The Perfect Me

I have discovered the key to perfection. Pay attention, I know you’ve been searching for this information, too. I missed it before because it takes me a while to wake up; I am not much of a morning person. That’s no real excuse, I know, because it’s all there, everyday, plain as can be.

I wake up at 4:30 am. I need a good half-hour of caffeine before lucidity begins to set in. During that time, I flip through the channels on TV and mindlessly encourage my body into action. This morning, it hit me: everything I need to be the perfect person can be purchased for three easy payments of $29.95 each and shipping is included.

The first offers I came across were for moneymaking schemes. Since this, and all of the rest of the things I need, cost, this is a good place to start. Thank goodness there are three or four options going on at once and by getting them all, I can cover all bases and be profitable in no time flat.

I will begin with learning about stocks and bonds and financial planning, a good solid base for my future riches. Once I have my foundation, I will follow with rapid real estate turnover purchasing with little or no money down and flesh out my capitalism with coin and diamond investing. Three hours a week is all I need to accomplish my financial freedom.

Now that I no longer have money worries, I can work on my physical being. I am sure you will be shocked to learn that there are creams and pills that can knock twenty years off of your life. I know I was, but it’s true. It’s so easy; take a pill and rub on some white creamy stuff and you are sixteen again. You’ll need the extra 20 years for the diet and exercise plans that will keep you trim and slim, with 8-pack abs. All of this is worth the fifteen minutes a day the programs require.

The next part of perfection and fulfillment is attraction by the opposite sex (or the same sex, as the case may be.)

Girls Gone Insane is a lesson to us all that getting wasted, frenching your girlfriends while smacking them on the ass and then removing your top in front of hundreds of drunken men, is the ultimate in personal relationships. Women have struggled for decades to satisfy the need to express their uninhibited trashy natures. At last, true equality.

After a lewd weekend romp, I can go home and take care of my womanly chores, which won’t be too bad because I will have an air filter that removes all dirt, dust and toxins from the air. What that doesn’t get, I will take care of with my tornado vacuum that sucks up anything the air filter misses. While I’m doing my minimal housework, my seven-course dinner is cooking on its own in my space age rotisserie.

I can purchase God through the crying preacher. My spiritual thirst will be quenched with his special bible and prayer cards that give me a direct line to the enlightenment of my soul.
To round out my persona, I can take care of my intellectual side with a degree in auto repair.

Misty

I looked up from reading on the couch last night and the bench your bed occupied is empty.

I only made dinner for Cody and your countertop didn’t have little bits of smelly fishy food all over it. I packed your dishes away as soon as I got home.

Cody looks at the basement door, wondering when you will come slinking up so he can chase you around the living room and sniff your butt.

Erika won’t have to clean your catbox anymore, one less thing for us to fight about.

Vince can look at the furniture without yelling about you ripping it apart and he won’t have to hid the fact that he pets you even though he hates cats.

I slept through the night (induced by two huge, water tumbler sized gin and tonics) and you didn’t jump at the door to be let in or whine at three in the morning or startle me by staring at me from my pillow.

I waited for you this morning while I sat on the toilet but you didn’t come for your one and only pet session of the day.

I don’t have to watch my step when I’m half asleep and I don’t have to guard the door at night so you won’t slip out.

Everyone says I did the right thing. Fourteen years is a long life and I think you had a good one.

I know you are kneading Gods knee, while he grimaces at your claws. I love you.

Dangerous Minds, Not

On Monday, January 16, 2006, Ray Nagin, mayor of New Orleans (at least for the time being) made the following statement, "I don't care what people are saying Uptown or wherever they are. This city will be chocolate at the end of the day," he said. "This city will be a majority African-American city. It's the way God wants it to be."

This statement upset all kinds of people. Supporters, detractors, and people that don’t normally pay attention, all sat up, gasped and said, "Oh, my God. What did he just say?"

I‘d like to know why people are shocked when a politician says something stupid. Politicians are, after all, only third rate actors that couldn’t get paid the big bucks in Hollywood because they just aren’t very good actors. I mean, come on, did you hear his save?

"How do you make chocolate? You take dark chocolate, you mix it with white milk, and it becomes a delicious drink. That is the chocolate I am talking about," Nagin said. "New Orleans was a chocolate city before Katrina. It is going to be a chocolate city after. How is that divisive? It is white and black working together, coming together and making something special." If someone wrote this for him, he needs a new scriptwriter. If he’s speaking on his own, then he’s doing us a big favor. He is detailing the thinking process or lack there of, that goes on in his mind. He did us a big favor.

I like it when people speak their minds. I know exactly where they are coming from then. There’s no guessing if they might be stupid, racist, homophobic, dumb, pedophiles or idiots. Their words speak for themselves.

When George W. Bush speaks, I can plainly see that he can not string two thoughts or words together to make a sensible comment. This doesn’t bother me. I can tell he’s not dangerous. He’s dumb. Some people say it’s all an act. If he were really that good an actor, he’d be competing with Tom Cruise for the big bucks.

Tom Cruise shows his intelligence every time he makes a statement that is not scripted. Look at his behavior when he doesn’t have a writer. He jumps on other people’s furniture. Didn’t his mommy teaching him any manners? Feet off of the furniture, Tom. But at least he can act. His chimp impersonation was stellar.

I think we should applaud when these people speak. Encourage them to speak their minds. They tell us who they really are. They are safe. Since you know where they are coming from you have a chance of defending yourself. If someone who tells you who they are and what they believe in and you don’t do anything to protect yourself then it’s on you. You have only yourself to blame if one of these people get you because you should have seen it coming.

It’s like when a guy says to you, "I only want a good time; I’m not into commitment." If you don’t believe him and act accordingly, you are just being a chump. He’s not being coy. He’s not some poor soul that’s been waiting for you to save him. He’s a jerk, telling you he’s a jerk. Don’t cry later that you didn’t have a clue.

When I see a mouthpiece, I look around behind him to see who is the real power person; it’s always the quiet ones; the real power behind the throne. These are cliché for a reason.

You can defend yourself from the guy coming at you head on, but the one coming up behind you can get you in the ass.

Disconnected Prologue

All I see is the red. The red fans out into the water. It swirls back on itself. It floats over the foam made by the tiny rapids around the rocks. The slit in her throat gurgles with the stream. The red and the water and the throat combine, overlapping in my vision with the pinpricks of sunlight bouncing off of the brook.

Pain doubles me over, guilt and grief bringing me to my knees. The shards along the creek edge slice through my breaches creating wounds that add more stain to the water. I press my mouth against hers. I anoint myself with the life draining from her neck. I lie down beside her, my black hair dampening as it twines with her blanched tresses. I want to follow her where she is going. I want to follow her as I have always followed her. I take my dagger from her throat and place it against my own. I close my eyes.

The distant clink of metal on metal rattles our communion. I rise up on my elbow and turn my ear in the direction of the sound. I pause, waiting for a repeat of the disturbance. Braying hounds and grumbling men float to me. My horse whinnies over by the huckleberry bush he is tied to. I open my eyes, blink and shake my head. Droplets fall onto my tunic. I drag my hands through my hair. I ball my eyes, scratching my brow with the ring on my right hand. I push myself to my feet and look back down at her.

"I am sorry."

Her eyes stare back at me, all trust vacant.

"I vow to finish this for you."

My horse stomps and paws the moss. He stretches his neck and pulls back his shoulders, releasing his reins from the bush. The ferns around him crush and dye blue from the berries.

I pull her body out of the water. I reach down, unfold her fingers from the crucifix she clutches. I stuff the crucifix in my pouch, wipe the blood from my knife in the dirt and return it to its sheath. I arrange her arms across her chest and pull the hem of her gown down to her ankles. I stroke my fallen tear from her cheek, then stand.

Dogs crash in the brush. Men yell to the dogs and each other, cheering and cursing and encouraging each other on. I make out the words, "catch," and "burn," and "hang." Arrows spit from the mouths of men.

I grab my horse's bridle, haul myself into the saddle and head him into the water. Hooves on rocks clap and thunder. The water splashes up our sides, we shiver and tremble. We pause where the stream branches off in two directions. We pick one and do not look back.

I Have Issues

I have issues with the use of the word issues. Buzzwords generally make me nuts, but this one is really driving me around the bend.

Yesterday, I had an Officer of the Law call me regarding an accident one of our drivers had last week. He needed information about the driver and our insurance company. Yes, he had gotten it at the time of the incident, but unfortunately, his computer had "issues" and lost the information. And being the self-controlled person I am, I replied, "You computer had ‘ISSUES’?" It made him stop in his tracks, think about what he said, and laugh.

His computer didn’t break, blow-up, shutdown, fry, frazzle or foam at the mouth. It had issues. The computer’s hard drive didn’t crash, grind to a halt or explode. It had issues. Ugh!

Everybody and everything has issues now. We don’t have problems with our neighbors, we take issue with their behaviors. I don’t have difficulties paying my bills, I have cash flow issues. I didn’t get a flat tire, I have issues with the inflation level of my automobile’s rotary motivation devices. Bullshit. Chickenshit. Dogshit. Call things what they are damnit.

Granted, the term is not always being used incorrectly. Here are several definitions: 1) A point or matter of discussion, debate, or dispute 2) A misgiving, objection, or complaint 3) A personal problem or emotional disorder. So, I don’t take exception with its use on the basis of improper handling (except when inanimate objects seem to have issues.) On the contrary, almost everyone seems to know how to use it and that is the crux of the matter.

It is already trite, banal, commonplace, over used, hackneyed, old-hat, threadbare and boring. Use a different word for pity’s sake. You’re making me wacky.