Most women, especially married middle aged women, probably fantasize about having fabulous sex with a much younger man. Oh, Demi, you are my generation’s greatest heroine. Statues of you should be built and placed on every college campus from California to New York. Yet, sadly as I lay down to sleep each night, instead of images of your hot young husband Ashton Kutcher throwing you over board and turning to me laying in a bikini (with your body instead of my own because my imagination is the best photo shop operation known to womankind) and falling at my tan pedicured feet. No, that is not the fantasy I have as my eyes slowly flutter to reach REM. Behind the dark circles under my eyes a far more enticing fantasy lurks waiting to be kissed awake like a princess in a locked castle. I fantasize that I become organized in both my home and my life. I actually have PAIRS of socks and not random singles searching desperately for their mates in all the different drawers, mine, my childrens, my husbands. Things are filed neatly in this fantasy world and information is easily retrieved. Don’t get me wrong, I have no desire to be Martha Stewart. After all I did coin the phrase “I am the Anti-Martha Stewart.” And I would be able to prove it, if only I could find where I originally wrote it in one of the dozens of spiral notebooks where I record my journals/diaries/rough drafts of short stories/rants for magazines/notes for my children to show their shrinks in order to explain their adult psychosis. I can’t do it. I don’t have the patience to read through all that, not to mention trying to decipher the poor penmanship. Someone else will get credit for that phrase and it will be all my unorganized sloppy writing self’s fault.
It’s true. I want to be one of THEM. Oh YOU know who YOU are! You overachieving organized, alphabetized, sanitized, homogenized and satisfied perfectly coifed people make my life a living hell. I blame all my insecurities and inabilities on you for establishing high standards for everything from flawlessly folded shirts (my husband things I don’t know what a rectangle is) to photo albums in chronological order by child to Quicken and Palm Pilots, and files for everything from school records to recipes and PTO assignments. So instead of falling asleep to pictures of Ashton and Matthew McConaughey (Yes, I AM OLDER THAN HIM TOO), I dream of waking up and having the desire, energy and talent to take my home room by room and put it in perfect order. I would welcome the help of any animated characters ala Mary Poppins if it did not mean I was hallucinating or still fast asleep. Any order crazy blue birds out there waiting to fly in? Or is that just another fantasy I can expect never to realize. I think I will file this piece under Unrealized Dreams along side the picture of me and Donny Osmond. No never mind, I think he might be my age. That won’t do. I know why I can’t get anything organized! It must all be due to my scattered brain waves. No wonder I cannot keep anything straight whether it is my closets or my thoughts, either way everything is all over the place.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Lost
Alice fell through a rabbit hold and ended up in Wonderland, Dorothy got hit on the head by flying debris and the next thing she knew she landed in Oz, Tommy took one too many trips with the acid queen and then decided to start his own Holiday Camp, and the Robinson family got lost in Space. I, on the other hand, fall into an entirely different black hole, where I lose all sense of time, and place. Somewhere that not even munchkins want to go and I doubt I will ever see Roger Daltry trying to sing his way out. It is a place I go infrequently, but when I do, I know I run the risk of being reported as missing by my husband. Where could I possibly go that will make me feel as if I have left the stratosphere and entered an entirely new Universe? The answer is so obvious. It is truly the Paradise Lost in John Milton's epic poem. It is TJ Maxx.
And no, they did not pay me to promote their store on my blog, because, well, let's just be honest, we all (you, and me) are probably the only people who will ever see this. And while it takes Two to Tango, it takes a lot more people than that to attract advertising dollars (or should I say Nickles considering the current economy). And it is not the currect economy that drives my insane insatiatable desire to buy severly discounted clothing. I have always been a fool for cheap stuff. I worship at the foot of the Clearance Aisle. I have no appreciation for the finer things in life. I see brands that cause people to pay 300 dollars for a pair of blue jeans and think, oh those poor suckers. They have no idea how orgasmic it feels to pay 15 dollars for a shirt that someone else two seasons ago paid 29 dollars for. It's friggin fantastic.
Yes, today I would not even buy the "regular discounted" stuff at TJ Maxx. I need it to be super cheap to get the real high. I had to walk out of there with 10 items having spent less than 100 dollars just to prove something to myself. I will do anything to avoid writing, paper work, thank you letters that should have been written and mailed out last week, cleaning out my closets, laundry, visiting my elderly mother. I gave myself a mission and then I lost myself within the racks. I ended up with two pairs of shorts, two pairs of work out pants, 4 tops, and a small pink cellular phone thingy that I could either wear on a strap or hook onto my belt. I failed in my mission. I only got nine things and I spent 110 dollars. I suck. I am a disappointment to delusional cheap people everywhere.
While some of my closest friends have fabulous stylish and COMFORTABLE shoes costing 3 or 4 HUNDRED dollars, I am nickle and diming myself to death with 4 pairs of cheap uncomfortable shoes cause I cannot get it right. When will I learn, Quality costs damn it! Instead I see a red tag and convince myself it is a deal. So, now I have wasted about 90 bucks on two or three pairs of shoes I cannot wear, not to mention the time involved. What is wrong with me! I could have been typing blog entries that would have brought you to tears with boredom, or creating the next great American Novel. Many successful novelists have had to deal with addictions, but they usually chose alcohol and it often complimented their writing lives, loosening them up so to speak. Not me, no that would be too simple, so cliche. I need to find a more entertaining, "novel" addiction to avoid writing my novel.
"Where are you?" it was my husband on the phone. I could not tell him. "Why do you want to know?" I ask back. "Well, you are not home" he says and I wonder why he cares, and then he said "It is 6 o'clock." I can hardly believe him. It just did not seem possible. Had I really walked into TJ Maxx 4 hours ago. Danger Will Robinson, Danger! I quickly made my way to the check out, and thought of joining some sort of support group. AA for morons who think spending 4 hours of precious time is worth a 10 dollar shirt. By the way, did you know if you want to feel good about yourself, you should buy clothes at Walmart cause you can weigh 300 pounds and still be a size 8 there! It is awesome. But that is a whole other Blog entry.
And no, they did not pay me to promote their store on my blog, because, well, let's just be honest, we all (you, and me) are probably the only people who will ever see this. And while it takes Two to Tango, it takes a lot more people than that to attract advertising dollars (or should I say Nickles considering the current economy). And it is not the currect economy that drives my insane insatiatable desire to buy severly discounted clothing. I have always been a fool for cheap stuff. I worship at the foot of the Clearance Aisle. I have no appreciation for the finer things in life. I see brands that cause people to pay 300 dollars for a pair of blue jeans and think, oh those poor suckers. They have no idea how orgasmic it feels to pay 15 dollars for a shirt that someone else two seasons ago paid 29 dollars for. It's friggin fantastic.
Yes, today I would not even buy the "regular discounted" stuff at TJ Maxx. I need it to be super cheap to get the real high. I had to walk out of there with 10 items having spent less than 100 dollars just to prove something to myself. I will do anything to avoid writing, paper work, thank you letters that should have been written and mailed out last week, cleaning out my closets, laundry, visiting my elderly mother. I gave myself a mission and then I lost myself within the racks. I ended up with two pairs of shorts, two pairs of work out pants, 4 tops, and a small pink cellular phone thingy that I could either wear on a strap or hook onto my belt. I failed in my mission. I only got nine things and I spent 110 dollars. I suck. I am a disappointment to delusional cheap people everywhere.
While some of my closest friends have fabulous stylish and COMFORTABLE shoes costing 3 or 4 HUNDRED dollars, I am nickle and diming myself to death with 4 pairs of cheap uncomfortable shoes cause I cannot get it right. When will I learn, Quality costs damn it! Instead I see a red tag and convince myself it is a deal. So, now I have wasted about 90 bucks on two or three pairs of shoes I cannot wear, not to mention the time involved. What is wrong with me! I could have been typing blog entries that would have brought you to tears with boredom, or creating the next great American Novel. Many successful novelists have had to deal with addictions, but they usually chose alcohol and it often complimented their writing lives, loosening them up so to speak. Not me, no that would be too simple, so cliche. I need to find a more entertaining, "novel" addiction to avoid writing my novel.
"Where are you?" it was my husband on the phone. I could not tell him. "Why do you want to know?" I ask back. "Well, you are not home" he says and I wonder why he cares, and then he said "It is 6 o'clock." I can hardly believe him. It just did not seem possible. Had I really walked into TJ Maxx 4 hours ago. Danger Will Robinson, Danger! I quickly made my way to the check out, and thought of joining some sort of support group. AA for morons who think spending 4 hours of precious time is worth a 10 dollar shirt. By the way, did you know if you want to feel good about yourself, you should buy clothes at Walmart cause you can weigh 300 pounds and still be a size 8 there! It is awesome. But that is a whole other Blog entry.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day, Mom
I remember the first father's day without my father. It was June 1970. I was wrapping up being in the 4th Grade and we were still in school back then well towards the end of June. I only wish my children spent as much time in school now as we did back then. We would go until the third week in June, start back up the day after Labor Day. We did not have "Institute Days", "Half Days", or "Teachers are just sick of teaching so keep all your kids at Home today". If we wanted to stay home for a personal reason such as a religious Holiday, an illness, or a death in the family, a note was required. It was more like a Vacation Day taken from a full time job if you were lucky enough to have a job that gave you Vacation Days. I have no idea if my father's factory job at Zenith offered him Vacation Pay, but I cannot imagine it did. I bet he had a time card and would have to punch in, but I will never know.
My father died in March of 1970 in a car accident. Decades later when a co-worker of mine lost her father she came to my cubicle seeking a soul mate, someone who could "feel her pain" and understand what she was going through. Soon our office mates, joined us. We were a close knit group of young women working long hours for pennies at a non-profit agency and everyone had gone to the Wake the day before. Her father died of some disease. She asked me how my dad died and I said "in a car accident". Then in all her innocent overwhelmed state she asked me "Was it a bad accident." At which point I said in my now polished dry dark humor that one can only develop if their childhood has seen a trauma or two: "Well, he did die, isn't that bad enough? I don't think it gets "more bad" than someone dieing." I started laughing at my own joke and soon everyone who had gathered in my cubicle was hysterically laughing including the girl who had just buried her own father. It was probably my comedic delivery with the exaggerated waving hands and escalating voice that drew the laughter, but no matter, it still provided a much needed emotional release .
I learned at a very young age to use humor as a way to cope with answering awkward questions. I guess I have my father to thank for that. But back in 1970, I was a 9 year old child faced for the first time with the dilemma of getting out of an uncomfortable situation. Mrs. English my fourth grade teacher stood at the front of the class and said that the day's Art Lesson would be to make a Father's Day card and she passed out the construction paper and some other things we could use to decorate the cards. We sat in rows of wooden desks that were nailed to the hard wood floors along with our chairs. None of the furniture moved so if a kid had a hard time "squeezing" in between the desk and the chair attached to it, it was only one more incentive not to stick out by being overweight. The first person in each row was give 10 sheets and told to take one and pass it back and that is how our system worked: Take One and Pass The Rest Back. I got my piece of construction paper and passed the remaining pieces behind me while trying not to turn around and let any of the other children see my frightened eyes. I did not know what to do. Everyone in the class had a father except me. Or at least that is what I thought. I can never know for sure I guess. But everyone knew I did not have a father. They knew when I did not come to school for an entire week that previous March. They even had a Art Lesson where they made "Condolence Cards" for me which one student and her mother brought over to our house while we were sitting shiva. I will be 49 this July and I still have the box of those little hand made condolence cards from my fourth grade classmates. Was that their first experience at having to express sympathy? More things for me to never know. I was going to have to figure it out for myself. Mrs. English did not offer up any alternatives for those of us who may not have fathers, or who may not know where their fathers are, or who may be wanting to write something other than "Happy Father's Day" like "Please stop hitting us when we make mistakes" or "I wish you could hear me when I talk to you" or "Please Stop Drinking so Much."
You see, I learned early on that most of us really don't know what is going on in someone elses world. Some people never learn this lesson and for others it takes adulthood and all that comes with it. But when you get to "become an adult" while you are still a child, life hands you many insights, and suddenly you are filled with secrets you think no one else will understand. As a child, your home and your family IS your world. You don't know what all those "other" worlds look like. As an adult I figured it out when we all start talking honestly about how we grew up and what went on in our lives, the alcoholic parents, the divorces, the physical abuse. It was there, but we kept it to ourselves either because we were embarrassed or we simply did not have the tools to really understand and express what was happening. Now I realize that is how all those kids with bad behavior were simply manifesting some toxic experience in their family. It always has to "come out some how". That is what I tell my best friend. The goal is to experience and release it all in the least damaging way possible. And hopefully learning those coping skills will transfer to other areas of one's life. It is not what happens to us as much as it is how we cope with it all.
On Father's Day of June in 1970 I quietly sat at my desk and made the most beautiful and meaningful Father's Day Card of my life and it was addressed to My Mother. It was the beginning of many years when I would give my Mother a card on Father's day. After all, she had to do both jobs after my dad died, hers and his. So Mom, Happy Father's Day. I love you.
Benita
My father died in March of 1970 in a car accident. Decades later when a co-worker of mine lost her father she came to my cubicle seeking a soul mate, someone who could "feel her pain" and understand what she was going through. Soon our office mates, joined us. We were a close knit group of young women working long hours for pennies at a non-profit agency and everyone had gone to the Wake the day before. Her father died of some disease. She asked me how my dad died and I said "in a car accident". Then in all her innocent overwhelmed state she asked me "Was it a bad accident." At which point I said in my now polished dry dark humor that one can only develop if their childhood has seen a trauma or two: "Well, he did die, isn't that bad enough? I don't think it gets "more bad" than someone dieing." I started laughing at my own joke and soon everyone who had gathered in my cubicle was hysterically laughing including the girl who had just buried her own father. It was probably my comedic delivery with the exaggerated waving hands and escalating voice that drew the laughter, but no matter, it still provided a much needed emotional release .
I learned at a very young age to use humor as a way to cope with answering awkward questions. I guess I have my father to thank for that. But back in 1970, I was a 9 year old child faced for the first time with the dilemma of getting out of an uncomfortable situation. Mrs. English my fourth grade teacher stood at the front of the class and said that the day's Art Lesson would be to make a Father's Day card and she passed out the construction paper and some other things we could use to decorate the cards. We sat in rows of wooden desks that were nailed to the hard wood floors along with our chairs. None of the furniture moved so if a kid had a hard time "squeezing" in between the desk and the chair attached to it, it was only one more incentive not to stick out by being overweight. The first person in each row was give 10 sheets and told to take one and pass it back and that is how our system worked: Take One and Pass The Rest Back. I got my piece of construction paper and passed the remaining pieces behind me while trying not to turn around and let any of the other children see my frightened eyes. I did not know what to do. Everyone in the class had a father except me. Or at least that is what I thought. I can never know for sure I guess. But everyone knew I did not have a father. They knew when I did not come to school for an entire week that previous March. They even had a Art Lesson where they made "Condolence Cards" for me which one student and her mother brought over to our house while we were sitting shiva. I will be 49 this July and I still have the box of those little hand made condolence cards from my fourth grade classmates. Was that their first experience at having to express sympathy? More things for me to never know. I was going to have to figure it out for myself. Mrs. English did not offer up any alternatives for those of us who may not have fathers, or who may not know where their fathers are, or who may be wanting to write something other than "Happy Father's Day" like "Please stop hitting us when we make mistakes" or "I wish you could hear me when I talk to you" or "Please Stop Drinking so Much."
You see, I learned early on that most of us really don't know what is going on in someone elses world. Some people never learn this lesson and for others it takes adulthood and all that comes with it. But when you get to "become an adult" while you are still a child, life hands you many insights, and suddenly you are filled with secrets you think no one else will understand. As a child, your home and your family IS your world. You don't know what all those "other" worlds look like. As an adult I figured it out when we all start talking honestly about how we grew up and what went on in our lives, the alcoholic parents, the divorces, the physical abuse. It was there, but we kept it to ourselves either because we were embarrassed or we simply did not have the tools to really understand and express what was happening. Now I realize that is how all those kids with bad behavior were simply manifesting some toxic experience in their family. It always has to "come out some how". That is what I tell my best friend. The goal is to experience and release it all in the least damaging way possible. And hopefully learning those coping skills will transfer to other areas of one's life. It is not what happens to us as much as it is how we cope with it all.
On Father's Day of June in 1970 I quietly sat at my desk and made the most beautiful and meaningful Father's Day Card of my life and it was addressed to My Mother. It was the beginning of many years when I would give my Mother a card on Father's day. After all, she had to do both jobs after my dad died, hers and his. So Mom, Happy Father's Day. I love you.
Benita
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Long Time, No Blog
I have not visited my blog lately. Does it get lonely without me? Do the old posts go stale? Has anyone read it? Yes, it is lonely. Yes, the old posts proably go stale just like food. No, no one has read it because I have failed to tell people. So here goes, if I build it, will they come? I am going to send out an email blast to as many people as I can. I realize most of them will never read any of this. Who has the time. Obviously I do since I am sitting here typing away.
The real reason I am trying to "drum up business", create a following, find an audience (you get the picture) is I need the pressure of a deadline. It is either that or a need for public humiliation. Either way, I need to jump start a writing career of some kind. I need to expand beyond ghost writing speeches for Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. I need a purpose and possibly a money producing adventure. We could all use a little more money these days. I thought of trying my hand at writing Greeting cards, butI am not sure my ideas would float in a Hallmark Store. You would think with all the ever expanding categories there would be tons of people looking for those special cards like:
"Your Cheating Spouse Doesn't Deserve You"
"You looked better BEFORE you lost all that weight"
"Don't let the fact that I have REAL problems stop you from Complaining about Bad Service at the Hummer Dealership"
"Keep UP the Great Bragging, I really do LOVE listening to you go on and on about (fill in the blank).
Alas, I am usually alone in the corner with my dark humor. So I must use this blog to help myself find a map, a treasure map to making money from my writing. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then why can't my words be worth a thousand bucks. If I keep writing all the time, something will have to happen. A book deal, an offer from Saturday Night Live writing staff, a chance to become a correspondent for the Daily Show, my own local cable program to be viewed by as few people as there are reading this blog??? Who knows where the creative energy being produced by my tip tapping fingers will lead? Then again, perhaps I should develop Mad Libs for Adult parties. Just think of the fun I could have inciting trouble between neighbors, friends and spouses.
As you have figured it out by now I have a very difficult time charting and following a specific writing theme. If I did not have this problem I would be writing a novel and not some inconsequential blog. So what made me start a blog. Truthfully, I think I am fufilling some long hidden desire to create something. I thought creating a human being would have quenched this desire, but now that my children are 13 and 10 I realize that even the miracle of creating human life did not satisfy my inner need for creating something larger than my "self" which is quite large. I take up a lot of psychic space.
Yet, I have only told three or four people about this blog. "If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?" Ahhh, an old conundrum. I say yes, especially for the birds living in the tree. But it is not a very loud sound. So using that premise: If I write a blog and do not tell people about it, does it make a sound? Not really. At least not a very loud sound. And anyone who knows me, knows I am one LOUD person. So I am expanding my exposure. I have always wanted exposure and at the same time feared it, but as I get closer and closer to 50 I realize it is finally time to conquer all my fears. And this includes writing AND publicizing my BLOG.
Please consider this a formal invitation into the mind of a scattered fearful almost fifty year old woman.
This blog may actually be serving two purposes. Yet, I believe dual purposes like multi tasking are a trend. Soon we will all discover we should never multi task since it will only result in diminishing returns for all involved tasks. And if there are dual purposes, there must be competing priorities. A lose/lose/lose situation.
So this blog will have to become something else entirely. For those of you who have tuned in and have the courage (okay, I mean patience, not courage) to visit on a regular basis, I will try my best to provide entertaining insights into the secret world I call BenitaVille. Hopefully my static thoughts will not result in static writing. Hopefully, my words will electrify, and cause laughter for one and all. Hopefully, Next Time will not be in a very Long Time. In the meantime, please let me know if you have been here by leaving a comment or two. They do not need to be positive. I will take anything. Negative comments are just as welcomed and ignored as the positive ones. I do believe I am immune to praise and insults alike.
I hope to see you soon.
The real reason I am trying to "drum up business", create a following, find an audience (you get the picture) is I need the pressure of a deadline. It is either that or a need for public humiliation. Either way, I need to jump start a writing career of some kind. I need to expand beyond ghost writing speeches for Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. I need a purpose and possibly a money producing adventure. We could all use a little more money these days. I thought of trying my hand at writing Greeting cards, butI am not sure my ideas would float in a Hallmark Store. You would think with all the ever expanding categories there would be tons of people looking for those special cards like:
"Your Cheating Spouse Doesn't Deserve You"
"You looked better BEFORE you lost all that weight"
"Don't let the fact that I have REAL problems stop you from Complaining about Bad Service at the Hummer Dealership"
"Keep UP the Great Bragging, I really do LOVE listening to you go on and on about (fill in the blank).
Alas, I am usually alone in the corner with my dark humor. So I must use this blog to help myself find a map, a treasure map to making money from my writing. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then why can't my words be worth a thousand bucks. If I keep writing all the time, something will have to happen. A book deal, an offer from Saturday Night Live writing staff, a chance to become a correspondent for the Daily Show, my own local cable program to be viewed by as few people as there are reading this blog??? Who knows where the creative energy being produced by my tip tapping fingers will lead? Then again, perhaps I should develop Mad Libs for Adult parties. Just think of the fun I could have inciting trouble between neighbors, friends and spouses.
As you have figured it out by now I have a very difficult time charting and following a specific writing theme. If I did not have this problem I would be writing a novel and not some inconsequential blog. So what made me start a blog. Truthfully, I think I am fufilling some long hidden desire to create something. I thought creating a human being would have quenched this desire, but now that my children are 13 and 10 I realize that even the miracle of creating human life did not satisfy my inner need for creating something larger than my "self" which is quite large. I take up a lot of psychic space.
Yet, I have only told three or four people about this blog. "If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?" Ahhh, an old conundrum. I say yes, especially for the birds living in the tree. But it is not a very loud sound. So using that premise: If I write a blog and do not tell people about it, does it make a sound? Not really. At least not a very loud sound. And anyone who knows me, knows I am one LOUD person. So I am expanding my exposure. I have always wanted exposure and at the same time feared it, but as I get closer and closer to 50 I realize it is finally time to conquer all my fears. And this includes writing AND publicizing my BLOG.
Please consider this a formal invitation into the mind of a scattered fearful almost fifty year old woman.
This blog may actually be serving two purposes. Yet, I believe dual purposes like multi tasking are a trend. Soon we will all discover we should never multi task since it will only result in diminishing returns for all involved tasks. And if there are dual purposes, there must be competing priorities. A lose/lose/lose situation.
So this blog will have to become something else entirely. For those of you who have tuned in and have the courage (okay, I mean patience, not courage) to visit on a regular basis, I will try my best to provide entertaining insights into the secret world I call BenitaVille. Hopefully my static thoughts will not result in static writing. Hopefully, my words will electrify, and cause laughter for one and all. Hopefully, Next Time will not be in a very Long Time. In the meantime, please let me know if you have been here by leaving a comment or two. They do not need to be positive. I will take anything. Negative comments are just as welcomed and ignored as the positive ones. I do believe I am immune to praise and insults alike.
I hope to see you soon.
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