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Tag Archives: HUMOR

DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

Do you know what I discovered this week that drove me to take up meditation? 

Donald Trump, Jr. did something nasty with the Russians and he’s lying through his teeth about it

The John Birch Society (that racist, uber-conservative, far-right group of old) is on the rise again

Trump threatening to harm millions out of pure spite by sabotaging healthcare markets

The 81% of White Evangelicals who voted for Trump say he’s the Chosen One

Game of Thrones is back—winter is here, and the war is coming

Game of Thrones

Fan made Game of Throne Posters/www.ablogofthrones.com

I’m a HUGE “Game of Thrones” fan!  Not that I can keep all the names of the characters straight, but I do know who the bad guys are versus the good guys.  I also know that the characters in the show specialize in betrayal, lying, cruelty, corruption, arrogance, intimidation, and violence.  Kind of like our 45th president and his cronies—especially “Putty” the Vlad Putin.

While I was watching the first episode of the 7th Season of GOT, it increasingly dawned on me that we Americans are living in our own “game of thrones.”  81% of White Evangelical Right-Wing Christians voted for Trump, are not swayed by any of his misdoings (they think the negative stories about him are fake news), and they make up a solid core of the 36% that will stick with Trump even if he does shoot someone in the middle of 5th Avenue as he once promised.  When I heard those stats, I knew eternal winter had come to America.

Trump's base Rick McKee The Augusta Chronicle

Cartoon used by permission: Rick McKee, The August Chronicle

Since the election, I’ve been holding out in hope for courageous men and women to stand up against our “game of thrones” leader and expose the emperor with no clothes.  But when I obtained solid confirmation that the family values voters planned to stick with Trump until the bitter end because they believe he was “raised up by God to be the 45th president,” I knew that the long proclaimed culture war was coming, and much as I suspect will happen in Game of Thrones, it will be long and brutal, and there will be no happy ending.

After a bunch of very clueless ministers encircled Trump last week, and prayed for him with the “laying on of hands” (Greek: cheirotonia – χειροτονία, literally, “laying-on of hands” is both a symbolic and formal method of invoking the Holy Spirit primarily during baptisms and confirmations, healing services, blessings, and ordination of priests, ministers, elders, deacons, and other church officers, along with a variety of other church sacraments and holy ceremonies—Wikipedia), I knew I was either going to become a drug addict and stay stoned for the rest of my life just to keep from going insane, or I was going to have to figure out a non-narcotic type of sedation no matter what happens to my beloved America.

So I took up meditation.

Green Tea Truth Theory

Thus far it has been a struggle.  I practice my breathing, I’ve got my mantra (“save us from DT, deliver us from DT, oh God, OMMMMM-MM-MMM…”), I can even get one of my fat-assed thighs into a half lotus position for five minutes until the leg falls completely asleep and I fall over onto my right side.

I used to watch the news as soon as I woke up (Morning Joe)—usually around 6:00 a.m.—and by 8:00 a.m. I would be so agitated and depressed that I could barely function.  The day I realized that the poison of Trump and family was going to go on for a very, very long time—possibly with irreparable damage, like the march of the hordes of the undead in Game of Thrones that was the moment I knew I had to do something to save my sanity.  For the last three days, I’ve been going onto the deck and doing my meditative exercises, and they seemed to be calming me down and giving me a more peaceful day until… my mind started messing with me.  Like this morning… when Angelica and Deviloneous showed up.

Simpson Devil and Angel on Shoulder meme

Homer Simpson Meme, Devil vs Angel

ANGELICA:  That’s my girl, you can hold that pose… easy, steady—now breathe! Start your mantra…

DEVILONEOUS:   Damn, Girl, ain’t your ass on fire, right about now?  You know you’re too old for this shit.  You’d be better off gettin’ a cup of coffee and eatin’ that leftover apple turnover in the fridge.

ME:   Saveusfromdonaldtrump,ohgod,deliverusfromdonaldtrump,ohgod,OMMMMMMMMM…

DEVILONEOUS:   Morning Joe is on now, Cutie.  Ain’t you jes a bit curious ‘bout what’s goin’ down out there in the real world?  I mean how can you get through the day unless you know what stupidity 45 is up to?  What if he does somethin’ really bad, and you’re not there to see it unfold on the TV?  How you gonna take control?

ANGELICA:  Stop it, Dev.  You know, she’s only human and this mess is out of her control.  Best she can do is “self-manage” and pray.  God has to fix this mess.

DEVILONEOUS:  Oh really, so where is yo’ God? Pray? Pray what?  From where I’m perched looks like everybody is chatterin’ at God.  You got yo’ folks like chubby-ass here prayin’ for God to deliver America from Trump’s evil, then you have Trump’s Christian supporters prayin’ he will destroy people like her because he’s like Neo—The One!  The GOP and the Conservative Evangelicals love 45!  They just adore his chubbie ass.

Emperor no clothes II Steve Sack The Minneapolis Star Tribune

Cartoon used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star Tribune

ANGELICA:   Devi, I hate to be rude, but you need to shut your trap.

DEVILONEOUS:  Psst… hey ET, you know what I heard on the news last night while you were tossin’ and turnin’ in yo’ sleep?  The Trump administration is already underminin’ the healthcare market so that Obamacare will fail and leave millions without insurance.  They pulled help from 18 cities that had set up computer centers in libraries, businesses, and strip malls to help people sign up for insurance who don’t have access to the internet.  That should kill off an easy million or two bottom feeders thinkin’ they deserve to have medical care just ‘cause they alive.

ANGELICA:  Devi, I swear to God, I am going to smack you up side your head.  You need to leave her in peace.  Let her be.

DEVILONEOUS:  Seriously?  Why?  She needs to know that the political party she used to belong to—inspired by the Right-wing Christian churches—are 100% behind this Prez repealin’ Obamacare which will leave 32 million people without insurance.  I love death by mass destruction, don’t you?  Remember the bubonic plague?  That outta worry her to death.

ANGELICA:  ET, don’t listen to him.  Devi, how does losing her mind help save 32 million people from losing insurance?  She has a family to stay healthy for and a few good years of life to enjoy.  She needs to remain calm.  Leave her alone, Devi!

ME:  SaveusohGod,deliverusohGod…OMMMM—MMMMM.

The Death Dealer Milt Priggee www miltpriggee com

Cartoon used by permission: Milt Priggee, http://www.miltpriggee.com

DEVILONEOUS:  Okay, okay, okay.  I’ll leave after I tell her this one last news tidbit.  Hey, ET, yo’ peeps…

ANGELICA:  Her former peeps…

DEVILONEOUS:  Yo’ former peeps, are never, ever gonna see the light about Trump. You know why?  They believe that he is a modern-day King Cyrus—Cyrus the Great (c. 600 or 576 – 530 BC).  You know, the dude from the Old Testament of the Bible who supposedly freed the Jews from the Babylonians and restored their Jewish kingdom by letting them rebuild Jerusalem.  You see, those peeps that you used to break bread with take the Bible “literally,” and they believe that Donald J. Trump is Cyrus the Great incarnated.  Ain’t that somethin’?  Angels and demons alike are crackin’ up ova this latest Christian stupidity.

ANGELICA:  Our girl does not believe that nonsense, and you know it.  She takes the Bible “seriously,” but not “literally.”  She has not fallen under the spell of Trump, but nothing she says seems to wake up her ex-friends who have.  She’s tried, but they only listen to Fox News or Conservative Talk Radio all day long.  She has to just keep calm and carry on, because, whether you believe it or not, Devi, only God can save America from this wolf in sheep’s clothing.

ME:  SAVEUSFROMTRUMPOHGOD,DELIVERUSFROMTRUMPOHGOD… OMMMMMMMMM

DEVILONEOUS:  Well, I’m bored!  So, I’m gonna make like a banana and split.  But before I do, I thought I’d read you a couple of Facebook quotes, prayers, and Tweets from some of the White Right-Wing Evangelicals who think God is on their side and who are gonna ride the wave with Trumpee, no matter what.  Kind of like the Civil War.  Preachers prayed that God keep slavery intact and help the South slaughter the North, while the North prayed the South would be burned to the ground.  Wonder whose prayers will get heard this go round?

Religious Right and Trump Pat Bagley Salt Lake Tribune

Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, Salt Lake Tribune

DEVILONEOUS:  Check these out…

Pastor Rodney Howard-Browne wrote on Instagram: “Highlight after all these years of fighting for America – standing in the Oval Office with @realdonaldtrump and @vp and @paulamichellewhite and other leaders – listening to our great President talk about America – Great Job Mr. President- Great Job.”

Pastor Howard-Browne wrote on his Facebook that he was asked by Paula White to pray over Trump and the pastor asked God for “supernatural wisdom, guidance and protection.” “Wow — we are going to see another great spiritual awakening.”

How about this one by Mark Collins who is a John Bircher/pastor at a Baptist church…

“God has sent America a new, powerful leader. He’s a good man, a moral man. God has delivered Donald J. Trump to save the United States of America.”

Deviloneous:  And you gonna love this ET—it will set your hair on fire…

The Donald, who once confessed to be a non-reader said this in March as he compared himself to King Cyrus of the Bible:  “Cyrus the Great, a leader of the ancient Persian Empire, famously said that ‘freedom, dignity, and wealth together constitute the greatest happiness of humanity. If you bequeath all three to your people, their love for you will never die.’”

ANGELICA:  I wonder who fed Trump that convenient bit of “history?”  Yep, America is fucked!

DEVILONEOUS:  Ooooh, Angie, you gonna get in so much trouble for swearin’!  Hey, what happened to ET?  She fell over on her right side.  Dang, looks like she’s asleep.  Oh well, guess my work is done.

Meditative Stillness meme

I am discovering that we are truly screwed as a country with 45 as our leader.  This situation is going to last a lot longer than any of the resisters and anti-Trump folks ever thought, and it is going to take years to recover from the damage that will have been done to the country by Trump and his right-wing, misquided, delusional zealots.  Save us, Oh God, deliver us, Oh God…have mercy on us, oh God!

Russia Bear Biting Trump's Butt

Cartoon used by permission: CagleCartoons.com

SCARY QUOTE

“Many Evangelicals who voted for Trump continue to have an abiding faith in his presidency. Just as Cyrus returned the Jews to Jerusalem, and restored their wealth, so Trump, they fervently believe, will restore a lost world of personal safety, psychological security and material prosperity.”—James S. Gordon, The Guardian, “Does the ‘Cyrus prophecy’ help explain evangelical support for Donald Trump?”

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WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

BOOKS WRITTEN BY AUTHOR AVAILABLE ON AMAZON

The Fetus Chronicles: Podcasts from My Miseducated Self

Fleeing Oz

Monsters’ Throwdown

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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REFERENCES

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/mar/23/cyrus-prophecy-evangelical-support-donald-trump

http://www.rightwingwatch.org/post/leader-of-trump-cabinet-bible-study-god-only-hears-prayers-of-righteous-christians/

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/once-again-the-silence-of-the-republicans-has-been-profound/2017/07/12/1b158ca6-6742-11e7-a1d7-9a32c91c6f40_story.html?hpid=hp_no-name_opinion-card-d%3Ahomepage%2Fstory

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/get-off-the-trump-train-before-it-crashes/2017/07/12/6e0959e2-673d-11e7-9928-22d00a47778f_story.html

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/under-trump-us-has-lost-its-moral-authority-down-under/2017/07/14/00dae05c-680a-11e7-8eb5-cbccc2e7bfbf_story.html?hpid=hp_no-name_opinion-card-d%3Ahomepage%2Fstory

http://www.cnn.com/2017/07/12/politics/trump-prayer-photo/index.html

http://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2017/07/16/the-john-birch-society-is-alive-and-well-in-the-lone-star-state-215377

http://www.theamericanconservative.com/dreher/christians-tempted-by-trump-idolatry/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/as-pat-robertsons-former-executive-producer-nothing-about-his-interview-with-trump-surprises-me_us_5967b182e4b0d6341fe75c51?section=us_contributor

 

 
2 Comments

Posted by on July 20, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , ,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA!

 (Story repurposed and updated from a similar post from 2014)

Do you know what I discovered about American teenagers regarding Independence Day? I ran across a survey where some of them thought it was a really cool movie (okay, I guess I can see that, given the charisma and popularity of Will Smith and all). But in another survey, when gently nudged towards the topic “History,” 14% of them said that July 4th was the day we declared our independence from. . .wait for it. . . wait for it: FRANCE! And according to a dude named Colin Campbell, head of the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, 5 million teenagers didn’t have a clue as to the meaning of why we celebrate July 4th. (Parents, you got some splainin’ to do!)

Happy 4th Beeler Cagle Cartoons

Cartoon used by permission: Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch

Egads!  Our founding fathers must be rolling over in their graves. Of course, I can’t be too hard on our teenagers when the adults aren’t representing the true meaning of Independence Day well with the state of our partisan politics these days.  We have a seventy-year-old man-baby, chronic liar as president who probably has never read the constitution (or at least acts like he hasn’t), who I am convinced is trying to destroy at least the First Amendment*—especially the fourth estate (the press) when it doesn’t agree with him, and will eventually wipe out the preamble to the constitution by the time his reign of terror is over:

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Truth vs Trump Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch

Cartoon used by permission: Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch

I actually can’t completely blame these knuckleheads for their misinterpretations and stupid declarations of political terrorism. Do you want to know who I blame? I blame our founding fathers. Although I love my country very much, and I truly appreciate all their hard work and sacrifice, I don’t think we’d be in this place today if they had made several unorthodox (for their time) changes when they declared our independence in 1776 and wrote the Constitution some 11 years later in 1787.  What, you say? They were already laying their lives on the line—what more could we have asked of them? (Hmmmm, because they were all white, male, landowners who couldn’t see past their own aristocratic noses to include other people and gender groups to give them a broader perspective.)

I’ve always fantasized about becoming a time traveler and going back in time to influence history. Can you imagine the heart-attack scenario if I had the ability to pop into the Founding Fathers’ midst in Philadelphia on July 1, 1776?  (Yep, you read it correctly: the Declaration of Independence wasn’t signed on July 4th. Twelve of the thirteen colonies voted on the declaration on July 2, 1776, and then they spent the next two days massaging the language.  In fact, most of the delegates didn’t sign the document that kept us from having British accents until August 2nd).

constitution-jeff-parker-florida-today-and-the-fort-myers-news-press

Cartoon used by permission: Jeff Parker, Florida Today and the Fort Myers News

Can you imagine a sweltering, hot room full of sweaty White men in Philadelphia with all the windows closed and shutters latched (due to the treasonous nature of their activities) as they tried to function in woolen clothing and wigs—most of them scared shitless at what they were about to engage in?  And “poof,” out pops my chubby-21st-Century-ass into the middle of the room.

Original Intent Christopher Weyant The Hill

Cartoon used by permission: Christopher Weyant, The Hill

SCENE ONE

ET, THE TIME TRAVELER:  Yo, yo, yo FFs—how’s it hanging?

(Several of the Founding Fathers faint dead away, but the rest remain stupefied.)

ET: Robert Livingston and John Jay of New York would you please administer smelling salts to Edward Rutledge of South Carolina and Richard Henry Lee from Virginia, and make sure they are awake and listening? I don’t have much time, and I have a lot to say. Besides Livingston and Jay, you aren’t going to have the gonads to sign this document: I know it and you know it, so you might as well make yourselves useful by resuscitating your comrades. No judgment here—just the historical facts.

Gentlemen, I am from the future: 2017 to be exact. My name is Eleanor Tomczyk and I am a writer and a blogger. I just published a book called The Fetus Chronicles: Podcasts from My Miseducated Self (a mostly true memoir).   You’ll never get to read it, but you should know that even though you didn’t insure my unalienable rights as a descendant of a slave/a Cherokee Indian/a woman—I am free, I am educated, I am intelligent, I’m actually married to a white man… Who just fainted this time?  Livingston, was that you?

Anyway, slavery ends in 1865, and I pontificate on everything from soup to nutty politicians on something called the World Wide Web that the entire world has access to.  All this communicative power is mine because you will provide me freedom of speech in the Bill of Rights that you’re going to pass on August 21, 1789. Thanks FFs—I am forever in your debt because of that.

Fourth of July Bill Day Cagle Cartoons

Cartoon used by permission: Bill Day, Cagle Cartoons

ET:  But I just wanted to let you in on a secret that unless you pull in some women, some Black folks, some Native American peeps, and some new kinds of immigrants with Spanish accents, before you write the Constitution, you’re going to set up our beloved country for a world of hurt in the future. Lots of things are going to change by the time 2017 rolls around. Actually, you can go on and pass this declaration thingie because it is the Constitution in eleven years that you’re going to really need to expand your horizons on that really needs inclusion of the aforementioned groups.

Right now that foolish 2nd Amendment is causing all sorts of mayhem. It needs to be changed because you didn’t think it through well enough. When you pass that in the Bill of Rights, please note that thousands of precious children will be murdered in the future, and scores of foolish men and women will demand to open/carry their guns in our “marketplaces” just because they think that is what you meant by their “unalienable rights” and the “rights of individuals to bear arms.” What you meant then and the nutty shit we’re doing with guns now would cause you to weep. Also, can you add a little note that the Constitution was not written by God, America is not the New Jerusalem, and you could be wrong on at least a couple of things in the Constitution (ahem: slavery and a woman’s right to vote)?

guns-target-steve-sack-the-minneapolis-star-tribune

Cartoon used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star-Tribune

ET:  Franklin, Adams, Jefferson, and Hamilton (you can catch George Washington up to speed once he takes a break from the war), there is a line that you’ll put in the Constitution that bears fleshing out, if you ask me—if you really want to know:

“WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT” (so far so good), “THAT ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL” (should read “that all men AND WOMEN—no matter what their color or position in life—are created equal”) “THAT THEY ARE ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR” (should read “whomever you deem your creator to be”—leaving this open to interpretation will cause the lack of freedom of religion you fought so hard for because hardcore Christians will demand it to be their God, and the Materialists, the Deists, and the Atheists who most of you declared yourselves to be, will have Hell to pay) “WITH CERTAIN UNALIENABLE RIGHTS, THAT AMONG THESE ARE LIFE, LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS” (should read “no matter what your gender, color, race, or social status in life”).

 ET:  My time is up—wish I could stay longer. Just one more thing: we elected a Black president in 2008 for two terms. Half the country didn’t make his reign as President an easy one, but he’ll probably go down in history as one of our greatest.  He certainly puts the petulant man-baby that followed him in the White House to shame.   I want you to know, I prayed daily that one of those 2nd Amendment right-wing nuts wouldn’t assassinate President Obama when he was in office (believe me, they tried). I breathed a sigh of relief when he left. Your 2nd Amendment has been grossly misinterpreted. It took on a religious fever against our first Black president with talks of revolution to overthrow him and his political party. Once you pass the Bill of Rights, by 2017 there will be more than 20 attempts to kill sitting and former presidents; 4 sitting presidents will be assassinated, 2 sitting presidents will have attempted assassinations on their lives, and every president from John F. Kennedy on will be threatened with assassination.  Surely, my dear Founding Fathers, that is not what you intended when you dreamed up our Declaration of Independence and our Constitution.

LET US CELEBRATE-parker-florida-today

Cartoon used by permission: Parker, Florida Today

ELEANOR’S SELAH (“AHA”) MOMENT ABOUT OUR COUNTRY’S WELL-BEING

I am discovering that our independence is a lot more fragile than we ever imagined.  Since Trump was voted into office and set up a Leninist—Steve Bannon—as his consigliere, while being carried in on a golden carriage by the religious right, I have been rereading every dystopian novel I can get my hands on. It seems as if every move Trump makes, every tweet he states is eroding our precious democracy and could destroy the very framework that our Founding Fathers laid their lives on the line for.  I am currently reading The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood.  In the introduction (written about her time in West Berlin five years before the Berlin Wall fell), she visited several countries behind the Iron Curtain and experienced the wariness and fear the citizens portrayed living under a totalitarian system, the author wrote:

“Having been born in 1939 and come to consciousness during World War II, I knew that established orders could vanish overnight.  Change could also be as fast as lightning.  It can’t happen here could not be depended on: anything could happen anywhere, given the circumstances.”

This Fourth of July, I will celebrate with a stronger sense of urgency the wonderment of the incredible independence I have been given.  I, along with millions of other Americans, made the mistake in thinking that we’d always keep building on that marvelous Declaration of Independence and its sister, The Constitution.  We never once imagined that there would ever be circumstances that would pull the rug out from under our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  I always thought our constitutional foundation was strong—something that could always be improved upon for all its citizens, but still strong.  That it would never be destroyed, because it couldn’t possibly happen here . . . until one day a loathsome, misogynistic, constitutionally ignorant, man-baby crawled out of the sewer with a tweeter feed and became our 45th President.

Our Founding Fathers are rolling over in their graves.

Offal Office Pat Bagley Salt Lake Tribune

Pat Bagley, Salt Lake Tribune

INSPIRATIONAL QUOTES

“The assertion that ‘all men are created equal’ was of no practical use in effecting our separation from Great Britain and it was placed in the Declaration not for that, but for future use.”Abraham Lincoln

“The legitimate powers of government extend to such acts only as are injurious to others. It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no god. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.” Thomas Jefferson

“You can protect your liberties in this world only by protecting the other man’s freedom. You can be free only if I am free.”Clarence Darrow

“When the public’s right to know is threatened, and when the rights of free speech and free press are at risk, all of the other liberties we hold dear are endangered.”Christopher Dodd

Independence Day End FB Dave Granlund Politicalcartoons com

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA!

REFERENCES

*http://talkingpointsmemo.com/edblog/priebus-trump-considering-amending-or-abolishing-1st-amendment 

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

Eleanor Tomczyk is the author of Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, and her latest memoir—The Fetus Chronicles: Podcasts from My Miseducated Self (a mostly true memoir)

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.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on June 29, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

PLEASE BLOW SMOKE UP MY KEISTER

Do you know what I discovered?  Trump taught me something recently.  (I know!  Aren’t you amazed!)  He taught me how a person can get people to blow smoke up his or her behind, and it can sometimes be a good thing.  I’m sure you all saw it or read about it.  He called his first cabinet meeting and after touting his royal greatness, he had his cabinet sound off one-by-one about what a fabulous job he’s been doing and what an incredible leader he is.

Trump Cabinet Steve Sack The Minneapolis Star Tribune

Cartoon used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star-Tribune

BINGO, I thought.  This is sheer genius!  Trumpee has taught me something I can use.  Why don’t I apply this methodology to getting reviews for my new book, I thought?  You see, I just learned from my publicist that if I can get 50 reviews from people who have read my new book, The Fetus Chronicles: Podcasts from my Miseducated Self, Amazon will list my book in its newsletters and other promotions.  Isn’t that cool?

BMProof-FetusChronicles

“The Fetus Chronicles” Book Mark Proof: Su from Earthly Charms

 

I bet you’re saying to yourself, “I’d love to write a review for you Eleanor, but if the truth be known, the thought of typing something into Amazon cares me to death.  How do I go about it, and what if I get tongue tied, or in this case, finger tied?”  Don’t be afraid.  It is quite simple.  You don’t have to be Hemingway; you can say as little as, “I liked this book,” and all you have to do is follow these very simple instructions:

How to Write a Review

In the meantime, while you are thinking about how to “blow smoke up my ass” on Amazon (if you hate my book, remember that my name is “Smeegle Klondonovich”), please enjoy a redo of my first published writing that started it all.  I got beaten by the writing bug, so to speak, after I wrote this.  This story will hopefully remind you what a “brilliant, talented, outstanding, deeply profound writer I am”—don’t you agree?

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WILL HIGH SCHOOL EVER END?

(Repurposed post from 2013)

Why is it in real life, as in high school, we exert so much energy trying to impress people we don’t know, won’t ever see again after our season of random internment, and who have no financial or emotional investment in our future?

I have beautiful, White girlfriends who won’t go to a swimming pool while on vacation because they don’t have the figures they had in college anymore, and the strangers across the pool from them, who they don’t know and couldn’t care a rat’s ass about, might become scornful of their cellulite or less than perky boobs. When in reality, they should be embracing Joy Behar’s classic observation of things that shouldn’t matter one iota:  “So what – who cares?”

All my baby boomer girlfriends have better bodies than I, but even though I’m at least 50 pounds heavier (when I’m telling the truth), I have a black woman’s sensibility about this issue: accent the positive, suck in the negative, and skirt the thunderous. Then bedazzle the shit out of your goddess self with a rhinestone cover-up and rhinestone flip-flops, and “drop it like it’s hot, baby”!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Author Doing Her Bedazzled Thing: Photo Credit–J. Tomczyk

Not too long ago, my husband and I took an extended cruise in the Mediterranean.  It was the trip of a lifetime. Everything was better than we had fantasized: the weather was picture perfect, the people were warm and accepting, the 3,000 passenger ship was outstanding, the food was superb, and we were like newlyweds reveling in each other’s company. The only thing that seemed to cause just a tiny bit of consternation was the very aggressive touring itinerary (4 days of excursions, 1 day at sea, 3 days of excursion, 1 day at sea, 2 days of excursion, 1 day at sea) that we had been given. But I wasn’t overly concerned because even though I’m a “fat-bottom girl,” it doesn’t mean I’m not in good health. I’m a daily exerciser and had trained for this trip for 8 months.  I added strenuous hills to my daily, treadmill workout, climbed the stairs at work in the afternoons, and special ordered shoes a triathlon athlete would use.

What I didn’t expect and what my research never revealed was that all of our 10 touring sites were perched on the top of ancient hills or mountains with steep inclines to protect the antiquity inhabitants from marauders.  Most accesses were like scaling a wall.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Port of Malta: Photo Credit–E. Tomczyk

Every evening we were given an overview of the activities for the next day.  In between the instructions for the cake decorating class and the marzipan demonstrations was listed the information the cruise director felt we needed in order to survive our shore excursions.

Ship Brochure: It takes 600 steps to reach the top of your fabulous destination.  There is a cable car if you prefer or you can employ a donkey to transport you up and down the ancient stone stairs.  Wear comfortable shoes. Cost: $100 – $400/person. The ship departs at 5:30 – if you miss the departure, you will have to make your own way to the next port to meet the ship.

Translation: The 600 steps are straight up the face of a mountain; the cable car often has a two-hour wait, and you will miss your ship utilizing that mode of transportation. The stairs are shared by donkeys that slip constantly on the descent and leave slippery “pooh” all over the staircase from Hell. No manner of footwear is capable of keeping you upright once you lose your footing going down – you might as well kiss your sorry ass goodbye. Before you leave this beautiful island, the tour guide will make sure she dumps you in the shopping area that has only one way in and out to the stairs or the unreliable, overly-crowded cable car system. The shopkeepers will try to help you by relieving you of as many Benjamins as possible to lighten the load of your descent. Trying to balance yourself on a donkey while your hands are stuffed with chotzkies however will be proof-positive that you have lost your ever-loving mind – once and for all. Good luck, silly over-weight Americans!

DAY THREE TOUR:  On day three, my husband (the Energizer Bunny), a gay couple (the extremely handsome, not-one-ounce-of-fat-on-their-bones Neil Patrick Harris and his partner David Burtka look-alikes), a lesbian couple (50’ish with similar body frames as mine whose bodies had each born children in their former lives), an octogenarian grandmother from Iowa sporting a recent double-knee replacement, and an old dude of an age somewhere between 90 and Methuselah began our shore excursion.

Because I temporarily lost consciousness, I can’t remember at what point I lost my mind and reverted back to high school.  I do remember approaching a sky-high escalator in a museum with hundreds of other people in sweltering heat and watching the escalator break down right before my group got on.  Because there was a wall of people behind us, we were forced to go forward and mount a circular ramp that seemed like twenty flights of stairs that shot straight up to the heavens. The lesbian mothers, the grandmother from Iowa, the Methuselah dude, and I stared at each other in total horror! Hadn’t we just climbed 300 steps the day before and 200 steps the day before that, as well as an unexpected 100 steps in a museum that wasn’t listed?  Didn’t the brochure assure us there would be no more steps to climb on this tour? I could have sworn someone said we’d catch a break today.

Carnival Dave Granlund Politicalcartoons com

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, Politicalcartoons.com

All I know is that my husband, who has the ability to walk faster than most people can run, took off up the ramp to find the tour guide who was nowhere to be seen.  As the rest of our group began to ascend the inevitable, the gay boys began telling us about a rather large, fat-bottomed woman (whose ass was the size of Cleveland) who couldn’t make it up the last ramp in the previous city, and they just couldn’t understand why people didn’t read the ship instructions about the strenuous nature of the excursions.

(Had they seen my ass, I wondered?  Was this a veiled hint about moi?)

“I mean, really now, why can’t these people ‘just say no’ if they’re too fat to complete the course without looking like they’re going to die,” said our Neil Patrick Harris look-alike cruise mate. “Personally, I feel like making an announcement tonight at dinner over the PA system.  ‘Really people – know your limitations; because you need to cut the rest of us some freakin’ slack!  We’re having heart attacks here just wondering if you’re gonna have a heart attack right in front of us’”!

The lesbian couple, the grandmother, the tremulous old man, and I gingerly laughed along with the boys, but we silently heard the “Rocky theme song” roaring in our ears (or was it the blood rushing to our heads before the onset of major strokes as we secretly wondered if they were ridiculing us?).  We took off up the incline like thoroughbreds at the Kentucky Derby trying to match the gait of the Adonis boys, leaning almost at a 45 degree angle to balance our bodies on the slope. As I passed the old man at my road-runner pace, his eyes widened in terror as his lips mouthed, “What the fuck?” but my team and I had to leave him in the dust.  Keeping up with the Adonis-looking critics was all that mattered, even if it meant moving at the speed of light and losing a soldier along the way.  These bodies had born children and nursed babies, goddamnit! The fat on our asses, our low-hanging breasts, and puff-n-stuff stomachs were badges of honor.  Maybe the gay boys had children, but they sure as hell hadn’t “had” children!

The octogenarian dropped out about two-thirds of the way (clutching her side) and gasping for air. My lesbian sisters and I made it to the top without dying, but I had a Charlie-horse in my ass that wouldn’t quit. As the girls and I high-fived each other (sisters, hangin’ tough!), I could see (being the chubbiest in the bunch) that I had impressed the boys. What they didn’t know was that I couldn’t say more than two words without gasping for air or I would keel over and die.  I didn’t dare speak without great measure.  I knew if I tried to articulate more than one five-word sentence without pausing, I’d be the gay boys’ prophecy come true: one fat-bottom woman careening into their perfectly fit, athletic bodies and knocking them back down the slope like a giant chocolate snowball from on high.  So I took out my Blackberry (remember those?), nonchalantly leaned against the museum wall, and pretended to check messages as if I were some high-muckety-muck at a Fortune 500 company and the business couldn’t live without me.

Uphills Meme

Runner Meme: Courtesy of @ Cook in Canuck

“Some hike, huh?” said one of the gorgeous boys.

 “Uh, huh. . . .” I whispered, while trying not to lose consciousness as my heart almost exploded in my chest from over-exertion.

“Great ship, isn’t it? said the other Adonis boy. “What’s on your agenda tomorrow?  We’re going rock climbing.  Isn’t that exciting?!”

 “G-r-e-a-t!” (tap) “Me doing” (tap) “pool” (tap) “water volley-ball tournament” (tap) “against a bunch of twenty-somethings” (tap)—”gonna make them eat my” (tap) “dust.”

“Excellent!  You go, girl with your bad self!”

Clearly, I had impressed the boys.

The next day found the quivering old man with both hands glued to a walker while arduously climbing into the hot tub (he was still there at dinner time with a smile on his face).  The lesbian couple, the grandmother, and I met up at the spa first, and then we subsequently waddled to our separate “quiet” corners around the adult pool (cellulite, thunderous thighs, and saggy tits on full display).  We spent the afternoon sipping rum punches and napping the day away in rockin’ bathing suits while our mental health applauded our goal-setting activity of just being ourselves and being proud of the hard-earned battles won by giving and sustaining life with our amazing bodies.

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ELEANOR’S SELAH (“AHA”) MOMENT

I’ve discovered that if my girlfriends (old and new) and I ever want to shake the specter of high school, we need to finally travel at the beat of our own drummers in our old age, because it’s the condition in which we arrive at the final destination, not the opinions of others, that really matters.  Joy Behar really is an oracle whose mantra we should adopt when the high school spirit tries to tear us down and make us forget the amazing women that we have become in our mature years: So what – who cares!

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Writer’s Meme: Courtesy of LianaBrooks.com

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

HAVEN’T YET READ ANY OF THE AUTHOR’S DISCOVERY SERIES?  CHECK OUT HER AUTHOR’S PAGE ON AMAZON!

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 June 20, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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MOTHER’S DAY: “OY TO THE VEY!”

(RETOOLED FROM A MOTHER’S DAY POST PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR IN 2013, PREVIOUSLY ENTITLED: “MY CRAZY-ASS MOTHER”)

Do you know what I’ve discovered?   I could really do without Mother’s Day.  In fact, I pretty much hate the celebration.  It is not my fault—it’s God’s.  He could have arranged for me to be born as Michelle Obama and have her delightful mother and her life, or God could have delayed my birth and let me be one of Michelle and Barack’s kids.  I’d be so cute, rich, and smart right now—and man, my upper arms would be on the road to becoming spectacular like Michelle’s instead of flapping in the breeze like the morning wash hung out to dry. But noooooo!  God had to let me be born to a crazy woman who thought if she, ever so sweetly, ignored me (except when she was trying to kill me), that maybe somehow my sister and I would disappear before anybody noticed we belonged to her.

Mothers Day Favorite Peter Broelman Australia

Cartoon used by permission: Peter Broelman, Australia

I suspect my mother was paranoid-schizophrenic long before I was born, but she kept it well hidden until the hormones of menopausal, illegitimate pregnancies produced offspring who demanded to have a mother.  Children are self-centered like that.  They don’t give a shit what is going on in your life.  If you’re their mother, then you better damn well show up and do your job and being crazy is no excuse:

“Feed me, change me, hold me, love me, discipline me—goddamnit—or I’m going down to the nearest ne’er-do-well office and fill out an application to become the local (fill in the blank____________) thief, drug-addict, ‘ho, gangsta, self-centered brat—you name it.  Forewarned is forearmed, Mommie Dearest.”

There is an old adage that women end up emulating their mothers which scared the bejesus out of my sister, Pee-wee, and me.   We were always looking over our shoulders to see if the crazies were going to catch up with us.  We’re both in our sixties now and we’ve managed not to go insane (knock on wood), but we did so by tip-toeing past the graveyard of Mother’s Days lost and putting each other through a sanity check once or twice a year.

Turning into my mother Dan Piraro www bizzaro com

Cartoon used by permission: Dan Piraro, http://www.bizzaro.com

My sister and I would take each other’s mental temperature with questions about scenarios that once plagued our mother’s daily existence:

Are you talking to the wall, yet?”  (No, only to myself, but I try not to answer me or to talk to myself more than once a day!)

“Are you sewing extraneous pockets inside your sweaters and coats and stuffing them with stolen Saltine crackers, sugar packets, salt and pepper shakers, and anything not nailed down at the lunch counter of the Woolworths Five and Dime to prepare for Armageddon?” (No, but I must confess that I take home the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner from fancy hotels.  Does that count?)

“Do you make up conspiracy theories about the Russians trying to take control of your mind through radio waves?”  (No, although I must admit that I am starting to believe a conspiracy theory that since Trump got elected, I’ve been kidnapped by aliens, and I’m living in an alternate universe with alternate truths and an alternate reality.)

“Do you fantasize about killing your children in order to protect them from the “Russians” and white people”?  (No, but I did have copious dreams for years about me killing our mother after that time I invited her to the Girls’ Ensemble concert I was conducting at a church.)

The Girls’ Ensemble concert in 1976 was my last ditch effort to reestablish a relationship with my mother after having cut her out of my life for years.   Mommie Dearest hadn’t been in the concert for more than fifteen minutes before she got “agitated from being surrounded by too many white people” she said, and decided to accompany the Negro spiritual I was conducting [“God’s Gonna Rain Down Fire”] with her personal pyrotechnics.  She couldn’t understand why I didn’t understand that she was aiding God and me with the lighted matches she was throwing with trance-like abandonment into the audience’s hair.  I can still hear the curses of those poor white folks as they scattered like roaches swatting their heads while Security tried to subdue my crazy-ass mother.  I kept conducting the choir as if nothing crazy was happening—as if I didn’t know that woman.  I was too horrified to turn around and face the audience.  All I could do was sob like a hot mess while never missing a beat with my baton, hope the audience thought the crazy woman was related to the only other black person in the choir, and beg God to open up the ground and yank my mother down into the deepest hole in Hell.

 

Crazy Mother FB MEME

Every year, my sister and I have passed our own litmus tests, and we didn’t become paranoid-schizophrenic like our mother—thank God.   But one doesn’t rub elbows with that type of mother and come out unscathed.  Children of alcoholics, drug addicts, and mentally ill people either become like their parents or become the polar opposite. With all due respect, my sister Pee-wee is a control-freak and never had children. I overcompensated for my mother’s mental and physical abandonment by trying to be the perfect mom who was always up in my children’s grill, which almost drove my kids and me insane.  All children make mistakes and have to find their own way in life, no matter how inept or how great the mother.  Every stumble, every rebellion, and every mistake my children made I took as a personal rejection of my “shoddy” parenting, and I would just try harder.   My kids weren’t allowed to fuck up in life and that is a pressure no child can withstand, even if their hearts are in the right place to do the right thing. They love me dearly, and I them, but I’ve always felt that I could have done better by them by providing more clear-thinking advice about the pitfalls of life.  I have nightmares about the things I never had a chance to teach them before they flew the coop.  My secret horror is that they will be confronted with something in life and not have the life skills with which to overcome, and that lack, in turn, will fling them into the insanity of their grandmother.  When asked what keeps me awake at night about motherhood—this is it.

Good Mother FB

ELEANOR’S “SELAH” (“AHA”) MOMENT

I am discovering that I am cautiously falling in love with the memory of my crazy-ass mother and coming to the adult realization that she did the best she could, given her circumstances.   Mama has been dead for thirty-seven years now (died in her sleep on an Easter morning after singing in the church choir), and I’m just beginning to see her through the prism of a life destroyed by intrinsic racism, sexual abuse, and poverty.  As I interview people from my past to chronicle my mother’s all-consuming insanity for my memoirs, I am beginning to see a woman who was not too different from me in her aspirations, dreams, and talents.  The difference in my sanity and my mother’s insanity is that I found the true love of a man (she was summarily abandoned by my father and left to perish in poverty with two babies); the winds of history blew open the doors at just the right time for my intelligent mind to be educated and my talent to be cultivated beyond the aspirations of scrubbing White folks’ toilets (Mama was never allowed to go past high school and spent much of her life as a maid rather than an opera singer which was her dream).   I have traveled the world and lived extremely well (wasting more money on Broadway shows, travel, and gourmet meals than my mother made in her entire life as a servant).

Am I sane today in spite of my mother because I escaped ignorance and want?   Can I “get over” in life because I don’t have to live under an apartheid system as my mother did in the US?  Were my babies safe from my potential descent into madness because I had hope for tomorrow and didn’t have to worry about my children’s next meal?  Only God knows.  But one thing is for sure—I no longer judge my mother for the pain I endured as a child.  Besides, it has made me who I am and given me a riotous sense of humor.  I am truly coming to love and understand the woman who gave me life.   From the conversations I’ve had recently with my grown children, it seems as if they are affording me the same grace.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MAMA!

Mom Dysfunction

INSPIRATIONAL QUOTE ABOUT MOTHERHOOD

“Mothers are all slightly insane.”—J. D. Salinger

“Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we’ve ever met.”― Marguerite Duras

“When your mother asks, ‘Do you want a piece of advice?’ it’s a mere formality. It doesn’t matter if you answer yes or no. You’re going to get it anyway.”― Erma Bombeck

“Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did—that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that—a parent’s heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.”― Debra Ginsberg

Mothers Day IV Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch

Cartoon used by permission: Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch

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BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR ON SALE NOW AT AMAZON!

THE FETUS CHRONICLES: PODCASTS FROM MY MISEDUCATED SELF

“Eleanor Tomczyk’s latest book shares deep insights and absurdly hilarious moments Tomczyk has collected from her life. She presents her unique humor and perspective through a fantastic conceit: podcasts to her unborn self.

“Tomczyk’s voice and cutting commentary travel back through the decades and into the womb. She’s here to tell her baby self all the things she should know about the world and all the lessons she will learn.

“Eleanor L. Tomczyk advises her fetus self on everything from the dangers of douching to the use of words as deadly weapons. Special podcast guest stars range from Tomczyk’s Aunt Lily—“Church Lady Extraordinaire”—to her own eyes and other body parts. When her children follow the “Little Barbarian Manifesto,” and her own organs start reminding her about the passing of time, all the reader can do is laugh out loud.”

MONSTERS’ THROWDOWN

FLEEING OZ

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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 May 9, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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KINDLE LAUNCH of “THE FETUS CHRONICLES”

Do you know what I discovered today?   Amazon just launched the Kindle version of my new book:  The Fetus Chronicles: Podcasts from My Miseducated Self.

   IT’S ON SALE NOW AT AMAZON!

CHAPTER SNEAK PEAK:  SEE BELOW!

Front Cover

Kindle Book Cover of “The Fetus Chronicles”

I’m so excited that I decided to share one of the podcasts from the book.  Please note that the entire book is an absurdist theater piece (based on true events) about a weekly podcast to an audience of one—my fetus self.  The podcast segments (replete with imaginary commercials) are commentaries about my adventures as a Black woman and the gnarliness of life—covering everything from women in the workforce, shame, date rape, colonoscopies, menopausal sex, rearing children, betrayal of friends to fear of growing old and dying.  All the stories actually happened (or are happening) to me at one time or another.  Enjoy!

IMP. NOTE:  There is a reference to the Little Barbarian Manifesto in the excerpt below, which is explained in a previous chapter of the book.  It simply means:  A terrorist guide that all babies (especially First World babies) come to the Earth with, that instructs them on how to “get over” on their parents and claim sovereignty over their home turf.  In this chapter, the story is about my younger child.  The previous chapter in my book is about her older sister—both enthusiastic adherents to the Little Barbarian Manifesto.

***

PODCAST #18

 (EXCERPT FROM THE FETUS CHRONICLES)

This is The Fetus Chronicles—“You in Trouble, Girl” Podcast Hour.  I’m your host, Eleanor T, and today’s episode is brought to you by the late Dr. Benjamin Spock from the grave—“Forget most of what I told you in the ‘Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care;’ just do the best you can because it’s all a crap shoot, anyway.”

***

Hey Girl!  How’s everything down under?  You should be about the size of the head of endive (about 12.7 ounces) by now since you’re twenty-one weeks old.  I read somewhere that you can bat your eyes just for the hell of it, and you’re sipping on cocktails of your own amniotic fluid, the taste of which is unimaginable, since I haven’t a clue what your mother is eating these days.  So, good luck with that.  According to Google, at least you can start to body surf at this stage, which must be pretty cool.

Anyway, Darling, I promised you last week that I would finish the story of our parenting characters: The Mother, The Father, Baby number one and Baby number two who have all settled down into becoming the perfect family…

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Children of author, 1985 (ages 1 and 3)||Photo credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

 

Looking back, The Parents suspect Baby Number Two came to the Earth with the Little Barbarian Manifesto well in hand also, but she was slow to engage in the battle to bring down the reigning parental government which threw them off their game.  However, when she declared war, she could have written the book on passive-aggressive warfare.

Baby-girl didn’t talk for the longest time—just stared at the faces of others for hours on end as if to ascertain whether they were friend or foe, intelligent or stupid, good or bad.  (Once at a mall when she was ten months old, she stared so intently at a group of teenagers that they fled the mall in terror, screaming about the scary baby who kept following them with her demon eyes.)  When Baby-girl did talk, it was in complete, adult sentences with the potential to have international repercussions.  Once when The Parents were having a discourse over when there would ever be peace in the Middle East, the then three-year-old with a slight lisp chimed in at the appropriate lull in the conversation and said, “If ju askth me—if ju really want to know what to do ‘bout middie eest—I tell ju.”

It was downhill from there.  At three years old, the younger child announced that she was never, ever going to take a nap again once she discovered that her five-year-old kindergarten sister no longer needed a nap. She advised her parents that if they ignored her wishes and they put her down to nap, they did so at their own peril. Instead of wailing for hours like her older sister did and causing a huge scene that could be heard a block away, Baby-girl would bide her time, pretend to go to sleep, and when The Parents were otherwise occupied would sneak out of her bed and crawl into a hiding place that gave her full access to the family’s conversations but would keep her hidden for hours.  She would occupy herself by quietly drawing low-level permanent marker murals along the hallway’s crème-colored walls while holding the markers in the hand of her favorite doll (Sarah Finney).  Of course she was eventually caught—multiple times.  But each time she would swear on a stack of kid Bibles that it was Sarah Finney, the doll, who had encouraged her to escape her bed, and it was definitely Sarah Finney who had drawn the graffiti on the walls.  (Technically, she was right:  Baby-girl had wrapped the hands of the doll around the markers before taking hold of them both and drawing her masterpieces with abandonment.)

When it came to potty-training, that chapter in the Little Barbarian Manifesto must have been a doozy, because the war was on with Baby-girl when it became her time to be trained.

“It’s time to stop wearing diapers, Sweet Pea.  Here’s your new little kids’ toilet in your favorite color that plays music every time you leave a present of a “winkle” or a “poo-poo patty” in it.  Are you ready?  Isn’t this EXCITING?”

“Okay!”

Nothing happened.

IMG_1118 (1)

Daughter of author, 1986||Photo credit: J. Tomczyk

“Hey, Baby-girl—what’s goin’ on?  Don’t you want to be a big girl like your sister and wear panties?”

“No, can’t say that I do… I hate panties—I really, really like diapers.”

“Then why did you agree to sit on your new toilet today?”

“It’s a nice place to cuddle with Sarah Finney.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake.  I tell you what: How about an M&M every time you do #1 and two M&M’s when you do #2?  You love M&M’s right?” said the mother who had plagiarized the idea from one of the gazillion parenting magazine that assaulted the mailbox every week.

“Hum… how ‘bout three MM’s fo’ #1 and… and… ten, twenty MM’s fo’ #2?”

“Are you shittin’ me—sorry, Baby, excuse my French?  Why the giant wage increase?”

“#2 is super hard—need lots more MMs!”

There was a labor dispute right in the middle of the bathroom that lasted thirty minutes.  The child let out a thimble full of pee, demanded her payment of three M&M’s which the frustrated mother gave into—after all, a bargain is a bargain.  The child immediately got off the toilet and proceeded to saunter butt-naked back into the playroom, sat down on the playroom rug, and promptly peed a week’s worth of urine all over the rug and started to grunt out a poop about the size that a forty-year-old man would produce.

“No, no, no.  I’m the parent here,” screamed The Mother, as she grabbed the baby militant and plopped her naked behind back on the potty-chair.

“Listen Missy, I can tell when I’m being played.  It is time to be potty-trained and that is that.  You are going to sit here until that poop that I can actually see halfway poking out of your butt plops into the toilet and we make some progress. ‘Capiche’”?

An hour passed.

K and C

Children of author, 1984||Photo credit: J. Tomczyk

“What’s happening here?  Where is the poop that was visibly poking out of your behind a little while ago?”

“I push it back inside with my fingers.  Can I have 10 MM’s anyway?”

(This was soon discovered by The Parents to be a ruse of their Little Barbarian:  Baby-girl would squeeze out the smallest deposit of urine to get the candy reward and then subsequently drop a grown man’s equivalent of a shit brick into her diaper while quietly playing with Sarah Finney off in a corner somewhere some ten minutes after leaving her potty-chair.)

“Oh for Pete’s sake!  You are way overdo to be potty-trained.  All your friends are trained.  The other mothers are looking at me like I’m an unfit mommy.  Come on kid—help a mother out.  Besides, if you can negotiate like a fifty-year-old lawyer, you can learn to go to the toilet, ‘tout de suite.’”

“Nope! No way, Jose.”

“Come on, Sweetie, you don’t want to be a baby forever, do you?  Don’t you want to grow up and be a big girl?”

“No!  I’m okay being the baby.  It works for me.”

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Husband and daughters of author, 1984||Photo credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

 

The Mother and The Father were never, ever able to potty-train Baby-girl. I am convinced that there is a chapter in the Little Barbarian Manifesto that says:

“Comrade, it is very important if your older sibling does not break The Parents through sheer dominance, then the ball is in your court to wear them down through a full-court press of guerilla warfare.  Initially acquiesce to whatever they ask you to do so that it looks as if you are the compliant child, and then never, ever do what you promised.  This will work throughout your childhood covering your homework assignments, cleaning up hardened nail polish off the wooden floor of your bedroom, cleaning your room that will stay steeped in knee-deep dirty clothes until you’re an adult, or emptying the dishwasher.”

The Parents cajoled, they pleaded, they threatened, they cried, and finally gave up on ever potty-training their second child until a very wise old woman told them to lighten up because she had never seen a twenty-one year old wearing a diaper who wasn’t medically impaired.  The M&M strategy did nothing for the potty-training process except turn Baby-girl into a life-long candy junkie because by the time she was finally potty-trained (by her five-year-old sister over a ten-minute span), the parental bribe was up to fifteen M&M’s for #1 and thirty-five M&M’s for #2—paid in two installments, due to the size of the teensy-weenie’s hands.

The Parents should have known that they were no match for Baby-girl and that she had an updated copy of the Little Barbarian Manifesto, when one day she was enjoying her afternoon respite watching Sesame Street while cuddling with her mother when Kermit the Frog started singing his trademark song, “It’s not easy being green.”  The Mother was touched by the sweetness of the song, but the chubby, bi-racial toddler yanked the sippy-cup out of her mouth, pointed it at the TV screen in warrior-like defiance, and promptly announced to Kermit:  “Yeah right, Frog!  You think it not easy bein’ green?  You should try bein’ light brown!”

HEAD SHOT LATEST

Author, Eleanor Tomczyk||Photo credit: J. Tomczyk

 

Well, would you look at the time, Fetus-self?  I haven’t even told you why I’m telling you this story about having kids.  There is a method to my madness.  Except, I can’t even begin to go into all of that at this late hour.  Besides, I’ve yet to tell you about the War of the Worlds between Baby-girl and her sister.  Stay tuned.

Until next week:  Keep calm, stay focused, and grow bigger!

KINDLE: “THE FETUS CHRONICLES” ON SALE NOW ON AMAZON!

PAPERBACK AND KINDLE EDITIONS

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 May 4, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT: MY THIRD CHILD HAS BEEN BORN!

WELL, FOLKS, THE OLD BROAD DID IT!  My third book has arrived!

AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK AT AMAZON TODAY!

(Kindle copy to be released in two weeks)

TA-DAH!

Front Cover

FRONT COVER

 AMAZON EDITORIAL REVIEW

With The Fetus Chronicles, writer and humorist Eleanor L. Tomczyk completes the trilogy she started with Monsters’ Throwdown and Fleeing Oz. Her latest book shares deep insights and absurdly hilarious moments Tomczyk has collected from her life. She presents her unique humor and perspective through a fantastic conceit: podcasts to her unborn self.

Tomczyk’s voice and cutting commentary travel back through the decades and into the womb. She’s here to tell her baby self all the things she should know about the world and all the lessons she will learn.

Eleanor L. Tomczyk advises her fetus self on everything from the dangers of douching to the use of words as deadly weapons. Special podcast guest stars range from Tomczyk’s Aunt Lily—“Church Lady Extraordinaire”—to her own eyes and other body parts. When her children follow the “Little Barbarian Manifesto,” and her own organs start reminding her about the passing of time, all the reader can do is laugh out loud.

Ms. Tomczyk speaks to her past self as a Black woman, a proud (if sometimes out-of-her-depth) mother, a wise teacher, a jaded baby boomer, and the many other identities she has adopted during her storied life.

Back Cover

Back Cover: “The Fetus Chronicles”

EARLY REVIEWS

“This book has got to be the best book I have ever read, with the exception of the Bible.  However, I do not recall much humor in the Bible. In the conversations with the author’s self, The Fetus Chronicles is a collection of essays that are depicted with sadness, life’s purpose, life’s challenges, hope, and life’s lessons along the way that make an individual put up or shut up, and realize we are all put on the Earth for a purpose—all while done with such humor, laugh out loud instances, and even “Aha” moments. The humor is to die for.”J.A.

“I think that the author dealt with an uncomfortable subject of growing old with a balance of sobriety and humor.  This is a very difficult task to achieve, and all I can say is “kudos!”  Another proof of the author’s strength and tenacity.”—D.L.

“I really liked the premise of the author talking to her unborn self.  It was easy to pick up, read and entry or two, and pick up again later.  If one wanted to, one could even jump around vs. reading straight through.  I loved all the “products” that sponsored each podcast.”—K.F.

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PLEASE RUN—DON’T DALLY—TO PURCHASE A COPY OF “THE FETUS CHRONICLES” FROM AMAZON

IF YOU LOVE MY NEW BOOK—PLEASE TAKE THE TIME TO WRITE A REVIEW AND POST ON AMAZON.

IF YOU DON’T LIKE “THE FETUS CHRONICLES,” MY NAME IS “CRIDDLE SMEGOFF.” 

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 April 25, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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HAMILTON, THE MUSICAL

Do you know what I discovered last week?  Every once and awhile, God answers one of my begging, pleading, nagging prayers:  Last week God answered two of them.  I got to go to NYC and see, Hamilton: An American Musical (Yeah, Baby!), and Bill O’Reilly got kicked out of Fox News on his ass along with his sicko buddy Roger Ailes.   Buh, bye boys! 

OReilly and Ailes Steve SackThe Minneapolis Star Tribune

Cartoon used by permission: Steve Sack, The Minneapolis Star-Tribune

But enough of that slimy, arrogant, racist, misogynistic, lying piece of shit—O’Reilly—and “hello” to a hero and a scholar:  ALEXANDER HAMILTON!  (You know, that dude on the ten-dollar bill, one of the founding fathers of the United States, one of the main authors of the Federalist Papers, and our first Secretary of the Treasury.)

Playbill_from_the_original_Broadway_production_of_Hamilton

By Source (WP:NFCC#4), Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47271664

So I bet you’re wondering, how did this old woman get so lucky?  Well, as the kids would say, “This is what had happened”:

SOME TIMES PRAYERS DO GET ANSWERED AND DREAMS DO COME TRUE

By the author, ET

**A REVIEW**

Once upon a time there was an old woman who transitioned into retirement the same month a phenomenon was being born on Broadway and tickets into Heaven were easier to get than those to Hamilton.  The Woman hadn’t yearned to see a Broadway show as much as this since Les Miz.  But, alas, alack, The Man she was married to turned a deaf ear to her machinations to ransom their first born child in order to procure tickets.  His only response:  “If we weren’t moving—maybe—but we now live on a budget (fixed income/income fixed: say it frontwards and backwards, they both mean the same thing), and tickets to Hamilton are not an option.” 

The Woman (who never takes “no” for an answer), while beseeching her God to strike Donald Trump with a lightning bolt and crater Fox News with an earthquake, snuck in a teensy-weenie prayer that he would change her husband’s heart about tickets to the musical Hamilton before Christ’s return.  No answer.

In the meantime, The Woman assuaged her disappointment at not seeing the musical by reading Ron Chernow’s bestseller, Alexander Hamilton (the book the musical is based upon) and listening to and memorizing every song on the cast recording of Hamilton.

Alexander Hamilton Chernow

Book cover of Alexander Hamilton/Amazon.com

A year went by as The Man and The Woman settled into retirement and began to travel more. It was at that point that The Woman began to get hints that Her God might be answering her prayers about Hamilton.  A short time later, and quite by accident, The Woman and The Man ended up on St. Kitts on an old sugar cane plantation train traversing the island that overlooked the birthplace of Alexander Hamilton: Charlestown, Nevis. 

Alexander Hamilton Birthplace

By Daniel Farrell – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13565315

“The current structure was rebuilt from the ruins of the house where Alexander Hamilton was born and lived as a young child.”Wikipedia

As The Woman engaged in excited, hyperbolic pontifications to a fellow traveler sitting next to her about the history of Hamilton, her longing to see the musical before she died, and what a fantastic work of history Ron Chernow’s book is, The Woman encountered (unbeknownst to her) her first Trump supporter in the flesh.  The Trump Supporter from Pennsylvania had never heard of the musical (horrors!) or the history book by Chernow (double horrors!!).  In fact, The Trump Supporter confessed her lifelong disdain for history until she started reading Bill O’Reilly’s (of Fox News) five historical books about Lincoln, Kennedy, Jesus, Patton, and Reagan (quadruple horrors!!!!).  The Trump Supporter asked The Woman if she had read those “wonderful works of history?”  The Woman went all Alec Baldwin on her—forgot her traveling manners—as she declared that if the books O’Reilly wrote were considered “history,” then she was a direct descendant of Alexander Hamilton, and that O’Reilly’s books had been trashed by the critics as a bunch of crap. Then The Woman topped the cake with icing by stating:  “Anyone who reads O’Reilly’s historical messes as truth is an idiot.  Needless to say, The Trump Supporter was not amused, turned her back on The Woman while she demanded that her husband tell the “two queers” in front of the train window to move so that she could get a picture of Hamilton’s island home.

I should have realized at that moment something was afoot:  O’Reilly and Alexander Hamilton in the same breath, on a slave train, in a tropical island?  God was on the move—I could feel it.

Even Vice President Pence got to see the musical “Hamilton” and got schooled by the Hamilton cast during the curtain call.  Yes!  And his daddy (Trump) got pissed and demanded an apology from the cast.  (Never!!) Everyone was getting to see Hamilton except me.  Where was the love, The Woman asked The Man and Her God?

Trump vs Hamilton Bob Englehart CagleCartoons com

Cartoon used by permission: Bob Englehart CagleCartoons.com

Then Christmas 2016 came.  The Woman’s present was the last one to be opened.  In a box that looked as if it held a new Cuisinart, the woman dug deep and pulled out an envelope:  Two tickets to Hamilton for April 2017—“Merry Christmas, Baby, Love ‘White and Wonderful!’”

It appears that The Man had been working, searching, planning, saving, and doing everything in his power to bless the love of his life with tickets to Hamilton.  He had bought the tickets over a year ago and kept it a secret from The Woman.  The Woman damn near fainted in front of the Christmas tree, as she reminded her children that this was one of the reasons she had married their father—this was the way love rolled!

Last week, The Man and Woman went off to New York City to see the show of a lifetime.  Few things ever, ever meet up to one’s expectations, but Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton surpassed The Woman’s greatest expectations!  It didn’t matter that Mr. Miranda was no longer starring in this phenomenon, because the replacement cast was equal (and in a couple of cases) better than the original cast.  The night The Woman and The Man saw the show, Brian D’Arcy James (of “13 Reasons Why” of Netflix fame and the original King George III during Hamilton’s workshop days), and James Monroe Iglehart (the genie from Broadway’s Aladdin) made their debuts in Hamilton and brought down the house.  From the moment the cast started the opening number, and the Aaron Burr character sang his opening line, chills spread up and down The Woman’s body and she and her man were transported to heaven:

“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a

Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten

Spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished, in squalor,

Grow up to be a hero and a scholar?”

Lyrics, “Hamilton” by Lin-Manuel Miranda

The Woman sent a message back to all her family, friends and fans that night:  “Do whatever you have to do to see the musical, Hamilton.  The hype is no exaggeration.  The script is outstanding, the singing is superb, the choreography is brilliant, and the message is transformational.  Beg, borrow, steal (do the time [just kidding], oh hell, it would be worth it!), but you must see this show.  It will change your life!  Lin-Manuel Miranda is a genius.

Hamilton

Photo credit:  Eleanor Tomczyk

INSPIRATIONAL “SELAH” (“AHA” MOMENT) BY ELEANOR TOMCZYK

I am discovering that prayers do get answered.  While I was in NYC seeing Hamilton, O’Reilly’s career was destroyed.  I can’t tell you how many petitions I’ve signed to have that man removed from the airwaves and how many prayers I’ve uttered to have his influence eradicated.  I was horrified when I met that Trump Supporter in the West Indies—horrified at the stupidity she embraced based on a stupid man’s lies that she believed to be truth.

On the other hand, I was enthralled by the brilliance of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s awesome rendition of one of our forefathers’ stories.  It reminded me that we are a nation of immigrants (Miranda, himself, is the son of Puerto Rican immigrants) inspired by God to do great things.  And although it looks as if we are living in the gutter right now under the reign of a tyrant king, we once “turned the world upside down” as Lin-Manuel’s lyric says and did the impossible by overthrowing a stupid king and building a great nation that cannot easily be destroyed.  I saw Hamilton and I came away inspired and strengthened in faith that God is hearing my prayers for the immigrant, the disenfranchised, and the powerless.

Killing OReillys Career David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star

Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

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INSPIRTATION ALEXANDER HAMILTON QUOTES

“Why has government been instituted at all? Because the passions of man will not conform to the dictates of reason and justice without constraint.”—Alexander Hamilton

 “The voice of the people has been said to be the voice of God; and, however generally this maxim has been quoted and believed, it is not true to fact. The people are turbulent and changing, they seldom judge or determine right.”Alexander Hamilton

“There are seasons in every country when noise and impudence pass current for worth; and in popular commotions especially, the clamors of interested and factious men are often mistaken for patriotism.”Alexander Hamilton

QUOTES COURTESY OF www.brainyquote.com

Political Discourse David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star

Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star

REFERENCES

https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2016/nov/05/why-hamilton-is-making-musical-history

http://www.broadwayworld.com/article/Non-Stop-James-Monroe-Iglehart-and-Brian-DArcy-James-Join-the-Broadway-Cast-of-HAMILTON-Tonight-20170414

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.

 

 
12 Comments

Posted by on April 23, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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