26 October 2008

Me, Myself and I


On the path of least resistance
I didn't know my name,
Remote controlled emotions,
My head hung down in shame.

My journey to tomorrow,
My exit yesterday,
Rejoicing in the moment,
the future, who's to say.

My color back to normal
My soul up from the grave.
My peaceful, warm demeanor,
A past I no longer crave.

Pages full of promises,
Contracts I have made.
A simple wish to live a life
My dues forever paid.

My spirit shone so brightly,
That dark and dreary day.
Magnetic kindred moment,
Dark clouds drift slow away.

Youth is gone forever,
Good-bye, please don't come back.
I made my peace an hour ago,
Foundation back on track.

My body is my temple,
My heart is all my own.
You did not get the best of me,
Just look how I have grown.

I love you from the inside,
I'm glad you let me out.
Stay true to all your glory,
Don't whisper, time to shout.

Take my hand and walk with me,
I'll show you how to live.
I'll teach you how to love yourself,
I've got so much more to give.

The Paper Whisperer

15 October 2008

"Write" Down To It

pink typewriter Pictures, Images and Photos

"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." ~E. L. Doctorow~

People are always so utterly amazed when they find out I am a writer. I chuckle every time. They always say it with so much awe in their voices as though I save lives or am able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. We are really all writers when it comes "write" down to it. We all have a story to tell or a point to get across and some of us are just better at the written word than others. I have a wicked hard time vocalizing my feelings, even standing in front of the cashier at McDonalds. I sound like a, well, a dumb blond. But give me paper and pen and I am free at last.

As far back as I can remember, I have loved to write. When I was about ten years old, I wanted my own newspaper. With pen and paper in hand, I started knocking on doors and begging for stories from the neighbors. Lucky for me, most were accommodating and eager to share. However, I did have to politely decline Mrs. Smith's story about Mr. Smith's new girlfriend. I was ten, after all, and not at all interested in her "scoop." After gathering my "newslets," I ran home and began to pummel the keys of my blue/gray plastic, and extremely manual, typewriter. It had been a Christmas present from Santa. A Smith and Wesson, Smithsonian, Smith Brothers or something like that. (Help me out here people!)

I hunted and pecked out my first and very last, Neighborhood Newspaper. The task was arduous and at ten, I wasn't about to burn the midnight ink....there was kick the can to be played and boys to be crushin' on. The good news is, I sold all five papers that I managed to tap out. If my memory serves me correctly, they went for a nickel a piece. Twenty-five cents; not bad for a beginner. Here I am, 444 months later, a lot older, a lot wiser and the proud owner of a kick ass computer (an acute exaggeration) AND my very own blog!

I am even working on a second blog for my alter-ego who adores sharing healthy eating tips, recipes, and great finds. I am a habitual researcher and have grave difficulty keeping a "secret." Before I discovered blogging I would run to my computer and type up my food revelations and send group e-mails. I quickly became an e-mailevangelist, Church of Health and Well Being.

Like every other writer, I dream of getting a book published someday. It's just so hard, what with the likes of Paris Hilton and now Marcia, Marcia, Marcia (Maureen McCormick), releasing their memoirs. How can one compete with that? I'm probably going to spoil it for you, but it seems that poor Marcia, Marcia, Marcia hit "rock bottom." *GET OUT!* I am so pleased (effing flabbergasted) that she is able to get $25.95 for that "SHOCKING" information. Winning Celebrity Fit Club and going on to appear as a complete "train wreck" on CMT's Gone Country just wasn't convincing enough for me. Bless her heart.

And to think I wanted to be a Brady when I was young. Those kids were destined for dysfunction; think about it. Six kids (not related), raging hormones, a gay dad, an enabler for a mom and a housekeeper who was in denial about her own sexuality while "pretending" to date, Sam the butcher. These, my role models through my pubescent years. And what the hell is so wrong with "Rock Bottom" anyway? I never understood why it gets such a bad rap. It usually means a book deal...at least in Hollywood. I think I'll get the book when it lands at the Dollar Tree just in time for Christmas. Ouch! Do you realize the bad karma I just imposed on myself? I think I just hit ROCK BOTTOM! That's a good thing, right?

Peace Out,
The Paper Whisperer

11 October 2008

Cougar 101

Mrs. Robinson Pictures, Images and Photos

"Mrs. Robinson, if you don't mind my saying so, this conversation is getting a little strange."
~Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) in The Graduate~

Since I had always been attracted to older men, at first I had trouble comprehending the whole Cougar-mania craze. However, the older I get, the older men get (I know, I'm a rocket scientist) and the less attracted I am to them. (There is NOTHING sexy about a Depends undergarment underneath running shorts) As a self-appointed gym rat, I have, in the last couple of years, noticed that my eyes tend to "survey" the, shall we say, "Cubs." *Meeeeow* It is not so much their sweaty, glistening, hard bodies *DROOOOL* but rather the energy that comes with their youth. You gotta love that energy and that zest for life! It's intoxicating!

Well, since I can safely give up my dream of becoming a Pussycat Doll, I guess I could "settle" for becoming a Cougar. *MEOWING, KICKING and SCREAMING!* Sad day indeed when you have come to the realization that at least six of your nine lives are over. So, what's a cat to do whilst waiting for the tranquilizer dart that will send me to that great big "litter box" in the sky...enjoy my remaining lives, that's what!

I didn't even know what a "Cougar" was until a couple of months ago. My parents were visiting right at the time I was going through a break-up with a "weasel" (just trying to keep it in the Animal Kingdom, people). My Dad, God love him, in his efforts at trying to cheer me up and with one arm around my shoulder said to me, "Why don't you become a cougar?" I looked at him through my tears and retorted, "A WHAAAT?!! What the hell is a cougar?" "You don't know what a cougar is?" "Um, no Dad, what is a cougar?" "A cougar is an older woman who enjoys the company of younger men." [What I heard was, "Since you didn't become a doctor or a lawyer, why not a cougar?"] Okay, Dad, I know your heart is in the right place, but that is just wrong on so many levels! But what the hey, I'm listening...proceed!

So last night I had a dream (nightmare) that I was on the prowl; I had finally received my cougar badge. I'm at the gym on a treadmill next to the "pièce de résistance" of hunka, hunka burning loves. I begin to growl, subtly. However, the noise from my "preys" pounding paws on the treadmill, drown out my lame attempts. I begin to growl louder, and louder, AND LOUDER!!(You can run but you can't hide) My cub reaches up and slows his belt to a trotting speed, looks over at me with the sweetest eyes and says, "Excuse me "Ma'am" (oh no, you did not just call me Ma'am!!) did you just growl?" "Well, it depends...did you like it?" I ask. "Excuse me?" he replied. No, no NOOOOO, you are not playing along, "Sonny!" You are supposed to say, "Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me, aren't you?" You see what I mean? You just can't send a cub to do a Lion's job. What would we talk about anyway? Oh, yeah, right. Thanks for the encouraging words, Dad, but I think I'm gonna wait a couple more years.

And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know. God bless you, please Mrs. Robinson. Heaven holds a place for those who pray (not prey).

Koo-koo-ka-choo, Mrs. Robinson....enjoy the following tribute and have a beautiful weekend,
The Paper Whisperer


06 October 2008

Drop Dead

"Write something to suit yourself and many people will like it; write something to suit everybody and scarcely anyone will care for it."
~Jesse Stuart~

And they said my hard work wouldn't pay off. Hmph! Check out my very first Blogger Bling! 14k gold pixels....someone (The Gumbo Writer) definitely splurged on The Paper Whisperer. I share this award with three other fellow writers who participated in an impromptu plot scenario gig. Here's the deal. We were shown a photo of a bus pulling out of a parking lot with the marquis reading "Cemetery" as its destination. (Above) It was the "dead of the night" and my writer's block had just risen from the grave...miraculously. I wasn't even frightened by the thought of digging my own grave, I just began to tap out my idea. My writing is hauntingly peculiar, as is my thought process on most occasions. It has absolutely nothing to do with the skeletons in my closet so don't even go there!

Anyhoo, I felt compelled to share my coveted award with you since the only thing I have ever won is the title of Turkey Bowl Queen during my stint as a cheerleader for the Terrytown Fighting Irish Little League Football Association. I just had the strongest urge to break out into a chorus of, "If they could see me now, those old (way old) friends of mine." Sadly, I am NOT eating fancy food OR drinking fancy wine, but what the "hey!" I'm still the Turkey Bowl Queen. Wow, that just stirred up a plethora of painful suppressed memories. How'd you like to go through life with that stigma attached? *Gobble, Gobble* (Oh shit, I think I am on to something here.)

It's been a long day, can you tell? I have been reduced to posting my own awards. Is that considered narcissistic? I didn't even get to dress up. I didn't even get to walk down the red carpet in a designer gown stopping only to twirl for Joan Rivers. I didn't get to walk through the theater after my name was announced while everyone stared at my evening gown stuffed into the back of my panties from a quick trip to the potty. I was robbed I tell ya! I've been saving my speech for years ever since I was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" in the eighth grade. Up until this proud day I succeeded alright, succeeded in doing absolutely nothing! So whadya think now student body? Huh, huh? *cold sweats* Um, uh, is there a statute of limitations on an eighth grade superlative honor? *GULP!* Does this thing expire? Oh give me a break! I will always be a "drop dead" success. (That is a blonde oxymoron just in case you were wondering.) Envelope please..............and the winners are:

said...It's the whole, abstract "life's a journey" theme.

Janna Qualman
said...She knew the bus ride was significant, for it represented her transportation between two lives. The destination awaiting her, the cemetery, meant the end of one life, the beginning of another. She’d say goodbye to the woman she used to be, there, at the small headstone engraved with her given name. And there she’d take on her new name, embrace her new self, begin the new life she had no choice but to live...

Melissa Marsh
said...It was a strange place to do a business deal, a bus on the way to a cemetery, but business deals like this weren't done in normal places. No outdoor cafes, no shopping malls, no parking lots. But a bus to the cemetery...that was the perfect place for this deal.

The Paper Whisperer
said...Yes, it was true, the Nation's economy had hit an all time low forcing even the grim reaper into a moonlighting gig just to make ends meet. However, the strain of his second job was killing him. Being the savvy businessman that he was, he devised a plan that would allow him to kill two birds with one stone. He contacted the city's transportation department, where he presented his killer idea. "You are 'dead on' with that brilliant idea," exclaimed the Superintendent of Transportation. Mrs. Reaper, on the other hand, was not so happy. She was tired of Mr. Reaper working such long hours. At the end of his shift on the first night he grabbed a bouquet of flowers from a lonely grave. If nothing else, he knew he could always kill Mrs. Reaper with kindness.

Goodnight Guys and Ghouls,
The Paper Whisperer

04 October 2008

Nothing's Zen-Possible

Watch your thoughts; for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.

There you have it. Five lines, thirty-six words and absolutely free of charge. You want fries with that? Since I absolutely abhor hypocrisy and make no bones about it, I will be the first to admit that I have royally messed up in the areas of lines one and two. Luckily I am currently in recovery from lines three and four. I was not going anywhere near line five unless my character could be defined as authentic and honorable. I am happy to report that I am almost there; the pinnacle of self-respect. A couple more rungs of life's ladder and I will finally be the woman, mother, friend and partner that I have admired in so many others. Never mind, I am taking back the mother part as that is the one area of my life I have down to a science. Although, I am a firm believer that there is ALWAYS room for improvement in any area of one's life.

I have been a "student" of life for the past 11 years, ever since someone informed me that I could have one, and furthermore, that I actually deserved one. I had no idea what I was missing. Somewhere along my zen journey, I discovered the wonder of karma. I embraced the concept and quickly fell in love with its magic. At first it seemed too simple; how could anything come that easily? I didn't have to take a class. I didn't have to purchase a book. I didn't have to spend one red cent on my new appendage. To give back, I have spent the last ten years spreading the joy of my discovery, a self-appointed Karma Commissioner, if you will. Some get it, some have got it, some, sadly, don't want it. It is an absolute lesson in futility if you think for one second that you can change anyone. You can purchase all the books you want and take all the classes you can fit into your hectic schedule and unfortunately the end result will still be the same.

This past week I was "fortunate" enough to be privy to the Mother of all "karma-tastrophes." I use the word fortunate because the experience validated, once again, "my" oh so very simple philosophy on life. My knee jerk reaction was to "get this schitt on tape!" Now there's a documentary worth filming, Mr. Moore! Scared Straight Part II. Take it into our classrooms, show it to our children. Make it part of the hiring process at a new job. "Interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring us an important word about KARMA!" Get *Karma Donor* stickers for our drivers licenses. Okay, I guess I am getting a little Karma'd away. That's just me. I am passionate about sharing any and all of my good fortune and perpetual life lessons.

One of my favorite movies of all time is Pay It Forward. If you haven't seen it, you should. A 12 year old boy, believing that people are basically good, sets out to change the world with an experiment in paying it forward. Wherein, a good deed done is not payed back, but rather payed forward by doing a good deed for someone else. It is karmessence at its finest...once again, so simple and yet so hard to grasp. It is a beautiful movie and like that 12 year old boy, I, too, always believe that people can be shown the way, pointed in the right direction. What they choose to do with the gift of knowledge is completely out of our hands. Invariably there is always that one damn "domino" that refuses to follow the path laid out. And that's okay. That is their karma, not your karma. That is the poetic beauty of karma.

Since it's almost Halloween, make a batch of "Karmal" apples or some "Karmal" covered popcorn balls and share them with friends, family and co-workers. Attach Karma inspired suggestions on little notes. Or even tell someone how important they are or what they have meant in your life. Attach a "coupon" entitling someone to a ride to the store, a free hour of babysitting or dog walking. Just do something for someone you love, want to love, someone who might need some love or even someone that you know you has a snowballs chance in hell of finding/getting love. And all the while, do not forget the most important ingredient, you must do it for yourself and yourself alone because it gives your heart joy. Love selflessly because YOU are good, expecting nothing in return or your "pay it forward" will be a big hot steamin' bowl of heartache, a lesson that I learned the "heart" way. I can only "teach" you what I continue to learn.

Reap what you sow; sow what you reap.
The Paper Whisperer

01 October 2008

'Til Death Do Us Part

"Love is a feeling, marriage is a contract, and relationships are work." ~Lori Gordon

Be honest...when your Pastor, Priest, Rabbi (you get the picture) is "wrapping things up" on the "happiest" day of your life, and he applies the "bond" that no man can tear apart (yeah, okay, whatever!), in no way, shape, or form would you ever believe that "'til death do us part," could be interpreted as the day you would like to be the one causing the death. You're in love, you're bonded, you are finally the Princess/Prince in your fairy tale. You just spent a year (or in my case, a couple of weeks) planning this monumental event that all your friends and loved ones would be able to witness.

I, personally, didn't have all the hullabaloo, not that I didn't want it, it just wasn't in the cards for me. I did do something very original, however, I flew to Vegas...yee haw! First class, Bay-bee! There I stood in my beautiful Princess gown, which was actually a marked down prom dress, but beautiful, nonetheless. It was white. (Lie #1) I actually thought the whole idea was very romantic until the officiator walked out into the chapel and I could swear his "other" job was impersonating either Cheech or Chong after midnight on the Vegas strip. He was dressed in a baby blue polyester suit and brown scruffy cowboy boots or something akin to cowboy boots. It was very hard to take him seriously...REALLY! But I was in loooooooooooooooooooovvvvvvveee!

I remember staring in the face of "Rosemary's Baby" with tears streaming down my cheeks and wondering how I got so lucky....and in Vegas, no less! Beginner's luck, perhaps? (Lie #2) And since I absolutely loathe gambling, one would have to wonder why, after a three month whirlwind relationship, I would be willing to take such a risk. I was in looooooooooovvvvvveeee! Ironically enough, I was born in Vegas as my father was stationed there at the nine month point of my gestation. I believe I was there a total of three months after birth. Thirty-something years later, and a few days after my birthday, I was back "home," and about to become Mrs. Rosemary's Baby. Jackpot! (rolling eyes...north, south, east and west)

Well, let me tell you something people, contrary to all of the advertisements, what happens in Vegas, DOES NOT STAY IN VEGAS! I "tried" that defense in Divorce Court, to no avail. Somehow I expected the ink on the marriage certificate to miraculously disappear once we exited the little "Chapel of Love." "But, but, Your Honor, I thought Cheech (or was it Chong?) was blowing smoke! Really, I've got pictures...you'll understand." *gavel striking desk!* "One more word out of you Mrs. Rosemary's Baby and I will be forced to hold you in contempt of court!" "Um, when you say, "hold" Your Honor, might you be referring to a hug, cuz I sure need one?" "BAILIFFFF!!!

Okay, so now I am in Vegas, married and not willing to part with my money...so what's a newlywed to do? Hmmmm, "wonder where the Wal-Mart is?" If I am going to spend my hard earned money somewhere, the "one armed bandit" better be the cashier at Wal-Mart placing something in a plastic bag to show for my efforts. "Bye "R.B.," see ya back at the hotel. "Taxi!!"

The "hotel" just so happened to be the Penthouse Suite of the Mirage Hotel on the Vegas strip. Now there's something I'd do again in a heartbeat! Monstrous television sets that came up out of the floor at the touch of a button, tacky gold furniture and mirrors every damn where....even above the bed! *Warning: Objects in mirror may appear to be larger than they actually are.* (including, but not limited to, my butt!) I did feel like a Princess, however....or was it Elly May Clampett? No matter, in my world I was royalty, at least for three days.

So here I sit, ten years, ten pounds (Lie #3), and ten times wiser, under my belt wondering what the whole marriage/divorce thing is about. Why is it, that the world is so hungry for love and yet the divorce rate is so high? Why do the people that should stay together split up and the people that should split up, stay together? "We stayed together for the children." (Lie #4) Puhleeeze! Yeah, that helped them alright...to get on the Jerry Springer show, that is. Thank goodness Little Johnny's parents stayed together and he was not the product of a broken home. Now he will be able to enter into the bonds of matrimony with all that "healthy" love and nurturing he witnessed at home. "Divorce granted Mrs. Little Johnny!"

I, for one, do not believe there are broken homes. I believe there are broken people. My home is my heart and it may not look like much from the outside, but whether I am single or married, the decor will never change. If you are lucky, I will invite you in. If you are luckier, I'll ask you to stay. If you are the luckiest, I'll give you your own drawer and show you the Vegas Strip! *wink-wink*

I promise to love you and honor you all the days of my life......The Paper Whisperer