"As you know, an animal escalates in one second! So you have to watch every second."
I love watching Cesar do his thing with dogs.
Exercise, Discipline, Affection.
Rules, Boundaries, Limitations.
"We have not allowed the brain to escalate..."
When I first started watching Cesar, I quickly understood that his techniques were totally applicable on my Hubby, or Stepkids.
I also realized that what I wanted personally was a strong "pack leader." And that in all my relationships, I had not found that pack leader, and had been forced to fill that role. Because, as Cesar says, the dog says to himself, "somebody always has to be pack leader, and if nobody else is gonna do it, then I have to."
This is how we end up with problem dogs. Dogs that won't stop barking, won't stop chasing, won't stop pulling, growling, terrorizing everyone. We are not fulfilling their expectations of what a pack leader is.
And I ended up screaming, yelling, angry all the time, because nobody would take charge of the situation, take charge of the children, set up rules, boundaries and limitations. For them, for me, for the EX-FROM-HELL, for anything or anyone...
And here I am, on my own.
In a recent discussion with the Human Resources person and Administrator from work, since my job is eliminated as of December 31 of this year, I was discussing my limitations. I was talking about how I can deal with excess stress once in a while, but on a day-to-day basis, eventually I'm going to snap. "Bark" at someone. Yell. Scream. Throw things. Exhibit Very Bad Behaviour.
"You get to a point," says Cesar, "where there is no trust, and no respect. That means there's no relationship."
I was talking about how I can cope with stress, at work, in my life, for so long, and do just fine: and then - "SNAP!" I "escalate" in one second.
In one second, I go from normal to psycho. Without warning - or at least, without any warning an outside person can see.
Just like an animal. Just like a dog.
"An animal escalates in one second," Cesar said.
Wow.
My "disablility" has a prototype. Dogs. Canine behaviour.
And a solution. A strong pack leader.
Stay calm and assertive.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Another Hubby Story!
I know you've missed him! (Or at least, his antics.)
To be honest, I missed having him to complain about - I figured I could earn a good living as a stand-up comic, just telling stories about Hubby...
Anyway, today I'm borrowing Hubby's car, so this morning he came and got me and I dropped him off at work.
It's raining today, and being October, there are quite a few leaves on the ground. The route we take to get to work from my apartment is called "The Boulevard", one of the LAST streets in Montreal to have an English name. It's a twisty-turnsy-upsy-downsy-lumpity-bumpity road that goes over the mountain between NDG and downtown. In front of some of the most beautiful homes you could ever hope to see, nothing under several million along THIS route! Between the potholes and school zones, most of it has a speed limit of 30 km/h (that's about 15 mph, for those of you who haven't converted). Unfortunately, it's also quite wide most of the way, and that means virtually nobody follows the speed limit.
We were doing about 60 km, over one lump and down another, quickly approaching a 90 degree turn. Fifteen years of being a passenger in Hubby's car have left me with deeply entrenched behavioural patterns, and I suggested to him, okay, loudly, that maybe he'd want to take that approaching curve at a slightly reduced speed, given that it was wet and slippery even without all the leaves on the road.
"Oh yeah!" said Hubby excitedly, "I got the car SIDEWAYS the other day!"
Like he's discovered gold, or something.
He continued, "It was at the point, you know, where the back left tire starts to wobble?! Only this time it didn't straighten out - the car just kept going the way the back wheel was! Slid for almost twenty feet! It was great!"
"AUGGGGH!" I retorted, unable to help myself. "You know, MOST people, most SANE people, would not be so happy about that! MOST people would be at least a little shaken up, you know!
He grinned at me. I warned him I was going to blog about this. He kept grinning.
I guess, to him, it's his fifteen minutes of fame.
Hubby drives like a maniac. Correction, behind the wheel, he IS a maniac. It's his way of making up for being so placid and easygoing the rest of the time.
When he first moved in with me, all those years ago, he went digging in a box looking for something, muttering "I'm sure it's in here..." Then a loud "AHA!" and he triumphantly produced a faded certificate for my viewing.
It was the certificate that he'd received from Skid School.
"There!" he announced triumphantly. "That's my license to drive like a maniac!"
Over the years, many people have listened to my complaints about how reckless Hubby is, and then they ask the obvious question.
"Which of you do you think is the better driver?"
And the answer is complicated. I'm no slouch behind the wheel - Hey! A FRENCHMAN taught me how to drive!
But the difference is in our approach. I am constantly on the lookout for what could go wrong, checking the positions of other cars in relation to mine. Slowing when there's not a safe stopping distance. Warning of danger ahead by tapping on the brakes. Giving pedestrians the right-of-way. It's called Defensive Driving.
Hubby, on the other hand, is out for a thrill.
When it has snowed, he's not satisfied until he's got the ABS to come on. It means nothing to him that ABS was designed to help drivers cope in EMERGENCY situations.
Here in NDG, many of the north/south streets had posts installed this past summer on the one-way streets. Four posts - two on each side of the road. The first set is about two feet wider apart than the second set. This gives the illusion that the driveable space is narrowing, and drivers slow down. A friend of mine has assured me it has made a great difference in the street traffic, cars now going actually close to the speed limit, instead of 40 km faster than it.
But not Hubby. To him, it's a challenge! "Hey - there's a barrier up there! Let's see how fast I can go through it! Wheeeeee!"
So I used to answer that although Hubby was better equipped to get us out of an emergency situation, being both physically stronger and therefore more able to control the car in an emergency, as well as having been properly trained to use the correct reflexes and emergency braking procedures, he was, of the two of us, much more likely to PUT us into an emergency situation, something most sane people try to avoid.
He missed his calling, you know. He should have been a test pilot.
To be honest, I missed having him to complain about - I figured I could earn a good living as a stand-up comic, just telling stories about Hubby...
Anyway, today I'm borrowing Hubby's car, so this morning he came and got me and I dropped him off at work.
It's raining today, and being October, there are quite a few leaves on the ground. The route we take to get to work from my apartment is called "The Boulevard", one of the LAST streets in Montreal to have an English name. It's a twisty-turnsy-upsy-downsy-lumpity-bumpity road that goes over the mountain between NDG and downtown. In front of some of the most beautiful homes you could ever hope to see, nothing under several million along THIS route! Between the potholes and school zones, most of it has a speed limit of 30 km/h (that's about 15 mph, for those of you who haven't converted). Unfortunately, it's also quite wide most of the way, and that means virtually nobody follows the speed limit.
We were doing about 60 km, over one lump and down another, quickly approaching a 90 degree turn. Fifteen years of being a passenger in Hubby's car have left me with deeply entrenched behavioural patterns, and I suggested to him, okay, loudly, that maybe he'd want to take that approaching curve at a slightly reduced speed, given that it was wet and slippery even without all the leaves on the road.
"Oh yeah!" said Hubby excitedly, "I got the car SIDEWAYS the other day!"
Like he's discovered gold, or something.
He continued, "It was at the point, you know, where the back left tire starts to wobble?! Only this time it didn't straighten out - the car just kept going the way the back wheel was! Slid for almost twenty feet! It was great!"
"AUGGGGH!" I retorted, unable to help myself. "You know, MOST people, most SANE people, would not be so happy about that! MOST people would be at least a little shaken up, you know!
He grinned at me. I warned him I was going to blog about this. He kept grinning.
I guess, to him, it's his fifteen minutes of fame.
Hubby drives like a maniac. Correction, behind the wheel, he IS a maniac. It's his way of making up for being so placid and easygoing the rest of the time.
When he first moved in with me, all those years ago, he went digging in a box looking for something, muttering "I'm sure it's in here..." Then a loud "AHA!" and he triumphantly produced a faded certificate for my viewing.
It was the certificate that he'd received from Skid School.
"There!" he announced triumphantly. "That's my license to drive like a maniac!"
Over the years, many people have listened to my complaints about how reckless Hubby is, and then they ask the obvious question.
"Which of you do you think is the better driver?"
And the answer is complicated. I'm no slouch behind the wheel - Hey! A FRENCHMAN taught me how to drive!
But the difference is in our approach. I am constantly on the lookout for what could go wrong, checking the positions of other cars in relation to mine. Slowing when there's not a safe stopping distance. Warning of danger ahead by tapping on the brakes. Giving pedestrians the right-of-way. It's called Defensive Driving.
Hubby, on the other hand, is out for a thrill.
When it has snowed, he's not satisfied until he's got the ABS to come on. It means nothing to him that ABS was designed to help drivers cope in EMERGENCY situations.
Here in NDG, many of the north/south streets had posts installed this past summer on the one-way streets. Four posts - two on each side of the road. The first set is about two feet wider apart than the second set. This gives the illusion that the driveable space is narrowing, and drivers slow down. A friend of mine has assured me it has made a great difference in the street traffic, cars now going actually close to the speed limit, instead of 40 km faster than it.
But not Hubby. To him, it's a challenge! "Hey - there's a barrier up there! Let's see how fast I can go through it! Wheeeeee!"
So I used to answer that although Hubby was better equipped to get us out of an emergency situation, being both physically stronger and therefore more able to control the car in an emergency, as well as having been properly trained to use the correct reflexes and emergency braking procedures, he was, of the two of us, much more likely to PUT us into an emergency situation, something most sane people try to avoid.
He missed his calling, you know. He should have been a test pilot.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Disappointing my Public
Ok, I have to set things straight, if only to preserve my sanity.
Enough, already, of adoring fans proclaiming me the greatest pen since Shakespeare.
My grandmother did this to me when I was a kid. I wanted to play the piano. Specifically, I wanted to learn to play "Fur Elise" by Beethoven. She got me a piano, I did very well, I made it up to Fur Elise and the Moonlight Sonata.
At that point, I wasn't interested any more, but I was made to continue. For several years. Even though it was obvious to me, both at the time and now in retrospect, that I simply wasn't achieving anything remarkable, that I hated performing, that I was never going to be the concert pianist my grandmother and my teacher wanted me to be.
To be something like that, you need more than talent. You need drive. Inspiration. Determination. And I had none of the above.
I had a mediocre talent. Furthermore, the piano was never my favourite instrument. I had to be drunk to enjoy playing.
I still enjoy tickling the ivories from time to time, and for certain individuals who do not urge me to go back to music school and learn to play ever more complicated (and uninteresting) pieces. I play the stuff I like, and the stuff I wrote, for my Daughter, and only occasionally do I play for friends.
I don't want to be a concert pianist.
When I went to school, my marks were touted all around my community. I won a gold medal for having the highest all around marks.
Pfft. Big deal.
I learned the stuff, because I LIKED it.
When it was stuff i didn't like (take accounting, for example) I became your proverbial "two short planks."
I do not want to be an academic. Or a scientist. Or any other genius.
Now, I've started this blog, and a few others. I have friends who seem to enjoy it. I have friends who don't. I have well-meaning friends who want me to become something bigger, something better. They seem to think I have a potential for being a famous and rich scribe.
I don't want to.
I enjoy just ranting.
I used to enjoy quilting. Till I got off on the tangent of starting a quilting business.
Now I spend day after day trying to figure out the accounting. This is not fun at all, this is not what I set out to do.
I am not going to re-vamp the quilting world. I am closing my business as fast as I can, and good riddance.
I'd like to take up quilting again, as a hobby.
And this blog, this is my venting steam from daily life.
I am not going to be a great writer. Ever. Because I don't want to be.
I spent my childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood trying to run from the icon of me my grandmother presented to the world, to the family, to me. I can never live up to that hype.
Nobody can.
I have spent the last 30 or more years trying to right the wrongs that turned me into an antisocial, depressed, uptight prig. Trying to shed my statues. Trying to run from the "destiny" everybody wanted me to have.
I am making my own destiny. My own peace with reality.
I am never going to be famous, or rich. I won't turn anything on its arse.
I am an opinionated, ordinary person.
I am an "also-ran." Except I'm not running, not competing. In anything.
I want peace.
Sorry to disappoint. Please, everybody, go live your own dreams of greatness. I have a way with words, nothing more, and I want nothing more than to make people laugh and think.
I cannot, and will not, do more than this.
Enough, already, of adoring fans proclaiming me the greatest pen since Shakespeare.
My grandmother did this to me when I was a kid. I wanted to play the piano. Specifically, I wanted to learn to play "Fur Elise" by Beethoven. She got me a piano, I did very well, I made it up to Fur Elise and the Moonlight Sonata.
At that point, I wasn't interested any more, but I was made to continue. For several years. Even though it was obvious to me, both at the time and now in retrospect, that I simply wasn't achieving anything remarkable, that I hated performing, that I was never going to be the concert pianist my grandmother and my teacher wanted me to be.
To be something like that, you need more than talent. You need drive. Inspiration. Determination. And I had none of the above.
I had a mediocre talent. Furthermore, the piano was never my favourite instrument. I had to be drunk to enjoy playing.
I still enjoy tickling the ivories from time to time, and for certain individuals who do not urge me to go back to music school and learn to play ever more complicated (and uninteresting) pieces. I play the stuff I like, and the stuff I wrote, for my Daughter, and only occasionally do I play for friends.
I don't want to be a concert pianist.
When I went to school, my marks were touted all around my community. I won a gold medal for having the highest all around marks.
Pfft. Big deal.
I learned the stuff, because I LIKED it.
When it was stuff i didn't like (take accounting, for example) I became your proverbial "two short planks."
I do not want to be an academic. Or a scientist. Or any other genius.
Now, I've started this blog, and a few others. I have friends who seem to enjoy it. I have friends who don't. I have well-meaning friends who want me to become something bigger, something better. They seem to think I have a potential for being a famous and rich scribe.
I don't want to.
I enjoy just ranting.
I used to enjoy quilting. Till I got off on the tangent of starting a quilting business.
Now I spend day after day trying to figure out the accounting. This is not fun at all, this is not what I set out to do.
I am not going to re-vamp the quilting world. I am closing my business as fast as I can, and good riddance.
I'd like to take up quilting again, as a hobby.
And this blog, this is my venting steam from daily life.
I am not going to be a great writer. Ever. Because I don't want to be.
I spent my childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood trying to run from the icon of me my grandmother presented to the world, to the family, to me. I can never live up to that hype.
Nobody can.
I have spent the last 30 or more years trying to right the wrongs that turned me into an antisocial, depressed, uptight prig. Trying to shed my statues. Trying to run from the "destiny" everybody wanted me to have.
I am making my own destiny. My own peace with reality.
I am never going to be famous, or rich. I won't turn anything on its arse.
I am an opinionated, ordinary person.
I am an "also-ran." Except I'm not running, not competing. In anything.
I want peace.
Sorry to disappoint. Please, everybody, go live your own dreams of greatness. I have a way with words, nothing more, and I want nothing more than to make people laugh and think.
I cannot, and will not, do more than this.
An Offensive Personality
Well, one of my recent blogs has offended an old pal.
It is true. He has sworn to never read another word I write. Oh well, you know what they say about not being able to please all of the people...
It gives me a pang, though, to have caused this distress in one I hold so dear to me. But I will go on with my ramblings, and when I have subject matter that some would call "doubtful" I will continue to put warnings in front of the text.
Interestingly enough, this same old pal understands the difficulties I have with my Father.
My Father, you see, finds most of the world offensive. Yesterday when I spoke to him, he was muttering about having cancelled his cable subscription, or his satellite subscription, something like that.
Apparently, an advertisement showed a naked body, and that was too much for Daddy. He picked up the telephone and told them to either remove the offending ad or pull his plug.
(Luckily for him, he still had a telephone from which to issue this missive, because he's also engaged in a take-no-prisoners war with AT&T, and is in daily danger of having his telephone pulled...)
My "old pal" and my dad have attitudes that I simply can't relate to. Now, admittedly, my dad is an extreme case... But I have great difficulty understanding what people find so offensive about reality, and about art.
For example, I recently watched a movie that had this viewer's discretion notice:
"The following program contains nudity, sexuality, violence, bad language, and adult situations."
"Wow!" I thought to myself, "FIVE stars!"
I hadn't intended to watch that show, but I did, based solely on the viewer's discretion notice! (I enjoyed it thoroughly.)
However, I avoid movies like James Bond whenever possible, because I find the violence not merely gratuitous, but unbelievable. For the same reason, I do not enjoy martial arts movies, where they have actors on wires, flying through the air. Even when watching science-fiction movies, if I see the laws of physics being broken, I lose all interest.
Art has to imitate life - to the nth degree - but art IS NOT life.
I've found that most of the people who are offended by sculpture, painting, photos, or movies fall into the category of those who cannot make this distinction. My Stepmom, for example, wouldn't let her grandchildren watch episodes of "Bewitched", because according to her, it was about witches. Now, there is no point in trying to explain to her that "Bewitched" is about as far from satanic witchcraft as you can get, that the show was actually about family values winning out time after time. It had the word "witch" in it, and that was that. Same thing with Harry Potter. There is simply no getting her, or that kind of person, past the SETTING into the THEME.
The rest fall into the category of prudes - people who don't even undress in front of their spouse after ten or more years of marriage, for example. People who will not answer you when you call out "Hello? Are you in there?" when they are in the washroom, because they refuse to admit that they use the washroom. (I am not making this up - I've know THREE people in my lifetime who do this!)
It takes a lot to offend me these days. Oh, I still have some prejudices which rear their ugly heads from time to time, but I do my best to overcome them when I recognize them. Boyfriend and I, for example, are engaged in a debate concerning alternate states of mind and their ability to affect reality. As I pointed out to Boyfriend yesterday, usually when I engage in that type of discussion with someone, I am rather condescending: Like a patient teacher trying to explain to a child what the constraints of reality are. "There is no such thing as magic, the easter bunny, santa claus, spontaneous combustion, god," etc.
But in this discussion with Boyfriend, I am able to speak to him as an equal, not as a patient schoolma'rm. I am able to listen to his point of view and actually keep my mind open, actually pay attention and seek to find common ground with his position. It doesn't necessarily happen - but the fact that I don't automatically assume the position of "All-Knowing One" is a miracle in itself...
I used to be quite a fearful person, back in the day when I was a "believing" type. Life, however, had different plans for me, and has taken me through roads rarely travelled. Some of my family, and some of my friends, know some of the roads I've been down. Two or three people know the whole story, because most people would find a great deal about my life offensive.
I am not afraid of people finding out the truth about me. I do, however, fear that some would find out a partial truth. Grandpa used to say (and I think he said he was quoting Confucious) "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." And our prejudices are designed to snap us away from thoughts we find offensive, frightening, or challenging - very much like our physiological responses to touching something hot. We pull away, quickly, in self-preservation. And rightly so - if we burn to death, we learn nothing. However, some people - call them scientists, or explorers - go on to see what they can learn about the phenomenon, while most of us just run away.
Well, life presented me with challenges, and I got burnt, but I stuck it out. I am pleased to say I've been humbled along the way, and that most of my friends have stuck with me through this ride, even though they themselves have not chosen my particular routes.
Funnily enough, in some of the circles I now travel in, I'm considered so conservative as to be almost prudish!
No, it's true! Here's a new word for all the boys and girls out there: "VANILLA."
Vanilla is the world's most popular flavour of ice cream. It smells good to everybody.
It is thus used to describe people or behaviours that our society considers "normal." A vanilla person, for example, would never get a tattoo. Or shave their head, or part of their head. Or wear fishnet stockings and a bra - and nothing else - to work.
Well, a number of my friends DO have these things in their lives, and a lot more besides. And I will say no more, because this blog is my vanilla blog. I am not here to deliberately offend the people I love.
My point is, that from these non-vanilla persons' perspectives, I am "normal." Boring. You may think I'm wild and crazy, "out there", a true deviant: I assure you, I'm mild by comparison to others, whose worlds you haven't dreamt of!
I hope my dear Old Pal stays friendly with me, even though he doesn't understand my sense of humor, even though he seems to find my blogs offensive. It is never my intention to offend, I'm just spouting off: and it is true, that what comes out does reflect what's inside... But in this venue, I'm simply trying to be funny most of the time.
And the rest of it, I'm trying to wrestle with my own prejudice.
It is true. He has sworn to never read another word I write. Oh well, you know what they say about not being able to please all of the people...
It gives me a pang, though, to have caused this distress in one I hold so dear to me. But I will go on with my ramblings, and when I have subject matter that some would call "doubtful" I will continue to put warnings in front of the text.
Interestingly enough, this same old pal understands the difficulties I have with my Father.
My Father, you see, finds most of the world offensive. Yesterday when I spoke to him, he was muttering about having cancelled his cable subscription, or his satellite subscription, something like that.
Apparently, an advertisement showed a naked body, and that was too much for Daddy. He picked up the telephone and told them to either remove the offending ad or pull his plug.
(Luckily for him, he still had a telephone from which to issue this missive, because he's also engaged in a take-no-prisoners war with AT&T, and is in daily danger of having his telephone pulled...)
My "old pal" and my dad have attitudes that I simply can't relate to. Now, admittedly, my dad is an extreme case... But I have great difficulty understanding what people find so offensive about reality, and about art.
For example, I recently watched a movie that had this viewer's discretion notice:
"The following program contains nudity, sexuality, violence, bad language, and adult situations."
"Wow!" I thought to myself, "FIVE stars!"
I hadn't intended to watch that show, but I did, based solely on the viewer's discretion notice! (I enjoyed it thoroughly.)
However, I avoid movies like James Bond whenever possible, because I find the violence not merely gratuitous, but unbelievable. For the same reason, I do not enjoy martial arts movies, where they have actors on wires, flying through the air. Even when watching science-fiction movies, if I see the laws of physics being broken, I lose all interest.
Art has to imitate life - to the nth degree - but art IS NOT life.
I've found that most of the people who are offended by sculpture, painting, photos, or movies fall into the category of those who cannot make this distinction. My Stepmom, for example, wouldn't let her grandchildren watch episodes of "Bewitched", because according to her, it was about witches. Now, there is no point in trying to explain to her that "Bewitched" is about as far from satanic witchcraft as you can get, that the show was actually about family values winning out time after time. It had the word "witch" in it, and that was that. Same thing with Harry Potter. There is simply no getting her, or that kind of person, past the SETTING into the THEME.
The rest fall into the category of prudes - people who don't even undress in front of their spouse after ten or more years of marriage, for example. People who will not answer you when you call out "Hello? Are you in there?" when they are in the washroom, because they refuse to admit that they use the washroom. (I am not making this up - I've know THREE people in my lifetime who do this!)
It takes a lot to offend me these days. Oh, I still have some prejudices which rear their ugly heads from time to time, but I do my best to overcome them when I recognize them. Boyfriend and I, for example, are engaged in a debate concerning alternate states of mind and their ability to affect reality. As I pointed out to Boyfriend yesterday, usually when I engage in that type of discussion with someone, I am rather condescending: Like a patient teacher trying to explain to a child what the constraints of reality are. "There is no such thing as magic, the easter bunny, santa claus, spontaneous combustion, god," etc.
But in this discussion with Boyfriend, I am able to speak to him as an equal, not as a patient schoolma'rm. I am able to listen to his point of view and actually keep my mind open, actually pay attention and seek to find common ground with his position. It doesn't necessarily happen - but the fact that I don't automatically assume the position of "All-Knowing One" is a miracle in itself...
I used to be quite a fearful person, back in the day when I was a "believing" type. Life, however, had different plans for me, and has taken me through roads rarely travelled. Some of my family, and some of my friends, know some of the roads I've been down. Two or three people know the whole story, because most people would find a great deal about my life offensive.
I am not afraid of people finding out the truth about me. I do, however, fear that some would find out a partial truth. Grandpa used to say (and I think he said he was quoting Confucious) "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." And our prejudices are designed to snap us away from thoughts we find offensive, frightening, or challenging - very much like our physiological responses to touching something hot. We pull away, quickly, in self-preservation. And rightly so - if we burn to death, we learn nothing. However, some people - call them scientists, or explorers - go on to see what they can learn about the phenomenon, while most of us just run away.
Well, life presented me with challenges, and I got burnt, but I stuck it out. I am pleased to say I've been humbled along the way, and that most of my friends have stuck with me through this ride, even though they themselves have not chosen my particular routes.
Funnily enough, in some of the circles I now travel in, I'm considered so conservative as to be almost prudish!
No, it's true! Here's a new word for all the boys and girls out there: "VANILLA."
Vanilla is the world's most popular flavour of ice cream. It smells good to everybody.
It is thus used to describe people or behaviours that our society considers "normal." A vanilla person, for example, would never get a tattoo. Or shave their head, or part of their head. Or wear fishnet stockings and a bra - and nothing else - to work.
Well, a number of my friends DO have these things in their lives, and a lot more besides. And I will say no more, because this blog is my vanilla blog. I am not here to deliberately offend the people I love.
My point is, that from these non-vanilla persons' perspectives, I am "normal." Boring. You may think I'm wild and crazy, "out there", a true deviant: I assure you, I'm mild by comparison to others, whose worlds you haven't dreamt of!
I hope my dear Old Pal stays friendly with me, even though he doesn't understand my sense of humor, even though he seems to find my blogs offensive. It is never my intention to offend, I'm just spouting off: and it is true, that what comes out does reflect what's inside... But in this venue, I'm simply trying to be funny most of the time.
And the rest of it, I'm trying to wrestle with my own prejudice.
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