Last Evening I had trouble sleeping and the following poem was inspired by my restless night.
Sleep
My elusive lover,
Robs me of his sweet embrace.
Murders my dreams.
With the stealth of a ninja,
He poisons my system.
And my body twist and turns,
Tangling in my funeral shroud.
My cries to be rescued,
"Sandman"
Go unheeded,
Oh, to feel his loving caress,
To revel in his touch,
Just drift away,
In silent ecstasy.
But he is a no show,
I think we are headed,
For divorce!
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Internet Dating
INTERNET DATING
I’m not sure what the statistics are, but as I head for fiftyfour, a great many girlfriends of mine, through the trials of their lives are finding themselves back in the singles category. This category puts them into another category, the looking for love category. In other words dating.
Well things have changed since they were younger, and the fastest most convenient, shopping for a man market, is now done with a modem or high-speed dial up. Enter the world of personal ads and blurry pictures.
One of my best friends has been trying this avenue. Although she has not dialed up love with a mass murderer (we think) her luck has not been great either. I feel there should be a school on interpretation of on-line personal ads. One that teaches you to read between the lines such as:
His statement:
v I like to stay in and watch movies and pop popcorn.
What he really means:
v I’m under house arrest, so we have to stay in.
His statement:
v Occasionally drinks.
What he really means:
v Water, that is, beer is a daily necessity.
He says:
v I share a cozy cottage with a family member.
He means:
v I still live with my Mom.
He says:
v I like taking long walks.
He means:
v I can’t afford gas and the bus stop is two miles from my apartment.
I think you get the drift. Well the last guy she met on the Internet she decided was not for her and he just does not seem to be getting the hint. I think she should try a few of these excuses they might help him get it.
Excuses:
1. I can’t go out right now I think I caught a virus from the computer. Did you use Purex before you e-mailed me?
2. I can’t go out on Thursday that is my dermatologist appointment for my facial wax.
3. Maybe next week, I’m almost finished with the final touches on my sex change operation.
Or she could just tell him the truth, I’m an almost fifty-year-old woman, going through menopause, and I’m not responsible for my hormonal actions that could include murder!
I am not single. However, the other day was a hard marriage day and when contemplating running away, my friend simply reminded me of the modern dating scene and I decided to stay put.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Motor Mouth
May 30th 2012
Motor Mouth
By Therese Guy
My friend posted a very funny and interesting post this week about how she attracts motor mouths as friends. I must say I would have to put myself in the chatterbox category of personalities. My brother use to taunt me with,
“Therese when you open your mouth your whole body disappears.”
If I were quiet as a child my mother would immediately take my temperature, cause if I was not talking--I certainly must have been ill!
My first grade teacher queried once, “Therese, why do you talk so much?”
My simple answer was, “Because I have a lot to say.”
To top it all off I married a man who can talk as much, if not more, then me. Our children had no chance, between heredity and environment; they could be nothing less then experts in the art of babbling.
I usually win in the duels of disseminating my vast knowledge (yeah right) only because I also inherited my dad’s loud voice. I have the highest amps.
One difficulty with all being talkers is our listening skills leave a little something to be desired. It is hard to focus on what another is saying when your busy thinking of the next thing you are going to relay.
My youngest daughter went through a teenage stage where she did not wish to talk or share information with me. I was so hurt and missed her noise. She is twenty now and has seemed to gotten over that. Trouble is she now wants to share and it usually is at eleven at night when I’m extremely tired and cannot seem to focus.
The other night she tried the above scenario. I tried to use some listening tricks I thought I had perfected. As she talked I interjected a few well placed, “uh-huh’s” and “really’s”. Even a few, “You don’t say’s.”
As she exited my room it took a few seconds to register what she had last said. I guess she recognized my zoned look and decided to be ornery.
She said, “Mom I’m pregnant and my boyfriend and I are broke, so we are gonna go knock off a bank.”
Not focusing I replied, “ That’s nice honey, have a good time.”
It did register though before she had gone too far down the hall and I rallied.
“Hey Erin, if it is a successful heist could you pick me up a pizza on the way home!”
Almost all jesting aside, I feel I have improved with age; I no longer get in trouble at the library, church, and hospitals. Thank God for texting!
Motor Mouth
By Therese Guy
My friend posted a very funny and interesting post this week about how she attracts motor mouths as friends. I must say I would have to put myself in the chatterbox category of personalities. My brother use to taunt me with,
“Therese when you open your mouth your whole body disappears.”
If I were quiet as a child my mother would immediately take my temperature, cause if I was not talking--I certainly must have been ill!
My first grade teacher queried once, “Therese, why do you talk so much?”
My simple answer was, “Because I have a lot to say.”
To top it all off I married a man who can talk as much, if not more, then me. Our children had no chance, between heredity and environment; they could be nothing less then experts in the art of babbling.
I usually win in the duels of disseminating my vast knowledge (yeah right) only because I also inherited my dad’s loud voice. I have the highest amps.
One difficulty with all being talkers is our listening skills leave a little something to be desired. It is hard to focus on what another is saying when your busy thinking of the next thing you are going to relay.
My youngest daughter went through a teenage stage where she did not wish to talk or share information with me. I was so hurt and missed her noise. She is twenty now and has seemed to gotten over that. Trouble is she now wants to share and it usually is at eleven at night when I’m extremely tired and cannot seem to focus.
The other night she tried the above scenario. I tried to use some listening tricks I thought I had perfected. As she talked I interjected a few well placed, “uh-huh’s” and “really’s”. Even a few, “You don’t say’s.”
As she exited my room it took a few seconds to register what she had last said. I guess she recognized my zoned look and decided to be ornery.
She said, “Mom I’m pregnant and my boyfriend and I are broke, so we are gonna go knock off a bank.”
Not focusing I replied, “ That’s nice honey, have a good time.”
It did register though before she had gone too far down the hall and I rallied.
“Hey Erin, if it is a successful heist could you pick me up a pizza on the way home!”
Almost all jesting aside, I feel I have improved with age; I no longer get in trouble at the library, church, and hospitals. Thank God for texting!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Winters Touch
Winter's hand has come calling.
From the eaves--icicle fingers reach.
Their cold touch--like death
Into its grasp I'm falling.
What happened to earth's warm embrace?
Was it all a calumny?
Mother natures vile trick.
Does she mock me to my face?
As the bitter wind does blow,
I endeavor to resist.
To the snow Queen, I will not bow,
Even as the trees bend low.
How will frost's sharp bite I stave?
Indoor sports I will play.
With my lover--beneath the sheets,
I will find the heat I crave.
From the eaves--icicle fingers reach.
Their cold touch--like death
Into its grasp I'm falling.
What happened to earth's warm embrace?
Was it all a calumny?
Mother natures vile trick.
Does she mock me to my face?
As the bitter wind does blow,
I endeavor to resist.
To the snow Queen, I will not bow,
Even as the trees bend low.
How will frost's sharp bite I stave?
Indoor sports I will play.
With my lover--beneath the sheets,
I will find the heat I crave.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Hopscotch
By Therese M. Guy
Oct. 2009
Tough economic times are not new to my family. We seemed to have a proclivity toward the lower end of monetary wealth. Being impecunious (flat broke, for you who do not like big words) creates stress. Participating in vacations, sporting activities, and various other entertainment avenues relieves stress, by the average family. This presents our family with a conundrum, (I do like big words) we need to relieve the stress caused by the financial situation, but do not have the funds to participate in those recreational outlets.
Stress coupled with inactivity, and my genetic propensity for procrastination and sloth, could very well lead myself and other family members down that dark road of depression. On the other hand, our reaction to stress can lead us to creative ingenuity.
Most times we take the high road.
My husband William is very artistic. When our girls were younger he would grab sidewalk chalk and retreat to the driveway, girls in tow. They would spend a couple of hours drawing fantasy worlds on our cracked lined parkway. Sometimes William’s artistry combined with the manic side of his personality, and he became ingenious providing diversions from our bleak fiscal situation.
The best example of his ability to amuse on a budget came one balmy Sunday afternoon. Once again he took chalk in hand. He went to the sidewalk and created a hopscotch game that was a work of art. Each numbered square had a beautiful design in it. One was a dragon, another a butterfly. Then he returned inside. He gathered chairs and placed them in front of the big picture window of our living room. The window faced the sidewalk were the hopscotch game was. He indicated us to sit and brought snacks. At first we were puzzled, but it did not take long for the amusement to begin.
It started with an older couple, taking their daily stroll. They approached the hopscotch squares and halted. We could not hear what they were saying, but as they pointed and conversed, it was clear from their expressions that they were happily taking a walk down memory lane. It did not end there, next the sixty-some-year old lady hiked her skirt with a flourish and one leg came up behind. We all held our breaths as she balanced precariously on that one appendage. Then she was off hopping and skipping down the chalked sidewalk, her husband pursued, and his face sported a broad grin.
A short time later a young teen boy wearing faded, ripped blue jeans approached.
He walked with his head bent low, shuffling his duck taped, sneakers clad feet. He had one hand shoved in his jean pocket and the other held a smoldering cigarette. He too stopped at the edge of the colorful display. He studied the game for a couple of minutes. It seemed to me as if he was contemplating if any of the designs would make a good tattoo. He then raised his head and sheepishly looked up and down the street checking for onlookers, luckily he did not check our window. Once again a leg was raised, and off he went, one hop, two hop, two feet down and back to the one-foot hop. The disheveled youth did not seem so menacing at that point, not only were we enjoying the distraction to our daily worries, he too was transported for a moment to more simple times.
I can’t say I’m always so nonchalant about our money woes, but I think next time you are stressed you should remember this story, and take chalk in hand and let your creativity flow.
By Therese M. Guy
Oct. 2009
Tough economic times are not new to my family. We seemed to have a proclivity toward the lower end of monetary wealth. Being impecunious (flat broke, for you who do not like big words) creates stress. Participating in vacations, sporting activities, and various other entertainment avenues relieves stress, by the average family. This presents our family with a conundrum, (I do like big words) we need to relieve the stress caused by the financial situation, but do not have the funds to participate in those recreational outlets.
Stress coupled with inactivity, and my genetic propensity for procrastination and sloth, could very well lead myself and other family members down that dark road of depression. On the other hand, our reaction to stress can lead us to creative ingenuity.
Most times we take the high road.
My husband William is very artistic. When our girls were younger he would grab sidewalk chalk and retreat to the driveway, girls in tow. They would spend a couple of hours drawing fantasy worlds on our cracked lined parkway. Sometimes William’s artistry combined with the manic side of his personality, and he became ingenious providing diversions from our bleak fiscal situation.
The best example of his ability to amuse on a budget came one balmy Sunday afternoon. Once again he took chalk in hand. He went to the sidewalk and created a hopscotch game that was a work of art. Each numbered square had a beautiful design in it. One was a dragon, another a butterfly. Then he returned inside. He gathered chairs and placed them in front of the big picture window of our living room. The window faced the sidewalk were the hopscotch game was. He indicated us to sit and brought snacks. At first we were puzzled, but it did not take long for the amusement to begin.
It started with an older couple, taking their daily stroll. They approached the hopscotch squares and halted. We could not hear what they were saying, but as they pointed and conversed, it was clear from their expressions that they were happily taking a walk down memory lane. It did not end there, next the sixty-some-year old lady hiked her skirt with a flourish and one leg came up behind. We all held our breaths as she balanced precariously on that one appendage. Then she was off hopping and skipping down the chalked sidewalk, her husband pursued, and his face sported a broad grin.
A short time later a young teen boy wearing faded, ripped blue jeans approached.
He walked with his head bent low, shuffling his duck taped, sneakers clad feet. He had one hand shoved in his jean pocket and the other held a smoldering cigarette. He too stopped at the edge of the colorful display. He studied the game for a couple of minutes. It seemed to me as if he was contemplating if any of the designs would make a good tattoo. He then raised his head and sheepishly looked up and down the street checking for onlookers, luckily he did not check our window. Once again a leg was raised, and off he went, one hop, two hop, two feet down and back to the one-foot hop. The disheveled youth did not seem so menacing at that point, not only were we enjoying the distraction to our daily worries, he too was transported for a moment to more simple times.
I can’t say I’m always so nonchalant about our money woes, but I think next time you are stressed you should remember this story, and take chalk in hand and let your creativity flow.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Old Teabags
Old Teabags
By Therese Guy
August 2009
I just love the new commercials that show people trying to save money in this economy. One such commercial has a woman driving up to a gas station and while her car fills up, she uses the window squeegee to wash her entire car. Another one shows a woman refilling a catsup bottle with the little drive through packets.
My parents grew up in the depression, so I was taught frugality early on. But, thriftiness was never at the expense of decorum. For instance cleaning your plate was expected since there were others less fortunate. (I really, really, wanted to give my liver and onions to the less fortunate!) That said, a popular trend in my childhood neighborhood was to put newspapers up on your windows in the winter to keep the cold out. According to mom, that was tacky, if there was a draft you just put a sweater on.
If you were a boy you got a paper route by age twelve, if you were a girl you started babysitting. Pop bottles were collected from roadsides and redeemed for pennies at the store. The money we earned then went to the things we coveted like a transistor radio or the newest 45. (Record for you youngens, we did not have ipods.)
We did not eat out and soda pop was a rare treat. I did not feel deprived, ever. Our summers were filled with activities fueled by our imaginations. Tents were made from old sheets and clothespins tied to chain-link fences. Go-carts from lawn mower motors and wagon wheels found at the local dump. Make shift stages held circus acts to air guitar band performances. Fun did not require great wealth.
Well, as we grew up we were known as the boomers. That was because after WWII there was a great boom in the population growth. Also in the economy, so our standard of living increased. With that comes a skewered sense of needs.
We believe we cannot live without the newest x box game, or the Pampered Chef slicer dicer (Even though you can slice vegetables with a regular paring knife.)
Perhaps dad cannot watch the game on anything smaller then a 90-inch screen?
And of course don’t even expect your teen daughter to live without text messaging.
Well to keep the story short, economic stability comes and goes. Here we are back to the scrimp cycle. Here I am this evening enjoying my cup of tea. The tea bag has been used three times and the sugar pocketed from the last restaurant I went to, but, oh, it is still such a sweet treat at the end of a hard day. No cable, but I did get a great book at the Library earlier and my teen daughter actually sat down and told me about her day. Wonders never cease. Ut Oh my bra strap broke. Well for that sense of decorum my mom taught I guess in this case I will spring for a new one.
And everyone out there stressing about how to take your date out for a meal, relax just hit all the grand openings in your neighborhood this weekend, they serve free food! Last, but not least, have a sense of humor.
By Therese Guy
August 2009
I just love the new commercials that show people trying to save money in this economy. One such commercial has a woman driving up to a gas station and while her car fills up, she uses the window squeegee to wash her entire car. Another one shows a woman refilling a catsup bottle with the little drive through packets.
My parents grew up in the depression, so I was taught frugality early on. But, thriftiness was never at the expense of decorum. For instance cleaning your plate was expected since there were others less fortunate. (I really, really, wanted to give my liver and onions to the less fortunate!) That said, a popular trend in my childhood neighborhood was to put newspapers up on your windows in the winter to keep the cold out. According to mom, that was tacky, if there was a draft you just put a sweater on.
If you were a boy you got a paper route by age twelve, if you were a girl you started babysitting. Pop bottles were collected from roadsides and redeemed for pennies at the store. The money we earned then went to the things we coveted like a transistor radio or the newest 45. (Record for you youngens, we did not have ipods.)
We did not eat out and soda pop was a rare treat. I did not feel deprived, ever. Our summers were filled with activities fueled by our imaginations. Tents were made from old sheets and clothespins tied to chain-link fences. Go-carts from lawn mower motors and wagon wheels found at the local dump. Make shift stages held circus acts to air guitar band performances. Fun did not require great wealth.
Well, as we grew up we were known as the boomers. That was because after WWII there was a great boom in the population growth. Also in the economy, so our standard of living increased. With that comes a skewered sense of needs.
We believe we cannot live without the newest x box game, or the Pampered Chef slicer dicer (Even though you can slice vegetables with a regular paring knife.)
Perhaps dad cannot watch the game on anything smaller then a 90-inch screen?
And of course don’t even expect your teen daughter to live without text messaging.
Well to keep the story short, economic stability comes and goes. Here we are back to the scrimp cycle. Here I am this evening enjoying my cup of tea. The tea bag has been used three times and the sugar pocketed from the last restaurant I went to, but, oh, it is still such a sweet treat at the end of a hard day. No cable, but I did get a great book at the Library earlier and my teen daughter actually sat down and told me about her day. Wonders never cease. Ut Oh my bra strap broke. Well for that sense of decorum my mom taught I guess in this case I will spring for a new one.
And everyone out there stressing about how to take your date out for a meal, relax just hit all the grand openings in your neighborhood this weekend, they serve free food! Last, but not least, have a sense of humor.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
HELP WANTED
HELP WANTED
Interpreter Needed
Contact Therese Guy 2009
I remember my first experience with Acronyms as a second language.
I joined the Army in 1977 and soon found out that foreign languages did not just exist in different countries, but in career choices too. Confusion assailed me as I wove my way through the cryptic world of military talk. I was a scared kid out of my element trying to figure out meanings so I did not end up in what would be a familiar position for me. The Front leaning rest position, a push-up position on the ground held for long periods of time. This position was to encourage you to engage your brain more readily, and I must say it puzzles me to this day at how effective making ones back and arms hurt accomplished that task.
I soon learned that a CO was a Commanding Officer, that a TOC was a tactical command center and that when the IG (Inspecting General) was coming, the sh.. was about to hit the fan.
One thing I had trouble figuring out was why a lot of the acronyms would change every couple of years. I remember giving a briefing and mentioning the FEBA (forward edge of the battle area). An officer promptly corrected me, “No, no that has now been changed to FLOT.”
“FLOT?” I said raising my eyebrows.
“Yes, you know, front line our troops.”
I thought it was silly to change the acronym when it meant the same thing, but I changed my vernacular and went on with the briefing. Later that night, I became intrigued with the idea that it must be some person’s job to come up with this strange military world of acronyms, and I wondered how much it paid?
The trouble is now thirty-some years later I find myself in the same dilemma with the acronym world of Internet communication sites like Facebook. I could just stick my head in the sand and ignore the cyber universe all together, but I have a daughter who lives several states away, a nephew across several continents in Afghanistan, and I do just like to talk, so computer interface here I am.
But since it is very difficult for me to get up now from the front leaning rest position, I think I need to hire an interpreter.
The other day a friend wrote on my page that they thought I need PT. I was so perplexed, did she think I needed:
· A Personal Trainer (True, I am heavy)
· A Physical Therapist (I have bad knees)
· Personal Time (I do work a lot)
· Psychiatric Treatment (Hey, I’m just a little neurotic!)
I hope it was not all of those, if so, she should of just said, “OLP” overall life
plan.
I do try and be a good parent, so I limit my child’s computer time and check out her Facebook and My Space randomly. The other day when she was mad at me I saw line about me. She compared me to a Pita. I said to my friend beside me, “Oh that’s not so bad.” My friend knows me so well, she rolled her eyes and said,
“Therese, you nerd, she is not comparing you to a Mexican flat bread.
She is calling you a, Pain In The Ass!” Opps, maybe I did not want that one translated. Ignorance can be bliss.
For now I will try and struggle through, I at least figured out that LOL means Laugh Out Loud and not Lots Of Love. I would appreciate it if you would forgive my errors and if you are insulted by any acronyms I throw out do not be offended, look at it twice, you will probably be ROFL. (Rolling On The Floor Laughing.) TTFN (Tah Tah For Now) Therese
Interpreter Needed
Contact Therese Guy 2009
I remember my first experience with Acronyms as a second language.
I joined the Army in 1977 and soon found out that foreign languages did not just exist in different countries, but in career choices too. Confusion assailed me as I wove my way through the cryptic world of military talk. I was a scared kid out of my element trying to figure out meanings so I did not end up in what would be a familiar position for me. The Front leaning rest position, a push-up position on the ground held for long periods of time. This position was to encourage you to engage your brain more readily, and I must say it puzzles me to this day at how effective making ones back and arms hurt accomplished that task.
I soon learned that a CO was a Commanding Officer, that a TOC was a tactical command center and that when the IG (Inspecting General) was coming, the sh.. was about to hit the fan.
One thing I had trouble figuring out was why a lot of the acronyms would change every couple of years. I remember giving a briefing and mentioning the FEBA (forward edge of the battle area). An officer promptly corrected me, “No, no that has now been changed to FLOT.”
“FLOT?” I said raising my eyebrows.
“Yes, you know, front line our troops.”
I thought it was silly to change the acronym when it meant the same thing, but I changed my vernacular and went on with the briefing. Later that night, I became intrigued with the idea that it must be some person’s job to come up with this strange military world of acronyms, and I wondered how much it paid?
The trouble is now thirty-some years later I find myself in the same dilemma with the acronym world of Internet communication sites like Facebook. I could just stick my head in the sand and ignore the cyber universe all together, but I have a daughter who lives several states away, a nephew across several continents in Afghanistan, and I do just like to talk, so computer interface here I am.
But since it is very difficult for me to get up now from the front leaning rest position, I think I need to hire an interpreter.
The other day a friend wrote on my page that they thought I need PT. I was so perplexed, did she think I needed:
· A Personal Trainer (True, I am heavy)
· A Physical Therapist (I have bad knees)
· Personal Time (I do work a lot)
· Psychiatric Treatment (Hey, I’m just a little neurotic!)
I hope it was not all of those, if so, she should of just said, “OLP” overall life
plan.
I do try and be a good parent, so I limit my child’s computer time and check out her Facebook and My Space randomly. The other day when she was mad at me I saw line about me. She compared me to a Pita. I said to my friend beside me, “Oh that’s not so bad.” My friend knows me so well, she rolled her eyes and said,
“Therese, you nerd, she is not comparing you to a Mexican flat bread.
She is calling you a, Pain In The Ass!” Opps, maybe I did not want that one translated. Ignorance can be bliss.
For now I will try and struggle through, I at least figured out that LOL means Laugh Out Loud and not Lots Of Love. I would appreciate it if you would forgive my errors and if you are insulted by any acronyms I throw out do not be offended, look at it twice, you will probably be ROFL. (Rolling On The Floor Laughing.) TTFN (Tah Tah For Now) Therese
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