tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5856380127940436672024-02-19T04:57:00.086-05:00Karen V. Wasylowski...But I DigressKaren V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.comBlogger225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-90260853167832006062017-10-16T11:12:00.001-04:002017-10-16T11:28:45.217-04:00Evacuation Hysteria, and the man who loved her<div style="text-align: left;">
Hello, everyone. Back again after a two year absence, the last few months having been spent wondering what in the hell happened to our country.<br />
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But I digress...</div>
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I have been asked to speak to you all today about...EVACUATION<br />
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No, not one's bowels, silly person. This type of evacuation occurs during a hurricane, or a flash flood, or a raging fire, or the sudden appearance of one's relatives.<br />
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In our case this past September, it was Hurricane Irma, or as Jim Cantore of the Weather Channel liked to say every blessed five minutes<br />
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MONSTER HURRICANE IRMA.</div>
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<a href="https://giphy.com/gifs/independence-day-nw6JceUQnbXmE">via GIPHY</a></div>
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MONSTER HURRICANE IRMA was the very worst hurricane ever in the history of hurricanes (until the next one, Hurricane Maria). It was a Cat 84 hurricane, it registered higher than an earthquake, it was going to rip Florida from mainland United States and fling it somewhere awful in the middle of the country, like over Arkansas or something, tear the skin from our bodies and suck the magma from the earth's core.<br />
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I became concerned.<br />
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We decided to run for our lives.<br />
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EVACUATION - Episode One<br />
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Our escape began on the Thursday before the Sunday Irma was scheduled to go Medieval on our home, believing that would give us plenty of time to get out of Dodge. Plenty of time. Unfortunately, the Weather Channel had stirred up so much terror the week before with the Texas hurricane, Harvey, that everyone else in Florida decided they had plenty of time too.<br />
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There were at least a billion people heading up the middle of the state on Highway 75, so we decided to take Route 41.<br />
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Actual aerial view of Route 41 through Florida</div>
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Route 41 is notoriously slow, but then again Highway 75 was bumper to bumper, cars stalling out and abandoned, gas stations empty - well, we thought 41 would be a better choice. We drove in two cars (each with its own huge, panting dog beside drive) for at least five hours before we stopped for food and to look for gas, our tanks were half empty.<br />
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There. Was. No. Gas. Anywhere. Literally. All the stations in Florida were empty. Every single one.<br />
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We pulled into a Walmart in Dunedin, Florida. After five hours of driving (usually it takes four hours to get to the Georgia border from our home) we were only halfway up the state, tanks half full, with MONSTER HURRICANE IRMA only days away.<br />
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I asked the gas station person if she was expecting a gas delivery. She turned on me like a wounded bear and screamed, "WE AINT GOT NO GAS AND WE AINT EXPECTING ANY!" Have to give the fat pig the benefit of the doubt that she'd had some trouble that day with the million or so people running for their lives. I still wanted punch her in the face.<br />
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By now I was pretty nervous. Driving two separate cars when your only communication between are cheap Tracphones that are always losing charge is stressful. Interesting aside - my husband doesn't get stressed out. Probably for the best because of who he married. But I digress.<br />
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Eventually I talked to the second shift gas attendant who begrudgingly informed me they might get another gas tanker in after closing, at 9:00 p.m. So Rich and I pulled out some chairs from our trunk and decided to wait and see. We figured Walmart would get gas if anyone would, and we didn't want to continue our convoluted drive. It was 3:30 in the afternoon.<br />
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The tanker did not pull in until 8:30 that night followed by about a thousand cars that had been trailing it down the road. We had waited for five hours at that point and I had made a fool of myself crying in Walmart to the manager, begging her to find out if there was a shelter in the area that took dogs. There wasn't.<br />
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The moment I saw the tanker I jumped into my car, screamed for Rich to get the dogs into his, and we raced to the gas pump. I was first in line, Richie second, and behind us a conga line of cars crowded in, wrapping itself around Walmart and out into the street. It was chaos. The police came to direct everyone, fights broke out, people were hysterical (mostly me). I saw two or three guys wandering around, drugged out of their minds, babbling out loud, angry and screaming. Dunedin is a fun town.<br />
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We slept in Walmart parking lot that night, the two cars side by side, the dogs hot and cranky, just like their owners. I kept going into the store all night to charge up phones, buy some water (which was also sold out before. A shipment that came in allowed us two cases each)<br />
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In the morning, we cleaned up in the Walmart bathroom then continued on, following directions now given us by one of the aggravated police directing traffic all night. Unfortunately, he was sending us northwest to Pensacola instead of north to Perry Georgia. Or maybe he thought we were going to Perry Florida. I don't know. I don't care. By the early afternoon we realized we had to pick another road and we started to head east again.<br />
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We arrived at our motel in Perry Georgia by six that second evening. I was looking forward to a shower and sleep in a real bed (I cannot imagine the horrors in Puerto Rico right now. I was sobbing with losing only one night's sleep to fear) Anyway, despite the fact we had phoned ahead to let them know we'd be a day late the motel had given away our room. Fortunately I didn't not have to strangle the sweet boy behind the desk. He must have seen the burning hatred in my eyes cause they did find us a room on the second floor, right over the office. It wasn't the best, but it was the best we could do.<br />
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Now all we had to do was wait for our home to be destroyed back in Florida (Episode 2)</div>
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Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-19325140251996088252015-10-19T17:55:00.002-04:002015-10-27T10:16:35.421-04:00A bad review for The Martian - and, I believe this is the one and only bad review too (SPOILERS) I don't understand the over-hype of THE MARTIAN. Is this a case of everyone jumping on the same bandwagon, some sort of group thing like a lynch mob? Honestly, people, get a grip on yourselves. Either I have missed the entire charm of this movie, or I am so old that I've seen every one of these plot gimmicks before. At least a dozen times.<br />
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First of all, I've come to realize I don't like 3D movies. They were lame in the fifties when I saw '13 Ghosts' and they are lame now. The screen always looks dark...<br />
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(I wonder why)</div>
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...and, maybe, that spoiled some of The Martian fun for me. 3D is absolutely unnecessary to a film unless it's a film about throwing baseballs at the audience. It always looks like pop-up Christmas cards, with gratuitous shooting stars thrown in just so you can do the movie in 3D. There was no benefit - absolutely none - in shooting in 3D.<br />
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Stop it.<br />
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(Matt Damon. I love Matt Damon usually)</div>
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The humor - honestly? Really? There were some bravado jokes made by a man who believed he was doomed to die in space - but, we all knew he wasn't really. And then there was that whole "disco suck" running joke stuff. Y'all realize that that has been done before, right?<br />
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"You're music sucks, captain (or whatever Jessica Chastain was). </div>
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Female captain grins reluctantly while the others snigger. </div>
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So fresh.</div>
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Then there are some typical sterotypes:<br />
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The fun Latino crew member.<br />
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The no nonsense captain (Jessica Chastain - actually a nice change of pace there, to have a woman as captain).<br />
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The beautiful girl crew member whose job I never understood.<br />
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The handsome crew member boy she loves.<br />
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(Cat Women of The Moon - 1953)</div>
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The tough talking head of the space stuff - Jeff Daniels (who is doing the same character he does in The Newsroom, a show I enjoyed much more than this movie),<br />
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The obscure but brilliant, flip, antisocial, computer geek tech who solves the problem with a really simple solution He also treats the head of the space program (Daniels) with disinterest, as if he were just anyone, which bemuses the head of the space stuff.<br />
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<img src="http://assets-s3.usmagazine.com/uploads/assets/articles/84560-c-span-receives-prank-call-from-the-fresh-prince-of-bel-air-video/1426770599_will-smith-fresh-prince-lg.jpg" height="640" width="540" /></div>
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(Interesting aside - usually the black team member gets killed during the mission. Luckily in this movie the guy was a geek, and on earth, so he survived. But I guarantee if he'd been in the space capsule, somehow he would have been toast. But I Digress...)</div>
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Mat Damon. Our boy in space, the brave, brilliant, cute as a button, humble, yada, yada, yada... (He really is cute as the dickens isn't he?)<br />
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Ok, the rest was kind of Gravity meets Apollo 13 (a much better movie) comprising hours and hours of the experiments to save Matt, the brilliant ideas that at first work, and then fail, one by one, periodically throughout the film... until...<br />
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<img src="http://scifilatino.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/salma-hayek-bearded-lady.jpg?w=500" height="426" width="640" /><br />
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The rescue itself. OK. There is this guy who is going to float outside the rescue capsule and grab Matt Damon as he flies by - BUT Jessica Chastain - the captain who feels soooo bad about leaving the poor schmuck up there in the first place - DEMANDS to be the one to catch him. As he flies by.<br />
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REALLY? Dear God in Heaven. If it were me, and my only chance at survival - a one in one billion chance that someone was going to 'catch' me fly past in outer space - I would want the BIG STRONG GUY to catch me, not the slight woman who looks like she's a size zero or something.<br />
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I want the big strong GUY to catch me.<br />
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2 StarsKaren V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-69745781157213198152015-06-15T20:54:00.000-04:002017-12-29T12:50:19.578-05:00This and That Tuesday...<img src="http://ebookfriendly.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/Famous-first-lines-rewritten-for-today-Pride-and-Prejudice-540x401.jpeg" height="475" width="640" /><br />
http://ebookfriendly.com/first-lines-from-famous-novels-rewritten-pictures/<br />
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Jane Austen attempts to publish her historic book, Pride and Prejudice… in the TWENTY FIRST CENTURY!!<br />
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<img src="http://www.flurtmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/woman-writing-a-book.jpg" height="427" width="640" /><br />
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(A)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>E-mail from Jane Austen, sent to publishers:<br />
“Hello, my name is Jane Austen, and I have written a romance novel. The main story concerns a gentleman who is very rich, but insufferable. He falls in love with a poor young woman who is not as pretty as her sister, but has a quick wit about her. Initially he proposes marriage to her while at the same time insulting her family. He also convinces his best friend that her sister is not good enough for the man... for some reason I haven’t quite worked out yet. Anyway, the young woman he loves gives him the old heave ho then travels to his home, sees how beautiful it is, and decides he’s the one for her. The world length is 123,880.<br />
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(B)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Reply from publishers:<br />
“We do not accept inquiries thru the internet.”<br />
“We thank you for your inquiry; however, we are not accepting new writers.”<br />
“There is no way in hell for you to get a book published so why should we bother replying to you.”<br />
“Unless your brother is a mass murdering pedophile, please do not bother us again.”<br />
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Finally, a glimmer of hope:<br />
“Please submit the first twenty chapters of your novel, in duplicate, in print, on yellow lined paper, no staples, two-inch margins, triple-spaced. Also, provide us with the demographic you wish to attract, a sample of your marketing plan, six forms of ID, and, no we still will not publish you, under any circumstance. Unless you are a reality star. Or, there’s really hot sex. With bondage. And cut it down to 95,000 words.”<br />
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<img src="http://33.media.tumblr.com/56fe811d6a22e8a0267408910159df81/tumblr_inline_nnvasbqYzS1tt18w9_500.gif" height="426" width="640" /><br />
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(C)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>E-mail from Jane Austen to publisher in response:<br />
“I can put sex in it. Just one question, what is sex? This is 1810, I am thirty-five years old and I live with my father, a former minister. Give me a break.”<br />
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Can we all admit to a healthy fear of Mesothelioma and move on already...</div>
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Benedict Cumberbatch is a papa now. Names generated on twitter include the following:</div>
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Cabbage Patch Cumberbatch</div>
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Sherlock Stephen Alan Khan Cumberbatch</div>
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Bob<br />
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You know what I really love are those commercials where there is an older woman, slender, dressed in some shimmery thing. She has long, long, white hair that she peeks out at you from while she smirks, as the voiceover talks about the super medication she's on for some reason, probably bladder control, and she's all "look at me...don't I look good for a woman in her fifties?" (because fifties are a near death experience for the young puppies who now run marketing programs)<br />
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And then the announcer tells of the side effects:<br />
"If you experience swelling of the hands or gums, vaginal bleeding, hemorrhoids, dry mouth, vomiting, temporary blindness, heart palpitations, incontinence, momentary amnesia, tingling in your shoulder or elbow, loss of a limb..."<br />
Meanwhile the old bat is grinning and writhing around on a sofa like she has back itch.<br />
Yeah. Love that commercial.<br />
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Is swearing mandatory now on cable shows? I have a few shows I like to watch - Silicon Valley, Episodes, Veep - and in all of them without exception the word fuck is shouted out at least twice in each sentence. Also, vagina is really big (no pun intended). Also dickwad, prick, asswipe, cocksucker - do people actually talk like that in the real world? I wander around freely when my restraints are removed and I have never heard people shrieking these things out<br />
(unless I'm at Walmart - duh)<br />
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When did humor sink so low? We still watch Seinfeld and laugh our heads off, and not once did someone grab their crotch and yell, 'eat me, MF', not even Kramer.<br />
And they were funny. Really funny.<br />
But I digress...<br />
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We saw "Spy" with my favorite Melissa McCarthy and it was the same thing. F***, MF, shithead... it went on and on. Is the shock value supposed to be supplying the laughs?<br />
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Of course, I did really, really enjoy it when Colin Firth did it... duh.<br />
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<img src="http://ak-hdl.buzzfed.com/static/enhanced/webdr03/2013/7/26/9/anigif_enhanced-buzz-1141-1374845681-26.gif" /><br />
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<br />Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-36221968771828836702015-06-13T14:03:00.000-04:002015-06-13T14:03:01.394-04:00"The Deep Thoughts of..." from PRIDE AND PREJUDICE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-14200629480230187962015-06-06T20:50:00.000-04:002015-06-06T21:02:20.749-04:00THIS AND THAT SUNDAY, and Oliver Cromwell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Haven't been here for a very long while. I was very busy writing my third book, and then I was very busy pimping it anywhere and everywhere I could. So, here I am back again, several years older and not much wiser, but with something earth shattering to tell you, something life altering. <br />
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Nah, not really...<br />
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<img src="http://www.digdang.com/media/images/crazy_train_travel_4586.jpg" height="410" width="640" /><br />
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AMTRAK<br />
I conclude that trains are possibly the most uncomfortable way to travel - outside of, I imagine, ox carts with mismatched wheels, or covered wagons (I was too little to really notice when the folks headed west). It was in July that we took our Amtrak journey from Orlando to New York city. In my opinion, after experiencing a ride that felt as if we'd been into a barrel and thrown into Niagara Falls, I am amazed that a train ever stays on the track at all. <br />
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Here's another thing - where the hell did I get the idea that a train food car had curtains on the windows and tablecloths and waiters in tailcoats serving you by candlelight, bowing as they hand over the menu. <br />
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Uh-uh.<br />
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European Train Waiters<br />
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<img src="http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/ogmtarp/images/8/81/Gang.png/revision/latest?cb=20110925125515" /></div>
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American Train Waiters</div>
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Our food car consisted of about eight hard industrial tables which you clung to for dear life as the train careened along - and, you're packed in there, sitting cheek to jowl with really creepy characters who look like they have issues with opiates! And dental hygiene! And then our ankles were all shackled together! - no, wait That was that other time...<br />
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Don't even ask about the sleeping car - ok, ok, go ahead and ask. They call it a roomette. More like a broomclosetette. I had the top bunk since Richie's hip was already hurting him, and there's a toilet right there in the broom closet with you, right beside you. No walls around it; no privacy at all. I had my Kindle Fire sitting on the closed lid while it charged. The Kindle, not the toilet. Ever try to pee while your husband is asking you if you closed the garage door? Anyway, to get up to the top bunk I had to stand on the toilet and hoist myself up - no ladders. And, at my age, I had to climb down about six times during the night to pee. Richie kept thinking we were home and the sprinklers were going off.<br />
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I hate Amtrak. Extremely unfortunate about the accident though. Especially since we're taking it again in September.<br />
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****</div>
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TRAVEL<br />
Yes, we are returning once again to the land of scones and honey, to that most blessed Isle, to England. And, since we don't fly, we are again sailing for seven days there and back on the QM2. Did you know that on the Queen Mary women are not allowed to wear shorts after a certain hour, and neither are men, nor flip flops. "Gymnasium" attire is frowned upon when walking around and if you're not going to the 'Formal Nights' dinners (there are 3 on a 7 day crossing), nor to the two Balls that are thrown (the Black and White Ball, and the Ascot Ball, or something like that) one is not encouraged to linger around where those dressed up people may see one. They have Ye Olde Rack on the Lido deck.<br />
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Richie and I managed to miss every single formal night and both balls. We buffeted our way across the Atlantic and sat back and watched the beautiful people stroll by in their sequined gowns and black tuxedos. The men were dressed nice too. <br />
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The Brochure</div>
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The Reality</div>
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Our immediate impression was that ALL men - old, young, fat, skinny - look great in a tux, but there are precious few women over fifty who look any good dressed up. I really mean it. Well, look, most of us are pudgy, if not downright fat, and the hair is 'not what it was'... Make up is always heavy and scary looking for evening. It takes a real lot of money to look good when you're a certain age, and there isn't enough money circulating in the free world for me to get into heels again.</div>
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CAITLYN JENNER</div>
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You know what really bothers me about this? It hasn't a thing to do with religion, or being an abomination to the lord, or 'a great athlete's tragic emasculation'. No. It's that she looks twenty years younger. If I was transgender I would look like a real old John Denver. </div>
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Bitch.</div>
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WOLF HALL</div>
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Again with England - We have tickets to see Mark Rylance (he plays Cromwell in Wolf Hall) perform in Finnegan and the Lamb Chop (that's not the real title but I am too lazy to look it up). I really wanted to see Byzantine Crumberpants in Hamlet, however those tickets sold out before the ink was even dry, and now there is a lottery for one hundred fans to be superglued to the ceiling for a performance. I'll take it. Except... we have only four days in London. What are the chances that I will (1) get chosen for a pair of tickets at all, or (2) that the date will be one of only three days left while we're in the city. I keep telling Richie we should just move to London already.</div>
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Maybe not...</div>
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Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-82687078007911964392014-08-04T10:42:00.001-04:002014-08-04T10:42:44.992-04:00THE LADIES OF PRIDE AND PREJUDICE MEET THE MEAN GIRLS! Part I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoImheh5XB8FJGKLG4ItYnWDR12oARpwadFLWRTAdIlZKKGNSSUakbCV1M7ak6T_0E1IdQneLqwj86kOvd5B-12GwPDYknADFPy3z884o9axwhw-gWNoFX4vQxk55ScgDqOUMWVbQjjov/s1600/carolnip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; clear: left; display: inline !important; font-family: minion-pro, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: large; line-height: 33.599998474121094px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoImheh5XB8FJGKLG4ItYnWDR12oARpwadFLWRTAdIlZKKGNSSUakbCV1M7ak6T_0E1IdQneLqwj86kOvd5B-12GwPDYknADFPy3z884o9axwhw-gWNoFX4vQxk55ScgDqOUMWVbQjjov/s1600/carolnip.jpg" height="372" width="640" /></a>Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-78930197677803532882014-07-30T15:10:00.000-04:002014-07-30T15:10:41.677-04:00RICHARD ARMITAGE IN THE CRUCIBLE (an inarticulate review)<img alt="Richard Armitage " height="359" src="http://news.bbcimg.co.uk/media/images/75997000/jpg/_75997045_richardarmitage.jpg" width="640" /><br />
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What a wonderful play. Rich and I saw The Crucible at the Old Vic on July 14 (I think). We had unbelievable seats - dress circle, first row, smack in the middle. I had no idea what to expect, and was disappointed, at first, when I read on the side of the theater that it was in the round. I hate theater in the round. Usually I get distracted very easily - slight attention span problem there - and, I end up worrying about the actors or if they're going to fall or trip over someone's big feet.<br />
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(Actually, in this play, one had to be concerned about the sighing women in the audience with RA in the lead. One very funny bit - when he removes his shirt to wash up - there was a drastic intake of breath causing a severe loss of breathable oxygen in the room!)<br />
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But, I digress. I said I hate in the round theater, but happily this was very different. For one thing, the stage is rather foggy, so that the audience across from you looks more like other characters in the play somehow; almost as if they were sitting in judgement over the proceedings. And the theater felt more oblong than in a round, with the rows of seats across from us facing ours, with the tiers of balcony seats reminding me of representations of the Globe theater. Instead of sloping away, the different levels where stacked one directly over the other, giving the theater a more closed in feeling - absolutely perfect for this play.<br />
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Enough about all that! The play was wonderful, from the very first moment with the eeriness of Tituba's silent (nearly silent) walk around the stage. Richard was really magnificent. Even my husband, who had fallen fast asleep last year when we visited London and saw Perfect Nonsense, was captivated by the play, especially the second half which is magnificent. The girls - oh, you just want to slap the lot of them - but, when they begin chanting in unison, it is incredibly creepy.<br />
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All of the actors were equally wonderful, with two standouts. Richard, of course, and also Jack Ellis (I think that's his name - I was much too cheap to buy a program). He played Deputy Governor Danforth, another person deserving a slap on the face.<br />
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The only thing that bothered me was RA's voice. Normally it's such a soothing sound, but he sounded very hoarse here - and no wonder. We saw the matinee show and then they did it all again for the evening show two hours after we left the theater. Actors are wonderful. How they can project such emotion, such heart wrenching tragedy, night after night, is amazing to me.<br />
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THE ANGLOPHILE CHANNEL</div>
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Anyway, what I really wanted to say was this. At one moment during the play - don't ask me when because my mind froze up completely - RA exits the stage by walking up a staircase. A staircase that led directly to where I was seated. I watched his shadowed figure come up the steps, one at a time, very slowly - and he kept coming closer, and this dark figure kept getting larger and larger, until I thought he was going to jump over the dress circle wall I was grabbing onto in front of my seat. I truly was smack dab in the middle, and there was a time in my life when that man would not have made it out of the theater alive. As it was, the girl next to me began making strange hawking noises in the back of her throat.<br />
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Anyway, he did get almost eye level and then the steps head downward. I don't think I took a breath the whole time. All I remember is that my eyebrow began to twitch and get really, really itchy, but RA was walking straight toward me and I was afraid to move. I finally went nuts and began gouging at my eyeball to scratch it during this very, very dramatic ascent. He must have thought I was a looney bird.<br />
<br />Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-37445635906823561202014-06-28T11:59:00.000-04:002014-06-28T13:16:02.592-04:00First Jobs and the havoc they wreak...part seventy-eight. And Colin Firth<img src="http://i40.tinypic.com/2gucxop.png" height="473" width="640" /><br />
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Since I have written exhaustively about my days at G. D. Searle, and with the now defunct accounting firm of Brown, Coleman and Hale, we will continue with my accounting career POST college. Since I had returned to college late in my twenties, I emerged from college in my early thirties, confident with my business degree and ready to accept any six figure salary thrown my way.<br />
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This begins the Dark Ages of my life. I like to think of my life in eras. There was the magnificent Roman Empire (my mother), the Era of Enlightenment (my youth), the Swinging Sixties (which I missed altogether), and then I went back to school and screwed up everything.<br />
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Them</div>
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Me</div>
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My biggest problem, other than having no idea how to do accounting, was that I strolled out into the workforce alongside twenty-one year old graduates. The comparison did not bode well for me, especially when these graduates were pouring out of the universities faster than they were going in. They were like cockroaches in suits. And they knew what they were doing, which I didn't, but I digress.<br />
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After leaving Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe I went to work at a series of the most bizarre places poor grades can offer. We will begin with "THE CROOK". I honestly can't remember his name anymore (hardly surprising since I even forget to turn off the faucet these days). Anyway, he was a sole proprietor, and, in my experience, it is NEVER a good idea to work for one of these. He sold Insurance and he provided Bookkeeping, sometimes at the same time. I should be been suspicious from the start.<br />
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There was one large room where all his employees labored, both his insurance clerks and his Accounting Division. In the center of this room sat - and this is the honest truth - an antique barber chair. All the desks were against the wall, in a circle, facing inward toward the chair. The man who had just been hired to be the head (and only) Accountant (I was the entire bookkeeping department) stared at the chair, and the strange configuration of office furniture as well. Then we looked at each other. Finally, he asked one of the harried looking women in the room.<br />
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"Why is there are barber chair in the middle of the room?"<br />
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Before he could finish the question, she huffed out, "You'll see!"<br />
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Awkward. <br />
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All right, we had a job to do. The owner had a number of bookkeeping clients who had not been serviced for a while, and the files where a sloppy mess. The first thing the Accountant decided to do was take each and every folder out of the file cabinets, and begin going thru each item, one by one. Right then and there I wanted to stick a pen in my eye. Talk about boring. And, it only made the mess worse. We had files heaped on tables, on chairs, on the floor - by the third day, I wanted to weep. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was doing it quickly, and trying to hide my incompetence with bullshit. <br />
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And then it happened. Out of nowhere a tall gentleman walked to the middle of the room, a cloth draped over his shoulder. He stood at attention and waited. The room grew deathly still. Suddenly our little (he was about 5'3") leader, the owner of the firm, a cocky little bantam rooster of a jerk, strode to the middle of the room, hopped onto the barber chair, (I'm certain he used a booster seat) crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. The gentleman standing behind the chair then flicked out the cloth he had been holding and draped it over bossman. It was grooming day.<br />
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I could not believe it. Arnie, or Bernie, or Wally - whatever tiny man's name actually was - was getting his weekly haircut! In the middle of the office. Like a plantation owner amidst the slaves. It was the strangest sight I'd ever seen.<br />
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I was entranced, at first. Then, abruptly, ArnieBernieWally started snapping out questions. "Louise! Did you follow up with Crenshaw?" "Mr. Tiny Man, you said that wasn't until next month." "You do it now, or you're fired!" He pointed to the side and the barber swung the chair around to face another victim. "Nancy, are the forms filled out for yadayadayada?" "I'm nearly finished, Mr. Tiny Man." "Not good enough, goddamn it! It want them now." "But you just handed them to me." "You want to lose your job?" "No, Mr. Tiny Man. Sorry, Mr. Tiny Man." He pointed in another direction, and the barber, not missing a beat of the haircut, swung the chair in the new direction. And the onslaught, the verbal attacks, continued until he reached the Accounting Division - me and Gus. I freaked.<br />
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"What is that fucking goddamn mess - it looks look a fucking bomb exploded! What the fuck are you two doing? I didn't hire you two to waste my time....yadayadayada." I was terrified, and so was Gus. <br />
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Fortunately, my days at this combination Insurance/Accounting/Self Grooming Emporium were short lived after that. Immediately, Gus and I plowed folders back into just about any opening we could find (don't bend over if you have a big butt and I am desperate to hide bad work), then he whispered that I should meet him outside. He was pale as a ghost.<br />
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"What's wrong now," I whimpered. <br />
"I'm leaving."<br />
I gripped his lapels and hung on like grim death. "Don't say that. Please don't say that."<br />
"You should too. This is bad, Carol."<br />
"Karen. My name is Karen."<br />
"Whatever. The shit's gonna hit the fan here, and I don't want to be around."<br />
"Maybe he was having a bad day. The cut was good."<br />
"It's not that. He's Certifying reports, Carol."<br />
I blinked my eyes rapidly. Somewhere in my schooling I had heard that...<br />
"He's not a CPA, Carol. <i> It's against the law, Carol!</i>"<br />
"Is that really bad?" I really needed this job.<br />
"YES! I could lose my license. I am getting the hell out of here, and so should you!"<br />
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<img src="http://cdn4.gurl.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/walter-white-driving-oh-god.gif" height="256" width="640" /><br />
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And so I quit. I had to, without Gus Grimley beside me I hadn't a clue as to what I was doing. Besides, I had learned Tiny Man and his father had already been indicted months before for Sales Tax Fraud, and both had been featured on 60 Minutes. Lucky me. I worked for a celebrity. I went home and cried like a baby, terrified we were going to starve. Who'd pay the mortgage, who'd pay for our food? Mom, as always clueless as to how bad things were, kept saying, "Stay home with me. We'll be all right. I'll make spaghetti."<br />
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ARGGH! I needed a job, and I needed it quickly. However, I had one small problem. My grades were pathetic and I had no experience. And, then there were those hordes of eighteen-year-old looking accounting graduates crammed inside elevators, popping out at me each time I heard a Ding. No, the competition for positions was thick as Oliver Platt's eyebrows. I needed a boost, a little edge on these others. <br />
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So I began to lie - like a rug. I falsified the very best Resume money could buy, and talked friends in other companies to verify my working years at their firms. And, I survived.<br />
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*******</div>
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And now, without further ado, more from my good friend, Colin. He's never forgiven me for telling him this was a good idea...<br />
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<br />Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-21337744786511951802014-06-26T10:09:00.001-04:002014-06-26T11:01:34.249-04:00My First Jobs - a Frightening Retrospective, part DEUX and Colin FirthWell, since I actually had someone read AND comment on my first of a series regarding my stellar career in the big city, I thought I would continue with an actual <i>second</i> post. Thereby giving legitimacy to the SERIES concept...<br />
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As I wrote before, somewhere in the murky depths of the seventies I worked at G. D. Searle & Co. in Skokie, Illinois. Old Man Searle made his fortune discovering THE PILL. He then went on to discover Dramamine and Aspartame. He may have invented salt as well, but that could have been just a rumor. <br />
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When he retired and his idiot sons took over, not that there's anything wrong with that, Searle's pace slowed down to the 'Tennessee Williams July In Summer' pace I knew and loved so well. But, this was the mid-seventies. Computers (I worked for the head of the computer department for seven years) were morphing. During my days at Searle I watched the evolution of the computer, from filling an entire floor to becoming just a large box (THE TOWER) and a small TV screen. During those years our department gradually began to dematerialize, in direct proportion to the number of those small boxes popping up on desks.<br />
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It took seven years.<br />
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And then, one day, our department disappeared completely. Poof. Bill Gates had gotten the keys to his dad's garage, invented Microsoft, and the rest is history.<br />
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My next job was working as an Office Manager for an accounting firm. That was another seven years of my life shot to hell. It was a forgettable job in every aspect but one. I was so incredibly disgusted with my life, and my job, (and nearing thirty) that I decided to return to school and finish college. <br />
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Since it was just mom and me at the time, attending school full time was out of the question - we needed my paycheck. So I attended Mundelein Weekend College for three years to get my accounting degree. Every weekend was full days at school, and one or two nights a week as well. It was not a condensed version of college, believe me. We were expected to put in all the hours we would have going full time, and it was murder. Especially in the winter in Chicago, when the temperature was sub-zero and my car would freeze sitting for eight hours in the lake front campus parking lot.<br />
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But, I triumphed! I received my degree. I went to my bosses at Brown, Coleman and Hale, my little sheepskin clutched in my little fist, to give him the good news - that I was a college graduate, that I had my accounting classes and that I was ready to take that beginners job I had been promised three years before.<br />
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Well, <i>they</i> were not. <i>They </i>had changed their mind. <i>They</i> wanted me to remain as the office manager. <i>They</i> were sick and tired of training people. Poor <i>they.</i> It was a blow to me, and I was angry. If that happened to me now, I probably would have returned to work wearing Goth clothing, carrying an uzi and a thousand sounds of ammunition, with a forty page, meticulously typed manifest tucked away in my computer. But I digress. <br />
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Instead I was still relatively young, proud and hopeful. I could do better - much better. The world would long remember Karen Hamrin (or, as my old computer boss used to called me - Carol Harmon) I handed in my notice and went out into the world. The world of accounting. (and people wonder why the economy crashed so badly back then...)<br />
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And now a word from my dear friend, Colin Firth, as he defended my accounting abilities, or lack thereof, in a rare interview, some years ago. AND, this was AFTER I refused his pleas to marry me. Heartbroken as he was by that, he still stood by my side. I was his "mama mia" and for some reason he keeps referring to me as "Michael Winterbottom". Funny guy. Gratzie, Colin!<br />
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Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-62226464611655192392014-04-19T11:44:00.000-04:002014-04-19T11:53:54.199-04:00Still Attempting to leave Social Media and Godwin's Law of Internet Arguments <img src="http://i2.wp.com/www.yugatech.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/REALLy.jpg" height="445" width="640" /><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">SOUNDS LIKE NAZIS TO ME!!!</span></div>
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Ok, since my last boring little blog about 'leaving social media' (as if I could) I have had two more run-ins with fruitcakes. And I mean psychopaths - not the inexplicably inedible cake we all pass around at Christmas. I mean nutjobs.<br />
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This is me. I am a nice person. I help the elderly. Hell, I am the elderly.<br />
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twitter friends</div>
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Now, ever since my infamous brush with the criminally insane in London last November (my 'friend' from Twitter), and her nasty minions from God knows where (imps who inundated me with hate mail and slander of all sorts because I stated I didn't like standing at the stage door waiting for a favorite actor to come outside after the play. Well, excuuuuussseee me! Forgive me if my husband was ill, or that I had terminal diarrhea - in all fairness to Lucrecia, my IBS information was being withheld by police so that they could entrap the subsequent blog posting offenders) Where in hell was I going with that sentence? I digress...<br />
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Anyway, since that time I have learned to block comments to the blog until I get a chance to review them, which is a good thing since the only comment I received went something like this:<br />
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"Who gives a shit what you think, someone brought this to my attention and really, who cares, you are a bitch."<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">TADA</span></div>
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There you have it - a typical social media ranter. <br />
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Anyway, most comments are wonderful, and people are gracious - only a few are like the above, but enough to discourage meaningful dialogue. How do you respond to a comment like that? Excuse me, but do I know you? <br />
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All I can imagine is that, perhaps, he (she) is from one of the sites I was speaking about in my post, the A***** A******, or (more likely than not) D***********. (they are nuttier than a bag of squirrels)<br />
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There's no way to know really. Nasty bits are always posted anonymously, because (1) they are cowards and (2) they know it's loopy to be so angry over...what? Maybe their lives are not what they hoped. I don't know. <br />
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And, I don't care.<br />
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Me hiding and not caring</div>
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My second incident was my own fault. I went to a known (by me at least) site frequented by a woman who absolutely hates me. And, besides her presence, there is someone who deliberately replies angrily to everything anyone else posts.<br />
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I don't often visit this site, let alone post there any longer - but, this time I was curious so I posted a question. This was the response.<br />
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"Who gives a shit you worthless piece of blonde Florida crap who plagerises (SIC) Jane Austen."<br />
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Pretty scary since she (he) knows I live in Florida. Oops, now you do too. Damn, I'll never get the hang of this.. She also knows about my books. <br />
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Sold on Amazon. And on Nook. Real cheap.<br />
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<br />Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-72898580894657731492014-04-07T11:04:00.000-04:002014-04-07T11:18:48.847-04:00My long good bye to Social Media<img height="542" 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" width="640" /><br />
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I think the whole social media thing has finally beaten me. After three years of pumping up my blog, <a href="http://www.britsunited.blogspot.com/">League of British Artists</a>, beyond a point where I ever thought it would go, tweeting and tumbling - I think I'm through. It's been a long, dry, boring process, begun solely to sell my books. Most of the people I've encountered have been very kind and gracious, but there are some women who are downright cruel. Those are the ones, the few and far between, that are getting to me.<br />
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It all began with a Jane Austen site called...A***** A****** (not their real name)<br />
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When I first got the book deal for "Darcy and Fitzwilliam" I was completely unprepared for it. I am not a writer, never claimed to be. How the book contract came to me so easily is a mystery. It's not like I struggled through writing classes, submitting articles to magazines, facing year after year of rejections. I never have had a burning desire to write, but I do have stories that float into my mind, fantasies like everyone else. When Sourcebooks said they would publish my book I was stunned. I had no knowledge of the publishing world or what would happen next. I guess not many people do, since I was constantly asked about when I would be having the 'book launch' and when I would have a 'book signing' and just how much money would I see from the 'movie rights'. Certainly, I was going to be rich.<br />
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I was lucky that Sourcebooks gave me $1,000 advance, and believe me, they took every penny of that back through the dozens of deductions they made to my laughably meager royalties - but, that's their business I suppose. I had no agent, no legal representation. I trust them, I guess. <br />
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There was very little provided by them for promotion of the book - they just sent it to stores and I had a publicist there who sent the book to some reviewers and arranged for blog interviews (I was by no means important enough for actual print interviews to be put together.) She suggested I get into a writing group on the internet called A***** A******, so I did. I wrote with those girls for a while, a monthly article under my name on their blog with links to my book. I started to look around the web to find other sites where I could reach people, publicize the book (Sourcebooks certainly wasn't - it was all up to me).<br />
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What a nightmare that opened up. A woman at A***** A****** had begun another of the sites I joined and had left them after nasty disagreements. She told me they have a habit of going onto Amazon and Goodreads (never did get involved with Goodreads, which was a big mistake on my part) and these women would post one star reviews on all the other Austen writers publishing with Sourcebooks (the group was setting up it's own self-publishing section and wanted to destroy my publisher). They would set out to deliberately tank a book, and they did so with great success. There is a stigma to writing a sequel to an Austen novel. Among other obstacles, Austen purists absolutely hate you and will do whatever they can to ruin you. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpHO213g2W0KPVGjCLgS56-XoJaHL1YgaUrhUwWj4u4zvszcsPuw52EkF9xCF63SS7rj1sMewBTu_evk4B81ZDFsfXX-v7Jucm8jXDPS8GbC7NRnUaWFq5u8FoksmEFadEmoWbtHVD-kn/s1600/.4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpHO213g2W0KPVGjCLgS56-XoJaHL1YgaUrhUwWj4u4zvszcsPuw52EkF9xCF63SS7rj1sMewBTu_evk4B81ZDFsfXX-v7Jucm8jXDPS8GbC7NRnUaWFq5u8FoksmEFadEmoWbtHVD-kn/s1600/.4.jpg" height="361" width="640" /></a></div>
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I didn't need too much help though, at being ruined. I had Sourcebooks. <br />
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So, a few months before my book is to come out I show the girls at A***** A****** my new book cover, proud as a peacock. The book jacket description of Darcy and Fitzwilliam, unfortunately, did not mention any women in it. It read like it was about the two men alone, so one of the ladies in AA suggested it would be regarded as a 'slash' book - those are famous works turned into gay porn. Panicky, I called my editor and told her. She assured me she would rewrite the book jacket - which she did. Unfortunately, the book she described on the jacket is NOTHING like the book I wrote. Nothing. That screw up by my publisher has caused me a lot of trouble over the years, people thinking they're getting a bodice ripper when it's not. There was no mention of the 'wicked funny', as my editor called it, story that was within. She just wrote a generic jacket, hinting at wild romance between Darcy and Lizzy. I should sue her.<br />
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Well, so now I'm involved with a writing group (not AA, the other one) who deliberately tanks Austen books that are published by Sourcebooks. Great. I got out of there and went into the fire - D******* (not the group's real name)<br />
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Here is a group that began with the idolization of Matthew Macfadyen (Darcy from 2005 Pride and Prejudice). These days they follow any great looking Brit with a pulse, but I digress. On D******* I met a lot of nice women - except for their leaders, two odd women whose names I can't remember. Anyway, I became friendly with Bev (not her real name). She seemed friendly (what did I know) and it was fun to pretend for a while that I was a kid again, swooning over an actor. (Turns out a lot of those women are nearly my age, all pretending to be kids again. Who knew. The leader of the group is a doctor for heaven's sake. She's also a fruitcake, in my humble opinion).<br />
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Well, the end came swiftly. Macfadyen was in Germany making a film - the awful Three Musketeers - and all the girls on D****** were waiting for pictures, any pictures, of the production. (I, on the other hand, was slipping in links to the sale of my book any chance I got) When Bev finally expressed her annoyance in the chatroom that we weren't seeing any shots of Matthew she was severely reprimanded by our leader, Eva Braun. I was becoming a bit tired, by this time, of the endless "squeeing" they call it, over the man, so I wrote in the post, after Il Duce's reprimand of Bev, "Bev means no harm. She's just excited."<br />
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<img height="298" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQk4zxtkUXIkglVPkQW9N5XycclFXrFuayZ58sa1jzgG7AJsVLk" width="400" /></div>
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Cue Shitstorm. I got slammed into the wall for that bit of insurrection. I learned from this that you do not disagree with moderators on social media. In a private message to me I was informed that I didn't know the great harm I had done. In a public message to our leaders I told them to "go to hell". I was kicked out shortly afterward. In her gratitude, Bev remained with D*******.<br />
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So, now I'm still with A***** A******, but things there are getting strained there as well. A good deal was my fault, I am jealous by nature. I don't like attention taken from me at all, and yes, I know, I never should join any group. But, I was also desperate for publicity. I had learned that Soucebooks was dropping all of us Austen sequelists, or reimaginists, or whatever stupid term they're using these days. We were all on our own.<br />
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The plot thickens. Our AA leader decided to promote a writing marathon, we were all to pick the character we wanted to be. Immediately, I chose to Lady Catherine deBourgh, because I enjoyed writing her so much in Darcy and Fitzwilliam, and because she's pretty much a total bitch, which was how I was feeling at the time. I informed AA though that if someone else wanted her, I would like to be Colonel Fitzwilliam, a character I found infinitely more interesting than the perfect Darcy. Now, remember I was the first to respond about the new writing marathon. I even exchanged e-mails that all could see with another writer and we were having a nice time talking about the new venture.<br />
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By the end of the day an e-mail came out assigning Lady Catherine to one of the lead women in the group, Colonel Fitzwilliam to the only male in the group....and on and on. I think I was to be the butcher who sells Mrs. Bennet the pork shank. I went nuts. I was also kicked out of A***** A****** by noon. <br />
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Well, I was out in the cold now. No A***** A*******, no D*********** (this is beginning to look like Morse code). So Bev and I began <a href="http://www.britsunited.blogspot.com/">League of British Artists.</a> Well, actually, I set it up, I created the format, I posted nearly all the stories...and Bev wrote the introduction. You see where this was going don't you? Bev and I eventually fell out of favor with each other. She wanted to change the look of the blog every week, and I wanted some help with it. I told her that I spent nearly eight hours a day on the blog and she said 'who asked you to.' Yada, yada, yada.<br />
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Thus ended my friendship with Bev. Interesting aside, I only actually spoke with her once, on the phone, and it was very awkward. There is a completely different feel to meeting (or, in this case, speaking) with a human being, than communicating with them through the anonymous print of social media. After a year of e-mails back and forth with Bev, on the phone, it was like speaking with a stranger. <br />
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That would happen to me again, years later, when I met Meg (not her real name) - the kindly woman from Twitter. <br />
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To be continued...Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-54479361505283850692014-02-07T18:54:00.000-05:002014-02-07T18:59:12.189-05:00THIS AND THAT FRIDAY, Beatlemania and a terrifying Canadian Police Chase (very exciting - watch with caution)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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BEATLEMANIA<br />
(remember kids, these girls are your grandmothers now - don't let them tell you you're not a lady...)<br />
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It was 50 years ago today (almost) that this mop-topped band began to play (in America).<br />
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The Beatles made their first appearance on "The Ed Sullivan Show," America's must-see weekly variety show, on Sunday, Feb. 9, 1964. And officially kicked off Beatlemania on this side of the pond.<br />
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More than 70 million viewers were tuned to the program, airing live from the Manhattan studio now housing the "Late Show With David Letterman."<br />
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I was one of them. I had only seen a small article about them, had heard the song a few times, but I screamed like everyone else when they came on screen.<br />
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My Beatle was Ringo, Diane's was Paul, Elena's was John and Mary's was George. We were in fan girl heaven.<br />
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HOW CAN ONE LIFE MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD?</div>
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Next time you think you don't matter in the world, think of this nice gentleman. <br />
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<img alt="Photo: Well..." src="https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/t1/1234244_10151592893221345_539505200_n.jpg" /><br />
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CANADIAN POLICE CHASE - SCARY STUFF<br />
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Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-3280682395614396482014-01-30T12:09:00.000-05:002014-01-30T12:09:05.484-05:00Men and Women - a Geography lesson<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>The Geography of a Woman</u></span></div>
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Between 18 and 22, a woman is like Africa...</div>
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Half discovered, half wild, fertile and naturally beautiful!</div>
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Between 23 and 30, a woman is like Europe...</div>
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Well developed and open to trade, especially for someone of real value.</div>
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Between 31 and 35, a woman is like Spain…</div>
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Very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own beauty.</div>
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Between 36 and 40, a woman is like Greece…</div>
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Gently aging, but still a warm and desirable place to visit.</div>
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Between 41 and 50, a woman is like Great Britain…</div>
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With a glorious and all conquering past.</div>
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<img height="271" src="http://toptenfamous.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/Kristin-Scott-Thomas-2.jpg" width="400" /></div>
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Between 51 and 60, a woman is like Israel…</div>
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Has been through war, doesn't make the same mistakes twice,</div>
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Takes care of business.</div>
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Between 61 and 70, a woman is like Canada…</div>
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Self-preserving, but open to meeting new people.</div>
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After 70, she becomes Tibet…</div>
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Wildly beautiful, with a mysterious past and the wisdom of the ages.</div>
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An adventurous spirit and a thirst for spiritual knowledge.</div>
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And now…</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>THE GEOGRAPHY OF A MAN</u></span></div>
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Between 1 and 80, a man is like Iran…</div>
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Ruled by a pair of nuts.</div>
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Subject: Tom Luberda: Human geography</div>
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Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-16656734602054633332014-01-25T20:34:00.002-05:002014-01-25T20:47:23.675-05:00The best Youtube in the world AND why I am more convinced than ever that all people (excepting myself) are insane...and Richard Armitage<br />
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<img alt="funny-Australian-troll-floodlight-email-neighbour" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-347199" src="http://cdn.themetapicture.com/media/funny-Australian-troll-floodlight-email-neighbour.jpg" height="2350" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" title="Dear neighbor..." width="540" /><br />
<img alt="funny-Australian-troll-floodlight-neighbour-email" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-347204" src="http://cdn.themetapicture.com/media/funny-Australian-troll-floodlight-neighbour-email.jpg" height="3699" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" title="You don't play with this fella..." width="540" /></div>
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<img src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/8a7cc39c4f484d4f864b236be192c0ef/tumblr_mg265yubNR1qf2m9lo2_500.gif" height="270" width="640" />Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-45556029546997727632014-01-03T13:10:00.000-05:002014-01-03T13:10:30.477-05:00Sipping Vodka...and Matthew MacfadyenSIPPING VODKA<br />
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This joke was forwarded to me by my sister-in-law. If you love it, it's mine...if you're offended, call Susie, 555-1212.<br />
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A new Priest at his first mass was so nervous he could hardly speak. After mass he asked the Monsignor how he had done.<br />
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The Monsignor replied, "When I am worried about getting nervous on the pulpit, I put a glass of vodka next to the water glass. If I start to get nervous, I take a sip.."<br />
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So next Sunday he took the Monsignor's advice.. At the beginning of the sermon, he got nervous and took a drink. He proceeded to talk up a storm.<br />
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Upon his return to his office after the mass, he found the following note on the door:<br />
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<img src="http://www.evangelicaloutreach.org/images/priest-smoking-drinking.jpg" /></div>
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1) Sip the vodka, don't gulp.</div>
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2) There are 10 commandments, not 12.</div>
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3) There are 12 disciples, not 10.</div>
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4) Jesus was consecrated, not constipated.</div>
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5) Jacob wagered his donkey, he did not bet his ass.</div>
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6) We do not refer to Jesus Christ as the late J.C.</div>
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7) The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Daddy, Junior and the Spook.</div>
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8) David slew Goliath; he did not kick the shit out of him.</div>
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9) When David was hit by a rock and was knocked off his donkey, don't say he was stoned off his ass.</div>
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10) We do not refer to the cross as the 'Big T.'</div>
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11) When Jesus broke the bread at the last supper he said,"Take this and eat it for this is my body.." He did not say,"Eat me."</div>
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12) The Virgin Mary is not called 'Mary with the Cherry'.</div>
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13) The recommended grace before a meal is not: Rub-A-Dub-Dub, thanks for the grub, Yeah God.</div>
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14) Next Sunday there will be a taffy pulling contest at St. Peter's not a peter pulling contest at St. Taffy's.</div>
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&&&&&&&&&&&&</div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lxeoqgr1vpQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lxeoqgr1vpQ</a></div>
Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-52920248614969710602013-12-28T19:27:00.000-05:002013-12-28T21:54:07.889-05:00Planes, Trains and Automobiles - Titanic, the long journey home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am really sorry to have inflicted these memories on you all, but no one else will listen to me. Evidently, no one really wants to hear of your own grand adventure. The other day I broke down and said more than ten words about the trip and was met with silence on the phone. I said, "Hello, are you there?" I heard my oldest friend in the world scramble to pick up the phone, which, bored to tears, she evidently had placed on the counter. I can forgive her because we've known each other since our parents met right after the flood.<br />
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Besides, I do exactly the same to her when she begins to tell me about her grandchildren. <br />
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So, here we are at the third part of the tale - the cruise home from Italy aboard the Celebrity cruise ship the Constellation. We had a great state room, mainly because we lied and said we needed handicapped access - that gave us about ten extra feet in the room, plus we had a balcony, which would have been terribly romantic if we weren't already sick as dogs.<br />
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For the first few days we just stayed in the room, sneezing, coughing, ordering room service. It was pretty nice, actually. We were warm, finally, and it wasn't raining - of course, the rain had stopped in Italy and it was sunny and beautiful. When we finally did start to venture out we tried to stay away from other passengers to keep from infecting anyone, and the cruise line had a crew member posted every five feet with hand sanitizer - they take this stuff very serious. Infections can steamroll through a ship and we were all stuck together for the next fifteen days.<br />
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We missed the first port, Florence. I was so sick I didn't care. I just wanted cough syrup and hot coffee. Now I'm thinking - when will I ever return there? I don't want to fly again, that experience was horrible. The planes are packing more and more passengers in there and first class to Europe is not ever going to happen unless we win lotto. So, we missed Florence. And 'The David' with the removable fig leaf.<br />
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Next port was Cartagena, Spain. <br />
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A beautiful city...and raining, of course.</div>
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Next was Agadir, Morocco</div>
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These pictures look a whole lot nicer than the actual city is. I was afraid of the people, the women covered up to their eyeballs, the scary men with their Hollywood terrorist five o'clock shadow. It's a dump, and it's a scary dump.<br />
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This is where the shuttle bus dropped us off, at the far end of this decaying parking lot, or whatever it was, with no clue where to go or what was safe. We found out later that you are forbidden to take photos of the mosques. Luckily I had no interest in them. Can't explain to you the smell of this place either - like something was rotting in the distance. <br />
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Immediately off the bus we were all surrounded by scary looking men who wanted us to believe they were taxi drivers. Ha! We lowered our eyes and walked swiftly away. Then a guy caught up with Rich and I, said he was a cook with another cruise ship and on his way to a very special place to buy exotic spices and he badgered us to go with him. We never ran so fast in our lives, ended up in a poor area with a Suk (?) they call it, a shopping district. <br />
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Found out later that there was a beautiful Suk about two miles away, and there was a five star resort area a few blocks in the other direction. Who knew? Why the cruise line shuttle bus dumped us here is a mystery - unless it was our punishment for not purchasing a more expensive tour. We'll never know.<br />
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God, I hated Agadir. I was upset at first that Casablanca had been taken off the itinerary and replaced with this - then I heard Casablanca is NOT like the movie. It's like this.</div>
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Next port was Gran Caneria in the Canary Islands.</div>
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We both liked Gran Caneria - they were having a festival and a run with their dogs. The streets were crowed with people and canines. The trouble with going to exotic places with palm trees and flowers all over is that we live in Florida. That's pretty much the same as where we live already. </div>
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That was it for the ports - now we had the seven days on the Atlantic to sail home and every night they added an hour as we passed through the time zones. It seemed endless, never have I been so bored in my life. Besides that, the food was awful. Maybe it was the colds, but it was not the feeding frenzy I had hoped for. Best thing about the cruise was our captain - Captain Tasos something or other. A very charming young man, his first captaincy, his first crossing as a captain and he was only 32. <br />
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Captain Tasos<br />
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This is a passenger/crew game. Six crew members against about twelve passengers - it was fun to watch, and it was the day before we landed in Miami. I was in a good mood by then.<br />
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The buffet on the ship. Actually, there wasn't much of a selection. There was sushi and a lot of middle eastern dishes, neither of which we were fond of, and the smell of curry was overwhelming.<br />
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Two days before we landed and we finally were well enough to walk on the deck a little.<br />
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And so we bid fond farewell to our transatlantic adventure. I hated the food, I hated the people on the boat and I still have the cough. But you know what, we're going across again in July 2014 on the Queen Mary and returning by sea as well. <br />
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I never learn.Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-72477805216828234242013-12-17T00:25:00.002-05:002013-12-17T00:31:40.526-05:00Plaines, Trains and Automobiles Part Deux...and Matthew MacfadyenNext stop - Paris<br />
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We hated leaving London but it was time to move on to Paris so we caught the train that runs beneath the English Channel to arrive in Paris. Amazing.<br />
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Paris was the only place where we had trouble with our taxi. Not with the driver, but with this odd little man that came up to us and led us to an empty taxi outside the terminal. He wouldn't back out of the car once we were in. He kept saying he loved Americans and God Bless America and there is nothing like Americans...until we gave him a tip. Then he left.<br />
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I don't have many pictures of Paris. By the time we got into our room, which was very tiny and on the fourth floor, all I was concerned about was getting my husband warm (it was beginning to get very cold outside now) and having him rest. Rich's colds almost always morph into pneumonia and I knew what we were in for. That was when I ran outside in the rain looking for a place to buy him food, or at least a cup of coffee. (I rambled on about that in Part One)<br />
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Forget Paris, we'll have to go back someday. All we saw of the city was the Eiffel Tower and Montparnasse which we saw from our freezing Hop On Hop Off bus, the one where we only hopped on since we were too cold to hop off.<br />
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The only thing of note that happened in Paris was a fire alarm that went off late in the afternoon. Rich had finally warmed up and was crawling into bed so we got him dressed once again and walked the four flights downstairs, terrified that the place was on fire. The lady at the desk said it was a fire drill and we should ignore it. I didn't slap her but it was a thought.<br />
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The next evening we caught a sleeper train to Rome. It was raining and cold. We arrived at the station a few hours early hoping that there would be a warm place to wait. There wasn't. I sat Rich down in the information office and dared anyone to kick him out, then I went to get food for us and to see when the train would be leaving. Finally, after several hours, we were able to board, with one small problem. Our suitcase would not fit down the incredibly narrow passage to our compartment. Rich struggled mightily with that monster of a bag I brought; he had to turn it sideways to squeeze it through the passage. Also, there was no where to store luggage except in your room so we put it on the floor and rested our feet on them.<br />
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Once we were on our way I realized there was no heat in the train (the food car was even worse than our room). It was freezing and Rich was getting sicker. I crawled up to the third bunk and brought down all the covers I could find, even stole a cover from a cabinet in the hall, and we huddled together all night like that, colder than I have been in years, and trying to sleep sitting up, since no one came to turn down the bed. <br />
We rolled into Rome eighteen hours later (and three hours past when we were supposed to).<br />
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ROME<br />
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It was raining and bitter cold.<br />
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All right, at some point someone has to be saying WHAT DID YOU EXPECT when you travel in November. Remember, we live in Florida. We think it's chilly at 60 degrees. <br />
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Our hotel was lovely - the St. Anna - and just a block from Vatican Square. The crowds there were unbelievable, all of us standing in the rain to go through a metal detector before we could enter St. Peter's - and the line never lessened, it was continuous all day, rain or shine. <br />
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Really St. Peters was all we saw of Rome too. Richie was getting much worse and I felt very guilty dragging him to see this. Luckily he was too out of it to fight me. <br />
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That was it. After our second day in Rome we grabbed a shuttle car to Civitivecchia, where we would board our fabulous fifteen day cruise home. As you can guess, nothing there was as we planned it either.<br />
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And, it was raining...Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-67127723153478174082013-12-11T21:19:00.000-05:002013-12-11T21:26:30.856-05:00Planes, Trains and Automobiles (The Vacation From Hell)...and Matthew Macfadyen<img height="479" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRtlpP275keGMeqL93F98EbQpA_82irF0lQNj75a6qmTjrYR63Vsg" width="640" /><br />
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We are back. Twenty three days of travel, fifteen crossing the Atlantic, we visited three continents, five countries, alienated people in three cities, and discovered no restaurant in Europe can make just a plain pot of coffee. Picture this - we are in Paris. My husband is passed out in our room, suffering from the bronchitis that would follow him doggedly from Gatwick Airport to Port Everglades - it is dark out, cold, raining, there are NO fast food restaurants within the immediate vicinity (no wonder Europeans are thinner than Americans) and no restaurant in our revoltingly expensive hotel, the one that boasts a view of the Eiffel Tower... if you press your cheek up to the top glass and twist your head around like Linda Blair from the Exorcist...But I digress.<br />
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Anyway. I found a little bakery a few blocks away and purchased the only thing I could pronounce - croissants, and a cup of coffee. The unsmiling clerk and her friend set about to bag my croissant and then took about a half hour to make a cup of coffee for me. When she handed it to me I asked if they had milk. You would have thought I asked if they had sausage rolls.<br />
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"Milk? Milk?" The two women looked at each other. "Milk?" Finally the clerk narrowed her already terrifying gaze saying quite ominously, "...cafe au lait?" <br />
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I remembered that term from many grey poupon <span style="font-family: Lato;">commercials! "Yes! I mean oui...cafe au lait.'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">She threw up her hands and shook her head...or was it the other way round? Anyway, a lot of grunting and noise ensued. The entire cup had to be refurbished or something, milk needed to be steamed and frothy, microwaves were involved...I don't know. It seemed like a lot of nonsense for a cup of coffee if you ask me. I just wanted to get some food into my husband so he could take his pill and get something hot for him to drink, and this puny little cup was taking forever. I think I'll send France a Mr. Coffee machine, now that I'm home and safe from Madame Guillotine's wrath. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">I'm digressing again, aren't I? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">All righty. Let's start with the best part of the whole trip. London...</span><br />
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That's my Richie's grey head on the right...<br />
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Still not certain what this place is, but the guards were there...<br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">Westminster Abbey had thousands of little crosses for fallen soldiers everywhere - a very moving sight for Memorial Day...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">We loved our first stop, London, the food was great, the people </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">incredibly friendly, </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">the flight a nightmare (modern day steerage). We saw Westminster Abbey, the Tower, </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">Buckingham Palace (Her Majesty was NOT in residence</span><span style="font-family: Lato;">. Evidently my note </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">to her went askew...) We went to Covent Garden, which I loved, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Lato;">and saw a play there starring my favorite Darcy, Matthew Macfadyen. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">Somehow I got my camera to work long enough to film something. Can't slow it down </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">though...I think you can see the London Eye there for a second.</span><br />
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Buckingham Palace for the changing of the guards. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">These are the guards coming to the Palace. They played "Goldfinger" after the changing</span><span style="font-family: Lato;"> of the guard. I'm sure the band played other, more suitable music for the occasion, but </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">I only remember those first notes of "Goldfinger." Gave me goosebumps to be at the Palace, </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">in London, and hearing the greatest James Bond theme ever written... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">The crowds were just beginning to collect on the Queen Victoria monument across</span><span style="font-family: Lato;">from the Palace Gates...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">That's Trafalgar Square in the background - Lord Nelson's statue way in the back - </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">we stayed at the Grand Trafalgar Hotel - really lovely.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Lato;">Next up will be the train ride on the Siberian Express, Roma and then the ship coming back home. </span><span style="font-family: Lato;">I found out I am definitely not a "cruise" person...</span>Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-91335150777651200192013-11-19T15:28:00.000-05:002014-03-01T17:03:22.079-05:00My review of PERFECT NONSENSE, with Matthew Macfadyen, Stephen Mangan and Mark Handfield<img src="http://www3.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Matthew+Macfadyen+Perfect+Nonsense+Photo+Call+YOtaCx7hwlIl.jpg" height="397" width="640" /><br />
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For what it's worth, I'd like to voice my review of "PERFECT NONSENSE" starring Matthew Macfadyen, Mark Hadfield and Stephen Mangan. I'd like to, but I can't.<br />
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You see Stephen Mangan was home ill with pneumonia the night of November 18 when my husband and I and a friend attended. We had travelled four thousand miles from Florida to London to see this play. We (read that as I) were a little disappointed. I will give the man the benefit of the doubt. Maybe Stephen didn't know we were coming. <br />
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Anyway, the stand-in, Edward Hancock, was very good, even though this was his very first performance as Bertie - according to what the other star, Matthew Macfadyen, said after the play, as we cornered him like a wounded stag by the stage door...but that's not till later.<br />
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THE REVIEW. The play is funny and extremely silly...but...although Edward Hancock was very good, he was nowhere near the level of Mark Hadfield or Matthew Macfadyen. For one thing his voice sounded very strained when he projected - as opposed to the others who knocked you out of your seat, laughing at their performances. <br />
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Highpoints - Matthew Macfadyen with a lampshade on his head and curtains held up demurely before him, pretending to be some girl (I never did really understand what was going on). At one point he had thrown himself into a chair and was trying to vamp Bertie Wooster while wearing the lampshade - Matthew was, not Bertie. Anyway, his body was too big for the chair and he began sliding off. It was a great bit physical comedy, very subtle (unlike a LOT of the rest of the play) Also, at one point he wears a dress, blonde wig and the largest pair of beige pumps I've ever seen. You know what they say about a man with big feet... huge intellect.<br />
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Then there was the other butler, Mark Hadfield, as the incredible growing presence. In Bertie's fevered imagination the villain played by Hadfield kept getting larger and larger. Mr. Hadfield also brilliantly played Bertie's crazy aunt (who looked unfortunately a lot like Father Moretti, our late pastor) <br />
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(This is not from our night at the show but someone we know who was there another night)</div>
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Anyway, after the play the lady we came with wanted to wait for Matthew at the stage door so I could get his autograph, (and I hated to see the evening end) so we did. I have to admit I loved him as Darcy in Pride and Prejudice - huge crush - but there is something so demeaning to me in waiting for an actor to get his autograph (which is just an excuse to speak with someone famous). I tried to hide against a wall but then Matthew came out and people were insisting he sign things and have his picture taken with them. He had a smile pasted on the whole time but he was a stranger and we were strangers and the whole thing was borderline pathetic. I mean, would he wait for fifteen minutes to get my autograph? I don't think so, even though my book, DARCY AND FITZWILLIAM, was chosen by Orange County California as a great summer read in 2011. But I digress...<br />
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So, then these girls shoved their phone in my husband's face and told him to take their picture. My husband has eye trouble so he gave me the phone and that was when I had to come out of hiding. First of all the girls were shouting instructions to me that I didn't understand and then Matthew had to come up and show me what to do with the camera and then I pointed the phone in the wrong direction - at me - which made everyone laugh and he had to come up and explain it to me all over again.<br />
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How humiliating. I've taken photos before with a phone but being next to a celebrity had fried my brains. I have to note that he did not have a similar reaction to speaking with me, although my book, SONS AND DAUGHTERS, DARCY AND FITZWILLIAM BOOK II, is really very good. Chances are he hasn't read it yet.<br />
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And just as I knew it would, meeting <b><u>Darcy</u></b> in person didn't happen. I met Matthew Macfadyen, a human being, a nice man, very young - about twelve - and, a man who wanted to be on his way but was too polite to say no to anyone.*****<br />
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As I said before, (well, not to you, but to someone else) it doesn't do to meet these people in person. Something is lost, some mystery, their 'aura' is eradicated by being human. <br />
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The moment someone becomes a 'human' they have flaws; and, then the fantasy is over...<br />
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**** when I say he looks about twelve, I mean that in relation to how very, very old I am. I may be older than his mother for heaven's sake. I mean no disparagement to his appearance. In person he looks younger than he does on screen, and even handsomer, if that's possible. Without a character to play his features are relaxed and, well, lovely. <br />
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<br />Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-20502105187247098182013-11-04T09:19:00.002-05:002013-11-04T09:40:41.363-05:00This And That Monday (Murder, Scotsmen and Selfies) and Richard Armitage<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">OMG - HELEN FIELDING KILLS OFF MR. DARCY</span></b></div>
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Evidently reeling from back lash caused by her new book, BRIDGET JONES, HOW I WRECKED A FRANCHISE, author Helen Fielding, dressed for Halloween as Samuel L. Jackson, has shot and killed actor Colin Firth, thereby ending the world's hopes that she rewrite her stupid storyline and resurrect Mark Darcy. An all points bulletin has been issued for her apprehension. <br />
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Further, sources close to the investigation tell us security has now been tightened around Renee Zellweger, the actress who portrayed Bridget Jones in two very successful movies. It is believed that since Helen Fielding has always expressed a dislike of Zellweger's portrayal of fat and frumpy Bridget, the actress may be in danger. Fielding believes, and rightly so, that she herself should play the now much older role, even going so far as to purchase a Stella McCartney ensemble to next disguise herself as Javier Bardem.<br />
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In an interesting aside, actress Kathy Bates has issued an invitation for Fielding to join her this winter at her remote, cabin in the woods, retreat, where she has offered to break Fielding's legs, and then care for her during her recuperation...and hopeful rewrite. We all wish Miss Bates the best with her endeavor.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">FUNERAL SELFIES, OR, HOW TO GET THE KIDS TO GIVE A S*** THAT GRANDMA DIED</span></div>
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In an effort to show that teens are not the self-centered, vapid creatures they are portrayed in film and television, Fast Company's Jason Feifer, creator of the Tumblr "<a href="http://selfiesatseriousplaces.tumblr.com/">Selfies at Serious Places,"</a> has provided the world with his latest masterpiece: <a href="http://selfiesatfunerals.tumblr.com/">"Selfies at Funerals."</a></div>
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Just in time for Christmas Cheer - these will warm your heart...</div>
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<abbr style="border: 0px; display: inline-block; margin: 0px auto; outline: 0px; padding: 0px 8px; position: relative; top: 10px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="http://selfiesatfunerals.tumblr.com/post/65405657308" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; color: #bca474; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">29TH OCT 2013</a> | <a href="http://selfiesatfunerals.tumblr.com/post/65405657308#notes" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; color: #bca474; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">85 NOTES</a></abbr></h5>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">A SCOTSMAN...</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">A Scotsman walking through a field, sees a man drinking water from a pool with his hand.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">The Scotsman man shouts ' Awa ye feel hoor thatâs full Oâ coos Sharn'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">(Don't drink the water, it's full of cow s ** t.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">The man shouts back 'I'm English, Speak English, I don't understand you'.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">The Scotsman man shouts back 'Use both hands, you'll get more in.'</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">A Scots boy came home from school and told his mother he had been given a part in the school play. "Wonderful," says the mother, "What part is it?" The boy says "I play the part of the Scottish husband!" The mother scowls and says: "Go back and tell your teacher you want a speaking part."</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">When Jock moved to London he constantly annoyed his English acquaintances by boasting about how great Scotland was. Finally, in exasperation, one said, "Well, if Scotland's so marvelous, how come you didn't stay there?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">"Well," explained Jock "they're all so clever up there I had to come down here to have any chance of making it at all</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">Jock and a Englishman were flying from Edinburgh when the stewardess approached. "May I get you something?" she asked. "Aye, a whusky" Jock replied.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">She poured him a drink then asked the Englishman if he'd like one. "Never!" he said sternly. "I'd rather be raped and ravished by whores all the way to America than drink whisky!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">Jock hurriedly passed the drink back, saying "Och, Ah didna ken there wuz a choice!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">Jock was traveling by train seated next to a stern-faced clergyman. As Jock pulled out a bottle of whisky from his pocket the clergyman glared and said reprovingly, "Look here, I am sixty-five and I have never tasted whisky in my life!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">"Dinna worry, Minister," smiled Jock, pouring himself a dram. "There's no risk of you starting now!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="background-color: transparent;">Jock once attended a Temperance lecture given by Scotland's top medical man, a noted anti-drink campaigner. The speaker began by placing a live, wriggling worm in a glass of whisky. After a moment or two it died and sank to the bottom.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">The speaker said quietly to the audience, "Now my friends, what does this tell us?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">Jock piped up, "If you drink whisky you'll not be bothered by worms!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">A very popular scotsman dies in glasgow and his old widow wishes to tell all his friends at once so she goes to the newspaper and says</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">"I'd like tae place an obituary fur ma late husband" The man at the desk says "OK, how much money dae ye have?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">The old woman replies "£5" to which the man says "You wont get many words for that but write something and we'll see if it's ok" so the old woman writes something and hands it over the counter and the man reads "Peter Reid, fae Parkheid, deid"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">He feels guilty at the abruptness of the statement and encourages the old woman to write a few more things. The old woman ponders and then adds a few more words and hand the paper over the counter again. The man then reads "Peter Reid, fae Parkheid deid. Ford Escort for sale"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">Irate golfer, on his way to a round of 150: "You must be the worst caddie in the world!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">Scottish caddie (dryly): "That would be too much of a coincidence, sir."</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="background-color: transparent;">Jock was digging peat at his croft when a passing American tourist asks, "How much land do you have here?"</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">"About two acres" Jock replies.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">"You know back home it takes me a day to drive around my ranch !" the American boasts.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">"Aye", says Jock " I once had a car like that."</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="background-color: transparent;">A plane was shot down over Iraq and Saddam Hussain captured a Scotsman,an Englishman and an Australian. Saddam says "I'm not as cruel as George Bush says I am You will be given 50 lashes each but you can have whatever you want on your back"</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">The Australian goes first and asks for the finest Kangaroo hide there is to cover his back. This is granted and he receives the kangaroo hide before he receives 50 lashes. His back is all torn and bleeding but he survives.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">The Englishman says "I will take it as it comes I will have nothing on my back and will be proud to bear the scars" he shouts defiantly"Stiff upper lip you know eh what" His wish is granted and he receives his 50 lashes, his back torn and bleeding, his ribs fractured and protruding, a terrible mess to behold.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">"Now Jock It's your turn you have the same choice as the other two what would you like on your back" says Saddam.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;">Jock replies quickly and without hesitation "I'll have the Englishman"</span></span></div>
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</article>Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-28482101404385749012013-10-11T15:25:00.002-04:002013-10-11T15:25:24.113-04:00Animal Photobombs and Colin Firth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
WHEN GOOD ANIMALS GO BAD </div>
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This guy looks too much like our dog, Alfie. Never going to change in front of him again...</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Honey Boo Boo's Mother's Wedding Pics...</span></div>
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Don't you hate it when someone sneaks up on you when you're looking at porn on the internet...</div>
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ANIMAL'S JUST LIKE THAT ANNOYING NEIGHBOR KID..</div>
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LOVED THOSE BROWNIES, JUST LOVED THEM, HAVE YOU GOT MORE </div>
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oh, get up you drama queen. That was not me.</div>
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What dog, ma? I don't have a dog in here and I'm tired of your constant lack of trust...he's what?</div>
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ANIMAL SERIAL KILLERS</div>
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AND MY FAVORITE - I LIKE TO CALL THIS 'THE CIRCLE OF LIFE'...</div>
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YOU HAVE TO LOVE A MAN WHO LOVES ANIMALS</div>
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so</div>
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WHEN I GROW UP, I WANT TO BE AN ELEPHANT...</div>
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Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-38133531816349068412013-09-20T19:00:00.003-04:002013-09-21T13:27:04.074-04:0050 Shades of Grey - Goodreads review you have to read - brilliant! by Katrina Passick Lumsden<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="item" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">I just cut and paste this because it is absolutely perfect the way it is - the most hilarious review I've ever read</span></div>
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<span class="fn" style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"><a class="bookTitle" href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11477648-fifty-shades-of-grey" itemprop="url" style="color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration: none;">Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades, #1)</a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"> </span></div>
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<span class="by smallText" style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 14px;">by</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span itemprop="author" itemscope="" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"><a class="authorName" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4725841.E_L_James" itemprop="url" style="color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; text-decoration: none;"><span itemprop="name">E.L. James</span></a> <span class="greyText" style="color: #aaaaaa;">(Goodreads Author)</span> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"></span></div>
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<span class="reviewer"><a class="userReview" href="http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/1964146-katrina-passick-lumsden" itemprop="author" style="color: #382110; font-size: 13px; text-decoration: none;">Katrina Passick Lumsden</a></span>'s review </div>
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<span itemprop="publishDate">May 20, 13</span><span class="value-title" title="2013-05-20"></span></div>
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<span class="value-title" title="1"></span><a class=" staticStars stars_1" href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=585638012794043667" style="background-image: url(data:image/png; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; color: #666600; display: inline-block; font-size: 0px; height: 15px; vertical-align: top; white-space: nowrap; width: 75px;" title="did not like it">1 of 5 stars</a></div>
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Read from June 01 to 02, 2012</div>
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What in the hell just happened? Did I really read that? Oh, my god, I did. I did read that.</div>
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Meet Anastasia Steele:</div>
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Ana is just a giant mess of a human being. She's insecure to the point of it being laughable, 'klutzy' (even though she only trips twice in the entire book), and a complete ditz. She's a virgin (of course) who's never taken any sexual interest in anyone before. Right. I'm fairly certain there hasn't been a woman this naive since 'round about 1954. At one point, she thinks putting her hair in pigtails will keep her safe from Christian's lusty advances. Fuckin' <em>really?</em> She "flushes" constantly, and on several occasions referred to her hoo-hoo-naughty place as "down<em>there</em>."</div>
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Next, we have Christian Grey:</div>
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Christian is a misogynistic, self-loathing, abusive piece of shit. Apparently, his only redeeming qualities are, in this order; his ridiculous good looks, his money, and his giant penis. The only time Ana seems to like him as a person is when he's being "lovable", and those times are few and far between. Most of the time he's serious, brooding, and threatening. How charming.</div>
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I knew from the very first line this wasn't going to be good.</div>
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<em><strong>"I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror."</strong> </em></div>
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It was cemented that early, my deep, deep dislike for this moronic, simpering asshole. Your hair won't behave? Guess what?</div>
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My suspicions were confirmed a few pages later when Ana admits that any "sympathy" she feels for her sick friend is "unwelcome". Unwelcome, apparently because her friend is beautiful, even when she has the flu...? What a petty, jealous cunt.</div>
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The only thing that made the first 4% of this book tolerable was the fact that I read it aloud to my younger brother, and his frequent commentary was amusingly distracting. Once he gave up, however, I had to travel the rest of the road alone. What a painful journey it was.</div>
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My first impressions of Ana were bad (deservedly so). What were my first impressions of Christian? Well...</div>
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<em>That's</em> how I felt about Christian Grey. From the beginning. Any time an author tries to sell me on a character's "charm" by waxing hormonal about how "ridiculously good-looking" he is, I snicker inwardly. I can't think why....</div>
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Huh.</div>
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Anyway, after reading about the description of Christian's building (hello, first penis metaphor), I had to sit through the awful dialogue between these smarmy idiots and hope beyond hope that something, anything, would distract me enough to see me through to the end. Turns out, I found something about 15% through. I went back and counted, and kept track throughout the rest of the book, and do you have <em>any</em> idea how many fucking times Ana said "Oh my" in this monumentally bad missive? Do you? I'll tell you; 79! 79 motherfucking times. "He pulled me back against his chest...<em>oh my</em>." "He began kissing a trail down my belly, <em>oh my</em>." "He's an insufferable douchenozzle,<strong>oh my</strong>!" (I'm just thankful that neither lions, tigers, nor bears were brought into this mess at any point.)</div>
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About halfway through, I wished I'd been keeping track of the word "crap" because Ana is constantly saying/thinking it. Crap, Holy Crap, Double and Triple Crap, Oh Crap, This Crap, That Crap, any and all Crap. Speaking of crap, if I ever, <em>ever</em> ever have to hear/read the words "inner goddess" again, I'm going to construct a pyre out of tampons and maxi pads, light it, and toss unsuspecting women into it.</div>
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^My inner goddess will cap yours in the face if you don't shut the fuck up^</div>
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I'm sorry, I just couldn't take <em>any</em> of this seriously. His playroom. His <em>playroom</em>? Really?</div>
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Or how about his weird-ass issues with food? He wants the girl slim and in shape, yet he won't stop trying to force her to eat!</div>
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I simply love the attempt E.L. James made at giving these pathetic shells personalities. Ana wears Converse, drives a vintage car, and likes classic British lit. *Yawn* haven't heard any of <em>that</em> before. And Christian; we know Christian's super deep and sophisticated because he plays the piano and listens to obscure classical music. This is how we know <s>Edward</s> Christian is really just a lost soul in need of love; his love of music. Everyone knows that no one threatening listens to music. Music lovers just aren't capable of doing anything bad.</div>
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^<strong>Surprise!</strong> Psychos like music, too.^</div>
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Since this is considered nothing more than "mommy porn", I will attempt to pander to that particular demographic for a moment. Were the sex scenes well-written? Well, none of it was particularly well-written. The sex scenes could be kind of...honestly, they were kind of boring. I've had more exciting sex myself, so I guess reader response to the sex scenes is dependent on reader experience. There's nothing revolutionary here, and a lot of it is just plain unrealistic. I mean, come on, he pretty much jackhammers her hymen and she walks away with nothing more than a passing, pleasant soreness? Riiiight. How about the time he gives her a handjob with a soapy washcloth? Hello? Apparently neither one of them has ever heard of a urinary tract infection. Oh, or we could talk about her first time giving Christian a blowjob, during which Ana established herself as some kind of Queen of Deepthroat.</div>
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Anyone wanna hear about the tampon scene? Oh, you've already <em>heard</em> about the tampon scene? Yeah, same here, although hearing about it and reading the actual scene are a bit different. For some reason, you imagine it being worse than it actually is, while at the same time, reading about it is more horrifying than you could <em>possibly</em> imagine.</div>
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<em><strong>"He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string...<em>what!</em> And...gently pulls my tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet."</strong> </em></div>
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Look, I'm not against sex during menses, but a guy plucking out a girl's tampon? Yeah, gross. I'm not a prude, but there are certain lines people just shouldn't cross. What makes it worse is that Christian is just thrilled that Ana's raggin' because he hates using condoms.</div>
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Apparently, Mr. GinormoDick doesn't know that a woman can get pregnant while on her period. Which is hilarious considering all the teaching and training he's doing to remedy <em>Ana's</em> sexual ignorance.</div>
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Sexual dependence, thy name is Anastasia Steele. We're supposed to believe that this girl has gone 21 years neither having had sex <em>nor</em> masturbating? Hm. Well, Christian's supposed sexual prowess makes a bit more sense now, as does Ana's assertion that he has a giant bologna wand. She has absolutely <em>zero</em> experience, and she's never once had anything "in <em>there</em>". Thing could be the size of a baby carrot and she'd still be like, "Oh, my <strong>glob!</strong> How is it ever going to fit?!"</div>
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It's good that she stockpiled all those potential orgasms, though, because now she's capable of having like, 15 a day or something. It's ridiculous. Come to think of it, Christian's obsession with her eating habits makes a bit more sense now. She was probably beginning to look like something out of a horror movie.</div>
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Seriously, though, are we going to take the word of a girl who is apparently so undersexed she's never even masturbated? I guess I can sort of understand this obsession with some kind of an awakening, but...really? "Oh, he's <em>soooo</em> good in bed!" How the <em>hell</em> would she know?! She has absolutely <em>nothing</em> with which to compare, not even <strong>her own damn hand!</strong></div>
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Now I'll be totally honest, the biggest issue I have with Fifty Shades of Shit is neither the sex nor the horrible writing. It's the plot. Thin as it is, it's still there, its core message being that, given enough time, you can change someone. While I don't have any problem with this if all you're trying to do is help them to lose weight or quit smoking, when you're talking about an emotionally and (dangerously close to) physically abusive relationship, sending that kind of message is ridiculous and irresponsible. Christian is controlling, possessive, condescending, and cruel. He doesn't allow Ana to behave as she normally would, and Ana just puts up with it, insistent that if she can give him what he wants, when he wants, as often as he wants, she can eventually begin to pull his strings. Will it work? In the books, probably. In real life? No. Almost never. How many misguided women are going to waste their lives on some emotionally retarded prick because they've read shit like this and think this kind of fucked-up fairytale will come true for them? I've known women with this mentality. "Oh, he's so dark and dangerous and threatening, but he's got a sad, lonely side, and if I could just figure out what's wrong, I could change him!"</div>
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Wake the fuck up! He may be hot, he may have a huge dick, he may even be rich, that doesn't make him a good person. It doesn't even make him a <em>potentially</em> good person. Quit.Being.A.Fucking.Idiot. (Look, I can make my words Staccato like Christian. Now hold still while I choke you until you pass out...)</div>
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Christian stalks Ana (which she turns into a fucking joke), and whispers things to her "threateningly". She's constantly afraid he's going to beat the crap out of her, and with good reason as he, on more than one occasion, tells her he's going to/wants to.</div>
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Potential rape is downplayed. Ana's friend, <s>Jake</s> Jose, starts pushing himself on her rather vehemently when they're both drunk. Ana repeatedly says no, but Jose just keeps trying to go in for the kill. Admiral Chaps busts on up with his riding crop, however, and saves her. Ana (understandably) avoids Jose for a while after that, and when her other friend asks her why, all Ana says is, "He made a pass at me." Later on, she and Jose are friends again, the "attempted kiss" forgotten. *Sigh*</div>
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Rapists appear to be a theme. Christian tells Ana that he gets off on having complete and total control over another person. This is not just in the bedroom, but in Ana's overall life. On several occasions, he fails to yield when Ana says no, plunging on regardless, assured she'll like whatever he does, anyway, so why bother stopping?</div>
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And there are women out there who think this is romantic.</div>
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I wish you the best of luck, ladies. May you get everything your hearts desire And when your dreamboats start giving you black eyes and pushing you down stairs, don't come crying to me.</div>
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By the way, for all you ladies bustin' out your toys while daydreaming about Hunky Mr. Grey, I want you to do something for me. It'll only take a moment. Close your eyes. Think about all the things Christian Grey does in the book. Not just those supposed sweet things, but really, everything. His condescension, his control, his insane jealousy, his threats.....and now....imagine he looks like this:</div>
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Still turned on?</div>
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The end of the book was absolutely hilarious, with Ana fleeing in emotional tumult because Christian can't give her what she needs (<strong>love!</strong> *sniff*).</div>
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And we're treated to her alternately being angry about the pain and humiliation she faced at Christian's hands, and chastising<em>herself</em> for being a failure and for being <em>mean</em> to Christian. It really is <em>classic</em> abuse mentality. Yet I see her being touted by some as "strong and independent".</div>
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It's this kind of ignorant trash that sets feminism back decades. Women who defend this book are, however unwittingly, participating in some of the most blatant misogyny I've ever witnessed, giving the impression that some women enjoy being debased, abused, and controlled (<em>outside</em> of a consensual Dom/sub relationship). This is not a book about BDSM, this is a book about one sick, abusive man and his obsession with a young, naive invertebrate. It's a book about a girl who has absolutely no sense of self, who sacrifices any pretense of individuality in order to hold onto a man who doesn't even show her the faintest glimmer of respect. It's about two attention-starved individuals with the emotional maturity of toilet paper convincing themselves that their relationship is 'like, the best thing ever, OMG'. It's trite, insulting, and dangerous. I fear for any impressionable young women who read this and think that<em>this</em> is how an ideal relationship should operate. If nothing else, it should be issued as a guidebook to mothers around the world to show their daughters the kind of man to avoid at all costs. This book does <em>good</em> men (and indeed, all of humanity) a disservice.</div>
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<a href="http://tinypic.com/?ref=34erprp" rel="nofollow" style="color: #666600;"><img alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic" class="escapedImg" src="http://i39.tinypic.com/34erprp.jpg" style="border: 0px; max-width: 430px;" /></a></div>
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*Sigh*</div>
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A bestseller. They're thinking of turning it into a movie....I can't....</div>
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<a href="http://tinypic.com/?ref=20ptqhc" rel="nofollow" style="color: #666600;"><img alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic" class="escapedImg" src="http://i43.tinypic.com/20ptqhc.jpg" style="border: 0px; max-width: 430px;" /></a></div>
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Word Count:</div>
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"Oh My" - 79</div>
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"Crap" - 101</div>
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"Jeez" - 82</div>
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"Holy (shit/fuck/crap/hell/cow/moses)" - 172</div>
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"Whoa" - 13</div>
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"Gasp" - 34</div>
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"Gasps" - 11</div>
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"Sharp Intake of Breath" - 4</div>
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"Murmur" - 68</div>
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"Murmurs" - 139</div>
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"Whisper" - 96</div>
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"Whispers" - 103</div>
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"Mutter" - 28</div>
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"Mutters" - 23</div>
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"Fifty" - 16</div>
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"Lip" - 71</div>
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"Inner goddess" - 58</div>
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"Subconscious" - 82</div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/341907930" style="color: #666600;">Click here for my review of Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades, #2).</a></div>
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<span class="item" style="font-size: 12px;">Goodreads - </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/340987215" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; line-height: normal;">http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/340987215</a></div>
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Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-71037461181150362582013-09-13T10:43:00.000-04:002013-09-13T10:49:39.909-04:0010 things you should always say to an author...and RICHARD ARMITAGE<img height="374" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRct7hl5u8b4dJ8yOL8WT0AROgSFPXA_6yOvl32zUPS7L4xe8DIsQ" width="640" /><br />
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I just read a funny article - <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/evalangston/10-things-writers-are-tired-of-hearing-elan">10 things writers are tired of hearing</a> and it inspired me to write my own list of things we 'writers' love to hear...<br />
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1. I think I'll write a book too. I have vacation in a couple of weeks.<br />
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2. I found a lot of typos. Didn't you proofread?<br />
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3. How much money did you make with the book?<br />
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4. What's the story about? Oh. Uh-huh. What?</div>
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5. Are you going to write another one? Really? Why?</div>
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6. I don't like to read. I'll wait till the movie comes out - haha</div>
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7. I don't like books with a lot of sex in them.</div>
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8. I don't like books without a lot of sex in them.<br />
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9. It's a crime story? I am so sick of crime stories...but I'm sure your's is very good.</div>
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10. It's a romance? I am so sick of romance stories...but I'm sure your's is very good.</div>
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11. It's a mystery? (read #9 and #10)</div>
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<b>"The New York Times Book Reviewers issue a restraining order. More print at eleven"</b></div>
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12. Why don't you get it reviewed in the New York Times?</div>
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<b>"Oprah issues restraining order. Film at eleven"</b></div>
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13. Why don't you get Oprah to feature it?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWe_jaIsfuk880PBwwQ4IwFmTvoCpdFWu5siCx_WAtrTCPUp5eieeuzVrBQLgeHUeC3j1i7Rwq2UzwwEpmeMvZocs0bHJTdzKHq53AQ2QcxfuzVU91bjACpQjEiaX42Mcn18dRgXi_dNos/s1600/.5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWe_jaIsfuk880PBwwQ4IwFmTvoCpdFWu5siCx_WAtrTCPUp5eieeuzVrBQLgeHUeC3j1i7Rwq2UzwwEpmeMvZocs0bHJTdzKHq53AQ2QcxfuzVU91bjACpQjEiaX42Mcn18dRgXi_dNos/s400/.5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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14. What's taking you so long with your next book? Just sit down and write - how hard can it be?<br />
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And now......Richard Armitage!!!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="425" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/7Log9sRAvck?rel=0" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Mr. Thornton's Voice<br />
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Richard Armitage reads from "North and South" the wonderful book written by one of my favorites, Elizabeth Gaskell</div>
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Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-22182653363863544072013-09-07T09:32:00.000-04:002013-09-07T21:20:50.594-04:00"Paraprosdokian's" and no, those aren't second cousins of the Kardashian's...and Richard Armitage<br />
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<a href="http://arresteddownton.tumblr.com/">From Arrested Downton </a><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">A paraprosdokian is a figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected in a way that causes the reader or listener to reframe or reinterpret the first part. It is frequently used for humorous or dramatic effect. </span></b></div>
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I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn’t work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness. </div>
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Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience. </div>
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I want to die peacefully in my sleep, like my grandfather. Not screaming and yelling like the passengers in his car.</div>
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The early bird might get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.</div>
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To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism. To steal from many is research. </div>
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I saw a woman wearing a sweat shirt with "Guess" on it... So I said "Implants?" </div>
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A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory. </div>
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A diplomat is someone who can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you will look forward to the trip. </div>
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Hospitality: making your guests feel like they're at home, even if you wish they were. </div>
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I always take life with a grain of salt... plus a slice of lemon... and a large shot of gin.</div>
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When tempted to fight fire with fire, remember that the Fire Brigade usually uses water.</div>
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You ' re never too old to learn something stupid.</div>
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Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.</div>
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If you are supposed to learn from your mistakes, why do some people have more than one child? </div>
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Where there's a will, I want to be in it.</div>
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The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's still on my list.</div>
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Since light travels faster than sound, some people appear bright until you hear them speak.</div>
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If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong.<br />
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We never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public.</div>
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War does not determine who is right - only who is left.</div>
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Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit.. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.</div>
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I didn't say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you.</div>
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In filling out an application, where it says, 'In case of emergency, Notify:' I put 'DOCTOR'.</div>
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Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they are sexy. (ever been to Wal Mart)</div>
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You do not need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.</div>
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I used to be indecisive. Now I'm not so sure..</div>
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To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first and call whatever you hit the target.</div>
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Going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.</div>
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I'm supposed to respect my elders, but its getting harder and harder for me to find one now.</div>
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<img height="360" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6t17eDaGE1qly4zao1_1280.jpg" width="640" />Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-585638012794043667.post-74692906126107599872013-08-09T15:23:00.000-04:002013-08-09T15:23:10.011-04:00This and That Friday...and Colin Firth <img height="382" src="http://underscoopfire.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/golden-girls.jpg" width="640" /><br />
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- Four Retirees Visit A Bar -<br />
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Four old retired men are walking down a street in Yuma, Arizona. They turn a corner and see a sign that says, "Old Timers Bar - ALL drinks 10 cents."<br />
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They look at each other and then go in, thinking this is too good to be true.<br />
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The old bartender says in a voice that carries across the room, "Come on in and let me pour one for you!<br />
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What'll it be, gentlemen?"<br />
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There's a fully stocked bar, so each of the men orders a martini.<br />
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In no time the bartender serves up four iced martinis shaken, not stirred and says, "That's 10 cents each, please."<br />
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The four guys stare at the bartender for a moment, then at each other. They can't believe their good luck. They pay the 40 cents, finish their martinis, and order another round.<br />
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Again, four excellent martinis are produced, with the bartender again saying,"That's 40 cents, please."<br />
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They pay the 40 cents, but their curiosity gets the better of them. They've each had two martinis and haven't even spent a dollar yet.<br />
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Finally one of them says, "How can you afford to serve martinis as good as these for a dime apiece?"<br />
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"I'm a retired tailor from Phoenix ," the bartender says, "and I always wanted to own a bar. Last year I hit the Lottery Jackpot for $125 million and decided to open this place. Every drink costs a dime. Wine, liquor, beer it's all the same."<br />
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"Wow! That's some story!" one of the men says.<br />
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As the four of them sip at their martinis, they can't help noticing seven other people at the end of the bar who don't have any drinks in front of them and haven't ordered anything the whole time they've been there.<br />
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Nodding at the seven at the end of the bar, one of the men asks the Bartender, "What's with them?"<br />
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The bartender says, "They're retired people from Florida. They're waiting for Happy Hour when drinks are half-price, plus they all have coupons..."<br />
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(You have to be a Floridian to understand this on a deeper level. Or senile. Oops, same thing)<br />
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And now for my Happy Time Video of the Day - It will make you smile....<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/RVmHn1mJ4v8?rel=0" width="560"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RVmHn1mJ4v8"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RVmHn1mJ4v8">THEGLITZIEGIRL1</a>Karen V. Wasylowskihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13148410916082693726noreply@blogger.com0