Too soon, too soon

Today I am going back to my hometown to visit a friend. I stand in front of my closet, staring at all the Goodwill clothes I have hanging up. Trying to pick out the perfect outfit to wear. Should I wear the pink sweater or the black? Decisions, decisions.

I have known Brandy since Jr. High. We were in band, choir, theater together. Her sister & I were inseparable in High School. We did lots of awesome things together like plays, prom, dances. We grew up together and in time we shared education,weddings, & friendship. For my wedding, the sisters gave me a "honeymoon box" filled with treats, sparkling cider, boxers for my soon to be lover & a beautiful, elegant nightie. They were so excited to have me see this nightie that before the reception they ripped open the box to show off their perfect GIFT. We squealed in delight as Brandy held up the long, cream colored "dress" from the box. They say they knew it was me when they saw it. They know me very well.

The SISTERS were a year apart & loved each other fiercely. Brandy being older, she reminded me of a wise old owl (she'd kill me for saying that!) Sitting high above the tree, silently watching. Offering advice, breaking lose once & awhile. Only to return to her perch, watching. She could be quiet & still. Sweet. She would say my name in a breathless, childlike voice. but she was anything but childish. For if a friend or sister was in need, she'd swoop down & rip the offenders throat out with her talons & screech until everyone knew she'd come after them. Do not mess with this quiet girl! She will take you down in one graceful swoop!

As I stand here, perusing my collection of "designer" duds, I smile at my memories of her. Her hair I loved (she hated it!) The lessons on Korean etiquette & catch phrases (I still remember a few!) Sitting on her bed & talking about boys. BOYS! How we pledged to remain virgins until marriage, we even had a pop top on our key chains to prove we were virginal! The days & nights we spent at her parents restaurant, where her Mom made an Italian beef sandwich just they way I liked it. Mrs. O sad for me when my mom died, insisting that they will take care of me...which she did by feeding me! Her Mom made my first sushi & insisted I eat tomato's, "More tomato's! Give you big boobies ahhh. look at Brandy, she likessss tomato's! " Mommmmmm! "Her sister, don't like tomatoes, no boobies." Motherrrrr! They laughed at me when I wanted to try Kimchi. A very pickled, HOT salady thingy. I gained respect that day in the O household when I was able to eat 2 bites without chocking! "You good girl! I like you. You want more tomato? You need bigger boobies." Thank you Mrs. O.


These 2 girls were there for me as my mom died. When I was boy friendless, struggling with classes. Through bad hair days & really bad hair days! They both were very smart. The kind of smart that got them into prestigious schools. Brandy had the kind of smarts that should have intimidated me. But she was Brandy, the girl who was every ones friend. Never boasting, never proud. Always sweet & funny & patient.

I will visit my friend today. I'll have to remember to not screech with joy when I see her sister & parents. I'll have to hold myself back from twirling Brandy's hair. I will put my face right next to hers, trying not to giggle or breath as I wait for her to wake up. She was as bad with mornings as I was. Staring at her usually woke her up, then when she did wake up, she'd beat you with a pillow till she knocked your teeth out!

I'll visit my friend today, tucked in her casket. Her sister might as well be bleeding from the right side of her body that has just been ripped away. Her parents glazed & weary. Her Mom won't speak.

How do I do this? I can't view her like this. I remember her, running towards me, arms up over her head, squealing my name with her sing song voice as she wraps her arms around my neck & put her head on my shoulder. I'll remember the chirps & moans that vibrated out of her thoat. Her eye rolls at her mother. Her devotion to her sister. Her respect for her parents. I'll stand with my close friend and her parents as we BLEED.

Today I get to visit my friend.

Killer

I'm not much into chain mail, hoaxes, stories from unknown sources and other assorted email inbox crap. I like to hear real stories from real people. So on that note, I begin.

I have a friend. Yes, she is real, she is not made up in my mind (shocking, I know!) She is the neatest person. She is a wife, mom, a college student & overall swell lady. She is beautiful, sassy, & knows how to accessorise. She also works at a maximum security prison. (well, technically, she is in an internship. She shadows professionals as they council the inmates) She LOVES working there. She says she feels safe & respected. Since she 'works" with the counselors, the inmates treat her well. She is viewed as someone who "helps" not hurts the inmates. So for the most part, inmates will talk to her about politics, prison closings, food and how beautiful her breasts are.........hey man, it's still prison! What did you expect? A teddy bear tea party?!

This is an essay she got at the prison. She does not know who wrote it. It is handed out to all the guys who take the Lifestyles Redirection course that she has been helping with. Now I pass it on to you. So now you have heard this unknown author story from a friend-of-a-chick-who-writes-a-blog. You can then pass it down & it can become a story from a 3rd-party-once-removed-cousin-of-the-carwash-guy.

How to raise a killer without really trying.

Have you ever thought about raising a killer son? No? While it does take some effort and a little like, it's actually not that difficult to do. Just in case you would like to try, the following guidelines will help you get started.

First of all, to keep your son from becoming a wimp, he must learn the rules of the masculine code. If he cries, acts scared or is sensitive, act disgusted and shame him immediately by calling him a weakling, a sissy or a wimp. No matter what's going on inside of him, he should always appear tough, cool and in control. To accomplish this, teach him the masculine poker face that hides fear, hurt, sadness, anger, excitement and even joy. As he learns these and other manly qualities, it's also important that you never let him feel like he's good enough. Shame and humiliate your son every chance you get. Criticize him until he believes he'll never get it right. Poor self-esteem and a sense of shame are qualities that always seem to be part of a young killer's personality, so don't neglect them.

While shame and low self-esteem are an important part of a young killer's makeup, they are just not enough. Lots of parents shame and humiliate their kids, and while their sons end up miserable, they never kill anybody. But if you add the right kind of discipline and punishment to the mix, the odds are much greater that you may have a young killer on your hands. This brings us to the four main ingredients that serve as the very foundation of a killer's personality: hatred, rage, fear and powerlessness. Now don't be intimidated by the sheer magnitude of having to create all this in your son. It's really not that hard.

Here's how it works. Whenever you feel anger, rage or frustration for any reason, take it out on your son. Scream at him, hit him, whip him or jerk him around when you are out of control with anger. When you hurt and terrorize him with this kind of punishment, you accomplish all four goals at once. Your rage will terrify him because his brain believes you're mad enough to actually kill him. Because you are unpredictable and so much bigger than him, he will feel powerless. And enduring so much physical and emotional pain at the hands of the father he needs to trust will certainly produce some inner rage in the boy. Finally, a boy who is whipped and shamed enough will develop hatred for himself and others. But don't ever let him get away with expressing hatred or anger toward you. If he does, punish him swiftly and surely. Then let him know that he has no reason to be angry at you because it is him and his shameful behaviors and attitudes that drive you into a rage. Work hard to convince him that you're a loving and concerned parent and you're punishing him for his own good because you love him. This way, maybe your son won't grow up to be one of those people who blame their parents for their own misery.

Speaking of blame, it's a great idea for your kid to start out learning how to blame others for the fear and hatred you have stirred in his soul. He can begin by taking out his aggressive, hateful feelings against a puppy, kitten or a smaller kid. This early behavior is a sign that he's on the right track. Then, if you play your cards right, you can have him graduate to blaming and attacking Blacks, women, Jews and others different from him. He'll also learn, by watching you, to abuse the people in his life who displease or disappoint him. Finally, if your son ever wants to talk to you for some reason, don't listen to him. Treat whatever he says with disrespect. Either ignore him or say something that will shut him up. A good example of this might be, 'Where in the hell did you get and idea like that?' Or 'Don't bother me right now, can't you see I'm reading the paper?' 'What's wrong with you anyway? Are you really that stupid?' This way he'll feel invisible, not worth your time, and like he doesn't belong in your world. This can be good because angry, hostile kids who feel worthless and invisible can be pushed into violence if they think it can make them feel important or visible.

Of course, I'm not serious about raising a killer kid. Unfortunately too many young boys are raised so that their angry, aggressive sides are encouraged while their tender, vulnerable sides are discouraged. It's time the mainstream of our society realized that most of the violent kids are not generated by the Internet, television, movies or video games; they come from violent or emotionally destructive families.

Think about it.
How many times have I ignored my child? Rolled my eyes, been annoyed by their crying, let them hear me while I raged about something? We all have done it....in some form or another. Are we raising killers? I hope not.

This is as positive as I get!

Fall. I use to like it, now it just brings me down. As a child I would love fall because it was all about leaf piles my Dad would make for me, sweaters, cider, crisp nights & comfort food. Now, as a jaded adult, all I see is "WINTER IS COMING, TIME TO GET REALLY DEPRESSED". I HATE being an adult, Jeez Louis, where has my inner child gone? How can I regain my love for all things fall? Only one thing to do...look to my children.

Open my eyes & really see the world around me. Thankfully, I have a camera to take pictures that I can look to when I'm under a pile of snow.

When in doubt, exercise! Scale a tower of hay.

Petting a fuzzy creature makes everyone happy.

Or blog about how much I hate cold feet, winter morning mucus, non-stop runny noses & shaving in a bathroom that has a temperature that hovers just above 30 degrees.

I'll do my best to be positive....ok...no I won't. Who am I kidding?! Cold sucks. Must remember fuzzy bunnies, fuzzy bunnies, fuzzy bunniessssss.

Enjoy the remainder of fall, because it will be over before you know it!

Because I can

I hate politics. Politicians are nothing but a bunch of liars & con men. There, I said it! Politics scared me. They scared me so much that I avoided the polling place for years! How many years you ask? Well, the first time I voted I was...."deep breath, donning flame proof jacket" 31, Thirty One, 3-1 years old. Yup, you heard right. I was 31 when I voted for the very first time!

I told my friend how much voting scared me & confessed to her that I was a loser who didn't vote. She didn't beat me, or slash the tires on my car. She told me step, by easy step, on how, what,where,when of voting (thanks J!) I found out that it really isn't that hard. All I had to do was speak up & get help. Imagine that!

So here I sit, 4 years later...voting. For me it was hard because I didn't like either candidate, but I studied up the best I could & then took a leap of faith & voted for who I thought would not do the worst job.

This voting season I feel worried about our country. I worry that the crapper is right around the corner. I worry, like everyone else worries. That's OK, that means I care for my country. Lately I feel like my vote doesn't count. I won't be heard. I don't matter. But then I remember who I am & my rights. We all worry, we all think our voice won't be heard. But our mothers before us would not agree with that. Our mothers before us will smile knowing that we daughters are worried, but we did the best we could do. We voted, because we can, because we should.