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RAMBLE WARNING. I think I am in need of a reality check. This is going to be a long one.
I am lost in the image of a fighter jet which I call, "The Eff-Bomber."
One wing of my Eff Bomber was built during the McCarthy Era. Those idyllic days when Joseph McCarthy was protecting the American Dream with his infamous blacklists and public persecutions. Monday, Wednesday, Happy Days. The McCarthy Era wing of my Eff Bomber is my FIL. The wise, old gentleman whose opulent employee management has him dangerously close to the foreclosure which will take him and the semi-vegetative MIL straight La de dah Lane to a welfare nursing home. This weekend one of his employees attempted to ask me for help in the situation. This would be the employee who gives the majority of the care to the MIL. Her work is truly amazing. My heart is breaking because I had to warn her that her boss has fired every single employee who talk to me... The FIL still loves telling his beneficent tales of all his employees and his masterful management of them. Most of those employees have the look of crew members who know the ship is sinking. The rest look like sharks in a feeding frenzy.
On the other side of the phallic symbol is the Rap Era wing of the Eff Bomber. This middle aged man quotes the music of his youth in everything he says. Dr. Dre. Iced Cube. Ice-T. Schooly D. I tried to wrestle his Gangsta Rap collection away from him when he was in elementary school. I was attacked as a racist, of course. The fair-skinned wing of the Eff Bomber is not properly editing his quotation of the lyrics. His confusion over why some millionaires can profit endlessly by a single word which another millionaire can be sued in open court for uttering, even if they are quoting hit parade lyrics. The Rap Era wing of the Eff Bomber cannot hold a civil conversation, much less a job. He wants to be a boss like his granddaddy. Quoting the music of his youth is definitely not getting him there.
I have both wings of the Eff Bomber on what I call, "The Sir Line." An adaptation of it. I learned the Sir Line in the old Women's Army Corps. Not to be mistaken for the New Volunteer Army. The Sir Line was an unofficial policy which the Women's Army Corps used to protect Privates from booty calling officers and NCOs. The essence was to use their superior rank and honorifics like a big ol' paint brush to paint lines so thick and ugly that even the "little head" could understand them. In dealing with my Eff Bomber, I say nothing which is not compatible with a "Sir."
My husband is suffering horribly between the wings of the Eff Bomber. He is being squeezed horribly and I do not even see how I can help him...
Girl Howdy, I feel helpless, but I cannot bring myself to resume my old role in this family drama.
Reality Check. Am I lost in the Rabbit Hole again???
I am lost in the image of a fighter jet which I call, "The Eff-Bomber."
One wing of my Eff Bomber was built during the McCarthy Era. Those idyllic days when Joseph McCarthy was protecting the American Dream with his infamous blacklists and public persecutions. Monday, Wednesday, Happy Days. The McCarthy Era wing of my Eff Bomber is my FIL. The wise, old gentleman whose opulent employee management has him dangerously close to the foreclosure which will take him and the semi-vegetative MIL straight La de dah Lane to a welfare nursing home. This weekend one of his employees attempted to ask me for help in the situation. This would be the employee who gives the majority of the care to the MIL. Her work is truly amazing. My heart is breaking because I had to warn her that her boss has fired every single employee who talk to me... The FIL still loves telling his beneficent tales of all his employees and his masterful management of them. Most of those employees have the look of crew members who know the ship is sinking. The rest look like sharks in a feeding frenzy.
On the other side of the phallic symbol is the Rap Era wing of the Eff Bomber. This middle aged man quotes the music of his youth in everything he says. Dr. Dre. Iced Cube. Ice-T. Schooly D. I tried to wrestle his Gangsta Rap collection away from him when he was in elementary school. I was attacked as a racist, of course. The fair-skinned wing of the Eff Bomber is not properly editing his quotation of the lyrics. His confusion over why some millionaires can profit endlessly by a single word which another millionaire can be sued in open court for uttering, even if they are quoting hit parade lyrics. The Rap Era wing of the Eff Bomber cannot hold a civil conversation, much less a job. He wants to be a boss like his granddaddy. Quoting the music of his youth is definitely not getting him there.
I have both wings of the Eff Bomber on what I call, "The Sir Line." An adaptation of it. I learned the Sir Line in the old Women's Army Corps. Not to be mistaken for the New Volunteer Army. The Sir Line was an unofficial policy which the Women's Army Corps used to protect Privates from booty calling officers and NCOs. The essence was to use their superior rank and honorifics like a big ol' paint brush to paint lines so thick and ugly that even the "little head" could understand them. In dealing with my Eff Bomber, I say nothing which is not compatible with a "Sir."
My husband is suffering horribly between the wings of the Eff Bomber. He is being squeezed horribly and I do not even see how I can help him...
Girl Howdy, I feel helpless, but I cannot bring myself to resume my old role in this family drama.
Reality Check. Am I lost in the Rabbit Hole again???
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Hey all, i know its been quite awhile since i posted on here. Its been a summer all right. Its been something else........... You know how they say not to open the can of worms? Well a few months ago i decided to find out what my due date would have been for my first baby, the one conceived by r***. My baby would have been due on March 4th of 2006. They would be 20 years old. I was R**** on June...
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My day...today...misplaced my debit card...didn't realize it until I got to the register after shopping to a full cart. Used a different debit card and pulled apart everything looking for missing debit card before I left parking lot. Got home, dropped keys. So now I have a missing debit card, missing keys. A full cartload to unload and put away. I got everything put away.Dumped purse for a...
Wishing you some fluff to help you out of this funk.... Ugh... Maybe give each man a DVD of "Thelma & Louise"? Watching that is my one friend's way of notifying her brood of males (hubby and sons) that she's nearing her tipping point and they REALLLLLLY do not wan tthat, LOL!
No outside space in my studio. Just two little window ledges. I've been working on my "vertical farming" techniques. Not quite sure what to call it yet, but I have been making brick sized containers our of hard-wire net and experimenting with growing medium light and compact enough that the "bricks" can be strung together into a living wall. One step more serene than "Thelma and Louise." Not quite ready to drive over a cliff yet.
In my entrepreneurial circles we think degrees are more useful for getting jobs than running a business. When we have need of acronymic validation, rentals are available.
My BS is in "Bovine Safety."
I like the idea of a living wall. I used to have great luck with trellises on a balcony of our apartment. The balcony was about four by six, so not exactly spacious....
Blessings and peace,
leo
I sometimes think about changing my Avatar to Cassandra. I feel like her many times. It stinks.
I believe you, Deli. Hoping you find your relief. Any word from the EEOC?
Yes, living in the moment is quite the accomplishment. I keep mistaking it for running from my past on a self-destructive course.