Carys Weldon Blog
Friday, July 07, 2006
Somebody slap meI hope you brought your lunch. This is a long post. (Warning written after the thing was complete. Didn't have the heart to delete. Feel free to complain via email.)
I gotta ask...what keeps you coming back to a blog?
I look at a lot of blogs and get bored stiff (do guys get bored stiff?) and I wonder...is it just me? There are a few blogs I check in on--off and on--and only a couple that keep me coming back regularly. I know what I like: information, entertainment. (sex? humor? tmi posts.)
Some blogs are so dry, I wonder why people bother. It's almost like they've made a goal to bore themselves in print. Daily. And I'm not trying to be nasty or judgmental, it's just my take on what is written down.
I've pointed you to the write snark and Morgan Hawke's. Only a couple good ones that I've found. But I could steer you away from a thousand blah ones.
Did I ask this before? What do you like to read more of? Yeah, I asked that. I need to write more things to give you excerpts of.
My post yesterday had my husband calling. Asking, "Well? Which is it?"
"What?"
I have a million things going and that's how he started the conversation, but I should have known. Sometimes he scolds me for what I write--tells me to fix it because he didn't like the tone--so, you gotta get up early to see the original posts sometimes...because my posts do get edited and disappear from time to time.
He's not my only critic. I had a friend email me, seconds after I posted, to say...uh, you can't put that on there. It incriminates people. LOL She's a webmistress. She knows what's allowed. Thank God I have some people to censor me a bit.
That's me--the tell all queen. Somebody slap me.
So, my husband and I are on the phone and silence stretches and he chuckles and says, "You DO like to watch people do it."
Not that I've gotten to, but I've seen a few fascinating make out sessions at the park after a long day of fourth of July celebrations and beer...and I didn't walk away and give those people on public blankets any privacy. I enjoyed the show, tilted my head and asked, "Are they doing it with their clothes on?"
He dragged me away, of course, after laughing at me.
I say...if you choose to participate in public displays of affection, you must like voyeurs to stand around, and if you're standing around enjoying the show, feel free to clap when it's done and comment about the performance. But that's me.
If you're lucky, you'll have a friend (babysitter, husband, whatever) to pull you away and redirect you with your own private display of affection. Wait. Don't take the babysitter part wrong. I meant sometimes my husband babysits me. Teaches me things.
Hm. That paragraph is somewhat disturbing. Let's not dwell there. Move on!
But geez. Doin' it on a blanket in the park. Ain't that invitin' the congregation?
That said, I've got a need to play DISCOVERY CHANNEL. (The song)
Yeah, I know I'm silly. But that song has a ghetto beat to it and it's going on in my head. I'm sure it would be better if I just actually played it and got it over with. I'm sure my fifteen year old son has it on a stupid cd around here somewhere.
My daughter turned me onto a song/group that I think some of you might enjoy. Bowling for Soup. That's right. Bowling for Soup. That's the name of the group. Check out their song 1985. It's about a girl (woman) mother of someone in the band, I'm guessing. She's living in 1985. She cried when someone told her Bon Jovi broke up. I laughed out loud at that part because I remember my sister...okay, I won't go into that. You get the picture.
But I saw Bon Joni/Crossroads on the music channel the other night, making love to his microphone and letting the sexy song croon out there and I thought...How old is that man? He still looks the same, only mature. But damn on that body. All men should look that good when they get that old.
Then, of course, the stupid bow flex commercial came on and I thought...I want one. I want to look like those people. But then I remembered that you have to actually use the thing to get in that shape. (Memory of a rowing machine and more than one exercise bike being thrown out the front door, rotting in the wind and rain...assail me.)
And oh my heavens, have you seen the abdoer? A lot cheaper. Could kill ya.
Or maybe not. Maybe I'm just...afraid of exercise equipment. Too many have hurt me.
Ever strap yourself into one and find out immediately that your back went out with the first twist, push or pull? I have. Too many times. Okay, at least three times anyway. But all it takes is repeated pain to make me say...stop, walk away, don't look back. Give up on exercise altogether. Embrace being a woman of size. Work on being sexy at whatever size you are. (Yes, another one of my mantras. I have a whole truck load.)
What I really want is some equipment I saw on a therapy discovery show on the learning channel. They strap accident victims on it (with velcro!) and the machine does all the rotations of the major muscles. Leg lifts, arm things, sit up type things. A full work out in an hour.
Only thing is ya have to have someone unstrap ya afterwards. So, it's not like you can get on it and go all by yourself. But still, you could turn on the tv, and let the machine work you over. They said people don't even break a sweat because of the program design but all the muscles receive a work out. Helps prevent atrophe, and keep people in shape--even coma victims can be strapped in and worked out without negative side effects.
I swear--it's the exercise wave of the future.
And you know what else I saw that I thought was cool? School gym classes that are now looking like exercise gyms. Kids are given a list of exercises to complete during the course of the hour. They have to be checked off as they go around the equipment. I thought...at least they are getting educated on how to use the equipment properly and getting real toning exercise.
I remember standing around watching people play. I was SUCH a girly girl. (Okay, you caught me, I still am a girly girl. Hearts and flowers. Daisy chain haloes. That's me.)
Except when we were doing something like dodge ball. (Loved that.) Or soccer. (Good feet here. And fast. Ah, those were the days. I liked tripping boys up...for some reason.) And what else? Badmitton. You don't hear about birdies being batted around much these days, do ya? What's up with that? That was a staple of old gym classes.
We used to learn the rules of games. I asked my kids, "Did they teach you how to play tennis?"
"No."
"Did they teach you how to play four square?"
"No."
"Did they teach you how to..."
"Stop mom. We don't know any of your weird old lady games. Get it? WE DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT."
"Well , let me show--"
"Please don't."
"Why not?"
"Wait."
"What?"
"We'll play your game if we can get pizza and go to a movie afterward."
Yeah. They want me to pay them to play with me.
What is messed up about that?
Luckily, their dad is SO cool. He chimes in, "You'll play your mom's damn game, and like it. And we'll eat at home tonight AND LIKE IT. Got it?"
I wince. "That's not exactly how I planned to get them to like it--but--thanks."
So, we take a family trip down to k-mart and get a badmitton set, come back, and it takes a couple hours, all told, before we're set up and playing it. The game doesn't seem half as exciting as I remember it. And a whole lot more work. I end up bending over to pick up that damn birdie more times than I can count.
My son gets a wicked grin at me as he watches me. Doesn't say a word like...you asked for it. But I know what he's thinking. Serve me right to insist on playing a lame game.
We're all thinking it...pizza and a movie sound much better than toe touchin' birdie pickups. But who's gonna say it?
I can see by the expressions on the kid's faces that they want to, but then they slide glances at their dad and purse their lips. I'm impressed that they're keeping their mouths shut.
I know he's sort of locked in--to being behind his own words. But, by now, I've worked up a sweat and don't think I'll wanna cook. And I wanna put my feet up.
So, I have to say, "I have an urge to see somebody dodge a wrench." (Great line from the movie Dodge Ball.) "Or something like that."
Of course, the kids get nervous. I've never thrown hard objects at them, but hey, there've been plenty of times they would have deserved it. And the birdie's been put just out of my reach a hundred times. (Or twenty, but you understand. It was on purpose.)
"How about...dodge the birdie?" It flies from one kid's racket at the other--with a deadly swoop through the air.
Volleyed, the thing goes back just as fast. Ah. The trick to the game.
It's like...tag football was never half as much fun as "smear the queer." No insult to people of alternative lifestyles--that's just what we called it back then. Tackle street ball.
I'd like to say I'm politically correct, but I'm not. I don't mean offense when I call people from China (and similar countries) Oriental, as opposed to Asian. What's the difference? The whole time I grew up, those folks were oriental. (Go ahead, set me straight. Because I obviously don't get it.)
And I don't know where I was in the eighties--except changing a whole lot of diapers and chasing little kids around, but what a surprise to me when I was set straight on "We don't call the soviets russians any more." Bet me. "And they were our enemies for a lifetime. Sorry, I'm not believing they've all changed their stripes. I grew up in the cold war. I'm not saying I'm looking for a fight.
I know some people who adopted some great RUSSIAN kids. That's all cool. I'm just saying that...you're telling me the whole nation just flipped a switch? They're all democrats now? Bullshit. I know better. I watch news. There's a whole bunch of old school politicians over there. They just got smart and let us bail them out financially.
But, I also didn't know Chekoslavakia had split until years later. And I had to have Prussia explained to me by my Romanian sister in law.
What else did I miss out on? A hundred countries got birthed, reorganized and renamed while my kids and I watched Smurfs, She-ra and My Little Pony.
What up with all the political switcheroos? (I know. I know. This is old news. You were probably coherent during those years. But it's all still fascinating to me. Politics. )
But then, I think all politicians are asses--I don't care what party they belong to. All have their own agenda.
And I don't know what to call...um...people of color. I woke up one day and people were saying, "Don't call me black. Don't call me negro. Call me African American." But what do we call those that hailed from somewhere else. Jamaican Americans? Guatemala Americans? Laos Americans? (Is that still a country over there?)
Not that skin color matters much to me. I like people of all races. But sometimes skin tone comes up. When I was a kid, all people of color were called "black." They aren't all black, of course. And the ones with the caramel skin tone--which I sort of envy--I can see them not wanting to be called black. But now it doesn't matter what I think to call them, I have to bite my tongue. They can bring up their color, talk about their slave family history and that's all good, but I can't. Not acceptable. I don't really understand that.
Yes, here's a point where I need slapped. It's not that I'm a racist. It's that I don't see the problem. There's a big difference. I would never condone any person, or group of persons being persecuted for their heritage...which is something ya can't help.
Now, I'm a woman with four daughters...I'm much more apt to persecute people with poor fashion sense. But then, I'm a walmart woman...so how much of that am I gonna do? I may harrass my sister who has a Tina Turner/Rod Stewart hair thing going on these days. Because she can fix that...I think.
Yes, I ramble. Sorry.
But then, I had a Navajo friend who LIKED being called squaw. Didn't mind the indian references--and I'm sure she started this...She called my husband WHITE BOY. Funny, but people thought it was roll on the floor hilarious if she called out, "Hey, White Boy!" when she saw him walk into a public places. But if he called out, "Hey, Squaw!" They turned to give him dirty looks.
What's the discrimination all about?
There's a joke...zebra asks the monkey, "Do you think I'm white with black stripes or black with white stripes."
"I dunno. Go ask Lion. He'll know."
Zebra asks the lion same question. Lion says, "I dunno. Go ask Giraffe. Maybe he'll know."
Over and over again, this happens. Finally, the zebra is sent to the crocodile who says, "You are what you are."
So, bummed and confused, the zebra wanders back to where the monkey is and the monkey asks, "So, what did he say?"
"You are what you are, but I don't know what that means."
"Well, he didn't say "you is what you is," now, did he?"
(Man, I hope that joke doesn't offend anyone.) If it disappears from the post, you know someone complained. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Now, if you called out, "Hey, lame ass, why don't you get a job?" I can see people turning to stare. But, really, if a lame ass needs to get a job, why not say it out loud and proud? Whatever color they are...? Why is politically incorrect to point out the state of welfare, and statistics of who is on it and taking advantage?
And that is not a slur to black people. Or poor people. I live just above the Arkansas line. In Arkansas, the percentage of blacks on welfare is through the roof. But in Missouri, we have the aching back white gang lining up.
And I say that...as I head in to get an MRI on my back. The point is not what color the people are on welfare but who needs it and who is taking advantage. And, yes I'm a democrat thinking very republican these days. Aren't all writers democrat?
Here's more of the same thing but different...Why is it politically incorrect to complain about a high school girls' softball coach that is gay...? But not a male one that is a child molestor?
We had a coach here that had affairs with three girls on her team. I kept asking, "What's going on down at that school? How come so many girls are suddenly saying they're gay?"
But then I said something similar back in the days of the high school male coach who had affairs with girls I went to school with. Doesn't anybody notice?
People notice. They sweep things under the rugs. Problems don't get dealt with. We hope the things will go away.
Edmund Burke, 15th century philsopher said, (paraphrase) "A lot of bad things happen while good men stand by."
Which brings me full circle to public displays of affection. I know, I'm messed up and my thinking is convoluted.
Is his statement true on pda's as well? Or should it be switched around, "A lot of good things happen while bad men stand by?"
Or "A lot of things happen when you look around and watch...?"
Wow. I almost got to something profound. But then I veered off track repeatedly.
Do you like the long rambling posts or are they too much?
Did anyone stay with me this far?
3 Comments:
I'll confess... I skimmed. (g) But I need more coffee and I need to get back to a story that's kicking my butt and due... Like... Today...
So I'm hurrying through blogs this morning.
Having a gay coach isn't a problem.
Her sleeping with students is. Male or female-- that's still child molestation.
What's also a problem is people like this Morgan guy running for election. (And I don't just say this because I'm not a Republican) That hateful commercial with his smug face is on constantly and every time, I die a little inside when I see the smiles yet hear this horrible message of hate. He's running on "Oklahoma values" and plans to fight for a constitutional ban on gay marriage. I'm an Oklahoman who doesn't consider that an Oklahoma value. Hate and discrimination of any kind isn't a value-- it's crap. Evil. Standing there believing you're better than another isn't a value.
Can you tell it bothers me? (g)
My husband swears he doesn't believe a constitutional ban could happen. After all, how is treating people unequally constitutional? But with everyone looking down on everyone these days, I worry. I have a lot more I could say on the constitution and why separation of church and state was done originally, but I won't. You don't need another book today.
(big, wicked grin)
Sorry, couldn't resist.
By 
Rinda Elliott, at
8:25 AM
I MAY need another book, ya never know.
I agree with you...it wasn't the problem that the teacher had sexual preferences other than mine. It was the fact that she was preying on the students. Ditto with the male teacher. Sex with underage people is against the law. It's called molestation. End of story.
I have lots of friends with different bedroom tastes. I don't judge. I say...to each his own...and that may not be for me. Or isn't for me.
But I really am into trying not to be self-righteous on any level, and into total forgiveness and unconditional love. It is not MY place to make those judgments. Period.
By CarysWeldonblog, at
8:31 AM
Real love is unconditional. I even have a shirt in my store that says that. (g)
I didn't mean to go off. This man has every right to run, it's just so hard when I was watching tv last night and saw the commercial about thirty times.
The gay marriage issue is pulled out to sway elections and the fact that it works makes me sad. How can so many people feel they have a right to decide another's life?
By Rinda Elliott, at
12:12 PM
