Mr. Riddick,
I understood from our phone conversation last Monday morning that Koons would cut a check and return my money last week and I would receive it by the end of the week. That has not occurred. This is quite possibly the worst customer service I have ever received from any company ever, which would have been an easy car sale from the very beginning. I detailed exactly the specs of my new car, we negotiated my trade of my current C70 yet the order was never placed by Koons. When it was finally discovered and decided to place the order I was told 6-8 weeks for delivery. After 6-8 weeks, with no arrival of the car, no one thought to tell me my new car's production would not be until DECEMBER (which makes me question if the order was ever placed the SECOND time). Now, as I request my money back, I haven't received that. In an economy that is lagging, it surprises me this behavior is even occurring. I am very sorry I ever decided to use Koons as my dealer of choice and will assuredly not look to them again for my future purchases. This ordeal has been a ridiculous, unprofessional circus.
Please return my money _immediately_.
Stuart Williams
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
ERROR! ERROR! Does Not Compute!
I often wonder what goes through the short-circuited minds of the folks with whom I interact on a daily basis. Increasingly, I am beginning to be more and more vocal to these folks with respect to my direct feelings - call it old age, or downright brazenness, I am enjoying my foray into geezerdom.
Today, I missed my usual express train and had to take the local on my way home from work. It's surprising the difference in attitudes of the people on these two trains that leave within mere minutes of each other.
The express train is full of regulars who have a very set schedule, who are the types who always park in the same parking spot, who alphabetized their refrigerator contents and color code their underwear drawer. The local, shall we say, isn't.
As the crowd waited for the departure track to be posted, folks began their usual crowding around the gate door. This group, inevitably is the group that races to the front of the train to occupy the "quiet car," -- God's greatest gift to travel-kind.
So, the track gets posted, and everyone starts their mad dash for their coveted spots on the train. I just let my body be moved by the surge toward the general direction of the train. I liken it to a mosh pit at a rock concert, only with poorly-dressed Federal workers in their suits and athletic shoes as the moshers, and the roar of diesel engines as the thrashing music.
In this particular case I was getting moved along when, out of (literally) left field, this woman pushes into me and a few of my fellow moshers, stepping on my foot, jabbing the ribs of the lady ahead of me, pushing forward the guy in front of her all while rolling her luggage-sized briefcase behind her very unnecessary rear-end. The effort to gain those two feet in the crowd just did not compute to me.
As she jabs the woman in front of me, I proclaim loudly to the ribbed Frau ahead of me, "That's ok, let her push through. When she gets to where she's going, and we get to where we are going, at least *we* are not assholes."
The offender immediately knew I was referring to her and whipped her head around to glare her disapproval. So, I quip, "Truth hurts, does it not?"
My goal isn't to hurt someone or mar them with some catty comment. My goal is to give them pause before doing it again. I've come to the realization that most of these folks just aren't aware of their rude behavior, so it is my duty (and privilege) to point it out.
Today, I missed my usual express train and had to take the local on my way home from work. It's surprising the difference in attitudes of the people on these two trains that leave within mere minutes of each other.
The express train is full of regulars who have a very set schedule, who are the types who always park in the same parking spot, who alphabetized their refrigerator contents and color code their underwear drawer. The local, shall we say, isn't.
As the crowd waited for the departure track to be posted, folks began their usual crowding around the gate door. This group, inevitably is the group that races to the front of the train to occupy the "quiet car," -- God's greatest gift to travel-kind.
So, the track gets posted, and everyone starts their mad dash for their coveted spots on the train. I just let my body be moved by the surge toward the general direction of the train. I liken it to a mosh pit at a rock concert, only with poorly-dressed Federal workers in their suits and athletic shoes as the moshers, and the roar of diesel engines as the thrashing music.
In this particular case I was getting moved along when, out of (literally) left field, this woman pushes into me and a few of my fellow moshers, stepping on my foot, jabbing the ribs of the lady ahead of me, pushing forward the guy in front of her all while rolling her luggage-sized briefcase behind her very unnecessary rear-end. The effort to gain those two feet in the crowd just did not compute to me.
As she jabs the woman in front of me, I proclaim loudly to the ribbed Frau ahead of me, "That's ok, let her push through. When she gets to where she's going, and we get to where we are going, at least *we* are not assholes."
The offender immediately knew I was referring to her and whipped her head around to glare her disapproval. So, I quip, "Truth hurts, does it not?"
My goal isn't to hurt someone or mar them with some catty comment. My goal is to give them pause before doing it again. I've come to the realization that most of these folks just aren't aware of their rude behavior, so it is my duty (and privilege) to point it out.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Your Own Personal Jesus
Well, on the heels of my last socially charged blog entry, I figured it best to lighten the mood to discuss your own personal Jesus. No, dearies, we're not speaking about the Depeche Mode song of the same name, nor are we actually discussing Yahweh, Jehovah or the Jesus Christ himself. No, my pets, we are here to discuss me and the story of my immaculate conception.
Once upon a time in a college far, far away (aka Chapel Hill) my parents came to visit me and my roommate in order to bring some furniture for our new apartment. My roommate took to my mother immediately, and sat out on the deck hackling like to old Southern hens most of the afternoon. Meanwhile my father and I assembled the furniture. At some point my mother and roommate emerged from the deck announced it was time for my parents to leave. We said our goodbyes, and my roommate actually looked sad, torn even, to see my mother go.
Later that night we were arranging furniture, and my roommate blurted out, "I never knew you were a surprise." Taken aback, I asked what was meant.
"Well your mom just told me how they had planned your brothers out to the month, but you were so much a surprise, that you father questioned how you were conceived."
Dumbstruck, I played it off. "Oh THAT! Yeah..
Internally, though, I was flabbergasted. Not only did I not know the story, I was sort of shocked my mother would tell my roommate she had just met for the first time, but has never told me!
I went to my mother that night on the phone to query her. It turned out she hadn't revealed the entire story! It appears that my parents had both had their respective parts "tied" after my brother, and only planned to have two children. Then, four years later... Surprise! I rear my bald little head. It caused some great deal of internal turmoil, with lots and lots of speculation about what really happened. I understood there were lots of extended family "discussions" about it, too.
But here I am, miraculously conceived, borne to parents who were clearly mine (I look like a hybrid between them). My childhood doctor often called me the miracle boy when he'd see my mother and me in town. I like to think I have a strong will to live, right from the beginning, and will live up to that motto to the day I die.
Once upon a time in a college far, far away (aka Chapel Hill) my parents came to visit me and my roommate in order to bring some furniture for our new apartment. My roommate took to my mother immediately, and sat out on the deck hackling like to old Southern hens most of the afternoon. Meanwhile my father and I assembled the furniture. At some point my mother and roommate emerged from the deck announced it was time for my parents to leave. We said our goodbyes, and my roommate actually looked sad, torn even, to see my mother go.
Later that night we were arranging furniture, and my roommate blurted out, "I never knew you were a surprise." Taken aback, I asked what was meant.
"Well your mom just told me how they had planned your brothers out to the month, but you were so much a surprise, that you father questioned how you were conceived."
Dumbstruck, I played it off. "Oh THAT! Yeah..
Internally, though, I was flabbergasted. Not only did I not know the story, I was sort of shocked my mother would tell my roommate she had just met for the first time, but has never told me!
I went to my mother that night on the phone to query her. It turned out she hadn't revealed the entire story! It appears that my parents had both had their respective parts "tied" after my brother, and only planned to have two children. Then, four years later... Surprise! I rear my bald little head. It caused some great deal of internal turmoil, with lots and lots of speculation about what really happened. I understood there were lots of extended family "discussions" about it, too.
But here I am, miraculously conceived, borne to parents who were clearly mine (I look like a hybrid between them). My childhood doctor often called me the miracle boy when he'd see my mother and me in town. I like to think I have a strong will to live, right from the beginning, and will live up to that motto to the day I die.
Don't touch my yin yang!
It has been a long time coming, and I have avoided the conversation all together until now, but I think it is finally time for me to breech the subject of my religion. Recently, we started our first accupressure class in massage school, which is largely based on the principles of Taoism - yin and yang. It got my mind wandering about life in general and how people work the fundamentals of religion into things that best support their way of life.
In a weird way, I think a person's religious beliefs say much more about the person than their political affiliation or race would. Faith is something we own, but religion is something (in most cases) we choose.
I grew up Southern Baptist in a rather small, Southern town located in the midst of a rural, swampy area of hard-working, middle class (or lower) Americans. I will venture to say, for them, they chose their faith through a religion based on their neighbors...their community. It was rare that any non-work related function didn't center around the church or happen with other church members. It was almost expected that you were to be at church on Wednesdays and Sundays. There was a level of expectation that you silently followed or you were otherwise excluded. Sort of like Club Med for poor Southern Baptists - just without the body scrubs, and with chicken bog instead of chicken fricassee.
When I moved to Germany as a student, my eyes opened wider than my sockets would allow. There, religion represented a group of people with similar faith beliefs. You found Catholics, Protestants, Jews and Muslims cohabitating. People were at church not by social force, but because there was a message. So, I began to listen to the messages. In this new world of enlightenment, I began to realize that to me, religion and my faith were far less about a man walking on water, or a bush burning on a mountainside. It was about taking care of yourself and others while respecting each other along the way. Religions just sliced it different ways.
Later on, when my parents died, I searched and searched for that "community" that my childhood church had offered me. I had no parents, no parental figures, and for the first time, I was very, very lonely. My church at the time never once lifted a receiver to reach out to me. My childhood church had long since abandoned me. It all finally clicked...
I gave the better part of my life singing, making music, giving money and generally supporting "church". The one and only time I needed an ear or a hug, that same "church" abandoned me. But two weeks later, I got a letter in the mail explaining my duty to tithe.
I'm sorry, but fuck you.
Ever since that day, I quit "church." I have restructured what "faith" means to me, and re-examined what I think started the whole mess we're in now. Do you really think Jesus wanted his body strung on crosses across big buildings all over the world, being exploited for donations to keep those same buildings open? Maybe so.
Maybe he just wanted us to hear what he had to say: Be nice. The rest, pretty much is what "religion" has told us we needed to know... The same religion that took my talent and money, abandoned me in my time of need, and then asked for more. Very Christian.
This post isn't to judge your religion, you faith or beliefs. I understand religion means something different to us all, and speaks to each of our needs differently. I just felt it necessary to reflect on how religion spoke (or didn't) to me.
In a weird way, I think a person's religious beliefs say much more about the person than their political affiliation or race would. Faith is something we own, but religion is something (in most cases) we choose.
I grew up Southern Baptist in a rather small, Southern town located in the midst of a rural, swampy area of hard-working, middle class (or lower) Americans. I will venture to say, for them, they chose their faith through a religion based on their neighbors...their community. It was rare that any non-work related function didn't center around the church or happen with other church members. It was almost expected that you were to be at church on Wednesdays and Sundays. There was a level of expectation that you silently followed or you were otherwise excluded. Sort of like Club Med for poor Southern Baptists - just without the body scrubs, and with chicken bog instead of chicken fricassee.
When I moved to Germany as a student, my eyes opened wider than my sockets would allow. There, religion represented a group of people with similar faith beliefs. You found Catholics, Protestants, Jews and Muslims cohabitating. People were at church not by social force, but because there was a message. So, I began to listen to the messages. In this new world of enlightenment, I began to realize that to me, religion and my faith were far less about a man walking on water, or a bush burning on a mountainside. It was about taking care of yourself and others while respecting each other along the way. Religions just sliced it different ways.
Later on, when my parents died, I searched and searched for that "community" that my childhood church had offered me. I had no parents, no parental figures, and for the first time, I was very, very lonely. My church at the time never once lifted a receiver to reach out to me. My childhood church had long since abandoned me. It all finally clicked...
I gave the better part of my life singing, making music, giving money and generally supporting "church". The one and only time I needed an ear or a hug, that same "church" abandoned me. But two weeks later, I got a letter in the mail explaining my duty to tithe.
I'm sorry, but fuck you.
Ever since that day, I quit "church." I have restructured what "faith" means to me, and re-examined what I think started the whole mess we're in now. Do you really think Jesus wanted his body strung on crosses across big buildings all over the world, being exploited for donations to keep those same buildings open? Maybe so.
Maybe he just wanted us to hear what he had to say: Be nice. The rest, pretty much is what "religion" has told us we needed to know... The same religion that took my talent and money, abandoned me in my time of need, and then asked for more. Very Christian.
This post isn't to judge your religion, you faith or beliefs. I understand religion means something different to us all, and speaks to each of our needs differently. I just felt it necessary to reflect on how religion spoke (or didn't) to me.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Mind Yo' Own Freakin' Business
Well, my pets ... my dreams of starting my own business is coming (very, very slowly) to fruition. The swirling ideas are pulling together in my head, and the resulting vision is pretty darn palpable!
It's scary to think that the fate of my financial life and overall livelihood is dependent on some of those very fickle, unruly and generally ungrateful people I rant about in my blog. But, I have a vision, even for the morons, and it will succeed.
My family is full of entrepreneurs and go-getters, but the one person that has most influenced me is my late grandfather Hayes (most everyone called him C.R. or Rudy). Back in the day, the story goes that he was an icebox salesman -- the kind of icebox that you put ice in rather than plug it in. When the refrigerator made its debut, instead of depressing himself with the other Henny Pennies, he decided to moonlight as a refrigerator salesman and market to all his existing icebox customers. The overwhelming success of this move set him and his fledgling family up fairly comfortably - although I wouldn't call it well-off by any stretch.
WWII was thrown in the mix, too, and after he was discharged, he took the money he'd saved and, with my grandmother, opened up my hometown's first drive-in diner -- the E&R Drive-In. It was there that my mother, a teenaged curb hop on roller skates, met my father, and the result - two children later - was yours truly.
The success of the E&R brought a good deal of prosperity and notoriety to my grandfather. He soon began to dabble in other endeavors before finally resting on large-scale real estate. As my grandmother aged, and her seven children took their toll on her, he felt the need for a more lucrative and sustainable income. The real estate business took off very well and Hayes & Hayes Realty is what set the legacy up for the whole family, well beyond his years.
I recount all this story only to say that my grandfather's entrepreneurial spirit speaks to me deeply. He never knew anything BUT owning his own business and forging his own way. I feel such a connection with that spirit that I feel no matter what I choose to do, I cannot and will not fail.
This is something I need to do folks.
It's scary to think that the fate of my financial life and overall livelihood is dependent on some of those very fickle, unruly and generally ungrateful people I rant about in my blog. But, I have a vision, even for the morons, and it will succeed.
My family is full of entrepreneurs and go-getters, but the one person that has most influenced me is my late grandfather Hayes (most everyone called him C.R. or Rudy). Back in the day, the story goes that he was an icebox salesman -- the kind of icebox that you put ice in rather than plug it in. When the refrigerator made its debut, instead of depressing himself with the other Henny Pennies, he decided to moonlight as a refrigerator salesman and market to all his existing icebox customers. The overwhelming success of this move set him and his fledgling family up fairly comfortably - although I wouldn't call it well-off by any stretch.
WWII was thrown in the mix, too, and after he was discharged, he took the money he'd saved and, with my grandmother, opened up my hometown's first drive-in diner -- the E&R Drive-In. It was there that my mother, a teenaged curb hop on roller skates, met my father, and the result - two children later - was yours truly.
The success of the E&R brought a good deal of prosperity and notoriety to my grandfather. He soon began to dabble in other endeavors before finally resting on large-scale real estate. As my grandmother aged, and her seven children took their toll on her, he felt the need for a more lucrative and sustainable income. The real estate business took off very well and Hayes & Hayes Realty is what set the legacy up for the whole family, well beyond his years.
I recount all this story only to say that my grandfather's entrepreneurial spirit speaks to me deeply. He never knew anything BUT owning his own business and forging his own way. I feel such a connection with that spirit that I feel no matter what I choose to do, I cannot and will not fail.
This is something I need to do folks.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Unqualified Qualifier
Well, dearies, it has been way too long since my last post. I wish it were because I was on some amazing adventure or due to some romantic tragedy, but, alas, it was because my life had little to report to the masses. I went on a couple of dates and reunited with a couple friends from my past, but beyond that, nada. Except...
About a month ago, I applied for the federal position of the contracted job that I am doing now. For those of you who have gone through the process, you'll sympathize that what they ask you to provide as a candidate, and what is actually useful to the hiring manager are worlds apart. Everyone was expecting that I apply, and in fact were looking for my resume. As HR produced the list of eligible candidates, I was, to everyone's surprise, not on the list.
How is it that I work (successfully) in a position for two years, only to find out that some lady in HR didn't feel my resume was a good match for that exact same position? That incident begs a larger question...
It is sort of an inside joke that Federal workers are often unqualified for their jobs (that is a very general statement, mind you). So why would I not find it surprising that 1) the person to be hired into this position would be unqualified, and 2) the HR person responsible for finding qualified candidates is actually qualified to find these candidates? Just a question.
So, now I am going to embark on this elaborate string of phone calls to inside folk to remedy all this. But, why does it all have to be such an ordeal? What would have made this all very straight forward would be to have a qualifier in the job posting: all unqualified candidates need apply. That would save everyone so much trouble!
About a month ago, I applied for the federal position of the contracted job that I am doing now. For those of you who have gone through the process, you'll sympathize that what they ask you to provide as a candidate, and what is actually useful to the hiring manager are worlds apart. Everyone was expecting that I apply, and in fact were looking for my resume. As HR produced the list of eligible candidates, I was, to everyone's surprise, not on the list.
How is it that I work (successfully) in a position for two years, only to find out that some lady in HR didn't feel my resume was a good match for that exact same position? That incident begs a larger question...
It is sort of an inside joke that Federal workers are often unqualified for their jobs (that is a very general statement, mind you). So why would I not find it surprising that 1) the person to be hired into this position would be unqualified, and 2) the HR person responsible for finding qualified candidates is actually qualified to find these candidates? Just a question.
So, now I am going to embark on this elaborate string of phone calls to inside folk to remedy all this. But, why does it all have to be such an ordeal? What would have made this all very straight forward would be to have a qualifier in the job posting: all unqualified candidates need apply. That would save everyone so much trouble!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Eat dirt and die!
Well, folks, I managed to make it through another vacation to Vegas without too much strife on the ol' wallet, and had a rather relaxing trip despite the really unbearable heat (screw humidity... 120 is hot no matter how you slice it.)
But those escapades are for another blog entry some day. Today's story, my pets, has to do with eating dirt.
When I was a kid, I used to do some crazy stuff. My older brothers liked picking on me, and I was sort of like "Mikey" from the Life cereal commercials... I would do just about anything my brothers dared me to. I do remember on one occasion that I was with my neighbor friend and he dared me to eat dirt, so I did.
I remembered that story recently when one of my massage instructors started talking about how phobic she was of germs. Off and on with various doctors over time, I have talked about how I think the rise in allergies and reactions to food and animals is because of the growing influence of hand sanitizers and Chlorox wipes available nearly everywhere. The federal government even puts sanitizer by every public entrance, now. I have to admit that I don't really recall many friends in grade school that were allergy prone, or couldn't eat peanuts.
Parents these days seem to over protect their children to the point of obsession. They can't even play with Lincoln logs these days without them being plastic! In the end, I think the children don't learn to be social creatures the way we were, and tend to not be exposed to the real world. They then grow up to be self-important people (mommie imposed that on them) without knowing how it feels to walk barefoot in the mud. I feign to think that most people think that if they eat dirt, now, they'd die. I am living proof that you won't.
I guess my point is to say, live a little, folks. And let your kids live a little, too.
- Posted on the run from my annoying electronic thingy
But those escapades are for another blog entry some day. Today's story, my pets, has to do with eating dirt.
When I was a kid, I used to do some crazy stuff. My older brothers liked picking on me, and I was sort of like "Mikey" from the Life cereal commercials... I would do just about anything my brothers dared me to. I do remember on one occasion that I was with my neighbor friend and he dared me to eat dirt, so I did.
I remembered that story recently when one of my massage instructors started talking about how phobic she was of germs. Off and on with various doctors over time, I have talked about how I think the rise in allergies and reactions to food and animals is because of the growing influence of hand sanitizers and Chlorox wipes available nearly everywhere. The federal government even puts sanitizer by every public entrance, now. I have to admit that I don't really recall many friends in grade school that were allergy prone, or couldn't eat peanuts.
Parents these days seem to over protect their children to the point of obsession. They can't even play with Lincoln logs these days without them being plastic! In the end, I think the children don't learn to be social creatures the way we were, and tend to not be exposed to the real world. They then grow up to be self-important people (mommie imposed that on them) without knowing how it feels to walk barefoot in the mud. I feign to think that most people think that if they eat dirt, now, they'd die. I am living proof that you won't.
I guess my point is to say, live a little, folks. And let your kids live a little, too.
- Posted on the run from my annoying electronic thingy
Friday, July 23, 2010
Face Value
About a week ago, I had this conversation with Jeremy about a Facebook friend that had posted a photo of graffiti on his page before the friend had realized what it represented. He simply felt that the graffiti was cool. Consequently, people started making assumptions about this friend's political and social alignments. That got me thinking...
I am constantly amazed at how folks will make all sorts of assumptions about people or situations without educating themselves. That makes me downright angry, until I caught myself in a comment I made to a classmate at massage school last week. I commented that there were some people I just didn't tolerate, although I can't put my finger on why. I realized I was falling victim to the same prejudices Jeremy's friend did.
As much as I would like to believe I am completely open-minded and un-biased, I have to admit I have my own prejudices. They may not be over race or religion, but I do have them. This little episode helped me realize I still have some growing up to do.
So, I went on with my life this week with the mindset that I was going to start trying to understand why people and things are the way they are before I make judgements on them. That, my friends, is hard to do. It is hard to step back from a pushy fellow commuter when they run you over and think, "he's just being an asshole because he may have an important meeting to attend," or "she's only yelling at me because she has a troubled home life - bless her soul."
Shit. The reality is, I would waste WAY too much time trying to psychoanalyze these situations. What the point really should be is that the assholes should be more cognizant of their surroundings. Which brings me back to the graffiti...
After further investigation, the Facebook friend realized that he should have done more research on the graffiti before posting it. In the end, it was a great learning and social experiment, but ultimately it was his negligence that caused the stir.
Like this Facebook friend, I think we're all falling victim to a world that is becoming increasingly fast-paced and the first thing to suffer in our daily schedule is time for concern of our fellow man. We are growing in our sentiment of "me first" attitudes and exponentially caring less for how our actions affect others. Like me, we all have some slowing down to do, and some life-interaction to experience. We need to LOOK UP from our blackberries, droids and iPhones and actually look each other in the face. We need to learn to communicate verbally as well as electronically.
We need FACE value.
We need to understand those folks we're speaking to. We need to actually speak to our neighbors. We should be intimately concerned with the well being of those we come on contact with on a daily basis. Do you spend more time looking down at your phone or at the people that surround you? Do you look at your checkout cashier? Do you greet your neighbors?
Back in the South, I remember when driving down the road, you would wave to every person you passed whether you knew them or not. It created a sense of bonding that I just don't believe exists anymore. We are all much too concerned with the battery life of our cell phones, I'm afraid.
I am constantly amazed at how folks will make all sorts of assumptions about people or situations without educating themselves. That makes me downright angry, until I caught myself in a comment I made to a classmate at massage school last week. I commented that there were some people I just didn't tolerate, although I can't put my finger on why. I realized I was falling victim to the same prejudices Jeremy's friend did.
As much as I would like to believe I am completely open-minded and un-biased, I have to admit I have my own prejudices. They may not be over race or religion, but I do have them. This little episode helped me realize I still have some growing up to do.
So, I went on with my life this week with the mindset that I was going to start trying to understand why people and things are the way they are before I make judgements on them. That, my friends, is hard to do. It is hard to step back from a pushy fellow commuter when they run you over and think, "he's just being an asshole because he may have an important meeting to attend," or "she's only yelling at me because she has a troubled home life - bless her soul."
Shit. The reality is, I would waste WAY too much time trying to psychoanalyze these situations. What the point really should be is that the assholes should be more cognizant of their surroundings. Which brings me back to the graffiti...
After further investigation, the Facebook friend realized that he should have done more research on the graffiti before posting it. In the end, it was a great learning and social experiment, but ultimately it was his negligence that caused the stir.
Like this Facebook friend, I think we're all falling victim to a world that is becoming increasingly fast-paced and the first thing to suffer in our daily schedule is time for concern of our fellow man. We are growing in our sentiment of "me first" attitudes and exponentially caring less for how our actions affect others. Like me, we all have some slowing down to do, and some life-interaction to experience. We need to LOOK UP from our blackberries, droids and iPhones and actually look each other in the face. We need to learn to communicate verbally as well as electronically.
We need FACE value.
We need to understand those folks we're speaking to. We need to actually speak to our neighbors. We should be intimately concerned with the well being of those we come on contact with on a daily basis. Do you spend more time looking down at your phone or at the people that surround you? Do you look at your checkout cashier? Do you greet your neighbors?
Back in the South, I remember when driving down the road, you would wave to every person you passed whether you knew them or not. It created a sense of bonding that I just don't believe exists anymore. We are all much too concerned with the battery life of our cell phones, I'm afraid.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
A hay! A hay! A hey, what?!
So today I received a pretty devastating blow to my pride when I learned that I was, indeed, not a "real" Hayes. A good portion of my last few years has been devoted to researching my family history and bloodlines back as far as possible. I have been quite proud of my Scottish heritage and have been diligent about learning as much as I can about my past. I guess I have a strong need to identify with something that was inherently me, and I actually "felt" the connection I had with my family's heritage. Those who know me well also know that I wore my family name with pride and defended my history like a true Scot.
I have been in the process of dropping my first name legally, and was posing some ideas of what to use as my middle name to my brothers over the last week. When the idea of using my mother's maiden name (Hayes) came up, my brother explained to me that we weren't really Hayeses. It seems my great grandfather Hayes was born out of wedlock and took the name of his step-father. The family had never really spoken about it, and few actually knew.
As the blood drained from my face and my ego, pride and general Scottish aura were being stripped from my identity, I just sort of stared at the words my brother had written. The Scottish clan cry, "A hay! A hay! A hay!" were fading and my identity felt like it had been stolen. The one thing "permanent" that I could claim without reserve has, in one short sentence, been plucked from my genes and it left a very, very big void. I can't blame the situation - my great grandfather couldn't help it and I'm still a proud member of my family, but it brings a new perspective to things one blindly believes and cherishes without question.
I have to admit that I was a little tear-filed when I started responding to my brother. So, now I am still left without a middle name as well as an identity. It will take me a while to take all this one in. But one thing being part of the Hayes clan did teach me was their endearing motto, meaning to charge forward and persevere: Keep the yoke! That, my dear friends, I will do.
I have been in the process of dropping my first name legally, and was posing some ideas of what to use as my middle name to my brothers over the last week. When the idea of using my mother's maiden name (Hayes) came up, my brother explained to me that we weren't really Hayeses. It seems my great grandfather Hayes was born out of wedlock and took the name of his step-father. The family had never really spoken about it, and few actually knew.
As the blood drained from my face and my ego, pride and general Scottish aura were being stripped from my identity, I just sort of stared at the words my brother had written. The Scottish clan cry, "A hay! A hay! A hay!" were fading and my identity felt like it had been stolen. The one thing "permanent" that I could claim without reserve has, in one short sentence, been plucked from my genes and it left a very, very big void. I can't blame the situation - my great grandfather couldn't help it and I'm still a proud member of my family, but it brings a new perspective to things one blindly believes and cherishes without question.
I have to admit that I was a little tear-filed when I started responding to my brother. So, now I am still left without a middle name as well as an identity. It will take me a while to take all this one in. But one thing being part of the Hayes clan did teach me was their endearing motto, meaning to charge forward and persevere: Keep the yoke! That, my dear friends, I will do.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Happy Places
As I grow older and less ignorant, I find myself reflecting on how I got to where I am and where I don't want to go. When I was a twelve-year-old bouncing on my trampoline in my parents' backyard, I can remember thinking just the opposite: where am I going, and where do I want to go.
I've noticed with experience comes the knowledge gained from mistakes, and with mistakes come the cuts and bruises of defeat -- and with defeat comes humbleness.
I have been very mindful of my parents lately, and what they taught me. I learned best through their actions and words more than their directions. I learned that being kind to others was far more satisfying than thinking only of yourself. I learned that being passionate about something, and following through, was key to mental success. But their death has also taught me things, too. From their death, I've learned that I am not living forever. I've learned that saving for a future may not necessarily be fruitful. I've learned that complete sacrifice, while neglecting your current well-being, can be just as dangerous as not sacrificing at all.
I suppose what my rambling is trying to say, is that I have grown up in the last three years. I've learned how to stand my ground. I've learned how to frivolously spend while sacrificing for my future. I've learned that having a good-paying job doesn't mean a rewarding life. I've learned that relationships can not be implicitly trusted. I've also learned that I can be loved.
All these things have paid off recently: I've progressed at work by standing my ground for what I believe is right. I've moved into a beautiful new home, despite the unexpected change in plans (AND due to good planning!). I've planned to make my career rewarding by starting my own business. I also have used being single as a time to re-adjust my view on relationships and to determine what my needs are.
Honestly, I can say I am in a good, happy place. I like happy places.
I've noticed with experience comes the knowledge gained from mistakes, and with mistakes come the cuts and bruises of defeat -- and with defeat comes humbleness.
I have been very mindful of my parents lately, and what they taught me. I learned best through their actions and words more than their directions. I learned that being kind to others was far more satisfying than thinking only of yourself. I learned that being passionate about something, and following through, was key to mental success. But their death has also taught me things, too. From their death, I've learned that I am not living forever. I've learned that saving for a future may not necessarily be fruitful. I've learned that complete sacrifice, while neglecting your current well-being, can be just as dangerous as not sacrificing at all.
I suppose what my rambling is trying to say, is that I have grown up in the last three years. I've learned how to stand my ground. I've learned how to frivolously spend while sacrificing for my future. I've learned that having a good-paying job doesn't mean a rewarding life. I've learned that relationships can not be implicitly trusted. I've also learned that I can be loved.
All these things have paid off recently: I've progressed at work by standing my ground for what I believe is right. I've moved into a beautiful new home, despite the unexpected change in plans (AND due to good planning!). I've planned to make my career rewarding by starting my own business. I also have used being single as a time to re-adjust my view on relationships and to determine what my needs are.
Honestly, I can say I am in a good, happy place. I like happy places.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Me first! Me first!
Every day we are besieged by life moving around us, pushing us forward, knocking us down, with little time to get up and brush ourselves off. Our day rushes forward with little consideration of our surroundings only to ensure that we get back to our homes as quickly as possible to sit and do nothing. Do nothing -- until you stand back up to rush through your day with the goal of doing the cycle all over again.
A couple days ago, I was returning home on the train to be witness to a rather extraordinary example of this aimless rushing about. Recent renovations of the commuter train stations often create a (temporarily) crowded exit from the platform that wasn't set up to really accommodate large amounts of passangers exiting the train. Most passangers are patient, clumping around the platform exit waiting for an opportunity to push to the exit-way.
I usually to want to avoid crowding and pushing, so I tend to stay to the very back of the exiting crowd. Occassionally, I'll notice the one or two people rushing up to the front of the crowd only to make the clumping crowd worse.
So anyway, one day I'm standing toward the rear of the crowd and slowly made my way to the exit when, suddenly, I felt a plump, fleshy mass plop itself on the arm I had angled to hold my backpack strap. I glanced down to see it was a human female breast, resting right there on my forearm almost as if delicately placed there as a museum piece or a body decoration.
I ignored its presence at first, but as we shuffled to the exit, the breast's owner pushed forward to the point where I could now feel her nipple through the fabric, creeping down my arm.
I couldn't resist... so among the throngs of people, I proclaimed loudly:
"Ma'am, could you please remove your breast from my arm. It is unsightly. Thank you."
She blushes and quickly replies, "my breast is not on your arm."
"Ma'am,... I feel nipple. Take it off."
I mean, seriously. Are our lives in such a rush that we use brut tactics to gain five feet in a line or a car length on the road? Are we so pressed for time that we're willing to risk our blood pressure and stress levels just to ensure you are first in line? Does it really matter that the person in front of us may get to the next stop light a few milliseconds before you do? And if you do get there first, what have you accomplished? In the grand scheme if it all, the extra, wasted effort is futile. I would prefer to be last in line, avoiding a heart attack.
The "me first" attitude is ridiculous these days - like the little kid at the front of the room waving his hand violently to answer the question. He was an annoying wanker then, and he's not grown up much since then.
A couple days ago, I was returning home on the train to be witness to a rather extraordinary example of this aimless rushing about. Recent renovations of the commuter train stations often create a (temporarily) crowded exit from the platform that wasn't set up to really accommodate large amounts of passangers exiting the train. Most passangers are patient, clumping around the platform exit waiting for an opportunity to push to the exit-way.
I usually to want to avoid crowding and pushing, so I tend to stay to the very back of the exiting crowd. Occassionally, I'll notice the one or two people rushing up to the front of the crowd only to make the clumping crowd worse.
So anyway, one day I'm standing toward the rear of the crowd and slowly made my way to the exit when, suddenly, I felt a plump, fleshy mass plop itself on the arm I had angled to hold my backpack strap. I glanced down to see it was a human female breast, resting right there on my forearm almost as if delicately placed there as a museum piece or a body decoration.
I ignored its presence at first, but as we shuffled to the exit, the breast's owner pushed forward to the point where I could now feel her nipple through the fabric, creeping down my arm.
I couldn't resist... so among the throngs of people, I proclaimed loudly:
"Ma'am, could you please remove your breast from my arm. It is unsightly. Thank you."
She blushes and quickly replies, "my breast is not on your arm."
"Ma'am,... I feel nipple. Take it off."
I mean, seriously. Are our lives in such a rush that we use brut tactics to gain five feet in a line or a car length on the road? Are we so pressed for time that we're willing to risk our blood pressure and stress levels just to ensure you are first in line? Does it really matter that the person in front of us may get to the next stop light a few milliseconds before you do? And if you do get there first, what have you accomplished? In the grand scheme if it all, the extra, wasted effort is futile. I would prefer to be last in line, avoiding a heart attack.
The "me first" attitude is ridiculous these days - like the little kid at the front of the room waving his hand violently to answer the question. He was an annoying wanker then, and he's not grown up much since then.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Give a penny, take a penny
I guess my most profound moments come when I'm doing the most mundane things. This moment came whilst standing in the checkout line at the local 7-11, yuppie-bottle of water in hand. I saw the tray immediately next to the register labeled, "Give a Penny Take a Penny." And nearly everyone in line ahead of me used that tray to either give or take a penny.
I am often floored by the irony of life sometimes, but this one was probably one of my most monumental "ah-ha!" moments. I am surrounded daily by folks who are self-absorbed and often too concerned with their own life-trajectory that they never stop to consider how helping others could help them in the long run. I can't tell you the number of people that have ribbed me for giving so much money to music organizations as donations. They just don't get it, and it's sad. I give because it's in my nature and my heart to give. Those who know me well know that I will give until my last dime is gone, and then I'll find more ways to give. I give because I know that no matter how well I have it, there are others out there that can benefit from what little gain I have on life. Giving someone else that one moment of happiness effects me immensely. Give a penny...
My last post reflected on my first real date since the end of my last long relationship. I found out today that there will be no second date, which was a huge blow to my ego and generally makes me nauseous that I will have to continue with the rather boring and (yes) degrading process of dating. But the ego blow was over the fact that I wasn't a 30"-waisted, blond Nordic god. I suppose my life gets in the way of doing 300 sit-ups a day, and preparing 5 healthy meals a day. I suppose getting an "A" for effort isn't worth a second chance to make a first impression. But I digress. The bottom line is that it hurt to hear that I looked -- and I quote, "drop-dead gorgeous 10-15 pounds ago." Fuck. You. Frankly, I nearly erupted in tears -- never mind WHY I gained those 10-15 pounds, but to know that someone was so self-absorbed with the "now" to not consider a future with infinite possibilities is beyond me. Take a penny...mothafucka.
So this is going to be a rant-and-soapbox post, but, the whole game of dating eludes me. The coy first attraction turns to a decent first date,and then (*crickets*) you never hear from them again. Or, they are a psychopath. Or both. Why can't people just say, upfront, "I'm not interested," or "Sorry, but I just don't think we match"? Instead, they lead you on or say nothing for fear of "hurting you." I have so many wild, angry thoughts in my mind right now it's hard to structure them for the blog. But the bottom line is, I just want to date someone nice. I don't want to plan a wedding; I don't want to talk matching robes; It's too early for clearing out a space in the closet. Just someone willing to give a penny and take a penny.
I think I have a lot to offer people (ego talking here), and I guess I sometimes don't read people correctly. Which brings up a totally different point. If someone is interested in me, why don't they just say it? Regardless, finding ways to meet those people aren't easy. I don't think going to the bar, or meeting someone online - even though everyone does it - is the way I want to meet someone. I suppose this is why so many artists die alone, frustrated and ... dare I say... penniless.
I am often floored by the irony of life sometimes, but this one was probably one of my most monumental "ah-ha!" moments. I am surrounded daily by folks who are self-absorbed and often too concerned with their own life-trajectory that they never stop to consider how helping others could help them in the long run. I can't tell you the number of people that have ribbed me for giving so much money to music organizations as donations. They just don't get it, and it's sad. I give because it's in my nature and my heart to give. Those who know me well know that I will give until my last dime is gone, and then I'll find more ways to give. I give because I know that no matter how well I have it, there are others out there that can benefit from what little gain I have on life. Giving someone else that one moment of happiness effects me immensely. Give a penny...
My last post reflected on my first real date since the end of my last long relationship. I found out today that there will be no second date, which was a huge blow to my ego and generally makes me nauseous that I will have to continue with the rather boring and (yes) degrading process of dating. But the ego blow was over the fact that I wasn't a 30"-waisted, blond Nordic god. I suppose my life gets in the way of doing 300 sit-ups a day, and preparing 5 healthy meals a day. I suppose getting an "A" for effort isn't worth a second chance to make a first impression. But I digress. The bottom line is that it hurt to hear that I looked -- and I quote, "drop-dead gorgeous 10-15 pounds ago." Fuck. You. Frankly, I nearly erupted in tears -- never mind WHY I gained those 10-15 pounds, but to know that someone was so self-absorbed with the "now" to not consider a future with infinite possibilities is beyond me. Take a penny...mothafucka.
So this is going to be a rant-and-soapbox post, but, the whole game of dating eludes me. The coy first attraction turns to a decent first date,and then (*crickets*) you never hear from them again. Or, they are a psychopath. Or both. Why can't people just say, upfront, "I'm not interested," or "Sorry, but I just don't think we match"? Instead, they lead you on or say nothing for fear of "hurting you." I have so many wild, angry thoughts in my mind right now it's hard to structure them for the blog. But the bottom line is, I just want to date someone nice. I don't want to plan a wedding; I don't want to talk matching robes; It's too early for clearing out a space in the closet. Just someone willing to give a penny and take a penny.
I think I have a lot to offer people (ego talking here), and I guess I sometimes don't read people correctly. Which brings up a totally different point. If someone is interested in me, why don't they just say it? Regardless, finding ways to meet those people aren't easy. I don't think going to the bar, or meeting someone online - even though everyone does it - is the way I want to meet someone. I suppose this is why so many artists die alone, frustrated and ... dare I say... penniless.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The Perfect Match
So, I finally ventured on an "official" date last night after a very long hiatus (nearly a year) from any such social interaction. On the positive side, I enjoyed meeting someone new. On the negative side, it causes you to be very self-consious. I have no trouble being me, but then I have to concern myself with how others like me being me. It's a slippery game to play, and at my age, I'm becoming less concerned, which probably isn't a good thing.
As for the date itself, I had a good dinner and I dragged us to see Sharón Clarke do her saltry Jazz thing on the DC waterfront. I left happy, if only just watching the Jazz. I'm a pretty poor judge as to whether the date went great or not since dates I've gone on in the past ended well, in my mind, only to be told 24 hours later that they weren't interested. We'll see how this one goes.
The bottom line for me is that for all my faults (of which I am well-aware!) I just want someone to come home to and share my life with. Too many times I've dated people and been in relationships with those that have their own agenda, for which I am not a part. I know I've been used, and I know I've let myself be used. BUT - I think I've worked out the formula. The challenge is to recognize the equation when it presents itself. But people put so many restrictions on what they like, and I just don't have the mental capacity to keep it all straight...they want a certain hair/eye color, height, body weight, job, social circle, etc. Too much to consider! I don't think about those things as how they relate to me, so when they're suddenly thrown on me, I tend to start being very self-aware, which I tend not to be, usually.
That said, as decisive as I am, and as direct as my personality is, I have a challenge reading the thoughts from the other side of the fence, or even when the fence gate is opened. The bottom line is that I'm just not good at this dating thing. I tend to be much more Euro-minded about "dating" (which is really done mostly in contenintal Europe)... I like going out and meeting people. When you meet the right "one," you'll know it and it will develop. It's much more social. For them, there's no formal process. Our culture makes a structured process out of it, and, frankly, I enjoy parts of our process, but can't be bothered with most of it. [Rant ends here]
So, the question everyone wants to know... will there be another date? Ask me 20 lbs from now.
As for the date itself, I had a good dinner and I dragged us to see Sharón Clarke do her saltry Jazz thing on the DC waterfront. I left happy, if only just watching the Jazz. I'm a pretty poor judge as to whether the date went great or not since dates I've gone on in the past ended well, in my mind, only to be told 24 hours later that they weren't interested. We'll see how this one goes.
The bottom line for me is that for all my faults (of which I am well-aware!) I just want someone to come home to and share my life with. Too many times I've dated people and been in relationships with those that have their own agenda, for which I am not a part. I know I've been used, and I know I've let myself be used. BUT - I think I've worked out the formula. The challenge is to recognize the equation when it presents itself. But people put so many restrictions on what they like, and I just don't have the mental capacity to keep it all straight...they want a certain hair/eye color, height, body weight, job, social circle, etc. Too much to consider! I don't think about those things as how they relate to me, so when they're suddenly thrown on me, I tend to start being very self-aware, which I tend not to be, usually.
That said, as decisive as I am, and as direct as my personality is, I have a challenge reading the thoughts from the other side of the fence, or even when the fence gate is opened. The bottom line is that I'm just not good at this dating thing. I tend to be much more Euro-minded about "dating" (which is really done mostly in contenintal Europe)... I like going out and meeting people. When you meet the right "one," you'll know it and it will develop. It's much more social. For them, there's no formal process. Our culture makes a structured process out of it, and, frankly, I enjoy parts of our process, but can't be bothered with most of it. [Rant ends here]
So, the question everyone wants to know... will there be another date? Ask me 20 lbs from now.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Sad State of Affairs
Well folks, I have to admit that I've not been the world's best blogger, blogging daily and soliciting feedback. But, here I am, shuffling it back to life!
A few months ago, I moved into my new house after a serendipitous route trailing back to the sale of my DC condo. I miss that little gem, but the longer I'm away, the more I realize why I moved and why it was a good thing.
Today, I was riding home on the train and started thinking about how drastically my life had changed in only the last few months. In DC, I was turning into a wretched, aggressive prick, complicated with traffic and the general nuisance it takes to do anything or go anywhere. The convenience of not having to drive was far outweighed by the downright monster I was becoming. And then there was the relationship thing...
Anyway, I'm back on track, with a relaxing train ride to work each morning. I've weaned myself off of the caffeine drinks, and I have space to spread my wings. This morning on the train I looked around at the others and saw so many sad faces and I couldn't help but laugh to myself. I am the happiest I think I have been in a very long time. Not even the liars and two-faced crocks I deal with at work can ruin the change I've made in my life right now.
But there are always sad parts in my life. I miss my mother and father terribly. I hear others talk about their parents often and think, gosh, my parents never really saw me or my brothers become "adults." My mother never even saw middle age! But - I have a new lease on life, new goals and a new direction. I don't think it's time to share it with that some-one just yet. I need a little time to myself for a while to enjoy this "happy thing."
Just do one thing for me: as you're sitting in traffic and cursing your fellow driver, or on an escalator and wishing people would move, or in line somewhere and just can't be patient... think to yourself... does it really matter? I can tell you now. No, it doesn't.
Dreamiest of sleeps, all! Loves ya!
A few months ago, I moved into my new house after a serendipitous route trailing back to the sale of my DC condo. I miss that little gem, but the longer I'm away, the more I realize why I moved and why it was a good thing.
Today, I was riding home on the train and started thinking about how drastically my life had changed in only the last few months. In DC, I was turning into a wretched, aggressive prick, complicated with traffic and the general nuisance it takes to do anything or go anywhere. The convenience of not having to drive was far outweighed by the downright monster I was becoming. And then there was the relationship thing...
Anyway, I'm back on track, with a relaxing train ride to work each morning. I've weaned myself off of the caffeine drinks, and I have space to spread my wings. This morning on the train I looked around at the others and saw so many sad faces and I couldn't help but laugh to myself. I am the happiest I think I have been in a very long time. Not even the liars and two-faced crocks I deal with at work can ruin the change I've made in my life right now.
But there are always sad parts in my life. I miss my mother and father terribly. I hear others talk about their parents often and think, gosh, my parents never really saw me or my brothers become "adults." My mother never even saw middle age! But - I have a new lease on life, new goals and a new direction. I don't think it's time to share it with that some-one just yet. I need a little time to myself for a while to enjoy this "happy thing."
Just do one thing for me: as you're sitting in traffic and cursing your fellow driver, or on an escalator and wishing people would move, or in line somewhere and just can't be patient... think to yourself... does it really matter? I can tell you now. No, it doesn't.
Dreamiest of sleeps, all! Loves ya!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
What's your poo telling you?
I have resisted starting a new blog after obliterating my last one. But, here we are, starting over and taking a fresh, new look at the world around us.
I laugh often at the use of common phrases like, "normal guy" or "mainstream media" to describe people and things that, let's face it, aren't normal or mainstream. In fact, let me step out on a ledge to say that we all are unique. It's the extent to which we try to hide it that puts us on that perceived scale or normalcy.
Seriously, now -- the majority of us wouldn't think of telling anyone that we look at our poo before flushing, but you know you do. Yet, somehow the people who feel comfortable enough to discuss their poo among friends get labeled as weird. Go figure.
Anywho, I started this new blog after many people asked for some of my prose about my life observations. So here we are... observing. My last blog was deleted because I placed a post about my Christmas dinner experience with my sister-in-law and her family the holiday after my father died. She meant well, but between stomaching the unnecessary comments about 9-11, and the slightly-too-awkward absence of my father, I felt grossly out-of-place. I left the dinner politely and visited friends for a quiet drink before spending the evening alone. I wrote that information in my blog, and she read it. She was so offended by it, it seems she told others in the family about how offended she was, but somehow neglected to tell me. Later, I was investigating some other odd things happening, and through Q&A with several family members, found out. Nice tact - next time, tell me directly, and we'll work it out. So, I told my brother if she was still offended, to please contact me instead of spreading our dirt around the whole family - but I wasn't apologizing. I haven't heard from her since.
I'm sure you could care less about that story and would rather hear about my own thoughts about those diversions from normalcy that I observe every day. So, let's get to it. And, by the way, I evacuated rabbit poo this morning -- must have been the salad last night (?).
I laugh often at the use of common phrases like, "normal guy" or "mainstream media" to describe people and things that, let's face it, aren't normal or mainstream. In fact, let me step out on a ledge to say that we all are unique. It's the extent to which we try to hide it that puts us on that perceived scale or normalcy.
Seriously, now -- the majority of us wouldn't think of telling anyone that we look at our poo before flushing, but you know you do. Yet, somehow the people who feel comfortable enough to discuss their poo among friends get labeled as weird. Go figure.
Anywho, I started this new blog after many people asked for some of my prose about my life observations. So here we are... observing. My last blog was deleted because I placed a post about my Christmas dinner experience with my sister-in-law and her family the holiday after my father died. She meant well, but between stomaching the unnecessary comments about 9-11, and the slightly-too-awkward absence of my father, I felt grossly out-of-place. I left the dinner politely and visited friends for a quiet drink before spending the evening alone. I wrote that information in my blog, and she read it. She was so offended by it, it seems she told others in the family about how offended she was, but somehow neglected to tell me. Later, I was investigating some other odd things happening, and through Q&A with several family members, found out. Nice tact - next time, tell me directly, and we'll work it out. So, I told my brother if she was still offended, to please contact me instead of spreading our dirt around the whole family - but I wasn't apologizing. I haven't heard from her since.
I'm sure you could care less about that story and would rather hear about my own thoughts about those diversions from normalcy that I observe every day. So, let's get to it. And, by the way, I evacuated rabbit poo this morning -- must have been the salad last night (?).
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Irreverant Pragmatism? Wha?
Ok, so I filled out this very extensive questionnaire that spit out this summary of "Stuart." EVERY last word in it fits my personality to the very n-th degree! I can't get over how accurate it was (I think they spoke to Colleen, damn her!) I especially like three things: "You dislike unnecessary rules" and "you are generally not interested in pleasing boring people" and "You tend to be irreverant and pragmatic." Bingo! The "conversations" paragraph is on the money, too. Wow, I just can't get over it.
But here is the response... very scary:
You are courageous; and you seek challenges. You are a tough-minded, independent and daring thinker who likes to explore ideas or problems thoroughly. You focus easily. And you are persistent, systematic and competent in pursuing your interests and goals.
You are also assertive; and you enjoy the opportunities your hard work wins.
You think quickly, make decisions more easily than most, dislike unnecessary rules, and take a rational approach to people, issues and ideas.
You don't often enjoy "small talk". You are generally not interested in pleasing boring people and you gravitate to men and women who are intellectually exciting and get to their point quickly during conversations.
You are not conventional in most of your attitudes and values. You tend to be irreverent and pragmatic and you like spontaneous people. You can be an exciting, yet hard driving and exacting, friend and companion.
But here is the response... very scary:
You are courageous; and you seek challenges. You are a tough-minded, independent and daring thinker who likes to explore ideas or problems thoroughly. You focus easily. And you are persistent, systematic and competent in pursuing your interests and goals.
You are also assertive; and you enjoy the opportunities your hard work wins.
You think quickly, make decisions more easily than most, dislike unnecessary rules, and take a rational approach to people, issues and ideas.
You don't often enjoy "small talk". You are generally not interested in pleasing boring people and you gravitate to men and women who are intellectually exciting and get to their point quickly during conversations.
You are not conventional in most of your attitudes and values. You tend to be irreverent and pragmatic and you like spontaneous people. You can be an exciting, yet hard driving and exacting, friend and companion.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
I don't understand why
I don't understand why...
pushing a stroller, tugging rolling luggage, or steering a shopping cart suddenly gives you justification to run over others and give you precedent over others around you. Silly me!
I don't understand why...
people complain about how inconvenienced they are even when they aren't. The sky is falling!
I don't understand why...
people are bigoted. There is at least one thing about us all that is undesirable. Get over it!
I don't understand why...
people aren't petrified of death. Religion aside, isn't ANYone mortified about their death?
I don't understand why...
people refuse to go to work at the sight of the first snowflake, but will drive through the Alaskan tundra to get milk and eggs (that will rot in the refridgerator).
I don't understand why...
it takes months to lose weight but two days to gain 10 pounds. What up wid dat??
I don't understand why...
(some) people on facebook get offended if you "unfriend" them, avoid them, or somehow overlook them. Pick up the phone, visit or meet up for dinner... I gaurantee none of those things will happen. I don't use Facebook as a weapon or an oracle for my feelings. Take a deep breath!
I don't understand why...
people are nosey. Will it alter one's life to know my preferred?
I don't understand why...
we pay property taxes.
...there are more. Feel free to add!
pushing a stroller, tugging rolling luggage, or steering a shopping cart suddenly gives you justification to run over others and give you precedent over others around you. Silly me!
I don't understand why...
people complain about how inconvenienced they are even when they aren't. The sky is falling!
I don't understand why...
people are bigoted. There is at least one thing about us all that is undesirable. Get over it!
I don't understand why...
people aren't petrified of death. Religion aside, isn't ANYone mortified about their death?
I don't understand why...
people refuse to go to work at the sight of the first snowflake, but will drive through the Alaskan tundra to get milk and eggs (that will rot in the refridgerator).
I don't understand why...
it takes months to lose weight but two days to gain 10 pounds. What up wid dat??
I don't understand why...
(some) people on facebook get offended if you "unfriend" them, avoid them, or somehow overlook them. Pick up the phone, visit or meet up for dinner... I gaurantee none of those things will happen. I don't use Facebook as a weapon or an oracle for my feelings. Take a deep breath!
I don't understand why...
people are nosey. Will it alter one's life to know my preferred
I don't understand why...
we pay property taxes.
...there are more. Feel free to add!
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