The 100th Post

This is my 100th post. I knew it was coming and originally I wanted to write something spectacular. But what? I had no idea so I did what I usually do when I'm trying to figure something out; I googled.

I didn't know if I would come up with anything (dumb me) so I was stunned when 1,770,000 results popped up! Wow..I ought to get some sort of idea what to write about!

Nope. the vast majority said something like this:


"Happy news: It's my 100th post!! I can't believe it! It has been more than two months since my first post. How many great people I've met ..."

Or this:

"This post happens to be a milestone for my blog - yeah this marks the 100th post. The journey has been exciting so far."

Who cares? WHO CARES!!! You are not accepting an Oscar. You did not accomplish an amazing feat that won you a Nobel Prize. No. What has happened is that you sat here 100 times and wrote about yourself!

Okay, this is harsh. I know that. After all, some of these blogs are fun and funny and informative and highly entertaining. And it's true; I have met some of the most intelligent folks around the world. But I don't think an acceptance speech is called for.

I have to admit, some of the 100th post Google results were interesting. My favorite is probably this one:

"Today is my 100th Post! Happy Post Day to me or I should say to us. I would like to thank my producer, God."

(that one made me laugh out loud.)

Another was a lady who, in celebration, was raffling off a little gift for her readers.

A few honored their readers by posting "100 things about myself."

Another celebrated by baking banana bread and someone else wrote a song to mark the occasion.

So, back to myself. What will I do to mark the occasion of my 100th blog entry? I know exactly what I'm going to do; I'm going to begin writing the next 100. But in the meantime, I'm going to have another cup of coffee, and then go back to google and try to find the person who is raffling off a gift.
Maybe I'll win it.


And in the meantime..lets celebrate:

Sinful

Today we took my daughter's birthstone ring to the jewelers to have the stone remounted. This ring was a gift to her from her grandmother, one given to her not long before gramma passed away, so Shannon was nothing short of devastated when the stone fell out.

This post is not about my daughter's ring, however; it is about another. the sales lady asked me if I would like to see 'something pretty' and slipped a rock onto my finger. It was a bit too ostentatious for my taste.

"How much is it?" we asked.

"$149,900." she replied.

Oh
My
God.

"Take this thing off of my finger NOW!"

We literally ran out of the door. (

Who in their right mind would spend $150,000 on a ring? At first I laughed but then I got angry. There are so many starving kids in this world, so many many people who do not have food in their bellies or a roof over their heads. Do you know how many pairs of shoes that kind of money could buy?

I do not know why I took this so to heart. I had asked the clerk if she had ever sold one like that. Her answer?

"yes. In fact I have one being sized right now."

"That's a sin." I thought to myself but I didn't say it out loud.

Disgustingly sinful.

Nothing

I read somewhere that John Updike never had writers block in his life. Needless to say, I am not John Updike.

Lately I have been publishing quite a few videos I have stumbled upon over at youtube.com. Now, I wouldn't post them here if I didn't think they were worth sharing, but I will let you in on a little secret; I am putting them here because...BECAUSE!! (drum roll....) I have run out of ideas. I have hit a brick wall. I am at a loss. Temporarily.

I have wracked my brain trying to think of worthwhile things to share with you. Do I tell you about the fat little boy who was a line jumper at the bookstore, a repeat offender, in fact, who runs up in front of everyone else, stares at me and says, "Can I please get some service here?"
Lucky for him, the other folks who have been waiting in line get a charge out of him. They laugh. I do not think it's funny and the chubby little snot-angel can tell.

Do I write about the exercise video I am getting for Christmas? What do I say, I know I got it be cause I went to the store and got it?

Then I asked myself, "Beej," I ask, "what would Updike do?" And I knew the answer...if Updike could write about nothing, I'm sure he would write about....NOTHING!

Okay, what can I say about nothing? There's a song that starts 'Nothing from nothing is nothing.' But I am not sure what that means.
Then there's the old adage, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained.'
I suppose that means if you don't try something, you wont succeed. Hmm. So if I don't try to go broke I won't succeed? well, doesn't that make me a success then?

I am really confused so I go to brainyquote.com and look up the definition of 'nothing.'

'Nothing

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not anything; no thing (in the widest sense of the word thing); -- opposed to anything and something.

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Nonexistence; nonentity; absence of being; nihility; nothingness.

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A thing of no account, value, or note; something irrelevant and impertinent; something of comparative unimportance; utter insignificance; a trifle.

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A cipher; naught.

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In no degree; not at all; in no wise.


I am interested in the one definition .. 'Nonexistence.'. So, if I say the kitty litter box is nothing, does that mean it doesn't exist? Well, piss on that! (har har) I know it exists because I can, well, smell it! Or do I use the definition, 'irrelevant?' Well, darlin', if you think it's irrelevant, then you go stand next to it after a few ripening days.

I do not like this word. In fact, it means nothing to me. Hmmmm I'm not sure what I mean by that so up to the definitions I go again. Okay, lets choose 'nonexistent.' Well, that's not true because if it didn't exist, I wouldn't be having this problem!

I give up. I am not John Updike. I have writers block. And there's nothing I can do about it.

Nothing.

Voice Of An Angel

Just For Fun - TV Bloopers

Weird Weirder Weirdest

Last night I grabbed my book and began to read in front of the tv. It didn't take long for me to fall asleep. I awoke in the wee hours of the morning and one of those true life documentaries was on television. I became totally engrossed. It was the weirdest thing I had ever heard of, so weird that when I woke up again this morning, I googled it to see if I had dreamed it. It took me a long time to find anything on it (mostly because I had the wrong tv channel) but, find it I did.

There was a middle aged family man, very average, on the dumpy side sort of guy, who met an eighteen year old beautiful blonde high school girl on an online game site. This guy told the girl he was an eighteen year old Marine named Tommy who was about to be deployed. He sent a photo pf a young handsome, rugged soldier and told Jessi it was his photo. This continued for months, the older, grungy man and the unsuspecting gorgeous young girl.

After a while,, Jessi sent Tommy a package. Unfortunately, Tommy's wife got it first. It was some very sheer red thongs. it didnt take long for his wife, Cindy, to put two and two together and Tommy confessed to her. Cindy felt it was her duty to contact Jessi and spill the beans, explaining that Tom was really almost fifty, and was a family man.

Jessi was furious. She badgered Tommy with a nonstop insulting messages. He apologised profusely but assured her that his love was the real deal.

Tom had a coworker who really was eighteen, named Brian. Now, I must have dozed off for a few minutes because I missed just how Brian ended up involved with Jessi online, but he did. And guess what happened...THEY became involved. Well, this just sent Tom over the edge. He ended up hating Brian.

To give the devil his due, Tom did try to break free from Jessi, but she would not leave him alone, writing that Tommy lived within Tom and she could never stop loving the fantasy of 'Tommy.' Meanwhile, shes telling Brian just how much she hates Tom.

Tom catches wind that Jessi and Brian are having a fling. He begins to tell Jessi he is going to kill Brian. It got so bad that Jessi's mom got involved, messaging Tom to leave her daughter alone.

Then one evening, Brian headed out the door from his place of work. He got to his truck and sure enough, Tom shot and killed him. The police did their little investigative thingy, found out all that was going on. They got themselves an arrest warrant, but Tom was GONE!!

The police in West Virginia, where Jessie lived, were contacted and went over to the girl's house to make sure she hadn't been harmed also. The door was answered by Jessi's mom who broke down weeping, admitting that SHE HAD BEEN THE ONE TALKING TO TOM ALL ALONG! and Jessi, who really was her daughter, had no idea that her mother had been posing as her and had been sending her photo to men over the net.

Here is a photo of Tom (on the top) and Brian (bottom.)



I cannot find a photo of either Jessi or her mother but the daughter is indeed a beautiful girl and the mother is overweight, unkempt and very unattractive.

So, eighteen year old Brian is dead. Tom is in prison. And where is Jessi's mom? at home. Same as always. They had no charges to bring against her because they had no proof that she had instigated Brian's death.

Weird. Weird weird weird.

The Whine Cellar

All I wanted in life when my kids were little was an outhouse. I dreamed of what it would be like to go to the bathroom without two little kids lying on their bellies trying to watch me through the crack at the bottom of the closed bathroom door.

"Mama! What are you doing?" they would ask without fail.

"I'm in here eating chocolate cake and ice cream so that I don't have to share with you." I would tease.

( "What the heck do you think I'm doing in here?") I'd wonder.

My daughter, who is two and a half years older than my son, would giggle. My son, who was a bit slower on the uptake would whine.

"I want some cake!" and I would hear him sniffle.

So my dream was to have my own private outhouse where I could go at will without interruption. I dreamed of nailing a handmade sign on its door which would read PRIVATE CLUBHOUSE. KEEP OUT!!

Of course this never happened and eventually the kids lost interest in what mama was doing behind that door. (The dog, however, still likes to scooch down on her belly, stick her nose in that crack and snort. But that's another story.)

Now, I no longer have need for my PRIVATE CLUBHOUSE. Now I need a WHINE CELLAR.

My back yard is large enough to accommodate this. All I would need is a backhoe and a cement truck and I could make this a reality. I dream of banishing all the whiners in my life to this place in the ground. And there would be a lot of them.

Take my daughter. My beautiful girl ran away from home a few weeks ago. Well, at 22 I suppose that's a bit misleading. Except she did, on a complete whim, move back to Tallahassee to be with her rotgut old friends and her deranged, drug addicted high school ex-boyfriend.

I am not pleased with her. And she can tell.

Hers a snippet of a phone call I had with her last night.

"Hi Ma."
"Hi Shannon."
"I don't feel like I'm a part of our family any more."
"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Mom! Why don't you want me to be happy?"
"I'm glad you re happy, my love."

She begins to weep.
"Mom! You don't phone me any more."
"Well, I tried but you don't answer your phone."
"That's because my feelings are hurt."

I end up by sending her money for a bus ticket home. And I'm thinking to myself, all I want for Christmas is a whine cellar to put all the whiners in.

Earlier that day, my son's girlfriend (Fiance? I'm not sure any more what her relation to my son is.) wanted to talk with me.

"Hi momma!" (she's learned I melt when she calls me that, fool that I am..you would think I'd have learned better by now..)

"Hey sweetheart."
"I tried on wedding dresses today and found one but it costs $1,000. I look beautiful in it!"

(oh oh..)

I glance at my son who is beaming.

"Um, ma, we were, um, wondering...do you think y'all could help pay for our wedding?"

"No."

The whining begins... from the both of them.

"Wedon'thavethemoneyandeitherdoesKim'familyandblahblahblahblahblah..."

"Get thee to the whine cellar, both of y'all!" is what I'm thinking..

Now I work hard. I love my job because I work in a bookstore. And I love the people I work with. The first person I always see in the mornings is Judy. Judy runs our bistro and used to be the happiest person I knew. Not any longer. Now she is of late a miserable cuss who spends all her awake hours bitching. This woman can bitch up such a storm that sometimes I sit back and think how much i admire her tenacity to hold on to slights in her life. Now, tho, I'm tired of it.

"Get thee sorry hiney to the Whine Cellar, Judy!" i think to myself.

Yesterday, I did a little Christmas shopping for the whiners in my life and decided to have my nails done while I was out and about. The salon is run by a Vietnamese family. None of them speak English. The matriarch of this family perches down in the chair next to me and begins to complain...in Vietnamese..to her son who is my manicurist.

I do not understand Vietnamese so this hour long, nonstop tirade, begins to sound like a cross between a meditation mantra and a speaking in tongues. At first it was tolerable but soon became highly irritating and I could not wait to get out of there and away from her mouth.

(I have to admit something awful right now; I am presently reading an excellent book Called 'American Psycho' about the mind of a serial killer whose murderous method of choice is to slowly hack his victims into shreds. I thought of this as I notice manicure scissors on the table next to my hand. I quickly and shamefully disregard any notion I have of using these on this whining woman. It was a fleeting thought, but an alarming one, nonetheless.)

"Get thee to my Whine cellar, mamasan." I think to myself.

Okay, okay, having a whine cellar dug into my back yard is bit over the top. I know it's not gonna happen. But I need a break from all this constant whining. And I know exactly what I am going to do...

I am going to lock myself in the bathroom. And eat chocolate cake and ice cream.

And I'm not sharing.