address the PTSDness of getting blindsided repeatedly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">You would think that after the 2,309,583rd time of getting emotionally sucker-punched,I would have developed a kevlar-like attitude about it. Just mumble a couple "fucking assholes" quietly to myself and carry on. But my psyche is kevlar resistant, evidently, and instead each time I get BS'd, I soak it up like like a giant sponge and then squeeze that sponge and the pain from every other fish-slap-in-the-face moment surges forth. Well, I don't care for that sentence at all, but let's pretend it makes sense and move on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My latest episode of blindsiditude occurred yesterday at work, so you know it really wasn't a big deal. More importantly, I know it wasn't a big deal. Even as it was happening, I said to myself, "Self. This. Is. Not. A. Big. Deal." And yet...after my reprimand, for the rest of the day I felt like a crushed turd dipped in garbage and thrown on the coals . This is not a pleasant feeling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My next step is to feel Outraged. "Hey!", I yell at the Universe (aka my cats), "I'm 20 billion years old! Can't I live out the few years I have left in relative calm?? I'm not asking for happiness, goddammit, I would just like a little peace! Is that so much to ask??"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The answer, of course, is yes, it's way too much to ask. Doesn't matter how old you are, the Universe is going to fuck with you until you're dead. And maybe afterwards. I'll get back to you on that one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My final step is Acceptance. The ole' "It's been a long time since someone made me feel like shit, I guess I'm due" phase. It's sadly comforting. The Circle of Life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Oh, well, at least I might get a break before I get my ass ripped again. But, next time, I'll be ready. I'll let it bounce right off me and...yeah....Lather. Rinse. Repeat. </span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-45388107062789789332014-07-22T09:05:00.000-07:002014-07-22T09:05:13.488-07:00Tolerance and Repeat<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I am a firm believer in different strokes for different folks. Granted, sometimes other follks' strokes rub me the wrong way, but everyone's entitled to their own opinion, even if it is wrong. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Case in point, one of the attorneys here had a group of attorneys from another firm (Point of Information: what is the proper term for a group of attorneys? A gaggle? A murder? A portfolio? Discuss.) and they had a twenty-minute conversation on how the various founders of this firm made their money and how wonderful it was. Now, I'm not about to bite the hand that feeds me, so I'm very grateful that The Founding Lawyers made money, I just never think in terms of it being "wonderful". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Elaine Stritch was wonderful. James Garner was wonderful. Some dude who started a company and made a shitload of money was just another dude who started a company and made a shitload of money. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">To me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But I guess a legion of lawyers gets as emotionally moved by the birth of an LLC as I do by Elaine's "Here's To The Ladies Who Lunch" or James' proposal to Sally Fields in "Murphy's Romance." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I reserve my right to disagree with people who have opinions different than my own, but I don't have the right to yell or shoot at them because of it. That's not Having An Opinion, that's Being an Asshole. And nobody has the right be an asshole, though there seems to be an Abundance of Assholes in the world today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">In my opinion.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-10327571865770175252014-05-29T10:30:00.000-07:002014-05-29T10:30:55.141-07:00May The Brute Force Be With You<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I was a kid, I got beat up a couple of times by twins (a boy and a girl, known as The Infamous Birch Twins.) I was in fifth grade, they were in third. "How humiliating," you mutter between laughs. Not really, I just found it confusing. As they pinned me against a tree and started pummeling me, I remember thinking:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A. Why are they dong this?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">B. How will beating me up make them feel better?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">C. What the fuck??</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The second time this happened, one of the neighborhood moms saw it and stopped it. And, being third graders, they really didn't inflict any noticeable wounds. But the whole incident left me bewildered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You will notice, dear reader, that nowhere in this tale did I scream or cry for help or run and tell my mother. (Who, as we remember from The Legend of Cousin Ned, had the ability to inspire others to commit suicide.) The whole idea was so out of my realm of life-as-I-knew-it that I was in denial.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I was a sophomore in college my soon-to-be-ex boyfriend threw me down the dorm hallway. (Granted, it wasn't just for shits and giggles, we had been fighting.) Then, at least, I had enough self-preservation to call my parents to come and get me. But I never confronted him about it, I just iced my bruises and never talked to him again. The whole incident seemed so surreal, I chose not to deal with it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So it's no wonder that when the motorcycle gang stormed our play in December and started beating the shit out of the audience and cast, instead of getting out of the line of fire, like my friends were telling me to, I sat there, stunned, and thought, "Jesus Fucking Christ, really??? I am the wimpiest, most mild-mannered, peace-loving 61-year-old cunt in the Southeast and AGAIN someone's trying to beat the shit out of me???"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Okay, Karma, you've had your three chances. Next time....NEXT TIME.....oh, hell, I'll probably just do nothing again. The Wimp is strong with this one.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-56759495952127407702014-05-20T09:21:00.000-07:002014-05-20T09:23:19.708-07:00Playing Goalie<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Whenever I hear anyone talking about setting goals, I feel guilty. (Disclaimer: I also feel guilty about global warming, the growing economic disparity, racial intolerance, child abuse, unneutered pets, and the Johnstown Flood.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I never really got the whole point of the thing. If I set my goals too high ("Become tall."), I'll fail. If I set them too low ("Get out of bed in the morning."), well, that's not really a goal, is it? It's more of a lifestyle choice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">At this stage of my life, longterm goals have become irrelevant. Twenty years from now, there's a large probability all that will be left of me is a name on some posters in the BFT lobby. If I am still around, then, okay, I'll go ahead and make "Get out of bed in the morning" an actual goal. But don't expect much. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> Rather than goals, I divide my life into two categories:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Stuff I Gotta Do</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Stuff I Wanna Do</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">and try to create a balance between them. Although, to be honest, the SIWD almost always takes precedence. "Duh," you say. But, here is my Cosmic Reasoning why Wanna times are better than Gotta times. The Gotta times (work, housework, bill paying, etc.) pretty much always follow a similar, predictable pattern, while Wanna times (doing plays/improv, seeing my kids, hanging with friends, etc.) always are an unknown adventure and rarely turn out exactly the way I expect. It's that World of Who Knows What Will Happen that turns life into Life, and, since my finite life is getting finiter every day, my goal is to scoop up as much Life as I can. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Well, look at me...</span></div>
Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-4486502080108133122014-04-24T08:23:00.000-07:002014-04-24T08:25:47.160-07:00Reflections on Reflecting<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have always admired people who had such strong beliefs that they never questioned them; life would be so much simpler that way. But, in the words of the great Charles Busch, "Ira, you are what you are!". And I am not not one of those aforementioned folk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My spiritual credo is nebulous, best summed up as, "I can't explain what I believe, but I'll know it when I feel it." There are, however, a few truths I hold self-evident:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">1. That whole "Do Unto Others" thing makes sense. If you don't want people to shit on you, don't shit on them. If you do want people to shit on you, please move along...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">2. The whole "God wrote the Bible" thing does not make sense. Unless he's Harper Lee (hmmm....), you think he'd want to cash in on the royalites of Bible II, Eclectic Boogaloo, with all kinds of modern-day rules we should follow. "Thou Shalt Slaughter the Trans-fatted Calf and Fry Potatoes in it's Glorious Oil", stuff like that. And maybe put a qualifier on the cloven-hooves ban. "Oh, except for bacon, that shit's amazing." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">3. I don't like guns. I'll go so far as to say I Hate Guns. However, you have every right to own one... (*arches eyebrow*) Responsibly... and I won't give you a hard time about it. So shut the fuck up about abortions and gay people.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">4. I sometimes only make sense in my own head. (See #3, above).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">5. Most of life is spent treading water, with the occasional jump off the high dive and a rainbow through a waterfall. It can be hard to accept that treading water is as good as it gets, but you should try, cause then it's easier. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Obviously, the above does not constitute the Greatest Story Ever Told. But, honestly, I don't think the Bible does either. I enjoyed "To Kill A Mockingbird" a lot more. </span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-15970650578104409452014-04-11T09:24:00.000-07:002014-04-11T09:24:35.632-07:00Learn On Me<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One of the interesting things about getting older is seeing how things have changed during your lifetime. And for your timewaster today, I will use the example of education.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When I was a lass, we did not have Middle School, we had Junior High. I don't know why they did away with that nomenclature, maybe the thought was that Junior High sounded like a 7th grade pot party, instead of an institution of learning. To quote Blazing Saddles, "And they was right!" In the future, kids will attend Ozone Enriched Brain Enlightenment Centers. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose. (Which I learned in "Junior High", so there.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">In this antiquated Junior High, girls were required to take Home Ec. (That's short for Economics. I know. It made no sense back then, either.) In this class you learned two essential feminine life skills--asserting your independence and making it on your own. Ha! Ha! Just kidding, girls can't do those things, we don't have a penis. No, we learned to cook and sew. The first thing we learned to "cook" was a Grapefruit Basket. You slice a grapefruit in half, slice the peel around the edges and pull these cut edges up and tie with dental floss to make a "handle". Then sprinkle the grapefruit with brown sugar and broil it. Thereby ruining an otherwise perfectly good grapefruit. We also made a Doris Day-like apron and an ugly blouse. Mission accomplished. To show you how affective (or effective, your choice), Junior High was, I am today extremely independent and just fine on my own, but I can't cook or sew for shit. Thanks, Junior Higher Education! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I actually have a point here, other than bitching about my puberty, which is: what is valued as necessary education changes through time. All right, I get that. But I confess to being stymied at the current trend to not teach cursive handwriting. How are these future-adults supposed to sign legal documents? Or accept Fedex packages of pot? Maybe the Brilliant Educators of Today treat cursive the same way the Brilliant Educators of Yesteryear treated sex ed...eh, you'll figure it out. But, in my dotage, it concerns me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I guess I could broil a grapefruit to calm myself down, but I think I'll just wait for the Fedex guy.</span> </div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-3545189275856055832014-03-04T08:27:00.000-08:002014-03-04T08:27:24.414-08:00Another Post from Debland<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One of the reasons I am where I am today (I would tell you where that is, but I don't want you stalking me. Again.) is because of the skewed view I have of the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Take my job. Please. (Sorry, involuntary reaction.) I realize that it is a Primary Law of Nature that people have to go around suing each other. Wait, I don't actually realize that, I think it's stupid. And here's my crazy, wacked-out theory why: If you (or your company) do something wrong to someone, either accidentally or on purpose, you should admit it, apologize and offer restitution. The key phrase here is "admit it". Taking responsibility for making mistakes appears to have gone the way of the steam locomotive and Teddy Ruxpin. Why admit to doing something wrong and making up for it, when you can spend tons more money and time denying it and not? That's what Jesus did, right? ("That guy was alive when I got here, I swear, I never laid a hand on him!") Totally logical.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">But not to me. Granted, I tend to apologize to everything, including inanimate objects. I can't tell you how many chairs I've apologized to for walking into. But, I also try to own up for the actual shit I do that hurts human beings and/or cats. Cause it's the right thing, if not always the easiest thing, to do. And it's what I'd want someone to do to me. Which, correct me if I'm wrong here, is what we're supposed to do. As vivid as my imagination is, it is hard for me to picture a multi-millionaire waking up in the morning and saying, "Holy Moly, I wish someone would sue me today." (That was a trick sentence. The only actual part of that sentence which I cannot picture a multi-millionaire saying is Holy Moly.) I don't live in that world. I function in it, because I have to, but I don't live there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Bad Steve used to tell me I was naive. *Pause to appreciate the irony here.* He's right, I am. And proud of it. Because as long as I subscribe to the "Do Unto Others and Unicorns Shit Rainbows" philosophy, I can keep on living in my undisclosed location where lawsuits don't exist and the cats say, "No problem" when I apologize. It's lonely here, but the unicorn poo is beautiful. </span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-11697561325736083482014-02-19T08:49:00.000-08:002014-02-19T08:49:39.417-08:00The Gays of Our Lives<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I will be the first to admit, there are a lot of things I don't get: younger, richer, dates...but right now I am totally flummoxed by the worldwide anti-gay sentiment. Every time I read a headline about someone pitching a fit about homosexualty, I get this mental image of a medieval lord extolling the virtues of the feudal system. "....and serfs? Hell, serfs will be around FOREVER!!" (Okay, you could get metaphorical here and argue there are still serfs today, what with an embarrassingly low minimum wage, but, remember, we're here to talk about The Gays, not our Tragic Economic Disparity.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">This current onslaught of foreign homophobia confuses me, because these people act like being gay is a new phenomenon, sort of like twerking. "HUH?? We never had homosexuals in this country until the Condensed Force of Evil that is the United States of America started letting them get married! Now it's even spreading to the serfs!!" </span> <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hey, Putinpants, homosexuality has been around since heterosexuality has been around, it wasn't invented by Oscar Wilde.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It reminds me of the early 1960's, when I was a kid, and everyone was batshit terrified that someone in some country somewhere was going to set off the nuclear bomb. Although, in that scenario, the world would be destroyed. If a gay bomb exploded, it would just leave the world more tastefully decorated. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Is homophobia the new bigotry designed to bring the world together? I mean, racism is becoming a bit passe and, frankly, it's hard to get worked up about about the inferiority of black people if you live in Switzerland. But homosexuals!! <em>There's </em>a group of Satan's Spawn we can globally despise! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">It is so. fucking. stupid. And, perhaps because of the three previously-mentioned-in-the-first-sentence items I no longer get, I have very little patience left for the <span style="color: red;">D</span>evisive <span style="color: red;">I</span><span style="color: black;">rrational</span> <span style="color: red;">C</span>ontrolling <span style="color: black;"><span style="color: red;">K</span>nuckleheads</span> <span style="color: red;">H</span>iding <span style="color: red;">O</span>bvious <span style="color: red;">L</span>atent <span style="color: red;">E</span>videnditiary <span style="color: red;">S</span><span style="color: black;">hit, if you get my drift. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Much like other erroneous, outmoded ideas (the world is flat; bloodletting cures disease; Justin Bieber rocks), in time, this fear-fueled bigotry will pass. Then the search will be on to find a new undeserved minority on which to focus our irrational hatred! Huzzah! Long Live the 15th Century!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Or.... (call me crazy).... we could stop focusing our energy on hating people and see what happens if we all try to get along. There, at least I gave you one laugh.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-31536636927216679752014-02-10T15:52:00.000-08:002014-02-10T15:52:07.317-08:00And Now in Financial Muse...<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">There is a factoid floating on Facebook today that says it's costing the Russians $51 billion to host the Olympics and it only costs $2.5 billion to go to Mars.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Either way, that is a lot of money. And both those things are really cool, I'm just not sure either project is getting the full bang for their buck here. The Russians have already been dealing with bad publicity and they will be left with a bunch of buildings and sports venues that will very likely sit idle till the next Revolution. And going to Mars is exciting, but what can you do when you get there? Other than Starbucks and McDonalds, I doubt if there's a lot going on up there. Who wants to spend a week staring at a giant face? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"> To tell you the truth, my mind always boggles when it comes to money. You all know the Sad Saga of Bad Steve, so I won't bore you with it again. But when I finally realized I was never going to get any of the money back that I had "loaned" him, I was not as upset about losing the money as I was in realizing that he had never really cared for me, just my wallet. It takes a lot longer for my heart to heal than it does my bank account.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I lead a very simple life and I like it plenty swell. I have no dreams of owning a big house or retiring to to Sochi or Mars. Living paycheck to paycheck works just fine for me. My biggest expenses are cat food, beer, and going to see my kids a few times a year. And I wouldn't trade my kids, cats or beer for all the Mars Rovers in the world. (Granted, there are probably only 3 or 4 Mars Rovers in the world, but you get my point.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I suspect this sentiment is a common one in people "of a certain age" and explains the feeling I often get of being completely removed from society. I just don't understand </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">the expensive, greedy, power-driven, mean shit tha</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">t people/corporations/governments/political parties/ religious organizations do and rather than try to comprehend it, I just want to sit on my sofa and pet my cats. (And, no, I don't mean that euphemistically.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But that being said, it is breathtaking to hear the vast amounts of money people are willing to put forth for something. And can you imagine what it will cost it when Mars hosts the Olympics?? Let the games begin!</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-44416941129397863772013-12-13T13:01:00.000-08:002013-12-13T13:01:22.759-08:00All The World's a Comedy Club<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Back in the '70's (remember those? No, you don't, you're too young, fuck you), Lily Tomlin had a television special. It was great, and my favorite sketch was a birthday party, where all the kids were clowns and Lily's parents hired an accountant as entertainment. (Pause as you attempt to YouTube said sketch.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Welcome to my world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I view the entire world as a potential joke. It very rarely fails to disappoint me. Even when I'm residing in the Pit of Despair (I wouldn't recommend it as a vacation spot, the food sucks), I usually come up with some bizarre take on the situation that makes me laugh. I was born with this....what, impediment? gift? defect? freakish chromesomal abnormality? but it wasn't till I hit Extreme Adulthood (also not the best vacation destination) that I became proud of it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Between the ages of 9 and 14, a bunch of obscure relatives I had never met died. My parents made my sister and me go to the visitations, despite our strong protestations. They were Family and it did not matter that I was on more intimate terms with our mailman (not in that way!!) than the deceased, you had to show up at the funeral home. It was the Done Thing. My parents were Republican. (Which is why I wasn't allowed to go to my mailman's funeral.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">So, my sister and I would find a couple of out-of-the-way chairs and play what we called, "My Aunt Harriet Died Last Week." (For the record, we did not have an Aunt Harriet.) One of us would start the conversation by saying, "My Aunt Harriet died last week.", and then we would just improvise a sketch till our parents said it was time to go home. We didn't know what improvisation or sketch comedy was, we didn't even think we were being particularly clever (thinking you were clever was Not the Done Thing), we were just trying to kill time in a funeral home. (Thank you, I'll be here all week. Try the veal.)</span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">That's how my brain works. Luckily, I have managed to find a community of people whose brains also work this way. We're kind of like a leper colony, only not contagious and better looking. It's very comforting to know that if you see something that strikes you as funny, you can message/text/actually pick up a phone and call one of your fellow Funnylepers and they will appreciate the humor. I have tried pointing out the humor in stuff to Civilians but they treat me like I'm Robert the Bruce's father. (If you haven't seen Braveheart, you won't get that and will thereby prove my point. Thank you.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When I was a kid, I was in awe of all comedians and I thought there was some Special Magic Funny Fairy Dust that grew in LA and New York that made them funny. But, luckily, the joke's on me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">P.S. I don't think chromesomal is an actual word, but it's fun to say, so I left it in. Fuck the Done Thing.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-16540128969365291012013-12-10T08:24:00.000-08:002013-12-10T08:26:50.190-08:00A Holiday Greeting, Debstyle<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Once upon a time, there was a man who ruled the world. He was all powerful and everyone revered him. He could be loving and generous, but he could also be mean and vengeful, you simply had to follow his rules. Some of these rules didn't make a lot of sense to his subjects, but they followed them, partially because they wanted the man to love them, but also because they didn't want to suffer the consequences. It was the way of the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">After a while, the man started to get the feeling that all the people didn't really love him, as much as feared him. He was surprised and hurt by this and decided he would come up with a plan that would prove to his people that he was a kind, forgiving man who truly believed that love was the most important thing there is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The plan he came up with was this: Rape a virgin and impregnate her. Then, when the child was grown, have him tortured and murdered. Then,<em> then</em>,<em> </em>people would truly realize how kind and loving he was. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And, Holy Fuck, the plan worked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">THE END</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Of course, that's just one interpretation of the story. But it explains why I just can't buy into the whole religion thing. Because I really <em>do</em> believe that love is the most important thing there is. And that you should treat other people the way you want to be treated. Of course, being human, I don't always act in a loving way or take the time to think, "Would I want someone to do this to me?" But I do take solace in the fact that none of us are perfect. We all make mistakes; sometimes we learn from them, sometimes we don't. What doesn't make me feel any better is to think that there is an infallible being out there who never fucks up. It just makes me feel guilty. Thanks, Sister Mary Elizabeth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My spritual beliefs are always in a state of ebb and flow. I don't think I could ever put them in a permanent form. And I really envy those who can adhere to an ancient dogma and feel totally comfortable with it. There was a time I pretended to do that. But I'm on the downhill slide of life and my "Truly Don't Give A Shit" hormone is kicking in pretty strong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">However, the Aged Hippie in me still wants to grab humanity by the scruff of the neck and shake them till their eyes rattle while screaming, "LOVE EACH OTHER, you fucking assholes! LOVE EACH OTHER!!!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Merry Christmas.</span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-3670179641324021052013-12-04T07:35:00.000-08:002013-12-04T07:35:27.081-08:00I've Written About Writing Before, But Hopefully You Won't Remember<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Everyone has issues they have to deal with. I don't mean like taking out the garbage issues, or doing housework issues or learning lines issues (none of which I have <em>ever</em> dealt with, by the way). I mean deep-down, life-long, holy crap kind of issues. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I will not bore you with what my issues are, because I'm not paying you $120/hour to listen to me kvetch. Also, I adhere to the following truism:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My shit is my shit and no one gives a shit about my shit. (It's kind of the adult version of I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But we also all have Certain Things that help us cope with our Shit Issues. Excluding the escapist therapies, like alcohol, tobacco and ice cream, we all have something we do that takes us out of ourselves long enough to emotionally breathe. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">One of my Certain Things is acting. Duh. But writing is another. I get into a zone when I'm writing that pushes my Shit Issues to the back of my psyche. It's nice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">"So, Deb," you say, stroking your mustache and adjusting your toupee, "I guess this means you write on a fairly regular basis, heh?" (I don't know why I assume you all have mustaches, toupees and end sentences with "heh". I could be wrong about this.) But to answer your question, dear reader....no. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I would love to write more. Okay, I tell myself I would love to write more. But the truth is, instead of writing, I tend to fuck off. The idea of writing everyday makes me flummoxed and antsy with a side of heebie-jeebies. That is not nice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">"Discipline!", you cry, tapping your pipe on the ashtray, "Discipline, Debala!!" "Fuck you, mustachioed, toupeed, pipe-smoker!", I retort. Discipline is all well and good but some days I don't have anything to say that's worth writing down. Or even worth verbally expressing, for that matter. So, discipline or not, unless I'm creating instruction manuals for space heaters, daily writing ain't gonna happen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I have no answer for this conundrum or really any idea why I felt led to share this with you. I guess it's just one of those days where the Shit Issues are looming and the only thing to chase them away is a little literary ice cream. </span></div>
Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-58068540296909972102013-11-15T14:19:00.000-08:002013-11-15T14:19:50.029-08:00On the Job<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I have posted before about the weird job titles I see on employment websites. This week I saw one of the best ever: Event Coordinator for the Edge of Chaos. <br /><br />Doesn't that sound cool? It actually looks like a job only a Q would be qualified for, but still, the mind boggles. Of course, the description was much more mundane and involved budgeting and Excel spreadsheets and boring shit of that nature. But props for creativity in the title.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Also, this week one of my friends posted on the FB what his dream job would be. I used to say that my dream job would be working in a repertory company, but I kind of feel right now that I am, doing three shows in a row. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I think I have gone past the age of having a dream job. I'll have to keep working till I drop dead, no retirement for me, but I'm okay with slogging away at an 8:00-5:00. I am pretty content with my life as it is now and the idea of having a job that I actually care about makes me feel weary. I only have so much emotional energy and that is currently being taken up by kids, friends, cats and theatre. It's rather relaxing to come to a stuffy, pretentious office everyday and not give a flying fuck. Also, I can learn lines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I hate to pay the shoulda-woulda-coulda game, but I suppose if I had thought it through when I was younger (something I'm still not very good at doing) I might have chosen something that would have put me on a "career path". But I am so much more of a "close-my-eyes-and-see-where-today-leads-me path" type of gal, I can't imagine I ever would have been successful at the aforementioned hypothetical career. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Although, if I were a member of the Q Continuim, I would definitely apply to be the Event Coordinator for the Edge of Chaos. </span></div>
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Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6501924565373545198.post-74136729250972703712013-10-21T13:03:00.001-07:002013-10-21T13:03:15.191-07:00Career Ghouls<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Once upon a time, I thought I needed a career change, so I decided to sell real estate. I did not think this through. (If I could Not Think Things Through for a living I'd be a millionaire, I'm very good at it.) So I went to school at night and passed the test the first time (Yay!) and joined a local real estate firm. The open houses on Tuesday were lots of fun. You got to walk through a bunch of houses that had just been listed. Although, truthfully, after you had gone through 4 or 5 Mt. Brook houses, they all started to look alike. Which is probably a quasi-racist statement, but nonetheless true. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I soon discovered that I hate selling things. Again, if I had Thought Things Through before I started this quest, I would have realized that already. When I go in a store, I hate salespeople to come up to me. I actually hate people anywhere to come up to me. It makes me anxious and I start assuming I've done something wrong, because that tends to be my fallback position in life. I apologize for everything and to everything. If I bump into a chair, I apologize to it. Sometimes, the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is yell, "I'm sorry" to the empty apartment. I'm a firm believer in being proactive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Anyroad, miracle of miracles, I did sell one house. But I felt guilty (my second fallback position) for selling it to the couple because although the owner fixed some water damage, I knew they were in for more, having owned a house that fell apart from water damage. I had no hard evidence that this would happen, just a general feeling that it probably would. I really wanted to say something to them, because I have this thing about being honest. Call me crazy. But my supervisor said that legally I couldn't advise clients based on my Irish Sense of Foreboding, so I got through closing, handed the poor young fools their keys and said, "Sorry."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My real estate "career" lasted about six months, the last two of which I spent mostly in tears and tummy pains. My then-husband was not teaching that summer and we decided to take an extended cross-country family road trip, so I took that opportunity to quit real estate. I also made my children swear a solemn vow that if I ever talked about going into sales again, they were to take me out to the back yard and shoot me. They could bury me between the cat and the guinea pig. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I guess I tried sales in the first place because I vaguely thought if I could get on stage and convince an audience I'm someone I'm not, I could convince people to buy things they don't need. One of these things is not like the other. Besides, and I swear this is the last time I'll say this-- AGAIN, if I had Thought Things Through, I would remember the fact that I am, like many actors, an intense introvert. People scare the crap out of me, cause they talk to you and stuff, and expect you to talk to them back. Don't they know I'll say the wrong thing? Why do they put me through such torture?? In sort of the words of that Senator that finally brought down Joe McCarthy, have they no shame??? No, they don't. They're people. And people are scary. Yeah, sales is a bad idea for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Unless I could sell to animals. Or chairs. As long as I don't bump into them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Sorry.</span></div>
Debbloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02741698711921402454noreply@blogger.com0