You know you are a looner when:

You know you are a looner when:

  1. Car lot balloons are more interesting than the new cars.
  2. You dream about the Goodyear Blimp.  In color.
  3. Foil balloons ruin an occasion.
  4. The box of latex gloves under the sink isn’t really for cleaning.
  5. Non-lubricated condoms are preferred.
  6. Balloon shards cover your carpet like spent rounds.
  7. Balloons are hidden between the mattress and box spring.
  8. You know what the real differences between balloons.
  9. You match your wardrobe to the balloon color you blow up each morning.
  10. You cannot resist the urge to take balloons home after someone throws a party.

Ok, so I’m just kidding around!  LOL

~P.

Write in the comments your ideas for knowing when you are a looner!

Dear John~You need to learn to communicate

Dear John,

No need to mince words here.  You SUCK at communicating.  I realize it’s probably because you never learned to communicate properly.  I know you at least went to Kindergarten so I really don’t see how you screwed learning communication up so badly.  Everyone knows you learn the most important things in Kindergarten.  I suggest you join Tesla’s class more often, not as a volunteer, but as a student.

Yesterday, Tesla was SO sick she couldn’t speak to me on the phone ALL day.  You refused to tell  me what her doctor said and what symptoms she was experiencing.  All you wanted to say was it was my fault she was sick even though I haven’t had Tesla in two weeks.

Today I had to call her SCHOOL to see if she was there.  What the hell is your problem with Tesla talking to me?  You couldn’t let her call this morning so I could hear her voice and find out how she is.  If she went back to school today, I promise she wasn’t sick with what I had.  Especially since I think mine was food poisoning.  (That’s not contagious)

Thank God I get Tesla back today.  She needs a break from her whiny father.

~P.

 

 

Far as we are concerned

Tesla and I are good.

 

If Tesla can draw a picture and I title it, we have had a great day.

Chillin’ wit a Happy Pickle,

~P.

“He is whiny”

 

Zip it

 

Dale texted me.  That really did make me “lol!”

I had forwarded the text John sent me to him.  Got that?

**skip if easily distracted**  (It is funny that, in the phone given to me by my sister Suz has John listed as J Hole.  His messages  are from Hole, J.  Very funny Susan 🙂 🙂 😀 😀  Ok, so Suz had no real part in this conversation and is avoiding me right now anyway.)

“Tesla is very sick you gave her your bug”

I read the text a second time, became very annoyed and sent this response back to Hole, J.

“I think she gave it to me after it went through everyone at your house three times.  Have her call and I will comfort her.  Ty.”

I’m still not sure about the call at 8:02 AM.  Was that Tesla calling me? Or was it John, wanting to point his short, pudgy finger?  I called J Hole, not blocking my number and he answered.  Told me Tesla was sleeping and I requested she call when she woke.  I thanked him and hung up.  Will I hear from Tesla?

These are the days of my life,

~P.

**another distraction** (Suz had me listed as Pattio in my new-to-me phone.  A name Uncle Walty made up for me.  Uncle Walty was made up by J Hole.  It’s a twisted, name calling, soap opera.)

P.S.  There will be a quiz.

Blow til it Pops

I took five in total.

One red balloon, one yellow, three blue.

Blowing the blues up and bouncing them round.

Feeling sexy as hell, while literally bound.

Releasing the air for only a few.

Blow til I pop, right along with the red balloon.

Releasing a wave, a rush~ no way to explain.

The satin feeling of yellow on my skin I do indeed like.

Don’t pop my balloon, I want to keep it all night.

The smell of latex, stimulates my mind.

Inhaling through my nose I take in its scent, knowing it will remain long after I’m spent.

The sounds of breathing with a balloon close to my face.

The squeak as my teeth grasp the latex.

Pop! A slight sting to my face triggers waves of pleasure through my body…..

Yes,  it can be.

A small room of balloons, I know just the place.

Filled to the brim, very little space.

I know you will find me, popping balloons as you go.

Balloon collateral damage, until we blow.

 

Ah….balloon fetish poetry,

~P.

To Write Love on Her Arms

Jamie Tworkowski

Choose not to be alone.

Jamie Tworkowski spoke on campus about his non-profit movement known as “To Write Love on Her Arms” (TWLOHA) and just for kicks, he brought along his friend and musician Anthony Raneri of Bayside.  The tickets were a twofer; something you get two at once, Jamie and Anthony appearing on one stage.

If you went to the presentation, you know exactly what TWLOHA is and if you didn’t go, read the previous issue of The Spartan.  What I want to write about is Mr. Tworkowski as an individual.

If I had to describe Tworkowski with one word it would be “cool.” He is so cool you want to know him.  He came in and spilled his guts about his life. Carefree, surfer dude type of guy. He had a nice job with a big racing company and he quit to raise awareness of depression, suicide, self injury, addiction, and all the “stuff” people are afraid to talk about. Twork (my nickname for him) said, “People need other people to help us carry the weight of life.”

Twork was a guy that made the audience think “slacker.”  He admitted he was a slacker and was amazed himself when he landed a dream job with Quicksilver followed by Hurley.   He experienced two life changing events.  A friend, Renee needed support while she came down from drug use.  Twork recorded five days with her in written form.  Following her admittance to rehab, Twork shared his story about just being there for her as a friend.  He also had an associate at work commit suicide and this prompted him to make a difference in people’s lives.  Twork is one hell of a guy and brutally honest.  He said, “People are afraid of what response we are met with when we talk about stuff.  Suicide prevention is in knowing others are out there that care.”

These were wise words for a college drop-out, surfer dude.  He dressed to blend in on campus and I estimate he is in his early thirties now.  While he didn’t encourage dropping out of college, he did open my eyes at how much of an impact this dorky guy had through the internet.  I don’t think Twork would mind if I called him dorky.  He seemed to know he is goofy and it is a very charming trait for someone who has taken up public speaking.  Twork made the sound-system squeal, he didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings and I noticed his habit of taking the lid off his water and putting it back on without taking a sip.  A nervous reaction I suppose.  He also would go off on a tangent and forget what he was talking about.  I’m not sure how he manages to squeeze so much humor into such a sad topic but dude pulled it off.  Twork is just an average joe who was there for a friend in need and kicked off what has become a world-wide support system.  He believes, “you are born to be known and your uniqueness is priceless.”  His message is of hope and that help is real and I believed in his message.  Everyone in the room believed in his message and that is why he is successful as what he does.

someone’s gotta earn the money there

Letters he nevers learn from

Dear John,

Thank you for making the effort to be human today.  I was very upset with you for not making arrangements for Tesla to leave school with me.  It’s bad enough I am no longer “authorized” to pick up my child.  I just don’t grasp your need to tell the school I can never pick up Tesla without your permission.  It seems just a bit extreme to me.  Do you think I’m going to take off in my 92 Ford Accord with highly visible bumper sticker and windshield sticker announcing  “GIRLBOXER1970” and make a run for the Mexican border with Tesla?  Seriously, get a grip.  When Tesla tells me she doesn’t see me enough I respond with, “I agree.  I don’t see you enough either honey, but right now, there isn’t much Mommy can do right now.  I promise to keep working on it.”

Regardless, it was nice to see you realized the error in your ways and made it right.  I just don’t think I should have to beg/guilt you into letting me see her.  I hope this could become a habit for you, sharing our daughter.  Perhaps then your daughter wouldn’t beg me to keep her when I do get to see her.

Finally, don’t jump my throat about Tesla’s homework.  YOU are responsible to check her homework.  This is the third or fourth time she did not have her name on her paper.  You say she did and you saw her write it, yet magically it was not there today.  I don’t need to hear your snide remarks when all I said was “Tesla’s name wasn’t on her homework.”  I also will pass on hearing how you have to go work on jobs now cause “somebody has to earn some money around here.”  What the hell does that have to do with me?  Tell your girlfriend who’s been trying to get a nursing degree for the past 10 years and can’t seem to graduate, to get a job.  Hopefully very little spelling is involved in being a nurse.

I realize you think you’re perfect.  I’m thrilled when you realize you’re not.

Next time, please take care of the note in advance.  I always give you amble notice when I would like to get Tesla, yet you wait until the last-minute to respond.  I sadly have to call block my cell number just so you will answer.  That is just petty.  I take your calls even though I can’t stand to hear your voice.

Man up and take mine!

~P.

PS. Please wash Tesla’s purple jacket.  It is filthy.

Headache Hell

Last night, after three days of being sick, I wound up in the ER at York Hospital.

I had stopped losing fluids at both ends but I guess I didn’t replenish water fast enough.

Suddenly, I had the headache from hell around 2 AM.  I literally had my hands grasping my head because it felt like my head would explode.

9 hours later, 1 CAT scan, fluids, morphine and a lumbar tap I was released.

No signs of problems from the tests.

I still had a headache.

Damn!

~P.

Don’t feed the animal

You were warned

Picture I came across from 2001.  Rated PG.  LOL

~P.

 

 

Kid, cat and a chainsaw

Blaine & Emily

This is a cute picture of Blaine looking out the sliding glass door at my cat Emily.  Blaine was just three years old I believe.  He thought Emily was so pretty.  I don’t know where Emily is anymore.  John called the SPCA to come take her  and Tesla’s cat Sparky, away.  He claimed they were strays.  Disposable cats, just like dogs in John’s world.

Later that day, John took Blaine outside with him.  John decide to trim the sumac trees.  He accidentally bumped Blaine in the back of the head with the chainsaw.

Thank God it was not engaged.

Blaine will forever be missing hair and have a scar where Uncle John almost cut off his head.

~P.