Don’t feel it if you don’t mean it.


Sometimes all a person needs is a hug.

Do you know people who pretend to be sympathetic to whatever might be going on in your life or even in the lives of others, but don’t really mean it? I’m grateful not to, but I know people like this exist because friends and family of mine have made mention of them over the years, and I don’t understand them at all. I’m not the world’s most emotive or touchy-feely person, but when I say that I feel sorry for what you’re going through and wish I could do something to help, I mean it. I’m not just saying it so that you think I care or so that I look like I care. People like that always strike me as the types who will lie about having cancer or having a miscarriage or something. You know, professional attention whores. It’s one step up from Munchausen’s, really.

With today being September 11, I’m sure we all know someone who claims to know a person affected in some way by what happened, and people like that are especially odious. I have friends who were living in New York at the time, but they weren’t anywhere near Ground Zero, they had no friends/family working in the WTC or on the planes’ manifests, and they were not physically impacted by it at all. They were devastated emotionally, as was the rest of the country, but that’s it. I’ve never once told anyone that I know the pain of 9/11 because of those people I knew who happened to be living in Brooklyn at the time. Fuck people like that. I would never insult actual 9/11 survivors or victims’ families by saying I “know their pain,” and then ask for sympathy from others for that.


Watch the volume, please.

A crescendo is defined as the “gradual increase in loudness in a piece of music.” Now, that doesn’t mean you turning up the volume to 11 or anything, that’s the music actually getting louder as it progresses, usually as a result of the vocalist or vocalists going up several octaves. With that in mind, I tried to think of a song that had a crescendo in it, or that I thought represented a crescendo, and I think I did a good job. For today’s Musical Interlude Friday selection, I give you Mr. Mel Carter. Enjoy!

I only have so much.


I feel like this sign speaks to me on a spiritual level.

I was born with only so much patience. After a certain point, it runs out. I’ve never gotten violent with anyone, lest anyone think I just go around punching people when I’m pissed off, but that doesn’t mean I don’t visualize giving you a sock to the jaw…if I think it’s warranted. I don’t have a short fuse, it takes a lot to make me mad, but when I get mad, I get mad. One thing I tend to lose patience with quickly is DIY stuff. If I have to follow instructions to put a bookshelf or a desk together, or if I have to use a lot of supplies to get something finished, I get irritated quicker because I’m not a handy person, and I don’t like feeling stupid or uncoordinated, and having issues putting a basic desk together makes my self-esteem plummet through the floor.

Is it Friday yet?


You have my permission to lick your screen.

Fridays are my luxury day, as far as food is concerned. For breakfast Monday-Thursday and Saturday, it’s usually a bowl of cereal. On Sundays, I have a Slim-Fast shake because that’s the day for family lunch, and I have one shake per day (Monday-Saturday, it’s my lunch.). However…on Fridays, I treat myself to a couple of donuts for breakfast from the MOST amazing donut place I’ve ever been. It’s not a chain, and I think that’s why they’re so good. Every other Friday, I also treat myself in the evening to a drink from Starbucks. We call those days “DoBucks” because it’s donuts + Starbucks. I know, not creative. I don’t eat fast food or takeaway, and maybe once every three months, we’ll have some pizza and cheesy bread from Little Caesar’s for lunch, but for the most part, I don’t eat a ton of crap food. My Fridays are for having less healthy stuff, just because if you deny yourself the things you love, you’ll crave them more, and you’ll be even more likely to binge on them, which won’t do you any good.

I hope you’re not claustrophobic.


If you use the elevator to go up one floor, I will look at you with barely restrained contempt.

I love elevators, they serve a very convenient and helpful purpose, but they also make me a little nervous, particularly if it’s an older building. I’m always slightly worried they’ll just stop, in between floors, and I’ll be trapped. You never know if that phone or intercom or buzzer inside the car is working, and who gets decent cell reception in an elevator? I know it’s a mostly unnecessary fear; the number of times I go anywhere that requires me to take an elevator because it’s more than 5 floors from ground level is pretty much nil, but still. I know more than a few people who will walk up 80 flights of stairs than take an elevator because they’re claustrophobic, and being confined in a small space, whether by themselves or with other people, is too much for them to handle. My worries aren’t that bad, I’m not in the kind of physical shape yet that would allow me to walk up 80 flights of stairs, but I suppose if I had to, I’d do it. YOLO, right?

Oh, if you get a chance, check out the Google Doodle for today. The name Eduard Khil might not mean anything to you, but if I say “Mr. Trololo,” you’ll probably know who I’m talking about. Today is his birthday, and he died a few years ago, but the story of how he got rediscovered, for lack of a better word, because of Internet memes, is kind of funny and very cute. At least he got to enjoy it before he passed.

Teachers get no respect.


Following the rule of Order of Operations, the answer to the math problem in the picture is 18.

My sister is a 7th grade Language Arts/Social Studies teacher, and I’ve mentioned that before on this blog because I’m exceedingly proud of her — I couldn’t do her job, not less I got paid six figures to do it. I don’t have the patience that she does, especially when you have to deal with shitty kids and their equally shitty parents every year. She says this year, her kids are really sweet, so hopefully that continues because last year, her kids were absolute monsters.

Now, I don’t think I went to school that long ago. Sometimes it feels like I did, as I graduated from 8th grade in 1996, but that was 1996, not 1956. I don’t think the world has changed that much since then, as opposed to when my parents graduated grammar school in 1963. We didn’t have smartphones or social media or any of the Internet-related technologies that kids nowadays do, but even taking all that into consideration, the things I read about or hear about blow my mind. We didn’t talk back to teachers. We didn’t call them bitches or hoes. We didn’t threaten to kick their asses. What’s wrong with kids nowadays that positions of authority mean nothing to them? They’re teachers, not SS officers. If they tell you sit down and stop talking, sit down and stop talking. When did this get complicated? If they tell you to do your homework or to turn something in Monday, you do it. You don’t argue, you don’t badger.

Am I getting old, or are today’s kids ruder than when I was that age? I don’t remember my parents saying anything like this about me when I was 12/13 years old.



Man, I’d love a jewelry box that looked like that.

First, my apologies for not responding to the Daily Prompts the last couple of days; Friday I wasn’t home, so you got a Musical Interlude Friday selection that was a standalone kind of thing, and yesterday I just couldn’t think of anything to say about it, and I didn’t want to force it.

Now, on to today’s prompt — I have inherited some lovely pieces of jewelry from relatives over the years, I even have my great-grandmother’s dresser, which I received when my grandmother died 21 years ago. However, the most priceless thing or things I have are family stories that we tell during the holidays and other memories I have from my childhood. I’ve talked about The Turkey Story™ before and how my sister and I love telling that story every Thanksgiving, even though what really happened, didn’t happen the way the story plays out. There was no tidal wave of gravy, even if it’s goddamn funny to picture in one’s mind. Then there’s the story of how my dad got the nickname “The Mad Bomber.” He and his friends liked to make homemade cherry bombs when they were younger, and well, the cops were called once in the middle of the night to haul my dad to the police station…needless to say, my grandmother was NOT thrilled. Don’t worry, no property was destroyed, no one was hurt/killed/maimed. Things like that are more priceless to me than anything. I can’t put a value on that. If something happened to my home tomorrow, I would miss my dresser and everything else I have, but I’d still have my memories and The Turkey Story.

Let’s try something new, shall we?

As you read this, I’m not home. I’ve got a ton of errands to run this morning, so I won’t be around at 8 o’clock to see what today’s Daily Prompt is ( 😦 ), but I didn’t want to leave you with no post today for Musical Interlude Friday, so I’m scheduling this here post to publish at 8 o’clock anyway. Looking out the window right now, it’s gray, rainy, and dreary, and it’s going to be like this all day. I thought I’d draw inspiration for today’s selection from that. Enjoy!

It’s like déjà vu all over again.


Rod Serling would love this clock as a gift.

With apologies to the late, great Yogi Berra for stealing that line of his, I feel like I’ve already expounded on the subject of memorization and recitation, and wouldn’t you know it — I have.

So, go ahead and read that blog post if you want to get my opinion/thoughts on the prompt for today, since they’re basically identical.  🙂