I recently read an article in a spiritual magazine about gratitude. The author plays a version of “I went to the Supermarket and I Bought ...” game but instead of groceries, she lists things for which she is grateful.
Stressed out while stuck in traffic, it relaxes her. If she can’t fall asleep, instead of counting sheep, she counts her blessings. She said that she starts at A and is fast asleep well before she gets to Z. I thought this could be a useful game for me in my daily life.
This morning on a crowded Number 2 subway I decided to put the Gratitude Alphabet Game into play. I figured it was that or smack the hell out of the clueless guy who, every time he turned the page of his New York Times, hit my hair -- not my head, just the hair. It grazed it just enough to be annoying, yet not enough to make a big deal about it.
So I start the Gratitude Alphabet, and thus the ensuing conversation with myself:
A – I’m grateful for …. Avocado. Oh yes, I love Avocado! Yum. Vegetable … wait, I think it’s a fruit … well, whatever it is, I love it. Um, okay, I don’t really love it. I like it. What I really love is using Avocado to make Guacamole. Yeah. I LOVE Guac! Okay, remember when you get to “G” to list Guacamole.
B – I’m grateful for … bacon. Oh yummy. That crumbled bacon is what made that salad so good for lunch yesterday. I’m definitely going to have it again today. Or maybe I’ll get a BLT. Oh yeah. I am so grateful for bacon.
C –cake -- Chocolate cake. Hey wait a minute. I’m listing just foods here. What the hell? Yeah, sure, no food problem here! Okay, so let’s just say I’m grateful for food. So, no listing of food. Okay.
D – Dogs. I love dogs. Daisy. I love her. Daisy the Dog! Wow two D’s. Wait. Shouldn’t I have said “Dad”? What the hell is wrong with me? Oh no. How could I not have listed Bryan for B? My nephew who is in the Army and I haven’t seen in months and I miss so much and I love him like he was my own child! How could I have put bacon before Bryan? Okay, wait, this is silly. Let’s just say I’m grateful for all my loved ones, so no listing people.
E – Eggplant. Oh wait, shit, that’s food. No food. Okay, elephants. Eh. I mean I like elephants but am I really grateful for them? There must be some “E” that I’m grateful for. ... Earth. I LOVE the earth. Okay, that’s more like it. Much more spiritual. Yes, I am grateful for Mother EARTH. Now I’m on a roll. Okay …
F – Fellatio! What? Oh man – where did THAT come from?
The 12 year old boy who lives in my head has hijacked the Gratitude Alphabet game. It has now turned into the “I Went to the Dirty Bookstore and I Bought” game.
D is now for dildo; B is for balls – screw Daddy, Bryan, Daisy the dog and the chocolate cake -- this game is much more fun! Heh heh!
G – Gratitude – it’s my subway stop, I get off the train and the game ends. The 12 year old boy who lives in my head is quieted – for now.
I have a thing for romantic comedies of the early 1960's. It was a gentler time. Oh sure, there was the Cuban Missile Crisis and the assassination of a president, but men wore shiny suits with skinny ties and gallantly removed their fedora hats upon entering an elevator. Women wore skirt sets, pillbox hats and white gloves.
In a romantic comedy a subway scene would have men giving up seats for women and the elderly, smiling while doing so. Picture it: a woman gets on the F train with a tiny “fresh out of the oven” infant strapped to her chest.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, please, take my seat." She thanks him, and gracefully takes her seat while the surrounding people coo over the sleeping infant. The warmth of the human spirit is alive during a non-holiday week!
The reality in 2011 is that the woman gets onto the crowded train with that tiny infant strapped to her and has to hold on to a pole for dear life as the train rattles on. She stands in front of a fat guy in his 20’s who vacantly looks up at her from time to time with the same amount of non-interest as I have when I read the ads in Spanish. Next to him are four men and a woman of all races, ages and sizes. No one offers her a seat.
I want to scream but stand there quietly willing someone to have an ounce of compassion. It makes me wonder -- when did the downfall of polite society began and when will it totally collapse? When did we cross the line from "thank you," "excuse me" and "after you, sir" to "screw you, I was here first."
Hey, I’m not saying I’m innocent. I’ve been known to lose my temper. Like the time some jerk cut in front of me going down the subway stairs and then stopped short to start texting.
"What the hell is wrong with you? You stupid, self-absorbed sonofabitch!
WALK! WALK!”
But I give up my seat to the elderly, pregnant women, people with casts on their legs, and women with infants strapped to their bodies!
So I posed the question to some people:
When was the downfall of polite society?
Everyone has a different opinion, and some responses depend on a person's age, but they're all valid.
My father, 78:
“When men stopped wearing suits and ties to baseball games."
“And would you just look at that guy – goddamn jerk with his baseball cap on backwards. Oh, and isn't that nice, his pants falling down around his ass, showing his underwear. Like he’s too simple in the head to know his pants are falling down.”
My friend Barbara says society as we knew it ended with the invention of ATM's:
"Think about it. It's 1982 and it's 2:00 in the morning, you're at a bar, getting drunk. You run out of money. What do you do? You go home! Now you just go to the ATM, take out another $100 get shitfaced and do stupid things you regret in the morning."
… and elastic waistbands.
"Think about it. It's 1983 and you're going out to dinner a lot, pigging out a lot. You gain a few pounds and your waistband starts digging in. What do you do? You start eating salads. Now you just keep eating because the waistband stretches along with your waistline."
My Uncle Bill was 83 years old when he gave me this answer:
"I'll tell ya, it was when they started making a big deal out of mid-day cocktails and smoking. Took the edge off. People were nicer. Can't be too uptight with a scotch in one hand and a Chesterfield in the other.”
Change the scotch to a Marguerita and the Chesterfield to a Virginia Slim Light, and I’m in total agreement.
Oh how I miss smoking.... so classy and elegant!
My mother says the demise started when men started to spit in the street. She's got a point. I can remember a time when it was only the little boys who would spit. Then one day I saw a blue-collar type, regular-Joe guy spit in the street. Polite society declined when the guy with the pinstriped suit and polished wingtips spit on the subway tracks. Last time I saw a spitter, it was a well-dressed woman on her way to work.
The total collapse came, for me, last week. I am walking down the sidewalk. A man is walking towards me, and as we get closer, our eyes meet. It’s just me and him, eye to eye, coming closer and closer. He suddenly looks down, takes one finger and covers his left nostril, takes a deep breath and shoots snot out his right nostril. He then repeats the process, shooting snot out his left nostril. Right there on the sidewalk. Not an ounce of embarrassment or a word of excuse as he passed me by.
In a romantic comedy, Rock Hudson would have tipped his hat, smile and say "excuse me, Ma'am, sorry for the snot rockets.”
I searched YouTube for a video for those of you who can't visualize it and are asking yourself "what exactly IS a snot rocket?" There are dozens of snot rocket videos, but I'll leave it up to you to watch, if you're so inclined. I will not add to the demise of polite society.
Instead I'll end this post with a little class ....
Have you ever known someone who uses the phrase “how was your weekend?” as an opening to bore you with every minute detail of their own weekend? This self-absorbed pig really doesn't give a crap about your weekend – she’s just sucking you in!
How was your weekend?
Great. Relaxing. How was your weekend?
And you brace yourself ….
Well, I went with my sister and daughter to a spa upstate ... I swear my father's spirit was with us this weekend because ... And then ... well my father grew up in Pennsylvania ... blah blah blah blah
Because you are polite, you sit there nodding your head, saying
Wow, really?
That sounds nice
Rural Pennsylvania in the 1930's sounds interesting
While a nasty voice in your head says
Shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
For the love of GOD, shut the hell up!
I don't give a rat's ass where your f*cking father grew up!
You’ve become a Conversation Hostage
HELP ME!!!
And these people don't take a breath. They ramble on and on
Last week I went to the Laundromat …
I’m washing clothes, minding my own business, when a complete stranger starts talking at me. She’s an unattractive woman wearing stained sweatpants, black socks and sneakers. She holds a pocketbook on her arm like Sophia Petrillo from The Golden Girls.
I’m using six machines.
Sometimes I let the laundry go too long and it gets very heavy.
I think I have enough quarters for the dryers.
From her looks and idiotic blathering I assume she’s slow. I usually have a little more patience for people with diminished mental capacities.
Yeah, yeah, I know -- I’m a friggin saint. So I offer up a silent prayer and figure what the hell, it’ll be good karma. She went from one subject to another. I’m half-listening, not really looking at her, doing my well rehearsed conversation hostage routine.
Wow, really?
That sounds nice
Nodules on a dog anus? Sounds interesting
Sophia is now following me from washer to dryer to dryer (still with pocketbook on arm) talking about a new local catering hall.
"...and all the beer, wine and soda you want for only $35.00 a plate.”
And then "mentally challenged Sophia Petrillo said something that made something inside me snap:
The whole wedding is costing us only $4000.
My first wedding was so expensive.
We’re going to Disney World for our honeymoon.
I’m taking my 9 year old daughter because the first time I took her she was only little ...
Wait .... What?
Let me explain something – at this point in my life I don’t want go get married. I’m 53. Picking out a man now is like shopping in a thrift store – you have to sift through another woman’s old, used rejects or the irregulars.
And don't be fooled by the Family Stores -- they have no families for sale!
When I was in my 30's it would have been nice to have married. By now I could have been divorced with a nice alimony settlement or widowed with a nice pension and life insurance policy dividends. I'd have a nice little place on the beach, drinking martinis served to me by Carlos the Cabana Boy.
Mucho Bonito
The only cabana boy you get at the thrift stores:
Mucho Creepo
But in any event, I never married. I used to do a bit on stage about being over 40 and never married and how men now look at me like I’m a bowl of Life cereal.
“I’m not gonna try it, you try it.”
“I’m not gonna try it, you try it.”
“Hey let’s get Mikey to try it.”
"He won't like it. Mikey hates everything."
“Where’s that Mikey when you need him.” Laugh laugh laugh.
I stopped doing that bit because younger audiences never saw the commercial and had no idea what I was talking about.
Anyway, men have asked Sophia Petrillo for her hand in marriage– not once, but twice! Well, that’s how many times she’s said yes. Perhaps she’s been asked many more times, who the hell knows!
Hey, I'm cool with the mentally challenged getting married. Remember Benny from L.A. Law? He got married.
Probably the most famous mentally challenged person to marry was Corky from that show Life Goes On.
Yes! Corky got married! I was happy for Benny and Corky and their respective mentally challenged wives. Okay, so they’re all fictional characters, but still .... they got married!
So forgive me for being a little BITTER, but when Sophia starts talking about being a bride -- FOR THE SECOND TIME-- I'm kind of pissed! I finally take a good hard look at Sophia and realize -- she's not retarded!
She’s just really ugly, dresses funny and talks too much!
For over an hour I allowed myself to be a Conversation Hostage!
Infantilism is the desire to wear diapers and be treated like a baby.It is often discussed alongside diaper fetishes. Those with infantilism tend to consider themselves adult babies (or ABs). Those with diaper fetishes tend to consider themselves diaper lovers (or DLs). Since many adult babies also enjoy the interests of DLs and visa versa, they are collectively called AB/DLs ABDLs.
Oh, by the way, yes -- wetting and messing in the diaper is a common practice.
Most people with infantilism can’t remember ever not having these urges. The age in which it usually rears its ugly head is from five to fifteen.
But in some cases the onset has been as late as the age of 53!!!
Whoaaaa!!!! 53 and pissing in diapers? Well, sure, that’s why they makes Depends!
HI OH!!
Okay, okay, Depends jokes are old. I could have mentioned Whoopi Goldberg's commercials for Poise Pee Pee Pads, but that would have been too obvious.
Whoopi's the biggest sell-out for cash since Megan Mullaley started doing butter commercials.
Don't even click on this commercial, it's 30 seconds of of "how could she?"
Hell, if they needed the money that bad, even though I'm out of work, I could have sent them each $100 NOT to do these commercials.
Okay, back to adult babies ...
Say hello to Stanley Thornton. He's a very fat adult baby
He sucks a pacifer while playing with toys
He is bottle fed (by a woman whose not his mother)
So, is your interest peaked? If so, you can turn in to "Taboo", a new series on THE National Geographic Channel. Here's a sneak preview of Stanley's Taboo ...
According to AARP magazine, there’s a whole population of old men wanting to have sex.I’m not talking AARP old, I’m talking antique, already paid for the cemetery plot old – 80’s and 90’s.
Remember when you were in your 20’s and the thought of "old people" having sex was disgusting? And "old" was 40 or 50?
And as you get older you realize that “disgusting old people sex” is always 20 years older than whatever age you are at the time.I don’t find 50’s and 60’s sex disgusting anymore.Even early 70’s sex is fine -- okay, wait a minute -- I just felt a cringe and a chill run up my spine.
My father is the youngest of 11, so I have cousins in their 70’s.My 70 year old cousin recently got a new IPhone.Let’s call him "David" for identification purposes.
Anyway David was very excited when he bought a new IPhone.Everyone knows how the IPhone works – you touch the screen and it does what you want it to do – MAGIC!
The magic is really just the device taking the electric charge from your body as you touch the screen, and transferring it to the phone.
David’s IPhone didn’t work when he touched it, so he had to buy a $12 special stylus pen to make the thing work.He thought he was the only one to need a special pen for an IPhone, until he talked to a few of his old geezer buddies and learned that they too needed the special pen.
These old bastards don’t have enough juice left in their bodies to work an IPhone, but they fantasize about getting laid a few times an hour. And you know they'll fight each other to the death over that last Viagra.
I know it's a foreign language, but I swear I heard "give me that Viagra you old bastard!"
Hugh Hefner, 84, is engaged to marry 24 year old Crystal Harris. Listen, when you name your kid Crystal, she's gonna end up being a pole dancer or playboy bunny -- or crypt keeper.
Crystal the Crypt Keeper and her Cranky Old Man, a Major Stockholder of VIAGRA
Grumpy Old Men -- Not just a Movie
Then
Now
Now
The truth is that men get grumpier with age.You want proof? Look at Bill Cosby. He used to be funny and entertaining.Now every time I see him he’s complaining and whining about something.
Wally
My father’s name is Walter, but his whole life he’s been Wally.Everybody loves Wally.Wally the joker.Wally the fun guy.Smiling Wally.
Now that he's an old man, Wally’s face is set in a permanent scowl. He isn't even aware of it, it's just his face now. We have to bring it to his attention. We say "hey, Walter, smile."
Walter
The brilliance of Ventriloquist Jeff Dunham and Walter!
And yet we put up with the grumps, the grouches and the curmudgeons in our lives because we love them. Plus, they die before us. That’s why at any senior citizen center you’ll see women fighting over the men -- to the death.
I know it's a foreign language, but I swear I heard "keep your hands off him, that’s my grumpy old man you bitch!" before they start pummeling each other
Oh, if you want to read the AARP article on how old farts want more sex, click here:
I have always loved Barbie. Check out her first commercial.
I was so disappointed when my nieces lost interest in Barbie at a very young age.They were more into $100 American Girl dolls that sat on shelves because they were too expensive to play with. Oh, and those ugly BRATZ dolls!
I had Barbie and her friend, Midge.I never had a Ken doll.My parents bought me Allan instead.Allan was created to be Ken’s best friend and Midge’s boyfriend.In my world Allan was Barbie’s boyfriend.Midge was just the side-kick with no man of her own.
I’ll confess -- when I was 13 years old I would tiptoe down the basement to sneak in some playtime with Barbie.I would have died of embarrassment if any of my friends had caught me, but I just wasn’t ready to give up Barbie and her friends.
At 13 you’re part child/part grown-up. I was child enough to play with Barbie; adult enough to make Barbie a whore.While Allan went to work, my Barbie was visited by Johnny West.He was my brother Tommy’s long-forgotten cowboy doll, and quite a hunk.
Eventually I packed away my dolls along with their clothes and accessories in my vintage Barbie case.The next time I saw my beloved Barbie was when I was about 20.I came home from work to find an open, broken case, Barbie clothes and one-inch pink plastic stilettos strewn all over the driveway.Just outside the garage was a massacre of naked and decapitated dolls.
The Barbie Doll Murderer, as he became known, was my 8 year old brother Michael.The Allan doll was discontinued in 1965 and is worth about $65 today.I have no idea how much Barbie would be worth – that last year with Johnny West was rough on her.
So it kind of ruffles Aunt Annie's feathers when I see that on the Today Show there was a woman who made a life-size Barbie doll to "raise awareness of eating disorders." She said she suffered from anorexia when she was a cheerleader in high school. So she is skinny AND popular -- I already hate her!
The doll stands six feet tall with a 39-inch bust, 18-inch waist and 33-inch hips and is supposed to depict Barbie, if she were human, I guess.
“I’m not blaming Barbie [for my illness] — she’s one small factor, an environmental factor,” Slayen said. “I’m blond and blue-eyed and I figured that was what I was supposed to look like. She was my idol. It impacted the way I looked at myself.”
Yeah, sure, you’re not blaming Barbie. Mattel’s answer, via email, was basically “the doll was never modeled on the proportions of a real person.”
Good thing I don’t work for Mattel
“What the hell is wrong with you people?It’s a f*&king doll that’s been around for over fifty f*&king years.If you want to look like Barbie you're one messed up little kid.”
Even Yale and Duke Universities got into it. Studies agree on the measurements, give or take a few inches on the waist.They say she would not be able to hold up her head, would have to crawl on all fours due to her legs and feet, wouldn’t be able to menstruate and would have many medical problems.
Aren't there other studies to be done?Perhaps find curesfor cancer, AIDS, autism and so many other serious diseases and conditions.
All this criticism of Barbie makes me think.
No one has said shit to Bill Cosby about Fat Albert. Maybe HE's the cause behind this OBESITY EPIDEMIC! AHA!
HEY HEY HEY
“I’m not blaming Fat Albert — he’s one small factor.He was my idol.It impacted the way I looked at myself.”
