Bad Manners

I’m Laughing Because it is Funny

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Sometimes, when I am sitting alone in my writing lab, playing with my unicorn Sparkles, things seem funny to me.  I write the funny scenario into a scene and crack up laughing. It is uncertain if at times it is actually amusing, or my visualization of the even makes it even more comical to me.

I saw an image of a spirit beneath a well on someone’s Facebook post, and I toyed with idea, what if someone was actually able to catch that spirit.  If you catch the spirit, then the entity will grant your heart’s desire.  However, what if what you want, isn’t actually what your heart is craving.  What if you make the wish and get it all wrong?

I wrote Beneath the Well of Dawn and played with that idea.  What if you wished for a really good looking guy, but he was dumb as a box of crayons or if you wished for someone who was a good conversationalist, but was too unattractive to look at?

In Beneath the Well of Dawn, Faynell encounters many bad choices, but one is sitting at her table, who meets the next door neighbor, Zeke, who is more than just a pest in the main character’s eyes.

The interaction, makes me laugh, because I think it is funny.

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She began to hum a tune as she cracked eggs and set the bacon to sizzling. Mike had a wonderful tenor voice that he used to join in with her on the song. He filled the coffee carafe with water as he made the coffee, found the plates to set the table, and even laid out the silver ware. He grabbed small glasses from the cupboard and well cover, newpoured them both some orange juice. When everything was done, he took her hand into his, and blessed the food. She liked this Mike. Well, at least she did until she saw him eat.

The slack in his lip created an issue with holding the food in his mouth and each time his teeth came together to masticate the food, some would slide out the hanging lip. Several times he slurped, drawing the eggs back into his face. It sounded even worse than it looked. In a last ditch effort not to lose her own breakfast, she dropped her head as she ate so she would not have to look at him.

Just her luck, after breakfast Zeke decided to stop in and check on her. The backdoor was open and he knocked on the screen door yelling, “Coming in, Faye!” and stepped inside.

He took one look at Mike and did an about-face while saying, “And heading back out!”

It took everything in her not to laugh at him, but it was difficult as Zeke also pulled up the back door, going over to the window and peering through the curtains, his brown eyes darting back and forth like he had seen a ghost. He pointed at Mike with his mouth moving, “What the f….”

“Good morning, Zeke, is there something you need?”

“Me! Shit, is it something you need?” He was still pointing at Mike through the curtain, his head bobbing left and right behind the billowing window covering while he kept blinking trying to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “Faye, come outside for minute, let me holla at you.”

She waved Zeke away, but when she returned to the kitchen, she could still see his darting eyes over the rim of the windowsill peering into the house. Faynell was outdone with her neighbor as she jerked open the back door heading outside. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Zeke Bennett, Ms. Annie did not raise you to act this way.”

Zeke didn’t hear a word she said, he was peeking over her shoulder trying to see into the window. Faynell pinched him. “Get a grip on yourself before you hurt his feelings.”

“You ought to be more concerned with who hurt his face!”

Faynell pinched him again. “I don’t care how many times you pinch me, Faynell. Mr. The Hills Got Eyes is still inside your house. Is he staying the night?”

“That is none of your business, Zeke,” she told him as she pushed him towards his own house.

“It is my business if you come up missing! Hey, Faye, see if you can make a copy of his driver’s license and put it on the back porch. You know, in case you come up missing. Ain’t no way in hell my description to the police won’t get me locked away in the looney bin, trying to describe that ugly son of a bi….”

“Go home, Zeke!”

He had bent over in the yard, his hands on his knees laughing. “Hey, Girl, you know that scene in your favorite movie when Shug meets Miss Celie for the first time?”

“GO HOME, ZEKE!”

She left him in the back yard, his laughter echoing in her ears.

Mike came back into the kitchen. “Is he an ex or something?”

“No, Mike, he is just the asshole that lives next door. More coffee?”

And with that, they sat down to work.

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Read the whole story on Kindle, on Amazon. Evidently, these people found it funny as well.

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars          Laughter is the best medicine, February 10, 2014
By Ameldra Williams (Ohio)  –
This review is from: Beneath the Well of Dawn (Slivers of Love) (Kindle Edition)
Well written, funniest book, I’ve read in a long time. This is a must read to uplift your day.
5.0 out of 5 stars          Believing in Dreams, March 8, 2014

This review is from: Beneath the Well of Dawn (Slivers of Love) (Kindle Edition)
This book allows you to think, dream and concur. I enjoyed this book and loved the way the author made one think about way they wanted out of life
5.0 out of 5 stars          I loved this story, March 3, 2014

By Love Life  –
This review is from: Beneath the Well of Dawn (Slivers of Love) (Kindle Edition)
I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard reading a book.  This book is funny, but there is also a wonderful moral and spiritual thread that runs through this story.   If you want something fresh with great flow and mature conversation get this book.
If you read it, please come back and ell what you think.
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Crazy, Twisty, Good Writing

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0404-casts-greys-scandal-private_obI have fallen, but I am trying to get back up.  I was the last one on board and may be the first one to hop off the Gladiator train to crazy town where Scandal docks its engine. Please do not misunderstand this recap, because I am a total fan of Shonda Rimes.  If I could still breed, I would volunteer to have her little creative writing baby; she is that good at what she does.  But dear Lord on High, that woman is making me tired.

If you tuned in last night to see Mrs. Smith Goes to Washington, you can understand my feelings.  By the end of the episode I was fit to be tied, tired and felt as if I needed therapy. Here’s the skinny:  A mom from the Midwest hires Pope & Associates to help her get some answers on her son’s death.  It was very suspicious, because she wrote Olivia a check for the exact dollar amount she had in her savings account. The dear sweet mom then heads over to her congressman’s office with a bomb strapped to her chest.  She wants some answers, “I know in my heart my son wasn’t a terrorist!”

She is right, he wasn’t.  According to the President, he wasn’t either, but for the safety of his fellow Americans, this woman’s son was labeled as a traitor.  They are still holding his body and she can’t even bury her child. I am frowning at this point. She can never know the truth.  His file was redacted. Here is where the crazy train picks up speed.

Olivia Pope, played by Carrie Washington, heads over to the Congressman’s office and climbs right in the middle of the chaos. She finds out the President is spearheading, “kill the crazy lady with the bomb” campaign, and Ms. Pope makes herself the go between.  She insinuates her people behind the FBI lines, she becomes the spokesperson for Angry Mom of the year, and in the end, nothing really changes. The Mom is led to believe her son was a terrorist.  She still was not able to bring his body home, and she still blew herself the F*ck up! Wait, grab the Oh Sh*t bar on your screen, because the crazy train is building momentum to get up the next two inclines.

  • The wacko nut job, Huck, which works for her and was trained by Ms. Pope’s father to be a killer for the government, is having some issues.  Huck learns that Eli Pope, Olivia’s daddy, is still pulling his strings.
  • The guy Olivia had a tryst with, Jake Ballard, who was also trained by her father, was returned to Olivia, dirty, bruised and still in love with her.  Eli Pope is still pulling his strings too.
  • Olivia, in this episode, yells at, and hangs up on the President at least three times, and in the end, courtesy of his wife, he realizes that Olivia is pulling his strings. FLOTUS, or Millie the Monster, as many refer to her, is happy Olivia wasn’t killed, because she can still use her husband’s mistress as power to also pull his strings.
  • Eli Pope is sitting in his car, calling his daughter Olivia, for whatever reason, and is unable to reach her, which frustrates him.  He is very frustrated because he is unable to control his little girl, who is now sitting on the couch with Jake Ballard, realizing her daddy is pulling her strings.

I feel like the damned puppet here.

That dang gone Shonda Rimes has me on a yoke and is pulling my strings, yanking my cord, and making me bob up and down like a marionette. It is so crazy, twisty, good, it is driving me bonkers! I want off this ride! Wait, can I get the T-shirt first?

 

I guess you don’t want my business?

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I recently ran across a website that I thought was pretty cool.  I was interested in buying some of the products, but I was not understanding how things were set up, and asked for clarification, stating I was willing to pay.

The first email was snarky.  Then he sent a second to apologize for being snarky, and insulted me. I responded asking for clarification before I put his services out on my networks.

This is what I got in return.

romance

I think I hate you

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It is Saturday and I am angry. I am angry that it is Saturday and I have to get up and come into work for some training. I am also angry that our academic assistant is tasked with setting up everything all by her lonesome; I come in early to lend her a hand. She is awesome, so I don’t mind.

What I do mind however, is that this training is designed to help us do our jobs better, and for some reason you can’t seem to shut up. You have talked all throughout the training and gave me a headache. I think I hate you. I digress, please allow me to back up and bring you to this point.

We are expecting at least 100 staff members and our guest speaker flew in from Seattle. The poor fella spent most of the night in the Atlanta airport and finally arrived in Augusta at 2 am. He was tired, he did not look happy, but he did his job. He was ready to teach and we were ready to learn; well most of us.

The company provided a working breakfast. As we were going through introductions, there are two co-workers behind me that felt they need to comment on everything that is being said. Shut up already, I can’t hear.

As we move into exercise one, a constituent, who just so happens to make jewelry, decided she needs to share her online catalog on her phone with the two co-workers again, who were behind me. We were in training from 9 am until 2 pm with a forty-five minute break. (Please excuse me for this moment, but even as a Wordsmith, sometimes the best word choice is the obvious word choice.) Would you believe those witches talked the whole time?

Yes I wanted to say the B word because only a couple of witches could be so selfish. Our whole row was angry at them. I even asked them politely to please–you know, we can’t hear. They still did not shut up. Here is the rub, they were educators! If students in their classes did the same thing, they would put the student out. When we went for break, I took a break and moved to the other side of the room. When the session started back, can you believe that everyone was quiet and listening to the trainer and I could still hear those witches yapping.

Really?

Really?

You are not that interesting that you have THAT much to talk about.

I had a headache. I had lost my Saturday. I had a loaded carb breakfast. I ate shredded pig for lunch and my tummy was not happy. It’s their entire fault that I didn’t feel good and that I did not get the full effect of the training becaase of thier yapping.

To my constituents with no manners, I think I hate you…….

Just My Toes Please

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    It is that time of year again. It is time to head to the salons for pedicures for the summer. It is again time to slough off the dead of winter that torments our soles. It is also time yet again to be tormented by Mamasan and her crew. I don’t know what they are saying, but I think they are talking about me.

    “Manicure… pedicure?” When I say I just want the pedicure, I am told to pick out my color. She frowns at the initial choice as if that color will make me look like a fool, so I make another. I take to the chair, slip off my shoes and add my feet to the blue hot water. I pick up the chair controller, recline the chair and start the massage features. I am relaxed, I am decompressing, I am about to get my “chill out” on.

    Through the dull roar of my eyes, I can hear an annoying sound. “You want design?” Cracking my eyes, I answer politely, “No, thank you.” I just want my feet taken care of, I close my eyes and I am headed back to my land of enchantment, where the Prince has just entered the ball and has asked me to dance. He extends his hand. I reach for it only to hear, “You want spa?” I am getting annoyed. “No, thank you, just the pedicure,” I answer more tersely this time. I frown, lean back again in the chair, now where was I? Oh yes, the Prince, in his regal glory had just reached for my hand. I am nodding, accepting, and he is saying something to me….only all I hear is, “Your nail…really bad…you need manicure!”

    NO I DON’T. I JUST WANT TO RELAX!

“Design, you need design….I make real pretty, I make for you!” I am peeved now, I don’t want the design, just do the toes please. She finally leaves me in peace and I notice my nail polish has ran. I pay and leave in my ad hoc flip flops. Why does it always happen to me, I just wanted my toes done and a moment to relax? I can appreciate her desire to work the upsell, but sometimes when a customer says, “just the toes please,” then that is all they want. I can be honest and tell you, that if you treat the customer with respect, and allow them to just enjoy this opportunity to self-pamper in peace, they will come back. Only next time, they will ask for the manicure as well.

That’s Just Nuckin’ Futty!

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This past week has been an exercise in patience. I have found that evidently, I am not very virtuous because I had very little. I am amazed at the rationale behind some decisions that are made based on logic that is in essence, irrational. It is like watching an episode of Hoarding: Buried Alive and failing to understand why Sue is breaking down over a bottle cap. We can’t understand the thought process because if logic were to prevail, someone would tell the individual, your behavior is nuckin’ futty.

Let’s examine the first instance.

    I sat in a faculty meeting with an overactive, underachieving colleague. I knew she was going to make an issue in the meeting of how smart she was, how much she was teaching, and how much smarter she was than all of us. She brought up two class exercises she used in which three of us had no clue what she was talking about. I teach English. I am a writer. I have written four books and I don’t know that. I don’t know it because I don’t care. It has no impact on my day to day life and in essence no one gives a flying monkey! If your colleagues are telling you they would not take your class, then aren’t you missing something here? It’s called a point. It was amazing to sit and listen to her pontificate about what she was doing, when, in reality, if your colleagues don’t give a rat’s ass, and then do you think the students will? It is just nuckin’ futty to attempt to teach students everything you know. Teach them what they need to know, and then focus on one or two skills sets for the 11 week period. What makes this even more insane is that she was told that adult learners brains are not as malleable at a12 year. Of course your middle school students will get it, their brains are still developing. A 35 year old woman, forgive the bad English, “don’t want to be hearing about nothing she can’t put to use in her everyday life.” Why are you making people feel stupid for not getting it? Maybe she will get it when they escort her ass out the door.

    I sigh in exasperation.

Let’s move on to the second case. I often, out of sheer curiosity, surf over to http://Blackmediascoop.com because truth is so much more nuckin’ futty than fiction. There is a lady that is in danger of dying because she refuses to cut her toenails. Again, I shall repeat, she refuses to cut her toenails which are preventing her from exercising as required to maintain healthy blood glucose levels. Here’s the irony, if you don’t get the exercise, as a diabetic, they will probably have to amputate your feet. There goes your damn toenails. Don’t believe me? Well check out the video. If you can’t see the video I have included some photos.



Yeah, my thoughts exactly; this is just nuckin’ futty.

Life is too short to be irrational.

Old People Are Bullies

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           Yesterday, I was blessed by my friends to check out the dinner theater on Fort Gordon.  If you have not had the opportunity to see a show, please take the time to get out and support local artists and small theater production.  However, I think attending this event on a Saturday night was a mistake.  I am uncertain if it was senior’s night or someone just unloaded the wagon from Shady Acres retirement home, but one thing I do know, old people are scary.

            Please don’t misunderstand; I have nothing against the elderly.  I do not advocate elderly abuse, death panels or any reason whatsoever to mistreat another human being, but again, old people are scary and bullies. One octogenarian is not bad, 75 of them, Good Lord, I can still smell the moth balls and Ben Gay! For some reason, the ceremonial dousing of Old Spice or Estee Lauder Youth Dew, does not help the situation.

We entered the lobby on a semi cool evening and there was a big gap in the middle of the floor.  We filled the gap, unbeknownst to us that the gap was caused by two lines; two lines of cranky seniors. When the last of our party joined us, some lady, began to chastise us about breaking the line. It was dinner theater, all of the food at the buffet is mediocre, and I politely told her so, and even added, “there’s plenty to go around.” She frowned, made rude comments to her equally cranky spouse, and honestly, it just left a bad taste in my mouth that replaced the twinge of Estee Lauder I was munching on. I think as I turned, they shot me the bird.

            One the other side, behind me, were Red Hats and what appeared to be survivors of the Holocaust. For some reason they just kept blocking our way.  We had reservations and a corporate table, and finally, one of them got smart and said, “Oh, you are with the group?” Only with this acknowledgement were we allowed to move through the line. Inside was even worse. It did not matter which line we were in, they would just push and shove their way in line, at the bar, at the buffet and even in the bathroom.

I understand you have earned certain privileges and I am going to honor and give you the respect due your age, but old people are bullies. Just because I have not lost all the pigmentation in my hair does not mean that I am stupid.  I understand you may have grown up in a time where some who looked like me was not allowed to sit and eat with someone that looked like you, but that was 45 years ago. The same can be said in reverse, you cannot hate an entire race of people based on some incidents in history. Here’s a hint, it wasn’t the entire race, but a few people.

            I also know that I cannot be afraid of an entire group of people based on one horrid smell, Ben Gay. And just to be perfectly clear, being old does not give you the right to be a bully. I am honored by your wisdom, but it does not necessarily mean that you are right. You instilled home training in your children and respect, can you display some of your own? Let us also be honest, if you are that far along in age, shouldn’t you be more concerned with being nicer to people to ensure your conversation with St. Peter is filled with the positive?