So, I was walking through the beauty aids at Wal-Mart when I decided to sniff all of the body washes to find the perfect one. Sometimes what looks good on the picture don’t smell too good when you get it home. I went through about 5 different combined fragrances when I came across plain old pomegranate. That sounds good right? I had been picking up each bottle and gently squeezing to get a whiff of their fragrances. Fancy shamancy pomegranate had different ideas. Apparently it was more full than all of the other bottles and my squeezer had become more aggressive. I picked up the super sized bottle, placed it under my nose and gave it a good squeeze.
Yes, I filled my right nostril with approximately 1/4 cup of body wash. Of course I immediately started blowing my nose, coughing, spitting and sputtering. I had a hand full of purple gook which I slung on the floor and tried to wipe off on my pants.
A lady turned down the aisle just as I managed to get the first blob out of my nose. I looked up at her with red eyes and making strange noises while covered in purple goo. I think she said “excuse me” but I’m not sure as she back tracked and ran away. A few seconds later her husband appeared around the corner to confirm what she had witnessed. Now they think I’m some kind of weird pomegranate sniffer.
I finally got myself together, stepped away from the body wash and bought some good old fashioned soap. I just don’t think I can face pomegranate ever again.
I don’t like the word “righteous”. The problem is everyone with a belief in God and following a path set for them believes themselves to be righteous. This in itself is not a bad thing. The issue occurs when the “righteous” expect the paths of other’s to mirror theirs and stand in judgment at the differences.
You cannot walk in my shoes and I cannot walk in yours. Your perspective is different from mine. Do not expect to know where my path is supposed to lead. This is God’s job. You cannot see his reasoning for me no matter how “right” you believe you are. What is right for you may not be right for me. We have different purposes.
I understand the need to feel strongly in a religious affiliation. You should completely believe in the path you are walking but do you really believe that Gandhi and the Pope are going to hell because they are not Assembly of God, Pentecostal, Baptist etc.?
Religious righteousness is a dangerous thing. When you look down your nose at others because they are different you are treading on dangerous ground.
Today I’ll practice sweeping my own porch.
I read about this great idea. Or so I thought. You should close your eyes and imagine yourself lying on your death bed. Take slow calming breaths until you can take yourself there. Now, look back at your life and see what you should have done. Make a list of those things. Now open your eyes and go do them.
Here’s my list:
Yep, I got nuthin’. Apparently I am ambition-less. Since I am not a lazy person this came as quite a surprise to me. You’re supposed to come up with a minimum of five things. The funny thing is that I am constantly reading self-help books in an effort to improve myself yet I have no idea what it is that I wish to fix.
In my twenties my biggest dream was to walk in a grocery store and purchase whatever food I wanted without worrying whether I was going to be able to pay my electric bill also. I did reach that goal. It seemed so huge at the time. I worked in a local factory at that time so to help reach my goal I once worked seven days a week for three months straight.
I’m afraid my goals have been too small. Having food in the cupboard does not leave a legacy. My mind is too simple.
How important is a legacy? Will anyone really care that I walked this earth? Is our goal here to leave a mark? If so I better get busy……
Ok, so I’m a little freaked out. One of the top searches for finding my blog was “teenage girls in panties”. Um….what? I don’t want to know.
I did however squander away hours today reading a trashy book that made me laugh until I cried. There were pirates, romance, blackmail, copious amounts of plastic surgery and even a visit from bigfoot. I humbly bow to the ridiculous author Robyn Peterman. (If you’re easily offended you’ll be flabbergasted. This may not be the author for you.)
I did have high hopes for this day. The weather warmed up nicely and I heard my neighbors working in their yards as I wiled away the hours. I should probably be ashamed but alas, I am not.
I am currently awake at nearly midnight because of the 3 hour nap I took today. I suppose I could do something productive like dusting. It is not quite midnight so it will still count as having done something useful today.
I start my new job today. Somehow this one feels like stepping into an old shoe. I think this will be good.
Oh Electricity, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I stood in the driveway at 10:00 pm last night and did my best version of a touchdown dance as the lineman drove away. I wonder if he gets this a lot? 34 hours without electricity makes you want to kiss him smack on the lips. I LOVE YOU MR. ENTERGY GUY! I would have stopped him to lavish him with my love if I did not fear retribution from my neighbors that were still waiting.
I only knew my Daddy for 14 years. If you subtract the younger years when you can’t really retain much memory then I suppose it’s less than that. As an adult I’ve come to realize just how short that period of time was.
My Daddy wasn’t a talker. In fact, he rarely ever spoke. He could go days without saying a word to you. He wasn’t mad. He just didn’t feel like his thoughts were important enough to voice them. When he did speak it was usually to ask for a glass of tea or issue some other command.
One evening at the dinner table Daddy had a gleam in his eye that I knew spelled trouble. He sat at the head of the table with Momma to his left. My brother and I shared the right side. Dinner conversation was usually a boring recount of the day’s labors. I didn’t speak much on account of Daddy’s rule. “Children shouldn’t speak unless they’re spoken to.” He wasn’t being mean. This was simply a belief of his.
Momma had made her usual stew meat and tomatoes that simmered in the slow cooker all day while she was at work. This was a particular favorite of mine because of Momma’s love of onions. That may sound strange but you see, Momma loved onions so much she’d cut them into big chunks which we in turn could easily pick out without fear of actually swallowing one.
On this very ordinary evening with fork in midair my Daddy looks at my Momma and says “I learned today what Ford (Ford Motor Company) stands for.” My innocent Momma replies “Yes? What is that?” That’s when Daddy blurts out “Fucking old re-built Dodge”.
Yes, my Daddy just said a bad word. A really bad word judging from the nine shades of red in Momma’s face. My brother and I quickly buried our snickers in our stew meat as my rebellious Father didn’t even try to stifle his laughter. This was going to be bad. I was trying to pretend like I hadn’t heard it cause I didn’t want no part of the lickin’ that Daddy was fixin’ to get. Shoot, I didn’t even know what that word meant but I could tell by Momma’s face that he wasn’t going to be repeating it anytime soon.