Charlywalker's Blog

I have been inspired to get down and dirty and to reveal certain aspects of my life. Someone has put the notion into my head that I need to tap into that inner self that collects all the history and tears down the cob webs that are shielding some true lies. I was going to write about my first time  visiting  a Porn shop in Atlanta in the seventies, but revealing the true actualities of that experience is very benign in comparison with what is vehemently exposed today.  My Coed  daughter shows more skin than the three minute video I watched from a coin -op arcade shielded by a draped stained curtain that housed every STD under the sun……

During the 70’s in Atlanta, Georgia, the South had certain rules and laws that governed their great City and protected  their poor Sainted pedestrians.  They have  (or had) a major street in Atlanta called Peachtree Street and this street had many branches that added middle names to the main thorough fare: like Peachtree Avenue, Peachtree circle, Peachtree way. That tree wound its roots throughout the metropolitan area until it landed in the pit of an intersection that was divided between church and Porn. During the roaring 70’s or should I say snoring 70’s from all the excess potheads that were left over from the Jane Fonda era;   Atlanta had an area that was baptized ” the Bible belt” on one side of the street while the other side harbored a strip mall of Satan.  This was a religious war of an unusual kind during those times in which the Holy Rollers were trying to defeat the wHO’S -wHO of the porn industry.  This King of Thieves was a god in his Kinky community and owned one of the largest Porn magazine’s of its time. He Hustled night and day to defend his empire against the seething zealots who wanted to tear down the walls of Jack shack across the road from the House of Lord.  The marketeer muscled in and kept his ample footing and coveted the holy land down the street which left a gaping gloryhole and no room for Jesus…..

Now my roommate and I had a night off from our airline employer and decided to have a night  out on the town which included too many Mai-Tai’s and a giggling stop at an all night, dimly lit, porn shop.  When we entered the place we were immediately met by flailing inflatable body parts with orafices that never closed. I was laughing so hard I had to steady myself from falling onto a sticky floor, and I grabbed  what I thought was a handle  next to the counter, which turned out to be a removable object that vibrated off the wall. I tossed it to my roommate like a hot potato and she disappeared into another room. I found her a few minutes later calling out to me from behind a crusty curtain laughing hysterically  and peering into what looked like a colossal view master.

So there we were, loaded on rum and curacao, and dropping change into a coin-slot to watch our first pornographic movie.  We spent close to three dollars in change to watch one minute of a young lady dressed in Hot Pants and a Daisy May tube Top doing laundry.  My roommate added another two dollars and at the very end of that segment the laundress was approached by two masked Mucha Lucha wrestlers carrying what looked like liquid Tide.  We were stuffed behind this curtain of shame and took turns to watch the elicit theater until I commented to my roommate on the amazing 3-D effect permeating from behind.  My roomie asked what I was referring to and I said that the “curtain has a moistness to it and smelled like a bad night with Sodom and Gomorrah”.  She removed her eyeballs from the lens master and broke into uproarious laughter when she  turned around and witnessed a man standing outside our curtain enjoying his own “live” peep show..starring  US.

The last thing I remember was sprinting out of the that place like a bat out of Hell and my roommate running through the door tango-ing with inflatable Barbie deflating around her neck and the store operator chasing us through the parking lot………all the way across the street where we ran to a safe house:

A Church. …………………………..We stuck Barbie in a Confessional and called it a night. It’s O.K. she was in the missionary position..

spread the humor


{May 22, 2011}   Handwriting is on the Blog

I recently watched a movie the other night that happens to be one of my favorites; it’s called The Bucket List.  It’s a movie about a list of things a person wants to fulfill before they “kick the bucket”.  It made me think: Why would a person wait til they are about to die before they think about doing  the things they really wanted to do while living?  I have always done whatever I set out to do.  I personally think my bucket list was handed to me in my Rubbermaid pail when I was able to walk; along with the matching shovel.  I learned at an early age to kick your bucket aside and use your shovel to bat the sh*t that flies off the fan…………I was an intense toddler.

  I had a list of things written in crayon that I wanted to accomplish, which I did, and I’m still not finished.   I think when my time comes and I will be asked about the “things I wanted to do, but never got to”,   I will probably just respond with:  “I’ve done them thank you, now go fix me a dry martini and change the channel on the TV to Mob Wives…I’m tired of listening to that Sajak guy  blowing vowels out his ass…”.

This “Bucket List” topic sparked my interest one night while catching an episode of the Wheel- of -Fortune.  I like that show. I get to watch Vanna White grow old in designer gowns. She keeps getting thinner and thinner and before you know it they’ll be rolling in her Versace on a skeleton wearing a blond wig.  Pat Sajak will drop his choppers on the Wheel bending over to spin and gumming out the letters for the Bonus Round: “O.K.  Vanna, gimme an R-Eth-Teeth-L-N-Eeeeeeeee”( that’s Pat suffering  vowel incontinence).

The “Bucket List” came up while Pat was doing his 30 second interview with the contestants.   One girl mentioned she had a “Bucket List” and that she has completed most of it, (mind you, this girl was attractive and I assume in the mid 20’s range of age).  I asked out loud: “Why would someone so young be concerned about something like that at such a youthful time in their life?”.  No one answered me because I was watching the show alone with my dog.  If my pooch  did respond to  me……well…. then…..I guess I would have to face the obvious:

….that being,…my stray came from the same litter as David Berkowitz’ dog…………

This vibrant young lady seemed thrilled to tell the world she had a “Bucket List” on national T.V.  while the other two candidates  just gave “shout outs” to their peeps and dispensed free advertising to their workplace.  I still couldn’t shake the notion of this unseasoned woman and her  desire to do what exhausted elderly accede to teetering on their last leg.  The strong leg.  The one that has to kick the bucket.

But then..WHAM!  It hit me like a ton of bad lyric’s thrown by George Michaels; (no, not wake me up before you go-go..)..

Why not pursue a “Bucket List” because you want to; not because yo think you feel pressured to.  Life is a bucket of cherries waiting for you to take a bite and spit the pits back into your pail……….with or without dentures.  I think this Wheel lady had it down to a science and mapped out her  List constructed to fulfill her Fortunate life.  I think she was sending a message over the airwaves to entice the audience to re-think this “Bucket List” operandi.  Maybe make this list accessible to youngsters who complain too much about their cell phones not being the latest model.  Maybe we should make a Bucket List mandatory and have it notarized and produce them adjacent to a birth certificate to hand out to the next generation.  Maybe this Bucket List will start with small ventures, like:

1) I will be potty trained before I reach pre-school

2) I will brush my teeth as often as the dentist tells me to after my braces are applied.

3) I will complete my homework and hand it in on time.

4) I will not exceed the speed limit when I’m 16 while carrying a freshly pressed driver’s license.

5) I will not party to excess in college and wake up kneeling over the porcelain god sporting a tattoo I don’t remember getting in Vegas…

6) I will listen to my parents and take out my Ipod earphones when doing so…..

7) I want my Laundry List completed first…

8) I will kick the bucket if it’s left in the middle of the hallway full of dirty water for me to trip over…..

Oh this list could go on until I kick the bucket, but apparently buckets are hard to find these days since the cleaning lady switched to the Wet Jet Mop.    I guess we’ll have to change ‘Bucket List” to “Swiffer Starter Kit”.

spread the humor

I have just received an  incredible Honor in the blogging world which was passed on to me by:

She awarded(?) me with the “Versatile Blogger Award”, and upon receiving this I would just like to say” Thank You very much…… and You like me, you really, really like me…..well Sandy says she does……….”

I am not familiar with this award, but none the less, it is something that I can hopefully add to my resume of achievements along with learning to change diapers, taxiing teens, spoon feeding life into my family, conquering menopause without taking out a post office, and avoiding my puppy’s plot in trying to kill me……..

I have found that everything in life does come with strings attached…my children entered that way….and with accepting this award there are rules that must be obeyed and conveyed.

First: I must post the Link that nominated me:

Secondly: List 7 random things about myself………So….here’goes:

1) The Girl in Green that is posted on my blog is a silhouette of my body 20 years ago……(you just scrolled up..didn’t you…)

2) Charlywalker is not my real name…..although I’m thinking of changing it to avoid creditors….

3) I live in Levi’s, loafers without socks, cashmere sweaters, and a HootersAir cap hosting a pony tail….

4) I will retire under the Tuscan Sun….even if it’s the name of a local restaurant…..

5) Speak, Write, Serve me anything in Italian and I’m all over you like a cheap suit……………

6) I like funny. Anything Funny.  I like people who like funny………

7) I will continue to uphold my motto: Spread The Humor………..

Now there are many people and blogs I’d like to post but the rules of engagement are to list only 15.  I have 52 blogs I would love to tout so if you could find it in your blog-hearts to nominate me 3.742 more times I would be able to give them all a  just due mentionable…..

Thirdly: I Google(d) the definition of versatile and it states: “capable of doing many things competently; having varied uses or serving many functions; changing or fluctuating readily”.  I can state that by this definition, Versatile applies to many bloggers, but you will never find me fluctuating in public.  Here are my first fifteen:                               

Now, just in case I missed a few:



belleofthecarnival,kimeling,cdewine,Thevividwriter,coopernicus,cheeseschipsandgravyplusfootball, thedailydish,artswebshow,brokenalabasterbottle,cocorivers,oldbentnail,theteachingwhore,joysinmylife,


Normalstepfather,Martinimaidens,Ocinthered,Onemixedbag,momintraining13,pccadvantage,oh, and Salt & Pepper(?).

And all the SPAM one blog can NOT allow…….

Thank You.

Charlywalker…….spread the humor.

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… 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 topical, 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….…..

Ain’t marriage grand? Don’t you just love the long silent pauses and passing each other by the bathroom like two ships in the night with only one fog horn that is actively tooting. Isn’t is amazing how twenty years can sneak by faster than gas escaping my husbands ass during an afternoon nap.  Much like I have been experiencing with my new puppy. Charly and my husband have many similarities that they don’t even know exist. They both run around on … Read More

via Charlywalker’s Blog

{May 13, 2011}   Dumb as a Post

I am having great difficulty in trying to understand the workings of a seventeen year old boy’s brain.  I can understand a seventeen year old girl’s brain a little better because I was one…once..a long, long, looonnng time ago. My son is  a very clever chap and highly inventive with a heart of gold and yet manages to make me crazy and is driving me to pull out a rare bottle of Lafitte Rothschild that is  hidden behind a glass case.  There is a brass chain holding a plaque and a mini mallet on the outside  that reads: “Break glass in case of emergency”.

What is it about a teen  boy that makes their brain stop working and  experience hardship in the “logic” area.  Is that part of the lobe on a continual lunch break?  I know my son can put two and two together, but it’s when he has to think about putting them together is when the trouble begins.  He will find a loop-hole to master mind a scheme between the TWO'(s).  I have spent a lot of my” mom” time ascertaining “mom” knowledge that is based on experience with a little pinch of hindsight.  I have pitched independence and autonomy to my son and  left him  to hold the cards until they spring out like a magician who has  lost control  of his deck.  Maybe I should switch to Domino’s, at least they fall in consecutive order.

My son has been preparing for his SAT’s and  I have left him alone  with only minor nagging in order to conquer this feat .  A feat that is to predetermine where his future college will be.  A feat  that was developed to stir anxiety in a teen just by uttering the words” number two pencil”.  A feat to jam his feet into over-sized Ive league loafers.  He managed to sign himself up for the test center and print out his golden ticket for his special day.  He  also arranged to buy the Study guide and prep until he was too pooped to prep.  He announced in his big -boy voice  the evening before the big exam that “he is ready“.   READY...for what? Is he ready to get into the car, is he ready to get out of his flannel Guinness pajama bottoms and put on some Khaki’s, is he ready to possibly clean his room, or is he ready to PREPare some breakfast?

I asked my son what time he needed to arrive at the testing center and he assured me it was to be bright and early, “around 7-ish”.  It was the ISH that worried me.  I asked him to check his Willie Wonka ticket for the arrival time, but he pooh-poohed that notion, and had it in his head that he knew the time. ” I got this, MOM“,   were what I believe to be his exact words.  It takes approximately 25 to 30 minutes to reach the testing site.  Halfway there a light bulb exploded in his head and he decided to pull out the chocolate bar that held his winning ticket and read the instructions that listed the necessary protocol for SAT test taking.  It was now ten to seven and I was breaking the law in two states to get him there on time. My son mumbled the direction section and then I heard him yelp in a broken teen voice.  Under the list of necessities and PERTINENT information section; it stated in bold print that he needed his student I.D., and, “oh yeah, it says to bring your ID and arrive by 7:45” ………CRACK!…………..

That was the sound of  my  breaking the Lafitte Rothschild glass container………not a car accident.

I turned the car around and returned home so he could grab his ID and have a little time to, oh, I dunno…..THINK about what just transpired with his independent brain…...oh I got it mom…..  “ That’s OK son, mommy doesn’t mind getting up at 5:30 a.m. on a Saturday to prepare a healthy breakfast for you so your brain will have all the enriched nourishment it needs to remember all that information you study from that big fat Prep book that cost a small fortune. No worries, it’s just a test that determines the fate of millions of kids each year.  Maybe you could borrow an ID from one of the Princeton candidates”.   We drove all the way back home and then back again to the test center in order for my son  to make his scheduled debut.  My last words to him were;  well my second to the last words were; ” Phone me when it’s over and I’ll pick you up here..right here…same spot… don’t wander….don’t move”.

He phoned me when it was over and I told him I’ll be there in about  a half hour.  I arrived at the school and waited outside for a few minutes. He was no where in sight, mind you,  he’s six feet tall and not hard to miss.  I went inside the test center and there were a few students  left lurking in corners violently texting on their cells..  Probably got their results already and are forwarding them  on through the  Harvard information super highway. I returned to the car and waited another ten minutes. Still no sign of his blue sweat shirt. I saw a message on my phone from an unknown number and I listened to it.   It sounded like someone gargling salt water.  I returned the phone call and there was no answer.  I do not like chasing a teen down and I was never a fan of the game Hide-n-Seek…………SMASH!…………

…………..that was me stomping on the case holding the Lafitte Rothschild.

He phoned me and wanted to know where I was and that he decided to go over to his friends house who lives a few blocks from the testing area. He said he left me a message.  It might as well have been a message in a bottle.  I staggered  to erase my menopausal anger for a few moments to collect my thoughts to navigate  my car over to pick him up.  When he jumped into the car all he could manage to say was how tired he was from taking the SAT’s.    Oh my heart goes out to him for having to endure such pain in filling in Scantron circles.

I blurted out:  “Son, what part of DON’T MOVE don’t you get?”. …..” What intricate part of your brain told you to send me on a wild goose chase to locate you.  What part of the garbled message from Jacques Cousteau was I suppose to interpret?”  He retorted back: “you need to have more understanding.”………SCREECH!………

That was me reaching for the emergency corkscrew in the glove-box……

“Oh I understand you had the wrong time scheduled in your brain, and I understand you forgot your Identification card, and I understand the unlimited mileage and gas used in  transporting you to and from and to and from again, and I understand you’re borrowing an unknown phone, and I understand messaging can get distorted, and I understand enduring twenty hours of labor and pushing out a nine pound baby boy can be hazardous to one’s brain; But I don’t understand your logic right now”.

He states emphatically: “Because I wanted to go over to Josh’s house”.

………and  POP!  goes the cork…….

I want(ed) to thank Carl Brigham for his insight and development of the SAT’s.  ” He derived that they could be used with accuracy to predict a person’s innate mental capacity;  however,  these tests failed to help with knowledge of baseball trivia, brand names, and cuts of beef.     AND also to help a son to stay put when his mother tells him to stay put…….

Ahh…pour and sip…….

{May 7, 2011}   Nice Blogs Finish Last

I received a phone call the other day from my physician.  I knew this was not going to be a call that would generate a rebate from my co-pay,  the clue being ,NO physician on earth ever calls a patient unless they have some pertinent news for your ears only. News that might get caught up in the Hippa web should he email you. Or news that can not be delegated to a subordinate to relay.   He phoned to give me the news that the biopsy he took the other day and sent out to the CSI  Lab came back positive. He assured me that it  would be “O.K.” because this was the “good cancer”.

Oh thank God. I had no idea there were discrepancies in cancer. I knew of stages, but not dueling battles between good and bad.  I wonder if bad cancer wears a black hat toting a six shooter and hops off a POPular pony to burst through swinging bar doors  announcing his arrival. On the same note, I wonder if the Good cancer wears a white hat and can catch a  silver bullet between his teeth while tap dancing in gold cowboy boots. I better stop wondering and get working.

I trotted off to research this in my Physicians Desk Reference. If you don’t own one of these….DON’T purchase one. This over priced and over weight book has so much detailed information that reading  it will guarantee to make you sick even if you are well.  I thumbed through to the big “C” section and tried to find the  definition for “good” cancer.  I couldn’t locate it anywhere on the pages. I found every other adjective describing various cancers but none using the prefix “good”. Hmmm, I’m baffled.  Is it a good cancer because it’s not a … a……..bad cancer?  This led me on a chase in section “B” to hog-tie a Bad cancer.  Oh, silly, there is no listing for bad cancer. There was Basal cell, ( not the green leafy kind), bilateral ( hmm, maybe look at it from both sides), bone (in or out, wait, that’s a steak reference), brain ( brainer), breast ( oh my…blush), bladder (weak, the mere mention and I’m off to trot).. oh Lordy, all those B’s….I may start to  stutter like a silly swine….. ah-ba-dee…ah-ba-dee…… that’s all folks.

  I strayed from my current reading material to  mosey over to the local  phone book and round-up the Yellow Pages. I lassoed my reading glasses around my head to capture the fine print. I guess I  got distracted and started to seek out good vs bad Doctors……..but there were no listings with that heading.  I did come across a a few named Evil and  Jekyll,.. oh wait I was still in the “A” section under Attorney’s….

 I phoned my Doctor back and asked him about his findings. I petitioned his requisition about his statement that I have a “good” cancer.  He echoed: “not to worry,  this is the good kind of cancer”.  Oh great, now I have a good cancer that is polite, but hopefully not the kind to spread its generosity around.  Maybe it’s a courteous  and chivalrous type that would untie a lady from the railroad track before the train hits and causes a snide whiplash.  Good cancer.  How do you treat a Good cancer, do you use gentle persuasion? “Now, run along you little naughty nodule and don’t let me catch your benign butt back here again”…..  I have never heard of a cancer being described in those terms; good or bad.   I am beginning to wonder if he actually sent my specimen to a pathologist or to a Cotillion Instructor. Probably to the moon.    How much money do these guys make in a minute anyway…..

 Well I will tell you….  I once calculated that number.

 During a visit to our Orthopedic specialist, a matter of five minutes  was spent with my son to examine his wrist that was injured while snowboarding  down killer mountain. It came out to be roughly $130 a minute. I started to question the Doctor about after care and he darted back “Gimme a minute…”   I cherish  those opportune moments where  I have an epiphany and a burning desire to enroll my son in medical school. I dangled the new snow board carrot as his ultimate goal…..(not to mention an all inclusive Assisted Living space for mommy equipped with a bar and  limo driver….pending graduation…).

Making light of what could be construed as a life threatening situation is not what most people do when they are confronted with the “C” word.  I am no stranger to this announcement, I have been confronted with this issue before.  People tend to react in different ways; either they have the wind knocked out of their sails or they are settled in disbelief or they just put on a cape and go forward wearing a mask.  I have sat in all those saddles.  Each time I witnessed the “C” who shall not be named, it was always followed by the word “Good”.  And this has been good. And now I get to add the word “Kind” to it. And that is better.

So I told the Doctor; “good”,  I like good.  You  better be good; Good is as Good does……. I’d hate to have to jump back to the “A” section in the yellow pages……Goodie- goodie..gums drop…..

* note to all: I’m fine and not finished spreading the humor……

{May 7, 2011}   Blog It forward

I love Karma.  I used to think it was something that was oozing from the center of my Milky Way bar.

Lately I have been saddled with the Blahgs and lacking inspiration to write anything down.  I started to read other blogs to see if I could gather any pertinent information or  possibly a lead-in to strike some creative output.  Maybe hijack another blog and call it my own.  Maybe I could take parts of someones work and tie it into my blog, what(?), with all the millions of readers out there who will notice? I admire the blogger that can whip up words and blend them into a captivating story of nonsense.  I especially love the readers replies to the nonsense, begat(ting) more nonsense.  I love a readers comments that are nearly as long winded as the article. Personally I think they are looking to grab a little free real estate and advertising space. Maybe they do this because their writing just doesn’t contain that “zing” to grasp a readers attention.  Maybe they have too much time on their hands and have nothing better to do but coast and attempt to replicate some weird periodical.  Maybe they like to stalk their prey before they latch on to a site that is more notable than their own.  Maybe they’re alone and lonely and seek cyber socialization because crawling out from behind their computer is to scary for one to attempt solo.

I think when a blogger uses parts of someone’s work for their own personal gain could be considered  a form of flattery to the Blogster that came up with the concept.. If someone’s creative blog helped another blogger to blog something, well that’s just paying it forward and presenting a nice Karmic Keyboard.  Although, if this person chooses to continually gain inspiration from other blogs, what will become of the blogger should they no longer have that venue for their own amusement? What if the blogger they gain added insight from decides to stop blogging…will the writer fall short in their monologues and be at a  loss for topics?  Is stealing someone’s ideas a form of Blogsphemy that invites bad Karma.  Why is it called karMA?  Why be gender specific, why not call it karPA or karKids….

I like a good karma, it’s such a feeling of quintessential “goodness”, but how does it work? It has been described as memory coming into consciousness, or , one meets self, or a way to heal your past and commit to your present, or being a victim to hundreds of past lives.  Yikes, I’ll stick to my candy bar, it’s simpler.

My memory comes into consciousness every morning at 6:30 am when I wake my son from his teen coma and get him started to get his Self out of bed hosting eyes at half mast trying to meet his bowl of Cherios floating in a milky stream of consciousness. If he’s a victim of past lives, I may not live to finish this one.  The only way I can get him to commit to my present is if it’s gift wrapped and can be used on a snow covered mountain.   My family has had to deal with a lot of my past lives embedded in this present one.  I believe a few hundred house keepers have embodied my being in the past based on the hours of  upkeep needed to  keep up with a teenager.  I think I may have been a chauffeur or a Cabbie  in my former life.  I have driven all over this country and spent endless days and nights transporting  my children to their destinations du jour until they were able to drive themselves. I may have been a GPS system as well, because I can locate anything in this house that has been misplaced by family members.

But what brings about the bad Karma? Maybe stealing or cheating or being a lousy cook? Maybe some see this as a form of punishment. ( bad Karma that is, oh, and possibly being a lousy cook is punishment enough on my family).  Do we attract and repel certain experiences that bring about this Karma.  My dog attracts fleas, is that good karma? And if I chose to use repellent to obliterate the infestation is that considered bad Karma… My son attracts lots of teenage girls, is it bad karma to swat them off like flies so he can study for his SAT’s…

I dunno. So much to think about.  I think I’ll just retreat to reading other Blog’s and chew on chocolate until someone’s topic catches my eye and maybe spark some initiative onto my screen. Maybe I can copy right off a page or two…no that would be bad blog -karma…….

spread the humor.

et cetera
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