A Picture is worth a thousand words...

There are all these articles online about a teen star posing for a magazine shoot and how one of her photos is inappropriate. Often, the article complains about how she’s not old enough to be posing for photos like that. My comment is this: How many fifteen year olds in this country today are comfortable enough with their bodies, have a high enough self esteem to pose like that in front of a camera knowing full well they’d end up on countless magazines? If anything, it makes her more of a role model. Not that I’m advocating she does nude photography or anything, but, what is wrong here? Really?

Here Rabbit Rabbit

Moments seem so small sometimes. It’s not until later they mean something.

Ice Cream trucks

I cannot help but find it weird, that when we hit a high temperature of 70 degrees, they whip out the ice cream trucks. They continue to drive them around, even after that magical minute has past and it goes back to normal Maine weather of 55 degrees. Not quite warm enough to eat ice cream outside in my opinion, but maybe that's just me. :)

Annoying Ads, Annoying words.

I honestly thought that after I was married, and changed my facebook status to indicate that, I would no longer get advertisements trying to sell me stationary or diamond rings. I thought the annoying ads were over and done with. I was wrong. Now, it just displays ads trying to tell me that babies are cute and fun. I know better, they poop and puke, not much else. Sorry, yet again, facebook has let me down.

Also, why are there so many words for vomit in the English language? Do we really need words like puke, barf and hurl? Doesn't it just seem like over kill?

Pre-Wedding

I cannot believe the kindest that has been extended my direction in the last few days. There are people who I have known for only a short while who have said and meant with great sincerity how happy they are for us. I don't know why, but back home there just always seemed to be friction between me and others. However, here, out in the middle of New England, I find it so easy to be authentic. In just a matter of hours, I’m going to get married to someone I’m going to happily call my husband for the rest of my life.

Yesterday, I was very anxious and my stomach was filled with butterflies. However, after some last minute phone calls to family and friends back home and hearing AGAIN how they are honestly and truly happy for me, I am even more elated. Never in my life have things seem so right and perfect, have I ever felt so safe and loved.

Now, if only the weather gods will keep those nasty rain clouds at bay until after the wedding…

Dilbert is a wise man

I actually work somewhere now where the Dilbert principle applies. At the moment, I’m not working in a cubicle, but it well happen soon. At least, that is what they tell me. It’s hard to know if I am doing a good job and will get to move on to that and better pay because they use humiliation as a technique of maintaining morale control. They don’t want our self esteem to get to high, we might think we can do something more with our lives than file things, but they want us to be happy because we get more work done. Oh dear, I do live in a Dilbert cartoon. At what point should I be afraid?

How do you feel...

How would you feel if someone did that to you?

I would probably feel indifferent. A common question and one I heard a lot growing up. (Thank you bipolar disorder.) I’m certain that if you had me take a test where I would listen to people over the phone and then were asked how they felt I would fail miserably. I would probably get correct the ones that were happy or sad, but things like frustrated, surprised and scared would just all get mixed in my mind and just confuse me. I can’t tell you how many times people have demanded that I apologize for things I do or say because they get offended or their feelings get hurt. I always do, although it’s hard to sound sincere.

In life it’s a one way street. I don’t think anyone has ever said they were sorry or felt any kind of regret for offending me or hurting me, especially when it’s something that a “normal” person would not be bothered by. I think I really don’t care much. I just ask from time to time since our current times insists that I should. A half hearted apology has happened a few times in my life, but always only after lots of insisting and often resulting in the person never contacting me again. It’s probably just as well. If I did speak to them again, I would have to really bite my tongue to not say, “How would you feel if someone did that to you…ALL THE FREAKING TIME?”

There’s a new philosophy in town. I’m sure the care bears and the touchy feely decade of the eighties have something to do with this: I had a conversation once with my grandmother who pointed out that in the span of her life time it had changed considerably. For example, if someone lit up a cigarette and it bothered you, it was your responsibility to leave. Now, in the same situation, the person who lit up the cigarette is suppose to put it out if anyone in the room says they are offended or bothered by it. We now live in a world where you are not only responsible for yourself but everyone around you. It's as if we spend our lives tied down and hand cuffed with guns pointed to our heads so that we can't leave. If you live with someone who smokes and you develop some kind of illness because of being exposed to second hand smoke then in this day and age, it’s the smoker’s fault. No one even asks the non-smoker, “Why didn’t you leave the room when he lit up?” “Furthermore, if it really bothered you and he was a jerk about it and smoked all the time, in every room, why didn’t you just move out?”

My Response To "Do you guys still have snow?"

In short, yes:

Granted, I live along the coast, so it's not so bad. It's mainly along the back end of parking lots.

Ten miles inland people still have a couple of feet in their yards. So yes, we still have snow. We had a blizzard just last Friday. Since it is now April, we should be done with this snow business and moving on to Spring. (Crossing fingers of course.)