{February 24, 2011}
Why Title a Blog
I love courage, it comes in all forms, shapes, sizes, and denominations. Oh and it also comes in Blackmail……………..Folks we have our winner!
{February 23, 2011}
Seeing Eye Blog
I received a new subscription to day for my blog and now I have a grand total of three fans. This is exciting I feel like Sally Field when she received her Oscar: You like me , you really really like me….well three of you do. And I thank you. I went blog surfing for the first time in my life and the only other surfing I have ever tried was on an over sized board shaped like a flattened shark in Hawaii. I was fifteen then and on a family vacation to an island that was once invaded by the Japanese. My father was a Navy gun boat captain during WWII and spent days in Honolulu, but thank God, was shipped out to the Philippines before that horrible day happened. I love fate. Not as much as I love God, but I think Fate is Gods little sister. Er…wait …that would be Faith. Anyway, my father thought it was a great idea if I tried surfing and he pre booked a lesson with out my approval. Albeit now that I am a parent I understand that some teens lose their inalienable rights and the only approval needed is mine.
My lesson included three hours with a tanned twenty-something shirtless Kahuna instructing me on a 6’x 18″ two inch thick slab of polyurethane and epoxy resin. This all seemed wonderfully adventuresome and thrilling except for one valid point: I am not a strong swimmer and the only deep sea extravaganza I attempted was resting my tushie on a giant floatie in a pool: with a life guard on standby…..This local Kane-boy had me paddling out in a direction that included no land in sight and what seem to take forever to reach our destination. Mano-a-mano. My arms hurt and tired because back then I was the size of a tree branch and my peers nicknamed me Twiggy; well at least it was after a famous model….a very anorexic model but a model nun the least. A model a shark would ignore….
The surfer Brah stopped mid ocean and sat upright on his board and stared intently out to the ocean as if he were waiting for his ship to come in; maybe filled with scantily clad Wahini’s wearing co-co nut bras, hoping he might get a lei.. He told me to sit up on my board and dangle my feet into the water. I told him that I didn’t mind if we just sat out here for three hours soaking up some rays and that my dad will never know the difference because he and my mother are visiting the Royal Hawaiian bar and Grill with friends enjoying too many umbrella drinks. He didn’t buy it, he also said that my father told him I would say that. So I managed to rise on all fours shaking like my puppy when he’s out in sub zero temperatures trying to take a dump, and straddle my skinny legs over the sides of the board. Only I was not facing the same direction he was; I was facing the shoreline filled with Haole’s and Malahini’s spreading Hawaiian Tropic over their Mainland pale bodies. I saw Hotel’s lined up with the Lanai’s staring at me with Mauna tops peaking out from behind shouting ” Get Out!”.
My Kapuna pointed to the massive wave starting to arise on the horizon and waved at me to follow him. My mind immediately went into panic mode and I tried reaching under my board for a life jacket or a flare gun, but the instructor kept calling out to me louder than the shore. I did what any normal person would do when confronted with fear: I closed my eyes and paddled like a fish out of water. My eyes were shut so tight that all the vast array of Blue turned into a sea of blackness. There I was paddling my board like an out of control jet ski driven by Helen Keller and holding my breath until I met my maker. Which I ultimately ran into. I found myself laying atop the front half of my instructors board. I opened my eyes and said “Aloha? “.
We didn’t have time for casual conversation because he whipped me about face and grabbed my hand and started to paddle with the oncoming wave. Then he yelled at me to “stand up NOW“! My twig legs took root and I rose like a new seedling in a Spring garden. There I was, actually surfing. I was standing on top of water. I was as close as you could get to Jesus’ same scenario at Galilee except I had a prop.
I don’t recall what transpired next except I think I was sleeping with the Mahi-Mahi. I toppled into the ocean and was caught in a curl of rip tide tumbling like a load of wet jeans in a dryer. Some kind Wave decided to toss me out on the shore line where I landed next to an elderly couple sleeping in their deck chairs . They watched me with one eye opened as I spat out sea salt and emptied the Sahara Desert from my bikini bottoms. My Surfing Teacher ran up to me laughing and telling me next time will be Mo’ Betta.
I stood there Shaka like a Taro leaf and told him I needed to find a bathroom WikiWiki where I can pupus. Mahalo nui loa! surfs up?
{February 21, 2011}
Blog up the Wrong Tree
I think what this world needs now is more Humor. I don’t care what form it comes in albeit sarcasm or just plain bad jokes, but humor is needed now more than ever. I am not seeing people laugh anymore. I am seeing them smirk, criticize, over opinion-ate, and completely turn an innocent generic non judgemental conversation and make it about THEM. They seem to be void of the humor gene. My puppy has more of a sense of humor than most people now days. At least Charly-dog gets my jokes and actually barks out a laugh or two. My dog can decipher between a true belly-jiggler and a sarcastic wit blaster.
I think where some of the problem lies is in the translation or should I state the MODE of translation. Trying to text some dry wit doesn’t get the result you intended; it gets you a reply that has you defending your response in the first place. It has you apologizing for making light of a nonsense issue. It has you going to St. James Cathedral and confessing to Father Mike about the sarcastic joke you made via text to a friend and finding that the Padre lacks a sense of Godly humor and sends you to the alter with ten Hail Mary’s and four Our Fathers…Oh lord, I was not laughing and texting in church. “Oh Bless me father for I have sinned it has been…………..INFINITY since my last confession.
Today I text a response to a friend about an ecumenical topic concerning snow and I was met with a bellicose back-talk instead of some gut-giggling.“.. How does one incorporate an intonation into their text? Did I neglect to add a smiley icon? Should LOL be included at the end of the sentence? Should we all start off our techno-conversations with a disclosure to be E-signed and returned? Ergo the receiving party has been for warned that thus text may contain joking that could cause one to possibly lighten up…LOL..:)…oh God help me.
I don’t know what sets someone off on the wrong foot in the morning ( or evening, depending on their job shift), but I feel that people are very tightly wound….no matter what their age is. I understand the emphatic determined youth who are out to take over the world with gusto, and I get the pre-middle age conglomerate who have been controlling the world, and I am nearing the the Gen-O ( octogenarian) generation so I get them too. But what I don’t get is where the humor went. I know everyone needs a good laugh in life and I know everyone has had to have at least one in their life, but I am seeing less and less of this and more stress and strife. I see folks getting more pithy-offed than Paradisiacal. Even if it’s over a phone line. Via text. Not very nice Text-etiquette.. textiquette…
Hmmm gives me an idea. I’ll text Father Mike my confession’s…. maybe he’ll go easy on the penance…I’ll become the Penitent-etiquette Woman.
{February 20, 2011}
That Blog won’t Hunt
I have a friend that is angry. Her mind is upset with her body. Her body wants to exacerbate her hybernating hormones and bring them out to the surface to face an all out war with her libido. She is so bewildered by this ipso facto that she is writing in quasi legal Latin jargon that her attorney father would utter when he was upset. Every time she heard him shout In Loc0 Parentis, she figured he was trying to locate some local parents and trade her brother in for a golden retriever because he used his mothers fine crystal in a neighborhood water fight…again. Mea Culpa! My friend had her female reproductive organs removed exactly two years ago in February and her Doctor did not place her on replacements; ad infinitum,….. until a month ago when she happen to mention that; ” while she enjoyed having sex; her vagina is in absentia followed by rigor mortis..“. In other words lacking a little of the moisture it had in her youth. I will for warn all of you pre, post, or anytime in between, menopausal women: your Vee-Jay will quit on you. Your walls of Jericho will collapse and dry up and crack like the Great Lakes did 7000 years ago. Your brain and hormones will still present themselves in an orderly fashion and aid you along in the passion and fever while starting to copulate, but come half time and LeBron James is about to do his slam dunk into that lovely basket everything comes to a rip roaring halt. The pain replaces the pleasure. The dry spell took over and all the K Y from Jelly-stone park can not help Yogi fall into his Pic-A-Nic basket without creating a Boo-Boo…modus operandi. She thought this was just her. She thought this was a situation that only she had to keep In camera, until she had drinks with a colleague the other night who managed to have a slip of the labia and exclaimed she too, had the same situation. Maybe if we ran this situation across the Jersey Shore cast they’d get answers. I’m sure Snookie has no problems with her nookie. Wait til she’s over fifty, I bet her shoreline will recede and her tide won’t ebb and flow like it use to. I’d like to see her habeas corpus reach terra firma after two kids…..et tu, Snookie?? My friend went into a twenty minute dissertation about her private parts during intercourse with a closing argument of “how and why is that fair to women: just as we women are reaching the age of acquiescence and enjoying the act now doesn’t mean the damn thing has to dry up and quit on us”. God I love a person who tells it like it is, even if it’s Martini induced. Aqua vitae. I educated my dear pre menopausal friend about the miracle drug of Estrogen. I explained how it comes in various forms; from oral to anal, and how replenishing this hormone that is starting to fade from our anterior pituitary, will recapture that rapture that has escaped through our vaginal portal. Opus Dei. This is no Davinci code; this is a miracle drug from your local Pharmacy that can ignite the heavens, prima facie, so your husband can provide pro bono ad infinitum…..quid pro quo…until you veni vedi veci….So you can Carpe Diem…until your hearts content; pain free. Just remember this is a temporary fix and needs a refill………
Caveat Emptor….…..
{February 2, 2011}
A Blog in Sheep’s Clothing