She Looked As Good As A Goddess CouldWhat You See & What You GetPhase OneUnity Consciousness #1151

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(Part 9aw of 11)

Just so we don't get things untwisted, life & existence are in no way about, all work & no play or the seriousness of work & the silliness of play or work & play being separate events. All dualities exist simultaneously. Just because “tails” is showing doesn't mean “heads” is not there also. It's just on the other side of that very thinly lined visual reality/illusion hidden/revealed divide.

I went to this place/restaurant/dance club. I saw this woman come in who immediately got me vibin', as Michael Jackson/Chris Tucker would say, she sure was bangin.' As soon as it was time to dance, I asked her for one chance, and we went out onto a relatively empty dance floor. Courage is a virtue.

From the time I was preparing to go out that night, all the way up to the moment where it was just her, me, the music and being where we wanted to be, it was exactly like my fantasy. The one where I meet someone and we dance for the first time to a song we've never heard and it looks & feels like we've rehearsed every move for years. That's just how good the groove would be. However, this was not Fantasy Friday; it was Switcheroo Saturday.

When we reached the middle of the dance floor, she started moving jittery from side to side, like someone who needed to go pee really badly, but there was no place to go. On top of that, she put her hands out in front of her towards me and started shaking them in my face like she was trying to get something off of them and wanted me to help. The really confusing part was that she was smiling like she was in the midst of bliss.

I know I'm a little out of touch with current trends so I was thinking, is this the new version of, throw your hands in the air and wave 'em like you just don't care? I lost focus & connection to the music. Although I was pretty certain this was a sister, she might as well have been her drunken twin, the one who is that only friend at a white girl's wedding. Now you gotta understand, all of these events and thoughts are happening in milliseconds.

While she was dancing like a culturally disoriented twister, I was so mesmerized & under the influence of being hypnotized, I was moving side to side like a Frankenstein bobble head with bobble legs. My main thought was, how long before this song ends. The first verse was still playing. Obviously, this was one of her favorite dance moves because she kept on doing it & kept on smiling like she was trying to mind meld me to smile back. Obviously, this goddess in form, was not the goddess of dance. I forgot then & I forget now, what the song was, that was playing. All I could hear was voices saying, Un huh, that's what you get.

I 'm pretty certain I was dancing with the Goddess of the Icky Sticky Help Me Get This Yucky Off My Fingers.
While I was marching in place like a mummy walking dead robot, she was stuck during the part of Macarena where you extend your arms, except she freestyled and added the hand & finger shaky shake, as if she had touched some hot sticky macaroni.

I was the one in pain. I'm sure we were painful to watch. I'm also pretty certain, the God of this Goddess, was watching and causing time to stand still. I went from being right where I wanted to be, to, I just wanna go home.
The two of us must have looked like a couple of people who knew each other so well, we just got out of brain surgery together and our motor skills were on training wheels.

After that first chorus of reminder voices kept poppin' in my head, evidently some of them stuck around for the second round. These lingering voices were masters of metaphor. They said, Un huh, that's what you get for wearing shoes you had no reason to think would fit except they looked so good, you wore them anyway. Somewhere during these few minutes of drama/trauma, the only thing that saved me was blacking out/passing out/feinting. I don't remember when the song ended or how I got home or whether she took extra liberties or anything. One moment we were “dancing,” and the next moment, I woke up in my own bed trying to figure out what the heck just happened.

Published in Short Humour Anthology

A previous blog post, Shopping Conspiracy & Depression has been included in the anthology, People of Few Words – Volume 2. The Short Humour Site is the publisher.

This anthology, People of Few Words - Volume 2, is available in paperback via Lulu.com. Without purchasing, you can still read Shopping Conspiracy & Depression on Writer's Whirlpool and leave comments here and on Lulu.com.

Personal Growth Requires Humor & Laughter

The ability to look on the funny side of things is just as important as looking on the bright side. If you're truly serious about personal growth you'll laugh a lot along the way. It's good for the spirit. In addition to the satire on this blog, here's some humor that has helped me during crazier-than-usual times.

It's fabulous so many are becoming involved in the political process. This interest has also spilled into the national economic crisis. With so many debates and discussions surrounding these issues, it's easy for many newcomers to get some information a little mixed up. My sister is one of them. She thinks Jimmy Buffet is who Barack Obama said could help with economic policy. It's Warren Buffet. She didn't question me at all when I said, the name of Warren and Jimmy's grandfather is Old Country. I'm glad she's at least voting for change.

I'm amazed at how many people, when given the choice: You can be a fool if you want to, will choose that option.

Things are getting so bad in the economy, I went to rob a bank and they took my money.

Laughter is the best medicine because it's a free legal stimulant. Give me a hit of humor and I'm good to go. At least until I'm feenin' for my next funny fix.

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Evil Eye Education

Back to school time is over. All students, teachers and administrators should be settled in. Even so, there's still one more thing to address after the initial paperwork push: an Evil Eye Education.

Since educators swear by the importance of parental involvement, before any schoolchild has a chance to not do the right thing, a note should be included in the first school communication.

Parents and educational partners, please make sure your child receives their required Evil Eye Education each week. This is just as important as ensuring your child eats breakfast, gets sleep, has school supplies and does homework. We can reinforce your evil eye but cannot establish it. An Evil Eye Education begins at home. Please purchase a bumper sticker to show solidarity. They can be personalized.

What is an Evil Eye Education? A parental look that teaches a child to stop or not engage in inappropriate behavior without the parent saying a word. It is based on the ancient art of craziness. Your child must think, believe and know you will do anything at any moment no matter where you are and with whatever resources are available.

It is supported with follow-through and consequences that should be developed in stages. This is why it's important to start young enough, at the onset of the terrible twos, so they won't remember exactly what makes you crazy, but will remember that something ain't right with you when they act out.

Once the evil eye is properly established, it allows you to continue doing what you were doing and at the same time, communicate with your child, secretly. When you're not around a well-established evil eye becomes a hologram that haunts helps your child make good decisions. They no longer ask what would Jesus do? They ask, what won't daddy and mommy do?

An Evil Eye Education is a weapon of wisdom and love. It is a global parental language. Properly placed, it protects children by extending the look's power to neighbors, teachers and adults everywhere. Big Brother watching is a joke compared to the evil eye.

To ensure students get the most from their formal education, each parent should be required to present certification they are an Evil Eye Expert before enrolling their child in school. Why not? We need licenses for everything, except parenting.

Evil eyes, a back hand or two and an old funky floppy house shoe laid the foundation for learning and helped develop my peripheral vision. All great football running backs and anyone under the constant threat of getting hit upside the head know what I'm talking about. If the Evil Eye doesn't work for some children, there's always the Fear of God. I am all the better or messed up because I had both.

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children, education, Evil Eye, parents, satire

Reminder: The Evil Eye is a silent weapon based on telepathy and the fact it leaves no evidence of intent or threat. Just focus your thoughts, stare and your child will look at you. Then slowly shake your head or motion them to come here. If you mouth words, they will mouth back, “What?” likely causing you to go remedial - a place where education is truly in the eye of the beholder.

Global Warming Ain't The Problem

June 26, 2008. My son and I are playing ball in the park. A guy walks over and introduces himself.
“You're a credit to your race,” he informs me. He continues to grin as though he had said something about Publisher's Clearinghouse.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I see you out here all the time with your son.”
“I'm just doing what I'm supposed to do.”
“Well many of your race don't.”
“Many of your race don't either.”
“Would you like something to drink?” he continues and extends two Pepsi's.
“No thanks. I'm about to go home and cook dinner.”
“Well I just wanted to say you're a credit to your race.”
“Thanks,” I say just to get him to leave.
Upon seeing the guy walk away with the sodas, my son decides to chime in.
I interrupt and with clenched lips state we DO NOT accept sodas from people like that.

Sadly, stuff like this happens several times a year. I wonder what this guy would say upon learning I've written a book of positive poetry.

(a) Quit playing.
(b) Yeah, boy!
(c) Hey JD, get a load of this!
(d) Dr. King would be really proud of you too.
(e) If there were just more like you...
(f) You're not like them and you're not like us.
(g) Well I'll be dang! (Add knee slap, delayed dumbfoundedness and head scratch)

Somehow after being thrice patronized for parenting and informed of my creditworthiness, I give myself credit for not unleashing the anger of the men of my race for enduring yet another mental midget mindset further stunted by a montage of media mutations and misinformations. Clearly there are threats to our existence, other than global warming, that are longer standing, more damaging and much harder to stem, reverse or eradicate.

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My Big Break - Part I

Often when we learn about famous people, the stories talk about their big break. This usually means they were discovered, but don't get this twisted. They were “discovered” doing the thing they love. Before that they were rehearsing, immersing and sacrificing; not once in awhile, but all the while. They were discovered putting their resources where their beliefs were.

Here's an example of what it's like to simply just “get discovered.”

A publisher knocks on my door and says, ”I was just driving by looking for writers and since your door was the only one closed and the lights were off, I sensed you must be an all-around creative person.”
I'm so delighted that I must be living right, I quickly invite him in. He asks me to show him my best writing and I point to the closet. He smiles and says, “I know. That's where we always discover the good stuff. I'll find what I need and be out of your way in a minute.” While he's reading all my pride and joys and flashes of brilliance, I return to watching TV while notifying everyone that I'm about to be famous. The angel of knowing how good I am, appears again. He's somehow carrying nearly everything I've written and tells me I really am an amazing talent. “Sign here.” At last, confirmation! I sign off on my big break while still watching American Idol, because I'm a dreamer for life. He tells me it's a good thing I was at home and answered the door. “Some people are not where they should be and others won't open the door to strangers. Can you believe that?” The publisher leaves and says he'll take care of everything and send me my money. I smile and say, “I know. Just like I knew one day my big break would come.”

WAKE UP! The notion that my big break is an external event places my dreams and destiny into hands other than mine and my partner's.
My big break comes when I break away from my mindset and bad habits. My big break comes when I break ground on my dreams to lay the foundation for success and satisfaction not fame and fortune. My big break comes when I break a sweat and see daybreak after working all night long. My big break comes when I break some relationships and build others. My big break comes each time, my self, gets discovered, by me. These are the breaks. The rest is baloney.

Big Break Baloney!
(Sing using the Oscar Mayer Bologna tune)

My baloney has a first name, it's M-y-b-i-g
My baloney has a second name, it's B-r-e-a-k
Oh, I try to seek it every day
I believe it's the only way
Cause my big break is easier than
Working, h-a-r-d every day.

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Chicago Drivers: City Slickers Stuck

Chicago drivers are city fed on pretty cozy conditions. In a land of multiple lanes and mostly flat, gently curving roads, the biggest hazards are each other. Yet, only one thing is certain. City drivers slow down for everything except construction workers. Whenever there's an accident, traffic stop or tire change, drivers become gawkers and traffic stoppers. Understandably you can't gawk and keep going at the same time.

When it comes to driver behavior in Chicagoland, I've learned to expect an overreaction during any single drop of rain or snow. These wet weather events instantly freeze dry motion. Today, there wasn't even enough snow to fill a Dixie cup; yet, Hell froze over right before my eyes. Seconds later, I added my request for bladder control to the growing number of prayers clogging the airwaves.

The only time traffic stopped in West Virginia was when rain raced through the mountainous funnel like bad news on a slow Samaritan day. Chicago drivers, could we at least go 10 mph? Pull over if you're petrified, other than that, keep moving people! If these same drivers found themselves in mountain country at the same time there's even a hint of inclement weather, they'd have nervous breakdowns.

Although it took 90 minutes and 10 gallons of gas to travel 5 miles, I wasn't completely stuck. I did a bit of writing.

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Chicago drivers, city slickers, gawkers, satire, West Virginia

Shopping Conspiracy and Depression

When all I’m trying to do is go to the store, get my stuff, a few gifts, pay a fair price and get out, why does everything about shopping seem to be a conspiracy?

The retail experience is like a shell game on a massive bass ackwards, overproduced scale, making shopping a gambler’s paradise. There is nothing fair about supply and demand except laissez-faire. Also, I have yet to find a single free market in this economy not even between fish and fruit.

I’m convinced stores rearrange products frequently to make customers focus on the hunt rather than how much. You can’t find items or the employees who hid them. This is known as merchandising; but for humans weaned on consumption, it’s antagonizing. Go color code the floor or something.

Newsflash to retailers: Shoppers move items all over because you do. Parents lose children in stores because shopping requires so much concentration and retaliation. Do you think all those clean ups are accidents? It’s to coax your child labor out of hiding.

If it’s all about the endcaps just make the entire store a bunch of square pods with an endcap on each side. Aisles of endcaps and one big dizzying square dance.

All these pricing schemes seem unnecessary. If you’re trying to trick or depress customers, just state prices using minimum wage work hours and quote quantities in handfuls. By the way, please limit my options to five or less per product. When I automatically go into “Eenie Meenie Minie” mode using fingers and toes, it’s embarrassing.

“Give me more at the store” is the newest customer movement and mantra. Here’s the customer service we want:

• Unlock both doors to prevent the double door dilemma, eliminate the bounce back effect and reduce our need to sue.


• Carts with something other than luggage or stagecoach wheels.


• Carts that can be size adjusted depending on how much I’m buying or to match my mood. (See Hasbro’s transformer technology.)


• Carts with heel guards, car avoidance systems and that can find their own way back home.


• Free carwashes while we roam and free shoe shines, manicures, pedicures, massages, mimes, magicians…while customers wait in congestion at check out.


• Check out lines with big screen TV’s, cable, couches, hors d’oeuvre...Dinner and a thirty minute movie at checkout would make the wait worthwhile and make me shop more.


• These services will fit into the same space occupied by the twenty closed check out lines.


• Lastly, we will continue to mail-in for rebates only if you will bill us for the purchase, include a copy of the receipt, mail it to the bill payment fulfillment center “BPFC” nearest my zip code and not expect payment until we get our rebate checks. Contact the BPFC if you don’t get paid within 8 to 12 weeks after we receive our rebates. Sounds criminally insane doesn’t it?

Note to retailers: Aldi solved two cart problems for a quarter. Common sense and creativity doesn’t cost much unless they’re overridden by greed. (See Daffy Duck syndrome).

I’ve concluded, shopping is not simply linked to depression, it’s the reason for depression. Going shopping must also be the precursor to going postal and can probably be linked to all craziness and all crime. The conspiracy goes deeper still…

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Understanding Underwriting

What is underwriting? Is it some other dimensional place where personal documents are sent to have spells cast over them using bones, shiny things and marbles? From these cipherings comes a single word like “approved.” For this privilege, they add rates, fees, phrases and clauses using an intergalactic calculator and language where points and premiums are not in your favor.

What are they really doing that takes several days of seclusion? Calling our employers, creditors and former neighbors or chanting incantations to the loan document wizard like “Show me the mortgage! How much can we charge? How many ways? and Create another form containing the same information!” The term underwriting just sounds shady doesn’t it. There’s no way humans can double-check the results from their elaborate ceremonies of wheel spinning, button pushing and lever pulling. Underwriters make odds makers look like newbies on the block.

The real question is whether underwriters really exist. Maybe they’re the mutant offspring of the financial and insurance industry weaned on calculating postage, shipping & handling, gas prices and author royalties before graduating to mortgages and insurance policies.

If anyone has actually seen an underwriter, let me know. I’d like to tag it electronically to monitor its behavior in its natural habitat. I’ve met more ghostwriters than I’ve met underwriters. I’ve seen more comets than I've seen underwriters. I’ve met nearly everyone who’s ever flown over the cuckoo’s nest but never once in my travels or networking have I met an underwriter.

My quest for understanding the elusive underwriter continues. Next time I need to convince some corporation to take my money, I’ll walk in demanding, “Take me to your underwriter” or that at least they make subterfuge a quicker process. Until I get better explanations than, “They’re writers from Australia” or “Ancient Chinese secret,” you’ll find me trying to catch a glimpse of an underwriter in action by following anyone carrying all of their personal information.

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mortgage, personal information, satire, underwriting, writers

Doctor's Dimension, The

Making a doctor’s appointment is the equivalent of selling your soul because you lose all control over your life on the appointed day. Once you enter the land where time is forgotten, you’re lucky if you’re able to sleep, read or watch TV. If you’re still paying for faking sickness at school or work, you’ll have to sit elbow to elbow in the exit row, make a sick friend and have to pass through a series of time-locked chambers just to use the bathroom while reciting a family tree’s worth of medical history.

I’m convinced medical history forms were designed to make us grateful for just being able to finish and forget we entered a time vortex. Medical offices would do well to get Wi-fi to help mitigate the misery of the malady-laden since time management is merely an illusion created by the torture-driven practitioners of scheduling.

Now, whenever I have a doctor’s appointment, I’ve finally learned to make no other plans and simply join the cult of constant clock watchers who celebrate silently each time one is called to see the healer. I’ve also learned to come prepared with my computer, reading and writing material, water and snacks. I try to maintain a pre-postal mindset by considering it an actual visit, an excursion into the realm where time stands still in The Doctor‘s Dimension.

Related:
Patient-Centered Care, Hillary Clinton's Blood Clot, Concussion & An Insult To Common Sense

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