The Week That Was

2 News Stories from the Global Week that Was

Affluenza – AKA Rich, Spoiled and Entitled - It appears that being young , wealthy, and a criminal is now a solid defense strategy.  The “Affluenza”  defense was successfully argued in a Texas courtroom this week, sentencing a 16 year old defendant  to  (up to) 10 years of probation at a rehabilition clinic.  Obviously a much more lenient sentence than what the prosecution was seeking - 20 years in jail. 

“Affluenza” is a term that was coined in the 1990’s and, in essence, means that a juvenile comes from a wealthy home in which no boundaries or limits were set.  Affluenza is also a synonym for rich, spoiled brat, but I digress.

Being “afflicted” with such a condition has allowed this 16 year old to get away with murder.  Literally.  Not only was this 16 year old caught on camera stealing cases of beer.  Not only was the blood alcohol content 3 times over the legal limit.  Not only did he flip his truck, severely injuring passengers in his own car – one to the point of suffering severe brain damage where he can no longer move or speak -  BUT -this teenager also happened to KILL 4 innocent people.  He killed 4 people by drunk driving his truck and plowing in to them on the side of the road.  That’s how “strong” this “affliction” is.

So, to recap, because Mommy and Daddy didn’t establish any consequences for his behavior, the judge has now reinforced Mommy and Daddy’s lack of parental ability, by giving him a slap on the wrist.  Does this make sense in anyone’s mind?   Oh, and Daddy has to fork over $450,000 a year for each year this creature stays in rehab. 

What is wrong with this picture?

***

The Sign Language Affair - It was a somber event in which many of the world’s leaders were gathered.  Nelson Mandela, who passed away on December 5 at the age of 95, was honored and revered by his country and the world at a memorial service on December 10, 2013, in Johannesburg, South Africa.

Unfortunately, the news story that has made the world scratch its universal head, has now become about the sign language interpreter who ‘signed’ the program for the hearing impaired.

It appears that the sign language interpreter has a few demons, a few problems, and more than a few skeletons in his closet.  Apparently suffering from schizophrenia, the interpreter claims he had a full-blown attack during the memorial service on Tuesday, signing words for “rocking horses” and “prawns”, which were not – no doubt – part of anyone’s speech.

To add insult to injury, it now appears that this interpreter has a very shady past, to say the least.  Numerous charges have been brought against him since 1994, some of which include rape, murder, and kidnapping.  The plot thickens when we learn that the murder court case file is mysteriously empty.  The plot gets downright muddy when it was uncovered that the firm that hired this interpreter has apparently vanished like dust in the wind.

The fact that all of this was uncovered by a news outlet after the man was hired and was standing next to some of the most powerful people in the world, at a memorial tribute for a legend – makes this story seem like a bad Hollywood movie.

2 News Stories from the Local Week That Was

Human and Feline Stomach Virus Linked? – In a Northern New Jersey suburb, a strikingly attractive woman with a gift for gab  was suddenly silenced, when a stomach virus took hold of her intestinal tract on Wednesday, December 12, 2013.  While details were not shared, the experience was captured with this quote from the gravely ill:  “UGH. I feel like ass.”  A truly telling statement, indeed.

Adding to this medical mystery was the fact that not only was this beautiful woman struck down with illness, it appears her Felis Catus, or housecat, was also afflicted. 

There has been no conclusive study conducted that proves the connection between feline and human viruses, however it seems clear that we have a potential case in this small hamlet, located 20 miles west of New York City. 

While authorities were not called in, the CDC is aware of the episode and plans to keep a vigilant eye on both the woman, as well as the cat.  A spokesman for the CDC, who wished to remain anonymous stated, “It is easy to track the movement of the woman.  Her habits are routine, and her schedule is consistent.  The Feline, on the other hand, has proven to be quite tricky.  A female cat, this animal has been known to hiss when approached and to swipe her claws, even when not provoked.   Without access to specimens from both subjects, we can only assume that the Feline in question poisoned the woman with its apparent malcontent.”

The Feline was unavailable for comment, but did provide a glaring look through the window, aimed directly at this reporter’s camera. 

***

2 Working Days Left – A female, who is presumed to be the same woman who contracted the potential Feline/Human Stomach Virus earlier this week, has been gleefully announcing to all around that she “…only has 2 working days left in 2013.”

Interviews with the recipients of this proclamation have offered varied quotes, again with the certainty of anonymity:  “What the (expletive deleted) do I care how many days left of work this (expletive deleted) has?” said one vocal recipient.  Another offered these words, “If that woman says one more thing about her remaining working days, she will be counting her remaining days. Period. “

The woman was unavailable for comment, but a quick look at her FaceBook page did show that she was “Doing a dance of joy, 2 more work days left in 2013.”

With Love

Lady Butterfly

xoxo

Lessons of the Week

This week has been interesting.  It has brought about fits of giggles, tears of annoyance, waves of rage, and dawning realizations.  I’d like to dedicate this post to the things I’ve learned this week.  A simple post with a hefty impact.  So she said modestly.

Commuting in the Rain is Nothing Like Dancing in the Streets

Driving to work in Northern New Jersey is a painful experience.  It is a knuckle-whitening, teeth clenching, foul-mouthed swearing nightmare.  And that’s all before I even leave my parking garage.  Throw rain in to the mix of a normal commute, and you might as well stick a fork in you – because you. are. done.

We’ve had spotty showers off and on all week in my area.  Nothing torrential.  Nothing earth shattering.  Something you would put your intermittent windshield wipers on for, in order to dissolve the splats and tire mist. To NJ, however, rain is an anomaly.  A demon of the sky:

“Why, oh why are these wet discs falling from the sky?  What am I to do except slam on my brakes as each droplet bounces off of my car?!  I must treat this “rain” (as they call it) as an agent of doom.  The only way to save myself is to stand still and lurch my car forward, every now and then.”

NJ drivers act as if they are dodging virus-filled hypodermic needles while navigating hot-air balloons, as they maneuver their way from Point A to Point B.  What exactly is the problem here?!?!  Step on the gas, and go.  Jiminy Crickets these people are going to give me an ulcer. 

Oh, and as a side note:  Stay out of the passing lane if you are A)  Not passing anyone  B)  Feel uncomfortable doing the speed limit or above C) Your car can’t make it up a hill.

Working Nine to Five is No Fun Without Lily Tomlin

If you’ve ever watched the 1980 movie “Nine to Five”, than you understand where I’m coming from.  If you’ve never watched it, then you should still read this, but none of it will make sense to you.  I highly suggest you Netflix it or do what you do in order to watch older movies.

Those of us that are gainfully employed are happy to be so.  I am certainly not asking to be jobless.  I’ve been there, and that’s no fun without Lily Tomlin, either.  Let’s face it though, what is?

I ask you, where is the Skinny & Sweet?  Where is the mistaken identity corpse stealing?  Where is the boss snatching and kidnapping? Why isn’t everyone going down to Charlie’s and getting drunk?

I feel I was sold a bill of goods on this whole “working” thing.  I want my toy back.  I’m going home.

 

 

 

I’ll be watching you.  You better call the Police

This week I’ve interacted with people in all sorts of ways:  Via Web Ex, Skype, Conference Calls, Through Social Media, and Via Finger-Gestures.  And, oh yeah, in person.

I must say, this has certainly been a week to highlight people’s deficits in perceiving verbal and non-verbal cues.  Myself included.

I’ve come to understand that if I’m consistently reaching out to people and they don’t reach back, than maybe my reaching isn’t so welcome.  I think this rule can be applied across universally. 

Heads up boys and girls:  The more you persist in trying to get someone to understand that you’re interesting, witty, charming and insightful, the more you’re not interesting, witty, charming or insightful.   With each unasked step you take, the more you tiptoe to that gray town of Stalker-ville.  You don’t want to live in Stalker-ville.  It’s full of Peeping-Toms and Lazy Susans. 

You can’t make someone comfortable if you are bombarding them with discomfort.  Back off.

Cats.  Now and Forever

This week, a friend posted a link to a fun website that showed how owning a cat can cause permanent mental health damage.  As I read through the 30+ examples, I began to notice that I fit most, if not all, of these criteria.

 

 

I sing to my cat on a daily basis.  The nightly ritual being a song that is composed by myself and is copyrighted, so back off:

The Monkey Butt Song

Giving some water, to my daughter

Monkeybutt, monkeybutt, monkeybutt

Giving some dinner, to my winner

Monkeybutt, monkeybutt, monkeybutt

Giving some treats, to my sweets

Monkeybutt, monkeybutt, monkeybutt

And in the morning, we will repeat

Monkeybutt, monkeybutt, monkeybutt

*I make myself uncomfortable, so she can remain comfortable.

*I no longer need an alarm clock, because she’s staring at me at 5:00am

*I find her 3:00am fits of energy annoying, not scary.

*I overspend on cat toys, when she’s more interested in the box it came in.

I’m OK with being that crazy cat lady.  I love my girl with all of my heart, and I think this list is hysterical.  I’m not sure it will be so hysterical when I’m 98 and am drowning in cat hair and nasty cat looks, but for now…I  think it’s hysterical.

Here’s the link to see the full list, because it’s hilarious:

http://distractify.com/people/personal/agonizing-struggles-that-prove-cat-owners-are-the-best-people-ever/

So my readers, that sums up this week’s lessons.  As Brad Hamilton so sagely uttered in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”:   Learn it.  Know it. Live it.

 

With Love,

Lady Butterfly

xoxo

Killer Bees and Nuclear War

Killer Bees and Nuclear War

What Childhood Dreams Are Made Of

When I was a kid, all I wanted out of life was to grow up. 

Old enough to drive.  Old enough to stay out late.  Old enough to not have to listen to my parents.  Old enough to have all of that fun that is clearly waiting for you on the other side of teenage-hood.  Boy.  Was I an idiot, or what?!

In my mind's eye, adulthood was a switch.  "One day you were a child, and *poof* - one day you were an adult".  There was no transitional period baked in to my thoughts.  "When I Grow Up" wasn't looked at as a sliding scale of ages or changes.  It was a definitive moment in time. Rock solid and palpable. Yes.  I was an idiot.

God.  I wish I was that idiot again sometimes.  Not that I'm not currently an idiot, but now I'm just an adult idiot.  Which is far, far worse.

I was chatting with a co-worker this week discussing some of the random things in life that make you squeamish and just icky as adults.  My thing is eyeballs.  It really should read EYEBALLS!!! Eyeballs make me wiggle in my seat and cause my stomach to turn.  If there's a close-up of eyes in a magazine or on TV, I turn the page or the channel.  The mere idea of contact lenses makes me want to toss my cookies.  The thought of corrective eye surgery is enough to make me jump from my 3rd floor apartment.  To put it plainly, if SpongeBob Square Pants bugs out his eyes, I must step away from Nickelodeon.  It's that bad.  Chicken on the bone is my second ick-inducing thing.

This conversation led to what made us scared as kids. 

Growing up in the 1980's I had two fears that stood out like street lights on a dark and desolate highway.  Two fears that kept me up at nights and sent me seeking reassurance from my questioning parents:  Killer Bees migrating from South America, and Nuclear War.  In no particular order, but if forced to choose - I'd say the Killer Bees outranked Nuclear War.

Killer Bees

In the early 1980's, at least in New Jersey, it seemed like' Africanized-Killer-Bees-migrating-from-South America" stories were everywhere.  It ran on the news.   There were '60 Minutes' specials on it.  It appeared an invasion was just a matter of time.

"Investigative Reports" showed how these bees would attack.  Men dressed in beekeeper gear would hang a swatch of red cloth from a tree limb, and then gingerly remove the KILLER BEES from their semi-frozen hive.  Upon waking and gathering their bee-wits about them, the bees would quickly swarm the red cloth.  The only thing visible would be hundreds of bees hanging on top of one another in a state of frenzy and mayhem.  In steps the beekeeper, dousing the bees with a quick-acting cooling agent.  The final shot would be of the tree limb. With nothing but a corner of the red cloth left.  The bees hated red THAT much.

The "Investigative Reporter" would then turn his perfectly tanned face to the camera and tell us (me) that these bees are beyond aggressive. They are LOOKING for a fight.  You have been warned, viewer.  They are migrating at an alarming rate from the depths of South America right up to Northern New Jersey.  Do not step outside.  Most importantly, do NOT wear red.

 

The incredible threat of Killer Bees was certainly heightened in my kiddie brain by watching a late 1970's era made-for-TV movie that re-aired during this trying time, entitled "The Savage Bees".  These bees weren't bees.  These bees were attacking machines.  They wanted you DEAD.  They needed to STING you.  Their sole purpose in life was to bring an end to yours.

My parents didn't (and still don't) have any sort of air conditioning in their home.  During summer nights I would sleep in my upstairs room, head under the comforter and sweating,  hoping that the bees couldn't get in through the window screen and attack me before I was a grown up.

I'm still here, so they obviously didn't.  I'll always be on the lookout though.  I know those Killer Bees are still migrating north and just waiting to attack me in my vibrant red T-shirt.

Nuclear War

To put it simply, I was terrified that we were going to be bombed with nuclear missiles launched from Russia during the 1980’s. 

As a kid, the news seemed to always show this impending doom of a threat.  Russia was the “enemy”.  Nuclear warfare was a “possibility”. It was Us versus Them.  Even as a kid I knew that no matter who “won”, everyone lost.

Once again with the made-for-TV-movies, “The Day After” was a critical life changing moment for me.  I was a kid and this movie was no Hollywood fakeness.  This was REAL.  The family bunkered down in their basement and left the dog upstairs as the nuclear attack started.  They left the dog upstairs.  How could they do that?  I was much less concerned with the kid who got blinded by the nuclear flash than the fact that THEY LEFT THE DOG UPSTAIRS.  This was devastating to me as a child. You don't just leave your pets to DIE!

 

 

The movie portrayed a mix of people in different situations reacting to the nuclear blast.  The horror of its impact.  The helplessness of the masses.  The realization that life would never, ever be the same.  I watched with eyes wide and considered this an almost certainty in my life. Based on everything shown on "legitimate" TV news, everything seen in newspapers – nuclear war was a very clear danger. 

Later in life I saw a British movie entitled “Threads”.  This movie made “The Day After” look like a Disney World vacation.

In the End

I remember going to bed each night and asking God to watch over my family.  Please prevent nuclear war.   Please don’t let the bees come to New Jersey. As a born negotiator, I also threw this in to the mix:  “If nuclear war does happen, God – please give me time to save my stuffed animals and the glass doorknobs from each room.” 

Since it was very obvious the glass door knobs were made of diamonds and would provide us money should we become homeless, nuclear bombing victims on the run from Killer Bees.

Come to think of it, maybe I don't want to be a kid again, after all....

With Love

Lady Butterfly

xoxo 

 

$#!* My Dad Says

My dear ol' Dad's Birthday recently passed with little fanfare and even less hoopla.  To celebrate his special day, I dedicate this blog to all things "Dad".  Specifically... (To borrow the title of a well-known book and cancelled TV show) ...

$#!* My Dad Says 

Dear Pops is a poet in his own right.  He has a certain way with words.  Note, I didn't say the right way with words, just a certain way with them.  They are usually well intentioned, but are always convoluted and head-scratching.  A modern day Confucius, I'd like to share with you some of my Father's pearls of wisdom throughout the years:

***

"It'll Lubricate Your Joints" - As a child growing up in the 1980's, my family was by no means wealthy.  We always had clothes to wear, we never worried about where we were going to sleep, and we always had something to digest.  Herein lies the rub.   

The "food" my father purchased was classified as food only in the vaguest of terms.  It was food-like.  It was no longer moving.  It resembled something similar to meat, without having to follow all of those pesky USDA grades.  In essence, it was cheap. 

The "steak" that my Dad would make (for he was the primary "chef" in the household) was made primarily of bone, fat, gristle and a thin-strip of pinkish meat.  Try as you might, no amount of steak sauce was going to cover up the taste of this travesty.  Cows all over the land hung their head in shame to be labeled in the same category as this substance.   

As the plates were placed before my brother and me, my face would immediately turn in to a grimace and my hands would silently pat my lap to summon the family dog.  I'd cut along the narrow path between the bone, fat, and gristle to slice off the bit of meat that remained. This exercise took precision and readied me for a lucrative career in micro-surgery, should I have chosen to pursue it.   

Pushing the pile of gook to the side, I'd chew my millimeter of "meat" and declare my meal completed.  My father, spendthrift and gourmand that he is, would declare, "Finish what's on your plate or no Muppet Show for you."  To which I would reply, "I have!  The rest is fat." 

To which the famous line was uttered, "Eat the fat.  It'll lubricate your joints!" 

'Cause every 8 year old girl is interested in keeping her joints lubricated. 

 



"Just Try One Bite..." - In staying with the dining theme, my Father was also always big on trying new "delicacies".  I'm not speaking of unique dishes from around the world, or exciting spices that aren't used in typical American fare.  I'm speaking more along the lines of Gross-Out Food.  Such as, cow tongue, pigs knuckles, some sort of brain, pickled whatever's, etc. 

No special meals were cooked in my Parent's house.  It also wasn't a democracy.  For instance, if you didn't like what was cooked, there was no option to say I'm not eating that.  Oh no.  You'll eat what is placed in front of you.  The motto was "Take what I give you and eat what I serve you."  This included cow tongue.

The slab of blech was staring at you from your plate.  The mere thought of what it was, bringing up thoughts that shouldn't be thought of during a dining experience.  Thank God for my Mom.  After awhile she would invariably say, "James.  The kids do not have to eat this."  To which he would ultimately respond, "Just try one bite..."

'Cause every 8 year old really wants to take "just one bite" of another beings tongue. 

 

***



"Pipe Down Over There" - My family vacations were usually spent in a car, hauling our trailer to whichever destination my Mom chose.  We had a blast and looking back it was the most fun I ever had.  The stories of my vacations have been well documented in this blog, but there are oh so many more stories to tell.

For the earlier parts of our camping trips, we had a Pop-Up Tent Trailer.  One that flattened down like a pancake, but would rise up with a crank and branch out on opposite ends, to create sleeping spaces. 

Now my mind is a little hazy with this one, regarding the timing of events, however my brother and I must have been laughing at one end of the trailer, with my mom sitting in the middle dining area.  I know my father was stationed at the other end of the trailer, trying to sleep.  I suppose we were having way too much fun and giggling over something inevitably childish and silly. Being as we were children and silly.  Well, the noise just got too much to handle for the old man, and he bellows from the depths of his rounded belly, "Pipe Down Over There!"  My brother and I just about peed in our pants.

'Cause every 8 and 11 year old are told to "pipe down" in 1983.

 

"Goddamn Son of BLEEP Rocks!" - My parents have lived in their house for over 40 years.  It's a beautiful property with a pond, a pool and a large front and backyard.  Every year for as long as I can remember, they have grown a vegetable garden.  And for at least the last 10 years, my Dad and I have decorated their house for various Holidays with blow-up figures or lawn ornaments that stick in to the ground.

Every year, for as long as I can remember, my father has been swearing at the Earth that stands beneath his feet; swearing up a storm of profanities my innocent ears should not bear witness to.  He is confounded.  Truly and utterly befuddled how there are any rocks left on his property.  After years of turning over gardens and placing decorations in generally the same spot, he is still stymied by the rock, stone or boulder.

As I stand outside in the bitter cold, untangling nylon ropes that are to attach into hooks twisted into the ground, my father begins his rant.  As Winnie the Pooh or the 6 foot Polar Bear begin to inflate, so does my Dad's annoyance at his godforsaken land.

"Godamn Son of $#!* Rocks", he explodes.  "[Expletive Deleted]", he swears. "[Expletive Deleted]", he finishes.

'Cause every adult woman loves to see her Pop struggling to put up kiddie Christmas decorations, or a giant inflatable turkey while cursing like a sailor.  Ahh, the Holidays.

***

 

"You're Not THAT Fat" - To emphasize the point that my Father is unique in the words that he chooses, or when he chooses them, I offer you this tidbit of goodness. 

A few years ago, I was chitchatting with my Dad about nothing in particular.  I had put on some weight, to be honest, and wasn't feeling especially pretty.  Now, I should have known better than to go to my Dad for a pep talk about my appearance insecurities.  This, the man who thinks wearing white tube socks pulled up mid-calf with black sneakers and cargo shorts in the epitome of fashion.  This, the man who thinks wearing a button down shirt with a pirate face logo is being "fancy schmancy".  Yet, I confided in my Father about feeling low and uncomfortable in my skin.

His reply was a heartwarming response of, "You're not THAT fat."

'Cause every woman feels just AMAZING after hearing those words. 

 

***

Now, there are so many more Dad-isms that could be shared:  his constant mispronunciation of words (I dare you to ask him to pronounce "Guru" or "Stigmata"), his complete inability to retell a story or relay a message accurately, his love of making us squirm as children by saying he was eating "smoked butt". 

I can say without any hesitation that I know no other man in the world like my father.  He is a one of kind guy.  A guy I am honored to call My Dad.

With Love

Lady Butterfly

xoxo

Halloween: Unearthed

Halloween:  Unearthed

 

 

Halloween is quickly approaching.  The time for kids to don their superhero capes, princess dresses and creepy masks in order to beg for candy from complete strangers.  Sounds totally normal.  I wonder what visitors from another planet would think if they happened to choose October 31 to observe our planet.   Would they leave the Milky Way in a hurry, distressed at all the different humanoid life forms that co-exist on the planet?  Would they consider us intellectually sub-par, since anyone can simply go to the grocery store and BUY candy, without the need for a costume?  Would they think us aggressive, as many of the favorite costumes are those of fighting comic books characters?  I wonder…I wonder…

Captain’s Log, Star Date 2013.1031. Time 1200.  Destination, Earth:  We have entered the galaxy and are currently approaching Earth.  We have spent years studying this specific planet from afar, and have orders to continue our observation, from a closer vantage point.   

Our orders are to teleport to Earth, using a reimaging program that allows us to appear human.  This is a purely sociological and informational gathering journey.  Interaction with the Earthlings should be limited to primarily observing and secondly speaking only when spoken to.  While our crew is familiar with many of the inhabitant’s values, mores and standard daily behavior, we are not equipped to answer specific questions or to carry on conversations as true humans do. 

Our orders are to teleport to New Jersey, United States, as this has proven to have the highest concentration of humans with questionable intelligence.  End Captain’s Log.

Captain’s Log, Star Date 2013.1031. Time 1300.  Destination, New Jersey, United States, Earth:  We have teleported to a suburban town in New Jersey and are safely reimaged in the likeness of humans:  2 adult males and 2 adult females.  Due to Star Fleet regulations, the specific location of our observation cannot be divulged in the Captain’s Log.  We shall herein refer to the town as “Somewhere, New Jersey”.

Shortly after our arrival we witnessed an odd occurrence.  The shorter inhabitants of “Somewhere, New Jersey”, known to humans as “children” or “kids”, were seen exiting their building of education dressed in strange and troubling outerwear.  Some of these children were dressed as if they could take flight, as confirmed by their billowing capes.  It should be noted that we have yet to witness any child actually fly.  Other children had facial coverings on.  These coverings “masked” the child by giving them a completely different face. One without changeable emotions.  Many of these facial coverings were green in color with holes for their eyes, noses and mouth.  These holes were presumably created to assist the child in seeing and breathing, however they did not seem to function correctly – as many children were seen walking in to walls and gasping for air.

Also witnessed were children dressed in black with pointy hats and green tinted skin.  These outfits are remarkably similar to our sister planet, the BroomHildaians.  Captain’s Note:  A summit between our Home Planet and that of the BroomHilidians must be established.  Star Fleet Regulations strictly forbade the BroomHilidians from visiting Earth again, due to the unfortunate incident captured between one BroomHilidian named ‘Witch Hazel’ and a bunny named ‘Bugs’.

 

Besides the dress of these children, a second and even more disturbing event took place.  While exiting the educational building, the children formed a line and marched in a circle around the perimeter of the traffic area.  This seemed to be some sort of parade, witnessed by the older humans and captured on digital photo imaging mechanisms.  The children waved and marched, with seemingly no purpose except to record the process on various sorts of machinery. 

These events have certainly taken the crew by surprise.  We can only assume this is some sort of initiation. We are quite unsure how to proceed and must gather to plot our next course of action.   End Captain’s Log.

Captain’s Log, Star Date 2013.1031. Time 1800.  Destination, New Jersey, United States, Earth:  After returning to the ship for an emergency meeting, we have returned to Earth.  Cloaked once again in our human forms, we proceed with trepidation into the darkening hours of evening.  The meeting aboard the ship was ripe with emotion; with many feeling we should abandon our journey all together.  The valid point was made that we clearly do not understand the human species as well as we thought, and we could be placing our lives in harm’s way.  In the end, as Captain, I made the decision to move forward with our mission, and to report on our findings, regardless of personal risk.  This log will serve as a witness to all that we have seen, in the event we do not make it back to our Home Planet.

After witnessing the troubling spectacle earlier in the day, we have now moved on to walk the town and to observe further human interaction.  Once again, we are faced with children in disguise, gathered into groups of no fewer than 5-6.  These children are carrying containers of varying shapes, sizes and colors.  Others carry both a container and a glowing neon green stick - which is not unlike the color of our uncloaked skin.  We are once again faced with the fear that these children are aware of our presence and are sending a subtle yet clear message of:  RETREAT!

These groups of humanoid children approach a dwelling, holding out their various containers, while ringing an alert to the dwellings portal.  An adult human opens the door and the children scream words that are unintelligible.  What is picked up clearly is the last word, “……TREAT!”

With that word uttered, we once again hurry back to the ship, as we have obviously been warned to RETREAT, by the seemingly innocent children of Earth. End Captain’s Log.

Captain’s Log, Star Date 2013.1031. Time 2200.  Destination, New Jersey, United States, Earth: The crew has been understandably frazzled by the day’s events, and has unanimously voted to leave the Milky Way and all things Earth behind.  I have reminded them, once again, of our mission.  We have teleported back to Earth one last time to observe the final hours of an Earth Day.  We will continue to log our journey and the dangers that seem to lurk everywhere.

Our final destination on this ill-fated trip is to a place called “BAR”.  Our English translation device tells us that this is an establishment that serves liquids meant to make Earthlings feel euphoric, before making them feel sick.  The device also provides some common terms related to imbibing of this liquid, the most frequent being “I’m never drinking again.” As with the rest of the day, we are thoroughly confused by the behavior of all things human.

As we enter the “Bar” we are once again greeted with humans in strange outerwear.  The humans are different, however.  These are not children.  These are ADULTS.  The males are dressed in outerwear that is nonsensical:  A Caveman, for instance.  Through our studies we are fully aware that caveman no longer exist, yet these human males are wearing similar clothing.  While the human male’s behavior is very similar to that of the Caveman, his brow is not nearly as pronounced and his hair follicles do not play as much of a role as his early ancestors.  Usually.  Otherwise, the differences are miniscule.

The adult women, on the other hand, seem to have lost their outerwear.  While clutching glasses of this liquid elixir, the women are dressed as if they live in a much warmer climate than they do.  They are also dressed as if they are unaware of their actual outerwear size. Many of the women wear some sort of detachable feline ear, along with a long tail.  Others wear outfits that do not seem to have any theme whatsoever.   It is interesting to see the mating rituals of the human man to the human woman.   Specifically when the elixir begins to take effect.

As we circle the room the human male behind the counter serving the liquid shouts to us that we need to leave unless we are “dressed up”.  We are unsure what this term means and use our translation device to try and decipher.  “Dressed Up”, as identified by the device, “is to alter one’s appearance for attendance at a special event.  To wear fancy outerwear.”  It goes on with a second definition, “To alter one’s appearance to look unlike others.  See Costume.”  We had no idea what “costume” was and as our Earth time was running out, we chose to forgo a further search.  We opted to deactivate our reimaging program and appear in our natural state.  End Captain’s Log.

 

 

Captain’s Log, Star Date 2013.1101. Time 0100.  Destination, Home Planet:  The crew is safely aboard the ship and heading back to our home planet.  Our journey to Earth has been eventful, enlightening and scary.  We are glad to leave this planet and vow never to return.

As the Captain, I would be remiss if I did not log that, upon leaving the “BAR” establishment, we were rewarded with a trophy of some sort.  One that is inscribed with “Best Halloween Costume Winner, October 31, 2013.”  Again, this is an enigma to us.  One that we are not certain we shall ever unravel. Final Entry.  End Captain’s Log.

 

Happy Halloween my ghouls and ghosts!!

 

With Love

Lady Butterly

xoxo

 

Wedded Bless. I said BLISS, you IDIOT!

Wedded Bless.  I said BLISS, you IDIOT

 

 

I'd like to start off this post with a confession:

The longest relationship I have is with my childhood stuffed bear. Aptly named Bear Bear. Poor Bear Bear suffered a severe accident when my older brother, overcome with rage at something his pesky sister did, poured sugar water all over his belly - soaking his fur and matting his luxurious coat. Afterwards, my brother felt bad, so he hid him in the closet for awhile. When I finally rescued Bear Bear, he was like Rock Candy, but with two eyes and a felt tongue. Bear Bear has never been the same since, but he has been with me since I was 5. He currently sits on my bureau overlooking his kingdom. Weird belly-fur and all.

With that said, my parents have been married for 48 years. I keep looking at the blinking cursor on my screen to absorb what that means. They met as kids, and got married at the age of 18. 48 years of wedded bliss later, they are still together. They have been married so long, they don't even argue anymore. They call their kids to argue through them. Here's an example:

Mom: "Your father is the most aggravating man on earth. Why does he always use the good dish towels to wipe off his dirty hands? I swear, I will never understand the thoughts that go through his head."

Dad: "I don't know. Your mother's annoyed about something with the dishwasher."

See what happened there? Did you notice the subtle twist? What my father heard, is not what my mother said. This happens throughout my family. It happens with such frequency that the family as a unit now tosses up any misunderstanding as an apparent miscommunication. Like a convoluted game of "Telephone", no one can seem to get it right.

Spending that amount of time together will make you do some seemingly kooky things. For instance, both my Mom and Dad will decide a few times a year that it's "time to go through some part of their house and consolidate". Throw things out. Get rid of the junk. What invariably happens is they gather for hours, bicker, and end up throwing out jewelry my Mom says she'll never wear, and model cars that my Dad used to collect. They end up keeping the broken straw hat and the plastic bag it came in. You know...just in case. They'll then call my brother or I and ask if we want our High School diplomas, because they need to "throw things out". Kooky. I will never understand how they decide what to toss and what to keep. It seems random, but there must be some method to their madness. There are other things that are just as odd. Many other things.

 

 

 

Exhibit A:

Spontaneous Deafness - Like a child who doesn't want to go to bed, both my Mom and Dad seem to become instantly deaf when they hear something they don't like. Such as, "Hey Dad, wanna come over for lunch this weekend?" "What? I didn't hear you, Karie. Lemme call you back."

 

Amazing Spidey-Sense Hearing - On the flipside, my Mom can hear a pin drop in a pile of pillows somewhere in Indiana if she wants to. If you say something under your breath upstairs and across the hall, she'll hear you downstairs in the basement. It's truly a super-power.

 

Repeating the same behavior and expecting different results - My parents have had their computer in the corner of the dining room for well over 20 years. And for 20 years, that corner has been the black hole of sound. If anyone is saying anything in any other part of the house, no matter how close, you hear nothing when sitting there. This however, does not stop either my Mom or my Dad from continually talking to each other from this corner of the room, or to the person sitting in the corner of the room. The conversation invariably goes as follows: "James, did you feed the dogs?" "James?" "James?!". OR "Bet, do you want a salad from the Italian place?" "Bet?" "Bet?!". You'd think after this amount of time, they'd gather that this solitary location on earth carries no sound. Nope. This also applies to one standing at the kitchen sink and running water while talking.

Now, of course they are MY parents. Only my brother and I see certain things. However, In case you think me jaded, I'd like to include Exhibit B for consideration.

Exhibit B:

The Veterinarian's Office - I take my cat Dorothy to the same vet that my parents take their two dogs - Sophie and Lulu. This week, I had to take my Dottie for her annual check-up. After the exam and the all clear from the vet, we started chit chatting. Once the Doctor and staff realized that I was not only related to Bet and Jim, but I was their daughter, the whole office was huddled around the doorway relaying stories. My favorite being the Vet Assistant who called my Mom after Sophie's recent surgery. After the Assistant asked my Mom how the night went, my mother replied "It was a f*cking horrible night**." I just nodded and laughed and said, "Yep. That sounds like my Mom." The Assistant loved her. The entire staff couldn't sing my parents praises enough; calling them cute and funny; bickering and hysterical. **I do have to note my mother vehemently denies saying this. I believe the Vet Assistant.

One of the the best things about my parents is they ARE hysterical. It also helps that they look a little bit like Laurel and Hardy. I'm not sure who that insults more, my Mom or Dad, but it's true. My mother is tall and super skinny, like Olive Oil with a dirty mouth. My Dad gives the impression of being shorter due to his belly - which he has recently lost. They walk around like a mismatched pair of shoes and just make you smile.

My Mom is more high strung, my Dad is more easy-going. My Mom could wipe the floor with you in terms of wit. My Dad has absolutely no idea what she's saying. My Mom reads. My Dad watches TV. My Mom has not only won the argument, but has moved on to the next one. My Dad is still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

48 years later and they are still together. No marriage is perfect and no parents or children are perfect. The older I get, the more I appreciate the things that used to annoy me. The more I understand what it is they mean to each other. I wouldn't trade them for the world.

Even if they both hear that as "Karie said she's interested in world trade."

　

With Love

Lady Butterfly

xoxo