Let it go... let it go... let it go.
In 1947, Gertrude Spangler, was caught hiding in the broom closet with a flashlight and her sister Agnes’ secret Pfeffernuse cookie recipe. They did not speak again until 1990 when Agnes cried out Gertrude’s name while undergoing bunion surgery.
Cynthia Shepherd, 46, left her house on the night of January 27, 1974, dressed in a black leather mini skirt, a red tube top, and stiletto heels. Her father told her that she looked like a hooker. After 17 years of counseling she is now able to speak to her father through the checkout girl at Piggly Wiggly.
Two months ago, Fred Carson had a momentary lapse of sanity which resulted in a bottle of beer being dumped on his crotch after he openly admired Demi Moore’s "lucious breasts" while watching a movie with Mary Ellen, his wife of 26 years. There will be no breast action for Fred any time soon.
We are such serious people, we American’s. So easily hurt and offended by things of such little consequence.
I was listening to a radio show once and a woman called in all indignant that her husband was leaving for a golf weekend with his buddies. She was crying… "he does this ALL of the time and it just isn’t fair". The host asked her, "when was the last time he went on one of these outings?" and the woman, still sobbing, manages to spit out, "he went just last year". It’s a good thing that this woman was not within the range of my backhand.
Nothing… absolutely nothing…exasperates me more than whining, complaining, bitter people who seek a crisis and hold a grudge in order to be interesting to those around them. We are a nation of Drama Queens.
Shortly after the election, a Reuter’s article by Andrea Orr lamented how voters in San Francisco seemed a little more serious about leaving the country this year and are canceling plans to travel to neighboring "red states" that supported Bush. "I have family in Idaho, but I told my wife we're not going to visit them now. It's all Republicans there," said Ron Schmidt, a public relations executive. "We have family in Indiana and I don't want to go there either." Ah, San Francisco… the pinnacle of tolerance...and might I add, bitchin’ PR executives. Hey Ron, from all of us in Indiana, I would like to say… for the love of God, man… stay home and send out a Press Release offering a reward for the recovery of your pea-sized brain.
If Ron had the gift of seeing past today and around the corner to each of his tomorrows...do you think that he would waste even one second of time worrying about driving through a "red state"?
How about this story from Boca Raton... The Florida-based American Health Association has released symptoms of what it calls "post-election selection trauma," or PEST, which include: feelings of withdrawal, feelings of isolation, emotional anger and bitterness, loss of appetite, sleeplessness, nightmares, pervasive moodiness including endless sulking, and being excessively worried about the direction of the country.
"Post-election selection trauma affects many people and they have a right to be taken seriously and to seek counseling," psychotherapist Rob Gordon of the AHA told the Boca Raton News. "This is a real need and we're a charity. This is not a matter of Republicans and Democrats. "Some 30 people have reportedly contacted Gordon's group for counseling since Kerry conceded the race to Bush Nov. 3, and more than a dozen others in Palm Beach County have undergone intense hypnotherapy by trauma specialist Douglas Schooler.
Most of the people being treated are senior citizens and while my heart goes out to them I would just like to say… PEOPLE! You are standing on death’s door and you are seeing a therapist over an election? Don’t you have a list of ten things you want to do before you die that you should start working on? Go stand at the top of the Grand Canyon, yell "George Bush is an asshole", listen to the echo and then laugh like crazy… but for heaven’s sake… get your wrinkled butt up off of the couch and move on.
Stand in line Drama Queens…you have a lot of competition.
I know, I know… your issues are real. You co-worker keeps taking your post-its, your wife cuts up your steak for you, your husband pees in the shower, your mother posted a picture of you giving birth on the internet, your brother borrowed $100 and then had the nerve to show up in a new sweater, and Aunt Milly always smells of tuna.
It’s not about getting irritated. Irritation is the glue that holds families and our nation together...do you think that diversity comes without a price?
It’s when irritation turns to anger and anger turns to pride and you just can’t seem to let go of it. It’s verbalizing every single thing that makes you slightly uncomfortable. It’s drowning in pride and forgetting to laugh at yourself. Before you know it, you have missed every family get-together for the past five years because one Christmas six years ago you walked out of the bathroom with a corner of your skirt tucked into your underwear causing your brother-in-law, Phil to yell, "Hey, Blue Panty Auntie". And to add insult to injury, your sister laughed, and because of this you have cancelled their lifetime membership to the "Jelly of the Month Club" and did not ask her to be a bridesmaid at your wedding… opting instead to ask June, who you met while she was working at the Estee Lauder counter at Marshall Fields when you were undergoing a battle with combination skin. Blood is apparently not thicker than Estee Lauder Future Perfect Revitalizing cream.
Deck the Halls with fault and folly.
In Des Moines, Iowa, the Lawson family will gather on Christmas Eve armed with gifts, Wild Turkey and scorecards. They started utilizing the scorecards twelve years ago to keep track of who is not speaking to whom. This is the result of a conflict dating back to 1958 when Aunt Pauline, already 40 pounds overweight, ate the last slice of fruitcake which meant that poor Uncle Henry (recovering from a ‘procedure’) got stuck eating the mincemeat pie—AND everyone knows that Uncle Henry is allergic to raisins. So, those whose family affiliation lie with Aunt Pauline meet in the living room while the Uncle Henry faction gather in the basement. Fruitcake is no longer served.
If you are offended by my Christmas tree, if you are sleeping on the couch alone again, or if you are going through life with a scorecard… here is my message to you:
Life is short, baby, and people are precious. It is much to short to let anything that I do affect your life.
Hey Aunt Pauline and Uncle Henry, we are both a day older today. How ‘bout we meet together in the dining room this year? I’ll bring the fruitcake…
The weather outside is frightful
But the season is delightful
And since we’ve no barbs to throw…
"Let it go, let it go, let it go".
Cynthia Shepherd, 46, left her house on the night of January 27, 1974, dressed in a black leather mini skirt, a red tube top, and stiletto heels. Her father told her that she looked like a hooker. After 17 years of counseling she is now able to speak to her father through the checkout girl at Piggly Wiggly.
Two months ago, Fred Carson had a momentary lapse of sanity which resulted in a bottle of beer being dumped on his crotch after he openly admired Demi Moore’s "lucious breasts" while watching a movie with Mary Ellen, his wife of 26 years. There will be no breast action for Fred any time soon.
We are such serious people, we American’s. So easily hurt and offended by things of such little consequence.
I was listening to a radio show once and a woman called in all indignant that her husband was leaving for a golf weekend with his buddies. She was crying… "he does this ALL of the time and it just isn’t fair". The host asked her, "when was the last time he went on one of these outings?" and the woman, still sobbing, manages to spit out, "he went just last year". It’s a good thing that this woman was not within the range of my backhand.
Nothing… absolutely nothing…exasperates me more than whining, complaining, bitter people who seek a crisis and hold a grudge in order to be interesting to those around them. We are a nation of Drama Queens.
Shortly after the election, a Reuter’s article by Andrea Orr lamented how voters in San Francisco seemed a little more serious about leaving the country this year and are canceling plans to travel to neighboring "red states" that supported Bush. "I have family in Idaho, but I told my wife we're not going to visit them now. It's all Republicans there," said Ron Schmidt, a public relations executive. "We have family in Indiana and I don't want to go there either." Ah, San Francisco… the pinnacle of tolerance...and might I add, bitchin’ PR executives. Hey Ron, from all of us in Indiana, I would like to say… for the love of God, man… stay home and send out a Press Release offering a reward for the recovery of your pea-sized brain.
If Ron had the gift of seeing past today and around the corner to each of his tomorrows...do you think that he would waste even one second of time worrying about driving through a "red state"?
How about this story from Boca Raton... The Florida-based American Health Association has released symptoms of what it calls "post-election selection trauma," or PEST, which include: feelings of withdrawal, feelings of isolation, emotional anger and bitterness, loss of appetite, sleeplessness, nightmares, pervasive moodiness including endless sulking, and being excessively worried about the direction of the country.
"Post-election selection trauma affects many people and they have a right to be taken seriously and to seek counseling," psychotherapist Rob Gordon of the AHA told the Boca Raton News. "This is a real need and we're a charity. This is not a matter of Republicans and Democrats. "Some 30 people have reportedly contacted Gordon's group for counseling since Kerry conceded the race to Bush Nov. 3, and more than a dozen others in Palm Beach County have undergone intense hypnotherapy by trauma specialist Douglas Schooler.
Most of the people being treated are senior citizens and while my heart goes out to them I would just like to say… PEOPLE! You are standing on death’s door and you are seeing a therapist over an election? Don’t you have a list of ten things you want to do before you die that you should start working on? Go stand at the top of the Grand Canyon, yell "George Bush is an asshole", listen to the echo and then laugh like crazy… but for heaven’s sake… get your wrinkled butt up off of the couch and move on.
Stand in line Drama Queens…you have a lot of competition.
I know, I know… your issues are real. You co-worker keeps taking your post-its, your wife cuts up your steak for you, your husband pees in the shower, your mother posted a picture of you giving birth on the internet, your brother borrowed $100 and then had the nerve to show up in a new sweater, and Aunt Milly always smells of tuna.
It’s not about getting irritated. Irritation is the glue that holds families and our nation together...do you think that diversity comes without a price?
It’s when irritation turns to anger and anger turns to pride and you just can’t seem to let go of it. It’s verbalizing every single thing that makes you slightly uncomfortable. It’s drowning in pride and forgetting to laugh at yourself. Before you know it, you have missed every family get-together for the past five years because one Christmas six years ago you walked out of the bathroom with a corner of your skirt tucked into your underwear causing your brother-in-law, Phil to yell, "Hey, Blue Panty Auntie". And to add insult to injury, your sister laughed, and because of this you have cancelled their lifetime membership to the "Jelly of the Month Club" and did not ask her to be a bridesmaid at your wedding… opting instead to ask June, who you met while she was working at the Estee Lauder counter at Marshall Fields when you were undergoing a battle with combination skin. Blood is apparently not thicker than Estee Lauder Future Perfect Revitalizing cream.
Deck the Halls with fault and folly.
In Des Moines, Iowa, the Lawson family will gather on Christmas Eve armed with gifts, Wild Turkey and scorecards. They started utilizing the scorecards twelve years ago to keep track of who is not speaking to whom. This is the result of a conflict dating back to 1958 when Aunt Pauline, already 40 pounds overweight, ate the last slice of fruitcake which meant that poor Uncle Henry (recovering from a ‘procedure’) got stuck eating the mincemeat pie—AND everyone knows that Uncle Henry is allergic to raisins. So, those whose family affiliation lie with Aunt Pauline meet in the living room while the Uncle Henry faction gather in the basement. Fruitcake is no longer served.
If you are offended by my Christmas tree, if you are sleeping on the couch alone again, or if you are going through life with a scorecard… here is my message to you:
Life is short, baby, and people are precious. It is much to short to let anything that I do affect your life.
Hey Aunt Pauline and Uncle Henry, we are both a day older today. How ‘bout we meet together in the dining room this year? I’ll bring the fruitcake…
The weather outside is frightful
But the season is delightful
And since we’ve no barbs to throw…
"Let it go, let it go, let it go".
posted by LoriCloud at 8:46 AM
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