Monday, May 26, 2014
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
ODE TO ITALIAN MEN
"To Italian men all over the world. Keep doing what you do. . . no one does it better." This is the dedication I chose for my novel, The Feeding Path. There is a reason that the protagonist of my novel is a dominant, Italian man. Did I say a reason? Not so much. There are many, many reasons. I will have to limit myself for the space allowed. The following, I suppose, are generalizations. There's the disclaimer. I know better but don't want bitchy emails. Carry on.
1. Italian men are ferocious when it comes to protecting anyone they love. It doesn't matter if it's actual bodily harm to a loved one or a mere insult. If you did it or said it and there's an Italian involved, my advice to you is to run. Cleats are preferable. And you may need your passport. Don't pack. Just go.
2. Italian men are like no other nationality that I've known as far as touching and being touched. They hug, they kiss, they caress, they reach out to touch you simply because you are there and they are able. Their love and affection are directly linked to their hands with no sensoring of any sort. You can also touch them at any time for no apparent reason and they won't even blink or pause in what they are saying. They don't need a reason for why you just touched them. Touch is accepted and expected and to question it would be like asking why they breathe.
3. Italian men are horrifically, abysmally stubborn when it comes to holding on to an unsettled issue. It is in their mind and there it will stay until they see you again at which point they will talk to you about it again. It is of zero benefit for you to change the subject. The second the new subject is over, the Italian man will make a sharp U-turn and spin it right back to the issue. He will continue to do this over a period of hours or days or weeks or years. . . however long it takes for him to feel that the issue has been fully resolved to his satisfaction. Think you've heard the last of it? Not even remotely. He will still bring it up but will tack on that the issue has been resolved . . . but he still remembers. Fortunately for all of human kind, the Italian man will also do this with something nice that you've done for him or experienced with him. He will never forget it and you will be reminded by him forever more of how it brought him joy.
4. I have never known an Italian man to waffle. He likes you or he doesn't. You're in or you're out. Something is right or it's wrong. Except, of course, when it comes to his family. The family member can be wrong . . . but it will be some non-family member's fault. And the non-family member needs to get his passport. If it involves the Italian man's daughter? It may be better to book a flight with NASA.
5. Italian men subconsciously keep a steady, flowing surveillance on the women in their life. A woman need only pull down her shirt sleeves and he will go get a blanket without a word or a question. She may cough and he will turn toward her to see if she coughs again and if she does he'll get her water or ask if she's okay. He will keep track of when and how much she's eaten. He'll watch to see if she looks tired and encourage her to go to sleep if he thinks she needs rest. None of this is manners or chivalry. It's something much more beautiful and rare. He genuinely, instinctively wants her to be comfortable, happy, protected, and well. He views her as something delicate and precious that he needs to care for and monitor to make sure that all is well with her. There is no heart that beats like an Italian man's heart beats for his mother, his sister, his daughter, his wife, or his girlfriend. God help the ignorant soul who ever does anything to harm any of these women. The only thing worse than an Italian man coming after you is if he brings his Italian brother with him. Or cousin. Or uncle. If this is the case, my friend, you are fucked. Accept your fate. There will be no getting out of it.
6. There is a reason that Italian men are some of the best cabinet makers, artists, carpenters, and architects in the world. Their attention to detail, powers of observation, and almost obsessive need to do something how it should be done and to do it beautifully seems to be ingrained on a molecular level. To do something well isn't good enough. It needs to verge on being beautiful in its perfection. There is no pride like Italian craftsmanship pride. There are no cutting corners. There is no, "good enough." There is perfect and there is shit. Those are the two categories for Italian workers. You will not find a third category.
****This is my abbreviated, woefully inefficient list of why I love Italians, why I wrote and will continue to write about Italians, and why I dedicated my book to Italians. Once again: to Italian men everywhere. Keep doing what you do . . . no one does it better.
1. Italian men are ferocious when it comes to protecting anyone they love. It doesn't matter if it's actual bodily harm to a loved one or a mere insult. If you did it or said it and there's an Italian involved, my advice to you is to run. Cleats are preferable. And you may need your passport. Don't pack. Just go.
2. Italian men are like no other nationality that I've known as far as touching and being touched. They hug, they kiss, they caress, they reach out to touch you simply because you are there and they are able. Their love and affection are directly linked to their hands with no sensoring of any sort. You can also touch them at any time for no apparent reason and they won't even blink or pause in what they are saying. They don't need a reason for why you just touched them. Touch is accepted and expected and to question it would be like asking why they breathe.
3. Italian men are horrifically, abysmally stubborn when it comes to holding on to an unsettled issue. It is in their mind and there it will stay until they see you again at which point they will talk to you about it again. It is of zero benefit for you to change the subject. The second the new subject is over, the Italian man will make a sharp U-turn and spin it right back to the issue. He will continue to do this over a period of hours or days or weeks or years. . . however long it takes for him to feel that the issue has been fully resolved to his satisfaction. Think you've heard the last of it? Not even remotely. He will still bring it up but will tack on that the issue has been resolved . . . but he still remembers. Fortunately for all of human kind, the Italian man will also do this with something nice that you've done for him or experienced with him. He will never forget it and you will be reminded by him forever more of how it brought him joy.
4. I have never known an Italian man to waffle. He likes you or he doesn't. You're in or you're out. Something is right or it's wrong. Except, of course, when it comes to his family. The family member can be wrong . . . but it will be some non-family member's fault. And the non-family member needs to get his passport. If it involves the Italian man's daughter? It may be better to book a flight with NASA.
5. Italian men subconsciously keep a steady, flowing surveillance on the women in their life. A woman need only pull down her shirt sleeves and he will go get a blanket without a word or a question. She may cough and he will turn toward her to see if she coughs again and if she does he'll get her water or ask if she's okay. He will keep track of when and how much she's eaten. He'll watch to see if she looks tired and encourage her to go to sleep if he thinks she needs rest. None of this is manners or chivalry. It's something much more beautiful and rare. He genuinely, instinctively wants her to be comfortable, happy, protected, and well. He views her as something delicate and precious that he needs to care for and monitor to make sure that all is well with her. There is no heart that beats like an Italian man's heart beats for his mother, his sister, his daughter, his wife, or his girlfriend. God help the ignorant soul who ever does anything to harm any of these women. The only thing worse than an Italian man coming after you is if he brings his Italian brother with him. Or cousin. Or uncle. If this is the case, my friend, you are fucked. Accept your fate. There will be no getting out of it.
6. There is a reason that Italian men are some of the best cabinet makers, artists, carpenters, and architects in the world. Their attention to detail, powers of observation, and almost obsessive need to do something how it should be done and to do it beautifully seems to be ingrained on a molecular level. To do something well isn't good enough. It needs to verge on being beautiful in its perfection. There is no pride like Italian craftsmanship pride. There are no cutting corners. There is no, "good enough." There is perfect and there is shit. Those are the two categories for Italian workers. You will not find a third category.
****This is my abbreviated, woefully inefficient list of why I love Italians, why I wrote and will continue to write about Italians, and why I dedicated my book to Italians. Once again: to Italian men everywhere. Keep doing what you do . . . no one does it better.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
CLINICAL OBSERVATIONS OF DUDES IN JERSEY, YORK, AND MINNESOTA
1. In Jersey, a man is allowed to have a cat and a motorcycle. This is not allowed in Minnesota.
2. In Jersey, men view everyone as a potential crazy person. In Minnesota, men only view other men as potential crazy people and even then, it doesn't matter if the dude is crazy as long as he's smaller than you.
3. In New York, men are allowed to carry umbrellas. In Minnesota, this will get your ass kicked.
4. In New York, men are able to purchase and wear skinny jeans. This is not possible in Minnesota.
5. In New York AND New Jersey, men are allowed to know how to cook and can still be muscular and wear jeans. This is not allowed in Minnesota except, of course, if there is a grill involved. The grill must be outside or it, too, is not allowed.
6. In New Jersey, a man can watch Nascar and not have a pair of buck antlers somewhere on the premises. In Minnesota, you are not allowed to watch Nascar unless you deer hunt.
7. In New Jersey, it is called hunting if you shoot a duck. In Minnesota, this is known as target practice until deer/moose/bear season opens.
8. In Minnesota, if you lean in to talk to a stranger, the stranger will lean in, too, to hear you better. In New York, they see you leaning in as a potential threat and immediately back up.
9. In Minnesota, if you don't look every stranger in the eye, you are viewed as sneaky and not to be trusted. In New York, if you look a stranger in the eye, you are viewed as mentally unstable and avoided.
10. In Minnesota, you need a reference person to be trusted. "Where you from? Oh yeah? My second cousin's first grade teacher grew up there. Do you know (insert name of person)?" In Jersey, it takes time to be trusted and no references will fix it. In Minnesota, no time will fix it until a reference person is found. I am unaware of any combination of events that will get a New Yorker to trust.
2. In Jersey, men view everyone as a potential crazy person. In Minnesota, men only view other men as potential crazy people and even then, it doesn't matter if the dude is crazy as long as he's smaller than you.
3. In New York, men are allowed to carry umbrellas. In Minnesota, this will get your ass kicked.
4. In New York, men are able to purchase and wear skinny jeans. This is not possible in Minnesota.
5. In New York AND New Jersey, men are allowed to know how to cook and can still be muscular and wear jeans. This is not allowed in Minnesota except, of course, if there is a grill involved. The grill must be outside or it, too, is not allowed.
6. In New Jersey, a man can watch Nascar and not have a pair of buck antlers somewhere on the premises. In Minnesota, you are not allowed to watch Nascar unless you deer hunt.
7. In New Jersey, it is called hunting if you shoot a duck. In Minnesota, this is known as target practice until deer/moose/bear season opens.
8. In Minnesota, if you lean in to talk to a stranger, the stranger will lean in, too, to hear you better. In New York, they see you leaning in as a potential threat and immediately back up.
9. In Minnesota, if you don't look every stranger in the eye, you are viewed as sneaky and not to be trusted. In New York, if you look a stranger in the eye, you are viewed as mentally unstable and avoided.
10. In Minnesota, you need a reference person to be trusted. "Where you from? Oh yeah? My second cousin's first grade teacher grew up there. Do you know (insert name of person)?" In Jersey, it takes time to be trusted and no references will fix it. In Minnesota, no time will fix it until a reference person is found. I am unaware of any combination of events that will get a New Yorker to trust.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
A MEMORIAL TO THE BLOND KID . . .
Depression is not to be fucked with, y'all.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
SHUT UP . . .
*** NOTE: I wrote this before my morning coffee. You've been warned. Carry on.
1) People who hate in the name of religion can shut the hell up. Bombing abortion clinics to save lives? Picketing military funerals in the name of God? Teaching your children that there is only one God, one religion, one point of view and everyone else is wrong and a sinner? Fighting to stop people from loving each other because they're the same sex? Yeah. Your ignorance is stinking up my world. Shut the fuck up.
2) People who say, "Yeah? You think THAT'S bad . . ." and then completely circumvent everything someone's bleeding heart just told them and, instead, talk about themselves. It's a vile habit. You can't manage the smallest of humanitarian responses or displays of concern? Not even a moment to comment on the other person's pain? You aren't able to restrain your self-importance long enough to offer a single reassuring word? Really? Wow. Number 1: you suck. #2: Shut the fuck up.
3) People who don't know how to listen or empathize but barf out an immediate answer that is not an answer meant to help you. It's intended to shut you up because they don't want to hear it. These non-answers are, "Well--it's all for the best." "Ohh... you don't mean that." "Things will look better tomorrow." "God has a plan." What is wrong with just looking at someone that is having a hard time and TELLING them, "Uhh. That sucks, no doubt about it. Is there anything I can do to help?" For real, if you are unable to reply with something that makes THEM feel better instead of YOU, then shut the fuck up.
4) Parents who yell louder than their kids do in stores when they tell them to be quiet. Parents who don't answer their kids when the kid is saying, "Mom...mom...mom...MOM! Mom, mom, mom..." so the kid gets louder and louder until the mom finally responds. Then the mom turns to you in the grocery line and says, smiling, "I don't know why he's so loud..." Yeah. Shut the fuck up . . . and take a parenting class for Christ's sake.
5) People who give passive-aggressive compliments and never own up to them. "Wow! You look so much better since you lost all that weight!" "I really like that hair color on you--it does a great job of hiding all your gray." "Is that a stain on your shirt? (points to the stain) Don't worry--it's not even noticeable." "I just LOVE that you wear whatever you want and don't care what anybody thinks . . ."
Come on--if you're not secure enough to give a straight-up compliment sans the hidden barbs then don't say anything. It's not innocent. It's not an accident. It's passive- aggressive and you DID mean for it to come out that way. . . you just didn't want to get called on it. If you give me one of these razor-laden sweets, I WILL call you on it. Bet on it. So my advice to you is to shut the fuck up.
Okay. This was written, as I warned earlier, before my morning coffee. I am going to now go and ingest vast amounts of the miracle beverage. Then, I will once again, be talking about butterflies and rainbows. Until then, I'm thinking it's time that I shut the fuck up.
1) People who hate in the name of religion can shut the hell up. Bombing abortion clinics to save lives? Picketing military funerals in the name of God? Teaching your children that there is only one God, one religion, one point of view and everyone else is wrong and a sinner? Fighting to stop people from loving each other because they're the same sex? Yeah. Your ignorance is stinking up my world. Shut the fuck up.
2) People who say, "Yeah? You think THAT'S bad . . ." and then completely circumvent everything someone's bleeding heart just told them and, instead, talk about themselves. It's a vile habit. You can't manage the smallest of humanitarian responses or displays of concern? Not even a moment to comment on the other person's pain? You aren't able to restrain your self-importance long enough to offer a single reassuring word? Really? Wow. Number 1: you suck. #2: Shut the fuck up.
3) People who don't know how to listen or empathize but barf out an immediate answer that is not an answer meant to help you. It's intended to shut you up because they don't want to hear it. These non-answers are, "Well--it's all for the best." "Ohh... you don't mean that." "Things will look better tomorrow." "God has a plan." What is wrong with just looking at someone that is having a hard time and TELLING them, "Uhh. That sucks, no doubt about it. Is there anything I can do to help?" For real, if you are unable to reply with something that makes THEM feel better instead of YOU, then shut the fuck up.
4) Parents who yell louder than their kids do in stores when they tell them to be quiet. Parents who don't answer their kids when the kid is saying, "Mom...mom...mom...MOM! Mom, mom, mom..." so the kid gets louder and louder until the mom finally responds. Then the mom turns to you in the grocery line and says, smiling, "I don't know why he's so loud..." Yeah. Shut the fuck up . . . and take a parenting class for Christ's sake.
5) People who give passive-aggressive compliments and never own up to them. "Wow! You look so much better since you lost all that weight!" "I really like that hair color on you--it does a great job of hiding all your gray." "Is that a stain on your shirt? (points to the stain) Don't worry--it's not even noticeable." "I just LOVE that you wear whatever you want and don't care what anybody thinks . . ."
Come on--if you're not secure enough to give a straight-up compliment sans the hidden barbs then don't say anything. It's not innocent. It's not an accident. It's passive- aggressive and you DID mean for it to come out that way. . . you just didn't want to get called on it. If you give me one of these razor-laden sweets, I WILL call you on it. Bet on it. So my advice to you is to shut the fuck up.
Okay. This was written, as I warned earlier, before my morning coffee. I am going to now go and ingest vast amounts of the miracle beverage. Then, I will once again, be talking about butterflies and rainbows. Until then, I'm thinking it's time that I shut the fuck up.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
THE THING ABOUT BEING OUTSIDE the CIRCLE . . .
Depending on a person's level of awareness and politeness, s/he will call it by a different name. Creativity, independence, introversion, a loner, still waters run deep, following the beat of your own drummer . . . it's all the same. You are outside the circle. You always have been. You always will be. It's not a bad place; you see a lot of things that others don't. But, it is a lonely place; people can never quite reach you . . . never fully find you.
Those who are fully outside the circle know exactly what I'm talking about. Those of you with one foot in and one foot out, living a hokey-pokey type of existence, here is a quiz for you to let you know definitively if you are a dweller of the circle or on the outside wondering just what in the fuck those people are doing. Carry on.
1. The activities you choose are solitary and quietly stimulating. There are no fireworks. Instead, there is discovery. Writing, painting, martial arts, reading, walking, fishing, playing an instrument . . . there is no team work in any of these. It is you and your discovery, your passion, your wonder. You stand outside of the circle.
2. You find yourself impatient with small talk and bullshit niceties. These are viewed as a phenomenal waste of your time and superficial--nothing new is discovered and nothing of value is gleaned. You are always the first to cut it short and walk away. You will not be found in the circle.
3. In a room full of people wearing tuxedos if one person is wearing jeans, you will walk to that person. There is something different here. There is something to be learned; something to be discovered. You are not appalled the person is wearing jeans, you want to know WHY the person is wearing jeans. You are not of the circle.
4. You are able to see that half of 8 is 4 . . . but it is also 3. You are outside the circle.
5. You don't take a cursory glance at something that's caught your eye. You want to touch it, feel it, investigate it, see all there is to see about it and know it before you relinquish it. Things in glass cases and roped off areas that you can't touch to glean more information from are a resented irritant and viewed as a lost opportunity for you. Outside of the circle is where you dwell.
6. People have asked you, "How did you paint that?" "How did you write that?" "How did you know that?" "How did you do that?" "How did you think of that?" And when all the bullshit is stripped, you have no fucking idea. You just knew. It just was. You, my friend, are not in the circle.
7. Throughout your life, people have looked at you worriedly and asked you what's wrong--why are you so quiet? In your life you've learned that they never listen to or believe the truth. You've learned to say that you're tired or you're thinking of work or you're thinking of something you saw on the news . . . it's just easier. In reality, you're thinking of a book you read thirty years ago, you're thinking of the ancient cultures of Europe, you're contemplating why the popcorn is so goddamn greasy in a movie theater, or why deer don't change color with the seasons to evade predators like rabbits do. You are thinking. And you truly had no idea at all that you had grown quiet . . . you were busy. Thinking. You don't KNOW how to live in the circle.
8. You are the . . . unusual one in your family. Your family, who knows you as well as possible, is never entirely sure what is going to come out of your mouth. When there's a wedding, you're the one nobody is ever quite sure is going to show up until you actually arrive. People have no idea, none at all, what in the hell you are going to get them for Christmas. You are the fun uncle or the fun aunt. It will take your sibling a week to undo what you have taught their child. You just don't fit in the damn circle.
9. You are the keeper of the secrets. You are so open minded and closed mouthed that people tell you things. They know instinctively that you won't judge or condemn them. In your family, in your office, in your circle of acquaintances you harbor all the secrets and you harbor them well. The circle feels confining to you . . . suffocating. You avoid it.
10. And finally. The most tell tale sign of if you truly live outside the circle. You are deemed as friendly but very hard to get to know. Your family doesn't know you, your spouse doesn't know you, your children don't know you. They see the things you do and they've learned not to ask--they've learned there is no answer. It just is. The only person that can ever know you is another who dwells outside of the circle. And that person will know you instantly, deeply, and understand fully. It will, in all likelihood, never even be discussed. It will just be.
Those who are fully outside the circle know exactly what I'm talking about. Those of you with one foot in and one foot out, living a hokey-pokey type of existence, here is a quiz for you to let you know definitively if you are a dweller of the circle or on the outside wondering just what in the fuck those people are doing. Carry on.
1. The activities you choose are solitary and quietly stimulating. There are no fireworks. Instead, there is discovery. Writing, painting, martial arts, reading, walking, fishing, playing an instrument . . . there is no team work in any of these. It is you and your discovery, your passion, your wonder. You stand outside of the circle.
2. You find yourself impatient with small talk and bullshit niceties. These are viewed as a phenomenal waste of your time and superficial--nothing new is discovered and nothing of value is gleaned. You are always the first to cut it short and walk away. You will not be found in the circle.
3. In a room full of people wearing tuxedos if one person is wearing jeans, you will walk to that person. There is something different here. There is something to be learned; something to be discovered. You are not appalled the person is wearing jeans, you want to know WHY the person is wearing jeans. You are not of the circle.
4. You are able to see that half of 8 is 4 . . . but it is also 3. You are outside the circle.
5. You don't take a cursory glance at something that's caught your eye. You want to touch it, feel it, investigate it, see all there is to see about it and know it before you relinquish it. Things in glass cases and roped off areas that you can't touch to glean more information from are a resented irritant and viewed as a lost opportunity for you. Outside of the circle is where you dwell.
6. People have asked you, "How did you paint that?" "How did you write that?" "How did you know that?" "How did you do that?" "How did you think of that?" And when all the bullshit is stripped, you have no fucking idea. You just knew. It just was. You, my friend, are not in the circle.
7. Throughout your life, people have looked at you worriedly and asked you what's wrong--why are you so quiet? In your life you've learned that they never listen to or believe the truth. You've learned to say that you're tired or you're thinking of work or you're thinking of something you saw on the news . . . it's just easier. In reality, you're thinking of a book you read thirty years ago, you're thinking of the ancient cultures of Europe, you're contemplating why the popcorn is so goddamn greasy in a movie theater, or why deer don't change color with the seasons to evade predators like rabbits do. You are thinking. And you truly had no idea at all that you had grown quiet . . . you were busy. Thinking. You don't KNOW how to live in the circle.
8. You are the . . . unusual one in your family. Your family, who knows you as well as possible, is never entirely sure what is going to come out of your mouth. When there's a wedding, you're the one nobody is ever quite sure is going to show up until you actually arrive. People have no idea, none at all, what in the hell you are going to get them for Christmas. You are the fun uncle or the fun aunt. It will take your sibling a week to undo what you have taught their child. You just don't fit in the damn circle.
9. You are the keeper of the secrets. You are so open minded and closed mouthed that people tell you things. They know instinctively that you won't judge or condemn them. In your family, in your office, in your circle of acquaintances you harbor all the secrets and you harbor them well. The circle feels confining to you . . . suffocating. You avoid it.
10. And finally. The most tell tale sign of if you truly live outside the circle. You are deemed as friendly but very hard to get to know. Your family doesn't know you, your spouse doesn't know you, your children don't know you. They see the things you do and they've learned not to ask--they've learned there is no answer. It just is. The only person that can ever know you is another who dwells outside of the circle. And that person will know you instantly, deeply, and understand fully. It will, in all likelihood, never even be discussed. It will just be.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Ken Hoss - Author: Indie Corner
Ken Hoss - Author: Indie Corner: This week, Indie Corner features Michelle Mattila and her soon to be released debut novel, The Feeding Path . Michelle Mat...
How to Speak "Michelle" Fluently
Author's note:
My writings are usually blunt and to the point and I don't mince a lot of words. I think bluntness and gross exaggeration are funny. In real life, the place where you brush your teeth, I say very little. I watch things and people around me and rarely comment or react. When I DO respond it's usually in a way that can be taken several different ways. Of course, there have been occasions when my face remains unemotional and blank and I sum things up succinctly by saying, "Yeah. You should probably go fuck yourself." This post, however, will be addressing my more common responses so if you ever meet me, you will be able to know what I am thinking when almost no one else on the planet does. Carry on.
1) "WOW. I NEVER LOOKED AT IT THAT WAY BEFORE." = that is such an amazingly fucked up line of thought that I can't even get my head around it; my mind does not contort to that level of ignorance.
2) "HUH." = you are boring me to tears and if you do not shut your goddamn mouth, I will either kill you or myself or, a much higher probability, the both of us.
3) "WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?" = You are full of shit and lying to me. I don't believe a fucking word you're saying and unless you offer proof, I am dismissing every forthcoming word out of your mouth.
4) "YOU SEEM A LITTLE OFF TODAY..." = your level of insanity is beginning to alarm me and if you do not offer some explanation for it immediately, I will reach for my mace and hose you down with it.
5) "PARDON?" = did you actually just say what I think you just fucking said? I am in doubt that this is even possible and you're going to need to say it again for me to submit and embrace your true level of awe-inspiring stupidity.
6) ". . . BUT, I COULD BE WRONG." = I have just stated an irrefutable fact that I, more than likely, am able to cite sources, research, and names of places you can find this empirical data.
7) "MAYBE YOU SHOULD..." = you need to do this immediately--fucking instantaneously. If one of your limbs are dangling from your body, attached only by slim strands of muscle tissue, I will calmly and without expression suggest that maybe you should think about going to the doctor.
8) "LISTEN . . . GIVE ME A MINUTE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING." = You are a rude person that interrupts constantly and I have something important to say but will not even begin to speak until you agree to keep your fucking mouth shut until I'm done. I will not proceed until I get a verbal, "Okay," or a head nod. The pact has been made--you're going to shut up while I tell you something.
9) "NO SHIT..." = I am stunned nearly beyond comprehension and my eyebrows will briefly raise to express my utter shock and amazement about this new information.
10) "YEAH . . . (long pause) . . . YOU MIGHT WANT TO THINK ABOUT THAT." = what you are planning on doing is so incredibly ill conceived that I am fully convinced it will lead to your immediate death or incarceration. There is a dangerously epic flaw in your plan and you need to abort right fucking now.
11) "YOU CAN KISS MY ASS." = this conversation is over.
12) "I DO BELIEVE IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO GO FUCK YOURSELF." = leave. now.
*** There. You are now fluent in Michelle Speak. Do not let my absence of facial expression, my calm voice, and my complete lack of visual excitement fool you. When I tell someone to fuck themselves, it is imperative that said person leave my general vicinity immediately before I stand up.
My writings are usually blunt and to the point and I don't mince a lot of words. I think bluntness and gross exaggeration are funny. In real life, the place where you brush your teeth, I say very little. I watch things and people around me and rarely comment or react. When I DO respond it's usually in a way that can be taken several different ways. Of course, there have been occasions when my face remains unemotional and blank and I sum things up succinctly by saying, "Yeah. You should probably go fuck yourself." This post, however, will be addressing my more common responses so if you ever meet me, you will be able to know what I am thinking when almost no one else on the planet does. Carry on.
1) "WOW. I NEVER LOOKED AT IT THAT WAY BEFORE." = that is such an amazingly fucked up line of thought that I can't even get my head around it; my mind does not contort to that level of ignorance.
2) "HUH." = you are boring me to tears and if you do not shut your goddamn mouth, I will either kill you or myself or, a much higher probability, the both of us.
3) "WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?" = You are full of shit and lying to me. I don't believe a fucking word you're saying and unless you offer proof, I am dismissing every forthcoming word out of your mouth.
4) "YOU SEEM A LITTLE OFF TODAY..." = your level of insanity is beginning to alarm me and if you do not offer some explanation for it immediately, I will reach for my mace and hose you down with it.
5) "PARDON?" = did you actually just say what I think you just fucking said? I am in doubt that this is even possible and you're going to need to say it again for me to submit and embrace your true level of awe-inspiring stupidity.
6) ". . . BUT, I COULD BE WRONG." = I have just stated an irrefutable fact that I, more than likely, am able to cite sources, research, and names of places you can find this empirical data.
7) "MAYBE YOU SHOULD..." = you need to do this immediately--fucking instantaneously. If one of your limbs are dangling from your body, attached only by slim strands of muscle tissue, I will calmly and without expression suggest that maybe you should think about going to the doctor.
8) "LISTEN . . . GIVE ME A MINUTE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING." = You are a rude person that interrupts constantly and I have something important to say but will not even begin to speak until you agree to keep your fucking mouth shut until I'm done. I will not proceed until I get a verbal, "Okay," or a head nod. The pact has been made--you're going to shut up while I tell you something.
9) "NO SHIT..." = I am stunned nearly beyond comprehension and my eyebrows will briefly raise to express my utter shock and amazement about this new information.
10) "YEAH . . . (long pause) . . . YOU MIGHT WANT TO THINK ABOUT THAT." = what you are planning on doing is so incredibly ill conceived that I am fully convinced it will lead to your immediate death or incarceration. There is a dangerously epic flaw in your plan and you need to abort right fucking now.
11) "YOU CAN KISS MY ASS." = this conversation is over.
12) "I DO BELIEVE IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO GO FUCK YOURSELF." = leave. now.
*** There. You are now fluent in Michelle Speak. Do not let my absence of facial expression, my calm voice, and my complete lack of visual excitement fool you. When I tell someone to fuck themselves, it is imperative that said person leave my general vicinity immediately before I stand up.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
A Bit of Unfunny Truth...
Range Mental Health Services called me yesterday...wanted me to come back to work for them. I quit there a year and a half ago. They know I can't do ARMHS work anymore. (when you go into people's homes and counsel them.) They have an in-building counseling job they called to ask if I would take, if I would come back for...fuck.
Folks, I am the best counselor you'll ever meet. I am also woefully unequipped to draw any kind of a line or get any degree of separation of any kind, whatsoever. When I was a counselor, I started at 40 hour weeks, M-F, great benefits, very good money, nobody looking over my shoulder. I had about 15 clients. And then my days started sliding into 10 hours a day...clients needed more help than the 8 hour shifts would allow. Word slowly spread...new clients started asking for me by name. My client list went to 35...each client entitled to 5 hours of counseling a week. That is some severely fucked up math. I found myself working 16 hour days, seven days a week. Every cigarette I lit, my hands would shake. And it wasn't enough. I couldn't help enough, give enough, do enough, fix enough, listen enough, be enough... I would get home finally and then get up in the middle of the night to call and check on a client that was suicidal or on the verge of using.
Forget the hours, the endless technical reports for insurance companies and disability claims, the never ending phone calls, everyone needing me right now, right now, right now. No...it was the blackness. The blackness that they lived in that finally stomped me into nothing. To be steeped in human misery and know that you are the ferry man to help these people out of their treachery...to listen to the stories, one after the next...to see a mother of five stoned out of her fucking mind and her kids not yet fed and you're there to help...to be called a fucking cunt and then have them cry and say they love me, to never leave...all the stories of rape, abuse, neglect, prostitution, the extent someone will go to for their next fix, the abuse someone will put up with so they can pretend someone loves them...the blackness is what did it for me; the hands reaching out with the ever-present plea, "Help me..."
And then one day, I was driving my car and didn't know where the fuck I was anymore. I pulled over and couldn't move...and didn't even care. I sat on the couch for almost a year and stared at nothing, medicated goddamn near into unconsciousness.
And they called me yesterday to see if I would come back.
That would be a resounding "Fuck NO." I'll stick to my writing...but, thanks anyway.
Folks, I am the best counselor you'll ever meet. I am also woefully unequipped to draw any kind of a line or get any degree of separation of any kind, whatsoever. When I was a counselor, I started at 40 hour weeks, M-F, great benefits, very good money, nobody looking over my shoulder. I had about 15 clients. And then my days started sliding into 10 hours a day...clients needed more help than the 8 hour shifts would allow. Word slowly spread...new clients started asking for me by name. My client list went to 35...each client entitled to 5 hours of counseling a week. That is some severely fucked up math. I found myself working 16 hour days, seven days a week. Every cigarette I lit, my hands would shake. And it wasn't enough. I couldn't help enough, give enough, do enough, fix enough, listen enough, be enough... I would get home finally and then get up in the middle of the night to call and check on a client that was suicidal or on the verge of using.
Forget the hours, the endless technical reports for insurance companies and disability claims, the never ending phone calls, everyone needing me right now, right now, right now. No...it was the blackness. The blackness that they lived in that finally stomped me into nothing. To be steeped in human misery and know that you are the ferry man to help these people out of their treachery...to listen to the stories, one after the next...to see a mother of five stoned out of her fucking mind and her kids not yet fed and you're there to help...to be called a fucking cunt and then have them cry and say they love me, to never leave...all the stories of rape, abuse, neglect, prostitution, the extent someone will go to for their next fix, the abuse someone will put up with so they can pretend someone loves them...the blackness is what did it for me; the hands reaching out with the ever-present plea, "Help me..."
And then one day, I was driving my car and didn't know where the fuck I was anymore. I pulled over and couldn't move...and didn't even care. I sat on the couch for almost a year and stared at nothing, medicated goddamn near into unconsciousness.
And they called me yesterday to see if I would come back.
That would be a resounding "Fuck NO." I'll stick to my writing...but, thanks anyway.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Boring and Meaningless Shit About Me
1) I am Catholic
2) I am 5'4" and weigh 110.
3) I have green eyes.
4) I will throttle a bully.
5) I am so open minded that I have few strongly held beliefs.
6) I paint in acrylics.
7) I prefer to be alone.
8) I don't eat breakfast or lunch.
9) I have 1 brother, four years older than me.
10) I have 3 Labradors.
11) The song, "Here I am Lord" makes me cry.
12) I love the smell of freshly turned dirt, like at a construction site.
13) I don't want the news.
14) I think military dudes rock and will do anything for them.
15) I don't have a favorite song, author, movie, band, book.
16) My favorite color is green.
17) I do not give a shit about clothes.
18) I hate shopping of any sort, at all, ever.
19) I hate getting flowers, candy, or cards.
20) When I go out to eat, I always order pasta.
21) I was a mental health practitioner and have my B.S. in psychology.
22) I like fishing for walleyes in a boat, not so much off shore.
23) I know how to clean (filet) walleys, including the y-bone strip, but always feel sorry for them and will usually let them go before I ever filet them.
24) I love hiking and waterfalls.
25) I love going to plays and SOME ballet.
26) I've always wanted to see "Faust."
27) I am very interested in various cultures, religions, and mythology.
28) I do not give any kind of a fuck about politics.
29) Authority does not impress me. At all.
30) I don't trust people who smile when they're upset. (BTW- psychologically speaking, if someone does this, there's a high probability that one of their parents was an alcoholic. Now you know.)
31) I was a corrections officer at a military-style boot camp for 6 years.
32) I will not eat a brussel sprout.
33) I love spinach.
34) I hate watermelon.
35) I have a whiskey/coke every night. A big one.
36) To my knowledge, I have never read any of the classics. It is my intent to never read them.
37) I got fired from a job for not being a narc. I do not narc, even on an asshole. I don't and won't. I'm not that honorable, I just hate authority that fucking much.
38) I love looking for agates on gravel roads and beaches.
39) it is woefully, unbearably difficult for me to back down.
40) any kind of a science class that takes a lab can kiss my ass.
41) when I am confused about something or amazed by someone's stupidity, I squint my eyes.
42) I endorse and highly recommend sex.
43) I endorse and highly recommend swearing.
44) I am a smoker though I do not endorse it.
45) I am introverted and too much noise or too many people will make me bolt.
46) I hate and do mean hate hall monitors. People who police how other people think or act or talk. Whenever I am able, I will pick fights with them.
47) I always wear a gold St. Christopher medallion. It never comes off.
48) I got my dogs each a St. Francis medallion for their collars. (St. Francis is the protector of animals)
49) I drink black coffee and then add two tablespoons of instant coffee to it and then creamer to kill the toxicity. I drink it all day.
50) I have insomnia....
2) I am 5'4" and weigh 110.
3) I have green eyes.
4) I will throttle a bully.
5) I am so open minded that I have few strongly held beliefs.
6) I paint in acrylics.
7) I prefer to be alone.
8) I don't eat breakfast or lunch.
9) I have 1 brother, four years older than me.
10) I have 3 Labradors.
11) The song, "Here I am Lord" makes me cry.
12) I love the smell of freshly turned dirt, like at a construction site.
13) I don't want the news.
14) I think military dudes rock and will do anything for them.
15) I don't have a favorite song, author, movie, band, book.
16) My favorite color is green.
17) I do not give a shit about clothes.
18) I hate shopping of any sort, at all, ever.
19) I hate getting flowers, candy, or cards.
20) When I go out to eat, I always order pasta.
21) I was a mental health practitioner and have my B.S. in psychology.
22) I like fishing for walleyes in a boat, not so much off shore.
23) I know how to clean (filet) walleys, including the y-bone strip, but always feel sorry for them and will usually let them go before I ever filet them.
24) I love hiking and waterfalls.
25) I love going to plays and SOME ballet.
26) I've always wanted to see "Faust."
27) I am very interested in various cultures, religions, and mythology.
28) I do not give any kind of a fuck about politics.
29) Authority does not impress me. At all.
30) I don't trust people who smile when they're upset. (BTW- psychologically speaking, if someone does this, there's a high probability that one of their parents was an alcoholic. Now you know.)
31) I was a corrections officer at a military-style boot camp for 6 years.
32) I will not eat a brussel sprout.
33) I love spinach.
34) I hate watermelon.
35) I have a whiskey/coke every night. A big one.
36) To my knowledge, I have never read any of the classics. It is my intent to never read them.
37) I got fired from a job for not being a narc. I do not narc, even on an asshole. I don't and won't. I'm not that honorable, I just hate authority that fucking much.
38) I love looking for agates on gravel roads and beaches.
39) it is woefully, unbearably difficult for me to back down.
40) any kind of a science class that takes a lab can kiss my ass.
41) when I am confused about something or amazed by someone's stupidity, I squint my eyes.
42) I endorse and highly recommend sex.
43) I endorse and highly recommend swearing.
44) I am a smoker though I do not endorse it.
45) I am introverted and too much noise or too many people will make me bolt.
46) I hate and do mean hate hall monitors. People who police how other people think or act or talk. Whenever I am able, I will pick fights with them.
47) I always wear a gold St. Christopher medallion. It never comes off.
48) I got my dogs each a St. Francis medallion for their collars. (St. Francis is the protector of animals)
49) I drink black coffee and then add two tablespoons of instant coffee to it and then creamer to kill the toxicity. I drink it all day.
50) I have insomnia....
Monday, February 24, 2014
Why My Future Lies in Prison
1) I will have finally killed an old lady with my grocery cart by running her over. And then backing over her, and then running over her again. It will have been an accident.
2) I will find my Italian dude, complete with Italian accent, and become a stalker. I will also steal his underwear and kick out all the tire stems on his girlfriend's vehicle.
3) I will lose my sense of humor with the mailman who sits in the driveway and honks for me to come retrieve packages from him because he doesn't want to get his fat ass out of the car. I will, at some point, stab him in the face with a fork.
4) I will get one too many literary critiques asking me if I can write a "nice" book. They don't like psychological thrillers but like my writing so, will I write a nice book? Yeah. Death will not ensue when I finally lose it, but there will be a Taser involved...hooked up to a fucking generator.
5) If, at some point, I ever become a wealthy writer, I will hire a squad of detectives to track down and get me the addresses of every telemarketer that calls after five. Immediately following these addresses, I will request the addresses of company owners who hire customer service representatives who cannot speak fucking English.
6) Face book and LinkedIn will eventually get a restraining order against me which I will immediately violate.
7) Someone will burp and fart at me at the exact same time and their life will end immediately...fucking instantaneously.
8) Another editor will inform me that there's too much violence in the world, ask why I would want to contribute to that, and I've got some talent--why don't I write a nice cookbook?
9) I will attempt to open a CD in its original packaging without having taken my Valium. There is no fixed target in this scenario, rather anyone and anything with a pulse who is unable to duck airborne objects.
10) I will have finished my editing and promoting early and sat down to enjoy watching the Timberwolves play only to find it's been blacked out. Dish Network may well receive an odd, powdery substance in their mail.
2) I will find my Italian dude, complete with Italian accent, and become a stalker. I will also steal his underwear and kick out all the tire stems on his girlfriend's vehicle.
3) I will lose my sense of humor with the mailman who sits in the driveway and honks for me to come retrieve packages from him because he doesn't want to get his fat ass out of the car. I will, at some point, stab him in the face with a fork.
4) I will get one too many literary critiques asking me if I can write a "nice" book. They don't like psychological thrillers but like my writing so, will I write a nice book? Yeah. Death will not ensue when I finally lose it, but there will be a Taser involved...hooked up to a fucking generator.
5) If, at some point, I ever become a wealthy writer, I will hire a squad of detectives to track down and get me the addresses of every telemarketer that calls after five. Immediately following these addresses, I will request the addresses of company owners who hire customer service representatives who cannot speak fucking English.
6) Face book and LinkedIn will eventually get a restraining order against me which I will immediately violate.
7) Someone will burp and fart at me at the exact same time and their life will end immediately...fucking instantaneously.
8) Another editor will inform me that there's too much violence in the world, ask why I would want to contribute to that, and I've got some talent--why don't I write a nice cookbook?
9) I will attempt to open a CD in its original packaging without having taken my Valium. There is no fixed target in this scenario, rather anyone and anything with a pulse who is unable to duck airborne objects.
10) I will have finished my editing and promoting early and sat down to enjoy watching the Timberwolves play only to find it's been blacked out. Dish Network may well receive an odd, powdery substance in their mail.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
The bold truth about a fart and a burp
Okay. Listen. I'm not a foo-foo, girly-girly. BUT. Do NOT fart or burp in my general vicinity. I will hit you right after I finish gagging.
Here is the naked truth about the noxious air that some people choose to expel from their orifices. A fart has just been completely surrounded by fecal matter. It was in and OF the fecal matter. By expelling this retched thing into the air, it is exactly equivalent to me sticking my head straight up your ass and taking a deep breath. Stop it. I do not want to breathe your ass air.
The burp. This is the exact same situation as the fart except said expelled air had previously been surrounded by vomit. Yes, vomit. It is vomit that has not yet reversed itself and wound up in the toilet. Your burp lived it's entire life surrounded by noxious fumes and vomit. And then, you expel it into the air so that I am forced, with no court of appeal, to inhale your vomit air. Stop it. It would be zero different if you barfed on a sidewalk and then expected me to put my nose and face one inch from the pile of steaming chunks and inhale. It's just rude to expect someone else to smell your vomit.
Hence ends the tutorial on what a fart and burp really are. They are ass air and vomit air and should never leave the owner's body until said owner is alone and only able to hurt himself. So, stop it. It's fucking gross.
Here is the naked truth about the noxious air that some people choose to expel from their orifices. A fart has just been completely surrounded by fecal matter. It was in and OF the fecal matter. By expelling this retched thing into the air, it is exactly equivalent to me sticking my head straight up your ass and taking a deep breath. Stop it. I do not want to breathe your ass air.
The burp. This is the exact same situation as the fart except said expelled air had previously been surrounded by vomit. Yes, vomit. It is vomit that has not yet reversed itself and wound up in the toilet. Your burp lived it's entire life surrounded by noxious fumes and vomit. And then, you expel it into the air so that I am forced, with no court of appeal, to inhale your vomit air. Stop it. It would be zero different if you barfed on a sidewalk and then expected me to put my nose and face one inch from the pile of steaming chunks and inhale. It's just rude to expect someone else to smell your vomit.
Hence ends the tutorial on what a fart and burp really are. They are ass air and vomit air and should never leave the owner's body until said owner is alone and only able to hurt himself. So, stop it. It's fucking gross.
Expert Driving Advice
Here is some very important driving advice and so, pay attention. If you drive a stick shift, do not borrow someone's automatic. You will launch yourself onto the hood of the car trying to use the brake as a clutch. Fact.
My belief system
Not sure about all this blogging stuff. Bear with me folks. I am, apparently, supposed to share some discussions and views and let folks know what I like. Okay. Can-do.
What people need to know about me is if you're in front of me in the grocery store and are going slower than me, I'll run my cart up your back. I don't give a fuck if you have a cane. This is a deeply held part of my daily practices and beliefs. See--now you're starting to get to know me...I can feel the love. :)
What people need to know about me is if you're in front of me in the grocery store and are going slower than me, I'll run my cart up your back. I don't give a fuck if you have a cane. This is a deeply held part of my daily practices and beliefs. See--now you're starting to get to know me...I can feel the love. :)
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