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TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION (a Halloween tale of horror)

(Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore’s “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” for the butchering and ham-handedness of his iconic poem)

Cartoon used by permission: 244465_RGB_1290.jpg Halloween 2020 by Rick McKee CagleCartoonscom

‘Twas the night before the Presidential election, when all through the land,

Not a godly person was sleeping—not a child, woman, or man.

A landslide of votes had been cast for Joe Biden with care,

But folks were nervous that come the new day,

The Trump nightmare would still be there.

Cartoon used by permission: 243693_RGB_1290.png Axing Norms by Pat Bagley The Salt Lake Tribune UT

The Democrats were anxious as they snuggled in their beds,

While visions of a Biden win and Senate take-over danced in their heads.

And Pelosi in her Covid mask, and me in mine too,

Had finally calmed our hearts when we heard a loud “BOO!”

Cartoon used by permission: 244669_RGB_1290.jpg  Running mate by David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star Tucson AZ

I wondered in my grogginess, what could be the disaster,

But soon spied a giant Covid spector and his Trump-like master.

Down to my knees I dropped like a flash,

Looked up to the heavens, and screamed: “Lawd Jesus, save po’ America’s ass”!

Cartoon used by permission: 244879_RGB_1290.png Donald Trump Undertakes the Pandemic by Dale Cummings Canada PoliticalCartoons com

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Illuminated the pumpkin-looking man with the Covid-orange glow.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

Trump’s idols, his lackies, and demons of fear.

More rapid than eagles, his flying gargoyles they came,

As he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

“Now Putin! Now Giuliani!

Now Lindsey and Fox News!

Come Hannity, and McConnell,

Come Repubs, and Laura Ingraham too.

“Back into the belly of the Oval Office!

And into the cowardly hearts of the Senate.

Y’all come visit—stay—for 2021 until forever,

‘Cause this Christian-idol mofo is guaranteed to win it!”

Cartoon used by permission: 244350_RGB_1290.png Happy Halloween 2020 by Bart van Leeuwen PoliticalCartoons com

But then in my nightmare, I heard on the roof

A stampede of angelic sandal-clad hoofs.

I ran to the window as thousands flew down

And trampled scary Trump

Into the Halloween ground.

They were led by Archangel Michael—

that champion from stories back in the day

His glorious Halloween costume was

Like a fashionable gay dude from the 1600’s, I’d say.

“Don’t let my outfit fool you,”

he said with a beatific grin.

“No evil is a match for me,

given my sword, wings and fabulous glam trim.”

Archangel Michael by Luca Giordano (1660 – 1665) – The Fall of the Rebel Angels/Public Domain

He spoke a few more words before vanquishing Trump:

“BE NOT AFRAID! The Orange one and his ghouls are a goner.

Tell all your frightened Dem friends

To have hope—Angels’ honor.”

Cartoon used by permission: 244862_RGB_1290.png Election Run by Pat Bagley The Salt Lake Tribune UT


Michael spoke not another word, and went back to his work,

Skewered all of Trump’s demon-pals, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose.

And giving a nod, up to the sky he arose.

His Arch-Angelness hung overhead, and to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew up like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he flew out of sight:

“2020 will not be like 2016!”

“Now calm your faint hearts and have a restful good night!”

Cartoon used by permission: 244884_RGB_1290.png You Are Fired by Marian Kamensky Austria

Eleanor Tomczyk is an author and a humorist who is an award-winning voice-over performer.  In 2011, she created the blog, “How the Hell Did I End Up Here” which features mostly satirical posts that have thousands of readers around the world—although she was recently banned in Pakistan (for real!).  Tomczyk’s three books were featured in a recent book festival: “Monsters’ Throwdown,” “Fleeing Oz,” and “The Fetus Chronicles—Podcasts to my Miseducated Self.”  Currently in her 70s and living life like it is freakin’ golden, she is a consummate storyteller and much sought-after motivational speaker.  If you don’t believe me, just ask her!

Cartoon used by permission: 244926_RGB_1290.png Zombie Trump by Pat Bagley The Salt Lake Tribune UT

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on October 28, 2020 in Uncategorized

 

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DEFLATED BALLS

Do you know what I discovered about myself this week?   I have turned into a thirteen-year-old boy over this deflate-gate scandal involving the New England Patriots. I, who know nothing about football—seriously, I know less than nothing—can’t help descending into gales of laughter every time someone from the NFL gives a news conference trying to defend yet another one of their lack of character issues. Remember “Spygate”? According to Wikipedia, that scandal was about the Pats “videotaping the New York Jets’ defensive coaches’ signals from a sideline position years ago.” Apparently, in the land of football, this was considered a mega-cheating scandal and cost the Patriots thousands of dollars, so the Pats aren’t receiving much grace from the public (fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me).

Deflated Balls FB Rick McKee The Augusta Chronicle

Used by permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle

Either it’s a lack of sleep (three hours), or I’m really regressing into a pubescent boy, but I fell off the treadmill from the gale-force of my laughter when I heard quarterback Tom Brady give his news conference about his personal handling of the eleven out of twelve underinflated footballs used during the Pats’ 45-7 victory over the Indianapolis Colts that determined who would play in this year’s Super Bowl Game. Brady started the news conference by saying that when he picks his anointed twelve footfalls right before the big game, to him they are perfect. He then went on to say:

“I don’t want anyone touching my balls after that,

Don’t want anyone rubbing them—

Putting any air in them—taking any air out. . .

To me those balls are perfect!”

ROLFL! I can hardly wait for this week’s Saturday Night Live. It is going to be priceless!

NFL Underinflated Ball Milt Priggee  www miltpriggee com

Used by permission: Milt Priggee, www.miltpriggee.com

Maybe we ought to give up the ghost on our claim that we are an exceptional nation with great moral character. It’s just too hard, isn’t it?   We’re failing at it here, there, and everywhere. According to a study done in 2010 (The Prevalence of Lying in America: Three Studies of Self-Reported Lies), 96% of us lie like a rug just to get our own way. And if The Fiscal Times is to be believed, they cite a study that says cheating has gone mainstream from parents of high school kids hiring—for thousands of dollars—uber-smart “ringers” to take their kids SAT tests, to websites that will help one cheat on one’s spouse. Way to go, America!

As I meditated on these themes, I had a daydream that instead of the country celebrating the Academy Awards on February 22nd (something I know a great deal about), we ought to have a Cheaters and Liars Awards Show. The trophy could be based on the Patriots’ scandal. Instead of an Oscar, the winners could receive a trophy in the shape of a deflated ball. Can you imagine . . .

Used by permission Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle

Used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star Tribune

***

SCENE: We zoom in on a gala star-studded awards ceremony somewhere in Los Angeles. Beautiful, and not so beautiful, people can be seen exiting limousines and milling around waiting to walk the red carpet and hopefully catch the eye of one of the top celebrity correspondents. They are primed and ready to show off their designer gowns and suits for the Academy of Cheaters and Liars as they “humbly” announce that winning is not everything—they are just happy to be nominated (remember they are up for awards as liars). Celebrity blogger and author, ET, can be seen waving over Fox News for her first interview.

ET:         Faux News! Welcome to the first annual Academy of Cheaters and Liars awards ceremony. You’ve been nominated for the “Just Can’t Seem to Get the Facts Right” category along with CNN, breitbart.com, rightwingnews.com, RedState,The Rush Limbaugh Show, and that consummate liar, Glenn Beck. And look at you, girlfriend. You are stylin’ tonight. Who knew right-wingers could “rock your body” like that. And look at that ass—you are definitely “all about that bass,” Baby. Who are you wearing tonight?

FOX:      I’m wearing Armani ‘cause I’ve got “no treble.” He, he, he, he! Get it? Meghan Trainor—“All About That Bass.” Who says Republicans aren’t lowdown with the culture?

ET:         Ah, Foxy Baby, I don’t think “lowdown” means what you think it means. Anyway, how open-minded of you, Foxy, on your choice of formal wear! You know Armani’s gay, right? Don’t get me wrong—I loves me some Armani—I don’t care what his sexuality is. He’s brilliant. I just thought, given your lack of love for gay people and all . . .

FOX:      Armani is not a gay. He’s been married to a woman for thirty years (his childhood sweetheart to be exact), has eight kids, and is a pillar of the Catholic Church in Germany.

ET:         Did you just pull that out of your “bass,” Sugah? And can you spell Google?

UB Award I Steve Sack The Minneapolis Star Tribune

Used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star Tribune

Fox News scurries off in a bit of a huff, although they are slated to win a Deflated Ball for their debacle of stating as fact that France and England have “no go zones” which are Muslim controlled and ruled by Sharia Law. They are favored to win because Fox News repeated this lie multiple times without a shred of facts, summarily offended the French, and Paris Mayor Anne Hidalgo is threatening to sue their “bass.” You go Faux News!

Our entertainment correspondent sees Mitt Romney off in the distance and beckons him over for an interview.

ET:         Mitt, what a surprise! I did not expect to see you here, Darlin’, but I just found out that you are up for a triple-threat award: the Clueless Award for your 2012 47% comment, the Consummate Liar’s award because you swore eleven times that you would not run for the presidency again (even your wife said “we are done, done, done”), and the Flip-floppers award. But before we try to break that down for our viewing audience, who are you wearing tonight?

MITT:    Robert Comstock.

ET:         But of course, you are—he’s the wonderful Mormon fashion designer. Love, love, love his line, although it’s a little bit pricey for my 47% ass and not quite diva-ish enough for my tastes. In fact, it’s a little casual for this event, don’t you think?

MITT:    I do not. I’m changing my image. I’m all about the poor this presidential campaign—all about my peeps in the hoods everywhere.  This year I’m down with the 47%. I’m bringing on my homeboy, Snoop Puppy Dog as my adjunct campaign advisor. I’m confident that nothing can stop me from occupying the Oval office in 2015 and beyond because I will win, win, win, win, win, win, win, win, win, win, win (did I say that eleven times?)!  I deserve it!  I am called to save our country from the ravages of that Kenyan. I am the man!

ET:         Oh, Mitt Baby. Even I’m feeling a little sorry for you. Did you notice that the Republican Party ran off into the bushes screaming “nooooooooooooooooooooooooo” after you said “yes?” The Koch Brothers invited every Republican they could think of except you, Brother, to their big pow-wow (“the Koch Brothers’ secret bank”) this weekend. I think I stand a better chance of getting invited as an ex-black conservative, born-again liberal before you will. WTF, man? Show some pride. Did losing to a black man cause you that much trauma? Go home and raise your grandkids and forget about ruling the world, or at least America.

MT:        Forget? How dare you! I never lose, I never lose, I hate Jeb Bush, I hate Jeb Bush, I must win all the time, I must win all the time, no matter what, no matter what . . .

Romney I No No No John Darkow Columbia Daily Tribune Missouri

Used by permission: John Darkow, Columbia Daily Tribune, Missouri

As Romney wandered off in his wilderness-chic apparel by Robert Comstock mumbling his “winning” mantra, ET spotted Bill Cosby skulking on the periphery trying to get the black media to cut him some slack and give him an interview about anything except the rumors circling around him. ET hides behind Michael Moore who was there for the Hubris Award for Bloviated Opinions along with Bill Maher, and she stayed put until the dark shadow of Cosby passed by. ET just didn’t have the heart to engage in chit-chat with the murderer of Dr. Huxstable. Besides, she knew exactly what he was wearing because she could spot an Anand Jon Alexander design a mile away (the celebrity designer currently serving 59 years to life in prison in California for raping aspiring models he had drugged—some as young as 14). On the verge of vomiting, and in the attempt to escape from Bill Cosby’s line of vision, and hoping to avoid Michael Moore altogether, she collided with Lance Armstrong and accidentally knocked him off his bike which made him furious.

ET:         Oh, Lance Armstrong, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to dismantle you from your bike. I didn’t see you there. Can I interview you?

LA:         Whatever.

ET:         There is no use asking who you’re wearing because it’s clear your bike shorts and top are made by you since nobody wants to be associated with you anymore, and I read that you gave all your label-sponsored sportswear to Goodwill. As to why you are here: My media card says that you are up for best documentary of the World’s Greatest Liar: “Lance Armstrong: Stop at Nothing.” You know that you are the only one in your category tonight of the World’s Greatest Liar, don’t you? No one has ever come close to pulling off the massive fraud you did except maybe Bernie Madoff, so you’re sure to be a shoe-in for a Deflated Ball.

LA:         I just want to ask you what I ask everyone else: How can it be cheating or lying when everyone else was doing it? I did what I had to do to win.

ET:         Save it for the Judge, Sweetpea. I’m not going to get into this discussion with you. I just want to say that the documentary is unbelievable, and you deserve a Deflated Ball. Congratulations! I had a lot of admiration and sympathy for you before I saw the documentary (your personal deflated ball situation caused by cancer and all), but I came away from the film feeling absolutely cold inside—as if I had bumped into Satan himself! Dude, you are portrayed as one cold-hearted, mean-spirited, lying, cheating, life-destroying, manipulative, sociopathic, son-of-a-bitch and it’s all through your own words and actions—the narrator barely had to say a thing. No one has ever made me feel that way. Man, I wouldn’t want to ever be your friend or associate.

LA:         Fuck you!

ET:         Yep, that’s what everyone said you’d say if I dared to interview you. It looks like not much has changed about your character. Well, it’s been real. Gotta go!

On that note, our entertainment correspondent fled as far away from Lance Armstrong as she could and took her seat with all the nominees to watch our fallen heroes and idols as they received their Deflated Ball trophies for the selling of their souls to win, to get the gold, to receive the praise, and to harness the power. All she could think was: “America, you sho’ is in trouble, Girl!”

Lance Armstrong Confession Tom Janssen The Netherlands

Used by permission: Tom Janssen, The Netherlands

***

I am discovering that we have become a nation of cheaters and liars—from the marriage bed to the football field to the pulpit and beyond. No wonder we can’t get much done as a Nation. No wonder we have so many mental-health issues. No wonder our moral compass is shattered. How can we work together to overcome our problems (both individually and societally) if we can’t even trust each other? Winning has become such a powerful drug that most of us will do anything, say anything, and sell any part of our souls to reach that summit. Prestigious schools are being caught in cheating scandals faster than I can say “My Kid’s an Honor Roll Student;” we had a President look us straight in the eye and say, “I did not have sex with that woman,” when he knew damn well he did (I count blow-jobs as sex, thank you very much, BC); and more than half of us divorce each other with 47% citing the reason as unreasonable behavior by our partners.

Well, I’m not having it in my life. I can’t control these national fools who have already betrayed my trust and those who will continue to betray me—but I can control my own sorry ass. (God, please help me to end my days better than when I began—in other words, let me walk the talk until I permanently exit stage left.) As for my husband and my children, it would behoove them to follow my lead because I now write books, and if they don’t behave, one day I will be interviewed by Oprah! Uh, huh—that’s what I’m sayin’!

Cheating husband and wife Daryl Cagle CagleCartoons com

Used by permission: Daryl Cagle, www.cagleCartoons.com

“To me, football is so much about mental toughness, it’s digging deep, it’s doing whatever you need to do to help a team win and that comes in a lot of shapes and forms.” (Emphasis mine)—Tom Brady (quarterback for the New England Patriots)

“I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live by the light that I have. I must stand with anybody that stands right, and stand with him while he is right, and part with him when he goes wrong.”—Abraham Lincoln

“I would prefer even to fail with honor than win by cheating.”—Sophocles

“All good is hard. All evil is easy. Dying, losing, cheating, and mediocrity is easy. Stay away from easy.”—Scott Alexander

QUOTES COURTESY OF www.brainyquote.com

WANT TO READ THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOK (Monsters’ Throwdown)? BUY NOW AT AMAZON!

LIKE TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR? CHECK OUT http://www.eleanortomczyk.com

REFERENCES

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/early-lead/wp/2015/01/22/bill-belichick-on-deflategate-talk-to-tom-brady/?hpid=z1

http://variety.com/2014/tv/reviews/tv-review-lance-armstrong-stop-at-nothing-1201347559/

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/02/sports/cycling/end-of-the-ride-for-lance-armstrong.html?_r=0

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on January 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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WHAT KEEPS YOU AWAKE AT NIGHT?

“Horror fiction, horror literature, and also horror fantasy are a genre of literature, which is intended to, or has the capacity to frighten, scare, or startle its readers by inducing feelings of horror and terror.”—Wikipedia

Do you know what I’ve discovered this week? Halloween is scaring the crap out of me this year. The horror level of this once benign celebration has been jacked up one hundredfold since I was a kid. Gone are the days when Halloween was represented by a few jack-o-lanterns lined along a home’s walkway accompanied by a cutout of a witch and a ghost bumping boots on a porch banister. Now it is full-out horror. Today, I saw a decorated Halloween house on the news that was so full of gore I could barely breathe. I had to keep looking over my shoulder as I ran on the treadmill to make sure no one was behind me in the dark corner of the basement. Between the dozen or so severed heads hanging from the property’s trees, the caged fake babies waiting to be eaten by some monster emerging from the deep, and the blood spurting out of the chopped off limbs of innocent victims (I saw a uniformed arm of a mailman and FedEx delivery man), I almost lost last night’s dinner while watching this all unfold on the Today Show.

Halloween Horror Top

(In the midst of my exercise routine, my husband (WW) joined me in the basement to exercise on his reclining stationary bike which is about six feet to the left of my treadmill in a rather dim corner of the basement. As is sometimes the norm in the morning, it takes WW a while to get moving [not the real talkative type] while I am a motor mouth from the time I rise until the time I close my eyes in the evening. And when I’ve had two cups of French Press coffee on top of my natural energy, I am a force to be reckoned with. I talk as if I’m afraid the world will stop on its axis before I can express all my thoughts to anyone who will listen and whose life might surely depend upon my vociferous “revelations.” I didn’t wait for WW’s greeting [he seemed to be having a hard time getting going] before launching into a diatribe about the morning news, as if he weren’t watching the same television which was about 18 feet in front of us both.)

ME: Hey Darlin’, you got here just in time to see the tail end of the Today Show hosts going through an over-the-top Halloween display in New Jersey. It’s called the Brighton Asylum and it is considered the scariest haunted house in America. The Today Show hosts screamed so much from the terror that Tamron (Hall) and Natalie (Morales) are hoarse.

Oh, my Gawd, did you hear what they just said? Tamron Hall was in such pain after the event that Al Roker thought she had a burst appendix. She had to be admitted into the hospital. But it wasn’t appendicitis! She screamed so much from the terror of being in that damn haunted house that she had a deep-tissue tear in her abdomen. Isn’t that amazing?

WW: Uh, huh . . .

ME: I’m telling you, I just don’t get the fascination with horror. I know you like horror movies—you have all your life. I’ll never forget the time you tricked me into seeing A Nightmare on Elm Street—a kid’s movie my ass. I dreamt about Freddy Krueger for years. See I have this theory that . . .

Werewolf Feel Safe Meme

Please excuse the misspelling in this meme. Apparently, monsters can’t spell.

WW: Hum . . .

ME:   Only people who have never had to suffer horror in real life can enjoy horror movies. I mean, no disrespect to you Babe, but you’re a privileged white male, and you know nothing about suffering, chil’. Umph, umph, umph, I wrote the book on suffering, my man. Now I can tell you a thing or two about real-life horror—I sure ‘nuff can. My childhood was one serial horror story after another. Freddy Krueger probably lived under my bed before he made his screen debut. Hee, hee, hee! Whew, Lord Jesus—preach it, girl!

WW: Oooooh . . .

ME:  I know, I know. You think that horror movies and Halloween haunted houses are just fake with actors plastered in red-dye corn syrup blood and oatmeal standing in for brains so the zombie actors can realistically scoop them up and eat them with their skeletal fingers. It’s all in good fun, you think. I’ve been married to you long enough to know that what you really consider horror is all the bad news I consume as a blogger—just to stay informed. If I’m being honest with myself, the media hysterics can get a bit much—if I do say so myself. Between the ISIS beheadings and the 4,500 dead African bodies from Ebola that we keep hearing will overrun America, I have to admit it can get a little bit terrorizing.

News Horrors Patrick Chappatte The International New York Times

Used by Permission: Patrick Chappatte, The International New York Times

WW: A-CHOO!

ME:     God bless you! I hope you’re not coming down with a cold. I knew leaving that window open last night was a big mistake. First of all, there was a full moon, and I know it sounds silly, but I find it difficult to sleep with my bedroom windows open on nights like that. I mean anything can crawl through an open window on a full-moon night. Next thing you know, you’re chopped liver for some zombie, and there you have it. I grew up going to see horror movies about the Wolf Man and Frankenstein and even though I know they aren’t real, it still gives me the creeps. Everybody knows that when there is a full moon—goodnight, Irene! Speaking of those old make-believe monsters, do you think they’d find the events of our time too scary to make an appearance? I mean, how could the fear of a bite from Dracula hold up against the scare of ISIS, Ebola, and Fox News? Talk about horror stories. A-N-Y-HOO . . .

Real World to Scary for Vampire Olle Johansson Sweden

Used by permission: Olle Johansson, Sweden

WW: BRRRIIP!

ME: Oh, my God, did you just fart? Euuuew, Babe. That is sooooo gross. I still have twenty minutes to go on the treadmill. and I can barely breathe now. Thanks a lot. Smells like something died over there on that bike.

WW: Euuuew . . .

ME:   Oh, you agree, huh?  You’re such a crack-up. I told you not to eat that extra helping of fava beans. Anyway, where was I? Oh, the media. Have you noticed how they purposely write the lead ins or the headlines with a question to hook the listener and scare the shit out of us? You can be going along minding your own business without a care in the world when you hear a commercial for the 6 O’clock News:

“Exotic, highly poisonous, yellow snake escaped his illegal captivity and is popping up in toilets across the city. Could your toilet be next and are your family’s asses in jeopardy? Tune in later to watch News4 at 6 for more harrowing details.”

ME: And don’t get me started on Fox News or the Rush Limbaughs of the world—they are the worst fear mongers on the planet:

“Obama letting in Ebola as payback for slavery. Is any ‘True American’ safe from this Imperialist President? Will we all have to die before he gets his lazy ass off the golf course and does his job?”

ME: I mean Americans don’t need Halloween monsters to scare us, all we need is our run-amok media to cause us to lose control of our bowels.

Ebola Fear Cam Cardow Cagle Cartoons

Used by permission: Cam Cardow, Cagle Cartoons

ME: So, where was I? Oh yeah, your penchant for horror movies. Do you remember when you took me to see George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead when we were dating? Oh my God that was the scariest movie. The best thing about that movie was that a black man had the lead and was the hero. That was really somethin’ in that day. Raised quite a fuss if I remember. What was his character’s name? Ben, I think. Oh, but the worst was when you whispered that line in my ear from the movie as we were walking along a dark street. I think you did it to get me to lean in closer so you could put your arm around me, you ol’ sly dog.  It was the line the brother said to his sister in the cemetery that foreshadowed the appearance of the zombies. It made me pee my pants. What did he say, exactly?

(At that exact moment, I heard my husband shout from upstairs in the kitchen: “Who are you talking to, Cutie? I just woke up, and I’m going to fix myself some breakfast. Do you want any?” I looked over at the empty reclining stationary bike, and my heart stopped as I felt an unrecognizable presence lean into the back of my neck [breath so hot it singed the hair off the nape of my neck] and whisper into my left ear:

THEY’RE COMING TO GET YOU, BARBARA! HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, HA, AAAHH-HA, HA, HA, HA!”)

Scary Face imgarcade dot com darqd

Google Image/ Scary Face imgarcade.com

P.S. The author is not really as silly as she has presented herself to be in this Halloween tall tale. If she were, life would have imitated art, and her very intelligent, very no-nonsense, and otherwise very sweet husband would have conjured up monsters long ago to kill her in her sleep on some dark Halloween night when the full moon was in full bloom.

Baby Boomer Witches David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star

Used by Permission: Baby Boomer Witches David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star

“I love horror. I love ‘The Shining,’ ‘Friday the 13th,’ ‘Halloween,’ all those kinds of things. I love zombies, especially ’28 Days Later’ and ’28 Weeks Later,’ where the zombies are going faster than the George Romero ones. I love being scared; there’s something that’s awesome about your heart rate going up like that.”Ricky Schroder

“What scares me is what scares you. We’re all afraid of the same things. That’s why horror is such a powerful genre. All you have to do is ask yourself what frightens you and you’ll know what frightens me.”—John Carpenter

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Check out more about the author: www.eleanortomczyk.com

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on October 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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A Different Set of Rules

Do you know what I’ve discovered?   If I spent every day visiting all the places that I couldn’t enter before the passing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (I was born in 1948), except through the back door as a maid or a slave, I’d probably never die—at least not anytime soon.  That is why I engage in a project surrounding Martin Luther King Holiday weekend that brings me great joy.

Not only do I sashay my black ass (dripping with bling) through the front door of a former slave-owning or white’s only establishment at least once a year, but I stay in the best room they have to offer, order room service for breakfast, and get an 80-minute massage if they offer it.  Since MLK weekend coincides with my husband’s (WW—“White and Wonderful”) birthday, I walk through the front door of those former plantations with my arm wrapped around my white husband’s arm, a big smile on my face, and give a silent middle finger to the racists ghosts who surely must roam the halls of said establishments.  Because there is no way any god worth his salt would ever allow those unrepentant slave owners entrance into Heaven (are you hearing me Thomas Jefferson?), I am convinced their Hell must be tailor-made to watch an African-American making herself at home with sheer abandonment in their “whites only” environment.

I call this bitch slap to the haunted the FYRS-LWITBR Project, which stands for “FUCK YOU RACIST SPECTERS—LIVING WELL IS THE BEST REVENGE!”  My “in your face” rebel cry has nothing to do with the current owners (I do not visit the sins of their ancestors upon them so long as they treat me with dignity and respect), but I do take on the racist ghosts of their lineage.

***

In the interest of full disclosure, my children think I’m crazy.  That’s because I’ve raised them to be color blind, and to my knowledge they have never suffered at the hands of racists, which makes me very happy.   Their friends are color blind (black, white, Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Straight, Gay), as well, and have formed little urban families around each other to unite against the hardships and vagaries of life.   I am very proud of them, and I consider them all “my children.”

But my children and their friends have not seen what I’ve seen or experienced the hatred I’ve embodied.  They have never heard of The Negro Motorist Green Book which was in full swing the year I was born and lasted until after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and they have never had to plan their travel around such a book just to keep from having their asses kicked (or killed) by men in white robes and pointy hats carrying burning crosses.

The Green Book was started by Victor Hugo Green (a Harlem mail carrier) in the 1930s and it would eventually cover lodging, eateries, and stores in every state in the USA as well as Bermuda, Mexico, and Canada that would do business with Negroes.    If there were no hotels that would cater to African-Americans (often the case), the book would list “tourist homes” that would rent the traveler a room or two for their journey.  The Green Book spoke volumes by “omission,” as the writer Justin Hyde has noted.   In 1949, no restaurant was listed in Alabama that would serve black people.  Justin Hyde in his article on The Green Book in Jalopnik underscored the fact that “Black motorists in those eras frequently kept extra fuel, food and portable toilets on hand to avoid stopping in unfriendly locations. Even outside the South, roadside motels and diners often wouldn’t serve black customers.”  In 1963 (one year before The Green Book was taken out of circulation), I was kicked out of a New Jersey hotel in the middle of the night along with a family (a lawyer and school teacher and their two young children) that I was the babysitter for, and we were forced to drive through the night to our approved “Negro cabin” in Maine.

***

INTRODUCTION PAGE OF THE NEGRO TOURIST GUIDE:   “There will be a day sometime in the near future when this guide will not have to be published. That is when we as a race will have equal opportunities and privileges in the United States. It will be a great day for us to suspend this publication for then we can go wherever we please, and without embarrassment. But until that time comes we shall continue to publish this information for your convenience each year.”

The fact that President Obama’s 2nd inauguration (talk about “living well is the best revenge!”) fell on the same day as the MLK holiday weekend and coincided with my husband’s b-day gave me the perfect excuse to engage in my “project” (not at the plantation above used only as an example, but at another glorious location in the South and situated on the Gulf of Mexico).

***

As I stretched out on the beautiful “sugar sand” of a site where there once stood a private mansion that I could have only entered the back door of to make the beds and empty the slop pans, I meditated for hours on how far we had come as a Nation since the publication of The Green Book.   I watched the inauguration of our  magnificent 44th president from my waterfront suite as I lifted a glass of champagne to the triumph of a man that we are lucky to have as a leader.  As I contemplated my own American journey, I joined President Obama in spirit to pray for the further emancipation of our Hispanic brothers and sisters, our Gay and Lesbian brothers and sisters, and the disenfranchised jobless families in our midst who need a helping hand.

***

I am discovering, however, that even though we are in more “tolerant times,” one must be ever vigilant against the spirit of bigotry—especially amongst the religious—or we will be doomed to repeat our history.  Martin Luther King often preached about the complacency of white Christians toward the suffering of those who did not fit their cultural narrow-minded viewpoint (specifically the Southern Baptists).    I have read many of the multitudinous sermons preached by well-intentioned pastors in favor of slavery in the 1800s and then again against desegregation in the 60s and their arrogance and cold-heartedness grip my heart with horror.  Where would we be as a country if righteousness had not won the day?

Today it boggles my mind that Christians who say they love Jesus are part of the Tea Party, but they don’t speak out against the racism that is so visible on their websites and from the mouths of their leaders.  I know that not all Tea Party members are racist but their silence is killing me.  The language of the Tea Partier is slightly different from the overt racist (normally doesn’t include the “n” word), but it is deceiving to the perpetrator because they see themselves as righteous:  “I respect the office of the presidency but I don’t respect this president because he is a Socialist, a Muslim, a spawn of Satan or Hitler (I’m searching for his hidden horns and drawing on his Hitler mustache even as we speak)” or “I don’t have a racist bone in my body, I just worship Sarah Palin, Fox News, and the Drudge Report who do”—said with such vehemence and so many times that it prompts the person of color to scream to the heavens:  “me thinks thou doth protest too much, Tea-bagger!”

racist teabaggers cartoon politiskink dot com

Racist Tea Party Cartoon|image from politiskink.com

DEAR TEA PARTY:
“Nothing in the world is more dangerous than
sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.”
– Martin Luther King, Jr.

Even though we’ve come a long way, whenever I do a Google search with our President’s name, I almost vomit from the visceral racial hatred and disrespect that lashes out at me from the Internet because it seems that some of us are playing by a different set of rules, requiring others of us to reinstate “The Green Book” in order to survive.  This causes me great despair until I read the blogs of people like Frank Angle who wrote “On MLK 2013” (http://afrankangle.wordpress.com/2013/01/20/on-mlk-2013/ ) about the repentance of Elwin Wilson in 2009, a former Klansman, who attacked and beat a black college student in 1961 when he was one of the Freedom Riders trying to win the ability for African-Americans to travel across country via Greyhound and Trailway buses.  The black freedom rider grew up to be Congressman Joe Lewis.   Frank Angle included a YouTube video in his blog post of Wilson and Lewis’ exchange of repentance and forgiveness after 50 years, and it makes the viewer understand that there is a God, and one day we will all overcome our bigotry, our stupidity, our short-sightedness, our lack of grace, and our arrogance!

***

For years, Elwin, an admitted former member of the Ku Klux Klan, says he prayed that he would meet the man he attacked at the bus station.Oprah.com

***

QUOTES BY MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

“In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”Martin Luther King, Jr.

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

 “Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into friend.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

      “It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can keep him from lynching me, and I think that’s pretty important.” – Martin Luther King, Jr

 
31 Comments

Posted by on January 25, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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We’re ALL Gonna Die (sooner or later)!

Mayim Bialik and Kaley Cuoco||Chuck Lorre Productions||Warner Bros. Television

PENNY: “How’s your life?”

AMY FARRAH FOWLER“Like everybody else’s—

subject to entropy, decay, and eventual death.

 Thank you for asking.”

******

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  I just survived a “derecho” (pronounced duh-RAY-cho), and up until it slammed into my town last week, I had never heard of such a force of nature and had no idea that there was yet another thing out there in the great unknown that could reign mayhem and death upon my life when I least expected it.  At 10:30 p.m. last Friday, something that wasn’t a hurricane, or a tornado, or a cyclone started in Chicago at 2 p.m. and made a straight line of a squall of violent thunderstorms from Illinois to the Atlantic Ocean while traveling up to 85 miles an hour.   When Señor Derecho took out my electricity, my Internet, my phone land line, and all cell service, the last thing I saw was my weighted patio table bouncing across the deck like a bunny rabbit on crack while the deck umbrella and several hundred dollars of gorgeous plants got sucked into its vortex as if they were heaven bound.  After Sir Derecho passed out to sea, it left in its wake days of 100 degree temperatures, millions of people without electricity for seven days and counting, hundreds of trees uprooted, undrinkable water, traffic lights on the fritz, long gas lines, and multitudes of cranky residents.  The worst part of it all was that 17 people were killed and at least one canine was turned into a “frozen pop/pup” because in the hysteria of the moment the stupid-ass owner reasoned that tossing his Bichon Frise puppy into a freezer would alleviate the dog’s overheating problem caused by the unrelenting temperatures from Hell—proving once and for all that there is a fool born every minute.

Storm Damage/DC area||MSNBC/MSN.com

What the fuck is going on?  Last March millions of fish washed up dead in the Los Angeles area while last October millions of dead fish were found in Maryland, Brazil, and New Zealand.   On New Year’s Eve thousands of dead birds fell from the sky in Arkansas (of course, if I lived in Arkansas, I’d probably commit hari kari by taking a nose dive from the sky as well!), the honey bees have disappeared in droves, and now a huge section of Colorado has gone up in flames while most of the country suffers from its worst drought in years—threatening to destroy the corn yield in the middle of the country.

Before cell phones could get reception for calls in the aftermath of Herr Derecho in our area, intermittent text messages made it through on my phone with “end of time” theories from the uber-religious to my heathen friends, from the old to the young, from African-Americans to Caucasians, from Hispanic carpenters to my Asian wig stylist, from rich to poor alike—telling me their conspiracy theories which they all concluded had to do with either global warming or God’s wrath.  No matter what their origins or beliefs, they all were trying to get me to buy into some wild tale about a sudden cataclysmic end of the world and write about it in my blog.

Photo by Joshua Trujillo/seattlepi.com

Grandma in her 80’s:   Baby, maybe you ought to write in your blog about how everybody laughed at that old preacher who said the world gonna end on May 21 and Oct 21 last year. Maybe he was right but his math was wrong.  Math ain’t my strong suit neither, and you know how we old folks can’t see that well.  Maybe he didn’t carry a 1 or something in his tallyin’.  Maybe we should not have laughed cause it sure seems like we all gonna die with all this mess that keeps happenin’.

ETomczyk:  Mama-Mama, I love you—bunches—so don’t take this personally when I say, yes, we’re all going to die at some point (some of us sooner than later, if you catch my drift), but that dude is nuts and just plain wrong.  That preacher man has been predicting the end of the world since 1994.  He’s in hiding now, in his multi-million-dollar Christian media empire, having suffered a heart attack, after receiving all those donations from saps who believed his lies that the world would end on the dates he predicted.  Because God don’t like liars, I can only guess that that creepy preacher had a heart attack not from regret about his false prophecies but from hearing God’s voice say: “Oh, hell to the no, false prophet Camping—HELL TO THE NO—sit down and shut up; I’ve had enough of your sorry-ass!”  I sent Rev. Camping a “get well” eCard the day after the last failed prediction that said:  “Cheer up, Rev. Camping; it’s not the end of the world!”

Peccator.com

My Asian Hair StylistHow are you my friend?  I think you should blog about the Mayan prediction because everybody’s talking about it.  You believe that stuff?  Sounds pretty good to me.  Mayans predicted maybe 1600 years ago that world will end on December 21, 2012.  Maybe Derecho a warning that we got six months to get our shit together.  What you say?  (Electricity just came back; you can come on by for styling of your new wig anytime.)

ETomczykHanging in there, Phi—how yu doin’?  My problem with the Mayan prediction is the obvious:  how can you trust an ancient people’s predictions about the modern world when they didn’t see the Spanish coming and the anihilation of their own sorry behinds?  That’s kind of like taking stock market tips from a fortune teller that is dirt poor.

Reenactment of Mayan Priests Ritual||Goodnews.ws.com

My Asian Hair Stylist:  Understandable, my friend.  But somebody told me that the Mayan Round Calendar refers to something called a “Grand Continent,” which they say is talking about North America. The Mayan message says, “Wind and Fire will take their sides on the Grand Continent, and then will return to meet in the middle.”  See—fire in Colorado, storms in the East, meeting together in the middle!  That’s one of the reasons I’m thinking of going back to Viet Nam, my friend, and take my chances with Trương Tấn Sang and the rest of those communist bastards because too much unpredictable shit keeps happening here.

ETomczyk:  You’re a trip, Phi.  I’ll think about blogging about the Mayans.  No promises though.

Husband (WW):  Hey Babe, you interested in seeing “Seeking Friend for End of the World” with Steve Carell and Keira Knightley when the electricity comes back on?  It might be something to use for your blog since I’m sure the Derecho trials of this week are blog worthy.  How about blogging what you would do with your life if the world was going to end in six weeks or six months?

ETomczyk:  Hey, White and Wonderful!  My readers already know what I would do, because they would probably do the same.  You and I would quit our jobs, gather our family and any friends that needed family and transport them to a bucolic location (probably Hawaii or the Caribbean), and we’d spend the remaining time enjoying each other with purposeful abandonment without distraction, guilt, bickering, or worry.  Remember that scene from the apocalyptic movie, Deep Impact, with Téa Leoni and Maximilian Schell as the estranged father and daughter?   Remember how they faced the tsunami wave locked in each other’s arms and died together in total peace—no fear, no panic, and no regrets.  I would hope that would be me after leading a life well lived for that short amount of time.

SEEKINIG A FRIEND for the End of the World||Movie Poster||Wikipedia Image

Brown Cat: You don’t know me but I lived in the house where the Bichon Frise was “frozen” and I’m texting you on the lam.  The Bichon’s name was Monique and she was my friend.  I only missed the freezer demise with her by a hairball—literally!   (I started to hack up a pretend hair ball until the master got distracted with cooling off Monique, and then I ran for the hills before he could toss me in frozen box with her). You see, he told the vet he was just trying to cool us off in the triple digit heat following the Derecho, but I know differently.  Master is a Zombie!  Blog about Monique—BLOG ABOUT THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE because that is what the signs of the times are telling us:  The Zombies are upon us and they are the idiots in our midst.  Look for the idiots and you’ll find the Zombies.  Start with the Tea Party and Fox News, and make sure you warn the people about the pseudo-intellectual, Dinesh D’Souza, because he is one of the top Zombie leaders.  WARN THE PEOPLES I TELL YOU—WARN THEM!

Pinned from Pinterest||funnycats4U.blogspot.com

ETomczykKitty, wait a minute—maybe the world is coming to an end.  When did you get opposable thumbs to text?  Oh, Sweet, Jesus!  What did you do with your owner?

****

I am discovering that there have been “end of time scenarios” since the dawn of the ages or since man realized how quickly and efficiently he could fuck up the planet and wanted to stop the world and kick off the undesirables.   If you’re of the Christian ilk, you’ll remember how Noah and God tried to do a localized end times scenario, but it didn’t take more than a chapter for people to start acting like fools again.  (The Zombies are us, I tell you!)  But I kind of think we’ll be here for a while—at least until we get the concept of “living” right.   Since I didn’t have any control over when I’d be born and probably won’t have any control over when I’ll die, I think I’ll just chill and enjoy today “sans” fear.  Besides, I don’t believe any person, now or then, knows when the world will cease to be as we know it.  Personally, I’ve decided to err on the side of sheer abandonment (live like my world is ending in six months all the freakin’ time), and be an outrageous expression of love, integrity, and joy because in reality one day in the future will certainly be my last.

My sister’s birthday is December 22nd.   I’ve asked all the family to arrive a week before 12/21 because I plan to throw a party every single day like it’s the last day of our lives.  That way, if we go on December 21st as the Mayans have predicted, we’ll all go together with smiles on our faces, good wine and food in our tummies, and hearts full of love and tenderness for each other.  Who could ask for anything more?

Used by permission from Dan Piraro|http://www.bizarrocomics.com

******

“I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and I love today.”—William Allen White

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”—H. P. Lovecraft

“Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.”—Mark Twain

“The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, the education, the money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. . . The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day . . . We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it. . .”Charles Swindoll

 
29 Comments

Posted by on July 6, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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Black Don’t Crack

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  My birthday is coming up during this next week and I suddenly realized that I’m getting old—really old!  Two days ago it seemed as if I were in my twenties; dreaming twenty-year-old thoughts of grandeur (I was going to change the world for the better along with all the other Jesus Freaks of our baby-boomer generation). . .

1960’s Time Magazine Cover

Now I’m more than disillusioned by the failures of a movement that changed my life, and I can’t even sneeze without peeing my pants or take two steps without my ass exploding in a cacophony of farts, no matter how much I “pinch and hold.”  (Dairy, thou hast become my sworn enemy!)

Image from jokesprank.com

Last week I spent a lot of time having a very interesting discussion with people all around the world (online and off) about whether there was a devil (see last week’s post: “The Devil Made Me Do It”).  It was stimulating, spiritually enlightening, and mentally invigorating.  This week my mind has turned to addled mush as I try to comprehend a news article about how soon my children and their friends will be able to know that I’m within a mile of their vicinity by my “distinctive smell.”  Because, apparently, the older one gets, the riper one becomes, and wherever an old person is, his or her smell lingers forever and a day and is distinguishable from every other age group’s smell!  Think:  Nursing home smell.  Holy Mary, Mother of God!

Elderly Woman by Mary Cassatt||Wikipaintings

Wait a minute. There’s something unusual about the subway seat you just claimed. It’s awfully warm, and a peculiar odor seems to hover in the air nearby—a stale, musty odor tinged with something as acrid as mothballs. You know this aroma: it’s ‘old person smell.’”  ‘Old Person Smell’: Study Confirms You Can Recognize Age by Scent, By Ferris Jabr||Huffingtonpost.com

What is this smell the author is talking about?  Is it the smell of death?  When does it start?  How much time do I have before my children have to start hosing me off before I can enter their homes?

Well, screw last week’s blog!  Right now I could care less whether there is a devil or not—I have a more pressing issue to deal with.  I cannot get old and start to stink!  Yet, next Sunday, if I haven’t fainted dead away from the sheer horror of it all, another candle will be added to my birthday cake, ratcheting me closer to the finish line of living and toward an unfathomable, unearthly B.O that I’ll take to my grave, apparently!  Is it because I believe in a theology that marches me to the grave first and then onto resurrection at some point?  Would this “old people curse” still make its claim on WW and me if we got recycled, instead?

Horrified, I asked my husband, WW (the smartest person I know), if we could incorporate reincarnation into our theology and return in another life as something—anything—that didn’t have the potential of becoming Pepé Le Pew in our golden years?

 Warner Bros.||Google Image

But WW (White and Wonderful) just kept on playing with his new iPad and barely looked up when he answered:  “NO, absolutely no reincarnation theology—don’t start getting crazy on me in your old age.  I’ve just gotten used to your Lucille Ball zaniness in this life; I can’t imagine having to survive your antics in another life!  And besides, speak for yourself, ‘pale face,’ I don’t plan on stinking—ever!

Crap!

I don’t know what WW is so bent out of shape about.  Reincarnation simply means “reentering the flesh.”  I wouldn’t mind a do-over in life in spite of WW’s reticence.  My husband was born white and male so the deck has always been stacked in his favor.  I’d come back so much wiser and richer and take the helm with the people holding the power and the money, and see what it’s like to start off life “ready to rule.”  I wouldn’t waste my time with gnarly people or shit that didn’t matter.  And I’d take better care of my body from the very beginning so that my old age would be free of disease.  In fact, maybe I’d come back as a scientist and eliminate this “old people funk” that’s been discovered by Johan Lundström of the Monell Chemical Senses Center who, IMHO, should have used his smarts to determine whether there is really a devil and come up with a plan to eradicate mayhem and chaos from the Earth rather than giving me something else to be mortified about as I get older.  Then we wouldn’t have had horrific “devil” instigated massacres in Syria this week, “devil” inspired zombie cannibalism stories freaking me out so badly I can’t sleep, and a “devil-led” Fox News 4-minute, blatantly false, attack ad against our President—dropping the illusion that they ever were “fair and balanced.”  (Talk about something smelly this way cometh!)

But I digress.  When I did a little bit of research about reincarnation, I realized WW had reason to be concerned.  I discovered that one is not assured to return as a human on a higher plane (richer, thinner, smarter) and much depends on karma.  One could come back as a Fox News anchor or as an insect which means one could be destined to go through life stupid as all get out or squished by something as delicate as a child’s sandal on any given Sunday just because one was considered to be “icky.”   Either way, I’d be screwed.

Image from faniq.com

Since karma is a bitch, I just know given some of the stupid choices I’ve made in life (I was not always the charming person you’ve grown to know and love); I could easily come back as a really scary looking bug:

Grasshopper (Vietnamese)||Google Image

. . . or too small a bug to keep a donut hole from crushing me to death.

 

Joanhascheezeurger.com

Or, horrors upon horrors, maybe the smell issue would become all invasive because of my ungrateful complaints, and I’d come back as something 100 times smellier than an aging Baby Boomer:

joanhascheezeburger.com

SWAT!  SQUISH! RETCH!  WTF!  There goes Eleanor’s recycled life and all because she didn’t want to own and “rock” a mature old-age smell—vanity thy name is Eleanor.

I think I’ll leave well enough alone, be grateful for what I have and the God I love, and trust that I will be able to grow old gracefully and in my right mind (maybe I’ll add another shower in the evenings).  And maybe, just maybe, when I finally do die, I’ll discover that “who” and what is “beyond the veil” is so fantastic, the thought of recycling back to an Earth with a Devil, brutal despots, wannabe zombies, crazy-ass terrorists, and Fox News won’t interest me in the least bit.

******

I am discovering that part of my blessings from God in this life, of which there have been many, is that he’s included me in the Black Don’t Crack club and given me a heart that easily loves in spite of the fact that I was born a poor black child in the “mistake on the lake” city, currently nicknamed, “The Cleve.”  (Translation of ‘Black Don’t Crack’:  An urban legend that African-American skin doesn’t age as quickly as Caucasian or Asian skin due to the melanin that seems to have caused us problems in so many other arenas in life.  Go figure!)

Case in point:  old Asian? Caucasian? lady in her 80’s

Image from onemansblog.com

The African-American singer and actress, Lena Horne, in her 80’s

(no she hasn’t had any face lifts)||lifestyle.allwomenstalk.com

I’m just sayin’. . .urban legend or no, some of that non-crackin’ mojo got bequeathed to me and I will be eternally grateful!

So I may take on this alleged “eau du elderly smell” as I get older—God didn’t promise me a rose garden—but by God, I’ll still have the skin of a twenty-year-old when I die and the heart of someone who loves deeply and profoundly—that’s got to count for something when the younger generation scrunches up their noses and exclaims:  “Peeeeeuw, Grandma”!  Right?

Happy Birthday to me!

The Author:  Old, really, really old, and getting older by the day

“Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened?” —Jennifer Yane

“I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”—Woody Allen

“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”Mark Twain

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
39 Comments

Posted by on June 2, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Hello—You Did What?

Do you know what I’ve discovered?  Over the course of my 63 years of trying to leave my mark on this planet, I have done some really idiotic things.  When I made those dumb choices, I knew better at the time, but I just didn’t stop and think.  By God’s grace I haven’t broken anything on my body, killed anybody inadvertently, or started a gang war, but I‘ve come close to doing all three.

At the moment I’m trying to leave this planet better than the way I came in so I’m really trying to get my act together.  I’m pretty well set on not starting a gang war (limited access to fiery rhetoric and nefarious characters), or killing anybody (my kids are no longer the “you’re getting on Momma’s every last nerve” teenagers who coincided with my menopausal passage of “who in the hell turned down the air conditioner,” so I’m good on that front and we are all safe), but I’m still a little rocky on the potential of breaking something in or on my body and never, ever being able to recover from it.   I feel as if I am the Academy Award winner of things that make my husband and friends stop, scratch their heads, and exclaim:  “Now that deserves a ‘WTF?’ award!”

You know you deserve the “WTF?” award when. . .

…you insist on buying sushi from the Mexican teenager at the second-rate grocery store (“because I love it so much!”)  on a hot summer’s night, and you get parasites that take you eight months to get rid of.

Google Image/The Master Cleanse.com

You know you deserve the “WTF?” award when. . .

…you insist on wearing death-tower heels because you can’t bring yourself to tell the truth about your height (actual height = 5ft; exaggerated height with stiletto heels = 5ft, 5in), and your chubby ass bites the dust every other month by taking a spill down any given set of stairs.

wire image

You know you deserve the “WTF?” award when. . .

…you refuse to read directions about anything (be it “how to run the new washer and dryer to how to work your new iPhone) because your arrogant attitude in life is: “How hard can this shit be!”

Clickipedia Image

Because misery loves company, I decided to do a sample study of all the other people in the world who could be nominees for the “WTF” award and out of thousands of recent candidates (it seems I’m not alone), I chose four, that in comparison, made me feel so much better about myself.  (Now you understand the fascination with reality shows—the dumber they seem, the better we feel about ourselves.)

WTF” NOMINEES FROM FAR AND WIDE

#1.  You know you deserve the “WTF?” award when. . .

…you try to open a bank account (in Brazil!) using a fake ID with the picture of one of the world’s best known actors, Jack Nicholson (Oscar-winning star from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” ”As Good as It Gets,” and “Terms of Endearment”),

AP Image

…but you look nothing like Jack Nicholson!

AP Image

******

#2.  You know you deserve the “WTF?” award when. . .

…you tell your Fox News audience that The Lorax, written 40 years ago by Dr. Seuss, is a liberal “anti-industry” message.  Lou Dobbs said recently that he had “a story you won’t hear anywhere in the liberal national media . . . it involves Hollywood trying to indoctrinate our children.  The President’s liberal friends in Hollywood (are) targeting a younger demographic using animated movies to sell their agenda to children.”

Lou Dobbs, you are in the lead for the “WTF” award, especially if our children grow up to pillage and sack the Earth in the name of industry and consumerism.  Of course, you won’t have to deal with the results because you’ll be dead.  But not to worry, our children can simply go and inhabit the Moon colonies that your pal Newt Gingrich plans on building once he becomes president.

The Lorax by Dr. Seuss/Wikipedia Image

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#3.  You know you deserve the “WTF?” award when. . .

…you’re Disney World, the land where “when you wish upon a star; makes no difference who you are,” and you put together a fat-shaming interactive campaign for children at EPCOT (Habit Heroes) that pits “righteous” characters such as Will Power and Callie Stenics against enemies such as Snacker, Lead Bottom, and The Glutton.   In a place where all children are supposed to feel safe while their dreams come true, Disney and its partner in crime, Blue Cross/Blue Shield ambush and shame any child sporting a little “jelly,” while giving the skinny-meanies in their midst another bullying tool.  That’s after they all run the gauntlet of Disney’s advertising of “Satisfy your sweet tooth at Storybook Treats” or “Wake up with treats like freshly made funnel cakes and delicious waffle sandwiches,” as the writer Mary Elizabeth Williams so accurately illustrates in her article, “Disney’s Fat-shaming Fail.”   (Have you ever tried to get a healthy snack at Disney in between the caramel apples, pizza, ice cream, deep-fried hot dogs, French fries, fudge, giant cookies, forced-air baking bread smells, etc?)   Sheesh!  Disney, heal thy self!

Handout image via AFP – Getty Images

“You want to promote good health (Disney)? Start by looking at your own sugar and animal fat-laden menus.  And go on by respecting children of all shapes and sizes.  Because they’re the ones who trust in the mouse to see them not as Lead Bottoms and Gluttons but as princesses and pirates.  As beautiful.”  Mary Elizabeth Williams at Salon.com

(Three weeks after HabitHeroes.com was launched, it was taken down for maintenance and the exhibit was closed.  No word from the Mouse as to its return.)

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#4.  You know you deserve the “WTF?” award when. . .

…you are Rihanna and spend $23,000 to fly your hair stylist from NY to London for a “hair emergency” because you go for a swim and a sauna and can’t get your weave untangled.

Rihanna/Google image

Matted hair/waiting on the stylist to arrive

Rihanna, you actually win this week’s “WTF” award because people in the know tell us that the weekend hair extravaganza was not an anomaly.  It has been widely reported that you spend $22,706 a week getting your hair done.  (Man, I need your hair stylist’s job, and FYI—that hair stylist saw you coming.)

Rihanna/Google Image

“The waste of money cures itself, for soon there is no more to waste.” ~M.W. Harrison

I am discovering that I am not alone in the “idiotic choices” department.   We all do stupid shit—it’s called being human—and to survive and grow from these foibles require the ability to look at the person in the mirror, humble ourselves, admit we’re acting the fool, and change our ways.  I am also discovering that to whom much is given, much is required, and corporations like Disney have to look before they leap when dealing with our children’s precious psyches, and people like Rihanna need to go on sabbatical to Somalia for three months out of every year just to get their heads (or weaves) on straight.  In any case, we all need realigning every once and awhile.

It helps when someone loves you in spite of your foibles

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Thanks to Jeff Foxworthy for the hysterical concept of “You might be a Redneck if. . .” that informed this blog.

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on March 2, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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