Tuesday, March 29, 2011

I Heart Twitter

Dear Twitter,

I think I am in love.

I'm made someone in Cali (I think it was Cali.  Maybe @singlemomseeking is in MD) cry and I made a UK radio talker laugh. 

Won't you be my Valentine?  Provided that I actually feel like celebrating a holiday that I abhor most of all?

All my bestest,
The Diatribest

Monday, March 28, 2011

Would it be wrong of me to steal the olive oil from my table @MacaroniGrill?

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Would You Like a Side of Crack with Your Crack?

For the record, I've never done drugs, others than those prescribed for me. 

Though many question the truth of that statement.
As a child, I was sick far too often and was usually on some type of drug that made me a trippy, high-strung motor-mouth or a depressed, weapy insomniac.  So the idea of partaking in 'recreational' drugs has never appealed to me.  Why get trippy or stoned when I had spent a good portion of my childhood in that crappy state?  Plus I had the absolute fear of my father to dissuade me from getting high. 

For example, when I did the typical 'rebellious' act of piercing my navel, after getting into an argument over how I contracted mono (my roommate had it, and NO, we did not have THAT type of college experience), I was so scared my father would come after me with a pair of pliers if he found out.  (Note: I was 21, not living at home, paying my way through college).  So much for me being a bad-ass rebel.

On top of the illness and sheer terror of my father, I know a lot about the ingredients that goes into drugs.  Somehow the idea of paying good money to purchase a cocktail of battery acid, drain cleaner, and Epsom salt (meth) or baking soda/baby powder, water, and ground coca (crack) doesn't appeal to me.  Really, if I wanted to play Russian roulette with my body, I could go down to the dollar store and huff some White-out  or I could 'chase the dragon' and mix up a cocktail of bleach and ammonia to see how long I can inhale the fumes before I pass out.  

And no, I don't want to hear about how weed is a perfectly natural substance and doesn't hurt anybody.  I find that statement to be complete and utter bullshit.  I had two friends from childhood who started with pot and moved onto heavier things.  One did a combo of speed and an 8ball, broke into a house, and beat up 2 cops who showed up to arrest him (several years in jail) and another did a B&E on a pizza joint, shot and killed a few people, and is in jail for the rest of his life.  (He taught me how to shoot a layup when I was 6th grade).  So much for a harmless drug.

But when the Kiddo goes to school in August, I have the perfect deterrence to keep him from EVER wanting to get involved in drugs.  The simple argument is that when you purchase your drugs, there is a good chance it was already in your dealer's butt.  Don't believe me, check out The Smoking Gun and keyword search "butt" and "drugs." As of today's search I found six articles on this site alone, three of which involved idiots from Florida.

And it's not just the male dealers who utilize this hiding places.  Ladies have their own special spots.  I even found a website with helpful hints.  I can save you the trouble and curiosity, there weren't any pictures (thank you!) but the descriptions were far too um, explicit.  

So my idea for the war on drugs isn't to pump millions of dollars into anti-drug campaigning.  It should be a sign that is hung on hallways of every school:  "Want to experiment with drugs?  Stick your finger in your poo-hole and sniff.  If you don't gag and vomit, there is something completely wrong with you.  Go to the nearest hospital have have your olfactory senses tested." 

I think that would convince a few hundred million children to avoid drugs.  Now I just need to get a really popular actor/actress to address Congress and run this campaign by them.    Angie, Brad, Ashton?  Any of you up for a trip to DC?

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

The Search for the Maimed Parrot

And what sort of thanks do I get?  The bird destroyed one of my few remaining 'good' towels and crapped all over the laundry room floor.  Good thing it was outside.

It's Like Walking the Wire Without a Net

That's what I'm feeling right now.  Not exactly scared of falling because I am concentrating on walking.  But I know that if I look down, I will fall to my death.

I really want to make this work.  I know I can do it.  I realize that I don't have much too say tonight, as I've been up until 2AM the past few days talking to a friend who is going through a very difficult time.   There's this really funny post that I have all done in my head, and 1/4 done on 'paper,' but I keep losing my train of thought.

I walked around in the sun for 2 hrs today chasing after an injured Congo gray parrot.  One of the neighbors called out to me, as I traipsed through yards suggested that I should keep the bird and resell it.  Making $500 on a bird whose medical bill are sure to be at least $400 doesn't make a great profit.  Beside, the Kiddo is already afraid of butterflies, do I really need him to be frightened of birds that look like the have survived a garroting?

And now my computer won't comply with me.  I wanted to upload a picture of the stupid bird, but it's not working.  This is one for the crappy record books. 

Monday, March 21, 2011

March Madness

You know I blog and more recently Tweet, but did you know that I also write for Associated Content for Yahoo!News? 

I haven't been regularly writing for them because I got derailed in November with the Kumquats and didn't have the proper amount of drive or confidence to write.

I'm planning on writing a daily column on parenting/money saving/budget friendly self-care advice for single mothers.  If you are or know of any single moms, feel free to pass on my A.C. profile.  Thanks!

PS- If you are interested in investing in a small business owner, feel free to visit the paypal link on the upper right hand corner of this blog.  Your small donation could have a big impact.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Friday, March 18, 2011

Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight

He's really pissed at me in this photo.

It's a good thing my Kiddo is still cute (pic is 7 months old) because when he flipped on the overhead light in my bedroom at 3AM I was ready for a fight.

My first thought was, "I'm being raided!" quickly followed by, "Wait, I don't have any open warrants nor do I live near a crack den."

The Kiddo's saving grace was saying, "I woke up and wanted to tell you I love you."

This is why I don't sleep with a gun under my pillow. . .but I would love to have one in the house.  (First, must learn how to shoot).

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Red Rover, Red Rover, Send Karl Right Over


This is getting so surreal!  I think I need someone to pinch me! 

First, I find out that 3 readers have donated to me.  (You can see their name on the right side toolbar, marked HONOR ROLL).  Tremendous ego boost number 1.

Now for tremendous ego boost number 2. . . KARL ROVE is following me on Twitter!!!!!!

I am so excited I can't think straight.  I mean honestly, if I get around to posting something funny, witty, or even the most remotely chuckle-some, HE might RE-TWEET it to his 234,027 followers, who might in turn start to follow me!!!!!

I don't want to feel like the pressure is on to be suave and witty, but holy cow!

And I never would have done this 10 months ago, much less 10 weeks ago. 

Yea for personal growth and development!

Okay, so now that I've overused exclamation points, I'll leave you with this video of Karl Rove dancing.  

I love you Mr. Rove!  You are such a cute dancer. 


I can't really express my words of gratitude tonight.  I received my first donation today towards keeping my dreams alive and it totally caught me off guard.

See, for the past week I have writing and re-writing (mostly in my head) a post on self-promotion but I keep kept shying away from the topic because I am not good at promoting myself, that is unless I am trying to BS my way through an interview for a job.  (I'll have to relay the story of landing a job as a liaison to Australia/New Zealand when I didn't even own a passport.)  (I still don't have a passport.)

But taking my cue from my head-shrinker, a college professor, and a wandering musician I have to put myself on the line and be constantly selling myself.  I have a gift and a talent that yearns to be put to good use, so I have to tell the world.  I really and truly believe that this is what I am supposed to be doing with my life.  Now here's the hardest part for me.  Self-promotion in the form of begging.  But if I look at it as start up money for a new company, I can understand it better.

For ages now, my dearest friend KG, has been telling me, "Damn it!  Write a book and people will buy it."  At this point I am writing and putting together posts/stories for a cohesive book to publish to Kindle, but I have no guaranteed profit.  And since I want to pay my bills while I try to write I have to look for some seed money for my dreams.

Falcon 1_5 was the first to put her money on the line.  And now she's top on my honor roll list.

So I'm asking you to join her on the honor roll and make a donation towards funding my dreams.  Did you give up Starbucks for Lent?  Decide to cut out the bi-weekly run to McDonald's because your waistline is getting larger?  Do you have a jar of loose change that needs to be cashed in?  Like Martin Luther, did you make a rash promise to God during a moment of duress and feel like you need to 'pay up'?  Maybe you could use that extra money on a donation.  

I'm not picky.  If you want to send $2 or $200, I'll be thrilled either way.  Every little bit counts, not only towards my expenses, but to the most important thing I have lacked for so long. . .confidence.  It touches me to know that I have the support of a growing community and I feel so blessed to see the effects of my hard work beginning to pay off.  (You'd think a day of social networking and writing is easy, but it's not!  I can't believe how difficult it is to "get noticed" if you're not already famous.)  (Note to future self: If you are ever rich and famous, it is your job to help others 'get noticed' and to use your money to aid many others, like you have been aided.)

I'm not asking for much.  I'm going for that whole beatitudes approach, "Ask and ye shall receive." 

Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised to see a handful of donations from some close friends.  Maybe one of my international readers in India, Australia, Russia, or France will chip in.  Or maybe nothing will come of it.  But I don't know until I ask, until I put myself out there.

Thank you so much Falcon 1_5 for believing in me. 

Monday, March 14, 2011

Daylight Circadian Time My A$$

My Fisher-Price Rhino Puffalump, a steadfast bed-mate for almost 25 yrs.
Yesterday was a fail day of epic proportions.  The Kiddo and I squabbled about EVERYTHING.  In addition to him not understanding why he had to go to bed 'while it was still daytime,' which he valiantly fought against until 10PM, he did not want me to work on the computer at all.  I, of course, was wired from being uptight all day and couldn't fall asleep until 2AM.

I'm too tired to really focus, which is a shame because earlier I had a really funny idea, but it flew out of my head faster than the money disappears from my paycheck.

For now I must be content to obey the signals that my body is giving me.  Roughly translated my brain is saying: "Idiot, go take a shower because you smell like a gym sock.  You're Your intellect is duller than hospital hallway wallpaper and the bags under your eyes have their own set of luggage now."

This Chick Tweets *Updated*

I did it!  All hail me!

This Chick Tweets

Actually, I have no idea what I'm really doing.  I've been spending the last three hours watching Arrested Development/trying to correct the stupid badge to link my twitter account, but I have no idea how to write html and any copy/paste badges I've managed to locate are screwed up.

And on top of that I've had a rotten day with the Kiddo.  He's not to keen on me being around the house all day and not submitting to his every whim.  We've got to get into a better routine.

So, if you're looking to follow other wonderful thoughts of mine, find me on twitter @serial_writer

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Disorganized Serial Writer*

I've been wrapped up reading some pretty dark material lately which I think has stunted my creative ability and consequently caused a flare up of self-doubt.  Any new reader looking over my posts (all 105), will note there is a discrepancy in continuity of content.  (Does that sound correct?  Because I feel like I am using big, important grown-up person words, but I don't believe I am using them in the correct context.  Feel free to correct me).  Some days I'm really goofy and creatively effervescent while in other posts my fears of failure and struggles with depression are made painfully obvious.

There's no way for me to hide it or pretend like the shift in tone is not noticeable, so why not talk to the elephant in the room and introduce it.

"Hi.  I am chemically imbalanced.  I take meds every day to keep those chemicals in sync with the rest of my bodily functions.  While most people have their bodies naturally regulate their serotonin levels and other weird chemicals that I can't remember the name of, I don't have those regulations.  (I've always been F' those rules!, I'm doing it my way! so it makes sense that my body does the SAME DAMN THING).   Some days I am a bit happier, funnier, creative, and more optimistic about life.  Other days, I may be woebegone like Charlie Brown, end every sentence with FML, and want to curl into a little ball under the massive piles of blankets and pillows strewn on my bed. Like the old Michelob TV ad from my youth, "Some days are better than others."
(Someone please explain to me how I can remember a commercial from my childhood, but I can't remember most of my history lessons from college)
"I laughingly and affectionately for the most part, tell people that I am crazy.  Not 'haha, I'm gonna kill you' crazy, but 'I have a decidedly different approach to life' type of crazy.  Like sometimes I will dance in the grocery store to the songs played over the speakers (much to the embarrassment of my siblings while we growing up)."  

"In my house you will find a wall that I call my happy wall.  It's covered with pictures pulled from magazine, newspapers, the internet, and letters/emails/cards that touch me in some way.  A picture of a beautiful flower might hang alongside a picture of crudely drawn comic which is hanging next to a garbage can overflowing with fall leaves.  Some days my heart aches so much and my head is so clouded with bad judgment that a kind word from a stock boy loading groceries into my car causes me to cry."

"Nothing in my house matches or follows any sort of design order.  In fact, my house is disordered.  I am perfectly capable of cleaning and maintaining a house, it's just sometimes my life gets in the way of keeping things in order.  Some days the kitchen is completely spot-free and the next day I awake to discover that the dirty dish fair has visited me in the night, there is a beach ball on the kitchen table, a bunch of handpicked wildflowers on the cutting block, and a laundry hamper sitting next to the microwave which is currently filled with books, a wineglass, mate-less socks, and Matchbox Cars, .  I don't know how these things happen.  If I were still living with my parents, my poor mother would have a nervous breakdown with the mess, but I don't so the chaos reigns until it bothers me.  I guess I'd rather write in the dust that settles on the shelves than live every day life dusting."

"So people may not understand me, may not like me, my get frightened by my intensity, may like me (but I don't believe they actually like me, because heaven forbid I have a positive thought about myself that people like me for me, not because I make 'em laugh like Jim Carrey, except for The Cable Guy).  Some may not want to stare into the mirror and admit that they might be struggling to maintain some level sanity as I am openly admitting.  Maybe others who are reading this are thinking thank God for making me feel like I'm not the only one in the universe."

So now that I've talked about the elephant in the room, it's going to be much easier for me to be honest and open with my writings.  Just as I'm not just a mommy-blogger, I'm not going to pretend like I am a well put together person.  I am willing to put my struggles out there for others to share in, and maybe learn something deeper about themselves. 

I would like to thank my spiritual director Fr. E, my mentor/therapist/shrinky-dink, Allie over at Hyperbole and a Half (Hi, Allie!  You don't know me, but your early posts about not wanting a job/writing/being depressed have really inspired me.  I wanna be cool like you!), my college professor John Janero (who has written a really awesome book about similar struggles I face) and EJ for giving me that extra push and the right amount of love.  

*(I was originally going to title this post "Screws Loose" or "I'm Loosely Screwed" but I didn't want people googleing fetish sites to land on this page.  I already had that happen when I made a remark in a previous post about "putting your foot in your mouth" and high heels.)

Friday, March 11, 2011

Comments from the Peanut Gallery

Conversation with my therapist/mentor: "If I come in one day and pay you in $1s, you'll know I've turned to stripping to support my writing habit."

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

SWF Seeking Viking Male to Raid Villages, Pillage and Plunder

Roaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.  I can't make any sense to night; my eyes keep crossing.  My magnum opus will be delayed another day.

Failure to Follow Instructions Will Result in Death

Things that irritate me while I'm at Church:

1. The choir girls for evening Sunday Mass.  They sing quite well but find it impossible to keep their traps shut when they aren't signing!  Between the giggles and whispers I felt less like praying and more like slaying.  This past Sunday my laser beam glare, which I was secretly hoping would cause them to spontaneously melt (much like the bad guys in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark) succeeded in silencing them for a short time.

2. People who applauded the giggling choir girls specifically after Fr. E said, "Don't clap for them as they are not doing this for attention, but to use their talents to praise God."  I was very hungry and quite stabby already and wanted to smack everyone who couldn't follow one simple direction.

3. Me, for being such as asshole for not being able to ignore the things that were 'bothering' me and actually pray.

4. The fact that the temperature dropped 15 degrees between the start of Mass and the end.  My sleeveless top was totally inappropriate for that change.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

I Make Plans, God Laughs

I'm easily distracted by shiny objects.
When I dropped 40 lbs of frozen Kumquat puree on my index finger on Day 2 of the self-imposed 2 month deadline, I realized I was irony's bitch.  Well, I actually thought of that after yelling F**k several times, almost barfing and passing out from the pain.

So much to my chagrin my posting may not be as consistent as I want it to be.


I hate being thrown a curve ball so early in the game.  I need to keep remembering the positive ideas that I am finally believing to be in me. 

Monday, March 7, 2011

Milestone #1

This marks post number 101.  I was going to write a thank you post for number 100, but since I can't count and my stats bar only updates after a random time which I haven't figured out yet I missed it.

Last month I got 1,170 hits from across the globe!  YEA!  I couldn't have done it without all my fantastic readers who tune in to get my tilted world view.  I hope you laughed a lot.  Much more to come!

So now I'd like to share a virtual piece of 100 post birthday cake.  Enjoy!

Dear owner of this picture, Sorry I'm not giving you credit for this cake of awesomeness, but I found you on Google Images and thought it looked too cool to pass up.  Hope the cake didn't leave you with a waxy build up on your teeth.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Please Keep All Knives and Pointy Objects Away from the Dieter

I have been feeling rather stabby today.

Really stabby. =======>>>>  That is my long, stabby knife.  I guess it looks more like a spear.  (Maybe I should run around in a loin cloth yelling, "THIS. IS. SPARTA!"  I could burn extra calories).  Then again, my landlord probably won't want to renew my lease if I do that.  But anyways, back to explaining why I have been stabby-like all day.

I have been eating healthy for the past seven days and it's KILLING ME!!!  (Although I have to brag that I have lots 6 lbs already).

I couldn't stand it when I was fixing* scrambled eggs and frozen waffles for the Kiddo and the Siblings.  (Note: I didn't say cooking* because you aren't really a putting a whole lot of time and effort into your meal preparation if you are toasting waffles in a $10 toaster oven that belches noxious fumes each time you turn it on.)  If I hadn't been chanting "you have less back fat today" under my breath the entire time, I would have surely thrown myself on those frozen disks like a rabid wolverine. 

I've decided that since I've spent the better portion of the past 2.5 years eating a lot of crap and seeing as my 30th b-day is two weeks from tomorrow, I have to set some new healthy eating habits that I will (hopefully) follow for the rest of my life.  I've  decided to take a more Mediterranean approach to my eating habits, which over all is great because I love a diet packed with lots of fresh fruits, vegetables, plenty of fish, olive oil, nuts, and cheese.

What I absolutely hate is that the particular book that I've been reading and using as a guideline (since I'm so out of practice as to what actually constitutes as healthy), recommends that for the first two weeks of your new eating plans you eliminate sugar, red meat, dairy, and restrict your carbohydrate intake drastically.

So yesterday when I was attending Dad's 55th b-day party and Mom put together an AMAZING looking dish of bow-tie pasta and bacon, and my grandmother made 2 cakes, I had to keep reminding myself that in two weeks I could celebrate my birthday and more weight loss.  (I did wimp out at the end of the night and sawed off a square inch of both cakes and inhaled them like Charlie Sheen does blow).

As it has grown late and my stomach is growling as a reminder that the fantastic salad I had for dinner is long gone, I've taken to munching on raw carrots.

If I look like this in few days you'll know why.  And yes, it can happen.  I never expected to see a black male get orange hands, but my friend Gerard did just that. 
I'd better get to bed before I do anything too drastic. 

#WINNING--Because Money Talks

Dear Mr. Sheen,

There is a point in every person's life when they look back and mentally grimace over their past transgressions, be it a girl riddled with low self-esteem seeking affirmation by flashing her girly parts for the camera, a flamboyant fashion designer spouting anti-Semitic views, or Bill Clinton trying to convince us that 'he did not have sexual relations with that woman.'  I hope you can get to that point before your family has to put you six feet under.

Do us all a huge favor and give Robert Downey Jr. a call.  There's a person who did a fair amount of stupid-ass shit, but he seems to have pulled himself together quite well these past few years.  I bet the man has a lot of good advice, like "you need to cut back on the piles of blow if you don't want to lose your nose" and "Hookers, hot they may be, are not totally trustworthy people.  You are paying them to have sex with you, so the moment the money is gone they're not gonna hang around for your rapidly diminishing good looks."

I'd like to apologize on behalf of all the jackasses (me included) that are laughing AT you.  (But seriously, you are saying some damn funny stuff).  It is a shame to see a talented person spiral out of control and the fact that we are enjoyed your demise is a testament to the fact that you must not have anyone that really cares about you. 

If we were to take money out of the option, say put me in place or the local homeless man on the street corner, this situation would be neutralized by day 2.  Why does money give you a carte blanche on reckless, borish, whorish behavior?  If I were to spout things like "I'm sorry my life is so much more bitchin than yours.  I planned it that way," I'd get bitch slapped by my mother and promptly deleted from the telephone directory of several dozen people. 

Where will you be when the money is gone and your world collapses in like a black star?

What will your children have to deal with as they get older?  A psychotically deranged father cared for by round-the-clock nurses?  What sort of personal demons are you setting them up for?

Take my advice and get your head out of the blow, step away from "smooooking hotties," and get yourself to a doctor.  FAST. 

The Diatribest

Saturday, March 5, 2011

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

I hate spiders.  A lot.  Allie over at Hyperbole and a Half has it right:

That's the same dance I do when I encounter frogs and lizards.
But since I have a 5 year old who is frightened of butterflies, I can't bitch out and expect him to stomp on all the creepy crawlies that make it past the window screens and hover around the porch light.

(Side note: what kind of kid screams when he sees a butterfly?  He was totally cool with dragging me into a tent at the fair to peer at all the venomous snakes of FL while I almost passed out/peed my pants from fright.)

So in an effort to put on a brave front for the Kiddo (who today confused mosquitoes with wasps) when one of the hated creatures makes its way into our house, I arm myself with a nearby shoe and yell "FEAR ME!" while I attempt to smash my prey.  The yelling serves a two-fold purpose: I can mask my shrieks of terror/disgust and the Kiddo laughs, not aware of his mother's fear that for every one roach/spider/walking stick you see, there are three you don't see.

And NO, before you ask, I do not live in a filthy, vermin-infested house.  Florida is renown for it's massive 'palmetto bugs.'
As a child I discovered I had spiderman-like skills of climbing walls when one of these creatures FLEW. AT. MY. FACE.

So this morning as I was perusing the daily headlines, I almost choked on my coffee when I came across "Mazda Recalls 50K Cars Due to Spider Infestation".  How the hell do you have spiders INFESTING your cars?

I can understand finding spiders in some of the cars that were parked under the rotting oak on the assembly line lot, but 50K!  Where were they manufacturing these cars, Count Dracula's dungeon?  Did some pissed-off ex-employee sneak in one night and plant mail order spider egg sacs on the underside of all of these cars?

I can't imagine what I would have to say to my insurance agent when I crashed my car through a nursing home because spiders were flying at me from the air vents. 

Good luck Mazda!  Hope you don't have any flying spider lawsuits coming your way!


I'm usually stuck on cracked.com.  Don't go there if you want to sleep.
So I have a big announcement to make.  I am going to write.  I mean more.  And for money.  I want to write for real.

Okay, it's almost midnight and I want to finish this damn post and get to bed, but I know I have to put this out in the open so I can be held accountable.  (And I need a bit of your input too.)*

My bro-in-law sent me a link about a teen who sells her stories over Kindle and has made a bundle of money.  My mentor told me tonight that for a homework assignment he wants me to look into what it takes to get it done, pull together a combo of 25 different stories/posts, tweak them a bit and post it on Kindle to sell.

On Monday, barring that I'm not called up to the Kumquat plant, I'll be working writing from 9-11 and 1-4 everyday for the next two months.  I'm really going to make a go of my writing and make it work for me. 

I know that if I can create a niche on Associated Content and develop a following as long as I actively work on it I can get a solid income base.  If I place ads on my blog (which is still up for debate in my head) I could generate revenue too.  If I can pick up so free-lance pieces like copy writing, that would be a bonus.  I have to do this now, more than ever.

I have to challenge myself some more.  It wasn't until my mentor challenged me to write for 21 days straight that I realized what I have needed to do for so long is now laid out in front of me. 

I have to finally accept the fact that I have something special, a gift that can make some laugh or mull over issues from a different, slightly tilted angle.  I have to share this talent.  When I was a child every summer I would attend vacation Bible school, singing "This little light of mine," on a daily basis.  Well, for me I can't hide my light under a bushel basket anymore. 

I'm gonna let it shine.

*Drop me a line, post a response if you have a specific post that sticks out, made you laugh or think.  I want to take into consideration your ideas on how I should approach Kindle.  Thanks!

Thursday, March 3, 2011

"Whoever Battles Monsters. . .

should take care not to become a monster too, for if you stare long enough into the Abyss, the Abyss stares also into you." ~Nietzsche

That quote hung above the desk of Robert K. Ressler for many years as he pioneered the art of criminal profiling.  I have been reading his book the past several days with a mixture of awe (that Ressler was on target in every situation), disgust (of the depths of man's depravity), horror (that someone I know could statistically become a victim of a violent crime), and gratitude (that Ressler worked for over 20 years help put men away like Dahmner, Gacy, and Bundy).

Reading on dark subject matters is nothing new to me.  In fact I was into forensics, autopsies, and criminal minds long before they were in vogue.  I don't remember the particular point in my childhood when I read my first Patrica Cornwell novel but I do remember being made aware that life was not all daisies and roses.  One could argue that my early exposure to the dark underbelly of the criminal mind made me prone to the cynicism and sarcasm that I utilize to make light of dark matters or how I tend to see only the worst qualities of my life magnified.  But that's not the point of this post, debating if my books should have been better censured; rather I'm trying to un-darken my mind.

I've been trying to write about this subject matter for two days now, but I can tell that my creativity has been stifled.  Mostly it's due to the knowledge that life, which is already fleeting, can be cut short in such vicious, cruel manners.  Ruminating on those matters and (successfully!) changing my food habits for the past four days has been a bit of a drag. 

I really want a bowl of coco puffs that are calling to me from the pantry, so I'll be heading to bed soon to avoid further temptation.

I think I need a little break from the dark and depressing.  I need something funny to read or watch.  Maybe I should return The Girl Who Played With Fire (child abuse and sex trafficking in Sweden) back to Netflix and request Season 2 of Arrested Development (hilariously dysfunctional family).

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

The Finer Art of Sales

To the young women who barged into my house today,

In the future, should you continue to solicit door to door in hopes of winning a college scholarship (which I highly question its authenticity even though you mentioned Oprah's name) allow me to give you a few pointers that might boost your sales or at least prevent you from losing your foot in a slamming door.

First, dress up for grits and gravy sake!  I understand going door-to-door means that you might want to be a bit more casual.  I'm fine with the jeans.  What I find appalling is that I know you store your Marlboro Reds in your ample bosom because your shirt was low cut and stretched out of shape.  I remember trying to pimp my Cutco knives (oh, the horror!)  to pay for another semester of college and I never went on a call with out looking like I was going on a job interview because you know what?  No one wants to buy goods from a salesperson that looks like a Jerry Springer cast member. 

Secondly, slow down when you speak.  You claimed to be from Kentucky, but the only time I've heard someone speak that fast was watching Gilmore Girls.  Personally, I can't stand the dialogue on speed approach when it comes to conversations (unless it's along the lines of "Run!TheKillerIsHeadingThisWay!HolyShit!Run!).  Southerners tend to be a bit more laid back and our drawl occasionally causes one syllable words to elongate to three syllables.  (Ask a Southern boy to say shit and you'll hear "Sheeyet," no fooling.)

Third, don't ask demand, "Do you have something to drink other than water, 'cuz I don't drink that stuff."  And if I offer you OJ just to get you to shut up because I am trying to be polite, don't ask "Is it disgusting?"

Fourth, DO NOT continually high-five the person you are attempting to sell you products to.  I don't care if I went to college (High 5!), read The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (High 5!), studied history (Fist Bump!), do yoga (High 5!), my kid is watching a science movie you watched in high school (High 5!) or am raising my son alone (High 5!).  I can guarantee you the next High 5! you attempt will probably aimed at your face.  I was only too kind because my child was watching me and the train wreck you were driving. 

Fifth, don't curse like a sailor straight from the docks.  Yes, I have can have a foul vocabulary, but I have the common sense to speak like that in front of my friends who know me well enough and NOT in front of my child.   One possible reason my neighbors are "jackasses" is because every time you opened your sewer mouth, they decided not to give you the time of day.  Plus trying to convince someone to purchase a magazine because they'll get one thousand dollars (!!!!!) of coupons, because "who fucking doesn't like coupons?" is not a high selling point. 

Good luck in the future!  I can only imagine what the halls of higher learning has in store for you.

Sincerely and High 5!
The Diatribest

It's Springtime for the Diatribest, and Florida Too*

The radiant beauty of the Camilla and it's waxy leaves

Inpatients, which will later be smashed flat by a falling sign

Probably a flowering weed, but it looked pretty to me

A Yellow Trumpet
 Just had to share the beauty of nature that coming into bloom.  I'm truly sorry for my friends and readers who are still in the throes of winter.  You can come a visit any time. 

*Just a bit of tongue in cheek reference to Mel Brook's 1968 hit The Producers.