Famous people only want to be heard, they don’t follow you
back and have no time to interact with us little folks.
Eventually, everything the big guys have to say and share
will make it’s way to your feed via all the other people that follow these guys
and you wind up with four or more of an update by Mr. Blank. You can fill in
the line with whomever you feel is a guru, SEO expert, celebrity or media
giant. I don’t know about you but multiple posts by anyone is overkill for me I
don’t care how much I like them.
Their god worthy comments clog up your wall and then you
don’t get to read the great things your real friends have to say. Don’t get me
wrong, I enjoy some of what they tell us and I even learn a little once in a
while but it gets old really quick with me. I saw it the first time and all the
other times there after.
Most social media sites have a friend limit and I’d rather
add people who might add me back or whom I can have an actual conversation
with. I realize some aren’t online as much. Some people are busy, have kids or
work long hours at their jobs. I get that and don’t hold it against anyone if
they aren’t able to be as active as others.
I don’t have anything personally against these people and
some have great information to share with us but if it’s going to filter down
the grape vine anyway why not just wait and hear it second or even third hand?
A few times I’ve gotten a reply from some of them with a
condescending remark, which left me not liking them quite so much. If you
disagree with them, have suggestions or aren’t interested in their new website
they are promoting or product they are selling they can be quite ugly. They are
so used to people worshiping the ground they walk on that if someone has an
opinion of their own they don’t know how to deal with them.
I’m not mean or rude when I make a comment but sometimes I
simply don’t agree. A woman on Google+ recently blocked my comments because I
posted a remark about not liking cats. Seriously? I'm not losing sleep over it... but I did cross her off my friends list. If she's not going to let me post a comment I don't need to see her posts.
Most people don't want our real opinion they just want mindless lemmings who tell them how great and wonderful they are. "Your posts are the best!"
I want the real deal, people. Don't gloss it over or tell me I'm super or the best. I'm okay with your opinion as long as you aren't being rude and crude for shock factor. You are entitled to your opinion and I'm not going to hold it against you. I don't like fake people.
I don’t blindly follow a person just because they are rich
or famous. Sorry to disappoint them but sometimes they are wrong. Nobody is
right all of the time.
Fame and fortune doesn’t impress me, they put their pants on
the same way the rest of us do and guess what? They have stinky bodily
functions like everybody else too.
I’d rather help out a struggling new person than those
making millions. They already have their large piece of the pie and a head too
big to fit through doors.
If I ever get that famous (in my dreams) and act like an
arrogant ass y’all be sure to let me know.
One man’s fence post is another person’s work of art or so
it appears.
I enjoy visiting art museums and art festivals. Over the years I've been to many of them. Most I have seen is fascinating even if I don’t think it’s beautiful or
understand it. Occasionally though, I’ll wonder why something is featured and
exactly what makes that piece any more special than a common object in our
world.
I’m not saying common things can’t be artistic but I like to
think the artist put some effort into a piece especially if they are going to
charge thousands of dollars.
I saw an exhibit by a great person who charges outlandish
prices for simple things like a fence post that is painted blue.
I called my husband over, “Come look at this one.”
He looks at it with a puzzled look on his face. “It’s a
fence post.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. We have a gold mine in our
backyard.”
I realize that simplicity can be a subject of beauty but I
draw the line on some things.
Another piece is paint splattered onto a canvas. If I can do
it… it’s not art.
I’m not an artist, at least not the kind that puts things in
a museum. I write, which some consider art but if I wrote a single word in blue
letters on my website and expected thousands of people to come look and if
they wanted to own that particular font and want a copy of it then they
must pay me $3500.00.
I would be quite bold to expect it and I couldn’t ask that
price with a straight face. I’m not even sure how people come to think so
highly of themselves that they are comfortable doing that.
At what point in your career do you decide that anything you
make with your hands is very valuable no matter how miniscule or how little
effort you put into it?
Perhaps J.K. Rowling or Stephen King could simply put an “X”
on a sheet of paper and sell it for thousands. I joke but that is probably true
especially if they signed it. Actually, their signature is what would be
valuable more so than the “X”.
Maybe those artists created really wonderful things before
the fence post and splattered paint pieces and I’m just not hoity toity enough to
know about their past wonderful creations. Perhaps that is how they have come
to this point in their career where they don’t need to make much of an effort
to sell anything.
The flip side of that coin are the artists that put hours and days into a temporary piece like sidewalk chalk, snow or ice. It would be difficult for me to work so hard on a project knowing it will deteriorate in a short while.
To me these creations are much more beautiful and worth a bigger price than the fence post and yet they are only here for a short while. We can enjoy them today and perhaps tomorrow but after the next rain or warm day they will be gone.
I’ve had a few over the years, mostly on line. It’s a bit
creepy in a flattering weird sort of way. That was a mixed up sentence.
I was pretty young at the time and he wasn’t really my type,
well almost. The brown eyes fit but the blond hair not so much. Nothing against
blonds I just wasn’t into blond men even though I dated a few.
Just to give you a mental picture: back then I was tall
(5’6”) and skinny, just like now only I had bleach blond long hair. My wardrobe
of choice would fit inside a shoebox: short jean shorts, a tube top and
Candies.
We’ll change my stalker’s name just in case he’s still out
there somewhere looking for me. Surely not. For this story, we’ll call him
Greg.
Greg was a Scorpio; that probably doesn’t matter to most of
you but at the time I was deep into astrology and would date or not date based
on that information. I later broadened my horizons and didn’t worry so much
about star signs but back then it was a big deal. For those of you who care,
I’m a Gemini.
He and another guy that looked like the devil and had a foot
fetish (that’s a tale for another time) are the only two Scorpios I remember
dating and neither one lasted very long.
Greg was a few years older than me, not going to college,
lived with his parents and didn’t have a real job. I say real job, he made
money but we won’t go into the particulars of that occupation.
For those of you that remember John Denver, this guy was a
spitting image of him as a young man. Same long blond hair and round wire frame
glasses. Sadly, I was never a fan of John Denver’s music (I don’t like country
music) nor did I think he was all that attractive being a blond headed fella
and all.
So anyway, he meets me at some party, I think. It’s been a
long time so the details of our first encounter are a bit fuzzy for a few
reasons most of which I’d rather not go into. As I recall I had gone with
another guy I was sort of having an affair with and when we arrive his fiancé was there, making the situation a bit awkward
especially since I had no idea she existed. The feeling was mutual.
Rule number 1: make sure all men are unattached before you
get into any sort of serious or even semi-serious relationship even if he is
your assistant manager and the guy all the girls at work wants to go out with
and he chose you over them. (Talk about a rambling sentence.)
So there I am with no date trying to avoid the guy I came
with and his fiancé who is giving me the evil eye. I don’t know what she’s so
upset about, she’s short and has big boobs which in my mind was the recipe for
the perfect woman because I was neither of those things. She was a brunette but
so was I underneath the peroxide.
Just to give you a mental picture, the guy I was dating was
pretty tall and looked like a blond headed young Patrick Duffy. For you star sign buff, Patrick was a Leo, supposedly a good match.
For the record, after these two blond fellows I never dated
another light-headed guy again. Maybe the stalking or cheating thing left a bad
taste in my mouth or perhaps I realized they weren’t really my type but just
thought I’d mention it.
No wait; there was another blond guy. Crap, I’m totally
messing up this story. Meanwhile back at the farm.
So I go outside and sit on this big deck in the backyard
looking at a flowering bush, I think it was azaleas. Most everyone else was
paired up, making out or arguing as was the case with blond Patrick and his
fiancé. I’m thinking I’ll call someone to come get me here in a bit but for now
I’ll sit out here, drink a beer and ponder my predicament. So far it didn’t
look like future Mrs. Patrick was going to try to kick my ass so things weren’t
going too badly… yet.
Greg sits beside me and starts talking about bees,
ants and beetles. Not sure how he got on that subject, why he thought it was a
good conversation to have with a girl in my situation but there you go. It was
a wonderful relief to talk to a guy who wasn’t obsessed with sports which back
then was one of my first rules.
If you talked to me about sports you were out, no baseball
pun intended. I dated a couple jocks and found them to be mostly lacking in the
intelligence department. No offense to sports fans or those that played sports,
I’ve since learned that some of you did in fact have some smarts but back then
I didn’t meet any.
He did help get my mind off of worrying for my safety (I was
a weenie and never fought anyone). Then we moved on from beetles to The Beatles
and we discussed bands and taste in music. We got along pretty well, actually,
even though I really wasn’t terribly interested in insects. By the way, I heard
he later became an exterminator. lol
He ended up taking me home and then the stalking began. Actually,
in the beginning I was dating him so he wasn’t technically stalking me but in
hindsight I mostly dated him because he kept showing up. You know the saying,
“half of life is showing up” well, he took that seriously.
One day he took me to his house, probably hoping to get
lucky but he tells me he needs to change clothes. Okay.
We start kissing and I realize he has this weird split on
the top of his tongue. It curves way down on top. He tells me that a girl he
was dating bit his tongue when he was making love to her.
That did it. I would have been okay with the messed up
tongue, I don’t expect people to be perfect but all I could think about was,
“What the hell did he do to that poor girl that made her practically bite his
tongue off?”
He takes me home and I start avoiding him or at least I
tried to. I would come home from a date and he’d be at my house visiting with
my mother. I told her not to let him in and stop encouraging him but she
thought he was cute and I was being too hard on the guy. I never told her about
the tongue story but I doubt it would have made her any difference.
This went on for several months; he would show up everywhere,
when I went out, at my job, just watching me. He would lean against a wall with
that far away look in his eyes staring. He would drive by my house. He even
knocked on my bedroom window one night just to talk. A few times I woke up in
the middle of the night with a creepy feeling someone was watching me. I was
too scared to get up and look out the window.
He had even charmed my dog so he never barked to let me know he was in my backyard.
If I went into a 7Eleven and saw him playing a video game
(he did this a lot) I’d turn around and leave, quickly.
I told him, “You are not my type you need to stop following
me around.”
His reply was, “I just want to be your friend,” or “I was
just checking on you.”
I finally moved out and he didn’t find out my address or he
finally moved on, not sure which but it was a relief to not have to worry about
him showing up all the time. For a long time after that I would look for him.
If I saw a blond guy with glasses in a crowd I tensed up and got nervous.
Part of me felt guilty and sorry for him but he seemed to
lack legal ambition (I was a bit worried about driving around with him and what was in his trunk).
There are some great teachers in this world that instill a
thirst for learning in their students. Kids enjoy going to school and can tell
their teacher is passionate about the curriculum and wants them to learn the
material.
Unfortunately there are also a few arrogant teachers that
want you to memorize what they give you and nothing outside that classroom is
important.
Bad teachers do not want to be proven wrong. You do it their
way and no other will work.
My second child is a free thinker like myself and doesn’t
take anyone’s word for anything. He also doesn’t like it when someone gives him
inaccurate information and expects him to believe it.
When he was in kindergarten his teacher passed out work
sheets of marigold flowers and told them to color them yellow.
My son quietly colored his red, orange, yellow and
variations of those colors. He’s always been very artistic and his coloring
skills were above average for his age. I know, coloring isn’t part of the basic
three R’s, but still.
She took his paper away and told him he didn’t follow
directions properly, marigolds are yellow and he was supposed to color them
only yellow.
He told her that marigolds are not just yellow, but also
orange, red and some are even variegated. Nothing doing, she gave him an F or
more than likely a U because in kindergarten you got Unsatisfactory for failed
papers.
The next day he brought her flowers from our garden. At first she thought he was trying to butter her up for the bad grade but soon realized he was proving
her wrong. Marigolds were not just yellow but all those other colors he
mentioned. I think she would have been happier if he were trying to charm her with a bouquet.
She wrote a note and pinned it to his shirt. When your child gets off the bus with a note attached to
their shirt you know it’s usually not good news; so was the case this day.
Mrs. Cranky wanted a conference to discuss my son’s attitude
and uncooperative behavior.
She begins to tell me how he argues with her during class
and won’t sit quietly listening.
I can’t remember the other incidents but they were similar
to the marigold situation and in those cases he was also right.
I said, “Marigolds aren’t only yellow. He was coloring them
the way he sees them at home.”
“Yes, but I told him to color them yellow.”
“I understand but he assumed you didn’t know that marigolds
come in many colors and he was trying to teach you.”
“I am the teacher. I am the only one that teaches in this
class.”
I want to add that my son did not yell at the teacher, call
names or in anyway become belligerent. He simply did what we do here at home
all the time and that is communicating our views and opinions. My children were
not raised to simply obey and not question. If my husband or I are wrong we
admit it.
The problem with complaining to the principal about this
particular teacher is that he was her husband so it did no good. It was common
knowledge that she ran the school from the kindergarten classroom. In fact, she
needed an aid so she could leave the room to attend any important meetings
because she was the Hilary Clinton of the school if you know what I mean.
Too many schools want lemmings; they do not want children
that think for themselves or question their teaching. You sit down; be quiet
and listen. Those sleeping in the back are fine because they aren’t making any
sound, aren’t defying the teacher’s claims or making them look inept. Having
the appearance of inadequacy is a very bad thing to this type of teacher.
Bad teachers would prefer children that aren’t learning
anything to ones who have an opinion.
Again, I want to add that not all teachers are like that.
Over the years my kids have had some wonderful teachers. My daughter has a
history teacher right now she loves.
She actually has two history teachers; one is a coach and
isn’t really teaching. He spends all hour, or block in this case which is
longer than an hour, talking to the guys about sports. Try reading a textbook
and working on an assignment when a bunch of bulked up jocks are hooting and
hollering about balls. Can you tell I hate sports? This is partly why.
Coaches should never be teachers. I have yet to see one that
even wants to be a teacher. They got a degree in whatever subject they thought
would be the easiest to get through so they could spend the rest of their lives
playing ball, talking about sports and watching sports. That’s it. They really
don’t care if your kids learn anything in their class but if your son is a ball
player you can bet he’ll get a good grade because otherwise he can’t remain on
the team and we all know sports is more important than academics at least in
the southern states.
Teachers that really want to teach history, math, psychology
or whatever, often have a hard time getting a job because some ball tosser was
needed to coach their team. So our kids suffer, aren’t learning anything that
hour, hour and a half because some moron warms a chair talking about sports
instead of the history of our country.
You can make a list and I have done that before. It saves me from getting sidetracked because when there are a lot of things to do I find myself wander cleaning, I'm sure you've done it too.
Going into the dining room I see a book that goes in the office, then in the office I write for a little bit and get sidetracked on FaceBook or some other social media site, then I go to the bathroom, then start cleaning the bathroom, taking the towels to the hamper I decide to vacuum the hall, then I pick up an earring back that belongs in my bedroom and I decide to straighten the nightstand.
Days like that I have worked all day but none of the rooms are completely clean because I've spent the day wandering from room to room, thats' what I call wander cleaning.
I bought two large shelves to go in my office/sewing room to hold some of my collection of books. That will take a few hours. I have no idea how many books I have but I know it's more than the average American.
Articles and ideas for writing were swimming through my head at wee hours this morning, I got cold so I got up at six. For those of you that work at a "real job" that probably doesn't sound that early but I normally don't get up until seven or seven thirty. There is no commute time so I can sleep longer. When your office is across the hall there are advantages.
Walking at the park has been crossed off my list so I have that out of the way but then there is laundry and a few other chores as well as writing.
There's an old saying, "A woman's work is never done." Some of you women's lib folks probably don't like that saying but I've seen my husband's cleaning and I'd rather do it myself even if he is willing, able and I work too. Some things just need a woman's touch, I don't care what y'all say.
Even when I worked outside the home I did most of the cleaning and laundry. We've had pink man panties and shrunk blouses---it wasn't pretty.
He does a lot around here so it's not like he's lazy. I don't mow, change the oil in our cars, clean the air filters or a few other chores so it evens out. I'm not into women's lib so I don't worry about the chores I do defining me. I am a woman, I do women's work. So what?
This is why my husband prefers me working from home because I can set my own schedule which does get hectic sometimes when I have multiple writing jobs lined up with a deadline. Blogging and HubPages isn't my only gig.
I also have time for cooking which I am much better at than he. We don't squabble over housework and everything gets done; that's all that matters.
Which brings me back to today where I have to clean, wash and organize. Chores aren't fun but a necessary part of life. Unless I pay someone else to pick up after everyone, I have to do it.
I guess I better get started instead of writing about it. :o)
