Friday, September 30, 2011

While listening to a local LA radio station this morning, the DJs were discussing a crazy event that happened just a few days ago.  Seems one of the announcers had a friend who was in an accident on an LA freeway on the 25^th.  Not that uncommon.  Happens all the time.  But…what transpired after that accident was far from normal!

The announcer’s friend, a male, pulled to the side of the road, followed by the woman who had hit him.  They both got out of their cars, and the woman, explaining that she had no insurance, asked if they might just forget the accident had ever happened.  The car the announcer’s friend was driving had significant damage, so he apologized but told the woman he was going to have to call the police. 

The woman begged him not to.  When he insisted, she jumped back in her car and attempted to run him over.  The man, quick-thinking that he was, threw himself on the hood of the woman’s car, and off she drove on the freeway, the man clinging on for dear life!

They traveled several hundred feet before a male driver of a nearby car, seeing what was happening, cut in front of the crazed woman to get her to stop.  The announcer’s friend ended up being tossed off the hood of the car, causing him to collide with the center meridian.  He was covered in bumps and bruises with his kneecap nearly showing for how scraped up it was.

Meanwhile, the crazy woman driver made her get away.  Though spectators could identify the make, model and year of her vehicle, no one had thought to get her license plate number.  So, here we are, five days later with the crazy woman still at large.

The announcer’s friend, a retired stunt man, managed to make it back to his car where his young daughter was still seat belted in the vehicle.  He opened the door, and she said, “Hey, Daddy, where have you been?”

Thank goodness the girl didn’t see what had happened to her father, for she might have been plagued with terrible nightmares.  As it is, there’s still an insane woman driving around out there who was willing to kill someone rather than have an accident she was responsible for reported to the police.  Makes one wonder what else the woman’s responsible for…. 

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Reading a response I received to a blog got me to thinking about why I post the philosophies I do.  I don’t write them as a means of sounding like I know it all.  Allow me to assure everyone that I don’t…not even close!  I jot down my thoughts because I believe firmly enough in them to want to share them with others.  Get others to think.  Inspire a thirst to see things in a way others might not have considered if left on their own.

To be sure, the philosophies I post here aren’t easy to adapt into one’s life.  But let me assure you, each and every one I write about I have managed to incorporate into mine.  Not that I’m always successful in exacting them.  In fact, I fall short my mark many times.  But I don’t allow that to defeat me.  Instead, I strive to see where things fell apart and improve so the same doesn’t recur.

There are so many cliché phrases that come to mind.  No one said life was easy….  Life isn’t fair….  Etc….  These apply to the philosophies I write about.  True, they are hard to maintain.  Probably one of the hardest things I set out to accomplish.  So why do I bother?  Easy.  Because I know that my efforts, even if I don’t achieve my goals, will help me improve upon myself.  In turn, I can then share that knowledge here in subsequent blogs. 

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

I’ve written before of folks who are multi-faceted.  How they manage to avoid fitting into any of society’s molds.  I appreciate those individuals and believe I’m one of them. 

One aspect that helps mold these individuals into the unique beings they are is that they’re not focused on impressing others or becoming what others might like them to be.  Instead, they are truer to themselves, listening to their inner promptings that bubble to the surface.

Another great attribute to those who walk in tune to their own inner drummer is that they are more able to mold and adjust themselves into better versions of themselves through interactions they have with others.  How do they accomplish this?  Simple.  Already accustomed to being different, they don’t take personal offense when suggestions for personal improvement are pointed out to them.

For me, there is no greater joy than to interact with a large host of individuals.  I adore the lessons I learn from them.  How I inspire them.  How they help me see the lesser aspects of my character that could use some improvement.  Though there are times when their criticism might strike a sensitive chord in me, I don’t let that demolish me or cause me to turn away from them.  Instead, I try to focus on the intent with which the individual pointed out their suggestion.  The positive note it held.  The hope and promise of allowing me to become a better me.

In return, I endeavor to provide the same for others.  Those with whom I am close are keenly aware of my level of dedication.  To some, this might seem intimidating.  But to those who are in my inner circle, they recognize it for what it is—the purest commitment to help maintain that unique multi-facetedness that makes an individual special.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The other day, I had the following sent to me.  It put me in such fits of laughter that I just had to share it here.  It’s my sincerest hope that it doesn’t offend anyone.  In advance, should it, I apologize.

Here’s the piece, entitled The Best Divorce Letter—Ever, that was sent to me….

Dear Wife,


I’m writing you this letter to tell you that I’m leaving you—forever.  I’ve been a good man to you for seven years, and I have nothing to show for it.
 These last two weeks have been hell.... Your boss called to tell me that you quit your job today.  That was the last straw.
 Last week, you came home, didn’t even notice I had a new haircut, had cooked your favorite meal and even wore a brand new pair of silk boxers.  You ate in two minutes and then went straight to sleep after watching all of your soaps.
 You don’t tell me you love me anymore.  You don’t want sex or anything that connects us as husband and wife.  Either you’re cheating on me or you don’t love me anymore.  Whatever the case, I’m gone.


Your Ex-Husband


P.S. Don’t try to find me. Your sister and I are moving away to West Virginia together! Have a great life! ——

And the wife’s response….

Dear Ex-Husband,


Nothing has made my day more than receiving your letter.  It’s true you and I have been married for seven years, although a good man is a far cry from what you’ve been.
 I watch my soaps so much because they drown out your constant whining and griping.  Too bad that doesn’t work.  I did notice when you got a hair cut last week, but the first thing that came to mind was, you look just like a girl!  Since my mother raised me to not say anything if you can’t say something nice, I didn’t comment.
 And when you cooked my favorite meal, you must have gotten me confused with my sister, because I stopped eating pork seven years ago.  About those new silk boxers…I turned away from you because the $49.99 price tag was still attached, and I prayed it was a coincidence that my sister had just borrowed $50 from me that morning.
 After all of this, I still loved you and felt we could work it out.  So when I hit the lotto for ten million dollars, I quit my job and bought us two tickets to Jamaica.  But when I got home, you were gone. 

Everything happens for a reason, I guess.
 I hope you have the fulfilling life you always wanted.  My lawyer said that the letter you wrote ensures you won’t get a dime from me. So take care.


Your Ex-Wife, Rich As Hell and FreeeEEEeee!


P.S. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but my sister Carla was born Carl.  I hope that’s not a problem.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Driving back from being out of town earlier today, I stopped at a little seaside town, thinking it might be nice to grab a bite to someplace unique.  Walking around, I hoped to find a quaint diner, some place that might reflect the feel of the town.  

I parked my car and got out.  Strolling up and down the sidewalks, I came across a strange vision.  I tried not to stare, not wanting to make the woman involved feel uncomfortable.  But darned if that wasn’t a challenge!

Out of me peripheral vision, I noticed, well, rather, I first heard, something being pounded against a window to a nearby place to eat.  Ironically, it was where I’d hoped to dine.  Taking a closer look at what had caused the sound, I saw a younger woman, perhaps college age, smacking this, that and everything in sight with an electric flyswatter. 

Now, you have to remember, flies move at incredibly fast speeds and travel erratic courses.  So, too was the girl in her quest to keep up with her victim.  The odd thing was, this poor girl was under the impression that she would be able to actually squash the fly with the swatter. 

This became apparent by the perplexed look on her face each time she seemed to “miss.”  The next time she’d try to clobber the fly, she’d do so with much more vigor, thinking that might do the trick. 

But here’s the thing, her swatter-of-choice was an electric one.  For those who have never seen one before, image a smaller tennis racket, thinner lip, though the device does have a definite lip.  As such, there was no way the poor girl was ever going to be able to squash the fly with the swatter.  The best she could hope for was to connect with it midair and zap it into the unknown.

The girl was unaware and determined in her I-have-to-squash-it-to-kill-it mentality.  So, as I continued walking past the restaurant, no longer interested in dining there, I couldn’t help but observe her out of my peripheral vision as she maintained the same erratic movements as the prey—the fly— she hunted.  I watched as that electric swatter came in contact with booth backs, tabletops, the wall, pictures hanging on the wall, more windows and even the cash register.

I continued on my journey to find a different establishment where I could eat, one where I wouldn’t have to worry about being hit upside the head by the electric fly swatter. Strolled up the street a bit farther before realizing there was no place else to eat.  Reluctantly, but holding out some hope, I headed back in the direction of the restaurant where the girl was on a rampage with the electric swatter.  Growing near enough to glimpse inside, I saw that she was still on her quest.  It was at this point I decided to just keep walking.  I didn’t need to eat that badly after all.  I was sure I could find someplace else farther down the road.  It was also about this time that I wondered if the gal was still trying to catch the same fly or…if the place was infested with a multitude of pesky flies. 

Ew!