Did you really just text me a zinger like that?

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Shush! Therapy is in session. Phones off.

Kvetch (rant) week 16: Texting has gotta stop!

Okay, it has to be done. I’ve seen too much collateral damage, both on the side of the road in a puddle of blood, and on the sofa cushions, in a puddle of tears.  Texting is not a form of good communication. I’m as techy as the next mom, maybe more so. But, hear me loud and clear. We are allowing our superior opposable thumbs to:

  1. Slowly and surely slash social human interaction
  2. Cause senseless arguments and misinterpretations
  3. Choke our savings in data plans that feel like extortion

Why you ask? Nuance. In a text you cannot look the person in the eyes, hear the tone of their voice, respond to their body language or sense their emotional state. Emoji’s, while cute, cannot replace the shades and degrees that make up real conversations.

PLEASE PICK UP THE PHONE IF:

  • Your text is more than 2 short sentences, such as, “Running late. Be home soon.” If the reader has to scroll endlessly to read your message, and then respond with texting that is twice as long, this is mishegas (crazy making).
  • You need to convey something shocking or impolite, “I’m divorcing you and I’m keeping the house. How was your day?” C’mon. Unless you are really a draycup (one with your head not on straight), think this through.
  • You have emotional news to share, like, “Your father, he’s just fine. He only tried to kill himself.” This Yiddisher momma loves sarcasm as much as you, but nice, not so much. This kind of text can trigger a battle of the thumbs that will rival the Dueling Banjos from Deliverance. And Carpal-Thumbal is soon to be the next medical malady.
  • You may come off a bissel (a tad bit) begrudging, “You did what? And that birthday Rolex will feed your kids how?” You may be thinking, wow, I was damned clever there…but at what price?
  • You may create a monster of a misunderstanding; “You haven’t spoken to me in three years and you want I should drop everything now and take you to the airport!” Don’t text today like nothing was wrong yesterday. Or more profoundly put, “Don’t pee on my foot and tell me it’s raining.”

DRIVING WHILE IN-TEXT-ICATED:

Every day, we mitigate hundreds of risks with the decisions and choices we make throughout the course of our days. And still, we magically (or luckily) make it home for dinner. Kaynehorrah (said to ward off the evil eye)! 1.6 million-car accidents occur each year due to the dilemma that is texting and driving. This number, it is growing. And it is taking our kinder (children) with it. Teens are the biggest culprits. And whom did they learn this behavior from? I’m just saying. Put the phone down. Be a role model. Listen to NPR or Spotify. Be present.

Distracted walking is now even cause for concern. People are texting while walking and getting hit by cars, run over by trains, and are generally more in danger than those of us present. Who is such a macher (big cheese, boss) they cannot walk without the thumbs poised to shoot?

Me, I have a strict rule in the car. I will not text and drive for three major reasons: The Mrs., Big, and Little.

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And because I’m curious, when I do hear that electronic fart telling me I have a text waiting, don’t you know I hit every green light until I reach my final destination. No joke! Keep ‘em coming. I’ll be punctual and arrive alive.

A bei gezunt. (We should all live and be well).

Can you give it up? Tell me about it, won’t you?

 

 

 

 

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Thank You so much Su, from EthanEvelyn.com! #FabFridayPost
Thank You so much Su, from EthanEvelyn.com! #FabFridayPost
Bloggers Pit Stop #23 Mwah Ladies!
Bloggers Pit Stop #23
Mwah Ladies!

Fresh from the Mouth of Little

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After relentless explanation from the Mrs. and me to both Little and Big about being quiet, having a quiet voice, being considerate of our neighbors above us and below us, this little gem of a conversation happened when I came home from work. Backpack not even off yet; very serious tone from Little

Little: M. is quiet all the time. Like even when she talks.

Me: Well maybe you can learn a thing or two from M., and share it with your sister?
Little:  Well (very long and pregnant pause), she throwed up today.
End of conversation! Oh how I love my shana madelah (little girl)!
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Today’s blog is brought to you by the letter B!

The Buss, photo credit willowandsage1 (the Mrs.)
The Buss, photo credit willowandsage1 (the Mrs.) 

Big B, Little b, what begins with B?

Botox begins with B

Also known as Botulism toxin or BTX. And for this Botox we are not talking about leveling out the creases, crinkles and wrinkles that now beautify my pain strained face. Nope. This Botox will be injected into the back of my neck and all over my scalp to plainly paralyze the pain. In return, I will also sport the back head and cranium of an 18 year-old. The goal of injecting botulism is to aid and abet my bionics in controlling the incredulous chronic discomfort caused by occipital neuralgia, cervical dystonia, bruxism and the other dreck (crap) that can basically be defined as a PAIN IN MY NECK.

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Bionics begins with B

Bionics as in the little machine installed just above my right tuchas (butt) cheek. Its wires wend their way up to the occipital borough of my neck where the magical leads are proficiently positioned. Bionics, from Boston Scientific, alters my brain waves to say, “Hey, that doesn’t hurt so much, ya know?” Bionics are a game changer.

Big Pharma begins with B

Big Pharma is akin to the prescription drug biz that makes medications like Botox. These meds cost big bucks, despite having Blue Cross Blue Shield. What’s an exorbitant bill? When your co-pay is similar to your take home pay.

Boychiks (two young lads) begins with B

Boychiks, as in my two neurological besties, who continue to offer benefits like both Botox and Bionics. These medical miracle makers, yes, they’re doctors, give me hope for better days ahead.image

 Bubelah’s (the affectionate way of referring to my girls) begins with B

My bubelah’s, der kinder (the kids), my shana madelahs (pretty little girls) and of course, the Mrs., they bring me such joy each day—well, basically each and every day! They are hope and my daily simcha (joyous occasion). 

Buds begin with B

Buds are the hope that comes with spring, and quite frankly things like Botox and Bionics. Buds make me beam and believe in warmer clime and sunnier times.

 

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Blogging begins with B

Blogging makes me happy.  Blogging makes me blissful. It gives me a healthy outlet to vent, share and kvell (boast), and allows me entrée to you, my therapists. Blogging is cathartic and liberating. Hopefully, it somehow touches you in a beneficial way, or at least makes you beam or chortle a bissel (little).


A bei gezunt (As long as you are healthy.).
 Well, it almost begins with B.  Nu?

 

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linky 3-11-16 #FabFridayPost

 

 

 

 

 

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Perhaps, green bananas

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Maybe I’m mishuggenah (crazy) today, but these words kept circling my mind, and I felt the need to share them:

The cold came quickly

Lingering emotionless

Playing heartlessly

 

Searching for the light

Clinging to the expectation

Perhaps green bananas

 

The moon was in half

Less big, less vivid in thoughts

The tears are cleansing

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Linky Live a la agent spitback!

Rant, Shmant, as long as I can vent…Week 4

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Quiet: Therapy session number four in progress (Readers remember, you are my therapists!)

This week, my shpilkas (excessive worry) is about, well,  for the sake of brevity, I will limit it to three things:

  • Racial tension
  • Flint, Michigan
  • Donald Trump

When I look at this list, I realize the things that are constant in all of these very real topics, are trust and hope, or a real lack thereof.

Pistanthrophobia: The fear of trusting someone, something. Is that my problem? Is it really so wrong to want to believe in reliability and truth? I’m not asking for rose-colored glasses. We all started school with some wonderful nursery and/or kindergarten teacher that reinforced this basic notion of not becoming a shmuck (jerk, a-hole)? Yet look at the news. Look at what has become acceptable in our culture.

I pass this church every day on my way to and from work. The t-shirts are representative of the #BlackLivesMatter movement in Philadelphia
I pass this church every day on my way to and from work. The t-shirts are representative of the #BlackLivesMatter movement in Philadelphia

Racial tension: We call it ‘tension’ when we KILL innocent people because we are not comfortable with the color of their skin? Unarmed black teenagers are being killed by armed white police officers. White people kill black kinder (children) carrying skittles and iced tea. Tension is nervousness, anxiety, aka shpilkas. This is not racial tension. This is an abomination! An atrocity!

We need to own up to the fact that we have a real problem of racial bias in our country. Yes, we elected a black president, but we prove all too often that we are not color blind. Our president had to discuss this during his last State of the Union message. He said we have real problems between blacks and whites in our country.

The problems are learned behaviors. No one is born a racist, they are taught. When will there be a time that we all welcome difference, diversity. Embrace it. Vey is mer (woe is me, this is shocking!)… A shonda (such a shame)

 

Flint, Michigan: Color me skeptical, but if the big machers (important people) in Flint have been lying to their citizens for years (decades maybe), what other cities are under fire? Do we only know about Flint because the water flowed brown? Lead pipes are all over. Cities are adding anti-corrosive treatments to water systems so we don’t see the brown, taste the weirdness and measure the lead? What’s in the anti-corrosives? Look at what is going in Pennsylvania alone (thank you vox.com) where we have 18 cities with higher levels of lead than Flint! Oh, to be safe, please, drink bottled water in the meantime. Then, mittendrinnen (in the middle of this three ringed circus), Pepsi comes out and says, Oops. That Dasani you’ve been drinking. Tap water. Is that so wrong?

So now, there is a FAST START plan to replace all of the lead pipes in Flint. Th plan is based based on a lot of “assumptions.” Well, we know what happens when you assume…

These gonifs (thief’s) do/did gornischt (nothing) because green was a color they liked better than brown. Vey is mer (woe is me, this is shocking!)… A shonda (such a shame)

Donald Trump. Really? The man with the chutzpah (balls, kahunas, unmitigated gall) who said, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, okay, and I wouldn’t lose any voters, okay?” “It’s, like, incredible.”

The audience laughed. I got chills.

Donald is leading the way by preaching fear to the American people. He is stoking the flames of panic by using every stereotype available about race, religion, ethnicity and immigration. He has no appetite for women’s rights or marriage equality. This is the man that may be placing the next SCOTUS members?

Will Kim Kardashian be his VP? Will the Oval office become the next big TV Nielsen ratings killer?

“Did you see the Donald on Weorst Wing last night? Yeah, he pushed the button and 86-ed three global leaders! Said two of them were bad and one was just ugly. It was so awesome, dude.”

While this is the stuff of dreams for SNL writers and comedians, this is real for you and me. Vey is mer (woe is me, this is shocking!)…A shonda (such a shame)

Little and Big deserve better, don't you think?
Little and Big deserve better, don’t you think?

I have two little girls that need to grow up in this United States. I want for them a world that is good, kind and empathic. As I keep saying, writing, in hopes that it will take off and become reality, #HumanityMatters.

 

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Linky Live a la agent spitback!
Linky Live a la agent spitback!

Out of the mouths of Babes…Heaven

BFF's at the shore
BFF’s at the shore 

The Mrs. told me a story that I often replay in my head. Mind you, this detail is hearsay. She, Little and Big were at their ‘besties’ house for a play date after the start of the school year.

Big and her BFF somehow got on the topic of discussing heaven. Mind you, the BFF brought this topic up. She said it was the most beautiful place ever, with harps and pearly gates and great scenery. Her Grandma had told her all about it. She mentioned Jesus and angels and all sorts of things. Big, turning pensive for just a moment, replied to her BFF, “Well, I’ve been to Tuscany!”

Now, to be fair, ‘besties’ Mom, a true pragmatist, interrupted with, “Now M, we don’t know if heaven is real. Nobody has come back and told us about it. No one has let us know there are real angels…”

I love this! I laugh out loud every time it comes to mind. What a stunning answer from Big. From my perspective, Tuscany is, well, heavenly. The food. The scenery. The smells. Our time together with family…She just may be right? It was, to say the least, a great response!

For the record, I was raised Jewish. I went to Hebrew school and decided against becoming a Bat Mitzvah (rite of passage into adulthood, still deemed more important for boys than girls—think Barbara Streisand and Yentl; also, a ridiculously expensive party), because quite frankly, I didn’t have the chutzpah (balls) to stand up in front of a big crowd and read from the Torah (Scrolls containing the Five books of Moses), sing and speak Hebrew, and garner all that attention. (Remember, I did not have a voice until my 30’s.)

As a kid, we spent a lot of time vacationing in the Borscht Belt (very popular resort hotels for Jews located in the Catskill Mountains of upstate New York). I use Yiddish in my writing, a very robust language that is dying, because it really drives home the point in a way that plain English can’t offer. I love this language. It reminds me of my very loving, very wonderful, Nanny Helen. A time when I was known as “Lisa-la.” I can almost smell the ruggaluch (wonderful sweet Jewish cookies) baking when I shut my eyes…I’m no maven (expert) with my Yiddish usage, but I do hope to keep it alive buzzing.

I don’t really practice Judaism. I love the culture and the Haimish’a (warm and friendly) feel, but I lost my faith when I lost my Aunt Mimi. No amount of prayer stopped her pain and suffering. No amount of prayer made her get better. No amount of prayer made me feel better about losing her. Prayer didn’t let me understand that she went to a better place. Azoy vert dus kuchel tzekrokhen. (Literally, this means: That’s the way the cookie crumbles!)

Please know and understand that I do not begrudge anyone with religious beliefs. In fact, I am a bit envious. I do practice Tai Chi and being a good person.

 

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All that being said, the Mrs. is a non-practicing shiksa (non-Jewish female). Many would find that alone a shonda (tragedy). I think it’s pretty awesome. Our kinder (the children), shana madelahs (beautiful little girls) that they are, learn diversity and acceptance (#HumanityMatters) right here, under our roof. That translates exponentially to the outside world, where it is so desperately needed. (It also provides the best of the holiday season, with celebrations of both Chanukah and Christmas.)

So that’s my shtick (funny story) and I’m sticking to it. L’ Chiam (To life!) and Zey gezunt (go in good health).

 

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Thanks to theAnxiousDragonsBlog