Stand Tall

Ahhhh...after a very long period of.....just being lazy......I'M BACK.  And how better to start today's blog, but with the chorus of an old song....

"Stand Tall, don't you fall oh, don't go and do something foolish you're feeling it like everyone, it's silly human pride"


Hmmm...so this chorus can be interpreted many different ways and makes me think of several different situations.  The first is really sad.  A young man that I grew up with took his own life last week.  No one, not even the family, really knows what drove him to this end.  He was an outwardly happily married father with, what seemed, everything going for him.  It's sad to think that someone can be in a place that is so dark, with what seems like there is no way out, and take your own life to solve the problem.  What's sad is that if he had only shared his feelings with someone, he may have been able to get help...maybe his problem was magnified in his mind and made to seem bigger than it really was....maybe it was just "silly human pride" and he saw no other way out.  At any rate...it's sad, and he will be missed.  May his memory be eternal.


NOW, I'm not sure if I can turn this around and bring this back to my usual sarcastic blog, but I am going to try.  I don't want to minimize his death, but as my Mom used to say, "Life is for the living, and you have to go on.  Never forget them, but continue to LIVE."  So here we go....  the other way that I read into these lyrics is...Stand Tall and don't be a big pussy.  Why are SO many people SO petty?  Why is it that people pretend that they are all big and tough and unable to admit that sometimes....some things hurt their feelings?  And when their feeling DO get hurt, why don't they go to the source of the hurt INSTEAD of getting other people involved to fight their battles?  WHY I ask you, WHY???  It's always funny to me that there are those people in the world that act like nothing bothers them...they're immune to everything....but really....they're NOT.  It's all a facade.  They talk tough, they act tough, but at the end of the day...they're not tough at all.  Why can't people just be themselves and admit that they have feelings.  Like the elephant man said...."I am not an animal!"  It was him saying...I have feelings...and I  hurt when you say "hurtful" things.  NOW, the big part is when the hurtful things...or things interpreted to be hurtful may have been a joke!  That's my favorite.  Little boys wearing big man's shoes.  If you can't take a joke...then maybe, just maybe you should never make a joke yourself.  Hmmm...now that's a thought....quit being a big pussy and stop dishing it out if you can't take it.  Yes, that is the point of this blog and how I interpreted the song.  It should have been sung...."Stand Tall, don't you fall oh, over your big fat lip that's hanging on the ground because you think you're such a big tough guy, but actually you are a baby that can't take a joke, but loves to dish them out, ohhhhhhh.....ooooo yeah...."  Get my point?  If you don't...THEN ASK ME AND DON'T MAKE A BIG "F"ing DEAL OUT OF NOTHING AND GET ALL KINDS OF OTHER PEOPLE INVOLVED TO DEFLECT FROM THE MAIN POINT THAT YOU'RE A BIG BABY WHY CAN CONSTANTLY DISH IT OUT, BUT CAN'T TAKE IT.  NOW GROW UP AND GO GET YOUR SIPPY CUP.  Whew, that feels better.  Remember, Stand Tall...don't you fall....and if you do....get right back up and step over that SOB that's bringing you down.  ; )   LYLT!!!!

The Importance of being "Sparkalini"

You know...I never really think that I told the story of how Sparkey...lovingly known as Mr Sparkalini Bambini...came to be.  After all, being the namesake of my Blog, I think that's important history that needs to be documented.  So, let me take you back.  Picture it, it's late summer, 1998 and I'm temporarily living with a friend of mine, Katy Palermo (HEY KATY, SHOUT OUT GIRL) while my newly bought home is being remodeled.  So one morning I get up, get ready and head out the door to work.  At the time, I was still working at AT&T and had to go into the office everyday.  So I walk out the door and head to my car.  Since Katy lives in a condo, she only has one covered parking spot, in the back, and I used to park on the street, in the front. So I'm walking to my car and I hear this weird crying noise.  It sounds like a baby kitten trying to get it's Mother's attention to be fed.  I keep hearing it, and start looking around.  Suddenly, from the bed of the truck parked behind my car (a truck that appeared to be abandoned...I don't care what anyone says...the truck was abandoned) I see a little head popping up and down.  I walk over to the truck...remember, it's summer in TX (ie: HOT) and here is this LITTLE baby (now better known as Sparkey) all alone....no blankie, no water, no toys, no nothing!  Not only is he all alone in the bed of this awful abandoned, gross, truck...he's as thin as a rail, covered in fleas and has mites in his ears the size of capers.  Having never owned a dog in my life, I didn't really know what to do.  The only thing that I DID know, is that if I left that LITTLE baby there, in that Dallas summer heat, by the end of the day he would have been dead.  So, back into the house I went to retrieve a box and some paper towel.  I mean, the little guy was in bad shape....so bad, that I really didn't want to touch him, let alone just throw him into my car.  Back out to the truck, box in hand, I use the paper towel...pick him up...and put him in the box.  My ex had a dog, so I knew of one vet in town...Aardvark Veterinary Clinic...so off we went.  We arrive....me and dog-in-a-box...and I tell them that I have found a dog.  They all look at me....a little confused....and say, "And?"  ME: "And he needs to be attended to."  VET: "OK, but we're not the SPCA.  If you leave him here we can help him, but someone needs to come pick him up this afternoon and pay for the services rendered.  After all, he's in pretty bad shape...he's full of fleas, malnourished, probably anemic and from the looks of him, not long for this world if something is not done"  Wow.  OK.  It's not like I was going to take him to the SPCA so that they could take one look at him and send him to the gas chamber...So I said, "Fine. Take care of him and I will be back to pay and pick him up this afternoon!"  VET:  "...and what's the dogs name?"  ME:  "Really?  I just found him...I don't think he has a name."  VET: "We can't accept a new patient without a name."  ME:  "Fine."  Looking at him...SO cute, little, black and white, he kinda looked like a FireHouse dog, so I said, "Sparkey...his name is Sparkey."  Finally on my way to work, I start to think..."What the HELL am I going to do with a dog?  I have never had a dog and DON'T want a dog."  My first thought....call my sister.  I call Joanne, tell her the story and within an hour or so she has found a friend of a friend that wants the dog...sight unseen.  I get off work, go pick up Sparkey, pay for the services rendered and deliver to the guy that's agreed to take the dog.  I go home...to Katy's house and she and I start to talk.  ALL I can talk about is the dog.  "I wonder how Sparkey's doing."  "I wonder what he thinks about his new owner and home."  "I wonder what he's doing right now."  And on and on and on and on...it went on all night.  I hardly slept a wink.  Finally, morning comes and I call the guy that I gave the dog to....to get all the answers to the questions I had.  First, he tells me that he named the dog after me.  WHAAA?  Next, he tells me that his landlord found out that he brought home a dog and reminded him that there are NO PETS allowed and that he has found ANOTHER owner for...well, what he is now calling Andrew.  I told him ABSOLUTELY NOT...I want the dog back!  He agrees.  I take the remainder of the day off and go pick up SPARKEY!!!!           R E U N I T E D 'cause it feels so good.  R E U N I T E D 'cause we understood...  well you get the picture....it was the BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.  Since then...it's history.  13 years later, Sparkey is the LOVE OF MY LIFE...sorry Jeff....but you KNOW he's my life....and there's plenty of me to go around!!!   He follows me around and always accepts me as I am.  Never gets mad at me, never disagrees with me...it's an all 'round love fest.  NOW, to set the record straight....there has been some talk over the years that this dog belonged to someone and that I kidnapped him.  To those people I say, "Whatever."  If someone leaves a dog, in that bad a shape, in the bed of an abandoned pick up truck (I will die saying it was abandoned), well then they do not deserve to have a dog.  END OF DISCUSSION.  And to that I say...this has been the Importance of being Sparkey.  He's been there with me through thick and thin, and has never given up on me....even during times when I gave up on myself.  Thank you, GOD, for sending him to me.  This proves yet another thing....miracles still happen in this day and age, because he truly was a miracle sent from GOD.  ahhhhh

"Special"

Hmmm...the word "special" has changed SO much over the last....decade or so, that I think it's about time to talk about it.  I can remember when I was a kid and my Mom would talk about a "special" occasion.  It was usually someone's birthday, or a holiday, or just some day that was out of the ordinary.  It was the appropriate word, and indicated that something "good" was going to take place.  For "ME" it was not only the...certain chance for a meal that was out of the ordinary, but also a chance to dress up!  Yeah, yeah....I know, I was the only little kid that liked to dress up...RED FLAG...believe me....times have changed (not the RED FLAG characteristics, just that I don't like to dress up).  Any way, a special occasion was just that.....special.  NOW-A-DAYS the word "special" is either used; A.) In a derogatory way,  B.) As a way to be politically correct or C.) As a down right LIE!!!  In the late 80's and early 90's, Saturday Night Live had a character (played by Dana Carvey) called the Church Lady.  The character, Enid Strict, was a holier-than-thou Christian that when hearing something that she thought was off color or inappropriate would say her popular catchphrase "Well isn't that SPE-CIAL?!?"  It was the equivalent of saying, "Wow...how nice...you should be SO proud of yourself."  So just an overall derogatory way of now using the word.  Quite a departure from the "special" occasion that I used to get so excited about!  So then there were knock offs of "special" and the word started morphing to mean yet still OTHER things.  Picture it...an uptight, prude woman referring to a child with Autism.  She couldn't just be a human and say that the child is Autistic....instead, she has to say....in a hush voice....she's "special."  Really.  Well I know several parents that have children with Autism, and it's not "special."  It's a very frustrating disease that we really don't even know the origin!  I have NEVER heard them refer to it as "special."  In my mind, "special" is something that you want!  I don't really think that anyone WANTS to be Autistic.  And the whole hush part.  Why is it that when people need to say something bad, they have to whisper it?  Take for instance...."she has cancer."  OK people, saying it quietly does not make it better or go away.  A fact is a fact....just say it.  Another one... COMPLETELY unrelated to what we are talking about (surprised?)....Mexican.  The other day I was talking to someone and they said that the person in question was Latin American.  I shook my head, agreeingly and said, "Oh, where are they from?"  The person talking to me said, "Mexico City."  So "I" said, "Well then they're not Latin American, they're Mexican."  You would have thought that I had just called a black person the "N" word.  I was reprimanded and told that was not a nice thing to say.  I went on to tell them that being Mexican is NOT a bad thing....all it means it that the person is from Mexico.  Much like a Canadian person is from Canada (poor bastards...they can't help it....and be nice....my relatives are Canadian).  OK, sorry, but I told you that I was about to go off on a tangent so you cannot say that you weren't forewarned.  Now....in keeping with my shorter, quicker read blogs....my last deviation from the true meaning of the word "special" is when it is just a down right lie!  Take restaurants, for example.  It's one of those things that makes me go "hmmmmm" (one of many these days), but it always concerns me when you go into a restaurant and the waiter (server...whatever the politically correct term is today) comes up to the table and says, "We have a couple of "specials" today."  When they read them off....they don't usually sound too "special".....which makes me come to the ultimate conclusion that these "so called" "specials" are not "special" at all, but rather about to go bad quick and they need to move them.  Funny how a lamb chop (VOMIT) can be $35 for the entree one night and several nights later they are on "special" for $20.  So, who over bought lamb chops and what happens if they don't sell?  It also makes me wonder when this same "server" comes up to the table and just pushes the hell out of something.  If you know me....I think that all 37 of you (and some creepers) do, I am forced to ask the "server", "Is there some kind of bonus for the person that sells the most of these "specials" tonight?"  They always look at you and laugh it off....and then walk away from the table saying to themselves, "Hmmmm...I guess I was a bit obvious....I need to smooth that out a bit."  So, short and sweet and to the point, those are just a few of my current deviations on the word "special."  Depending on your age, you may or may not still use the word, and if you do, I'm sure that it has a MUCH different meaning from person to person.  So please....DON'T use "special" as derogatory....if you don't think it's "special" just say what you think it is!  DON'T use "special" to be politically correct...because it's NOT, it's really just offensive that you minimize something that is probably not "special" at all.  And most of all DON'T ORDER the special....I promise it's just old meat that's about to go bad!!!  Thank you for reading today.  You are all very "special" to me.  (you can decide WHICH "special" that was!)  XOXO!

Purgatory

As an Orthodox Christian, the term "Purgatory" if foreign to me.  Most Orthodox Christians assume that they will go to Heaven.  If you don't go to Heaven, the you're going to HELL.  Unfortunately there does not appear to be any in between place to hang out.  So, what is Purgatory.  Well, defined, Purgatory is the condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which, it is believed, that the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for Heaven.  Hmmm....seems life a half way house to Heaven.  Well, since today's blog is NOT about death....but rather texting, I am borrowing the term "Purgatory" to describe that place where TOO many text conversations land.  In this modern age where no one can pick up a phone and just F-ing call someone, we are forced to turn to other measures....texting.  Now, "I" tried to avoid falling victim to the texting phenomenon, but literally NO ONE answers their phone anymore.  Not sure if it's a screening thing (you can see the incoming call digits) or if it's a multi-tasking thing (sitting in a meeting with your phone on mute and still having the ability to take calls).  Either way, it's annoying.....and for MANY reasons.  The first one is that....not growing up texting, it takes me forever.  I don't know all the cute abbreviations (for you Polly...notice I didn't say acronyms) and cannot allow myself to text without using correct punctuation.   The second thing that is wrong with texting is that it is SO hard to convey the REAL message that you are trying to get across.  It's hard to detect sarcasm or lack there of, or sincerity...or lack there of, in a text.  I "personally" have gotten all bent out of shape over a text, because the way I read it was NOT the way it was intended when written.  If that person had just            c-a-l-l-e-d me, there would have been no question as to the intent of the message.  The third, but not final, thing that unnerves me about texting is that I usually cannot REALLY say EVERYTHING that I want to say as it's a combination of taking too long to type it all AND the damn keypad (letters) on the phone are SO small that I am constantly typing...correcting....typing...correcting.....   I get tired of typing and give up before I ever REALLY get to say what I want!!!  In my mind, though, the WORST THING ABOUT TEXTING is TEXTING PURGATORY!!!!  Oh My Goodness (didn't write OMG, because you would have assumed that I was going to say Oh My God, and I am trying not to use God's name like that anymore....baby steps....baby steps....) it is the WORST.  So I FINALLY get on board with the whole texting thing...take my time....write it all out....use correct punctuation (as not to confuse the meaning of the message) and then you get a one word response back from the other person.  REALLY?  It wasn't a "yes" or "no" question!!!   And THEN, when you text back and ask for clarity......crickets.  Suddenly the person on the other end disappears.  Did they not like that you asked for clarity?  Did their phone go dead?  Were they abducted by a stranger?  WHAT???  Don't just leave me hanging in TEXTING PURGATORY!!!  Or, someone drops a bomb on you in a text (happened to me today) and you write back for more details.....crickets.  If someone is texting me, and they happen to mention that they are in the car, and we've been texting back and forth for a while.....the second they don't reply.....?.....  I'm convinced that they have been in a huge accident and are currently being care flighted to the hospital.  It's just who I am.  My mind starts playing tricks on me and I start creating all these scenarios in my mind.  UGH!!!!  So people.....today's blog is short and sweet.....    Text if you MUST, but don't leave your friends, family, enemies, coworkers in TEXTING PURGATORY!!!!  Either actively text....allowing them into Heaven.....OR ignore the initial text and don't get involved and send them to HELL!!!

East vs West

So today's blog is not to be confused with the Jets vs the Sharks...two teenage street gangs of different ethnic backgrounds in West Side Story, but rather of two different cultures from different backgrounds.  So, in West Side Story the groups were from different social classes...in MY East vs West, they are as well!  So what are we talking about?  Guesses?  Bodily functions.  Yep...you heard me....bodily functions.  (So, Eileen, this is your key to STOP reading...as this will probably be TMI for you!)  So some people might say that you cannot compare the East to the West, as the cultures are SO different.  But are they?  Come on....people are people.  If you take India for example...they have some of the RICHEST and some of the POOREST people in the world. It's a total class system, but their regard to bodily functions are the same.  Granted if you saw Slumdog Millionaire you can see the classes and assume that not ALL of the population lives in "Slums" and poop in communal "open air" toilets.....but both the rich and the poor use their left hand to WIPE...exclusively.   If you read about Indian Etiquette, you are never to eat food or pass objects with your left hand.  Even though, I'm sure, they wash their hands after the wiping function...it's taboo!  I guess in our culture it would be really weird, as you usually use the hand of which you are proned...I think?  I would assume that if you are "right handed" that you would use your right hand, and similarly if you are left handed.  Hmmm....although if you drive a stick shift, you always use your right hand, regardless....hmmmm.....does everyone in the West wipe with their right hand?  Maybe there IS another cultural difference....and if so, I would be up a creek.  Don't think I would do so well to EXCLUSIVELY have to always eat with my left hand...since I use the right one to "you know what."  So that's one difference in East vs West regarding bodily function.  OK, so that example is extreme and REALLY has nothing to do with what I was originally thinking about....yes, bodily functions, but I was thinking about burping and....and you know...."excuse me, excuse me from the bottom of my heart.  if it came out the other end it would have been a FART."  So weird...fart is....is like a bad word.  Most men either do not believe or are not willing to admit that their wives or girlfriends fart.  REALLY?  Oh yeah, a significant amount of gay men are the same way....LORD.  Guess that's ONE gay stereotype that I don't fit into.  Come on...be honest....OK, maybe you're a prude and never fart in front of anyone...or admit that you actually fart, but.....when you're alone.....you do it and it feels good.  It's natural!  OK, I am going to be straight up with you and inform you that I am about to go off on a tangent.  Natural.  Farting and burping is natural.  That DOES NOT mean that you should just do it anywhere....and if you do (like accidentally burping  on a conference call when you're NOT on mute...LOL...you know who you are) you shouldn't pretend you didn't do it....blame it on the dog...or pretend you smelled it first (my personal favorite) and blame it on others around you...you need to excuse yourself.  I mention this as breast feeding women in a restaurant FREAK MY SHIT OUT.  If you say something, they say...."It's natural."  OK, well so is peeing, so I'm just gonna pee at the table...OK?  So I tread lightly on the "natural" thing, but come on ....everyone farts and burps.  In India, it's a compliment to burp after a meal (FINALLY, my original point).  Now that might be a little TOO much for me.  I mean...when you're at home...or with your friends....GO FOR IT!  But, if there is ONE person that you do not know VERY WELL....please, and I'm begging you...REFRAIN.  I have been out and some guy has let out a HUGE belch....gross.  Unless you KNOW me....not in front of me.  I do have a few friends....not exclusively men...that love bodily functions.  Probably why we're such good friends.  It is actually our goal in life to wait until we are in the car (me driving so that I have control of the door and window locks) or in a closed elevator to fart.  There is nothing more fun!  As I get older, my favorite thing about going to a bar is that you can fart whenever you want to, and NO ONE can hear where it came from.  Then, once you smell it, you go..."Gross...some pig just farted.  What's wrong with people?"  OR, you can burp and then blow it into the person's face next to you...please make sure you know them!  See, they can't hear it, but, believe me...once they smell it....you'll know.  LOL!!!  So, it's these things that make me wish that back in 2001, when I was a consultant and about to take a job in Bombay, that I actual had...or had the opportunity to.  I was all set to go, then 9/11 happened.  Once it did, all overseas consulting...at least for the company that "I" worked for came to an end.  Maybe that would have been my opportunity to get it out of my system...to be able to burp and fart and be praised for it....whenever I chose.  We'll never know.  So for now....I will just be an aspiring "Tony" (from West Side Story and not my Dallas friend Tony) and wonder what could have been......ho hum.....

Pick it...

Choices.  Life is just full of them.  Unfortunately, we don't always have a lot of say in quite a few of them.  Think about it...you're born (to parents, into a family, to a specific geography), soon after you are Christened, given vaccinations and enrolled in school.  So far...no choices.  During adolescence you start to get a few choices...maybe what to wear, maybe what topping to put on your hot dog...keeping in mind that these decisions are still heavily influenced.  After all, you can only choose from the clothes in your closet and chances are that if your Mom doesn't like mustard or relish...that won't be a choice.  So what choices do we REALLY have and when do we start making them....AND....have we already been so influenced that our choices are REALLY predetermined?  Let's go back to the hot dog...or any food for that matter.  Usually a parent will give a child food that THEY (the parent) like, the way that THEY (again the parent) like it prepared.  So if they like a hot dog with ketchup only...guess how the "little snot nose" is going to get...you got it, a hot dog with ketchup.  I recently heard of a Mother that was a vegetarian and was FORCING her daughter to be one, as well.  Forcing her, even though on a recent doctor's visit the doctor said that she lacked protein in her diet and was starting to develop health issues.  C R A A A Z Y.  OK, so that one is extreme, but our parents have a HUGE influence on our choices.  They decide what activities and extra curricular events we will participate in and form a great deal of our beliefs.  Now, I loved my Mother and do love my Father, but neither of them really did me any good when it came to extra curricular events.  As a boy, it is my opinion, that a Father should teach his son how to play sports..well at least how to throw and catch a ball....and if he cannot or will not...find SOMEONE to take on that basic Fatherly task.  Well, as that never happened, it was quite a mess when I was signed up for the Little League.  I remember wanting to play, but not having any of the necessary tools to play (mitt, basic knowledge, etc...)  I can remember Tina's Dad, George Bogordos, taking me to buy a mitt and showing me how to oil it (you rub the mitt with vaseline,  put a ball in the mitt and rubber band it to help it stretch).  Check.   Bad thing was that no one taught me how to USE the mitt.  When I got out onto the field....cute little white outfit....uh....uniform...it was a mess.....a HOT MESS.  To top off my "less than stellar" performance,  no one came to watch me.  : (   My Dad couldn't come to the games because he was too busy and my Mom couldn't come to the games because it was too hot out (didn't like to sweat) and she didn't like how competitive the parents were (that part I will agree with...it's kinda gross how into it some of the parents get!).  OK, next....swimming.  As a child I went to Vancouver, BC (where my Mom was born and raised) for summer vacation to visit Auntie MaryJane, Uncle Jimmy, Kathy (as she was known then...now she is Kathryn), Joanne (Bobo) and John (let's just leave it at that, although he was quite the P.I.T.A. then).  In their backyard (still there) was a pool.  As the youngest, I was thrown into the pool....oh about 100,000 times.  Probably a good thing, as I learned how to swim...and learned well (remember John was a P.I.T.A.)!  So when then time came, I decided I would join the swim team.  Finally, a sport, and a sport that I was good at!  I loved it!  Got to wear a itty bitty swim suit and didn't have to have a huge physical physique....it was a perfect match!  Well...until NO ONE came to watch me.  I mean...come on...what was going on?  I was GOOD, and STILL no one would come to see me.....you see, my Mom was one of those women that had their hair "done" once a week and the humidity in the Natatorium would make her hair fall....ugh....fail.  Once again a sport abandoned.  OK, I have gotten way off track today and actually embarked on a therapy session....thank you for listening!  I feel better knowing that it wasn't me!!!  So like I started out saying...choices....life is full of them.  We are very limited as children, unless we have a strong personality.  I guess when it came to food, I had a strong personality.  I can remember when I was little, my Mom loved soft boiled eggs....she also loved salt (probably why she had high cholesterol and high blood pressure).  Anyway, I can remember her making breakfast and trying to feed me those nasty, slimy chicken fetuses with salt on them.  To me, it was like snot with sand on it...wasn't going to happen.  I can recall her saying, "This is breakfast, either eat it or nothing."  I chose nothing and began a life journey (until late) of NEVER eating breakfast.  Even now, it's only on a weekend or special occasion that I'll eat it...soft boiled chicken fetus is STILL NOT on the menu.  Lot's of other foods come to mind...ones that I chose not to eat and went to bed without dinner for not eating.....still don't eat them today (Liver and onions...vomit and Veal...double vomit and animal torture).  SO do we really have choices and WHEN do we make them.  It would seem that on some childhood choices or opposition to the choice being "made for you" is based on a child's strong will (my food choices) and on some choices - choosing a choice that is not made for you (sports) it's a lack of direction.   OK, get ready to follow closely, as this is going to be confusing.  Unless your childhood choice maker wants to make a particular choice for you...you will probably never be exposed to it.  I WANTED sports, but neither parent was interested...sooooo, when I tried to "go for it" if failed...it wasn't what THEY wanted.  We both wanted food, but strong will can tend to tweak that one.  I really think that we have few, if any choices in life.  We may THINK we have choices....but do we really?  Our choices are already determined by our environment, our associations and or place in life.  Lot's of great things happen to people that are just in the right place at the right time. I hate to say that I believe in predestination.....but....

So remember what they say...."You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's nose."  This would prove that you REALLY don't have choices.  Now, remember that "strong willed" thing I talked about earlier.  So you CAN pick your friends, you CAN pick your nose, and if you're me (strong willed and your friend is Tina) you CAN pick your friend's nose....she might not like it....but, who asked if she liked it!  This time I get to choose and I choose to PICK IT!

Fashion vs Function

Fashion....defined as the prevailing style during a particular time.  Function....defined as performing a specific action or activity.  Alone they are just that....fashion and function....when you marry the two...well...sometimes, borders cross and...ugh!  Let's just put it out there.  When you look at the function of underwear...let's talk men's underwear, the purpose is really to put a barrier between your man parts and your outer clothing....actually not a barrier, but really to hold everything in place and prevent it from "flopping" around.  For this reason...my reason, it has always amazed me that some men wear boxers.  What do boxers really accomplish?  In my mine, nothing. They just add an extra layer of bulk.  They tend to ride up on you all day and you end up with bunched up cotton fabric at the top of your thighs all day.  Since the leg is loose and open at the bottom, they don't even serve to absorb that potential last drip of urine that you fail to shake off before pulling your pants back up.  Good argument for the brief....holds the junk in place and serves as an absorbent barrier between you and your outer clothing.  So why, then, are briefs getting SO complicated?  I was always a fan of your basic Calvin Klein briefs.  Got them in white...they were 100% cotton....comfortable and you could bleach them.  They always made a point about how easy the fly was to use.  The fly ran vertical on the brief.  So, if you have ever worn a pair of men's briefs, accessing the fly through the zippered opening of your pants....not an easy task.  There's not a whole lot of room!  I usually just go for the easy method of...unzip the pant fly, reach in and pull the underwear down from the waistband.  Much easier.  So why is there even a fly at all?  I asked myself that very question the last time that I went to one of those fancy stores that just sells underwear.  In thinking about it, I never use the fly, so why do you even need it.  Let me tell you.  If you wear briefs with no fly...you look like Linda Carter in Wonder Woman.  It's really weird.  This proves that fashion can sometimes win out over function.  Since there is no function...in my mind....for the fly....the only reason it's there is because it makes your tidy whitys look "normal".    Now they do have the undies with the fly running horizontal (the pouch)....more streamline, but again, why?  Now you have to open the zippered fly of your pants, reach into this "kangaroo" like pouch...over and under this fabric flap and then find your stuff....ugh!!!  I'll wet my pants by then!  Haven't you ever noticed that if you really have to go to the bathroom, no matter how long you have been holding it...the second you get in there...your body just wants to release.  It's like your bladder says, "I'm here and I'm letting go!"  Hmmmm....not sure how I got all the way to actual bodily functions....but I did.  Along that same line...for my female readers....women's underwear.  Now this is a WHOLE other story.  In my mind, unless you are a woman wearing the padded booty underwear...to give you that whole "Beyonce" look, you might as well wear nothing at all.  There's nothing to them.  Pretty much just a waistband with some floss attached.  Gross....butt floss.  Your only other option is Granny Panties...not cute.  Women have it even worse then men.  THEN, there's bras.  Initially a "device", again, to keep stuff from swinging around.  Now, padded, filled with water, lift, separate....:Lord.  Function is not a mere factor in under garments at all any more...it's all fashion.   Well guys, I just got some really shitty news on the work front, and can no longer concentrate on underwear.  Fashion vs Function....what's your poison?

Reality TV. Is it REALITY?

Reality TV.  It's really a phenomenon that has taken over.  Initially it was live, unscripted and unexpected.  After watching TV for a good part of my life...TV was thought out, "scripted" lines and laugh tracks...the concept of reality TV was a whole new beast.  But was it really...and for how long?  It seems to be that we're finding out that reality TV is just a scheme to make a show "look" like it's unscripted and off the cuff.  Turns out, we're finding out that more and more of these shows are just that....shows.  Shows made to look like "exciting reality", but it's really just a perception.  You know what they say...perception becomes reality.  I started thinking about this, as (being the reality TV whore that I am) last night was the "A-List New York" tell all reunion with Wendy Williams, and immediately after, the premiere of "A-List Dallas."  So I'm watching the reunion show and it seems like these "scenes" as they call them are all planned.  Of course they are.  Wouldn't it be strange if this small group of people just always happened to run into each other....friends with friends, friends with enemies and enemies with enemies.  It's all so fake.  So then I watch the premiere of A-List Dallas (supposed to be the "A" list of the Dallas gay community.  Strange that they are all under 30 and I have never seen any of them before) and it's another weird, forced show.  NOT REALITY TV, but TV made to look like reality.  So I start to think to myself...."What is reality?"  Well, in philosophy (my college minor), reality is the state of things as they actually exist, rather than as they may appear or might be imagined.  Hmmmmm....guess that shows that "A-List New York" and "A-List Dallas", as well as every other reality show are REALLY not reality.  You see, the way they depict things on TV is not how they really exist...would be really boring TV, but how these "STARS" imagine them to exist.  So I think to myself another question...."Is MY life a reality show?"  Damn...I wish.  Unfortunately, life IS reality.  We can wish that we lived in some parallel universe and that everything is wonderful....but, unfortunately it isn't always that way.  I was driving in my car today, on the way to a client meeting and I started to think about my life.  For the most part...it's GOOD!  But when I REALLY start to dig...there are some things that I am NOT happy with.  Most of them come from a time....about a year ago....(can you figure out the importance of the timeframe)...when I may have done or said things as a way to make up for my internal unhappiness.  In doing or saying certain "things", I may have jeopardized friendships.  I may have made someone the brunt of a joke...to mask my unhappiness and detract from what was REALLY going on.  I may have said things that I REALLY didn't mean and that do not represent the person that I am, and I may have done it at the expense of someone else.  All to protect myself.  So, my life used to be one of these so called "Reality shows."  My life of a year ago was "A-List Dallas...the Andrew version"...smoke and mirrors to protect my inner self.  I can say that, as my past actions or words were NOT of the person that I ACTUALLY was, but of this imaginary person.  A person that could not be hurt by others, had a tough interior and exterior and could place others at the brunt of the joke to distract from my own internal unhappiness.  How awful.  Truth be it, I am a vulnerable person (much like anyone else, who is honest with them self) that has emotions, and can be hurt.  So, for anyone that was around a year ago (or earlier) and in contact with me....I'M SORRY.  I really am.  A few of you might even be getting a call (CB).  Maybe you didn't think anything of it, but I did, I have and I want to make it right.  I don't want to open any old wounds, but I want you to know that I am truly sorry.  So the "A-List Dallas....the Andrew version", has been cancelled.  From here on out it's true REALITY.  This is like a confession.  You can't confess and commit the same sin over and just go back and confess again...kind of negates the whole purpose of confession.  So from here on out it's Andrew REALITY.  This is me.  I hope, if need be, you can forgive me.....and if not, just know that the person that hurt you, was hurting himself.  Sorry.

Goodwill....

When we hear the word "Goodwill" many different thoughts can come into your head.  Maybe you think of Goodwill Industries, the non-profit organization that you call when you have an old couch or some old clothing that you need to be picked up from your home.  Maybe you think of the 1997 movie, Good Will Hunting with Matt Damon.  Maybe the Goodwill Games or maybe the 1917 Navy Patrol Boat, the USS Goodwill or maybe even Goodwill as in the moral and mental state of honesty.  The latter is more the thread that I am talking about.  Let me digress.  Every day we get up, get ourselves ready and leave our homes.  Once we walk out the door, we have the possibility of coming in contact will an endless number of people.  Some of the people that we come in contact with will have no affect on us....we may not even notice that we came in contact with them.  Some people...people that we probably don't even know, may have and adverse affect on us...either they do something rude like cutting you off in traffic or letting a door close on you, without holding it for that......that "just long enough" period of time that warrants polite behavior.  Some people will make your day...they may still be a stranger, but they may just do SOMETHING that makes you happy or makes you smile.  DING DING DING.  The LAST one is the one that "I" want to be and that "I" want YOU to be.  I'm calling it...or giving it a title of "Goodwill Ambassador"...and I want EVERYONE reading this to be one...or at least to try it for ONE day.  Let me take another step back and digress a bit more.  I started out by saying that everyday we get up, get ourselves ready and leave our homes.  Check.  One thing that I DID NOT mention, is that there are MANY factors that affect us each and every day...and that affect OTHERS each and every day.  I can remember right after my Mom passed away I was really sad....still am some days....but right after she passed away I was sad a lot.  I would walk around in my own little world and I'm sure that I looked like I had a huge weight on my shoulders.  I did.  It was called grief.  Unless you knew me personally and knew my situation, it could be interpreted many different ways.  Some people might have thought I WAS sad.  Some people may have thought I was shy.  Some people may have thought I was arrogant and keeping to myself.  My point is, unless you knew me personally, you may have judged me, or my actions, by the way that I was carrying myself.  My BIGGER point is, you NEVER know what someone you come into contact with is going through.  OK, some people are just assholes....fine.  But, some people, and I am going to say the majority of people are inherently nice with LOTS of shit on their plate.  Maybe it's personal, maybe it can be avoided and maybe it can't, maybe their just having a bad day, maybe they feel fat, ugly, frumpy, who knows....you just never know what a person is going through until you walk a day, an hour or a second in their shoes.  Maybe...just maybe their Mom just passed away.  OK, so back on track, here is the point that I am, so desperately, TRYING to make.....da da da daaaaa....let's be Goodwill Ambassadors....even if JUST for ONE day.  Here's how it goes....yesterday I was in a local Dallas restaurant / bar.  Nothing fancy, just great burgers, salads, loaded cheese fries with jalapenos, bacon and scallions...YUM...sorry......as I was saying, nothing fancy, just a little local restaurant.  The server (used to be waitress, but that is no longer politically correct) seemed to be the "artsy", "punkish", type of young girl.  You know the one...kinda Goth, kinda dark, and you never know if it's just the persona or they are deeply tortured.  So she comes up to the table, several times....refilling water, asking if we need anything, but never really smiling.  So, the next time she comes up to the table I say, "I love your sweater.  It's really cute!"  She looks at me, smiles and says, "Thanks!"  The next time she came to the table, with a smile, she said, "Sweety, do you need anything?!"  It was interesting.  It was like I broke a barrier.  She could tell by looking at me that we didn't have the same "overt" taste in clothing or interests, and I wondered if she thought I was judging her by her appearance.  But, once I smiled and complimented something that was personal, something that she picked out and liked (obviously, since she was wearing it), I broke down the barrier between us, and now we were just two people with different interests that had something in common....we both liked her sweater (keep in mind...I didn't really "love": her sweater, but I knew that it would make her feel good).  That's part of being a Goodwill Ambassador.  It's self sacrificial.  You don't do it mockingly, you don't try to talk down or belittle someone, and it has to be "somewhat" genuine.  So I didn't "love" her sweater, but it was a nice "little white lie" that made HER feel better.  Sometimes I may be at Starbuck's and tell someone that I LIKE their outfit (I usually really do like it if I say something...yesterday was a needed exception as my server looked down in the dumps!) OR if I like a woman's perfume, or a guy's tie, or someone's dog...whatever...just TELL THEM.  Don't be looking for a compliment in return...it needs to be self sacrificial.  Maybe you see an older person in a restaurant eating alone...pick up their tab.  Just tell the waiter to give them your bill and ask that you NOT be identified.  Remember, you're doing it to be a Goodwill Ambassador and not accolades.  As humans we should be nice to others...weather we know them, or not.  Pass it on....anonymously and reap the rewards.  The reward will come....who knows when.....but it will come.  Remember, we are ALL in this together...whether we know each other or not.  You never know when you might need the help, compliment or just a simple smile from a stranger.  Put it out there and it will come back ten fold.  What do you have to lose?  Will you do it?  Will you do it for me?  Goodwill Ambassador for a day.  Please?

Late

As many of you have pointed out...I failed to blog yesterday.  You see, it all started on Wednesday night.  I couldn't sleep and went to bed LATE.  Usually that would not be a problem, but I had to get up at 5:45 am on Thursday to get ready for an early flight to Houston for business...couldn't be LATE for my flight.  Meetings went really well, but when I got home it was LATE and I was tired.  No excuse, I know.  SO, what is it about this word LATE?  To be honest, I really get annoyed when people are LATE.  Rightfully so, you can be mad at me for being LATE with this post.  Well, you can look at it one of two ways....it can be that this blog is LATE from yesterday, or it's early for today.  By the way, you're not getting another one today, so cut your losses now.  LATE.  On Tuesday I went to the gym for a training session at 2 pm.  As I really get anxious about being LATE, I arrived to the gym around 1:45.  I stretched a little, played some Words with Friends and just people watched.  2 o'clock came and no trainer.  Usually I would be annoyed, but since I was waiting for my torture to begin, I was not as concerned.    I know that she usually has back to back sessions, so if she's LATE, then my torture just gets cut a little short.  Keep in mind, these are free training sessions that I earned for joining the gym.  If I was paying, her being LATE would be a whole different story.  Obviously when your waiting to be tortured by your trainer (and the session is free) being LATE can be a good thing.  Now, keep in mind, in the spirit of fitness and the whole "trainer" concept, I had to pretend to be annoyed.  When she texted me at 2:03 and said that she was LATE and was soooooo sorry, I replied with, "....well be ready to give me twenty."  Insinuating that her punishment would be 20 push-ups....you know....have to talk in their language.  In all honesty, I was so happy that she was LATE.   Hmmmm....so there isn't one emotion associated with LATEness.  Sometimes it's really annoying.....ie....your plane departure is LATE, a customer who is supposed to meet with you at 2:30 in Houston is LATE (yes, it happened to me yesterday), or a dinner companion is LATE (Katy Palermo.  I almost ate my arm off last night waiting for you to arrive at Green Papaya).   So sometimes being LATE can be good, and sometimes being LATE can be bad.  So is there a point where how LATE you are matters?  Yes.  Take college for example....20 minutes.  If you attended college, you know what that means.  If your professor is 20 minutes late to show up for class, you can leave without being penalized.  I guess that's just an unspoken rule.  It wasn't written in my college orientation package, but it's just one of those "legacy" things that gets passed down from class to class.  I assume it's true everywhere?  I remember being in a class, and it was so close to being 20 minutes after the hour....so we took the clock off the wall, moved the big hand a few minutes forward, everyone signed their names on the board (indicating that we were there) and we took off!  It's great when you have a class where everyone has the same idea and there isn't some P.I.T.A. that decides that they need class that day and ruins it for everyone (that would usually be me, but not in college and not on a Friday!  Amen to that sista!!!!).  I was doing so good without digressions today...oh well.  So in the college instance, being LATE is ok, if you're the professor and if it's at least 20 min LATE.  Don't be showing up 10 to 15 minutes LATE or I will just be pissed.  So when else does being LATE depend on time.  Sorry ladies, you knew this was coming.  You never want Flo to be LATE (hahahahaha, I love the old school term for menstruating!).  Never good when a girlfriend, in a panic, tells you she's LATE.  First question?  How LATE?  A couple days?  Big deal.  A week?  Slut.  Yeah, being LATE can be good.  Being LATE can be bad.  Being LATE can have a time factor which can determine when it's good and when it's bad.  Since sometimes you won't know how being LATE will be viewed by the person or persons that are effected by the LATEness, I suggest to just avoid being LATE all together.  One last point, just to make sure that "a certain someone" is reading my blog....saying you're ready to leave the house and then continuing to; 1) read your e-mail 2) go to the bathroom to blow your nose or 3) take a last check in the mirror....makes you LATE.  xoxo!!!!

Baseball and Beauties

Well, it's that time of year again when baseball fans are all coming out of their seats...cheering on their favorite team....especially if you live in Dallas.  The Rangers are on a roll!  So, there's all this hubub about the Rangers and how great they're doing and how we need them to win...blah blah blah, yada yada yada.  Not being a HUGE follower of baseball (football, basketball, soccer, you get the point) I needed to reach out to my authority on sports. (***SHOUT OUT TO SHARON DOSE!!!!  Hey Girl!!!  Love you long time!!!)  Seeing as though the Rangers are doing really well, I figured that I needed to jump onto the "fair weather fan" wagon!!!  So Sharon posts the other day that the Rangers won and that they have one more game to close out this round.  My response...."Where?  Then what?"  It's just so complicated.  Her response....and bare with me, all of you fellow non-sports addicts....."This series is the best of five, we lead the series 2-1, and then we play the winner of the Yankees and Tigers series, round two is a best of seven series and that decides the American league champ who will then play a best of seven series against the National league champ for the world series!!!!"  REALLY?  It's really that difficult?  Come on...you're playing baseball...a game that all of these players have been playing for their WHOLE life.  Why do you need SO many with SO many games?  And the whole time they're getting paid.  I have this conspiracy theory that the teams playing already know who is going to win.  The teams all meet and have a "negotiation" of sorts and decide who the winner will be.  After all, advertisers charge HUGE dollars for commercials during these series, so the longer they drag on, the more money they make. So there are "kick-back for the team that agrees to play long, but bite it in the end.  It's a win-win for everyone involed! So the title of today's blog is "Baseball and Beauties." So you ask where the beauties come in?  Well the beauties are NOT the baseball players, although some of them ARE beauties, but rather TRUE beauties.....Miss America, Miss USA and Miss Universe.  Do they get a series?  NO. There are so MANY differences that are just not fair.  Being Miss America, Miss USA or Miss Universe is a contest too.  Granted, there are beauty contests to get to the ultimate contest, but NOTHING on the scale of baseball.....AND they're not getting paid to get to the ultimate contest....AND they're going at it ALONE.  There is no Team Texas or Team California....it's just ONE person...make it or break it.  When the ONE beauty DOES win, it's hardly a prize, compared to the World Series winner....and the World Series doesn't have ONE winner....the whole team wins.  If you REALLY think about it, it's NOT FAIR AT ALL.  Here these poor girls are made to bare almost everything and get in a bathing suit on national TV and strut their stuff in high heels.  You would think that just MAYBE there should have to be ONE game where the baseball players play in a bathing suit, so that we could judge them on how fit they are.  Also, the "beauties" have to buy a gown (that they pay for themselves) just for a small chance to win the ultimate prize.  With baseball, the players are given their uniforms (provided by the team) and they slide in the dirt and make a mess of them.  Maybe one of the judging criteria for baseball should be; which team has the cleanest uniforms at the end of the game.  After all, poise is part of a beauty contest and if you fall, you don't get extra points....you lose points.  So, maybe a deduction for sliding and maybe more points for staying on your feet and running a little faster.  On the flip side, maybe we should make the beauties run in heels and see who wins.  If a beauty contestant has a bad day...so sad, too bad.  If a baseball player has a bad day he can sit out the game OR just wait until the next game when he's doing better.  No pinch hitters or stand ins for the beauties.  So is it fair?  NO it's not.  Baseball gets WAY more coverage and THEY'RE getting paid to play a game.  It's ridiculous....confusing and ridiculous.  Grow up already.  Get a real job....and do it right THE FIRST TIME...not best of 5, best of 7, best of whatever.  Do it ONCE and DO IT right.  FINAL THOUGHT....Where the REAL discrimination comes in, is in the category of spitting.  With baseball, it almost seems like a prerequisite to spit...and spit A LOT....either just saliva....or the residual from chewing tobacco (in essence, being able to smoke on the job!)  UGH.  Gross.  A beauty CANNOT spit, and it is really frowned upon (on OR off the stage...during or not during competition).  A true beauty ALWAYS swallows.  ; )

WOW.  Some things are just NOT FAIR.

Say it, don't spray it...um, I mean don't "spell" it

I used to love that saying when I was a kid..."Say it, don't spray it!"  Remember?  We would say that when someone was talking and would inadvertently spit while they were talking....LOL!  Mostly it was the kids with braces...poor bastards.  Hell, what am I talking about...I was the poor bastard who waited until adulthood to wear braces...ugh!  Anyway...what I was saying, was that we used to use that stupid little saying when someone talked and spit.  NOW, I just want to scream..."SAY IT, DON'T SPELL IT!"  UGH!!!!  In these annoying times...spelling words or using acronyms seem to be the NEW big thing.  But really?  Is it really new?  OMG...NO it's not.  U C, there were many U.S. (United States) companies that were far ahead of the curve.  Yeah, ever heard of I.B.M.?  They were once known as International Business Machines.  Heard of AT&T....American Telephone and Telegraph, UPS....United Parcel Service, the list goes on and on.  This whole acronym thing is nothing new.  Hmmm....kinda reminds me of a past blog...."Everything old is new again."  The only difference now is that the words are dirty.  When you say WTF it does not make it nice.  Just because you don't actually say the word "Fuck" doesn't mean that you haven't insinuated it.  OMG...still taking the Lord's name in vein by saying "God".   I can remember when I was little, getting in trouble for saying the word "Hell."  So once we got in trouble for saying it, we started spelling it....." H E double toothpicks".  Don't ask.  I guess you couldn't even spell it with the real letters without getting in trouble.  Then there were words that you spelled strangely just for fun.  Take, for instance, MISSISSIPPI.  That would translate to M I, crooked line, crooked line, I, crooked line, crooked line, I, hump back, hump back, I.  Not sure where that came from, but remember....I grew up in Northwest Indiana. Point made.  So the whole WTF, OMG is really nothing new, just a way of saying something you shouldn't really be saying in public without getting looked at.  Youth of America...acronyms are nothing new and neat.  Wasn't it Michael Jackson that said, "I want to love you, PYT (pretty young thing).  You need some lovin', TLC (tender lovin' care)....yeah he did.  So that't how I feel about that.  Come on youth of the new Millenium get your OWN thing.   Oh, and please....do not adopt one of my creepers...Heather Rivera's new thing (***HEY SHOUT OUT TO HEATHER....CREEPER OF THE DAY who cannot admit, by becoming a follower, that she reads my blog every day....sometimes reading the same blog over and over since I am her idol!!!!!) of talking in www.   She's starting her own campaign of talking in www terms.  ie:  www.I'macreeper.com.  She's actually rubbing off on my BFF/Sister, Tina, who in response to a low blow (delivered by yours truly) could only come up with a come back of www.gagmewithaspoon.com.  Come on T...you're almost 50....and sorry, regardless of what Oprah says....50 is NOT the new 40....it's just 50....1/2 way to 100...on the downward slope.  OK, again I apologize for digressing.  My point of today's VERY short blog (tired as I didn't sleep well last night, had an early meeting this morning and then walked the State Fair of Texas all day....) say what's on your mind.  Don't spell it....don't acronym it....don't www it.....JUST SAY IT!!!  It is no nicer, or less sharp of a cut down (or attempt at one) if you shorten it.  Grow a set and SAY IT.   K?  K.   TTYL 4 sure.  <3 U,  C U!!!  XOXO!

Something that makes me go....hmmmmmm

OK, so someone that I am related to....by blood....is homophobic.  Keeping in mind that we are related, makes for a VERY awkward situation. (this person does not live in Dallas and is not the child of anyone that lives in Dallas...figured it out yet?)  Anyway...this....person is kind of ..... A DICK (or Dickess, as not to give away their gender).  You see, I really do not understand why some people crown themselves as God and then decide to pass judgement on others.  So what really stands out in my mind...actually there are a few things, but the first.....don't throw rocks if you live in a glass house.  You see, this person has quite a few skeletons in their closet.  Many of which this person's own children do not even know about.  In past blogs I have talked about looking at yourself and making judgement, before you pass it on to others....well, I didn't say it JUST like that, but in this situation...that's what I meant.  See, for me, it's all well and good to look at yourself in the mirror every morning and say, "WOW, I'm a good person and I do good things for others"....(not sure if this person can really say that, although "I" can), but you have to also realize where you came from...what you did in the past....and knowing that people who know you, know what you did...and although you live in your "FANTASY" world and just share what you want to share (the good parts), the other "stuff" still exists.  Just because you have chosen to omit parts of history that you don't like....doesn't make them go away.  (Kinda reminds me of an entire nation that says that the Holocaust never happened...hmmmmmm.)  Not judging...REALLY, just saying that you have to take the good with the bad (reminds me of the theme song from The Facts of Life...OMG, I loved that show!!!  Tooty, Blaire, the whole crew....awwww...the good ole days.....)  Sorry, didn't mean to get distracted.  So that's kind of the first thing.  The second one is that you can't control what you can't control.  You know what that means?  It means if you're born gay, blind, deaf, black, white, etc.....that it is what it is.  As the almighty GAGA says, "Baby I was born this way."  You have to deal with what you're dealt.  I've said it before and I'll say it again, if given the choice, I probably would not have chosen to be gay.  I mean, don't get me wrong...I am very happy!  I like the person that I am.  I'm in a great, loving, caring relationship and life is good, but having a strike against you at all times is not fun.  Times are changing, but not fast enough!  Another thing that we cannot change is when we were born.  Be it birth order or when in your parents marriage that you came to be.  I am VERY fortunate.  I probably really should not be here!  It's not a secret that I was an accident!  An OOOPPPS baby.  After all, my Mother was 41, my Father was 49 and my siblings were 15, 13 and 11.  I was not planned.  "I" was now "officially" the baby, and I'm good with that, but .....being born so much later offered me many benefits that my siblings did not have.  When I came to be, my parents were more established.  In other words, there was more disposable income.  Growing up, by the time I knew who I was, my siblings were gone, and I was raised like an only child.  An only child with 5 parents instead of 2.  Since there was such a gap, everyone thought that they knew best.  Thank God my Mother nipped that in the butt!!!  Anyway, so I cannot help that I was born later in life and realized more benefits than my siblings...for the most part, the majority of them don't care.  OK, so third and finally...and this is the one that really was the inspiration for today's blog and the one that makes me go...hmmmmm.  So it's been established that I am a Gay man. (Lord I feel like an alcoholic....My name is Andrew and I am Gay.)  I came out in the early 90's, but really knew for a good part of my entire life.  In my entire adult life, I have NEVER dressed up like a woman....not for Halloween, not for fun, not for anything.  SO then, why is it that the "homophobic" or I should say "homophobics" always find it SOOOO fun to dress up like woman?  It seems to be their favorite Halloween costume.  I don't get it.  If there is such a distaste in your mouth for a particular person or group of people, why would you want to emulate that?  It would be like me dressing up like Michele Bachmann for Halloween.  To me, she's gross and I would rather dress up like a piece of dog poop, before I would dress up like her.  And then, would this "aforementioned" homophobic person condone their male children (if they had male children) dressing up like a woman?  Yeah, I don't get it.  Unless it's some latent desire to live out a part of yourself that you can't, OR your way to show that you're jealous that your younger relative was able to be honest with what he was dealt and live his life in truth and not half truths (the ones you choose to share and the ones you don't), OR....you're just a fag (please note, I can use that word since I am one.  It's like rappers being able to use the "N" word.  Please refrain from using the word "Fag" unless you are one or the "N" word unless you are Little Kim or another rapper.).  So for today....something that makes me go....hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Never on a Sunday, but you should know.....

Russ is a creeper.

You're bugging me

I have always had this strange, unexplained respect for bugs.  I do my best not to kill them.  O.K., at the risk of you thinking I'm a freak, I'm going to share.  You see, the way I feel is that the little bug has a Momma that loves him or her.....or that Momma has a baby bug that she loves and that needs her.  So, when there is a bug in the house, I really do try my best to escort it outside, and not to kill it.  Although, a part of me does share the widely held belief that bugs have the entire universe to fly or crawl around, so why do they find the need to come into my house?  Now, I really wish that bugs had the same respect for me!  Today, in Dallas, the weather was simply beautiful!  We've had such a brutal summer of HOT weather and today was the FIRST REAL day of nice weather from the start of the morning, though what's now 6:33 pm.  Jeff and I were able to sit outside Starbuck's this morning and enjoy our coffee in the beautiful fresh air.....ran some errands.....and had lunch with our friend Joey at a place called Jimmy's and were able to eat "al fresco!"  I have just had such a nice day outside (for the first time in a long time) that I just didn't want it to end!  When we got home, I came in the house, unplugged my computer and went out to sit on the deck and catch up on a little work (see I just blew all the leaves off the deck yesterday and straightened it up, so it was a beautiful setting...looking out over the yard and watching the dogs playing and enjoying the fresh air themselves!).  So, about 10 minutes into what I thought was going to be a relaxing, outdoor, afternoon.....it happened.  Gnats and mosquitoes everywhere.  It was like they were saying, "Hey, we have reigned over this yard, solo, all summer and we're not ready to give it up.  Beat it."  I flinched and swatted, but to no avail....they were everywhere.  Really?  After sparing your lives and the lives of your friends and relatives we can't share the yard?  I kept thinking to myself, I need to get a citronella candle.  It's sad, but it's like gorilla warfare out there.  It's me against them.  I either gas them with the sweet smelling aroma of citronella, or I give in and give up the use of my yard.  Did I inadvertently assassinate some important bug in the house this year, and now they have put out an A.P.B. with my picture and stats and said to be on the lookout.  If I did, I didn't mean to!  It goes against my beliefs.  Give me a second chance!!!  Well they were relentless.  I retreated to my office and breathed the stale air.  It's not fair and it's going to turn into a war.  I will now capture their little friends, put them in a glass jar with a screen lid and put them on the inside window sill.  I will then try my relaxing, outdoor, afternoon again.  If they leave me alone, then the prisoners will be released and no one will have to get hurt.  Should they decide to, once again, swarm...the screen lid comes off and the original, solid lid goes on.  They're calling the shots, but I'm still going to give them options.  I don't want to resort to gas, but much like the musical, HAIR, that I saw this week in Dallas....I will use gas (in the form of citronella) if I have to.  I guess I NOW finally understand where the saying, "You're bugging me"  comes from.  It makes sense.  SO, all you bugs out there, "YOU'RE BUGGING ME" and I'm warning you....if you don't quit.....SOMEONE is going to get hurt.  Not a threat, but a promise!!!

Life....

OK bloggers...we were do for a serious one.  I know it's Friday, but it can't be ALL fun and games.  A friend of mine posted the most profound picture on Facebook the other day.  It's a picture of a white (man or woman...can't really tell) person's hand holding the hand of an African (or person of black skin color) refugee's hand.  The hand is SOOOOO tiny and frail.  The wrist is about the same size as the index finger of the person holding the hand.  The caption...."you hate your life, while some people dream of having your life."  It's so true.  I don't want to speak for anyone else but myself, but there are those days when I think...geesh...my life is so difficult.  I think, so many bad things have happened in the past year....things HAVE to get  better.  Well, I USED to think that.  I printed several copies of the picture, one of which hangs on my computer screen.  Another copy I keep in my wallet, to look at when I'm feeling sorry for myself, or to share with someone else who thinks that their life is so bad.  I'm almost ashamed that it took seeing that picture and reading that caption to realize how well off I am.  Every day when I go to Starbuck's and spend in upwards of $3 for a coffee, I pass a homeless man that sleeps on a cardboard box.  I walk right by this man EVERYDAY, and I needed a picture of an African refugee to remind me of what I have and what I have to be thankful for.  It's a shame....and I am ashamed.  My Father has done a great deal of work on mission trips in Africa.  Each time he would come home he would show me pictures and tell of the great work he did to help those less fortunate.  He was always looking for an accolade.  I couldn't give him one.  Not because we have this strange Love Hate relationship, but because we have SO many people in our own country that need help...people that we walk by EVERY day, but everyone wants to go on a mission trip......in my mind, to say that they have.  They do it with their churches and feel that they are getting closer to God.....but are they?  Maybe they are actually getting farther away since they have to walk over people on our very own streets to get to the airport to fly across the globe to help those less fortunate.  It's not glamorous to help the people in your own community or in your own country.  No one writes an article about you or asks you to speak in front of your church for helping the guy sleeping on a cardboard box outside of Starbuck's.....but that's the point.  You shouldn't do it for recognition or to mark an item off of your "bucket list".  We need to do it because we are all the same.  Today it's him...tomorrow that could be me.  If it were me, how would "I" feel to be walked over, passed by, turned away from....only to know that the person ignoring me is paying thousands of dollars to fly across the globe to help someone less fortunate.  Save the airfare and let's start at home.  Let's help OUR brothers and sisters that need us in our OWN communities.  Let's strengthen our FORCE and THEN go an help others.   Help starts at home.  Let's not judge and let's not turn a blind eye.  Just because you walk over them, turn your head away, don't make eye contact....doesn't mean they don't exist.  The next time you think you have it bad, go sleep on a cardboard box outside of Starbuck's...that is until the Police tell you that you are not allowed to do that and ask you to move on.  Live on the street for one night and THEN feel sorry for yourself.  Don't eat for one day...then ask how bad your life is.  Remember there is someone out there who dreams of having your life.  LOVE THY BROTHER.

P.I.T.A.

If you are an avid reader of the "Sparkalini" blog, you know that this past weekend was Greek Fest in Dallas.  During Greek Fest, I did have my fair consumption of pita!  There's the classic Gyro wrapped in pita, there's the pita as a substitute for a dinner roll with your entree (Greek's just can't eat an ordinary dinner roll) and there's the pita triangle for dipping (dipping in ziziki sauce, hummus, etc....).  You have to love pita....that doughy tortilla looking thing....although we didn't steal it from the Mexican's, as after all...., the Greek'  s invented EVERYTHING...right?  Well, not really, but if you talk to most Greek's they will claim creation rights!!!  So like I was saying...I ate my fair share of pita.  But, today's blog is not about pita (the Greek bread replacement), but rather about P.I.T.A.  That would be "P" period, "I" period, "T" period, "A" period....better known as, Pain In The Ass.  Now there are several kinds of P.I.T.A.'s.  There is your basic..."Damn that telemarketer is a real pain in the ass" to "Ouch, I was working out on the stair master and have a huge pain in my ass" to....an actual pain IN your ass.  So let's start at the beginning.  I have been receiving a phone call from a company called NCAC (National Credit Audit Corporation) from toll free number 800.779.4894 for the good part of a year.  It goes like this....my phone rings, I answer, and a recording comes on that tells you that this call may be monitored and/or recorded for quality service.  The recording goes on to tell you that NCAC is a debt collector and the call is in regards to an outstanding debt and asks you to call them back at the number I listed above (please write it down for future reference).  So, I call the number (when I first started getting the calls...a year ago) and listen to the prompts.  It asks for my account number.  Since I do not know what this is about, I have no account number so I prompt out for an operator.  The operator comes on and asks for my account number.  I tell the operator that I don't have an account number and don't know what the call is about.  They then ask me for my phone number, so they can track the call that way.  OK...I give them my number and they ask, "Is this Sergio?"  ME: No, my name is Andrew Constantinides.  NCAC:  "Does Sergio have access to this number?"  ME:  "Seeing as though I don't know who Sergio is, I hope he doesn't have access to this number."  NCAC:  "Sir, a yes or no will do." (Really?  Did they just say that to me? Do they know who I am?)  NCAC:  "What about Irene...does she have access to this number?"  ME:  "Unfortunately I don't know Irene, so I don't think she has access either...or....sorry....No."  NCAC:  "OK, then we must have the wrong party.  I'll remove you from our database."  ME:  "Thank you!"  So that was a year ago, and I have kept receiving the calls and called back maybe two more times to be "removed from the database".   As they have not called in while....they may have actually removed me, but now it's MY turn.  I will call their number EVERYDAY, MULTIPLE times and run up their bill and request that you do the same. I am going to give them a little taste of their own medicine and show them what a P.I.T.A. they were for a good year!!!  That is the first type of P.I.T.A. and it was a MAJOR one!!!  The second P.I.T.A. really is pretty cut and dry.  I WAS working out the other day and felt a little something something pull in the upper part of my thigh, heading up to my glute.  When I got off of the machine, I s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d really big and....OUCH...pulled a muscle.....in of all places, my ass.  Now, that is a regular P.I.T.A.  The third and FINAL P.I.T.A. is the actual Pain IN Your Ass.  Now, I have known many a woman that has given birth to a baby...and the ones that go through it the old fashion way.....labor and pushing...as opposed to the en vogue 21st Century way...either C-Section or massive drugs...are going to know what I am referring to.  So imagine that you are pregnant (this is all second hand information, so if you really HAVE HAD a baby, you can correct me later), you go into labor and you decide you are going to do it "the old fashion way", earn your stripes, be a martyr...and PUSH.  Well, depending on how far along you are and how big that baby is....you may be pushing for a LONG TIME.   So, if you PUSH for a long time...with all your might, and nothing comes out....there's gonna be side effects.  Now pushing is pushing....there's "stuff" in there...NOT boo boo your gross people....I'm talking about veins....you know, inside of your body.  When you PUSH...sometime these veins can swell and.....uh.....well.....ummmmm...become this weird gross thing called a......hemorrhoid.  Ewww....painful, uncomfortable...now that's what we call a pain IN the ass.  Now remember, anyone is susceptible...not just pregnant women.  What are you thinking?  What?  Yes, even men can get them.   I mean, not me?.!?   No...really...I mean....I don't have a hemorrhoid.  Gotta go.

FINAL THOUGHT:  If given a CHOICE...always choose pita over P.I.T.A.  Unfortunately, there is usually not a choice involved....not that "I" would know.  Leave me alone.....I gotta go.

Lions and Tigers and Bears...OH MY!!!

Animals.  You have to love them.  Well, unless you're a sociopath.  Anyone who cannot find some beauty in an animal HAS to be evil.  When it comes to the domestic types, I am partial to dogs.  It's not that I don't like cats....I think kittens are darling!....grown cats do scare me a bit, as they tend to be a liiiitttttllllleeeee too smart, but bottom line...I'm allergic to cats.....and they have been known to sit on babies chests and suck the life out of them....soooooo....for me.....dogs it is!!!!  My menagerie includes 4 dogs....a large 45 lb. mixed breed (he IS NOT and WILL NOT  be called a "mutt"), Sparkey (namesake for the blog), a 15 lb. Jack Russell Terrier, Petey, an 8 lb. Hairless Chinese Crested, Oliver and a new addition to the brood, Jeff's 35 lb Miniature Golden Doodle, Tucker.  Now Jeff knows that I think Tucker is a little "ree ree" (politically incorrect term for slow), but he is just about the most darling, walking teddy bear of a dog that you could imagine.  So, as you can tell, dogs are just my "thing".  They're pretty spoiled....4 dogs sleeping in a king size bed at night with their two owners and Oliver wearing Ralph Lauren cashmere sweaters during the cold months (after all, the poor guy IS hairless!)...but nonetheless, I love them like children.  It's weird though, because I often wonder if they "get it".  Do they know that I love them as if I gave birth to them myself?  Do they think it's weird when I kiss them on the lips?  I don't know.  Initially I think....no......but if you were to watch Planet of the Apes....you start to wonder.  In Planet of the Apes there was that weird role reversal.  The apes were the owners and the humans were the pets.  I can remember a scene where a few of the "human captives" are in a cage and a little ape child comes to pick out her pet.  She puts her face to the cage and ALL of the humans run to the corner an cower.  Hmmmm....is that what it's like for Oliver when I go to plant a big kiss on his lips?  It really made me start to think.  I mean, if you think about it, here on Earth it's Planet of the Humans everyday.  Is this how they feel or have they been so bred and domesticated that they really think that they're human?  Well if you look at Domestic Pets and compare them to Wild Animals....there is a difference.  No matter how much you try to treat a Wild Animal like a Domestic Pet....it doesn't always work out.  Oh sure there was Grizzly Adams who lived in the wilderness and tamed wild bears and had them living with him like children.  But then on the flip side, what happened to Siegfried and Roy?   Well, if you don't remember, Roy almost ended up as dinner for a 7 year-old white tiger.  To that I say....good for the tiger!  Domestic Pets and Wild Animals are two different things!  Think about your dog....or your cat.  For the most part, if these animals were not living in the comfort of your home....they may be dead.  We live in urban cities that do not provide for animals to just cruise the streets for food and shelter...not to mention CARS....the two (domestic pets and cars) usually do not make for a good combination....unless the dog is riding IN the car.  Otherwise.....it usually amounts to......Car - 1   Dog/Cat - 0, aka roadkill.  Wild Animals are called "WILD" because that's what they are.  They should NOT be bound by cages and strutted around like first grade "show-and-tell" finds.  Again, I say, "Good for the tiger!"  he should have done it a long time ago.  Now the BAD thing, they probably put the tiger down.  For WHAT you might ask?  For doing what tigers do....prey, kill, eat (like Julia Robert's movie).  Killed for being a tiger.  I hate to say it, but when the trainer at Sea World got attacked and eaten by Shamu the Killer Whale...yep, you guessed it...I was cheering for Shamu.  Now don't get me wrong, I don't want anyone getting killed or losing their life, but it is TORTURE for these animals to be treated the way they are.  To put a Killer Whale in a "cage" of that size...considering they're used to living in the oceans....would be like a human living in a closet for the rest of their lives (some Gays do that, but it's by their choice and a COMPLETELY different blog topic).  It would be torture.  When given the opportunity....one day...they're gonna strike back!  I really hate it when you watch the news and you hear about a Great White Shark that has been spotted of the coast of a Florida beach and there is a HUGE initiative to track and kill the shark.      H E L L O people....that's where sharks live!!!!  WE are intruding on THEIR space.  What......, you want them to buy a condo in Miami and live in the pool?  Or when you hear about a Brown Bear in Aspen that has been spotted and it MUST be found and put down or tourism will fail.  Ummmm.....people, news flash....Brown Bears live in the mountains.  Sorry skiers, sorry surf boarders, sorry Siegfried and Roy and sorry Sea World trainers....it you play with fire, you're gonna get burned!!!!  So careful what you choose for a pet...and next time your dog looks at you a little weird (I know that they're domesticated and all, but....) be scared, be very scared!!!!

INK me

Over the weekend I had the chance to attend a "Tattoo Fashion Show".  Yeah, you heard me right.  Instead of couture gowns and impeccably tailored suits, the fashions were inked bodies....and I'm talkin' inked....head to toe.  They walked the runway like proud peacocks.  The women had on just the required amount of clothes and high heels...their inked bodies peeping out from their tank tops and mini skirts.  The men...well most of the men had little or no clothing on....just a little loincloth that covered the essentials.  Yep, most of the men were inked from head to toe and all areas in between.  I'm talking scalp, arm pits, butt cheeks....the whole nine yards.  As I watched them strut their stuff, I started to wonder...what makes someone want to do that.  Personally, I think it's kind of cool.  Some of the art work was truly incredible, but what makes you want to do that?  Especially since once you do it....there's really no going back.  I know that there is tattoo removal, but when your entire body is covered, I don't think you can remove it all with no traces.  Really it's just about the biggest commitment you can make.  It's not like getting married or moving overseas.....with this one, there's no turning back.  Some say that it's an addiction....that once you start....one leads to two, that leads to three and so on and so forth.  Well, I got my first tattoo in my twenties.  A small Byzantine cross on my upper left hip.  Not really sure why I wanted it, but one day I called my friend Mary Ann and asked her if she would go and run an errand with me.  I went down to Deep Ellum to a place called "Tiggers" (known for tattooing the likes of Dennis Rodman...has to be good...right?) and told the Inkarista (my made up word for ink artist / barista...ala "ink a rista") what I wanted.  Mary Ann happens to wear a Byzantine cross, so we showed the artist, he drew it on my with erasable ink, and once approved....he started to INK me.  OK, it hurt like HELL!  Maybe it was the location or maybe it was just my mind saying, "What you are doing is going to be on you FOREVER", but nonetheless it hurt.  When it was done....I LOVED IT....STILL DO!  For me, it's the ability to always wear a cross without it wearing you....in the traditional fashion, around your neck.  Well, not until last year...about 20 years later, I got tattoo number two.  This one is more special and just seemed like the "right" thing to do.  For those of you that know me well, you know that my Mom passed away last year....July 13, 2010 at 6:17 am.  You may think that it's strange that I know the time, but without getting into all the details...I was with my Mom, at her side, holding her hand for the last 24 hours of her life.  When she took her final breath....I'm not sure why, but I looked at the clock on the wall in the room.  A large digital clock with red numbers that I will never forget....6:17.  That was the time that God decided that it was time for my Mom to come home to him and begin the life that we all live to begin.  So with that, I tattooed that number, 6:17 on the inner side of my left wrist.  It's right over my pulse and reminds me everyday...NOT of the time my Mom passed away, but rather the time her life began....a day that I want to remember....the best day of HER life.  WOW...I really digressed today.  So that's what mine are about....but what about the people that go...."ALL THE WAY".  Maybe there's a story.  Usually there is.  If you take the time to talk with someone that has a large tattoo...there's always a story of what's to come....of the continuation of the tattoo....of the story their trying to tell.  Maybe some people just need to put it out there get you to ask them, "What is your tattoo about?"  Maybe they have a story to tell, but don't know how best to tell it.  Maybe it's a story of pain.  Maybe a story that they are proud of.  Who knows!?!  It may seem that "these people" always seem to fit into the same category....strange looking, artsy, misunderstood, etc....  But not always.  I don't think that "I" fall into that category.  So maybe it's just the ones that go "all the way".  Like I said in an earlier blog, you REALLY cannot judge a book by the cover.  You can NEVER tell what's inside until you open the book and read it...know it.  That night, at the Tattoo Fashion Show, ALL of the models were extremely nice.  They let us take a zillion pictures with them and were really nice about it.  Of course for us it was part this weird mystique of having our picture taken with the "tattooed guy" and part......fun.  It was cool, it was different.  I gave all of the models a lot of credit for just being who they are and sharing it.  I feel bad that I didn't get the story, but rather played the part of voyeur.  It didn't "gross" me out....well the tattoos didn't.  The only thing that grossed me out.....the ONLY thing the whole night that grossed me out....all of the guys were walking around bare footed.  Now that's gross.  So keep on fighting the good fight, and don't judge a book by it's cover.  Just remember the more interesting the cover, the more chance that you will open the book and read....maybe that's their reason...they draw you in so you'll read the book.  And with that, I say, "INK me!"

Hail to the Chief

As you read today's blog I want you to imagine "Hail to the Chief" playing in the background.  (If you're not familiar with the song, it's that catchy tune that they play every time the President walks into the room.)  In this time of Presidential debates and everyone promising the moon to get a vote....what's really going on?  Well, if you can remember back to 1988, George Bush (Sr.) said, "Read my lips....NO MORE TAXES!"....only to raise taxes in 1990.  If you have watched any of the recent debates or read the paper, Michele Bachmann is going to get gas prices down to $2 a gallon.  So HOW is she going to do this?  Is she sleeping with some middle east leader or something?  OF COURSE she's NOT.  "SHE" is a moral upstanding member of the community.  After all, she and her husband can make Gays go straight.  REALLY?  These are the crazies that we have running to be the President of our Country?  It's been proven that they lie....watch the George Bush "you Tube" on "Read My Lips."  It's there...on video for the world to see.  SO, you can say anything you want to become President.  So I was thinking....what if "I" ran for President?  I have gone over this a thousand times in my head and tried to decide what my promises would be.  One difference is that "My" promises would become a reality.  So maybe they're not as dramatic as "NO MORE TAXES", but does that really count...since it never came true?  And maybe it won't save you a ton of money with "$2 for a gallon of gasoline", but does that count, either, as it hasn't and probably won't come true?  Let's think about promises that are a little more realistic.  One thing that REALLY grosses me out is when I see someone on the street spitting.  Yeah, you heard me "spitting".  It's not just men anymore...lots of women are doing it these days too. I don't get it.  You can't spit in a Kleenex or go to the bathroom and spit in the toilet?  Nope...just right there on the street for the world to see.  Well, when I become President, should someone decide to spit in public....everyone that witnesses the "grossness" of what that is will have the opportunity to spit in a cup and watch the offender drink the cup of spit.  Yep, you heard me...kinda like an eye for an eye.  You wanna be gross and spit, then you can drink some spit.  Smokers.  I know you won't all like this, because some of you are smokers (yes Sunday, I'm talking about YOU!  SHOUT OUT TO SUNDAY!!!  Hey Girl!!!)...ok, so some of you are smokers, but you need to quit.  When "I'm" President, there will be NO MORE smoking in public.  There will be phone booths...similar to those when I was a kid...that you actually made a phone call in...but now, smokers will go into the small cylinder to smoke....DOOR CLOSED, of course.  While smoking in your car, you will have to keep the windows shut at all times and butts will be put out in the ashtray in your car.  I never really understand why smokers crack the window open and then throw the butts out the window.  If you like the smell so much, trap it in there with you!  And don't throw your butts out the window and pollute my land, put it out in your ashtray and savor it.  Whenever I am out and about and I see someone throw a cigarette butt out the window, I just want to pick it up and throw it back in their car and say, "Ooops, you dropped something...here it is."  Harsh?  NO.  And oxygen tanks.  New President Constantinides rule....if you were ever a smoker, and now you have emphysema...sorry, no oxygen tank for you.  You were warned! Do you think the Surgeon General just puts those warnings on the packages for the fun of it!  There's nothing like going to one of those "low rent" casinos....like the ones in Louisiana (remember that Evan?  "It's the Isle of Capri Casino...the Isle of Capri Casino....") and what do you see?  Old women playing the slots, on an oxygen tank and SMOKING!  Lord, let's just blow the place to bits while you're at it!  So what else?  Well, since ALL Presidential promises don't have to come true....how about....Never having to work on your Birthday.  Fast food will be FAST.  ALL customer service reps will be located in the US and speak ENGLISH, and not be located in India and tell you that their name is "Sam" when you really know it's "Siddhartha".  People without children will NOT pay school taxes!  Water is Free...Lord, 3/4 of the earth is covered with it!  Our First Ladies will be glamorous...no more of these "First Ladies with a Cause"....work out, shop and look great!  Police officers will NO LONGER allowed to be fat pigs...period.  Miss America will be just that...Miss America....no more Miss "black" America, Miss "hispanic" America...if you live in America, you will all participate in the SAME contest! (imagine the riots if there was a Miss "white" America) No more Country Club living for prisoners.  If you are guilty of a crime, you will lose all rights...and you will not be able to take the easy way out with the death penalty...that will be going away...we will NO longer play God.  We will make prisoners work!  We will no longer test make-up and medicine on animals, we will test on prisoners!  Why torture innocent animals when we have people that have chosen to give up their rights?  And no TV and books and luxury...you will live in a small cell and work for free...sorry prisoners.  Need to test a new vaccination?  Infect prisoners, then test the cure.  Teachers will make more money...if they are shaping the minds of the future...then why are they paid like peons?  Sports figures will play for little if no money..come on, you're "playing a game".  Really?  We have sports figures making more money than heart surgeons?  NOT ANY MORE.  Women will no longer drive...JUST KIDDING...wanted to make sure that you were still reading!!!  LOL!!!  (although women will no longer be allowed to drive HUGE monster suburbans....it's for everyone's good)  I could go on for days...but that is just the beginning of my list of campaign promises for when "I" run for President.  Hmmmmm....maybe a "write-in" candidate?

Greek Fest or P.M.S?

As this weekend marks the 55th Anniversary of Greek Fest in Dallas, TX (was there performing a cooking demonstration yesterday, thus the lack of blog...ooops, sorry!).  In the spirit of the Greek Fest, I thought I would dedicate a blog to the event...but....is there really that much to say?  After all, it's really just a bunch of white people trying to be Greek for the weekend.  Aside from the incessant mispronunciation of the word Gyro and some woman asking me if I had any honey balls (I was selling pastries today and she was referring to a dessert item known as loukoumathes, which are, in essence, donut holes rolled in honey and nuts), there's really not a lot to talk about.  So, yes...let's go there...where no one and especially no man should go, and talk about P.M.S.  Now, first of all, I want my friend Patti Snyder to know that I am NOT talking about her.  You see, her initials are P.M.S.  OK, now that that's out of the way, I came to think about this topic, as I was flipping through the channels on the TV the other day, and I think it was Dr. Oz talking to a guest about P.M.S.  The guest, obviously a woman, was saying that when she has P.M.S. everything "pisses" her off.  She said that she can get triggered from a  range of things from her husband trying something on in the morning and changing his mind on what he's going to wear, and rather than hanging it back up, he leaves it draped over the back of a chair in his closet.....to her son forgetting to wipe down the counter in the bathroom after he uses the sink......to her dog getting water outside of the bowl when he drinks.  As I sat and listened to her, and watching Dr. Oz (is he a REAL Dr.?) taking her so seriously, I had to sit back and say, "Did anyone just think that maybe she's just a BITCH?"  How is it that women can get away with so much shit because of P.M.S.  I think it's a crock.  Why don't we just call it like we see it and call these "certain" women who have these issues....BITCHES?  If you really think about it, women ONLY have ONE good week a month.  If it's not the PREmenstrual, then it's the POSTmenstrual or it's the actual menstrual cycle....so really, just one good week.  WOW, that really eliminates a lot of good times.  That means if you are a breeder or a lesbian and around a woman all the time, they only really have 12 good weeks a year. You would almost need to date for a while to see what her cycle is to determine what your life would be like. You would need to know....is Christmas going to fall on one of "THOSE" weeks and be really shitty?  Do you have to plan your wedding around her menstrual cycle?  Will vacations be determined by when "FLO" will be visiting?  Come on, after all, you don't want to head to the Caribbean for a romantic vacation, only to learn that you will be scuba diving alone because your wife/girlfriend/lover can't go in the water, or you don't want her with you in the water, because she's SHARK BAIT!  Nothing like swimming around the ocean with a 110lb hunk of chum on your side.  GROSS.  Nothing like being on a vacation with your partner hauling around a heating pad or hot water bottle.  Picture it, "Yes, can we get chairs by an outlet.  No, I don't need to plug in my laptop...I have cramps, it's for my heating pad."  Fun times.  Now don't get me wrong...men have bad days too...we just don't blame it on a bodily function.  So imagine.....damn, I didn't poop today, I'm going to blame that on being an asshole to everyone for the next day.  It just wouldn't fly.  We don't get a "Get Out of Jail" card 3 times a month.  This might be the only argument for homosexuality not being something that you're born with.  It's a sacrifice that men make...getting called names as kids, and getting beat up and discriminated against as adults, just not to have to deal with being someone that only has 12 good weeks a year.  Now don't be getting all mad at me...it's not MY fault.  Blame it on Eve.  According to the Bible, it was Eve taking a bite of the apple from the ONLY tree in the Garden of Eden that God said not to.  Acres and acres of harvest and fruit trees with OOOONNNNEEE tree that she couldn't eat from....Eve is the REAL bitch.  Adam should have done us all a favor and bumped her off before she F'd it up for everyone....asked God for another rib and created Steve....the new and improved Eve.  Then, it could have been Adam and Steve, and then "I" would have been in the majority.  Things could have really been different.  Imagine a world with perfect design, where EVERYONE had a model home  No bad breeder homes with crafty projects made from women during that "time of the month".....no one to have "the headache" and no longer a need to have to wait for to someone to come home from work to discipline the children.  It really would be a more efficient world.  OK, so I hope you know I'm just having fun.  Just providing an alternate point of view.  It's just like when people don't want to be called racist and they say, "Some of my best friends are black"....well in the spirit....."A LOT of my REAL GOOD friends are women"....or at least they used to be my friends.  So for all of you that have female friends, wives, lovers, ect...CALL THEM ON IT....call it as you see it.....tell them, "Quit blaming it on P.M.S., your're just being a BITCH.  Now just admit it."  Hopefully it won't end your friendship, marriage, relationship, but if it does, you haven't lost as much time as you thought.  If you think about it, since women only have 12 good weeks a year....it will take 4 ACTUAL 52 week years to equal one...so when you do the math...you really haven't KNOWN them as long as you think you have!  **** AND A BIG SHOUT OUT TO TINA..who abused me as a child and used to make me come to her house and bake her Toll House cookies and blamed it on cramps.   If I knew then, what I know now, I would have known she was just being a testy BITCH!  LOVE YOU!!!   XOXO!!!!!