PSA

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!!

March 28, 2014

I hit the big number of 525 Posts, I decide to stop using this site and invite you to play at my new blog!

You can find me:  

www.paulahillempath.com/blog/

My aim is to continue blogging daily. I adore writing and am proud of where I have taken this Common Salt Blog. Now, I will venture toward new avenues, focus on creating a book out of this marvelous chapter of my incredible life and share the story with many more readers turned comrades.

I do hope you will join me, late in the night, at the hearth of inspiration and candor, for without all of you, my voice cannot be celebrated.

Thank you for your stick-to-it-tive-ness!

Stop That!

March 27, 2014

Gotta stop falling on the black ice.

I have to stop answering the cell phone when I don’t have time to talk.

Stop getting sucked-into the link, after link, after link saga.

Stop burning the long grain brown rice and setting off the smoke detector.

I will stop eating too many raisins after 8:30pm.

I need to stop wincing at the Credit Card invoice envelope when it arrives in the mailbox.

Stop whining about not having….____________fill in the blank.

Stop swearing at the printer, it will not function any better with loud expletives.

I got to stop inviting the cat up on my lap when wearing black pants.

I want to stop thinking I am not enough.

What are you up for STOPPING?

Please share my blog.

A Together Life

March 25, 2014

I have compassion for the susceptible places I have touched. As I sit in the pew, listening to a marvelous voice, projecting with confidence and absolute joy, I am sensitive to those around me in the adjustment of my return. I feel compassion for my own exposure. Journey deeply into my inner world of my brain, easedropping on my thoughts of sudden spasms of enlightenment. I am happy. Giddy with warmth from the community around me. I don’t even know 98% of them yet, they have welcomed me as their own. Time quiets the chatter. I drop into the comfort of my suffering in need of support. The little thin woman who yells to blame someone for how badly her life is going drowns out the music and reverie.

Total independence is a misconception. You can no more live without getting your emotional, fiscal and livelihood needs met than you can live without sustenance, air and rejuvenation. If you honor your Self, belonging is truly a bridge of finding your way. Stepping out of the comfort zone and into a community where self-expression is encouraged, insisted upon, helps you communicate more effectively, own your own worth, be more available to learn new things about your Self, handle rejection, take constructive action, manage your time and energy with grace, be of service consistently, master your chosen field, step out of your comfort zone more frequently, and discover a renewed strength within.

You, as those around you, live in 10% of your consciousness. Belonging to a community serves to raise that level. Just how far is completely up to you. 

Case In Point

March 26, 2014

Vulnerability envelopes me as I hunch on the black asphalt at the edge of the road in yesterday’s morning flakes. Left leg splayed in a homely position, jutting to the back, as my previously injured ankle, appalled by the thunk against the black ice, begs movement. A blend of fine exasperated swear words soak the air around me, absorbed by the trees, fresh falling snow, and my once agile body. Reality sets it’s head on my shoulder, as I note my soaked jeans, angle of my appendage, and the simple fact that I could very well be flattened by a passing vehicle, gets me to my feet. Ambling like a wounded third baseman, I make it home, shaken and withered.  

“Sabotage” comes to mind, “injustice, retribution, shame, exasperation, indignation, unmerited consequence, and fear” slides up from the stubbed toe to my heart.

Then, through the hours of rigidity of the muscles, shocking shudders of pain, unsightly swelling, certain bruises and torn discernment, comes “Find the Way.”  Shuffling phone calls and re-scheduling events has everything clink into place. A horizontal position, leg high above the heart, which typically never lends itself to productivity, a majority of satisfaction takes over. Although phases of disquiet enter the recesses, I am alright.

I haven’t turned my life from living out of a cardboard box on the street to making millions, like some, yet I have made these past few days into more than a bruised knee and ankle. I can accept and honor my good companion, Vulnerability, not shoot her down in times of need. I realize I have the fortitude, determination and gratitude to take the next halting step towards home. 

A Together Life

I have compassion for the vulnerable places I have touched. As I sit in the pew, listening to a marvelous voice, projecting with confidence and absolute joy, I am sensitive to those around me in the adjustment of my return. I feel compassion for my own exposure. Journey deeply into my inner world of my brain, eavesdropping on my thoughts of sudden spasms of enlightenment, I weep silently. I am happy. Giddy with warmth from the community around me. I don’t even know 98% of them, yet they have welcomed me as their own. Time quiets the chatter. I drop into the comfort of my suffering, in need of support. The little thin woman who yells to blame someone for how badly her life is going, drowns out the music and reverie for a short time.

Total independence is a misconception. You can no more live without getting your emotional, fiscal and livelihood needs met than you can live without sustenance, air and rejuvenation. If you honor your Self, belonging is truly a bridge of finding your way. Stepping out of the comfort zone and into a community where self-expression is encouraged, insisted upon, helps you communicate more effectively, own your own worth, be more available to learn new things about your Self, handle rejection, take constructive action, manage your time and energy with grace, be of service consistently, master your chosen field, step out of your comfort zone more frequently, and discover a renewed strength within. Join. 

Academic Demands

Qualities you will never be tested on:

Sense of Wonder

Creativity

Critical Thinking

Resilience

Motivation

Persistence

Sense of Wonder

Curiosity

Question Asking

Sense of Humor

Endurance

Reliability

Enthusiasm

Self-Awareness

Truthfulness

Empathy

Leadership

Courage

Compassion

Sense of Beauty

Resourcefulness

Stick-to-it-tiveness

Humility

Spontaneity

All of the above, however, can be taught through example. They are all exceedingly difficult to explain, examine at length, master, and have some consistency. Once you hold your Self to the test of enriching your life with one, living it fully, as though “Truthfulness” matters, for example, it is much easier to recall and emulate again, and again. Why not put them in your curriculum for this year. The planet could use a lot more eloquence with “Question Asking.” What do you think?

Who I am, When I Die

I want to live my life, remembering that today, I am better than yesterday.

Each time I leave my home, I want to think people will be able to determine who I am. Conversely, as they enter into my front door, the “me” I aim to project, comes blaring out of the stuff, scatters around the room, flings off the walls, envelopes the observer with my energy. They can surely proclaim I am determinably conscientious, an animal enthusiast, a spiritual but not religious person, a woman with a zillion friends, gluttonous reader of everything save Science Fiction, productive and consistent entrepreneur, a casually quirky dresser, thrifty yet not terribly frugal, voracious contributor to the environment, typically friendly, habitually happy, relatively secure, striving to be fit, pragmatically health-conscious, not easily intimidated, pseudo organized, accessible twenty-four hours a day, hyper-energetic, and faithfully free. 

And, if I die, everything will be findable. 

And the Winner Is

March 21, 2014

In so many ways, it feels like a blind date, sans a meal or beverage to keep my hands busy. There are five candidates applying for one post at the Chiropractor/Acupuncturist’s office in North Saint Paul. I sit on the firm chair, writing on my spiral notebook, all of the responses to the inquiries, dictating notes regarding the intimate details of the behind-the-scenes functions of the practice. In the meantime, my head spins out, creating disturbing facts from previous positions. I think backwards, to my job several years ago, in very similar circumstances, paid twice what they are offering me here. I cannot help but feel appalled, frightened about the state of the market, knowing I will most likely turn down the offer, if in fact, the Doc asks me out on another ‘date.” One part of me wants to stick with it to the bitter end, wanting to see if I am the Winner. On the other side of the stark reality, I can’t even pay for my expenses, aside from rent, with the higher end of the spectrum wage range.  Most of the others applying, or at least the women I took a peek at, while coming or going from the office, are my age or perhaps a tad more mature. With the numbers standing in line down to five, I consider just how many applied and went through the skills assessment then onto first interviews. It is exceedingly costly for a small firm to hire a part-time employee. Appears to be taking up a lot of the weekly lunch breaks, over several weeks. Why is it that the companies here in the United States of America do not feel inclined to pay a livable wage. It is obvious the practitioner lives comfortably? I assured the Dr that, in several months time, if I could not prove that I am able to find a way for the practice to generate enough income to support a reasonable wage hike, I would eat my hat. If I were wearing a hat, it would have carried far more weight but I do believe he got the gist. We will learn, soon enough, whether I am offered the premium spot at the clinic. The Mr Right game isn’t over yet.

Travel Tips

March 19, 2014

My impulse to pack up and head out of town has taken over. I went as far as opening the big front closet and taking a gander at my luggage, lined up at the ready on the far wall. I swear the largest case turned in expectation of a trip to the warmth and sun. It would have to be the one that fits the snorkel, mask, sunscreen, a sarong and slew of paperback books. Isla Mujeres calls from the Cancun coast, begging me to check out the new rates at our favorite little hostel beach hotel. I can’t stand the pressure and secretly google search without the pets knowing what I am up to. They wouldn’t understand my leaving town without them. The news of more cold temps and possible flurries creates the frenzy, I pace and ponder, consider my options, Spanish rolls around in my head, the conversion of dollars to pesos, what friends I could reel-in to tag along, succumbing to my adventures in the warm ocean. I jump onto the bank website to check my balances, switch to the bookkeeping mode to reveal the clients with a positive balance, and zoom in on the investment portfolio next, like the cat preying on the squirrels in the window. 

One trip to the kitchen to pour myself another cup of coffee shakes me into pragmatic awareness. Who am I kidding. The snow will be gone before too long and I will have survived another winter. Think I deserve a new hooded sweatshirt for that.

Duped by Doo

March 20, 2014

Now that the majority of the snow has melted off the sidewalks in the neighborhood (as long as the homeowner/renter has scraped most of it down) there are piles of dog feces stuck to the surface. I have tried, on numerous occasions, to scoop up the offending poop, only to inevitably tear open the biodegradable plastic bag and expose my hand/glove/mitten to the horrible substance.

As I clean up my own dog’s mess this morning, I attempt to gather another victim’s discards, in effort to contribute to the neighborhood cleanliness factor. Backfires on me. Now I am caught, choosing to ignore the remains on the cement, categorized as the Bad Neighbor who didn’t pick up after the pooch, or skooch it to the curb as best I can. I cannot hide my guilty features. Everyone can tell what I am “up to” immediately. Never been a great liar.

As the man walked out of his front door, spotting me leaning over a stuck pile, I shudder with shame. “Not my dog’s poo!” I desperately want to bellow. Though it doesn’t sound very convincing, I try my best to explain the situation in a low mutter. He glares at me, the offending rolls scattered on the sidewalk and walks briskly to his car. Damn the Bad Neighbor and the dog who couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

Tenacious Tiara

My right arm is detaching from my body. At least it feels that way. I look every which way in the mirror, after stripping off my outer over-sized wool sweater, turtleneck (who came up with that silly name?) soft undershirt, and glare at my sore shoulder blade in the glass. Who convinced me to do two pilates routines BEFORE my class last night then get up at the crack of dawn (Donut was whining and running around in circles to go outside) to follow two more exercise videos. Dang, woman!

Tomorrow is Taelor’s birthday and she is already in tucked in her bunk bed, preparing for the Queen For The Day Event. Last Saturday, she was taken out for a nice dinner with a village of students. They surprised her with a cake and vigorous dancing. She snuck out with a friend later, to go to the Black Sea to inhale the salty waters, the gorgeous vista, and enchanting energy. Her absolute first Surprise Party. What a treat.

The Birthday Girl will awaken, open her card and gifts I stashed in her suitcase. She will adore them, and hopefully not instantaneously miss me. Last year, I bought her a tiara, made her wear it over lunch. She didn't seem too put-out.

Across the land, ocean and globe, I send my special mom hug and three kisses to my little girl, born on March 19, 1993 at 5:05pm.

Gambling for Approval

St Patrick’s Day 2014!

Cashing-in “Do Over” chips. I get to start all over today. You can as well. You have my permission. Today is a new day. All of the worries, challenges, obsessive thinking from yesterday is wiped-out, deleted, and we begin anew. The fresh flurries turn me into a Debbie Downer (sorry if your name happens to be Deborah.)

Skiddish Donut (the darling Bassett/Beagle from upstairs) is here again, zig-zagging all over the duplex, working out where she is supposed to be in the semi-familiar place. It is always interesting to witness her, discovering the routine, sideswiping the grumpy cat, who sits above, high on a table, watching her every move.

We guests are all like that, reorganizing our brain to wake at different times. The eating and “going outside” routine is not on our normal schedule. We follow the lead, eager to please, attempt to communicate how uncomfortable we are when we don’t know our place or the hierarchy of the community. We try not to interfere, get in the way, voice our needs or wishes too loudly, for fear of stepping out of line. Those who adapt more readily are acknowledged, whining is frequently frowned upon, and quitters not asked to return. We express gratitude with the best of our ability and pitch-in without asking. We sleep where we are told, don’t apologize for not gobbling the food, like the others, fake excitement when those around us are beside themselves for no apparent reason, and sit upon command. Seven days of this might set us over the edge.

I might have to produce more chips to cash-in for tomorrow. There is urine on the carpet.  

Party Manners 101

March 14, 2014

No one taught me the polite way to graze along the food table at a party, ordained the Guest of Honor. Selecting one of each items seems to be the way to go since I can suggest I am sampling it all, to be sure each dish is safe for the rest of the guests. When I return for seconds, or thirds, I slip a new plate off the pile, as though it is my first go 'round. Hitting up the brownie plate a fourth time only draws attention if I have chocolate crumbs hovering at the corners of my mouth. Coffee is another strategy altogether. Might as well take the entire pot, creamer and organic sugar crystals into the other room with me. Obviously, there outta be a direct open path to the bathroom as well. Now, I am good to go.

Pass the Stack

March 15, 2014

Hairstylists are compelled to tip, those in the law professional round-up in quarter hour increments, entrepreneurs have a budget in mind, hourly wagers calculate to the minute, food service workers pay in coin, laborers generally give me money orders, County workers post date checks to coincide with their monthly paycheck, salaried folks think nothing of plunking down the full amount and compliment me with a referral.

Money is a difficult subject for most, conversation turns to lack versus how to manage it well. Everyone holds onto their own idea of what "enough" means yet it is usually evident where their loyalties lay when handed a menu. People comfortable with their finances turn to the left side, selecting the ingredients they want on their plate. Those squirming in their seats about their financial situation lean to the right, choosing based on the price.

Wouldn't society be fiscally healthier if we could actually have a conversation about meeting in the middle of the menu, talking about our views, reactions, investment enlightenment, and saving tips over a healthy slice of Red Devil Cake?

Einstein at Work

March 13, 2014

Without action, a great idea fizzles into the abyss, never to be seen again. Or so you imagine. Actually, it sits, lying, waiting, for the next time you are unable to write it down, notate it onto your Ipod, laptop, desktop, back of a co-op grocery receipt, ink it on your palm. Tell it to a friend, asking them to remind you about it later. Call your home phone, leave yourself a message about the brilliant idea. Right. You don’t have a home phone.

So many grand plans go awry since I typically cannot recall what I had for breakfast,  unless I left the dishes in the sink, as a reminder. Worked at making up a little ditty about it, with a catchy tune. Later, I cannot remember the tune, let alone the scheme.

I wander aimlessly, most of the time, in my own world, coming up with ways to solve the world issues-famine, life-threatening diseases, poverty, unemployment, and teaching the cat to clean his own litter box. One genius moment at a time.

Depends

March 12, 2014

The postal worker is caught urinating behind the shed. He is thinking he’s protected by the circle of buildings, yet he is spotted by a woman, sitting at her home office desk, with a squirrel’s view.

There is a subsequent text alert sent out to the Neighborhood Block Club, letting the folks know of the bandit mail carrier.

Several times, while walking the dog, after an especially cold morning filled with urgent emails, phone calls, unexpected events resulting in extra cup of coffee or two, I wished there was a public restroom available. I must empathize with the postal worker, take his side, in this unsavory attack on his character. Who can blame him for taking a risk and doing what comes natural to boys, big or otherwise, when nature calls. It is either hiding behind a dumpster or wearing astronaut diapers. 

Deck the Halls

March 11, 2014

When I was ten, I started buying my own clothes, shoes, school supplies and candy. What ten year old doesn’t need wintergreen gum, refreshing breath mints, soothing chocolate bars, and bakery brownies to accompany my  stack of library books to wile the harsh world away, until the sweetness recedes. My mother brought most of the crew of nine to the local five and dime (Woolworth’s) to purchase our school supplies. My list included tennis shoes for gym, the type that didn’t have black soles. Woolworth’s carried deck shoes, those god-awful shapeless, stark white, medicinal foot protectors. Mom decided the tennis shoes at home would suffice. I would have to convince my gym teacher my old shoes pass the non-skid test. Fat chance.

We arrived home loaded with sacks of pencils, subject notebooks, erasers, and no gym shoes. I rode my bike back downtown to buy the damn deck tennis shoes, after scavenging my babysitting earnings for the $2.99 plus tax.

From that day forward, I bought my own apparel. I understood, through osmosis, since it was never discussed openly, that we were poor. If I wanted or needed anything, outside of the basics, I would have to fend for myself. To this day, I have difficulty acknowledging a pair of white deck shoes without a hideous smirk of grown-up disgust.

The Dog Ate My ...Homework

March 10, 2014

It’s now eleven ten pm and I am trying to go to sleep. My blog is keeping me awake. What should I do?

Been working on my 25 word Bio, introducing myself and my business in twenty-five concise words that make sense to the general populous.

Now, picture me, in a slinky black cocktail dress (probably bunched-up in the back of my closet, coated in cat hair,) tall black boots (that barely zip on the left side) and a pink martini while spewing the following:

“I work with women (well, mostly women) who desperately want to see their lives work out like they expect. I help them reframe their perspective.”

OK, I said it is something I am working on, and that is that. 

Curious Countdown

March 9, 2014

Not my circus, not my monkeys!

Woke up to Sugar barking her fool head off behind the duplex. Who in their right mind told her about Daylight Savings time. Crud. That calls for some Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies and stand up and scream for joy coffee. It is happy hour somewhere, eh?

Thought I could get away with choosing to ignore the extra hour I was planning on doing my Blogilates in the newly arranged livingroom. Now I have a very special space for producing fabulous Blogs (check out my new one: paulahillempath.com/blog/ and leave a comment) creating life-altering classes, e-books, spiraling out of control moments, and such. Feel like a manic squirrel; spring cleaning, sorting, tossing, outlaying hard-earned cash for binders and cartridges to print my materials, and creating a hard-core budget for my Turkey excursion. Three months of organizing to manifest a website that generates income, whether I am parked at my Big Girl Desk or not, will be a feat inandofitself. Won’t that be absolutely incredible.

Come and join me for a cup of tea, coffee laced with loads of half and half, and a handful of GS Cookies, if I have any left. 

Schwan's Drives Away

Mrs. “B” is off. Something is amiss. I can empathize with the pain yet cannot pinpoint the source. Mrs. “B” finally admits she is feeling strange since the Schwan’s delivery person is leaving the company and sealed her last goodbye with a short hug earlier today. We visit about feeling abandoned by friends, people that depart from our lives, with or without a decent explanation. It is marvelous to have a close connection with someone, albeit a short grocery delivery exchange, yet doesn’t make it any less significant. The finger pointed at ObamaCare and I caught my initial snarling reaction. Allow her to explain the downpour of blame on the new system, essentially reduces the Schwan’s woman’s salary to just over $10 per hour. I would really like to investigate up the corporate ranks, discover just how many people above said employee had experienced the same reduction, and establish the true cause, versus a fantasy version of the truth. It is not worth pursuing with Mrs. “B” because her attention is focused on the friend, who has been sold down the river in a rapidly deflating life vest.

As her 89^th birthday fast approaches, I honor each and every day I have with Mrs. “B” because I am not certain how many more we will actually have together. Her intention is to continue to live in the apartment, perhaps having someone move in to care for her. I will clearly not be that person. The week march along and I catch glimpses of the decay. Something to look forward to, in my own future. Yeehah.

Yo, Kid

March 7, 2014

“Kids these days!” Isn’t that what our parents muttered when we did something completely baffling. Fell on the ice again today, bumping my right wrist lightly against the concrete slab on the corner of Bigelow and Robie. The young man, barely bundled, crossing the street, down a ways, hollered out, “Lady, wave if you are ok!” At least he acknowledges the fact that I went down. A wobbly Beauty Queen Parade Wave sends him on his way.

Tears stream down my face. I realize the little bump brought back troubling times in Brasil when I fractured my fibula, and dislocated the tibia. Incredible, after sixteen months, I can still feel the isolation and agony of the public hospital in Registro. Work at replacing the images and sensations with my years in Hawaii, at Green Sands Beach, lolling in the surf with the dragging arms-unable-to-reach-around black sea turtles. I have to close my eyes to create the vision since the 27 degree temps challenge me. Suppose it is best to wait until I get home, plunk myself on the couch near the fuming radiator, to melt into the salty waves.

The next time, I will speak with the nonchalant teen. To quote Aristotle: “All improvements in society begin with the educations of the youth.” Not certain what I will say but it may just start with “Yo.” Isn’t that what kids say these days?

My Own Truth (Again)

March 6, 2014

I want to be the first in line to get my brownie points, earned for the on-going suffering, endless sacrifice, or an ocean of tears. There isn’t even a line, rumor has it, for coupons from the tortured anguish, generous altruism, or constant selflessness. In fact, I don't even get any for my countless bigheartedness, daily gratitude, or doling out mucho compassion. 

So I may as well just do what makes me passionate, accept the thrill with each day, whatever that amounts to, and be in the moment.

I am moved to find a way to work with the homeless youth somewhere. Monday, I stood at the SafeZone’s locked door, shivering in the subzero temps in my big girl skirt, hose, wavering in my uncomfortable fashion boots. Made numerous phone calls to the un-named disrespectful man I was scheduled to meet and the “Operator.” Had to leave forced cheery messages while my blue lips chattered, knees knocked together and unfeeling toes curled. Just now, three days later, heard from The Man. He had an emergency.

Read the article this morning: http://readersupportednews.org/news-section2/318-66/22404-from-death-row-a-powerful-letter-on-slavery and am all the more determined to get out of my own head and do something to educate the youth.

Onward!

My Clark

He came around the bend, handsome like Clark Kent, younger than expected, a shy grin on his face, motioning with his hand that dons a thumb ring (I have a thing for rings,) that he is with me, as long as I am Paula. He seems genuinely surprised that I want to treat him to a coffee, or perhaps a carton of milk? Snack?

“Cranberry” leaks out of his mouth when the laptop wouldn’t cooperate during our jam session. No, it honestly doesn’t carry an exclamation point behind it. More like a statement than a negative response. How charming!

Talk of widgets, links, tables, layout, overriding code, header/footer images, templates, schedulers, calendars, blog posts and image inserts plagues me with vexation. A slow server, choreographing several tabs, security warnings and stuff sends me spinning, fervorantly (ok, I made up that word) slurping my-mistake-caffeinated coffee. Mr. D calmly jots notes on his phone/mini-computer thingamajig and moves onto my next outrageous request.

My website collage material is eeking along during the two hour conversation, sprinkled with comments like “That drove me nuttier that a forest full of stuffed squirrels” I am delighted. Today, we choose to scrap the old website and begin anew, much to everyone’s relief (you, him, me, and the other hundreds of thousands of my future website followers ). Scratching through “bad” *bad* *bad* *bad*  developing and outdated technology (I am unfamiliar with either, so I remain unfettered) leads us to this conclusion.

All I know is, I feel as though I am in “Allstate Hands” and can relax, create my blogs, write my e-books, schedule with the photographer, process the bookkeeping, sort stuff, and drink stand-up-and-shout coffee. 

Deciding Not To Decide

March 4, 2014

I can’t decide whether to get a yummy double vanilla latte, a steamy espresso, almond croissant, poppy seed muffin, dark chocolate cake, or several goodies. The indecision is disconcerting, frustrating, not to mention creates impatience in the line behind me at Dunn Brothers.

So frequently, the process of choosing sets me into a frenzy. I normally jump into the great dark abyss, not completely comprehending what outcome is expected (aside from too much sugar.) In times of inconsistent poor results, I pull back and then can’t even determine what I am hankering for at the coffee shop. A full blown tantrum may be effective when I was three (or fourteen) but now, at 50 something (most days I cannot recall what age I am,)it isn’t so charming.

Two little stinkers showed up for Story Time this morning. One precocious yellow-haired shout-it-out two years old as of October, stuck with the stories about gardens and bugs but the other dull brown-topped a bit younger girl, roamed around the table, screamed at the computer lab to "turn it on," threw crayons, and "didn’t wanna hear the story." Her primitive little brain wasn’t the least bit interested in learning about dirt, creatures of the garden, watering plants, or even looking at the colorful pictures.We colored shapes for most of the Gardening Story Time.

If I were two, I might be able to choose what flavor coffee drink I want right now. In the moment, I let the person behind me decide, so I pay for his drink too. He is delighted in my irritation around indecision. Don’t count on it happening tomorrow.

Must be a Who's Who

March 03, 2014

This came in my IN box this morning, not certain why I took the time to read it to the end yet, criminy, are there people out there who would jump at this offer?

“Hello,

 

I got your email through America online database. I am looking for someone that can handle my business errands during his or her spare time. I need your service because I am constantly traveling abroad on business. I own an Art Gallery

 

Responsibilities

1. Receive my mail and  Drop them off at the post office or shipping center.

2. Pay my bills on my behalf and sit for delivery at home.

3. Pick up my items at your nearby post office at your convenience.

4. When you get my mail or package, you would mail all items to where I want them shipped. .All expenses and shipping charges will be covered by me.

 

The contents of the packages are mostly art materials and paintings. In addition, there will be clothing I need for business and personal letters. No heavy packages is involved

 

I would love to meet with you to discuss this job in more detail, but I am currently away on business in Asia. If you decide to accept the position, please read the employment requirements listed below.

 

EMPLOYMENT REQUIREMENTS:

A. You are an honest and trustworthy citizen.

B. You will be required to work between 15 and 20hrs a month.

C. You need to be able to check your EMAIL 1 to 3 times daily.

 

THE PAY IS $500 WEEKLY and you are entitle to a brand new car after 3month if you are hardworking and honest with me, WHICH IS NOT A BAD OFFER.

 

In closing, I have a couple of questions for you.

 

First, If I were to mail you money to do my shopping plus an upfront payment for your service, where would you want it mailed to?

Second, how would you like for your name appear on the money order or check?

 

Maybe you can provide me with the following details below

 

Full Name:      Address: City: State: Zip Code: Phone No: Age:

Present Occupation:

 

Respectfully,

Joe Brooks (asshole crook!)

Baked By the Chicken

March 2, 2014

I’d left the six breaded drumsticks in Mrs “Bs” oven last night. Yes, it was turned “OFF.” I didn’t realize until 2:00am, give or take a few hours. Impossible to call her and ask to toss the pan in the freezer, or better yet, place them in a plastic ziplock to store. Unfortunately, by the time I could reach her, she insists I come to her place and take care of the cooked poultry.

Mirrors smashed against the door of vehicles parked along the side of the road, indicate a slippery street. Creeping along, breaking every few feet is the only solution. Getting to Mrs. “B’s” chicken rescue takes twice as long as it should. I open the door to her place and find her, none to keen on my error, telling me I need to take the chicken home for the dog, she cannot eat it. I will buy her another package of drumsticks and Shake ‘N Bake them my next scheduled day. Toss a salad and heat up her dinner while she runs to the toilet. Now I am a very unhappy camper but know the Park Ranger has spoken.

Seasonal Affect Disorder

March 1, 2014

Free samples brings a stampede of folks, wanting to appear satisfied with empty hands yet actually succumbing to the tendrils of complimentary plastic, paper, metal rings at the end of nylon, bright colors and tacky fabrics, that entice raccoons after curious shiny objects. The mob needing the instant experience of something delectable, and unique, elbows to experiment the products before they disappear. Herds plod the Convention Center, where, close by, the Dalai Lama is presenting. A murmur of powerful awe leans into the staff behind our booth as someone mentions his name. Most turn to peer around the arena, as though he will round the corner at any moment, the incredible Spiritual Leader of the Tibetans. Just talking of him gives us a little more hope.

Women, following their spouse down the row of bottles of colorful alcoholic beverages, show favoritism. The men nod to the “boss” in expectation of the next move. One is always the leader. It isn’t always easy to distinguish which is the director, from a distance. The chief tends to fess up, at some point, to beguile the party into one more sip of enticing sample, to encourage another gift to the bag, or turn away, moving onto better tastings. It is all the same to them.

Randy, “The Barefoot Guy,” ambushes the thrill of camaraderie with his glow of command. Three bartenders, the man in charge of all of North America, two regional managers, and five workers bees crash around under the perilous tent, aiding and abetting the consumers of spirits. We almost get it kind of together and the next shift arrives. Giddy with relief, we dance away into the crowd of tasters, mingling among them, disappearing into nobody special.