Well, it's been a long time, hasn't it? That's because I've been busy. First off, I moved out of my shed - so I suppose I need to change the name of my blog now - and into a new, very toxic house on the lake. In the process, I got a piece of plastic embedded in my eye. But don't you worry; I got that nasty thing out just in time to hit the Cancun Strip.
That's right, folks, I went to Cancun with my friend Elenda and engaged in the local tradition of pole dancing with stunningly gorgeous metrosexuals while Elenda was shellacking some prime Costa Rican chest with her saliva on the dance floor. I also created a new tradition of my own: harassing British tourists and forcing them to admit that they are alcoholics. It was great fun (but not all that challenging)! Oh, and the staff at our low budget all-inclusive was wonderful! In fact, I can't wait to tell Travelocity readers about the pool bartender who begged me to allow him to shave my buttocks and the dinner waiter who managed to stick his tongue between my teeth. It was right up there with being groped (and I'm not just talking about the "back door" either) by a bug-eyed drunken Mexican man while he was dancing with another woman!!
In truth, we met soooo many wonderful people - mostly men - but all absolutely beautiful inside and out! And it didn't hurt my ego any to be propositioned by hotties half my age. But I behaved and was quite relieved when I didn't have to hide from anyone the next day (well, except for the staff members mentioned above!). I will say one thing, though; it is NOT a good idea to smoke anything before you go to the airport...
Being there, Elenda and I came up with the idea to open our own bar (it might have had something to do with the fact that we were headlining at the one in the hotel the entire time we were there). We could have cool theme nights like, "Animal Look Alike Night" (what would you be?) and "The Wet Peter Contest". You know, anyone named Peter would get up on stage and then we would hose them down and vote! What did you think I meant?
Upon my return, I have been settling in and trying to find a way to deal with the formaldehyde that is finding its gaseous little self into my lungs and onto my skin. Ahhh, that new house smell. I have had rashes, burning skin, headaches, upper respiratory infections, and breathing difficulty. I now have to go and get needles stuck in my body to help me deal with it. I love my acupuncturist though. He's cool!! He's a brainy, flamenco guitarist who speaks several languages and is trained as a medical and alternative doctor. Talk about HEP!! And the best part about him is that he really cares about helping people. He's like a Stephen, but with a heart and a commitment to my well-being.
So, as most of you know, or I should say, ALL OF YOU know - since no one reads this - I have officially started putting my songs somewhere. If you don't know me and you want to know what the h-e-double-hockey stick I am talking about, I am talking about www.taxi.com/michellesiviarossman where I am posting my songs as I get them recorded. Now, when I say "recorded" I mean it in the simplest way. ME +ME ATTEMPTING TO PLAY THE KEYBOARD WITHOUT F*&^ING UP TOO OFTEN+my musician friend, John, playing with an equalizer + ME ATTEMPTING TO SING (it's not always a good thing, I admit) into a very expensive microphone. All this is happening in one cut (no do-overs allowed) amidst musty cellar walls, old fans and bicycles, and Ghod knows whose bones!!! Hey, you know what they say - beggars can't be choosers. Well, that's not really true, because this one time we offered an apple to a homeless guy and he asked us which kind it was because he couldn't eat Granny Smith.
Okay, well, I just wanted to catch up with the universe and get things off my mind...I am busy trying to stay alive and get some music done when I am not sick or getting needles stuck in my face.
I will let you know how it goes.
Yours truly,
Ima P. Nesseder
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Narcissism and Therabra
I love answers. No, I am in love with answers. Okay, I am obsessed with them. My obsession with answers has led to many a long night and several unpleasant conversations with those who refuse to supply them. Mothers. Boyfriends. Teachers. Rabbis. Sadists. You name it – they have all pissed me off at one time or another for not giving me an answer. This insatiable need for answers fuels my passion for puzzles (provided there is an answer key), and is the source of the joy I feel when I fantasize about being a detective or a spy and talk into my shoe when no one’s looking. I also think this may be why I truly like to do research, family therapy, and math. Ah, math!! Can you say, “Algebra”? Algebra is the most beautiful math ever. Every problem is like a game that not only has one definite answer but one that can be double-checked! So, if you take the time to check an answer and you discover, as I usually do, that you are right, then hold on to your nasal lobes because you get to experience the discovery of the answer twice! Twice! That kind of joy doesn’t come along every day, you know (even an algebra instructor has weekends off). And we all know, if we think at all, that kind of certainty is not easy to come by. But with algebra, you actually know you found the right answer every time. As you can see, for me, finding answers like that is rather therapeutic in and of itself. In fact, I think we should give this scintillating process a name: Therabra.
With what you now know about me, you can imagine the intensity of my climax when, after five months of beating myself over the head with grief and just about to give up on sanity altogether, I had a synchronistic moment in this holographic universe that was nothing short of brilliant. Are you still with me? I have wracked my brain over what transpired with Stephen in Korea, trying to put the pieces together. Each time I made some headway, but I kept getting swept back up into the emotion of it all because, well, it just didn’t come together in a way that I felt able to accept. Lots of things just didn’t add up, and after five months of going over this with a fine-toothed object with fine teeth, all I had were scattered pieces of the puzzle and severely overused tear ducts. And why… couldn’t… I… just…let it go? Because -stay with me people -I need answers! [If you didn’t get the right answer to the question, then you need to go back and reread the first paragraph about– oh, uh – now.] For those of you who are up to speed, or on speed, picture this: I am feeling ever so down – weeping incessantly into my pillow, armpit, or random scraps of toilet paper and unused paper towels. I try to sleep, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t seem to wrap my brain around the relationship that officially ended nearly SIX FRIGGING MONTHS AGO. I am at the end of my rope. So, I go where I always go when I am depressed – good old B & N – and get myself a soy tea latte and head for the psychology section to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. There I am. Looking like Droopy Dog standing in front of the shelf, and I can barely focus well enough to even make out one of the titles of the hundreds of books in front of me. I am exhausted. Hopeless. I force myself to look up – because I have to at least pretend to be looking for a book -and, viola, there it is! One lone, single copy of a little paperback book that asks, “Why is it always about you?”
Now, you might think that I thought it was about me, but you’re wrong. While I am definitely guilty of narcissistic tendencies, this book was in my hand in seconds because that question was the one that I asked my ex-boyfriend, former title holder of "love of my life", repeatedly during our relationship. That’s why I grabbed it. I seriously only meant to give it the once over and move on, but I was immediately taken in by it. And hour later I found myself seated in a wooden chair, agape, my cold tea on the floor next to me, the book in my lap, and my eyes glazed over. Yes, it was an easy read, but more to the point, it was a mind-blowing read. It was as though someone had been there with me through the relationship from the beginning to the end. There were some things in there I had literally said or written to him and to others about him. All the questions I had about his behavior were all answered in this book. Yes, it felt good to know that I was not alone and that I was not crazy and that other people had suffered the same kind of confusion, heartache, and grief that I did by giving their heart to someone grossly narcissistic. But more importantly, every singe question that had once kept me up at night now had an answer. Case closed. By the time I finished the book, I could cry no more. I felt this strange calm come over me and all the emotional distress dissipate Praise Jesus, Mohammed, Moses, Dean Martin, and whomever Mormons dig!! I had been given my answers. It all fit together perfectly.
Am I saying that he is incurable? I don’t know. That’s up to him. Maybe he’s just growing up and it’s a natural part of his adolescence. I don’t know. But I do know that it was very painful to be in love with him and to be betrayed by him, especially when he doesn’t get it – and never did. But I do. Especially now. And do I think that something greater than my conscious self led me to that spot to see that one book at that particular time? Absolutely. And do I still love him? Completely. But does it hurt anymore? Not at all. And would I allow myself to fall in love with him ever again? Never. More importantly, have I figured out why I had to go through it at all? I think so. After all, I have my own narcissistic tendencies. Ah, but it’s probably nothing that a little Therabra can’t fix.
But truly, the best part of finding this book was that I now feel forgiveness. At least, I think it’s forgiveness. But, what is forgiveness? If it isn’t excusing someone, then what is it? Is it about not taking things personally so that you can detach from it emotionally? Because that’s what happened here. I mean, how can I take anything that happened personally when it was never about me to begin with? Well, whatever it is, it feels good. It feels good to be able to love someone without carrying anger in my heart any more. So whatever F-word that is, I’ll take it.
BTW-Doggy Diapers and Solar Powered Christmas Lights -the next big things to hit your local Shopping Channel! You heard it here first.
Love and Light.
Ima B. Yootifull
With what you now know about me, you can imagine the intensity of my climax when, after five months of beating myself over the head with grief and just about to give up on sanity altogether, I had a synchronistic moment in this holographic universe that was nothing short of brilliant. Are you still with me? I have wracked my brain over what transpired with Stephen in Korea, trying to put the pieces together. Each time I made some headway, but I kept getting swept back up into the emotion of it all because, well, it just didn’t come together in a way that I felt able to accept. Lots of things just didn’t add up, and after five months of going over this with a fine-toothed object with fine teeth, all I had were scattered pieces of the puzzle and severely overused tear ducts. And why… couldn’t… I… just…let it go? Because -stay with me people -I need answers! [If you didn’t get the right answer to the question, then you need to go back and reread the first paragraph about– oh, uh – now.] For those of you who are up to speed, or on speed, picture this: I am feeling ever so down – weeping incessantly into my pillow, armpit, or random scraps of toilet paper and unused paper towels. I try to sleep, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t seem to wrap my brain around the relationship that officially ended nearly SIX FRIGGING MONTHS AGO. I am at the end of my rope. So, I go where I always go when I am depressed – good old B & N – and get myself a soy tea latte and head for the psychology section to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. There I am. Looking like Droopy Dog standing in front of the shelf, and I can barely focus well enough to even make out one of the titles of the hundreds of books in front of me. I am exhausted. Hopeless. I force myself to look up – because I have to at least pretend to be looking for a book -and, viola, there it is! One lone, single copy of a little paperback book that asks, “Why is it always about you?”
Now, you might think that I thought it was about me, but you’re wrong. While I am definitely guilty of narcissistic tendencies, this book was in my hand in seconds because that question was the one that I asked my ex-boyfriend, former title holder of "love of my life", repeatedly during our relationship. That’s why I grabbed it. I seriously only meant to give it the once over and move on, but I was immediately taken in by it. And hour later I found myself seated in a wooden chair, agape, my cold tea on the floor next to me, the book in my lap, and my eyes glazed over. Yes, it was an easy read, but more to the point, it was a mind-blowing read. It was as though someone had been there with me through the relationship from the beginning to the end. There were some things in there I had literally said or written to him and to others about him. All the questions I had about his behavior were all answered in this book. Yes, it felt good to know that I was not alone and that I was not crazy and that other people had suffered the same kind of confusion, heartache, and grief that I did by giving their heart to someone grossly narcissistic. But more importantly, every singe question that had once kept me up at night now had an answer. Case closed. By the time I finished the book, I could cry no more. I felt this strange calm come over me and all the emotional distress dissipate Praise Jesus, Mohammed, Moses, Dean Martin, and whomever Mormons dig!! I had been given my answers. It all fit together perfectly.
Am I saying that he is incurable? I don’t know. That’s up to him. Maybe he’s just growing up and it’s a natural part of his adolescence. I don’t know. But I do know that it was very painful to be in love with him and to be betrayed by him, especially when he doesn’t get it – and never did. But I do. Especially now. And do I think that something greater than my conscious self led me to that spot to see that one book at that particular time? Absolutely. And do I still love him? Completely. But does it hurt anymore? Not at all. And would I allow myself to fall in love with him ever again? Never. More importantly, have I figured out why I had to go through it at all? I think so. After all, I have my own narcissistic tendencies. Ah, but it’s probably nothing that a little Therabra can’t fix.
But truly, the best part of finding this book was that I now feel forgiveness. At least, I think it’s forgiveness. But, what is forgiveness? If it isn’t excusing someone, then what is it? Is it about not taking things personally so that you can detach from it emotionally? Because that’s what happened here. I mean, how can I take anything that happened personally when it was never about me to begin with? Well, whatever it is, it feels good. It feels good to be able to love someone without carrying anger in my heart any more. So whatever F-word that is, I’ll take it.
BTW-Doggy Diapers and Solar Powered Christmas Lights -the next big things to hit your local Shopping Channel! You heard it here first.
Love and Light.
Ima B. Yootifull
Friday, November 16, 2007
Re: Librans
Heather can stay (and not just because she is the only one who reads my blog)...but because she is a darn nice person, damn it!
Ima D. Sturbed
Ima D. Sturbed
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Same-Sign Dating (for Librans Only)
While reading a lecture about the paradox of choice and thinking about how too much variety actually leaves many of us feeling anxious both during and after the choice-making process, it made me realize that you should never date a Libra. They will always wonder if they made the right choice, so unless you have a really strong sense of your own self-worth and don't really give a crap what your partner thinks, you're going to be left feeling tres unappreciated for all your wonderfulness. And that's bad. Therefore, my solution is to only allow Librans to date other Librans. It's only fair - to the rest of us. In fact, to ensure that the new system be kept into place, I think we should move all Librans to an island somewhere and make them live separately from the rest of society. They're annoying anyways. Now, if you're a Libra and you're wondering if I am including you in this, just ask yourself, "Did I get a present for my birthday? Did I even get a card?" See, if I know you're a Libra, then I know that I most certainly did NOT give you a present because I find nothing celebratory about your existence. Now, you might think that's a little harsh, but that's what prejudice is, now isn't it? Librans go home!!
I was also thinking about how much I hate making choices...so much so that by the time I actually decide to make one, I don't have any more options left. Like now. I am at an all-time low, people. My money magnet is malfunctioning and, by 2008, the prediction is that the Lending Tree will need to find me a hefty personal loan to get me through the bleak winter days ahead. I have an interest-free credit card to get me through the current bleak winter days, but I have to start planning for the future now. It isn't being broke that makes this an all-time low; I mean, I have been in debt since two masters degrees ago. I think, however, that I may have to move in with my mother. That's right. Move back home and have my maternal creator help me out. This is bad for my self-esteem, people. Very, very bad. Now, I would have asked a friend for the money, but then I realized that all my friends are just as broke as I am and so it made me realize that I am definitely hanging out with the wrong people. I hate to say this, but you're all going to have to go now. I need wealthier friends. Pleeeease don't take it personally, it's just that like attracts like in these kinds of situations. So, unless one of you is going to strike it rich sometime in the very near future, I think we need to say our good-byes, choose our memories wisely, and then scatter like roaches caught by a beam of light at night. And hey, I promise that when I get my magnet working properly, I'll come back for you. I really will. I love you. [That last comment was not intended for Librans.]
You know, I was also reading a lecture about how plants attract friendly insects to protect them from harmful plant-eating insects. Okay, look, I read a lot of lectures because that's part of my job, okay? Anyhow, the lecturer was saying how grapevines, when being attacked by spider mites, emit a chemical compound that attracts ladybugs who come and eat the mites thereby protecting the plant. The lecturer was saying how great this was, in effect, because it's such a mutually beneficial system for plants and insects. My question is this, "How do you think the spider mites feel about this little system of theirs?" I bet they don't find it mutually beneficial. See, people? I am not the only one that's prejudiced. Spider mites deserve to eat, too!
[I think that's a bumper sticker waiting to happen.] Ah, maybe it's just Karma. The spider mites were probably born in late September or early October.
Do you know what's odd? I have become terrified. Something happened to me in Korea that I had never experienced before -a feeling of being alone that was unbearable. Never before in my life had I experienced that depth of loneliness. I felt completely disconnected to who and what was around me. It was like being dead. Can you be a functional dead person? You know, like a functional alcoholic? I mean, I know that I was sick. I have never been sicker in my life. And I know it was Asia. And I know that I was surrounded by Libras. And I know that I had jobs that were unhealthy. But even now, Libra-free, back in the familiar Western world, working in my Pj's from home, and gradually regaining my health, I am butt terrified. Shaking most days, in fact. All the trust I had in myself and in others has truly been put to the test. And, to be honest with you, I don't know if I am going to pass.
Oh a happier note: laaaaaaaaaaa!!!
Talk to you later,
Ima D. Pu
I was also thinking about how much I hate making choices...so much so that by the time I actually decide to make one, I don't have any more options left. Like now. I am at an all-time low, people. My money magnet is malfunctioning and, by 2008, the prediction is that the Lending Tree will need to find me a hefty personal loan to get me through the bleak winter days ahead. I have an interest-free credit card to get me through the current bleak winter days, but I have to start planning for the future now. It isn't being broke that makes this an all-time low; I mean, I have been in debt since two masters degrees ago. I think, however, that I may have to move in with my mother. That's right. Move back home and have my maternal creator help me out. This is bad for my self-esteem, people. Very, very bad. Now, I would have asked a friend for the money, but then I realized that all my friends are just as broke as I am and so it made me realize that I am definitely hanging out with the wrong people. I hate to say this, but you're all going to have to go now. I need wealthier friends. Pleeeease don't take it personally, it's just that like attracts like in these kinds of situations. So, unless one of you is going to strike it rich sometime in the very near future, I think we need to say our good-byes, choose our memories wisely, and then scatter like roaches caught by a beam of light at night. And hey, I promise that when I get my magnet working properly, I'll come back for you. I really will. I love you. [That last comment was not intended for Librans.]
You know, I was also reading a lecture about how plants attract friendly insects to protect them from harmful plant-eating insects. Okay, look, I read a lot of lectures because that's part of my job, okay? Anyhow, the lecturer was saying how grapevines, when being attacked by spider mites, emit a chemical compound that attracts ladybugs who come and eat the mites thereby protecting the plant. The lecturer was saying how great this was, in effect, because it's such a mutually beneficial system for plants and insects. My question is this, "How do you think the spider mites feel about this little system of theirs?" I bet they don't find it mutually beneficial. See, people? I am not the only one that's prejudiced. Spider mites deserve to eat, too!
[I think that's a bumper sticker waiting to happen.] Ah, maybe it's just Karma. The spider mites were probably born in late September or early October.
Do you know what's odd? I have become terrified. Something happened to me in Korea that I had never experienced before -a feeling of being alone that was unbearable. Never before in my life had I experienced that depth of loneliness. I felt completely disconnected to who and what was around me. It was like being dead. Can you be a functional dead person? You know, like a functional alcoholic? I mean, I know that I was sick. I have never been sicker in my life. And I know it was Asia. And I know that I was surrounded by Libras. And I know that I had jobs that were unhealthy. But even now, Libra-free, back in the familiar Western world, working in my Pj's from home, and gradually regaining my health, I am butt terrified. Shaking most days, in fact. All the trust I had in myself and in others has truly been put to the test. And, to be honest with you, I don't know if I am going to pass.
Oh a happier note: laaaaaaaaaaa!!!
Talk to you later,
Ima D. Pu
Thursday, November 8, 2007
I'm Getting Published - Are You?
Just a note to let you all know that I am making some progress in my life. In fact, I now have five songs on the market and I just got word that I am getting a short nonfictional piece published online with Common Ties on December 3rd. It is entitled, "Doors, Windows, Fathers". They named it - not me. So, if you have a problem with that - you can tell them about it. Me? I am just taking the money...and the glory. Not bad for the first and only thing I ever submitted for publication. Then again, I have my perverted step-father to thank for the material, so...thank you.
It gets me to thinking, too. I mean, I have had such a traumatic childhood/life that I have a ton of stories I could tell - or better yet - write about. I could cash in on all this heartache once and for all! Besides, I have promised myself to only write happy songs from now on, so I will totally need a new outlet for all my self-pity!
Damn Skippy! I am going to jump right on it.
Ima N. Fant
It gets me to thinking, too. I mean, I have had such a traumatic childhood/life that I have a ton of stories I could tell - or better yet - write about. I could cash in on all this heartache once and for all! Besides, I have promised myself to only write happy songs from now on, so I will totally need a new outlet for all my self-pity!
Damn Skippy! I am going to jump right on it.
Ima N. Fant
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Ar-kansas and Costa Reecker
If you've read any prior blog entries, then you know that "I am a money magnet!" right? Well, someone needs to tell that to the fine State of Arkansas! And you might tell it to the other university I applied to, too - (apparently they never got my resume).
Now, in AR-KANSAS, these fine people know a gem (or sucker) when they see one. In fact, they were so impressed with my resume and experience as a teacher that they called me right up and started quizzing me on grammar (at 9 am EST). I passed the test by the way (although I was tempted to turn on the computer and Google a few of them just to make sure). Apparently, not everyone does pass this test, so they were tres impressed. So impressed, in fact, that they wanted to fly me out there next week for a potluck. It seemed like I was i-t-it there for a minute and then it happened. The mention of a (cough, cough, removal of phlegm) "salary", which they referred to as "lean". Now, I am all for lean, but not when it comes to my salary! These people tried to convince me that, although the salary is quite low, I mean, "lean", for a twelve-month, full-time position at a university, that it is, indeed, possible to live on it. Really? I suppose I could live on $28,000 dollars a year, before taxes, if I put it under my house, but why should I have to? If I had a two-year degree I would make more money than that. I know this because most people around me have two-year degrees and they make more money than that. I could see it if I were starting out in the field, as well, but I ain't! I have paid my dues and I have a ton o' skills to offer - all of which they need! Sadly enough, I had to decline. First of all, I can't live on that and, second of all, it undervalues what I do. Now you may wonder why I even bothered applying for the position in Arkansas, especially when Kansas isn't that far away, and so they should know by now how to pronounce it, but the area seems nice and the program is pretty dynamic, so...? Who knew? But, I do have to say, generally speaking, if employers don't post a salary on a job site, then you probably aren't getting one.
Speaking of spelling and two-year degrees, I should tell you that I stopped to get gas the other day and the manager of the station had put signs up on all the gas tanks that read: "Please knowt your pump number before you come into the store to pay. " What's funny is that I am not sure if they just accidentally put a "t" on the printouts or they meant to write "note". What do you think? In either case, they're wrong. Or from Arkansaw.
With waning funds and an upcoming trip to Mexico, I am getting a little nervous. I am starting to consider buying a two-room house on an acre of land in Costa Rica for less then $5,000 dollars. I could move my butt down there and teach English, play music, date pot-smoking hippies and alcoholics, work on my Spanish, and eat fruit from my fruit trees. The land actually borders an agricultural preserve filled with waterfalls and swimming holes AND it's 15 miles from the ocean. I am getting mighty tempted. The bank might get upset because they won't be getting anymore money out of me - EVER - but, I am sure that I have paid off most of what I borrowed originally - the other $40, 000 is mostly interest. And it's interesting that they call it interest because it's really of no interest to me whatsoever. I could care less about it. I am trying to get the land for Christmas. And if I do - see ya'!
Please don't take any of my quick departure fantasies personally - it's just that I don't like you enough to stay.
But really, I am trying to put down some roots; it's just that it's one step forward and two steps back with my health still. I am grateful for where I am today compared to where I was four months ago, but it's still a struggle. It's one organ at a time and people are still playing around with medications - natural and not so natural - to get me to a point where I can stand on my own two feet again. DING DONG (thought coming in). Ohhhh, so that's why they say the 40s are the new 20s!! Because at forty, you can still find yourself single, getting offered shit salaries, living without health insurance, and unable to live on your own. I get it now. So, it's not just me, right? Right? You aren't answering me. Right? Where are you going? Hey, come back here.
Whatever.
I leave you now to dream a little dream about mango trees and tasty weed.
Ima P. Ode
Now, in AR-KANSAS, these fine people know a gem (or sucker) when they see one. In fact, they were so impressed with my resume and experience as a teacher that they called me right up and started quizzing me on grammar (at 9 am EST). I passed the test by the way (although I was tempted to turn on the computer and Google a few of them just to make sure). Apparently, not everyone does pass this test, so they were tres impressed. So impressed, in fact, that they wanted to fly me out there next week for a potluck. It seemed like I was i-t-it there for a minute and then it happened. The mention of a (cough, cough, removal of phlegm) "salary", which they referred to as "lean". Now, I am all for lean, but not when it comes to my salary! These people tried to convince me that, although the salary is quite low, I mean, "lean", for a twelve-month, full-time position at a university, that it is, indeed, possible to live on it. Really? I suppose I could live on $28,000 dollars a year, before taxes, if I put it under my house, but why should I have to? If I had a two-year degree I would make more money than that. I know this because most people around me have two-year degrees and they make more money than that. I could see it if I were starting out in the field, as well, but I ain't! I have paid my dues and I have a ton o' skills to offer - all of which they need! Sadly enough, I had to decline. First of all, I can't live on that and, second of all, it undervalues what I do. Now you may wonder why I even bothered applying for the position in Arkansas, especially when Kansas isn't that far away, and so they should know by now how to pronounce it, but the area seems nice and the program is pretty dynamic, so...? Who knew? But, I do have to say, generally speaking, if employers don't post a salary on a job site, then you probably aren't getting one.
Speaking of spelling and two-year degrees, I should tell you that I stopped to get gas the other day and the manager of the station had put signs up on all the gas tanks that read: "Please knowt your pump number before you come into the store to pay. " What's funny is that I am not sure if they just accidentally put a "t" on the printouts or they meant to write "note". What do you think? In either case, they're wrong. Or from Arkansaw.
With waning funds and an upcoming trip to Mexico, I am getting a little nervous. I am starting to consider buying a two-room house on an acre of land in Costa Rica for less then $5,000 dollars. I could move my butt down there and teach English, play music, date pot-smoking hippies and alcoholics, work on my Spanish, and eat fruit from my fruit trees. The land actually borders an agricultural preserve filled with waterfalls and swimming holes AND it's 15 miles from the ocean. I am getting mighty tempted. The bank might get upset because they won't be getting anymore money out of me - EVER - but, I am sure that I have paid off most of what I borrowed originally - the other $40, 000 is mostly interest. And it's interesting that they call it interest because it's really of no interest to me whatsoever. I could care less about it. I am trying to get the land for Christmas. And if I do - see ya'!
Please don't take any of my quick departure fantasies personally - it's just that I don't like you enough to stay.
But really, I am trying to put down some roots; it's just that it's one step forward and two steps back with my health still. I am grateful for where I am today compared to where I was four months ago, but it's still a struggle. It's one organ at a time and people are still playing around with medications - natural and not so natural - to get me to a point where I can stand on my own two feet again. DING DONG (thought coming in). Ohhhh, so that's why they say the 40s are the new 20s!! Because at forty, you can still find yourself single, getting offered shit salaries, living without health insurance, and unable to live on your own. I get it now. So, it's not just me, right? Right? You aren't answering me. Right? Where are you going? Hey, come back here.
Whatever.
I leave you now to dream a little dream about mango trees and tasty weed.
Ima P. Ode
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Manifesting Money and Bad Job Offers
Do you remember when I was talking about getting what you focus on-whether it be sickness, poverty, success, a man that brushes his teeth, etc...? 'Member? I told you and the universe I was a money magnet. Ring any bells? Well, I haven't had any hundreds flying out of nowhere and planting themselves onto my well fit body...yet. However, I have not given up hope. In fact, according to Doreen Banaszak, the author of Excuse Me, Your Life is Now: Mastering the Law of Attraction, I need to live as if I have a ton o' money. When I make purchases and pay bills, I must follow it up with telling myself, the universe, and possibly the people in line behind me at the checkout counter and/or the poor sap working in the bill collection department, that I am grateful to have more than enough money to pay for my purchase and my bills. So, without bothering the people in line and the poor sap, I do this.
In fact, I did this just yesterday when I decided that I was going to go to Cancun with my friend, E., in December, a week before Christmas. High season, people! At first, I panicked about the fact that I was living on borrowed time - financially speaking - and that I was, in fact, mostly unemployed and have some hefty school loans to pay off each month (as well as rent for my shed). But then, I thought about Doreen and her brilliant advice and I bought those tickets, damn it! Screw sensibility and practicality. I am alive now and while I can still move around without a walker, I am going to make the best of it - I am going to live!! Praise the Dali Lama, I am going to live, people! Besides, I am grateful to have more than enough money to pay for my purchase and my bills. You must remember, people, that Ima money magnet!!
In addition to this, I keep telling the universe that I have a creative and playful job, blah, blah, blah. And so, what happens? This job, where I would be working with KIDS, tries to get me to come in for an interview. They already tried this a couple of months back and I didn't go then, so why would I go now? KIDS! Don't they drool and have germs? Cooties? Bad manners? Oh, no, that's right, those are the people at my gym. In any case, I try to get out of it. I tell them I have no certification (and I know for a fact that the job requires certification). "No problem," they say. Then, they want me to bring a portfolio of my work. Ha ha ha. I don't have a portfolio - give me a break - portfolios are for people that went to school to teach KIDS. [Don't look at me!!!? I don't know what they're thinking.] So, I tell them that I don't have a portfolio because I never needed one to work with adults. "No problem," they tell me again. Apparently, I don't need one. So, then I ask when the start date is. They tell me it starts A.S.A.P. Ha. I tell them that I can't possibly start right away. And what did they say? Yep, you guessed it. "No problem." They can wait. Aren't they just so accommodating? Now, I just can't get them off my back, so I say, "I can't make the interview date - it's too soon and I have to work (online)." They beg me, people. They tell me that I am a very strong candidate in such a way that I can hear them winking at me over the phone. Whyyyyyy oh whyyyy? I am not qualified, I am not eager, and it's obvious by now that I am not even trying. So, what happens next? I give in and agree to make the nearly two-hour drive north (a.k.a snow boots and electric blanket territory) for an interview for a job I don't even want. Why? For the same reason I went on my non-date date when I had the squirts. Because I feel like it's a symbolic move more than anything else. Any move in any direction is better than not moving at all, right? And, we all know, that I have to move on now. This grieving and healing period is getting old. I am getting old (as evidenced by the whiskers on my chin). But don't be fooled, people. It is only symbolic - in both cases. Unless either one of them - the non-date date - or the job I don't want - offers me a ton o' money, I ain't biting. It isn't my dream and I am tired of - no - not tired of, but tired from - not following my dreams. Didn't you ever read, The Alchemist?
So what is my dream? To sell music, sing, and make a children's album. That's right, I want to make music for drooling, cootie carriers. Got a problem with that? I also want to write a best selling novel and sell several written pieces - [my latest submission is about growing up with a voyeuristic parent. A bit of nonfiction, actually. I will let you know when it gets published. And I get paid. Don't worry about the parent - he's dead].
Are you tired of me yet? Me too.
I am rubbered out.
I'll see you around in the square.
Ima B. Cupp
In fact, I did this just yesterday when I decided that I was going to go to Cancun with my friend, E., in December, a week before Christmas. High season, people! At first, I panicked about the fact that I was living on borrowed time - financially speaking - and that I was, in fact, mostly unemployed and have some hefty school loans to pay off each month (as well as rent for my shed). But then, I thought about Doreen and her brilliant advice and I bought those tickets, damn it! Screw sensibility and practicality. I am alive now and while I can still move around without a walker, I am going to make the best of it - I am going to live!! Praise the Dali Lama, I am going to live, people! Besides, I am grateful to have more than enough money to pay for my purchase and my bills. You must remember, people, that Ima money magnet!!
In addition to this, I keep telling the universe that I have a creative and playful job, blah, blah, blah. And so, what happens? This job, where I would be working with KIDS, tries to get me to come in for an interview. They already tried this a couple of months back and I didn't go then, so why would I go now? KIDS! Don't they drool and have germs? Cooties? Bad manners? Oh, no, that's right, those are the people at my gym. In any case, I try to get out of it. I tell them I have no certification (and I know for a fact that the job requires certification). "No problem," they say. Then, they want me to bring a portfolio of my work. Ha ha ha. I don't have a portfolio - give me a break - portfolios are for people that went to school to teach KIDS. [Don't look at me!!!? I don't know what they're thinking.] So, I tell them that I don't have a portfolio because I never needed one to work with adults. "No problem," they tell me again. Apparently, I don't need one. So, then I ask when the start date is. They tell me it starts A.S.A.P. Ha. I tell them that I can't possibly start right away. And what did they say? Yep, you guessed it. "No problem." They can wait. Aren't they just so accommodating? Now, I just can't get them off my back, so I say, "I can't make the interview date - it's too soon and I have to work (online)." They beg me, people. They tell me that I am a very strong candidate in such a way that I can hear them winking at me over the phone. Whyyyyyy oh whyyyy? I am not qualified, I am not eager, and it's obvious by now that I am not even trying. So, what happens next? I give in and agree to make the nearly two-hour drive north (a.k.a snow boots and electric blanket territory) for an interview for a job I don't even want. Why? For the same reason I went on my non-date date when I had the squirts. Because I feel like it's a symbolic move more than anything else. Any move in any direction is better than not moving at all, right? And, we all know, that I have to move on now. This grieving and healing period is getting old. I am getting old (as evidenced by the whiskers on my chin). But don't be fooled, people. It is only symbolic - in both cases. Unless either one of them - the non-date date - or the job I don't want - offers me a ton o' money, I ain't biting. It isn't my dream and I am tired of - no - not tired of, but tired from - not following my dreams. Didn't you ever read, The Alchemist?
So what is my dream? To sell music, sing, and make a children's album. That's right, I want to make music for drooling, cootie carriers. Got a problem with that? I also want to write a best selling novel and sell several written pieces - [my latest submission is about growing up with a voyeuristic parent. A bit of nonfiction, actually. I will let you know when it gets published. And I get paid. Don't worry about the parent - he's dead].
Are you tired of me yet? Me too.
I am rubbered out.
I'll see you around in the square.
Ima B. Cupp
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