Rachel Thompson's Blog, page 33

Kindergarten Nonsense: Restaurant Edition by Guest Casey Ryan

Kindergarten Nonsense: Restaurant Edition

As a follow-up to my original Kindergarten Nonsense article here on @RachelintheOC’s blog, I thought it would be fun to throw out a couple of stories about adults behaving badly that had a common theme. What environment can better showcase the worst in social behavior than restaurants?

Having supported myself in college by waiting tables and working in kitchens, I have an appreciation for the lifestyle. It isn’t an easy or pleasant way to make a living – I get it. I’m also a big restaurant buff. Being a good patron, I’m always polite to the staff and the tips left are respectable.  All of this begs one simple question…….

Do I have a tattoo on my forehead when I walk into a place to eat that says Treat me like an asshole?

I have two major challenges when dining out. The first is getting what I rightfully ordered without being challenged by the waiter. I could order a filet mignon and be served a piece of cheesecake.  Go ahead and laugh – that really happened.

The other problem is getting served before the remaining people in my party have completely finished eating. Recently, I’ve turned this into a game that would’ve made for a great episode of Seinfeld. I ask the waiter what the simplest/fastest main course is on the menu and then just sit back and watch everyone else enjoy their meals.

Here is the thing that really bugs me – I make a point of not getting upset. My single most popular tweet was “Never trust anyone that is nice to you but, rude to the waiter.” Under no circumstances do I want to be known as “that guy.”

Comment Cards: Barf is a four-letter word.

The good Lord invented comment cards to allow modest and articulate people like myself to spew forth venom while maintaining a modicum of quiet dignity. I openly accept any such opportunity to make my opinions known but, the one thing you’ll never see me do in the process is swear. In cases like this, the words that hurt most aren’t the vulgar ones. I’ve tested this theory several times and it does work.

I love filling out comment cards. 

They are supposed to be anonymous but, in one unforgettable instance I was called out over something I’d written. I refuse to mention the name of the place because I don’t want to give them any publicity. I will say that it was one of a large chain of family-style restaurants in Canada that no longer operates in Quebec.

My wife and I were there with a large group of people – about ten-twelve. Normally this would be a challenge for the kitchen staff but, it was a quiet night and the place was almost empty.

It was twenty-five solid minutes before our waitress (a twenty-something blonde) came by to take our drink orders. Over the course of the next hour a small but, steady trickle of people came in, were served, billed, and left – all without us so much as getting our salads. This would be enough to cause most people to leave but, a few among us loved the food and insisted on staying.

When the plates finally arrived (ninety minutes later), my order was wrong and I politely attempted to send it back. The waitress bluntly asked me if I thought she was stupid. By now I was too hungry to care so I sheepishly shut up and ate like a good little soldier.

When the comment card came, I gave her a perfect “0”  and explained how rude and slow the service had been. Would you believe that she read over my shoulder as I wrote? What followed was a tantrum so obscene that I asked my friends if I was on a hidden camera show. That snotty but, sincere remark made her even angrier and she started hurling the “f-bomb” at me. Being perfectly mature, I started laughing……..hard!

We threw our money down on the table and tried to get the hell out of there. She followed me right to the door –  still fuming. Just before I dropped the comment card in the box, I stopped, tore it in four and tossed the pieces at her feet – encouraging her to forget the damn thing entirely. “I work hard at my job, you ASSHOLE!” she screamed.

I smiled broadly and pointed just over her shoulder at her manager who was intently watching the final act in this little drama unfold.

The food was fine but, you burned my boss:

As much fun as it is to highlight bad behavior, I love to tell stories about “the good guys,” too.

During my ever first business trip, my boss and I stopped for dinner at place that happened to be called “Casey’s.” I’d been there several times before and genuinely liked the food. This time, I noticed that they were selling great big coffee mugs with the logo on them. I asked the waitress how much they were and when she told me, I asked her to please bring me one.

Faster than you could say “on a separate bill,” my boss (who purely incidentally was a woman) vetoed the request and said that there was no way in hell the company was paying for a coffee mug. She then turned to the waitress and barked at her to “quit staring like a bozo and bring our bills.”

Along with the bills, she also brought me a neatly wrapped mug. I noticed that she hadn’t charged me for it and questioned the mistake. “It’s OK, mister. You can keep it. It’s a gift from me!” She smiled at me, gave my boss the single worst stink-eye I’ve ever seen, and walked away. I added the cost of the mug to her already substantial tip which I left in cash and didn’t expense.

The moral of this edition of “Kindergarten Nonsense”  is thus a simple one. Painful as it may be at times, there is no excuse for bad manners – especially in the food service industry. It may be extremely tempting to drop the old “f-bomb” when voicing your complaint but, the only likely consequence is someone spitting in your food.

You may also want to consider filing your comment cards online.

 

Casey Ryan is the creator and host of the Cutting Room Floor talk-radio podcast. For the past 3 years, the show has sought to highlight the works of independent entertainers of all types. The half hour segments air live on Sundays at 12 PM EST with recorded copies posted shortly afterward. A self proclaimed pop-culture addict, Casey is always trying to read up on the latest entertainment news stories. His film education consists of a lifetime of watching and studying movies.
He holds a BA in Industrial Relations and Economics as well as a diploma in Sciences. For the past 10 years he has enjoyed a prolific career in corporate sales – often using his skills to help his guests market their work on air. Proud of his Irish heritage, Casey sits on the Board of Directors of the Montreal Chapter of the Ireland-Canada Chamber of Commerce – a volunteer group seeking to create greater business ties between the 2 countries. He is also a member of the Montreal Press Club. Casey was born and raised in Montreal, Canada where he currently lives with his wife of 7 years.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/cuttingroommrb

Show URL: http://www.talkshoe.com/tc/81947

 

Thank you Casey for another terrific article! We welcome reader comments below. Please share your own stories of restaurant Kindergarten Nonsense with us below. 

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KINDERGARTEN NONSENSE: by guest Casey Ryan aka @CuttingRoomMRB (rachelintheoc.com)

WAIT. I’M A ROCK STAR? #OCSMS

According to the fabulous spitfire that is @RochelleVeturis, I’m a rock star.

If I'm gonna be a rock star, might as well be Shirley Manson

Let me explain.

Here in the OC (aka Orange County, CA, home of Disneyland, blondes, tans, fake boobery, and the largest concentration of plastic surgeons in North America), I’m a redhead in a sea of blondes. One who makes her living by writing, ya know, words. Reading them, too. And I help other people all over the world do the same. Most of the time, they pay me for it. Lots of times, I offer free help (my blogs and Twitter streams). That’s always been my goal.

Many of you may know me as @RachelintheOC, author. Others know me as @BadRedheadMedia, social media consultant and branding/marketing chick. Others, as the one who recently started affordable indie author advertising sites @indiebookpromos and @bkpromocentral. Regardless, my goal is and has always been to write and sell my own books, build my social media and author platform, and help others learn to do the same.

Rochelle is a PR and social media rock star. One of my social media mentors, Sean Gardner aka @2morrowKnight, introduced us way back in oh, 2009, when I was a little grasshopper finding my way around the Twitter landscape. Rochelle was kind enough to follow me, retweet me, and introduce me to some heavy hitters here in the OC. I’ll always be forever grateful for her kindness and advice.

As I built up my own targeted following, she and I have kept in touch, inviting each other to various events, keeping one another apprised of various big life moments (her marriage! To a super guy), my books and new business; always supportive, yet never quite able to hook up.

And yet now, here we are, meeting on Friday at the #OCSMS, the first official social media brainchild of Rochelle and her two equally amazing sisters, Chelsey and Haley, aka the OC Triumvirate, with over 700+ attendees expected, six keynote speakers, twelve panelists, and some rock stars.

Okay, who are the rock stars? Not actual ‘rock stars’ though I did hear singing when I attended the photo shoot the other night. (So, okay yea, we met already. Cheating!) Oh, what photo shoot you ask? One Rochelle was kind enough to ask me to come to. She wanted a few of us not keynoting or paneling to come and have professional shots taken, where we offer our top social media tips along with our faces to run on the screen background throughout the day. (Fortunately, I wore makeup so I wouldn’t scare people.)

Now come on — who’s the rock star here?

If you’re in the OC area, I urge you to register for the event via Eventbrite. I have the registration form over there —->>>>. It’s FREE! The speakers are all amazing, accomplished, and want to share their tips for success with you. I can’t wait for my brain to be full of excellent mush with all the stuff I’m gonna learn. (Location: The Refinery, Saddleback Church, Lake Forest, CA).

If you can’t attend, search on the Twitter hashtag #OCSMS Friday, all day for info and tips. I’ll be live tweeting.

So will about 700 others.

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Poignancy Alert: Maxwell Cynn on Mother’s Day and Cancer

 

Poignancy Alert: Maxwell Cynn on

Mother’s Day and Cancer

Our son has leukemia.

 

Leukemia incites images of beautiful children, their hair gone, their eyes dark and sunken – or old men dying in hospital beds. But modern treatment has turned the tide on the battle against leukemia. It is no longer an absolute death sentence, yet the treatment is still quite intense. The National Comprehensive Cancer Network (NCCN) characterizes treatment of leukemia as “…one of the most complex and difficult of all cancers.”

Generous donations to the Leukemiaand Lymphoma Society and extensive research has greatly improved outcomes for childhood leukemia patients and given hope to those with adult forms of the disease, yet patients between fifteen and thirty have seen the least improvement.



There are many factors involved in the difficulties of treating young adults with cancer. These are not small children under the constant care of loving parents or older adults with established resources and strong support networks. This is the face of young adult leukemia…

Video: Life Interrupted





Our son Joshua is twenty-one years old. The last few years he’s lived on his own in an apartment a hundred miles away from home, pursuing a degree in philosophy at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. He isn’t our little baby anymore. Joshua is a brilliant young man, proud and independent. But Joshua has Acute T-Cell Lymphoblastic Leukemia.








Joshua Rockin’ the Chemo





Joshua returned home and is in treatment at Presbyterian Hospital’s Blume Pediatric Hematology andOncology Clinic. He is participating in an international clinical trial sponsored by Children’s Oncology Group. Research has found that young adult patients show better outcomes when treated under more aggressive pediatric protocols. Adding insult to injury, Joshua is not only living with his parents, he’s being treated in a children’s clinic with toys and miniature chairs in the waiting room and Disney band-aids for his boo-boos.

Young adults, like our son, are in a strange form of limbo. Joshua is an adult. He must sign all necessary release forms and the bills for his treatment come to him, yet because of the debilitating nature of his disease he is often completely dependent on his parents. Most of that care falls securely on the shoulders of his mother. Not to be sexist, but my part in the battle often involves financial and logistical concerns while my wife stands as Joshua’s primary care giver.

My wife and I both have stable careers, with a good deal of flexibility earned through decades of service. My wife’s career is more flexible, allowing her to work nights and weekends so she is available to shuttle Joshua to his outpatient treatments, or be with him in the hospital, while I work the day-job. I’m an hourly wage-slave, so no-work-no-pay. My wife is salaried. But let’s be real, mothers rock! If you’re sick you want your mama not your dad.

My wife is amazing traversing the minefield of caring for a strong-willed, independent man-child. She manages his multitude of medications, his constantly changing schedule of doctor appointments, and all his physical needs with patience, perseverance, and poise – even when he is being a bull-headed young man. Of course there are conflicts. Joshua is very independent. But his mother gently, or sternly, keeps his treatment and our lives on track.

This is the woman who carried Joshua for nine months in her belly, home-schooled him until he was sixteen, and is again carrying him through months of chemotherapy as securely as she nurtured him in her womb. He kicks once in awhile, and she gets moody, but there has never been a stronger, more loving bond between mother and child. We are all in this fight together, but mother and child are connected in a way that defies description.

One of the things that struck me in the video I posted above is Suleika Jaouad’s mother. Watch the video and keep your eyes on her as Suleika undergoes treatment. Her eyes reveal a mother’s suffering as she sits on the side, supporting her child without “interfering” in a young adult’s independence. It is, perhaps, the most difficult position a mother can ever endure – traversing that minefield of caring for a young adult with cancer.I see that look in my wife’s eyes and my heart bleeds.


God Bless Mothers.

* * *

While I’m here hogging Rachel’s blog, the Bad Redhead is over at Indies Unite for Joshua on a video supporting my son’s battle. Hop over there and say hello. If you can donate to the campaign, there are a multitude of gifts, supplied by my fellow Indies, ranging from books to various services. If you can’t donate financially, please share the campaign with your friends through Facebook, Twitter, Google+ or any of the social networks you participate in.

Thank you for reading.

xoxox

max

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CHINA DOLL

I wrote this essay during a difficult time, but it helped shape me as a person, and as a woman. 

Hopefully, what you’ve come to expect from me as a nonfiction writer is honesty, regardless of topic. What follows is an excerpt from my upcoming book due out soon, Broken Pieces.

 

China Doll

I felt the storm break in my heart.

Maybe I knew he was gone before I got the call; perhaps even before he left.

I can admit that now.

His words were strewn with dissatisfaction, regret. I thought, initially, he was simply reconnecting to apologize for us; for all those years of burden he carried for the hurt in my heart. I knew he hoped for more. But I didn’t know how to carry more, where to hold more in my neatly ordered life.

I had no more in me.

I could feel the storm, in his words. He had lost so much: beloved but lost mother, best friend, hated father, his best friend’s father who had basically raised him. So many deaths. The drinking had ruined him; his marriage, his relationship with his young son. He’d lost his job, his truck, his home. I knew some of this, of course. I would find out the full damage later, though.

After.

He only told me bits and pieces. His language so spare, almost as if he had created his own. I gleaned as much as I could from every conversation, trying to understand unspoken words, breaths held.

If only I had read between his lines. Would I have known?

If I had closed my eyes, would I have felt his words, not just seen them?

I could feel his anger through the words; yet also his desire, his love. See who I am now! he would shout at me in his missives. I’m not that man anymore who would hurt you.

You’re my china doll, baby.

He carried me for twenty years, taking me out, looking at me before putting me back on his shelf. Who he thought I was. Not realizing I’d become a different person. A doll who didn’t break quite so easily. He forgot he used to call me “handful” for good reason.

The mind warps what time can’t forget.

I forgave him the hurt he caused me. Excuses all, but it has to be enough.

It’s easier to forgive him for cheating on me than for taking his own life. That will take some time.

Time won’t let me forget.

I don’t know that I can forgive time for that.

Those who love me then hated him. They are glad he’s gone. They are afraid I’m glorifying him in some way. I know they say this out of love, worry, protection.

I tell them not to. I know he hurt me. Remember, I left him. But I’m a big girl. It’s okay for me to write about him; stories, essays, and poetry. This is what I do.

I’m allowed to forgive him.

It’s my life, my choice, my heart. MY grief.

I’m not his doll. I’m not anyone’s doll.

Then again, I’m not the one who broke.

 

I appreciate your comments, thoughts, and all the rest.

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AUTHOR INSPIRATION: GUEST POST WITH JESSICA KRISTIE

I’m so pleased to have author and poet Jessica Kristie back here today. For those unfamiliar with her honest, beautiful poetry, you are missing out. I’m always fascinated by my author friends’ writing lives. Here’s a wonderful peek into Jess’ mind. Please read and check out her books and her latest work, designed to help the writer in all of us.

 

You’ve heard it a million times, I write because I need to. In most cases this is not an embellishment. There is a need in dispelling the emotions, especially the intense ones.

I have this sort-of dueling personality that I know Rachel loves. I vomit rainbows and butterflies and beg the world to forgive, let go, and move on. This is at the core of me. Yet, inside my books you will find that darkness and grief reveal itself time and time again. Here is where the proof lies in regards to the need for me. I take on the world and I do it happily. I am the go-to girl for the listening ear, and I love it. This has been me since I was in Junior High. I told my mother I wanted to be a therapist and she told me I couldn’t handle it. I would take everything home with me, and she was right.

One thing I pride myself with, and feel is unique in my writing process, is that I can slide right into another’s shoes. Even when I write first-person, it is not always about me. My recent collection, Threads of Life, follows a series of bad relationships and touches on the issues of physical abuse. There is a toxicity that flows through the pages which is eventually expelled, and forgiveness is found. Although I am not a complete stranger to physical or mental abuse, these stories are not about me. They came from you. I am so touched by others’ journeys that I take them in, feel them deeply and let them back out. My writing helps me to bring on the world’s grief and release it in a healthy way.

Writers are an amazing group of people; imaginative, witty and resilient. I admire what people are able to lay out for the world to read. I am in awe of the creativeness that is in so many. This is where my rose-colored vomit and excessive hearts come into play. We are so consumed by our disparaging moments that we forget to find the joy in the everyday things. Not to mention the wonder in the inspiring people around us. I spend enough time playing into the sadness through my poetry that I am going to find happiness in passing on some joy on a day-to-day basis. This has blessed me in more ways than I can say. I think I live a healthier life not living inside a bubble of constant brooding emotions.

Don’t be selfish with your joy, your hope, or your magic. Share it with the world. ♥

Working with the wonderful authors and writers that I do has called me to write this small offering to the creative world. We all seem to share so many of the same joys and disappointments, and I wanted to give an extra tool that will inspire you to keep going and do it in a healthy way.

Book Blurb:

Writers and creators can often face a rollercoaster of emotions that build unnecessary barriers to the artistic flow. Weekly Inspirations for Writers & Creators contains fifty-two topics followed by affirmations and writing prompts, tips and inspiring activities to engage and build confidence. Each week you will have an idea to focus on and a small task to complete that help you in your journey to overcome, and keep creating.

Jessica Kristie is the author of several poetry books, and the co-creator for the ArtPlatform book Inspiration Speaks Volume 1 which is now available in print and eBook through all major retailers, and benefits ColaLife.org. She is also the founder of the Woodland, CA, poetry series, Inspiring Words—Poetry in Woodland.

Dreaming in Darkness is Jessica’s first volume of poetry; the winner of the 2011 Sharp Writ Award and nominated for a 2011 Pushcart Prize. Jessica’s second book, Threads of Life, is available through Winter Goose Publishing along with her eBook offering to writers, Weekly Inspirations for Writers & Creators.

Jessica has been published in several online and print magazines such as Zouch, Muse, A Writer’s Point of View and TwitArt Magazine. You can find all of Jessica’s appearances under her Press Page at JessicaKristie.com.

Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, Jessica Kristie discovered her passion for writing as a child. Her inspiration comes in many forms, often inspired by just a word or quickly fleeting emotion. Through years of writing she has been able to capitalize on her experiences, whether they are painful or joyous. She hopes to draw you close to her world through shared emotion while inspiring you to forgive, remember, and heal.

Follow Jessica:

Jessicakristie.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/JessKristie

Twitter: @jesskristie

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I AM NOT A COW. ARE YOU?

I AM NOT A COW. ARE YOU?

 

I speak Mancode. I do Chickspeak.

 

I don’t however, speak Cowcode.

 

Let me explain.

 

In my first book, A Walk In The Snark, and in my upcoming nonfiction collection of essays, Broken Pieces, I discuss love, loss, fear, connections, grief, and even death.

 

Some people are quite moved by the few (four or five) essays I included in that first collection about the death by suicide of my ex-love, D. He contacted me as I was putting the book together after twenty-five or so years apart. Married for almost eighteen years (at the time), I was surprised to hear from him.

 

Three months after that initial contact, he shot himself.

 

As a writer, I poured my shock and grief into my writing. Many folks have contacted me with their own stories and the experience has been incredibly heartbreaking and moving for me. I’m honored by the friendships, support, and trust.

 

Others have attempted to crucify me for my honesty.

 

I say attempted because well, A) I don’t take it personally and B) life’s too damn short to let others hang their shit on me. Here’s how I look at it:

 

I am not a cow.

 

You see, I’m not a piece of meat my guy and D had to barter or trade for. There were no rules to the game for them to discuss before D was “allowed” access to me.

 

I am an adult. I am a woman. Being married does not, in this country, mean I am owned. A noun means a “person, place or thing” (despite my older sister’s protestation that I was indeed a ‘thing’ when she was in the first grade. Oh, and for the record, she has now upgraded me to person, I’m happy to report.).

 

Does that make me an ‘it,’ who needs permission, who must ask her owner to talk to an old flame about her past?

 

The entire concept is udderly (sorry, had to) foreign to me.

 

By reconnected, I mean we spoke, online. After many years apart, he contacted me, asking for forgiveness.

 

Yes.

 

A chance?

 

No.

 

(Of course, I was courteous and respectful of my guy who encouraged me to have these conversations with D since so much was unresolved with us for so many years).

 

I consider it a gift from the universe that 1) my guy is so awesome – der, why else would I still be with him?  2) that D contacted me at all since so much was unsettled between us for so long, and 3) that we talked about everything we did before he took his life.

 

Who gets to do that?

 

Somehow, and try to stay with me here, I am fully capable of having a conversation with another man without it signifying anything more than…I’m having a conversation with another man.

 

I’ll let you think about that.

 

Even…if it’s a man I once loved. Or a man I once had orgasms with. This seems to FREAK PEOPLE OUT. But guess what? Somehow, I was able to control my hormonal female urges and talk to the guy without getting on the first plane out and fucking him.

 

Imagine that.

 

The negativity and judgmental statements regarding my honesty about this experience shows how very threatening and upsetting to people (go read the reviews sometime) my transparency about this experience is.

 

Which I dig, by the way. Any emotion I evoke in people rocks my world, so thank you, any and all reader reviewers. I appreciate the time you took to read my little bookie wookie.

 

I’m okay with writing even more about my experience with D because it was a huge gift. And if that upsets people, excellent. More people to piss off.

 

Most people who end their relationships abruptly, for whatever reasons, carry that pain around for years. As I did. And now I don’t. It’s so beautifully simple.

 

I took this gift, without anyone’s permission. Because I’m an adult who makes decisions for herself.

 

I have that now. A healing. All wrapped up in a neat little package, tied with a red bow inside my heart.

 

Moo.

 

(Too angry? I don’t want to be angry.)

 

I welcome your comments below.

 

 

 

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AND THE OSCAR GOES TO…

Have you heard of author Gabe Berman yet? You have now. And you certainly will hear more soon.

Endorsed by Deepak Chopra for his sweetly funny and insightful take on life titled Live Like A Fruit Fly: The Secret You Already Know, Gabe’s book, published by those sly ‘Chicken Soup For The Soul’ folks, is sure to be a bestseller. I read it and loved it (and you know how much of a jaded snarky bitch I am).

I loved Gabe’s book because it’s not preachy or religious at all. Gabe shares stories from his life that we all can relate to. I particularly enjoyed the job and relationship stories, the Star Wars and Matrix references, and his witty, sly humor. I hope you download or pick up a copy after reading this essay.

If not, we offer this: one commenter is eligible to receive a signed copy (eBook or paperback) from Gabe. Comment for one entry. RT this post and comment, receive two entries. Follow @GabeBerman, comment, and RT on Twitter, three entries. Share on Facebook, yada yada all the rest, four entries. 

And we’re off…

 

AND THE OSCAR GOES TO…

Woody Allen’s Manhattan opens on a black & white wide shot of the city’s skyline accompanied by the unmistakable fluttering clarinet of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue.

Woody voices over, “Chapter One. He adored New York city. He idolized it all out of proportion.”

One of the most magnificent and memorable moments in movie history.

I was just watching this at home. Not the movie itself, but a documentary on Woody Allen. When it ended I clicked toYouTube.com and watched the opening scene of Manhattan, all three minutes and forty-three seconds of it, over and over and over and over and over again.

So here I now sit, in Starbucks, with Rhapsody in Blue flowing through my headphones. I’d like to add a bit of magnificence to the world before the end of yet another day.

It’s Saturday night and many of the tables are filled with adolescent aged guys and girls because even with the best of fake I.D’s, they’re still too young to make it beyond the bouncer at a bar.

I can’t hear them well because of the Gershwin in my ears but I look past my laptop and see the scene cinematically. It’s a wide shot. I switch to black & white in my mind. I hit the back-button in iTunes to restart the song and the unmistakable fluttering clarinet of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue flawlessly accompanies the first frame of my movie.

They’re drinking coffee and sharing cookies and are full of smiles and inaudible chatter.

I voice over, “Even to this day, with all of the girls I’ve dated and with the remarkable metaphysical distances I’ve traveled, the ‘why not me’ feelings that once overwhelmed me as a kid are still lingering near the horizon and can quickly roll up to crash over me in residual waves of envy.”

The camera pivots and zooms into my face for a tight shot. I’m caught in the moment, expressionless. But my eyes soften, I slightly smile and I take a deep breath. Only three minutes and forty-three seconds have passed but just like in Manhattan, the momentous conclusion of the nearly seventeen minute Rhapsody is heard.

I type:

It all worked out the way it had to. I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for who I once was. How can I now be anything but grateful?

Feel free to feel the pain of your youth. But you’re now in a position to make it up to the kid you once were. Regardless of everything, you can still be magnificent. You can still add magnificence to the world.

Today is your day.

All you have to do is take the first step and the next steps will take you.

End scene.

Live Like A Fruit Fly

#LLAFF

 

Gabe and Rachel welcome your comments, experiences, and existential stuff below.

 

Follow Gabe’s blog as he writes the sequel ON his blog: The Fruit Fly Strikes Back.

I dare you to not become hooked.
Bio: Gabe Berman is a native New Yorker who settled in South Florida after graduating from the University of Miami. An epiphany, a passion, and a trail breadcrumbs led him out of Corporate America and into a writing career. His columns appear regularly in The Miami Herald and Alan.com (Alan Colmes Presents Liberaland).

 

 

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IT’S A WONDERFUL SNARK

IT’S A WONDERFUL SNARK

 

It’s not easy being snarky.

 

Living the snark life.

 

People think it is, but it’s not.

 

First off, there’s that whole ‘what is snark?’ thing that we snarks have to deal with. Is it sarcasm? Is it negativity? Or is it just being nasty to people?

 

(If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.)

 

My feeling is – you’re either born this way or you’re not. You don’t choose snark. You can’t force it. You can’t teach snark, anymore than you can teach funny. You’ve either got it, or you don’t.

 

Besides, people can spot a fake snark a mile away.

 

I once sat next to a woman at a conference and she went off on snarks, under the clearly incorrect assumption that I wasn’t one.

 

See, you can’t tell a snark just by looking at us. We look like everyone else. When she finished her diatribe against us, I simply smirked, threw my water glass in her face, did a little table throw, and sashayed over to the bar for a vodka martini – shaken, not stirred.

 

I’m thinking that’s the last time she’ll judge a snark by its cover.

 

When my first book came out, the #1 bestselling A Walk In The Snark, someone left a 1-star review, complaining it was too sarcastic. That made me happy. It’s not called A Walk in the Unicorns and Rainbows, sweeties.

 

Besides, my unicorn is a dumbass.

 

Yes, yes, we know the origin of the word snark. (You tell us all the time, every day and we laugh and laugh.) Like we wouldn’t know. Please.

 

It’s not that we think we know everything. We know we don’t. We’re just…confident in our thoughts and opinions.

 

Some people think we’re cocky. One guy called me a misandrist bitch. I’m pretty sure he didn’t realize he was being ironic.

 

Unicorns and rainbow people (identifiable by their rosy-cheeked, smiling faces and constant spewing of ‘You don’t know until you try!’ core phrases) somehow mistakenly have this notion that snarky people are negative.

 

I’m not negative. I’m snarky. There’s a difference: negative people see the glass half empty. I see a martini.

 

Living this life is not a walk in the, um, park. There are certain misperceptions about snarks. People always expect us to be on. They think we’re unfeeling, hard dillholes who couldn’t care less about your issues. Which isn’t true at all. We’re quite interested…no, we’re mesmerized by your thoughts and feelings. Mostly because we need material but…

 

Sorry, what?

 

We give you plenty of warnings that our sense of humor and lifestyle isn’t for everyone, yet still you persist in wanting to know more. Is it our fault you can’t handle the snark?

 

No.

 

So here we are, at the end of the rainbow, you all full of your disillusioned disappointment to not find a pot of gold; while we snarks have been telling you that not only do leprechauns not exist, that whole pot of gold thing is a bunch of magical hoo-ha made up by The Man to keep you in your place. And stuff.

 

Everyone knows you’ll find it in your daily book of positive quotes and sayings you insist on sharing with everyone you know on social media. We don’t judge you for believing in all that fucked up positivity crap.

 

There’s so much humor in everyday life. Snarks find it, turn it around, and look at it from all sides aka deconstructing, to find the best laugh. We don’t take it personally if some people don’t get it.

 

It’s our snark to bear.

 

 

 

Please share your thoughts, feelings and comments below. Rachel is enough of a narcissistic bitch to be mesmerized by them all so she can squirrel them away for days when nobody comments and she can roll up in a ball of positivity waiting for her inner snark to come out.

And stuff.

 

If you want to learn how to take your blog to book, join Rachel this upcoming Tuesday, 4/17 at 11am EST as she leads the @Triberr webinar via Webex. Everyone is welcome, whether you’re in Triberr or not. Click here for more details or to register. 

 

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RACHEL & DELFIN ARGUE ABOUT YOU: EMOTIONALLY DISTANT MEN

WHY EMOTIONAL DISTANT MEN AREN'T YOUR PROBLEM

Rachel Thompson

I got this, DJ. Step off.

When I first met my guy, I was thoroughly baffled at how he could be so romantic and lovely when he was not working, and yet so distant and humorless when he was.

Who was this guy? Was he bipoloar? Or had I done something to upset him? I was so confused.

Sound familiar?

Chicks are taught from an early age that crying works. Sure it's manipulative and all, but so what?

So is cleavage.

Men are taught the opposite. Um, not the cleavage part – they're hopeless when it comes to that, which generally works in our favor.

No, what I mean is they're taught all that cliché stuff like man up, be a man, men don't cry. Right? Even now, in our more culturally sensitive atmosphere where we encourage boys to play dress up and give them dolls, the basic premise is that men need to act like men when they grow up.

Which leads me to my main point: men don't mean to be emotionally distant pricks. And they're not like that all the time. It's just that well, they kinda don't know they're doing it.

It's usually only when they're in what I refer to in my second book The Mancode: Exposed as 'guerilla-grunt mode' aka when they're working, that they become hyper focused on the task at hand. As they should– they ARE working after all.

But see, here's the problem – we don't get why (guys) can't be sweet with us all the time like we are with them (except ya know, once per month when we will walk across their heads to get to the Nutella).

Women are generally nurturers (not all of us – we all know women who are decidedly missing that gene—not that there's anything wrong with that). And there are lots of nurturing men. Most men can be sweet and loving. Just not in the middle of a workday when on the line with an important client.

So…when we text you sweetly and you don't return it in kind, we get a little pissy. You have NO IDEA we're even upset (though you'll surely figure it out later when we give you the stink-eye). Or you do, but you're just blowin' and goin.

This right here is why men are from Seinfeld and women are from Friends.

I experienced this early on in my marriage of twenty years. It took me a long time to understand that my guy was in work mode during the day and sweet husband mode at night, just as it took him awhile to understand why I was standoffish to him at night when he had blown me off during the day.

Ah, relationships.

What helped me the most? If you know me at all, you'll know I'm not religious or new age-y. However, I read a book you may have heard of called The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. Small book, easy short read. (There are obviously only four agreements.)

I really only remember two since I immediately put them to use with my guy and my writing life, but the one I'll talk about today is crucial here:

Don't take anything personally. I know. This sounds ludicrous. How, if you're interacting with your lover, can you not take it personally if they blow you off, say seemingly mean things, or otherwise treat you without well, love and respect? (Great advice for social media and authors as well, BTW.)

Well, most likely they are caught up in their own world of issues and whatever is going on at that moment has absolutely nothing to do with you.

This one is on us I think, more than the guys. They are in work mode, making money, doing what society expects of them. (Not that we don't um, work hard for the money, so hard for it honey. Don't get me wrong. We're kicking ass, too.)

It's just that how we chicks are during the day to our loved ones is…different.

Chicks multi-task, which includes the lovey-dovey stuff (throw in kids and this post takes on a whole new level of nurturing and interruptions). Guys save it for after work, when they can shower us with their full attention, which is lovely.

Bottom line for chicks: don't take it personally.

Which isn't to say the onus isn't also on the guy to step up and water your plant a little – not a euphemism for sex but could be if that floats you boat.

If it is, really, I don't want to know.

Learning not to take my partner's behavior has been a big step in my own personal growth. I've learned to depend on myself for my own emotional well-being.

Well, that and martinis. Or Nutella.

Oh shut up.

YOUR WOMAN NEEDS YOU

Delfin Paris

Women – you are NEEDY.  Yep.

(Even you, Rachel)

Wait.  Don't defriend or unfollow me just yet, dear readers!

Your neediness is a GOOD thing.  It's how you're wired, and apparently nature thought this to be best.  But here's the problem…

You have been conditioned by society, and especially the media, to disown your needs.  A woman is a storm of feelings and chaos.  She lives fully in this space, and it is a beautiful dance to witness.  In order for you to feel safe to be yourself, you need to be with a man who can weather the storm of your emotions.

This does not mean the man is just "dealing" with you.  He is participating in your beauty, allowing you to be all that you are without shaming you in the process.

But, the message you've been receiving your whole life is, "You don't need a man!  You can do it all yourself!"

And some of that is good, like in the business world.

But, I think you do need someone who can participate intimately in your emotional dance.  Someone who protects you but also is present while you express yourself.

This is something as men we are not taught.

And we are too stupid to understand allegory.  When my girlfriend IMs me at work and wants to chat, I am often too busy to speak with her.  If I don't acknowledge how nice it was that she thought about me, I run the risk of hurting her feelings.

Now, my girlfriend is not especially needy or insecure.  She just wants to feel cared for and special.  JUST LIKE YOU.

So, I have told her – instead of asking me about my day which I will interpret as "asking me about my day," how about saying, "Hey D.J., I need to feel special right now.  Say you miss me!"

Now, I understand this is not terribly romantic.  No woman wants to have to ask for something like this.  And wouldn't it be great if we men were just able to decipher  womanspeak and respond with, "Hey honey, I really miss you right now!"?

What's been our batting average so far, ladies?

So, what's the solution?  First of all, women, you need to own that you need certain things from men and it doesn't make you weak or pathetic.  Asking for what you want from your man is a position of strength.  And, if he doesn't give you what you need?  Well, at least you asked.  If he doesn't deliver you can re-evaluate the relationship.

Now men, I'm going to clue you in on a secret.  When your woman says that you are being emotionally distant, part of what she's saying is, "I want you to be emotionally present for my feelings."  When she's bitching about you, she wants you to be there for her stuff.

As men, a woman's emotional storms can drive us away because we don't understand what you really need.  We think, "Ugh, the wife is droning on about how I'm not talking enough to her and sharing my feelings.  I just want to watch a dirty movie on Cinemax and pass out."

Also, don't you remember that we took you to dinner last weekend like you wanted?

Well, first of all it was Applebee's.  Second, you had a coupon.

Men – repeat after me.  If you don't fulfill your woman's needs, she will find satisfaction somewhere else.

I talk a lot about my feelings on my blog.  It's not a coincidence that most of my readers are female.  And you know how I know men doing a shitty job at being emotionally present with their woman?  Because women come to me and bitch about it!  Almost every single day I get a comment or an email about a reader's man and their emotional distance.

Now, I'm pretty great and all, but wouldn't you rather your woman get her needs met from you?

Men, you also need to realize your woman's darker emotional storms are not personal.  Even if she's screaming about how you're a huge dick, you need to realize that she probably needs something you aren't providing, and that she's not saying.  Call her out and say, "It sounds like you're not getting something you need from me.  What is it that I can provide?  I'm here and dedicated to you."

Now, don't say it like that.  Go put your arms around are and give her what she needs.

And, if for no other reason than I'm sick and tired of reading on my blog about how you aren't measuring up.  Do it for me.

WHAT SAY YOU? 

Rachel Thompson is a bestselling author, mother of two, and devoted wife for over 20 years.  Delfin Paris has written no books, three magazine articles, and is divorced.  Both are funny as hell.

 

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Hoppy Easter Eggstravaganza Giveaway Hop!

 

Welcome to the Hoppy Easter Eggstavaganza Giveaway Hop!

This hop is sponsored by Once Upon A Twlight and I'm A Reader Not A Writer.

This giveaway is from Friday, April 6 through Thursday, April 12 and winners will be announced the next day. There are over 250 blogs participating and lots of cool prizes. Make sure you enter at each blog.

I'm gifting a copy of my #1 bestselling eBook The Mancode: Exposed (no Kindle required)

Mancode: Exposed #1 bestseller!

About the Mancode:

I'm over forty. I don't have a blankie. I have vodka.
I'm no 'ologist.' I don't give advice. If that's what you're looking for, go buy Dr. Suit And Tie's book.
I write about men, women, sex, & chocolate. My experiences, my truth, my martinis.

Want to check out my other work? A Walk In The Snark is free the next 3 days only (Friday 4/6 thru Sunday 4/8)!

If you want extra points, go like my Mancode: Exposed Facebook page!

In order to enter, fill out the form below:

 

 

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