Archive for April, 2009

“So, why do you hate God?”

“Excuse me?”

“On Facebook, under religious views, you put ‘agnostic.’ So, why do you hate God? Did He disappoint you somehow?”

“You might want to look up the word ‘agnostic.’ “

“You know, sometimes His answer to our prayers is ‘No.’ It helps when you accept that on faith.”

“It would help if you’d avail yourself of a dictionary but I have faith that’s not going to happen either.”    (more…)


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“You have to admit it, Stasha, you’re very selfish.”

I am? But you know that I’ve given practically every weekend of the last twelve months cooking, cleaning, and changing the diapers of my grandparents as they were dying, right? Does that count for anything?

“No. Your grandfather was a racist, sexist, thoughtless jerk. He made his bed, he should’ve been left to lie in it.”

That’s true, but so what? I loved him. And her. And what about the rest of my family? They needed the help.

“Your parents used to beat you. You shouldn’t even speak to them.”

In my family it was called ‘getting’ a whuppin’ and was part of a ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ belief system. Usually it wasn’t a rod. It was a belt, or a hand as you were bent over a knee, or a hairbrush, or a switch, or whatever. And maybe it was a beating in the liberal sense but they loved me then as well as now. They thought they were doing the right thing. Besides, what the fuck does that have to do with me being selfish?

Perhaps we should talk about something else. Family doesn’t get cut much slack from my friend who’s desperately and angrily trying to explain why she really hates my guts. (more…)

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I am trembling. My mouth feels as if it is stuffed with cotton. My shaking hand lays across my mouse and I try, and fail, to click the “reserve” button. All I want is a weekend! Two nights at Cypress Cove; a local resort with a lake, and a pool, and restaurants, and the promise of gentle Florida breezes while sipping Mai Tai’s and enjoying a good, rockin’ massage.

But my head is filled with an echo… voices… that just won’t quit.

“Heyyyyyyy, fatty, fatty!” The juvenile taunt comes in the same sing-song inflection often heard on the ballfield – “Heyyyyy, batter, batter!”

Cypress Cove is a Naturist Resort. Nudity. Naked. The full eff-in’ monty. And my demon, my constant companion, screams my lifetime nickname. (more…)

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“If I ever walked into a room and saw someone fucking my wife, I’d kill ‘im,” the host said emphatically.  At first blush, the bold statement appears at once bizarre and obvious. What husband wouldn’t want to kill a man he witnessed in intimate congress with his spouse, but what on earth would compel him to say so at a suburban supper party?

The evening is winding down; three of four couples remain, perched casually on the comfy sofa and overstuffed chairs, continuing to sip their after dessert wine or nurse their last beer before heading to their respective and repsectable homes. No one is drunk but the conversation has taken on that relaxed cadence found when people who’ve known each other for years have exhausted their standard dinner party chit-chat. 

A general round of testosterone enhanced agreement is expressed by the other men and light titters of laughter bubbles from the ladies as they bit their lips.

Now the comment didn’t exactly come from nowhere. Like one of my previous posts my research for my latest book spurred this outburst and it has to do with Swinging. (more…)

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A fierce pain shoots up through the sole of my foot; not quite like stepping on a needle but almost. Sharp and piercing. I don’t swear, like I normally would, becuase my daddy and aunt are in the room with me. Mama is in the back bedroom with Granddaddy. Throwing out the “son of a bitch!” bomb just wouldn’t be appropriate so I just drop to my hands and knees and start to feel around on the floor for the offending item, whatever the hell it is. Daddy follows suit and my aunt stands there and watches us crawl on the floor patting the carpet like over-sized Mr. Maggoos.

“Wha’ d’ya lose?” Mama asks. She’d silently entered the room.

I should have figured it out right then. There was no acusation in her tone, which was rare. She has a natural knack for pointing out all percieved flaws and shortcomings with a never ending mix of backhanded comments and insults posed as innocent questions. What on earth did you do to your hair today? Or how about Those jeans don’t make your ass look nearly as large as those others do. Forty-two years she’s been my mama and I’ve never known her to be any different. Of course, for sixty-nine years she’s been Granddaddy’s daughter so what the hell do you expect?

“Nothin’. Just stepped on something painful I don’t want any one else to…. Aha! here it is!” A piece of pecan shell.

“He’s gone,” she said. (more…)

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