Which Reminds Me

I really don't remember but I tend to think that Thomas Hills would remember a lot more about Hitler's cousins than I would as this story barely blipped in my mind. Just another sad story. However, I do think that New York was not the state originally mentioned in high school. It might have been somewhere in the Midwest but I really don't remember very much about that. I also seem to remember some discussion of Solzhenitsyn and his "Gulag Archipelago." After all, it was the early 1970s.

Which reminds me

Yes, I do remember someone, maybe in high school, talking about Hitler's cousins. A quick Google reveals that they live somewhere in the vicinity of New York and have all agreed to remain single and die childless to erase the stigma of being related to Hitler. Yes, what a sad story. And they had already left Germany during WWII so they probably did not do anything to start the war, just came to the U.S. to get out of the way. Yes, what a sad story. Of course, I am not even remotely related to Hitler or anyone so notorious as that so obviously that would not be a reason for me to remain childless. For me, lack of husband is a very good reason to remain childless. Nothing else to say about that. It must be God's will for me to die alone and lonely because whenever I get social I seem to be a magnet for stupid people. For example, Ann had some other ideas about having children but Ann's ideas did not come from me and I have no reason to promote Ann's stupid thinking by repeating what she said in public just because you are confused. That would just multiply Ann's stupid thinking many times more and I would rather forget about Ann because I have not nothing nice to say that.

Arrangements

Perhaps Dawn could explain these nefarious and deceptively back-stabbing and traitorous arrangements that she made with Josephine. I really would not remember anything about that obviously. I don't have a vast fortune with which to buy the office, the classroom, the workplace, the family circle, etc., etc., so there is really not much I would be able to do about that. Obviously. I am just saying that all of this is just so much ridiculous overkill. And also Phil Collins and his little sister Priscilla can be excused from class as obviously he was not involved in the Philippine Islands affair. Offer is declined.

Which reminds me

Josephine from the Philippines was a student at our little MK school for a couple of years or so there in El Salvador. She once performed for us a typical Philippine dance, dressed in native costume and hopping around while somehow avoiding getting her feet smashed between the bamboo sticks that were shuffled by her parents who were probably the only qualified P.I. people available to do that. She was a year or two older than us and I remember almost nothing else about her. She was doing high school correspondence courses with Susie while I was still in eighth grade with Sammy, who flunked first grade because of that teacher he hated so much so he was always a year behind Susie. Josephine was always Susie's best friend as Susie often reminded us. Thus, if you want to know anything about Josephine you would have to ask the Stewarts. I really have no clue about Josephine.

Advantage

Ok, so everything I say or do will be used against me. I don't recall when I first figured this out, maybe some time during elementary school, so this really is not news to me, perhaps because I am a girl or had reddish hair or something. There will always be some reason, some excuse, for giving preference to someone else's opinion. Whatever I say will always be misconstrued and misused by someone, it would seem. The trick for me is how to use this boomerang effect to my own advantage given that large groups of people are often chronically stupid or chronically smart depending on how you look at it. The ideal solution would for me to make like Thumper Rabbit and say nothing. But that is not always possible. If I am human at all I sometimes must spill the beans and let the chips fall where they may, I suppose, because anyway these factors are not within my control. It is not like the group is always right, obviously. Large groups of dumb people are often a serious peril and an evil influence on a good Christian girl like me seeking to live in right conscience with God. Ok, so I am not always doing the right thing but anyway, whatever, the group is often quite wrong also. I never particularly liked having to work on group projects because sometimes I get stuck with these people who just want to gossip and chat about other things and nothing ever gets done. I would rather avoid group situations whenever possible, especially any groups related to high school Spanish literature class, because I just don't care to submit to arrested development just because they don't like me. I just want to graduate from high school ASAP so those whiny people will never again have any excuse to interrupt my progress. Never gain will they have an opportunity to arrest my development just because they are just sitting there waiting for me to stick my foot in my mouth. I just won't be there after high school graduation so you will have to find someone else to kick around. Thanks anyway.

Nothing to "Get"

There was really nothing to "get" in terms of the story of the continual pranks pulled by the Saword children on poor Miss Nafsker. It was quite often at recess break during 10th grade that Dawn would have some new little story about that, usually something about them sneaking around and putting things on Miss Nafsker's chair for her to sit on or whatever. I am not very good at remembering these details. I just remember thinking that poor Miss Nafsker probably deserved a prize for putting up so amicably with their mischief for all those years, but I really don't remember very much about that. I just sort of thought that probably someone should have turned that little rascally mischief thing off before it got out of hand, if it did get out of hand, but it was really not my place to say. I was not their parents so it was not my problem, or should not have been my problem.

Kosher Dills

I always did like those kosher dill pickles my mom used to buy at the grocery store. However, I would not be able to comment on whether my great-grandfather, a butcher, learned his trade the kosher way or just the standard Gentile method for the slaughtering of animals. Some people are trying to hint around about the idea of eating animals vs. vegetarianism, and want to explore the idea of kosher killing in which the animals bleeds to death or something like that. While some ancient relatives might know something about this, I really have no idea. This is not something that I ever thought to ask about. While our dinner plates may not be strictly kosher, U.S. food regulations are much stricter than anywhere else on the planet, except maybe Israel, so really, while we may yet have room for improvement, still there is not much room for complaint in the food department compared to some other countries, such as, for example, China. All that sodium glutamate, all those unidentifiable blobs of meat, etc. Chinese food in China, well, let's just say, I wouldn't ever be going there just for the food.

Which Reminds Me

Someone was yapping about the controversy between those Queens Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots, as if I somehow represented Bloody Mary. That was so ridiculous. My name is not Mary, obviously, and neither is my Dad's cousin Elizabeth Hunt any type of queen in any sense of that word. Elizabeth has two sisters, one of whose name is Merry Zoe, but I know nothing about that. I am not aware of any "people" paying court to Elizabeth. Besides, we all know that the Hunts are just back-stabbing traitors in some mysterious way, as are many of my relatives, having turned against the Pentecostals because well, not everyone is going to get it. Yes, in a perfect world everyone would get everything but, anyway, lots of people have too many mental blocks in their heads to ever get the Pentecostal "gift." So? Is that any reason to doubt the gift is real and to go around planting seeds of doubt in all of these empty heads? No, not really. It would seem counterintuitive to turn to the Baptists and kill off the Pentecostals just because they don't get it. The Christian response of a free world would be to leave the Pentecostals alone to do their thing and not try to force a merger with the belligerent and bellicose empty-headed Baptists because oil and water just don't mix well.

Which Reminds Me

We always thought it was so clever the way my Dad devised a clamp to attach the garbage barrel to the garage door so that it was elevated two or three feet above the ground, preventing the neighborhood dogs from being able to knock it over and strew the contents all over the sidewalk, as previously had occurred. Also, my Dad figured out that if you drill little holes all over the barrel the people who live down the street will no longer be tempted to steal the garbage barrel to use for water storage. Very clever, we always thought.

Anderson Dogs

Doodling the Internet we see that Dawn married into the vile decadent Anderson clan. The evidence so far suggests that there is no more wicked family on the planet than those Irish dogs known as the Anderson clan. Even Tom Anderson really was not a nice person come to think of it. When did Tom ever have anything intelligent to say? Nothing comes to mind. Thus we see that the Andersons are intent on being the enemy of me and thus the only solution will be to get out my handy machine gun and mow down the entire Anderson clan at one fell swoop. Anyway, no good thing ever came out of Dawn Anderson and her troop of nasty Anderson relatives. And isn't Anderson actually a Scandinavian name? Nobody really likes Scandinavians who masquerade as Scotty Kids. We are not fooled by their pretentious posturings. We know how Dawn is and how she can't stand to admit how stupid that was. She would rather kill me first than to have to admit what nasty people she and Craig really were and always working the Canadian angle to their advantage. When did I ever get a break? Nothing comes to mind. Thus there will be nothing given to the Anderson dogs. Sorry, but you picked a fight so you get nothing.

Which reminds me

I have or had a pack of little note cards that I had purchased way back in college, perhaps as early as the year I was at Evangel, and on the front there are these cute little pictures of mice in seasonal settings. I don't suppose there would be any connection to that box of as yet unused stationary and the fact that Pam Roberts called me a mouse, as if I were ever mousy. I was too polite to knock her block off at the time but perhaps I should have tried although I am not sure how I could with all the interference going on upstairs. With all these odd coincidences proliferating it just makes you wonder about every little thing because all of these things could not happen by accident, or could they? I don't know. Sometimes I don't know what other think I know nor do I know what I know. It is just too weird in a worthless kind of way. It just clutters your mind with little tidbits of nothing much so that you are not free to think better thoughts. Philippians 4:8. Romans 12:1, 2.

Snarky

So yes, I did mention to Susie Sewart this Saword obsession with pranks on single women missionary teachers and maybe someone else, too. I don't remember. Still, this brutal scheme against me is so much ridiculous overkill. After all, I didn't do anything to Miss Nafsker. I was just explaining to Susie how futile it is to try to talk to these boring Canadian tricksters. There is just nothing in their empty heads other than their own tricky inventions.

The Truth

I have to admit that I really don't know Mary very well at all. She was there at SCC but I don't remember which floor she lived on or who her roommates were. I do remember that she was a close friend of Sylvia Brooke and also Nan so she is probably Ok, a nice person. However, I don't really know why she would want to be a single woman missionary in Latin America. I cannot think of anything more miserable than to be a single woman missionary. I saw what misery those ladies have to endure to be a single woman missionary and I never wanted to do that. I would rather get married but since I am utterly rejected of men and thus have no hope of marriage, enforced singleness, still I would not want to be a miserably unhappy single woman missionary like her. I would rather just get a job and put money in the bank than to be stuck in that position. I just don't have what it takes to do that.

Yes, wow, just think, I could be a single woman missionary teacher like Miss Nafsker and look always quite frumpy and have to endure the constant pranks and tricks pulled by those utterly obnoxious Canadian brats Dawn and Craig Saword. Giggly Dawn never did have much else to talk about other than the latest prank pulled on poor Miss Nafsker who lived with their family for a few years while teaching at the MK school. Now that would be a miserable life, to be stuck with the simpering sneaky Sawords for any length of time. Obviously it is needless to say I would never want to do that.

My Own Family

Not that my own family is any better in some ways. Yes, maybe I shouldn't have promised money that I didn't have yet but family is supposed to be forgiving about these things. How utterly embarrassing to have the in-laws calling on Senator Nelson to lower the boom and to set up a myterious HR "Block" on my future earnings so that I am permanently disabled from ever getting that straightened out even if I wanted to. Thanks anyway.

California's Hideous Dolly Dogs

I am so NOT interested in returning to California to engage in some sort of mysterious warfare with the hideous Dolly Bangert who was always trying to pick fights with me. My only thought is to ignore Dolly forever. Maybe when we all get to heaven and have achieved perfection then we will all be able to get along somehow. Until then there is no reason for me to agree to be submit to this one-sided abusive treatment from Dolly and her pathetically horrible family and also her escort of abusive towtruck driver creeps. I never liked Dolly and I doubt that I ever will this side of heaven.

Which Reminds Me

Bobby was hesitant about kissing Dawn but all the little kids were screaming, "Chicken! Chicken!" and so with all that egging on Bobby did the copycatting of David Davenport's kissing of Dawn. What I was trying to say is that nobody should feel themselves pressured to kiss Dawn also. If you just want to watch the show then fine, there is no reason to be afraid of being called a chicken by some little brat. There was something weird about that whole scene but I cannot help but wonder if things would have gone better for me if I had also been a chicken and said nothing. After all, Dawn's problems are not my problems.

Which reminds me

One year at the church-related singles Christmas party gift exchange I ended up with what looked like a glass jar, candy store-style, containing brightly wrapped candies which suggested the idea of toffees or taffy. But when I opened one of the candies and bit it I learned that it was only plastic. This was a gift from Mike of Fort Lauderdale whose last name I don't recall who briefly dated Sharon Liebowitz and is a handyman by profession and who thought it was hysterically funny to watch me biting plastic. A couple of years later I took the jar of plastic candies down from its perch and wrapped it and took it back to the singles Christmas party gift exchange where it ended up somehow back in the hands of Mike of Fort Lauderdale. I am not sure how that happened. He looked somewhat perturbed and oddly he stopped coming to singles not long after that. I haven't seen Mike for years and really don't remember much about him except that he once told me that he formerly lived in Haines City, a place I once worked, and was a bag boy at the Publix across the street from the newspaper office. After all, it's a small world.

Which reminds me

I remember that while I was rooming with Dolly, next door lived Heather Stewart and Kim Coffaro. Dolly most hung around with them and was mostly nasty to me. Thus it was puzzling a couple of years later to run into Heather and her ask me about Dolly as if I had ever known Dolly outside of SCC. How times do I have to keep correcting  Heaher and reminding her that no, I had not met Dolly prior to SCC and never saw or heard of her after that? How many times do I have to remind dim Heather that actually Dolly was Heather's friend and preferred her company to mine? Heather always seems to forget that she knows Dolly much better than I do. I hardly remember half a dozen conversations with Dolly. I do recall her boasting about her supreme intelligence even though she did not impress. She aced a theology at her Christian high school and thinks she knows more about the Bible than any pastor and yet she is totally worldly and has no moral compass or conscience to speak of. Thus we see that just attending a Christian school is no guarantee of future success in the spiritual realm. Need I say more?

Not Certified

I was not a trained and properly certified psychological counselor prepared to deal with trashy bitches Dolly and Cori. Thus, it was quite wrong of the California weirdos to expect me to remedy their deficient parenting and lack of moral judgment. I had no clue what to do with those dogs. I was in college to study and learn, not to play mother to putrid vile Dolly and Cori who obviously were big liars in trying to paint me with their garbage. I will leave it to the proper authorities to dump Dolly and her Din of wickedness into their appropriate dumping grounds. It would not be proper for me to say what I really think about that so I will not say anything about it because obviously I am emotionally not prepared to deal with that situation in an authoritative way or, for that matter, with the sniping and rewriting of history that was involved from Heather Stewart. I am just saying. I just don't know enough about what really happened behind the scenes. Besides, I don't have enough money in the bank to pay for the damage control. Those people obviously don't work for me.

Complaints

Yes, I really should have complained to the authorities at the college about their forcing me to room with hideous Dolly. One would think that Max and Ophelia would be ashamed of themselves for trying to foist their hideous Dolly onto us unsuspecting college students. They probably knew that she had problems that merited reform school, not college. She really was a pathetically horrible and wicked person and I have better things to do than be bothered with any further thought of putrid Dolly and her Din of wickedness. She truly has no right to assume that anyone would ever be impressed by the obscenities spewing from her mouth. Shocked and horrifed? Yes. But impressed and in awe? Not really. Just didn't know what to do in such a bizarre and unprecedentedly wicked situation. That is about all there is to say about the Dolly Din of most ignoble and ill repute.

Dolly Digs

How could this vile putrid Dolly and her vile putrid family be allowed to ruin my life in this most heinously wicked way? Someone really ought to do something about the vile putrid Din family who should not be allowed any connection to me and my life. I vaguely recall rooming with vile wicked foul-mouthed Dolly for a few short months and it was a horrible experience, a grueling trial of endurance, even then. I never want to hear another word from the pathetically wicked Din family and their Dolly dog, thank you very much. She ought to pay for her own sins instead of trying to dump everything on me. Her problems are not my problems. Dolly is just wrong, wrong, wrong. That is the best way to explain Dolly.

Street Vendors

The only street vendor of whom I may be slightly aware would be that sewer-mouthed trailer-trash Northern California dog named Dolly 'Ophelia?' Bangert. I roomed with that piece of dirt at college for less than one semester and even that was much too much time to be exposed to that piece of dirt and all of the foul emanations from her putrefied personality, including a slew of obscene jokes about missionaries that stunned with the absolute depravity of her pathetically stupid mind. I see that she is now some sort of land and agriculture spokesperson for the West Coast weirdo club. It is rather shocking to see how that piece of trash could ever get a job as public spokesperson and stand at a podium advocating for agricultural issues and farmers after regaling college classmates with obscene stories regarding her towtruck driver boyfriend. I am not saying what is fair but, really, if I am fired over a silly story about fireworks then she deserves to get her butt kicked to hell for what she did if everyone really got what they deserved in this life. Of course, nobody really gets what they really deserve. In eternity is not my place to say. But I didn't make her say all those horrid things. I was just listening. Or else if she could succeed, why can't I do better also? I wasn't half as bad as she was so I ought to be able to twice as much better without any Dolly Din Dirt links to weigh me down, if only life were even halfway fair. I am just saying. Someone really ought to put those Northern California dogs back in their places because they really are suffocating the interests of truth and justice. I am just saying.

Speaking of Windows

I recall that while I was working at the Haines City Herald I was sent to take photographs of a house that had burnt although only partially. The house was still standing but quite charred on the inside. I went there as instructed and took various photographs from various angles including some photos of the burnt out interior through a window. The fire was not so visible from the exterior. Later my editor Max said they could not use those photos because it would be against the law. Oh, I did not know that. I just thought I was doing what I was supposed to do. Sorry. Obviously I won't be photographing the interior of burned out houses in the future unless working for the fire insurance company.

Unknown things

There are a lot of things I don't know about the Jewish family that lived on the other side of the mission house. Someone was talking about the Jewish girl and telling me some things about where she went to high school, which was not our high school, but as I have said before I don't remember her at all. I only remember something that Susie said about her. I heard somewhere that the Jewish family had to leave the country during the war due to much turmoil and their house was sold to others. They owned a factory that made maybe the chocolate-covered ice cream bars that were sold by street vendors who had their little wheeled trucks, or else the chocolate bars. I don't remember this very clearly. I just remember someone saying that they had left the country and closed their factory due to the wartime turmoil and disputes relating to how the street vendors were compensated. I have not read much about that. Those were some delicious ice cream bars whenever you could find them. I don't really care how the street vendors get paid as long as I paid for my Polar Star ice cream bar fair and square. Yum. Thus, I really do not have anything intelligent to say in regards to their problem. Sorry I can't help but all the impersonations and probings in the world cannot dredge up information that just is not present in my head. This item might be in someone else's head but I don't know anything about that. Yes, what did Miriam mean with that screed about the ice cream vendor anyway? I really don't know. You would have to ask them.

Interpretation Issues

I have a problem with these people who think that only Jewish people know everything and everybody else knows nothing. This is just wrong. For example, our high school classmate Alfredo Weitzenfeld might have become a brilliant scientist later but I doubt that he would be able to say much about me from high school as we never talked. I remember almost nothing specific about him except that there is the yearbook photo which shows him playing chess with some guys, maybe Jaime Sol, who was one of those science guys who always hung around together. So that is about all there is to say about Alfredo, just that he played chess a lot and hung around with the science club guys. I suspect that some other high school classmates would have a lot more to say about him but I really don't remember anything and I would expect the same admission from him that he actually doesn't remember much about me either, obviously. We were never enemies or anything like that. I just don't remember anything because off campus we had very different lives that never connected.

Window Dressings

Which reminds me that there was some other window dressing incident on another floor involving some other persons whose identity is not clear to me. I think maybe Dauna or someone mentioned this other incident vaguely but I did not understand what exactly happened or what that would have to do with me as I was not there and know nothing about it.

More of Nothing

Which reminds me that while I was living on the seventh floor of the dorm, the room at the end, someone female mentioned that they were walking outside on the track or on the street and saw me passing near the window. They did not see much from that angle obviously. This person and/or persons later communicated to me the thought that perhaps I could be seen through the window even though I know that I would have drawn the curtains if I were changing clothes obviously. Sometimes it was nice to leave the windows open while studying to catch a cool breeze and I might even have stood at the window a time or two looking at the city lights and maybe even a twinkling star or two in the night sky because I used to have a very good view from that vantage point. I did not remember seeing them. So that was nothing.

Cheese

Yes, I vaguely recall that Lynda really likes that Velveeta cheese. So? What of that? Just because you are all worn out and threadbare and burnt out from being used and used and abused, that does not necessarily give you cause to boast of anything much. You allowed yourself to be used by the devil to steal and kill and destroy so obviously you look like a faded old "Velveteen Rabbit," so nice and yet so wrong. Sorry but just being "used" is not so cute when you are obviously just playing the part of the Devil's parrot.

Which Reminds Me

Not long before I left California to back to school I remember meeting with Lynda and Dauna for dinner at a restaurant somewhere midway between where I lived and they lived. Oddly, Lynda gave me a present that day. It was a decorative glass egg, the egg being in two halves of zig-zagged edges so that the two halves could be placed somewhere or else place together form the shape of an egg. This egg might still be stashed in my junk drawer along with the football-shaped jar of cologne and other "white elephant" things gathered along the way at various gift exchanges, not that I gave Lynda anything that day. I was not expecting a gift as we were just supposed to have dinner. So that was nice to see Lynda and Dauna again although somewhat awkward because those two always seem to have something else going on behind the scenes and I do not really what they are talking about or what this means. Perhaps one of these days I would mail this junk back to her. I don't need this junk cluttering my life. Thanks anyway.

Which Reminds Me

I vaguely recall at SCC that I accepted an invitation from Lynda to attend a master class in Los Angeles, maybe at UCLA or USC, one of those schools. We stopped at Fat Burgers for lunch on our way there which was delicious. At the master class there was this blind black girl who sang and she was excellent. I remember making some minor comment about how that was a song that I also had studied but of course I did not say anything about how lousy I would sound compared to the black singer. I just mentioned that I knew that song, I think. How odd that this comment should provoke should strong curiosity from everyone on the planet. I did not mind the processed cheese thing that Lynda served melted on food when I was visiting at her house for the weekend but, really, it would be sort of rude to say that there is nothing like a slice off the real Cheddar bar for pungent flavor. I am just saying.

Which reminds me

I vaguely recall that Yasushi Takeda gave a very clear explanation from the Japanese point of view of the United States and the events of World War II, especially the nuclear blasts. I suppose that the blonds over in dummies class missed that presentation. Persons who missed it also would include all those Japan MKs, especially Cori and also Chuck Smith and family. Obviously, we don't need to get it from them having already heard the story straight from the mouth of Japan's Yasushi. The best way to get it would be to move to Japan yourself and live in Japanese shoes or sandals and feel the earth shaking. We didn't ask you to do that but if you did, well, here is hoping you lived through all that fallout with your hair falling out of your head and all those other health impairments caused by radiation. For me, personally, just hearing the story is enough for me to believe the truth that nuclear power is out there and the world is a very dangerous place. I don't need to experience it for myself to know that it is real.

Sad Stories

Yes, I may vaguely remember something about Yasushi Takeda in high school giving his report and talking about his conflicted state of mind as a Japanese allied to the United States, the country that nuked his own people at Nagasaki and Hiroshima. They lost the war so now they have to be friends with their former enemies. Yes, it sometimes happens that way. And the U.S. regards mainland China as a sort of enemy even though we were their Allies in World War II. Strange. Why is that? Something about the Communist takeover of China. The Communists were the enemies of the government that we supported during WWII and after the war Taiwan was all they had left. And why we would want any of those countries to be running the show? Besides, these matter are too complicated for me. I don't have any reason to pay much attention to China as I am neither certified as a teacher of English as a Foreign Language or medical personnel of some sort, which are the only positions currently available there for U.S. citizens living in China. I have no reason to challenge this order of things. China is their country and they can do whatever they want over there. It is really none of my business.

Nuking Japan

Which reminds me that I never lived in Japan although my college roommate Cori was the daughter of missionaries to Japan, although I don't think she ever actually lived there. They had returned to the U.S. by the time she was born, I seem to recall her saying. I don't know why I am really not very interested in exchanging notes with the Japanese even though we did have Yasushi Takeda in our high school class part of the time, he who played in Lance Starin's rock band that performed the Beatles act at the high school talent show and later rose to prominence in the Washington D.C. press corps, or so I think I heard. Evangelina Sol sang Carly Simon's "You're so Vain," at the talent show as I recall, maybe, and maybe there were some other acts. I don't remember very much about high school. Anyway, my great-grandparents were missionaries in Japan, not China, although it appears that often the steamships stopped in Japan for a day or more en route to China or America. However, you won't get a lot of steam going about China when all you can talk about is Japan, obviously. Sorry, but there isn't much of a spark in that stale batch of nothing really.

What's Left?

The only thing left would be to wring Dauna's wicked little rainbow trash neck. That's about all that is left for me to do.

Yuma

Which reminds me that I once spent a week in Yuma, Arizona, visiting Miss Geraldeane Knox, who was my sixth grade teacher at MK school in El Salvador. Miss Knox appeared at my college and invited me to spend the week of Spring Break in Yuma with her and her two foster daughters whose names I do not recall that were living with her at the time so I went and returned to California by bus. It was maybe a four or five hour drive to Yuma. So that was nice but I have to admit that I had a very boring time and never wanted to do that again. I went to the local fair with one of the foster daughters and we got on a ferris wheel and the guy forgot to turn it off for the longest time so were going around and around and thought I was never going to get off that. I  I suppose that I should have sent a thank you card later because, well, it was not like I didn't have time but, well, anyway, I forgot all about them later. Also, I wasn't very interested in joining Miss Knox's foster family so I would not want to encourage future invitations.

I also forgot to discourage Barbara Forrest from continuing to give us boatloads of stuff at Christmastime just for being MKs. We really did not deserve it or want or need that kind of charity. If we turn it down we are ungrateful and if we accept it we are greedy so we accept the invitation and then feel like captive guests. And then we feel obligated to write the thank you cards because the receiver is the slave to the gift giver. Unfortunately I forgot to send the cards so I was executed for the crime of ingratitude. I was not ungrateful in a way but I did not like feeling like a slave to those imperiously snooty California people. It is just all obligation and guilt on my head. And also, it was insulting that Barbara seemed to think of me as a sort of Keturah to be sent away with gifts. I never liked Ken Abrams anyway. If you go to a Christian college and you are not really a Christian we will figure it out, especially if you take up with a Buddhist. Dead giveaway.

Which reminds me that I did a little research on Miss Knox, who might be dead for all I know, and found out that her father was remarried in old age to a certain Joan Keller. Hmmm. I wonder if that was the same Joan Keller who was the receptionist at Lockman Foundation where I worked for a couple of years while I was living in California. I don't remember if I knew that before but I know it now and am wondering how all these people got connected behind the scenes. It really is bizarre.

Free Pass

There are those who are wondering why it is that the family of my Dad's Uncle Ariel gets a free pass with the Thieves and Robbers of Iowa club. Yes, why is that? No good thing ever came out of Iowa that I know of, mostly just obnoxiously Sneaky whiners like Tom. So just because the Iowa robbers like to crow in newspapers about their native-born China missionaries, that does not mean that Uncle Ariel's Iowa-born wife Evelyn Woodard was ever a missionary in China, even if Uncle Ariel was born in China and remembers nothing of it, or related to the rest of us. And what did the Iowa Thieves and Robbers club ever do for us other than throw Uncle Ariel's father in prison just because they could? It just seems weird to the rest of us, or at least I speak for myself, that anyone would care what the Idiots of Iowa think about anything. Iowa is nothing to me, just one of 50 blocks on the U.S. map, home to Evangel College's most obnoxious whiner Joni. That's pretty much all I would have to say about Iowa. Yes, why is that?

Which reminds me

Oh, I forgot. I do not consider myself Methodist but my cousins are of Methodist background. In this I refer to the Andrews family on my mother's side. Their father, who married my aunt, was Methodist, I seem to recall. David also, near the end of his life, was getting spiritual counsel from a Methodist minister, or so we heard, so maybe that was good. I am not going to fight with Methodists, although they are sometimes too quick to pick fights with us for various reasons. However, the Andrews family has a connection to Charlotte 'Lottie' Moon, who was a Southern Baptist missionary to China in the 19th century. So that's nice. Lottie's sister, Orianna Moon, married a certain Dr. John Andrews and several children, one of whom was Owen Merriweather Andrews, whose son Doc married my aunt. So that is how the Andrews are connected to the Southern Baptists but we are not related to those other Andrews so that is not our problem. We have problems but not that problem. So that is how that works.

Presbyterians vs. Methodists

Those Presbyterians are pretty smug and complacent in their thought of having swallowed up and conquered the Methodists, looking sort of like the cat that swallowed the canary, as if I ever thought of myself as either Methodist or Presbyterian. I have no idea where this nonsense comes from, as if the Presbyterian Elect is the only American way of doing things while the Methodists, with their Anglican roots and episcopal structure, are turned over to British governance in order to ramp up some sort of sham conflict between these manufactured factions. That was not the deal when the Assemblies of God Pentecostal denomination was originally formed. People from all sorts of denominational backgrounds came together to be represented in a denomination whose structure, as it turns out, is sort of a hybrid. There are presbyters but are they really elected by the people? Well, if they are former pastors then they were originally elected by a congregation because the individual churches have a sort of congregational structure, so in a way, sort of. And is the "President" elected by the people of the Assemblies of God? Not exactly. He is elected by the ministers who alone have the ability to vote in those elections. I as an individual church attender have nothing to say about headquarters even though I might read about things in the Evangel magazine and also overhear things discussed by my parents. My Dad is a minister so, anyway, he might be able to vote on some of that headquarters stuff but I don't. So this internal conflict is not something that I would know very much about and does not involve me in any way. Someone said something about a conflict between the Presbyterians and Methodists but I really would not be able to identify the nature of the conflict or the persons involved in it or why these morons think they can split the United States along Methodist vs. Presbyterian lines and get away with this. There is the theological theme of election and foreordination but that is a whole different story.

Barking Dogs

Why do I hear all this yapping and howling of slobbering dogs coming from the direction of Arthur Blissett and his putrid slime Garcia in-laws? Becky (Garcia?) was such a filthy slut so I imagine the rest of them are equally disgusting. She had two fat ugly slob brothers who I only met one time at a party and that was that. I never saw those fat ugly slob whiners again nor did I want to ever see them again in this lifetime. I cannot have such putrid acquaintances pretending to know anything about me and assuming themselves to have any voice at all in my life. The Garcia family is nothing but a huge whiney nuisance that somehow escaped removal. Sometimes ignoring these vile decadent whiners just doesn't work. They have no social intelligence to understand that they are being ignored and their bad behavior overlooked because it would be too rude of me to say what I really think about them and they wouldn't be able to handle the truth of their own putrid sliminess from my point of view. Thus I just ignore them and pretend that they are not there hoping that they will eventually get a clue and disappear and go away because I don't like them and I don't want them in my life. Get lost, Garcia! Get lost, Arthur!

Authorities

It is not my job to go around punching the lights out on wicked thug Arthur Blissett and his vile putrid in-laws and assorted Gulf Swine connections. I have no connection whatsoever to that putrid scum family, having had more than enough of them during a short acquaintance in California, not that I ever actually met Arthur. It is just that their icky wickedness suffocates everything. The authorities really ought to punch his lights out in my opinion but we understand that he has a TV career. We really can't tell those TV people what to do. They are allowed somehow to spread lies about us and ruin our lives with meaningless innuendos but we aren't allowed to say anything about them because they have all the money. That's just how unfair and unjust things are in this mixed up world.

Garcias

Oh, I had forgotten Becky's last name. Was it Garcia? Did Arthur Blissett's daughter marry into that tawdry and revolting family that I met only briefly in California? Those California Mexicans turned out to be such incredibly low-class filthy dogs that I must feel a certain degree of pity for Arthur if he is stuck with those trash in his own family (I can only imagine) to ruin his reputation if he ever put them on the television airwaves so that people could really understand what kind of trash those people really are behind the scenes. I am just guessing. I don't really know this but I have some clues. It just wasn't that important.

It often happens that these high profile ministers may lead others to the Lord even when their own families are in revolt and disarray and their personal lives a dirty mess. I really don't want to know any more of the details because, anyway, it's not about them.

God is perfect. We are to be perfect as He is perfect. Arthur is just not that important, or that perfect. I am just saying. I never put any faith in Arthur. Arthur is only a prop, a piece of scenery, a fat ugly slob who often appears on television to jeer and mock for some unknown reason. I was never much aware of Arthur or interested in following his example. Jesus came to set us free from the burden of sin. I am Christian and Christian at the cross was relieved of the burden he was carrying. Unlike Arthur, who prefers to carry his burden of sin all over the place, I prefer the imagery of John Bunyan's pilgrim who leaves the burden aside at the foot of the cross and walks free and unhindered to the heavenly shores.

Right now, Lord, I dump Arthur's filthy dirty mess at the foot of the cross and move forward without any further thought of Arthur and his dirty mess to burden my brilliant mind and also, for that matter, I throw out those horrid Garcia sisters who I never want to hear from again in this lifetime. "The burdens of my heart rolled away," as the song says.

As the Bible says we are only pilgrims in this world, a "peculiar" people. Peculiar is not a concept to fear. The thought of "peculiar" is a concept of self-identity and comfort even amidst the jeers and mockery of these more worldly television folks who just don't get it.

Bruce Questions

One question might be whether Bruce actually married the dog who wrote the open letter or someone else. Also, how can Bruce have any friends left on the planet after pulling so many pranks on them during college which he talked about endlessly as if it were funny to stage a pretend rapture, guys wrapped in sheets passing by the window to watch that poor naive guy screaming in terror thinking himself left behind? Another question might be whether he is still in contact with his Italian friend who was finding it so hard to shake the grip of the mafia on his tail as described by Bruce.

Which reminds me

One summer while we were living in El Salvador a guy from Arizona came down to help out with the work and lived with our family for about three months. His name was Bruce Brock and he was from Tucson or Phoenix, one of those major Arizona cities. His father was an Arizona pastor who knew my Dad and perhaps we had itinerated at their church or something. So Bruce was there at our house for about three months during one summer when I was maybe 14 or 15. My sister had to sleep in my room during those three months that we had company. She pulled lots of pranks on him, like propping a water bucket over the door so that he would be doused with water when he went into her room and so forth. One day my sister was being such a brat that I locked her out of my room for a while. However, Bruce interfered and pounded on the door until I finally had to open the door because of all this commotion and Bruce's interference in the proper training of a sister who does not understand the concept of personal boundaries. So anyway during that summer a letter arrived in the mail addressed to Bruce in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Calkins or something like that. My mother, being confused by the way the envelope was addressed, opened and read the letter, then handed the already open letter to Bruce who was apparently somewhat miffed at this invasion of his privacy. It appears that the letter was from his girlfriend back home in Tucson and was quite graphic in its wording, expressing some longing to reenact some previous experiences which I cannot describe because I did not read the letter myself. I only know something that my mother said about the letter because the wording of it shocked her and she got sort of overwrought talking about the letter. We never heard from Bruce after that summer of discord. He went back to Tucson and disappeared into the desert plains of Arizona. After all that discord we were not much inclined to call on Bruce ever in this lifetime given that he interferes too much and makes me feel like garbage. Besides, Bruce is nothing, just another obnoxious pastor's kid.

About the Monk's Cellar

Which reminds me that The Monk's Cellar restaurant might have been known to other missionaries as well, perhaps even the Lyle Thomson family so obnoxious and rude to me. Oh, did I call Judy a fatso and maybe shoved her or something at eight years old when she was so annoying at my birthday party? Yes, how rude of me to throw a "Sorry" game piece on the floor in front of the Thomson girls when I lost a game, which so rarely happened. One of the four yellow game pieces always was broken after that. Temper, temper. What a horrible person I am, especially if you only get it from the Thomson girls who only remember me from that year when I was eight years old living in Mexico. It is like I would never be able to grow up and have a life if I had to live on the same planet as the horribly wicked Thomson family, so full of their own haughty self importance, imagining themselves in total ownership of editorialness, perhaps because they lived in Venezuela near the imperiously haughty Hunts and share in their Swedish disdain for the rest of us ordinary mortals, in addition to being not-so-loyal turncoats of another persuasion. As if. Well, I can't win this game, obviously, rigged as it is with the entire planet against me so perhaps I will just have to find myself a comfortable jail cell where I won't have to worry anymore about what to do next. There I will find food and shelter and not have to work for nothing. Life is futile.

Background Noise

Hmmm... Oh, is that Aaron's dog yapping in the background? Sounds sort of like a clueless California speedster has been busy working herself up into a dither. Yes, I suppose it helps to be connected to all of the top media outlets when your husband is always available to work. However, just because Jen set up all these traps for me, that does not obligate me to go up there and run around jumping through all of these hoops and leaping over these artificial hurdles of meaningless and unproductive value just because Aaron would really like to profit from all of the photographic bounty they already have locked away in their own basement anyway, as if there would be much value in old photographs that nobody wants already posted all over eBay. eBay is full of that stuff. Besides, Charlotte Rosser is nobody. Just because Aaron's parents sent him to a Jewish school for a while, that does not make us a Jewish family. I could say something similar about Charlotte. How nice we are all literate and able to read about "New Thrills in Old China" for ourselves without any help from Jen and Charlotte.

Journalism classes

Which reminds me that at the time I was studying journalism there was the nomination of Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court and the ensuing challenge of Anita Hill. Those hearings were on television every day for a while, not unlike the Watergate hearings of a decade earlier, and there might have been some discussion of that in journalism classes although I do not remember anything specific. It is not something I would really want to think about very much, nor did I watch very much of that stuff. I really don't care. It is a moot point now so there is no reason to revisit that subject. Perhaps Machelle Bush would like everyone to stop the world turning so that we can all listen to her talk about Janet Cook's fictional account in the New York Times and the ethics of reporter impersonations to get a story. I don't recommend it but it happens all the time.

A Bird In Hand

As they say, a bird in hand is worth two in the bush.

Fired

It is interesting to learn that the director of the journalism program in which I was enrolled was later fired for some reason of which I was not aware. I graduated from there in 1989 although my thesis was not finalized until later. I was long gone from there by 1994 when Cliff Kelly and two other professors refused to sign new employment contracts, preferring some other old contracts that might have entitled them to lifetime tenure depending on how you look at it. The professors lost their lawsuit. Well, there are no guarantees, obviously, unless you were appointed to the Supreme Court, in which case the U.S. Constitution would provide iron-clad job protection. However, journalism apparently does not meet the test of law school, or something like that. I am just reading this article on the web now because I really wasn't paying attention to that. So? Does the firing of the journalism director invalidate my journalism degree even though obtained from a supposedly accredited university? Inquiring minds apparently want to know the answers to all of these questions but I just want my paycheck now because life is short. It is easy for these rich bitch buddies of that obnoxious whiner Machelle Bush to sit in judgment of me even though I didn't do anything to her. They apparently have no bills to pay or at least no liability to pay my bills and all the power to make my life as miserable as possible. I, meanwhile, have bills to pay.

Code Sounds

I really don't know what this code means, but judging from the sound of "Heathcliff" I would want to investigate Clifford Kelly's wicked witch secretary who I heard moved to Louisiana. I don't remember much about her, just that she was very far out there. But what would Cliff Kelly, a journalism teacher, and his Filipina wife know about the various Heathers of acquaintance or not, and why should I care about this given that their butts were kicked later anyway? I am not sure. I am just saying it sounds like some connections of which I was not aware during journalism school and later. I am not interested in going around tripping people just because, but obviously there is a big "bull's eye" target painted on my back. I notice this evidence from time to time.

Spare Tires

Which reminds me that it was Lilian Pilarinos who always said she felt like a spare tire, serving as a single woman missionary school teacher for two years alongside all those missionary couples, including my parents. Miss 'Pill' was from New Orleans in Lousiana, a swampy state that holds no attraction for me. What I would I do in Lousiana anyway? There is nothing of interest in Louisiana that I know of, just a lot of bayou people with weird Cajun accents. So?

How Nice

All of these people sound so nice when they tell me they feel sorry for me and how could those people do that to me. They say tell me that I should sue my enemies and do something about this. Yes, words are cheap. So easy for them to tell me that I should sue. And how would I do that? I have no legal standing that I know of. Who would represent me? What would be the cause of action? It makes no sense to me. I only remember Sue speaking of Joni's lack of faith. I did not say anything at the time nor did I necessarily disagree with Sue on that point. So how is it possible that I have faithless Joni yapping in my face, as if I would have some interest in her dreary life and marriage to Ken Tada? I am not disabled in that sense of the word. The story of Joni might be of some comfort to Dawn Saword who suffers from multiple sclerosis or so I heard. But I am not disabled in that sense. I have no reason to just drop dead just because this obnoxious Canadian former classmate is out there married to some creep and has six children or so I heard. We never had much contact with those Canadians anyway. I only know anything about Dawn because of something Susie said. Susie apparently went to Vancouver and visited them there. We were in the little school with them for a short time but that was a long time ago. They are probably not going to be part of our lives going forward now that they have returned to Canada permanently. There is no reason to enforce this obnoxious Canadian "better"-ness by making all the rest of us sample her disability by simulation just because she sat behind me in eighth grade. Sorry but this pagan practice of trying to make me the mystery burning "bull" is just wrong in my opinion. You really can ruin my life with your lies but that does not mean you will get a prize later just for being wired directly to hell.

And how many times do I have to remind everyone that it was Joan Calabrese who wanted to be an FBI agent. I only know this because I sat directly behind Joan in tenth grade English class, an alphabetical thing, and I heard her saying something about this to Miss Marken, not because I ever had any real conversations with Joan. We never talked. Thus there is no reason for all these people to be concerned about my ever applying at the "agency." Obviously, my career path would not lead there.

Obviously, my intelligence does not extend to an ability to decipher the Heathcliff and Catherine coding so I would be of no use to them anyway. Someone was ranting about "Wuthering Heights." I did read this book during high school but found it somewhat dreary. Heathcliff's low position in life made it impossible for him to think of winning the hand of Catherine. Ok. So? Charlotte Bronte's book is all fiction anyway, all just her thinking imposed on fictional characters.

Charlotte Hawe's book, in contrast, is mostly true. She might have some quirky wording in there but overall it is probably a fairly accurate account of things that happened as viewed from Charlotte's perspective as missionary teacher. It is a very interesting book, actually.

I do not have any personal experience of significance to write about so obviously I would not be able to replicate Charlotte Hawe's success in writing about "New Thrills." Nor would I know anything about the "Thriller" connections to this complicated mess that was dumped on me by those wicked witches. I don't remember high school very much anyway. It was just four long years of misery and I never wanted to do that again.

The Moore Connection

My great-great-grandmother was Amanda Melvina Fitzallen Moore (1827-1882), born at Halifax, North Carolina, who married William Brownlow McClellan at age 17, in 1844, and had ten children. So why am I getting all these messages from various other Moores who are not related to me? As for example Harold Moore, who seems to imagine that being an AG pastor is a license to be rude? (Why was that Melodyland associate pastor at Harvest Assembly so rude to me even though I did not remember him from California? I once or twice took the ride offered by Lynda to use the library there but otherwise I do not remember anything about Melodyland except that when I was very young my parents took me to see a production of "Wizard of Oz" in the round. The theater later became a church and I was went to a concert there to hear Teri DeSario. Other than that I don't think that I attended Melodyland as a church more than once or twice personally, just visiting. Rusty was a Melodyland boy but I never saw him there. It was basically some staging by Dauna and others that got me placed in a photo at Rusty's video party. That was before. Otherwise I really would not know anything about that or why those Melodyland people would have anything to say about me. I was never interested in continuing any kind of relationship with Rusty for obvious reason. Melodyland is nothing now anyway. It was torn down and built over.) Amanda Moore looks a bit weatherbeaten in her photo, her dark hair pulled back from her face in severe fashion, blouse with strangely ruffled collar. So? Joy is not exactly a fashion plate either in her website photo. Moore opinions are not that important to me, anyway. I remember Al Moore bugging me in Western Civ class at SCC: "Earth to Candi! Earth to Candi!" But did he have anything to actually say to me? No, it was just a teasing thing, obviously. So why does everyone take this stuff so seriously? I have better things to do than revisit the Moore story, as if I ever knew anything about that. The family history book really doesn't say very much about Amanda personally. It's just all about him. I only have the book so that is all I can remember.

Making It

"There are those who make things happen and there are those who wonder what happened." This quote was a favorite ditty of our college voice teacher, Mrs. Hummel. So? Why should I spend the rest of my time wondering what Uncle Ariel's five children of Southern California have done and cleaning up all of their mess, not to mention all of the Venezuela mess left by the Hunts? I really don't care. All of these people live out of state and out of mind. I am starting to suspect that we are not very related to them anyway. There is no reason to be steaming up some meaningless conflict over events that no one really remembers anyway. All of this is just ridiculous.

Which reminds me

There is something that my mother's cousin said about getting up early in the morning being the road to success. Yes, I suppose that I could get up early and have at it and then make a fool of myself not knowing what I am doing or I could wait until later and find out what is really going on out there and then make plans. I find that I feel better the rest of the day if I take an extra few minutes to reflect and gather my thoughts together before moving or doing anything. Sorry if I don't buy willy nilly everything that my relatives say but if I gave their opinions too much regard my life would be a train wreck. They don't necessarily have any real understanding of anything that is in my best interests, apparently.

Yes, I suppose that if I were a special interest group, such as army or navy veterans, I would get a lot more "special attention" from the government, but I was never interested in selling my soul just because some confused person upstairs thought that Judy marrying a colonel meant that we were army brats. Not really. I don't know anything about that.

Also, we were never a Jewish or Arab family so it would be ridiculous and quite wrong for either of those people groups to be using our family tree to simulate the Palestinian issues of the Holy Land. This is America. We don't do that to each other here in America just because one or another relative married a Jewish or Arab person. We cannot have this ridiculous melodrama going on at home with Jewish and Arab factions trying to outdo each other. It just won't do. That is a problem they have over there in the Middle East, not here in America. You will have to carry on your Jewish-Arab conflict outside of our family because we would not want to end up looking like another bombed out Libyan territory, obviously.

Thus it is a bit ludicrous to see all these Mexican-Italians running around pretending to be Jewish. We know that they are just looking to secure for themselves all the social and financial advantages of being the "chosen" ones and "better" than everyone else without having to live in community with us. They are un-American in that respect. You can put up that front if you have the money but don't force everyone to buy what you are selling. This is America where every ethnicity is supposed to have the same opportunity as everyone else regardless of birth order.

Talent Show Whiners

Which reminds me that one year at SCC, maybe my third year, a group of girls asked me to play accompany the song they would be performing for the college's annual talent show which was then in its maybe second or third year. I am trying to remember what the song was, maybe "One Singular Sensation" from the Broadway musical, "A Chorus Line," although I could be wrong. Perhaps it was some other song. I can't quite remember. I guess those girls really wanted to strut their stuff on the stage so that was their choice of musical routine. I only played whatever they wanted because they asked. Otherwise I would not have been any part of that. It was not the kind of thing that I would be interested in doing, obviously. That was probably the only time that I had any part in a college talent show except for a tiny part in a choir the first year. My sister and I almost did a trio with Lynda but we backed out because it just wasn't going to work. I never really liked doing secular music very much anyway. You had to do some things to get the college credits but the talent show was not required. Thus I find it unbelievably rude for those girls to be asking me to explain their act. What were they thinking? I have no idea. I remember almost nothing about it. What were their names anyway? I only remember that when I walked off the stage I got lost and turned in the wrong direction and Rusty saw me and screamed at me. He thought I was trying to get myself in the spotlight. Ha! No, Rusty, I was only trying to get off stage as quickly as possible to find a chair to relax and watch everybody else in the college making fools of themselves, all under Rusty's able stage directions. That was all that was about.

Which reminds me

I already extracted what Sacramento documents I could find so Dauna can just wait there until the cows come home. I am not going to be doing that again. Neither am I going to be calling Cori for any reason. Have I forgotten that she is closely allied with Glen Kraiss, one of the Chicago Mob Slob ringleaders? No, I have not forgotten this important point. But how would I ever turn the tables on these wicked Chicago bitches without any help from above? It is just never going to happen. Alas!

Books for sale

On the Internet I see that Cindy Lopez Hudlin's book, "Hands that Heal: International Curriculum to Train Caregivers of Trafficking Survivors," can be purchased easily from various website sources, including, among others: Faith Alliance Against Slavery and Trafficking, The Salvation Army, The Commission for Children at Risk, the International Christian Alliance on Prostitution, and the Global Center for Women and Justice.

With such powerful marketing in place, there is no reason for me to call Cindy Lopez Hudlin on the phone to offer my services in the department of human trafficking and prostitution. I am fully persuaded that these professionals can adequately handle the job without any help from me. Is that the punch line you were waiting for? (Barf! Barf!)

Thus it is rather perturbing to be hearing from them on these points. Ok, so my GPA and lack of extracurricular achievements did not qualify me for the Delta Kappa club. However, I am not in bad company in that regard as Delta Kappa is no guarantee of future success, obviously, especially if you cannot get out of Bobby's somewhat simplistic mindset in which case we don't think you have anything valid to say anyway. There is a lot more to the story than the Bueno family business actually.

It is nice that the Bueno family established a school system there. However, that was an exception to the rule and not really our main reason for being there. Schools are good. Free lunch is good. It is all good. No one was saying that the Bueno family should not be doing that if that is what they want to do. Ditto to Sam Stewart.

However, if some other families were not particularly interested in going into the relief and development business in that way and felt themselves called more to the ministry side of it, well, there is no condemnation in that regard. Not everyone is called into the restaurant business, especially not me.

I don't appreciate my name getting all tangled up in that wicked witch web, frankly, as it just makes it hard for me to do anything. How can I have a life when those wicked witches still have their stranglehold? Change is needed, obviously.

The Cross Heresy

We see that Dauna's mother's maiden name was Cross and yet this fact does nothing to magically protect Dauna from sticking her foot in it, obviously. There is nothing magical about having the surname of Cross, or for that matter Crouch, as we see also from the example of Wicked Witch Patricia Cruz, a rude person who mostly was seen reading Kahlil Gibran pablum in high school. I have no time for these contrivances. They are peddling wallpaper, obviously, but I know better than to buy what they are selling.

Which reminds me

There is a question on the floor about all this sternness. Or maybe they are talking about the proliferation of Stearns. I only remember Robin and Renee Stearns who were at SCC at the same time that I was. Whether they are connected somehow to Richard Stearns, the president of World Vision, I really could not say. I have no idea. I have no connection to World Vision or interest in doing relief and development work, unlike the Buenos. Of course, we all know that Bobby's first girlfriend at SCC was Cindy Lopez, who worked for World Vision for quite a few years as well as for the Olympic Committee when it was in Los Angeles, as did Bobby. I really have no interest in following down that trail. I heard that Cindy and her husband later worked for the Latin America Child Care organization. So that's nice. I have lost track of most of these people. I really don't know anything about that nor would I expect to get a job working for Latin America Child Care after all of this, obviously.

More Thoughts About This

There are some things that I might say to one person that might not be appropriately if said to another person. Like everyone else, my life has compartments. Something I might say to a college roommate would not be what I would say to a co-worker or someone I only saw in class or the cashier at the grocery store or the person who asks what I am looking for when I walk into a store and to whom I usually reply, "Just looking," in order to browse privately without feeling like someone is watching me or having to look at and consider their suggestions which are probably not what I want anyway, unlike my mother who would probably embarrass me by telling my whole life story to the store clerk and getting into too much personal territory as she often does.

However, when I was three years old there was this unfortunate incident when I and this other kid in the nursery department at church did this "You show me yours, I'll show you mine," thing. The ethnicity of the kids involved was never the issue. It was strictly a male-female thing. It was really stupid and embarrassing, obviously. It was wrong of me to do that. I never said that it was OK or tried to excuse myself later. Still, I think some people are just too overwrought about it to this day.

Original Sin: The story has traveled throughout the planet and various persons, especially Catholics, have hailed my arrival on the planet as something akin to the original sinner. I have been judged a sub-human species, a mental vegetable who was not healed after all of the effects of enchephalitis that I had when a baby, a dog, a monster, a creature of lesser value, an ignoble beast, etc. I think this level of superstitious regard and attention is a bit unwarranted. Am I the only sinner on the planet? Does my three-year-old misdeed make me a worse sinner than other persons who did not do this or did not initiate the incident? Some people are born sinners but perhaps no one else thought of actually doing that except me. So? Is there no forgiveness for a sin if I cannot quite recall and verbalize whatever made me think of doing that? In retrospect I would recommend using dogs and cats for this purpose. And what about all those other sins of omission and/or commission that everyone else commits and is never called to account for? Why should I be called to account for everything I ever did when it is yet not my time to die and my life has not yet passed before my eyes, even if some other people wish that I were already dead. Besides, I cannot afford to have my brain scanned without money in the bank so bug off and leave me be.

Private Sin: We snuck into the bathroom of the church nursery to do this misdeed and then were obviously seen making our escape, imagining ourselves undetected even as everyone working in the place knew of our guilt and eternal condemnation. Thus, everyone in authority can be expected to reenact this church nursery scenario ad nauseum because nobody knows how to turn off faucet. Ok, so does this mean that I can never have a private moment again in my entire lifetime? Everyone is conspiring against me to publicize everything that I ever say or do and comparing notes behind my back so that I cannot protect myself from information getting into the wrong hands and getting twisted and misused and everything going off in the wrong direction. Everyone assumes that I will continue to perpetrate similar misdeeds for the rest of my life as mindless automaton and no trust or confidence is placed in my judgments or thoughts of any kind. This means that I cannot have any real friends or any real success in a job when everyone will be undoing anything of benefit to me anyway. Why bother? My place in society is that of single-celled amoeba, a word that I might have used myself at times, unfortunately, only because they asked for it. If I can only live in private, then I ought to be looking for a residential nuthouse to pass the time because anyway I have no life.

Which reminds me

While I was a reporter at the Haines City Herald covering the tiny town of Dundee I recall there was a controversy over the local creche which was displayed on public property owned by the town. The town received a letter from the ACLU requesting its removal. The other reporter Cherie Jacobs, who wrote for the bigger paper, the Lakeland Ledger, wrote a story which contained mainly the contents of the ACLU letter in addition to a description of the creche. My story, which appeared later, after the town meeting, included more of the comments of the mayor who expressed the town's defense of its opinion that there was no reason for them to remove the creche. I don't remember what happened later, if the town abandoned this idea of displaying the creche on public land or it was moved to private land or something. I really don't care that much personally. I was just doing my job. I only covered that town for a short town and, anyway, this is not an issue that will make or break my Christian beliefs. Whatever the decor may or may not be, Christmas is something I believe and know in the heart and is not dependent on the presence of these knick-knacks so beloved by simple-minded Catholics who don't seem to know any better. Christmas says something about what Christians believe in regards to the virgin birth of Jesus, an idea that is apparently not agreeable to Jewish people. They have no real understanding of Christmas, sad to say. More recently, it was disturbing to be receiving messages from this Cherie Jacobs or similar wicked witch sorceress, possibly even my own Wicked Witch Anita, who was saying that if I am putting all my faith in some object, that I will become myself just a baby doll of sorts, just a statue upon which other persons will project emotions and ideas of their choosing, myself not being anything but a piece of plastic, a reflector that they can use to accelerate their own particular personal agenda. I did not like hearing all of this garbage from trashy dog Stacy and her clueless sidekick Sue. I did not like not being able to control my life. I did not like my words falling into the air and dissipating like a tree that falls in the forest unheard, the sound waves bouncing back as if I were nothing but a transponder of sorts. I did not like this whole scenario with all of these people shoving my head in the sand. I did not like Green Eggs and Ham. I did not like you Sam I Am. So hopefully something of my message back to you will get out through the Internet even if I cannot really express these thought in polite society without getting cut off at the knees.

Which reminds me

The chocolate mousse was highly recommended whenever dining at The Monk's Cellar in Miami and it really was delicious. We all tried it and it was delicious. I had forgotten that point of truth. Yes, the chocolate mousse at The Monk's Cellar was very good. Perhaps Susie would remember that. As for the other contents of the cellar I really have no idea. We did not sample the rest of that so I really could not say what else was in there which is probably just as well. I really don't need that kind of baggage, thanks anyway.

My Personal Life

I remember telling someone that sometimes God tells me things. I might be in the shower washing my hair or looking out the window and wondering about things and God explains it to me somehow and so I am not very worried about things most of the time. Apparently this conversation got twisted around and someone was accusing me of consulting horoscopes and Ouija boards which is ridiculous. That never happened. Maybe you are thinking of Barbara Miller of Mississippi. I started reading the Bible through every year even in high school although I got away from that in college and resumed later. I got that idea because of something that Mrs. Richardson said and I do feel better when I am doing that. It is just a personal thing, not a fortune telling kind of thing. You must have me confused with that wicked sorceress from hell Anita.

Betterfields

Yes, I received a message from someone stating that Vanessa had married a very wealthy man of high class family and was thus ushered into the upper echelons of high society where she no longer has to worry about being related to a bus driver and can stomp all over us with impunity. This explains why we see Vanessa and the Butterfields sneering down at their former cousins from their lofty perches paid for by the decadent glitterati of Hollywood arrogance. I did not know that until someone delivered this punch in the face. I was not much aware of Vanessa's existence or location on the planet, I have to admit. Having received that kind of arrogant message from crude and vulgar bitch Vanessa, the Warrens should not be surprised if they never see hide nor hair of me in this lifetime. Is it any wonder that I never go there/ I could not care less about what kind of trashy dog dogs might be produced but such an utterly rude and pathetically stupid cousin as Vanessa, trained this way no doubt but one of my wicked witch aunts. I really should not say this but then again everyone is waiting for me to say this.

Last year my parents visited Vanessa in her Dallas home. My mom said that Vanessa's husband is a Calvary Chapel pastor and has seven or eight children. Oh, I did not know that. I really don't care.

Calvin Sightings

There was an open house nite in the SCC dorms every month or so and I remember telling someone that during one of those nights Calvin showed up in my room and was sitting there chatting and he said that I have beautiful feet. Ha ha ha! Calvin is glib, obviously. Yes, I cannot pretend to be even half as good a pianist as Calvin so there was no reason to imagine myself arguing with him on these points. Like Calvin was saying at another time, I just don't seem to have the speed that some other pianists have, especially himself. He certainly can clickety-clack all over the keyboard. I used to think that I would improve with practice but there comes a time when you realize that more practicing just isn't worth it. Nowadays I would really rather do anything else than practice the piano. The joy of it totally evaporated one day and never came back. So I really have nothing else to say about that. I just can't compete in the digital robotics department so why bother rying? I just don't care.

Memories

Which reminds me that while I was living in California, I once went with Becky to her parents' house where her family was having a party. So in addition to meeting her sister, I also met at least two of her brothers. One of her brothers had a girlfriend there who looked somewhat mousy and everyone was saying all kinds of mean things about her behind her back. Apparently they were only living together so the family viewed her as some kind of dog, not exactly human, as if the brother was not to blame in that situation. Ha! I never saw those people again after that one time and that was a good reason to brush off the advances of Becky's other brother, all Mexicans as I would not want to get stuck with that family one way or another.

Nordic Idiots

It is fortunate that we are here functioning as the guardians of society to keep these Nordic idiots in check. If it were not for our brilliant and logical Anglo minds, there is no telling what pathetically stupid wickedness these Nordic idiots would be perpetrating upon modern society. When we Anglos are removed from society and caught up into the sky to be with Jesus, these Nordic idiots will have nothing left to warn against the folly of handling snakes just because. If the snake got in your face and you had no choice that is one thing, but just to handle snakes as some type of circus attraction is not something that we would recommend. A sign will not be given to you.

Birch Baptists

We are not fooled. We are aware that there was an Italian who was somehow involved in the murder of the Baptist John Birch, a missionary to China who also happened to be a spy of some sort. So? We have no connection to that incident which occurred in China during World War II, in August of 1945 to be more precise. We understand that the wicked Italians ought to feel ashamed of their murderous thoughts toward us but we do not understand why the Baptists are now in alliance with these Italian murders who are plotting against them. As if we ever knew anything about that. It took many years for that case to be examined by the authorities and the Italian man's guilt determined. Or else it was the Chinese who killed Birch. Why are these facts so murky and One would think that the Italians would be apologetic toward all Protestants over this, not only the Baptists, not that anyone is accusing John Birch of anything but we all know that Italians have no ability to discern Protestant and Pentecostal distinctives, as to the French also. It is all just one big hammer to them, all for their own benefit. But we do not really care about joining the John Birch Society, I am just saying. There is freedom of association in this country and if we choose not to pay our dues to the John Birch Society, well, it just means, perhaps, that we are not Italians or Baptists maybe, I don't know. I haven't really studied that very much because I really don't care. Murder investigation was never my plan, not my intention, although I am sure there is plenty to say about that for the persons who really did commit murder. I am just saying.

The Dangers of Verbal Reflection

Yes, it is so dangerous to express these thoughts of self-reflection in a spoken or written form, obviously. There is no telling why these strange and hare-brained people will use whatever I say or do against me in one way or another. Take for example the thoughts that I once expressed in conversation with someone in college, I don't remember, maybe Cori, about my feelings of guilt for not having witnessed more during high school. This was due to my not having been in a good position to be able to explain the Gospel to these heathen high school classmates who think they know everything and have no respect for poor people like me. Take, for example, those pagan witches Irene and Patricia who have no clue about anything relating to Protestant Christianity. These Catholics have a different canon and operate under different rules than we do, which means that we just are never going to agree on certain matters of religion and it is futile to try to do that. I remember getting into this argument with someone during high school so it was just not possible and I just dropped the subject. We Protestants labor under many expectations that we present a Christian witness at all times and yet often the opportunity does not present itself for whatever reason, as I was saying to someone. And if we try to present the Christian witness uninvited we risk the rebuttals from these godless persons of deficient understanding so after one failed attempt over lunch I did not try again there. I do feel somewhat guilty about not doing more to try to evangelize these high school classmates but it just was not to be. God works in mysterious ways that we cannot understand. God knows better and that is about all I said about that.

Which reminds me

While I was rooming with Cori she was hanging around a lot with the twins, Marilyn and Marianne Brooks. They don't look identical to me. Maybe they are fraternal. Anyway, I remember Cori telling me that she was down the hall in their room and they were talking about something related to sex and they were apparently nude and using magic markers to paint pictures of flowers on their, well, I'll just say their naked bodies in their discussion of sex the details of which I did not hear. So Cori thought this was hysterically funny and was laughing. OK, so I am guessing that perhaps the Brooks girls won the "contest" to "train" Cori. I know I didn't.

Which reminds me

I remember years being at lunch talking to Pam and Sue and the subject of Joni came up. Sue especially expressed the concern that Joni seems to have no belief in healing. Of course, sometimes God heals and sometimes God expects people to make the most of disabilities working through the healthcare system. Who are you to say which is which, who is who? There are those who believe that Joni is actually against the idea of healing from God in this day and age which makes her extreme prominence problematic to Pentecostals who for obvious reasons don't want to get it from her. She was a great artist with brush in mouth but there are other things that she just would not understand.

And What is More

Speaking of Barbara Wilder's fallen arches, that sounds like a joke that Susie would find very funny. Susie would remember Barbara from sixth grade as would her brother Sammy.

Which reminds me of that lame-brained song that Sammy taught us, "Be kind to your fine feathered friends for a duck may be somebody's mother. Be kind to your friends in the swamp where it's always dark and damp. Well, few think that this is the end. Well, it is."

Which reminds me that Pam Bowlingball gave me a little stuffed duck for a gift when I was in her wedding years ago. So whatever that means. I tried to think of a way to fend off all of the darts that doggie dike Pam was constantly slinging at me, all the insults and character assassinations and verbal slams, but I just don't know how to do that. I was trained to be nice to everybody as the way to make friends but all of these people are playing by some other rules. It just isn't fair.

Diary Bits

Which reminds me that we read about Laurie and Debbie in the diaries. It is all there about how Laurie and Debbie got together. Also, there was Susie and Polly, who I don't remember at all, and Sandra and Joanne and possibly some other odd arrangements for inquiring minds that want to know what that really meant. Or maybe we really don't want to know. I certainly wasn't there so I really would not.

Interesting News

A little bird told me that the Butterfields had recently aligned themselves with the evil Axis powers of Germany. I don't pretend to understand how the former Allies who in past times fought on the U.S. side are now serving in the U.S. armed forces on behalf of the German Axis Nazis and heaping aspersions on their own maiden name of Calkins with all of its English and Celtic roots. How convenient that Laurie found a German male prop to pay the rent and mask the lesbian affairs with Debbie. It sounds to me a lot like another one of Wicked Witch Anita's mental seizures, if you ask me. How does one respect an aunt of which there is nothing nice to say? Of course nobody asked. It was just some idiot bimbo, maybe Stacy, going through some pathetically stupid diatribe. We are accustomed to hearing through the grapevine of these mental flights of vacuity of the Butterfields and their assorted social contacts to which we have no interest in attaching ourselves. We do feel a certain degree of pity for these Long Beach people of which we have not much comprehension. To us San Pedro is just a port, just a dropping off point on the way to somewhere else. Without a Marine World theme park, Long Beach becomes just another Swedenborgian grotto fading slowly into meaningless obscurity. The Mile of Books was torn down and replaced with a fancy upscale urban core development, thus pricing the bus drivers out of the market. Things change. If you can't pretend to be related to me, then perhaps you don't really exist anyway so there is no reason to care what happened to the nastiest, meanest aunts and uncles a girl could ever have or at least wish did not have.

The Dogs

Yes, those doggie dike women certainly do have sharp fangs and vicious minds. Take that blond witch who is always yapping and jeering at my defeat, as if her entire existence is dedicated to hatred of me. I really don't even remember who she might be. She was probably just another blond dog. They all look alike from certain angles, especially when I cannot really see them stabbing me in the back. I only know this because I can feel the knife carving out my insides, not because I saw them coming.

Short Stories

We do feel a certain degree of pity for these Pagan Holiness people. They try so hard to be holier than everybody else and yet they are only vain and somewhat affected in their fleshly conquests, like that ditzy wicked witch Heidi who I always just ignored at college because I never liked that type of arrogant snob anyway. That type of blabbermouth person has no inner thoughts and probably imagines that quiet persons such myself say nothing because we have nothing to say, no thoughts to express. This is not so. Quiet people have thoughts, too, but also more discretion as to what not to say and who is not worth talking to, as for example worthless Methodical Holiness bimbos named Heidi. The cup that appears clean on the outside may yet be filled with filth on the inside, as Jesus has said. Who is to say that Heidi is not a whitewashed tomb filled with dry bones despite the outward "Holiness" label? At age 10 I wrote a short story but it was too similar to the book "Heidi" to merit serious thought of publication. It was about a girl who was homesick. Maybe I was homesick too so that book sort of struck a chord with me. Thus it logically follows that Heidi does not get to be my supervisor, especially as my books, if I were ever to write some, would not be strictly of the Old Testament variety. The Old Testament has its place but Jesus came that we might have life and more abundantly, and so Heidi's lack of a New Testament gospel message that resounds is a serious deficiency in terms of my particular focus. Having a Ph.D. in Old Testament would be great for Middle East archaeological expeditions but I was not planning to go there. A vacation is nice but not does not a career make. Besides, Ugaritic is not spoken in China so you just don't get it, do you?

Which reminds me

While I was living in California I recall telling the Delesies about having attended a camp meeting with a church near where I lived and there was this guy whose name I do not recall on the bus who monopolized my time on the way there or on the way home. He talked a lot but oddly I don't remember anything of what he said. I think that later he called me at home. I cannot remember if I gave him my phone number. Anyway, when he called me at home and monologued in his boring way I guess I gave him the chill treatment, just saying "Uhuh uhuh," because he suddenly asked if I was knitting something. I was working on a craft although not exactly knitting. Finally, I can't remember if I asked him not to call me again or something. I don't remember. Anyway, I mentioned this later in a conversation, as if narrating my long list of meeting boring male duds in my humorously self-deprecating way is a good way to fill time with conversation as I really don't have any news to speak of when people ask me whether I have met someone or am in a relationship or have something romantic in the works or anything else interesting in my life to talk about. Not really. I wish people would just not ask or else I just won't be going there again because, anyway, I cannot have my idiot aunts and uncles running my life behind the scenes. I have the most clueless idiot relatives, you would not believe, but in the past it seemed not wise or diplomatic for me to really explain this to just everyone. Family is more complicated than that. But in other respects I really do not have any need of these idiot aunts and uncles anyway. Their ostentatious display of wealth and Lutheran lukewarmedness does not impress. We are not intimidated by their huffing and puffing. We would spew them out of our mouths but then they would have no Christian witness, no example of lowliness and humble godliness to learn from, which we provide, and we do feel a certain sense of obligation to be a Christian witness in some sense to these pathetically godless, crude and vulgar uppity-up Delesie dogs to the extent possible, if possible, because we are related to them. I am just saying.

speaking of birds

Oddly, I suddenly recall that at one time when I was living alone in California I bought myself a pair of finches and their cage which I hung in my apartment. Every day when I would get home from work the two birds would sing loudly in welcome probably because they knew I would soon feed them. When I was away on vacation for a week one of them died of sadness in my absence and the other lived a little while longer but without its partner was saddened and listless. So it was nice to have finches as pets for a small amount of money that I spent at a flea market the one time that I went shopping with my roommate who was of Mennonite background but I had no thought of Mr. and Mrs. Finch in that purchase. It might seem like a sign now to some persons looking back at old photographs that I don't remember anyway but actually not. It was only a coincidence.

Cousin David

I wonder what makes these doggie dikes think that I ever had the slightest respect for my Cousin David? He was constantly in pursuit of the anti-Christian angle at every turn so obviously he was always wrong about everything and his opinion of no value in all respects, at least in my opinion. Well, he might have been intelligent to start with but unfortunately his mind was consumed by those anti-Christian books that he was reading all the time, the Superman comic books, and all that other Yoga stuff which we did not experience with him because we did not run away from home and disappear into the lowlife underground of San Francisco for years at a time. Obviously, we do not have any respect for the idiot friends who dragged him into the gutter and left him there. So anyone claiming to be a friend of Cousin David's is a blithering idiot in our eyes. This will explain why anyone identifying themselves as allied with Cousin David will be shut down immediately, because we do not want to hear it from them. We know better.

More Horror Stories

Which reminds me that at SCC one day during a party at which I was not in attendance two guys kissed. And then everyone was grossed out and puking with vomit splattering all over the walls. Or else they laughed and thought it was funny. I am not sure which, actually. I only know this happened because of something that Dauna said. Dauna was there so she would remember who those guys were, probably. Why don't you ask Dauna what happened? I can't be quite certain because I only heard Dauna's version of the event and the details are fuzzy in my mind. I am thinking maybe Rodger but then what if I am not remembering rightly and I name some innocent guy who wasn't even there? I don't even know what the purpose of this event was or who was there except maybe Dauna and Rodger. It would save a lot of time if you would ask Dauna what she remembers first before bugging me with questions that I can't answer.

Three Selves

Which reminds me that there is a lot of controversy about China's Three-Self Movement, which is a Christian group that some believe to be heretical. And then there is the oneness movement also very entrenched in China. I get the idea that someone is making a rather sick joke about my three selves but I am not amused. I do not appreciate being the butt of someone's sick sense of humor. I do not think that it is even remotely funny and I am very very angry about that. I have to say I might even enjoy if I could knock their blocks and clean their clocks because this is ridiculous. Hopefully God will have mercy on me because I do not how to stop this ridiculous thing so that I can get off.

More memories

Which reminds me of the times at MK school when, after school programs at the radio station had concluded and we kids were running around in the parking lot waiting for the parents to finish socializing, we would sometimes march down the driveway in between the mission house and the Bible institute singing "Onward Christian Soldiers" and maybe another song, I don't remember. This was mostly Susie's idea. Of course, this was private property so there was no reason to need to discuss this with the neighbors. No one objected. It would have been maybe 8 or 9 o'clock at night and not really loud enough to make me believe that the neighbors ever heard this. Maybe Susie did but I did not. I doubt that there was any cause for concern. Thus, it is obvious that this turmoil regarding our song is purely manufactured by some unnamed activists who wrongly informed someone that we had gone marching up the driveway of the home of the Jewish family that lived on the other side of the mission house whom I never met. Only Susie ever met those people. And anyway, that never happened. That mistaken story reminds of something that someone else said about how not to witness to Jewish people but that never happened, obviously.

Cleanliness

Which reminds me that I once roomed with Dauna for about three months and I am a firsthand witness that during that time Dauna was the most unbelievably filthy slob imaginable. Nothing was put away. All the clothes were just all over the floor, never washed. There were three of us in the room so it was more crowded and inconvenient than normal but still Dauna was horrible. It is fortunate for me that dykey dog Dauna dropped out of college and did not come back the next year so that was a relief. I will not be rooming with Dauna ever again in this lifetime, such an obnoxious roommate was she to me. I cannot speak for her dikey dog alter ego Lynda, obviously. Of course, if I hammer away at these dogs I will only make everyone feel more pity for them and less for me. Obviously. That is the whole point of this script, to make me look terrible even though I didn't do anything to them. I just want those dykey dogs to get out of my head, that's all.

Ding

I suddenly remembered something. It might have been Becky Stewart who said something about that being the reason that her parents chose not to send her to the American School in El Salvador when she was of high school age. I vaguely remember hearing the Stewarts saying they did not think the school was safe for their children some reason, too decadent and worldly and Catholic. Hmmm.... That would have been in the 1960s before we ever met them. My parents were the first of the missionaries to send their children to the American School, which was a matter of concern to some other missionaries. Still, there were not many choices, especially when it comes to high school. I can't say that I would agree with the Stewarts' angle on that but still it was not easy being a fish out of water in a manner of speaking. I could try to explain but I would just be sticking my foot in it. All this foot-in-mouth disease give me a big headache.

Ha ha ha!

Those unbelievably haughty and arrogant, nasty Italian Catholics would save themselves a lot of grief if they would show a little more humility else we will have to lock them all up in convents and monasteries to keep the streets safe for ordinary mortals such as myself. There is nothing special about wearing widow's black all the time, as if life were a funeral. Unless your husband really is dead in which case only one year is de rigeur in that type of social circle, I suppose. Like I have said before, I just don't think like other people for some reason. It is weird but I was always so bored at lunch listening to pukey Pam yapping about the Saltshaker book as if her stupid bimbo opinion matters to me. I really don't remember why I should care.

Ping Pong Service

If dykey dogs Dauna and Lynda really want to pick a fight with my Dad, they ought to be warned that my Dad has a ping pong spin that will leave them eating dirt, pushing up daisies, well, you know what I mean. They will be sitting there waiting for a chance to hit the ball back over the net but their opportunity will never arrive because the ball spins off in another direction they were not anticipating. So I suggest that dykey dogs Dauna and Lynda surrender themselves to the authorities if they want do not want to be dispatched to the netherworld on the early schedule.

Be the Best

Which reminds me that during the one year I was at Evangel our college dean was Mr. Best and his daughter lived nearby or I somehow knew her from classes or something. In the course of his duties promoting the college he devised a clever slogan based on his own name, "Be the Best." He was not suggesting that we should all join his family, obviously. It was nice of the Best family to host some of us girls for a night at their house before taking us to the airport to go home. But Mr. Best was only encouraging all Evangel students to be the best they can be, similar to the slogan used by the army. I heard that Mr. Best was later fired for some ignominious reason so obviously Mr. Best was not the standard by which we are to model ourselves in every respect. Besides, I would be lying if I said that I was the best at everything, so obviously I never said that. I am uncomfortable with this idea that I have to be better all the time or die. I might be better at one thing and yet not better at another. In matters of indifference, there are times when good enough is good enough.

Cancelled

Naturally, I can cancel the book club membership immediately if I want to which is why I resent these persons telling me that I cannot order my affairs as I choose, that I cannot cancel the book club thing if I want to, that I have to continue to pay for these boring club books that I don't enjoy reading anyway and only attract too much attention from snoopy spies like Dauna. They want to drag me down to their level of dumpy dog, so that in my despair I will become just as fat and ugly as they are and thus understand how they feel, etc. etc. What kind of life is that? Even though I am judged by the company I keep, yet I am powerless to dispose of these obnoxious people by whom I would prefer not to be judged. They were just there at the time. Some things were just outside of our control. Whoever says that a car cannot be a deadly weapon, especially when steered by a dumpy dog? I never said that but these things seem to be written into the script.