Afterthought…it’s disconcerting that they feel they actually have to KILL someone to get their fat. I mean, don’t they ever watch Nip/Tuck? Liposuction is way more humane.
Kelli Jae Baeli
I don't consider myself the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I'm certainly not a spoon.
I think about things. I put human nature under a microscope. Sometimes to my own peril. And I write about it. And I write about writing. And politics, science, cosmology, relationships, sex, coffee, my angst, my weirdness, my cats & anything else that pops or chaps. But I think you will often find me quite humorous. Especially if you like sarcasm.
Unless you're just blithely cruising through life, you'll notice there's a lot going on in this macrocosm of existence. This means there's a lot going on in the microcosm of my brain. Not that there's anything "micro" about my brain. Anyway--here, I will share my thoughts, ruminations, suggestions, complaints and epiphanies where these "cosms" are concerned.
Wear a helmet..
Afterthought…it’s disconcerting that they feel they actually have to KILL someone to get their fat. I mean, don’t they ever watch Nip/Tuck? Liposuction is way more humane.
In a previous post, I let my insecurities get the best of me, regarding meeting someone new, and being afraid i might have presented myself poorly….and the irony was, that the woman called and asked me out that night.
But the date turned into a major train wreck. What i discovered, was that I had a completely erroneous idea of who she was. Turns out she has some serious problems, and is an alcoholic. She drank to the point where she passed out, and I had to put her to bed and go home. It gave me some perspective i sorely needed. Whenever i worry that i might be a little intense for some people, they always reassure me with more profound shortcomings, that make me happy to accept my own.
At her house, she insisted that we were going to be friends for life, and that she was going to “take care of me.” I wasn’t aware that i needed care. I told her so. And she professed her undying trust in me and then said “You trust me, too, now, right?”
I said, “No I don’t. I don’t know you well enough yet. I don’t trust anyone until they prove they can be trusted. At the same time, i can be open and friendly and have a good time. But you do not get my trust until you earn it.”
“Wow, really?”
“You don’t know me. I could be a serial killer.”
“Oh, but i know you’re not. I know you are very special.”
“Well great. But it’s a little soon for you to be making pledges to me.”
She spent the entire night trying to get me not to leave, but insisted it was because i didn’t need to drive since i had had some wine. This was laughable, because I was under the legal limit, as always, and she was BLOTTO (Probably as always). She couldn’t even admit to herself (much less to me) that she wanted me to stay because of other reasons. Not even when i gave her permission to just be honest about it. No, it was *ME* who didn’t need to drive. I was the one with the problem. There are many psychological terms for that tactic.
So tonight, as if I needed another example of the damaged people among us, i have another experience that illustrates how people are just people, and I’m simply too hard on myself. A previous friend of mine asked why I responded in a certain way to some things she said, and i admitted that i had gotten triggered by our past experience with each other and that i had felt betrayed by her. She met my honesty and vulnerability with the knife of caustic self- righteousness.
Now my readers know that I’m so careful to be ethical and deliberate in my actions. But to reveal yourself so openly and honestly in conversation, on a blog, or in books, or in music, as I do, is to set yourself up for some heartache. People can use that stuff against you, while climbing on their high horse to ride away, having felt better about themselves after they twist the truth so that they can place themselves in a good light, and superimpose their own garbage onto you. And they’ll do it every time, even when they say they won’t.
I don’t know what this tendency is about–this pattern i have noticed in those who screw it up so profoundly, and then slap you in the face for trying to help or be their friend, by practicing a little revisionist history. And suddenly, I’m the bad guy. As I’ve said many times, “You’re only responsible for being honest, not for someone else’s reaction to your honesty.”
But it’s still disheartening…How people can be vicious by using your weaknesses against you, when they don’t like what they’re hearing. And how they think they know who you are, when really, they only know who they need you to be, to make themselves feel better. How they can turn a vulnerable moment or a difficult challenge into the proof to convict you–proof they planted on the scene just like a crooked cop.
I just came back from my daily walk, and had one of those rare visceral experiences that remind me why I look at most parents these days with disgust.
Across the street ahead, i saw a little yellow flash and then saw that it was a child. She was wearing yellow footie pajamas and had blond hair and a dirty face. Cute as could be. Not more than two years old.But then I noticed she was out on the sidewalk by herself.
And then i noticed she was walking into the street. Alone.
And then i turned and saw the car coming around the corner.
I sprinted into the street, hoping like hell the car would see me in time. I was a bigger target than that little girl. I scooped her up into my arms and hopped onto the curb to the sound of screeching brakes. Relieved, that’s when my heart began to pound.
Mommy lifted her head out of the open door of a car in the nearby parking lot. She saw me walking toward her, carrying the little girl.
“Oh my god!” she said. “I thought you were right behind me.” She came around the car.
I put the child down and said, “Well, she wasn’t. She was in the street. She nearly got hit.”
I could see that she knew I wanted to pop her in the mouth. Or better yet, call child protective services.
She thanked me profusely and I continued my walk, feeling the awful might-have-been tragic fantasy developing in my head. My daily walk has now taken on a whole new meaning. I will now be watching the streets for wandering toddlers with crappy parents.
There is, I believe, only one pertinent reason why gay marriage has not been legalized nationwide in America. It’s because there is an inherent repulsion about it on the part of some straight people-usually the religious ones-who believe marriage should be between a man and a woman. This “institution” (rightfully named) is sacred to them, even though the historicity of marriage was predicated on the oppression of women through ownership. Marriage began as a way of allowing men to “own” women. If straight people want to cling to this bit of archaic tripe, I say let them have it.
Opponents will repeat the refrain that marriage is a sacred institution (Would that be “Our Holy Lady of Lunatics”?). Why all the fuss about that? A relationship is made sacred only by the two people involved, not by some prescribed piece of paper sanctioned by the state. As a gay woman, I am not concerned with sacred institutions. What concerns me is what should concern all gay people, and what is at the root of the issue; namely, that gay people should be able to commit to each other and enjoy the same benefits, rights and allowances that married people do.
My solution is simple. Don’t call it marriage. Call it Civil union, or Domestic Partnership. But give those domestic partners the right to file joint tax returns, the right to have power of attorney, the right to visit and remain by the side of a sick or terminally ill partner, and to make decisions about their care and wishes, the right to adopt children, the right to inheritance from a partner, the right to equality in jobs and job benefits. Then the precious sanctity of marriage will go unscathed. If it is true, what the objectors say about why they don’t think it’s right for gay people to get married, then the problem is solved by creating Domestic Partnership as an equally beneficial alternative to marriage. If the objectors then scream and protest, that would mean their reasons were not about the defilement of something they held sacred, it would mean their reasons were about plain old prejudice, ignorance, oppression, and hatred. And should that situation arise after the legalization of Domestic Partnerships, those protesters would be revealed for the selfish, dispassionate people they are.
I have this underlying aggravation about the red-headed step-child of education. No, I’m not talking about a befreckled child, literally. I’m talking about self-education. In
our modern Internet era, it is much easier to find information–some of it is crap, that’s a given. But if you’re smart enough to know where to look, and how to find the accurate data, you can learn almost anything. Thus, I feel the educational establishment should start recognizing self-educated people by offering a test-out option on all college and university websites.
Take me, for example. I had 8 years of college, for a degree in Professional Writing & Editing, but I am voracious about learning in many other disciplines, and I feel a little cheated that my pocketbook keeps me from verifying what I’ve learned with a piece of paper from a reputable Institution of Higher Learning. As an author with 13 books in print, I am often unfairly penalized for not having enough letters behind my name to be taken seriously, though I feel I am just as qualified to write about certain topics, through my own self-education. In my mind, if I am capable of taking a sort of CLEP test for Life Experience or self-motivated learning, and passing that test, I ought to be able to get some kind of certification representing that, and without having to take out a second mortgage.
I’m just sayin’.
When most people say “I wish I could write,” they are referring to the ability to compose–usually, prose. Since I am a writer by vocation and by perhaps genetic predisposition, when I say “I wish I could write” I mean longhand. I wish I could pick up a pen or pencil and scribble words on the pages of a journal as I used to. But I can’t. Not for much longer than a few sentences,
anyway. I have horrible penmanship (or Penwomanship).
Somehow, as the years have gone by, my longhand muscles have atrophied. I actually get hand cramps, and the next day, can’t even read what I scribbled on a Post-it the night before. I suspect some of this decline is through disuse– with the evolution of the writing instrument–but it’s not as though there were no typewriters when I was a young writer. Contrary to the grumblings of my midlife crisis, I’m not THAT old. I used typewriters quite a bit.
But I also wrote longhand, in journals and on steno-pads, and legal pads. I haven’t kept a handwritten journal since about 1990. The allure of my fingers flying across the keys that placed uniformly neat and legible words on a page at a rate closer to the speed of my thoughts, was at once too seductive to ever allow me passage back to the drudgery of longhand.
And it’s a good thing, too, because my penmanship is like the footprints of worker ants through ink. Most self-respecting graphologists would analyze it and pronounce me criminally insane.
A comet called NEAT not so neatly came close to impacting the sun. This comet was over twice the size of jupiter. A well-timed solar
flare blasted it out of its trajectory orbit and so disaster was avoided.NASA’s SOHO satellite camera caught it all on video. Go here to see the video.
For perspective, the thick dark line at the left bottom is the arm of a mechanism on the camera that holds a plate in front of the sun, to block glare, so that other objects surrounding the sun can be seen. The white circle in the center of that plate represents the size of the sun.
Now, note the large white object entering at the top-right and moving down the screen on the right. This is the NEAT comet. Compare its size to the size of the sun, and you have some idea what it means to say it’s over twice the size of Jupiter. The comet narrowly escaped impact with the sun due to that solar flare–or as the scientists call it, CME (Coronal Mass Ejection).
There are at least a thousand comets that orbit the sun, 160 of those that are near enough to be seen via telescope.