tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2323449532860860502024-02-08T03:15:49.030-08:00Thought explosionSee titleDianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-43710743314984043352011-08-18T19:45:00.001-07:002011-08-18T19:45:54.370-07:00Hot yogaWhy do we as humans have the need to entangle ourselves with the most uncomfortable and painful situations/environments on purpose is something that I vow to one day write a thesis on (these parenthesis serve no purpose other than to not end a sentence with a preposition). There is nothing that man wouldn’t do (by man I mean the humanoid species and not your neighbor from 5F). I count myself as one of the greats who dared to climb Mt. Everest or swim the Suez Canal or cross the Bermuda Triangle and reappear in the US-European rectangle. What gives me the right to belong to this special group? I take hot yoga. Let me present my argument before being booed (love this word) out of my blog. Any kind of exercise is brutal, on this we can all agree. The bodybuilders of the world who pretend to enjoy every minute of the excruciating pain they feel while lifting a ton can kiss my 15-lb lifting behind. I see your veins ready to burst and I see the sheer horror in your eyes and I always get the eerie feeling that you walk around with a little piece of your lower intestine sticking out of your ahole (pardon the visual but I had to go there) so what’s there to grin about? Getting back to my amazing abilities (which as we just saw do not lie in the weightlifting department). Yoga is a very tricky sport/religion/way of life. You can be a true yogi and devote yourself completely to this uncomfortable practice or you can be a pretend yogi and come to class just to lose some weight. I realize my previous statement makes it that much more difficult to equate myself with the likes of anyone who accomplished anything but bear with me. I come to class with every intention of sweating out the demons and freeing my mind. Unfortunately what ends up happening is me tapping my feet to the beat of the meditation music and staring out the window (in my defense the view is fantastic) while scrunched up in some hideous pose. My instructor tells me that I if I insist on looking out the window the least I can do is notice the reflections of other students and the pose they’re in so that I can assume the same one. OK, I may not be the best and most dedicated yogi out there but the mere fact that I drag my overweight self to a class 30 min away from my house almost daily says a lot. I also have days where I push myself so hard that I do feel like I’m about to float out of my body and teach the darn class myself to myself. At (never start with a preposition either I know) this point I’d like to mention that the yoga class I take is HOT yoga. As if getting into tree pose and breathing like you’re in a Lamaze class isn’t hard enough, lets turn the radiator on to 100 degrees and see how well you fare. Basically to get an understanding of what it feels like I urge all the naysayers to go to a banya (sauna/steam room in Russian) and do yoga. The word perspiration does not even begin to cover the amount of water dripping off of me. I happen to know that the quantity of liquid I take in is way less than the buckets I accumulate by the end of each class so I can possibly be liquefying from the inside. I am also proud to say that I have managed to get myself into somewhat of a head stand (my instructor holds my legs up of course). Everyone take note: this is what I call struggle, sacrifice and pushing yourself to the limit, even if that limit includes checking your red, sweaty face out in the window once in a while.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-15157395506172834292011-08-18T18:34:00.001-07:002011-08-18T18:38:15.170-07:00last year summed upIf someone told me a year ago that I’d be switching “professions” I would’ve laughed in their face and continued my slow and painful decline into single and unemployed middle age, but it just so happened. The story began a year ago when I up and decided that I no longer want to do what I am doing and that life has no meaning, yatta yatta. Can anyone guess what happens to an employee when they show up to work on a daily basis all disheveled and with a facial expression that screams louder than DMX to move and get out the way? I’ll tell ya. You get 3 months probation, no responsibilities, a nice severance package and a touching good-bye letter managing to somehow conceal the fact that you are fired. Breaking up is one thing but being informed that your services are no longer in the highest of demands and that the train you’ve been taking is about to have one less passenger on it, in an it’s not you it’s me way is certainly a feat to accomplish. Kudos to HR! <br />
The most memorable day for me was the day after my last day of work. I woke up realizing there is nowhere that I need to be on this particular weekday and fell back asleep (which if you ask me is time well spent when it’s summer and you live by the beach). I woke up just in time to convince myself that this day I will remember forever because it marks the first day of the rest of my life (not to be confused with all the birthdays that my best friend and I decided to remember forever but only managed to remember one). Well my day was a special (July 1st? I think) day and even though I slept through most of it there will always be a special place in my heart for it (although I have plans to replace it with the day after I lose my next job). But enough sentimentality.<br />
Fast forward a year and I am once again gainfully employed. I can’t say that my attitude about life has changed at all but I did realize that there is no way that someone with such an outlook can stay in the same place for longer than a year. The minute you want to build gallows in the lunch room that can hold up to 80 bodies (give or take a few), you need to start with the man in the mirror and make that change (to the next office/career/country/relationship, lucky enough to have you).<br />
Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-33317668646396041722011-05-26T13:48:00.000-07:002011-05-26T13:48:23.706-07:00To all the Almond JoysThe crazies are called mentally unstable. That is the vaguest thing I ever heard. If you ask me a memory lapse qualifies as instability. One day you remember shit and the next you don’t, well if that’s not unstable I don’t know what is. Having balance and coordination problems might be physical instability symptoms but they stem from the cerebellum not functioning properly. So, if you fall during a yoga class you’re mentally unstable. Same goes for those with vision/hearing problems, failure to feel pain and pretty much anyone whose neurotransmitters fail to send signals to the brain. Sorry but they’re all swept under this category. Why? Because they certainly are not stable, and if you’re not stable then you’re unstable. Pure and simple. I personally try to keep my mentality in a stable mode at all times because one slip up and you never know. A few simple mental exercises a day can do the trick. Just keep telling yourself that you’re stable and viola you’ve at least got yourself convinced. Convincing everyone else is basic. Just keep using LOL. Don’t know why but it works. So do smiley faces. <br />
The loonies should instead be referred to as having a mood instability. Sometimes you’re in the mood to murder someone and sometimes not. That makes more sense. But why explain what Almond Joy/Mounds already told us: “sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you are”.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-44692823321625974632011-05-03T17:57:00.000-07:002011-08-18T18:03:11.702-07:00the self-sufficient buttocksI can't stop wondering why people always tell you to "get your ass" somewhere. Is the rest of you not presentable enough to go along? Your mother might say "get your ass to the doctor" which is fine if you're going to a gastroenterologist, otherwise shouldn't my dentist also check my teeth? What I'm getting at is the fact that an ass cannot just be traveling on its own. It needs a chaperone. I've never once seen an ass get up and walk out and leave the rest of someone "sitting". Imagine waking up one morning to find your ass missing and a post-it "gone shopping honey, make yourself some coffee". I can see the usefulness of having such a responsible and well-trained butt to be able to run errands and do shit (pun intended) you don't wanna do. Even sending it to the bathroom by itself can be liberating. Unfortunately we have not reached that level of sophistication yet at this stage of evolution so we're just gonna have to wait before that happens (and when it does there will also be a Malcolm in the forefront among them pushing for ass liberation from all the slave labor they'll be doing). Now an ass is like an underage kid and must present some form of ID in the shape of your face.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-25772556981945311932011-05-03T17:15:00.000-07:002015-09-27T18:48:25.395-07:00el shipo no sinkoWhy is it that even though planes are the safest way to travel there are all these rules and instructions that accompany every commute from the moment you enter one airport to the moment you arrive at another one? How come the safety instructions are a bit more lax on boats? You get on a cruise ship and there's no detailed instructional video with survival techniques. You are simply pointed in the general direction of the lifeboats (not enough for everyone so first jump first serve) and possibly given a life vest. Why? Because everyone knows that if something goes awry (which it probably will) the sinking vessel will generate a powerful enough whirlpool to take down you and your flotation device with it. If disaster does strike some lucky bastard will end up sitting in his lifeboat with his life vest on while someone else will look on in admiration. The designer of the Titanic tried to fool everyone with "this ship is unsinkable" bullshit but after everyone watched Dicaprio's face disappear into the clear blue water during nighttime the lies have ceased. We all know by now that if it floats, it's sinkable. Also if you're a man more bad news for you. While the women and children get all the vests and boats your ass is wondering if you can still climb on that iceberg.<br />
Potential doom is the reason why Tom? Cruise ships have everything you can ever imagine on board. In case it's your last trip you can go down a happy camper. There is an overabundance and excess of everything. Alcoholics can drink nonstop, the obese can eat, the gamblers can gamble, the sunbathers can tan, etc. Think of any possible vice that's bad for you in small quantities and multiply that amount by some huge number and you'll get an idea of your total exposure while on vacation. The attacks on your health stop short of unlimited radiation dosage due to immediate expiration instead of give or take a few years. Be aware folks! Boats are not safe. There are tsunamis, icebergs, potential sinking, and who knows what else involved. If the Titanic taught us anything it's the fact that there can be a dancing polar bear on a melting ice cap flailing his soon-to-be extinct paws for your ship to get out the way and your ship will still ram into him. At least you can occupy yourself at the all-you-can-eat buffet during the hour-long submersion into the water.<br />
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If those potential calamities are not enough there's a new thing to worry about that I recently came across. If you should fall ill during the journey (I mean there's really no reason why you should after a week long gorge and drink fest but lets say you do for the sake of argument), the emergency team may "accidentally" drop you into the icy waters of the Atlantic in the attempt to transfer you onto another boat. This actually happened and to a senior citizen no less. Basically you start off under the weather and end up under the water. Well if that's the case then I suggest taking your chances on the mother ship until you dock on some island with a stellar healthcare system. Malaria beats out hypothermia any day in my opinion.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-11336407958526982842011-05-03T09:25:00.000-07:002011-05-03T09:25:14.981-07:00The FU train (U keeping mum like the K in knife)The F train is on my shit list. It's a 2 second walk from my building and I'm convinced that the conductors hide their trains around the bend and stake out my back entrance in order to quickly pull up to and away from the station just as my foot crosses the threshold. My orange sneaker acts as a green light, or better yet, a shot before the sprint, to them. Needless to say this gives me insufficient time to make it but more than enough time before the next train arrives 10-15 min later. Upon the next train's arrival I almost feel the conductor's disappointment for having just missed this precious chance to F with me. Every day, no matter what time I leave the house this happens so that's how I know it's on purpose. If it was an occasional occurrence I'd attribute it to my schmuck luck but a daily basis type of deal is evidence enough for a trial. This kind of situation makes me want to call the ThreeJasons (secret society the real name of which I'm afraid to mention) and ask to be taken off "the list" (if you're on "the list" you're shit out of luck and guaranteed to just miss the train for the rest of your life.) Maybe I'm not the only one. Chances are there is one designated asshole per station that must be made to miss the train he wanted to take no matter what. In fact, I'm pretty sure there are a bunch of us (a sufficient enough number to qualify for a support group) each of whom misses the train by a different interval of time. The folks who have it the worst constantly miss it by a hair just as the door slams in their disbelieving faces. <br />
Maybe someone is trying to drive the point home that you're just too slow. Maybe it's a metaphor for yet another missed opportunity. "Here you want this train right here? With these new shiny polished carts? With the guarantee of no delays? Too late it's gone". Better luck next time.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-20395176481135272282011-05-01T20:04:00.000-07:002011-05-03T09:33:37.569-07:00Why is there an "I'm a Mormon video ad" on my blog?I keep waiting for that check from Google for letting them post their ads in my personal space and it's like waiting for the tooth fairy. If ye shall perchance stumble upon this trusty forsaken blog kindly do the following: click on the ads before you read my posts. In fact, I forbid ANYONE to read my highly entertaining posts unless they have clicked on whatever Google deemed suitable to place on the right and bottom of the screen. <br />
P.S. I did not make up the title. There really is an "I'm a Mormon" ad on my blog. Who can I inform that "I'm a Jew?"Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-71922428158136816702011-05-01T19:54:00.001-07:002011-05-02T10:09:35.921-07:00ObservationHave you ever noticed how if you’re successful and happy everyone wants to be your friend but secretly (in some cases outwardly) hates you? On the other hand if you’re a miserable loser everyone feels sorry for you and seems to like you but doesn’t want to be around you. This is always true without exceptions. Personally I prefer option number two any day. Life seems easier that way. There are no commitments, no responsibilities, no one to answer to and nowhere to go but up. But why bother going anywhere? You are exactly where you are meant to be so find yourself a warm place to plant your hopeless bottom and enjoy the show. Keep a watchful eye on everything that goes on around you, be the observer and not the participant, cower behind the front row of the ground troops while they battle it out. After all you’re the weakest link and you’ve got nothing to prove. Doesn’t that take the pressure right off? Critics will argue saying that’s no way to live. Don’t pay them any attention. Do what’s right for you. The higher you strive the further you can potentially fall but the lower you aim the firmer your feet are planted on the ground. No messy gravitational interventions and no disappointments. I find more and more proof of this daily. The homeless men lie on the benches or ride the trains with smiles on their faces while the hard-working class of people show signs of stress in the form of veins bulging, pulses escalating, and fuses blowing at the Starbucks workers for putting one less spoon of sugar into their drink than necessary. <br />
Warning: This lifestyle not intended for everyone. If you are an overachiever please consult your parents at the first signs of depression, anxiety, heart attack and or stroke due to too much free time on your hands and not enough trophies/medals.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-16437683993371104552010-07-29T13:45:00.001-07:002010-07-29T19:21:12.709-07:00Interview skillsLately, I’ve been reading so many “useful” tips on how to land a good job and they all make me sick. Look your best, firm handshake, warm and genuine smile, openness, etc… Ok so lets say this mythical creature does exist, what the hell is the other 99.9% of the population supposed to do? Why don’t we just bypass all the figurative brown-nosing and get to the real deal. We may as well drop on our knees the second we walk in, pull down the interviewer’s pants and kiss his/her bare bottom. At the end of each “helpful” suggestion list there is always a phrase: “Remember, you are also asking questions and determining whether the job is right for you, so it’s really a two-way street”. Really? Is that why I’m sitting here sweating, coughing, forgetting the English language and demonstrating symptoms of down syndrome, while the person sitting across the table with various awards and pictures depicting their world travels is calmly assessing my neuroticism with their arms neatly folded, and looking at my resume is if it’s the most despicable, not to mention unreadable document (which it must be since they keep asking me about my experiences and education which has been clearly outlined with bullet points)and taking phone calls from their two-year old? The argument that this is a two-way street is further weakened by the fact that while the interviewer is digging for gold in my X-files I’m supposed to keep mum about salary, insurance, vacation, and such hush-hush, not to be discussed topics. I’ve got news for you ABC Corp.: those are the only things that interest me! That’s all I need to know to determine whether this company is right for me. I don’t care about my duties, who I’ll be working with and why, my boss’s family vacations, etc. But mostly I just need this job. Not want but need. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here hyperventilating with anticipation of being your humble servant. There, hire me now.<br />
This so-called meeting of the potential employer and employee may as well be conducted in a good ol’ torture chamber. It would be just as prolonged and painful. “Are you references real? Either confess that your experience is fake or be boiled alive. Your choice. If we do find that your experience was in fact real after you’ve been hanged, don’t worry you will be pronounced a national hero and honored accordingly, alas posthumously”. Needless to say, no one will come out of there with a job. Pretty much like today.<br />
I’d make a few changes to this unnecessarily torturous process. At least if the atmosphere was different, say a candlelit dinner for two, at a five-star restaurant I’d be more disposed to “tell them about myself”. I feel much more at ease telling my future employer about my abilities after a glass or two of the most expensive wine (which they’re buying by the way, I mean which one of us has a job?). The key is to throw fairy dust in their face all evening until they’re almost positive that there has never been, or ever will be a better candidate for this particular position. Whether or not you can actually do what you say is another story. You learn on the job. After all, we’re all inquisitive creatures by nature and there’s no reason we can’t ask how to make a copy every ten to twenty minutes. Good luck and let Obama (the pro) be with you!Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-55457361811493801292010-07-09T11:32:00.001-07:002015-09-27T18:59:03.964-07:00Thou shalt not reproduce after your spouse is goneSo the good news is that I don’t live in Iran. With my luck I’d be stoned to death for just standing there watching someone else getting stoned to death and not contributing. However, the adulterous widow who is actually about to be stoned to death isn’t so lucky. That poor woman! It’s hard enough trying to get some while only being able to flirt with your eyes but now she’s getting punished for succeeding? If the same laws applied in the U.S. we’d all be sitting in our respective holes buried to our necks with no one left to cast the first stone. Then the situation gets more grim. The alcoholic, half-lesbian, jailbird to be, Lindsey Lohan, is petitioning for the widow’s release. That’s right Iran. You listen to the woman who broke every rule in the Koran five times over and should’ve been stoned even in this country (which she was most of the time). What does it take to be punished here? Join the wrong sports team? Lohan was finally sentenced to prison and is about to compete with Paris Hilton for shortest amount of time spent behind bars. It’s like they’re walked into the cell and the doors shut behind them only to reopen a second later with the words: “So, you rich, nastily-beautiful semi-celebrity, had enough soul-searching for one lifetime? Did some serious self-reflection in there? Well you’re out. Go back to the filthy rich house you came from. And take your dog with you”. Lindsey will ask for more time though after seeing all the potential Samantha Ronsons around her. “Now wait a minute, lets not be hasty officer. I have a few hours of contemplation left in me". Ok back to this poor Iranian woman. Word on the street (so she probably hasn’t heard) is that she’s already been whipped and lashed in prison. At least her children are rooting for her. I was sure they’d side with the justice system and robotically scream for their mother to be martyred for the sake of their father (whoever he was....we are talking about a severely loose woman here).Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-18433463521577681622010-07-09T09:36:00.000-07:002010-07-09T09:36:02.951-07:00NewsworthySeventy years ago Germany was threatening to take over the world. Everyone knows how that ended. Well the second coming is upon us. Paul the Octopus is gaining power, brainwashing the masses, and making (Germany 1:the rest of world 0)-like predictions. Can someone at least get this thing a mustache? Granted, the Hail Paul salute would be difficult to execute for those with but two arms but we’ll manage. Needless to say, not everyone is happy with this rising star. Death threats are pouring in to turn the critter into calamari and end its winning streak. According to the headlines this psychic invertebrate is unfazed by both fame and death threats. It seems that the only thing he’s fazed by is soccer. I get the feeling that Paul also told Lebron James to sign with Miami Heat by nodding his head in the direction of the south. Lets fry that son of a gun!<br />
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Naturally once the Germans surface, so do the Russians. While Lebron James is burning in Heat, the Russian spies are bringing back a burst of much-needed cold air to this country. The crap they pulled-you gotta love ‘em. I guess it’s the westernized commies vs. the psychic Germans again. Meanwhile Mel Gibson is beating the hell out of his Russian, Oksana Grigorieva to see if she was also in the spying profession. He claimed that he was too drunk to remember the last twenty years of his life and for all he knows his real name is Maksim Gibsonovich and he’s about to be swapped for some vodka.<br />
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And those are the big news: Lebron James, Paul the Oracle, and Mel Gibson.<br />
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Oh I almost forgot about Mani the parakeet from Singapore and his take on world sports. Are Germany and Singapore the only countries able to breed psychic animals? Seriously U.S. go and fish out a mutant from the gulf and see what it can do.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-22565238081114836002010-06-22T13:57:00.000-07:002010-06-22T13:57:08.899-07:00Yes we can! (get canned)I am being fired/laid off/disposed off/sent off to early retirement/escorted from… my present place of employment. They’ve finally had it with my antics. Folks, learn from my mistakes is all I can advise. If you come in after 10am thinking you’re early, take a long lunch thinking you deserve it, and browse the internet all day in search of a perfect career, it will eventually reflect on your performance. I’ve worked out a little formula (during work hours of course): The output (tasks done in 1 day) should equal the input (tasks being given to you) times at least 5 task assignees. My output equaled input X (number of personal emails in my inbox) plus input Y (yahoo news) plus input Z (youtube videos) plus ½ of an assigned task grabbed at the last moment from a boss picked at random (I can’t/don’t want to prioritize if my life depended on it). Basically, I’ve dug myself into a bit of a hole and jumped in via cannonball without any H2O present. That being said….. <br />
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I cannot be happier about my current situation. Finally! The push I need to go out there and put my skills to good use. I feel like I just graduated college again. No job, no money, no real acquired skills, but more expensive tastes.<br />
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I picture the unemployment office like an AA meeting. “Hello, my name is Diana, and I need a job”. Then I relapse and collect my check from the government.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-15825960679860743022010-05-22T20:58:00.000-07:002010-05-22T20:58:26.327-07:00Losing your religion, courtesy of REMWhen is it safe to assume that a person believes in God or is religious? A friend of mine always says to me “this book is about God and religion so you’ll like it”. Finally I retorted with “Why do you assume I will like it?” and her response was “Because you’re always asking ‘why are we here’ and ‘what’s the point of it all, blah blah’”(the ‘blah blah’ could’ve been referring to “what’s a good laxative?” because I’m always asking about that too). Well so what? Doesn’t everyone ask those same questions at some point or other? I mean inquiring minds want to know. The ones who are not asking have it all figured out and are living underground waiting for the rest of us to catch up. Besides I’m asking those things while being open to any possibility while she automatically assumes they have something to do with God. So which one of us is religious? <br />
Does a person have to observe customs or traditions or frequent a building with the appropriate sign in the front to be considered religious? Also if a non-Jew enters a synagogue will they be considered religious? What if a man prays in the comfort and privacy of his own home? Can someone be religious without having a particular religion? Moreover, if it has been established that someone is religious and wants to go somewhere where he can talk to God, where should they go? All faiths are divided up holding hands with each other as if practicing for a fire drill so they know which exit to take when the apocalyptic fire erupts. God forbid everyone should take the same one; there’s no room. It’s not enough to wonder if God created us at all but we also have to establish which God’s fault it was. Meanwhile Allah, Jesus and Yehweh are all playing poker and assigning the blame to each other.<br />
The three main religions are in constant search for new members and when they’re not recruiting they’re busy telling people to get out. Jews are the chosen ones and if you haven’t already been chosen then you can’t have my winning lottery ticket. The synagogue has to display some signs in the front like: “DO NOT ENTER, if you do not have a receipt stamped ‘chosen’”. Since people always forget to read the fine print they will try to enter anyway. At this point a sign like: “BEWARE OF JEWS” or “USE CAUTION, JEWS AT PRAY” may suffice. If someone chooses to enter a mosque they must read the sign: “IF YOU ENTER BE PREPARED TO STRAP ONE ON (no we are not talking about a dildo), and please leave your slippers outside”. <br />
So regarding who is to be considered religious so far we can only speculate but the range seems to be from simply asking “why am I here?” to blowing ourselves up hoping for something better on the other side.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-77125543354665622092010-05-22T20:51:00.000-07:002010-06-11T06:58:14.500-07:00Unrequited loveIt’s no secret that Jews have always been loved and admired throughout the ages. What might seem like acts of terror are really hidden kindnesses similar to those a loving parent would use on his child to teach them a lesson. The following people have been perceived as heartless anti-Semites but it’s time to clear their names. <br />
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Moses’s brother the Pharaoh<br />
How much do you have to love somebody not to want to part with them? In this instance Moses had to beg and plead to be granted leave, along with 40,000 of his closest friends. I’m almost thirty, but when I ask my parents to go away for some time they say “no”-out of their love for and attachment to me. Much like them, this particular Pharaoh loved his little alien nation so much that he withstood all kinds of tortures to be able to keep them. I mean, who in their right mind would jump right in the middle of two giant tsunamis after someone they didn’t care about, except a loving mother? Moses utilized his best Jewish intimidation techniques: sending the plagues by night and then coming by the next morning and politely inquiring whether he’s free to go yet. The Pharaoh should’ve learned when to cut the cord.<br />
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Mel Gibson<br />
Who knew? All this time the guy was harboring his Lethal Weapons-to be unleashed at a later date. He was obviously on a three step program to cure his Jew addiction. Step one: make a movie portraying Jews in a less than favorable light. This one was the hardest step and the poor fella relapsed and denied any and all such intentions. Step two: get drunk and stupid-nothing to do with Jews but always helps in crises, except after an AA meeting. Step three: accuse the Jews of being the culprits of all the world’s woes. Psht. That’s not debasement, it’s historical quotes uttered millions of times before, which at least prove that Mel was an avid follower of current (and past) events and there actually may have been a historical basis for Braveheart.<br />
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A bunch of Adolfs<br />
Turns out that if your first name is Adolf, you’re not gonna be a fan. Also turns out, you’re not gonna end well. In a game of Pinky and the Brain style world domination schemes the Jews will always be the Brain so that only leaves Pinky. Shout out to all the Adolf’s out there!Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-13369027071863722942010-05-22T20:38:00.001-07:002010-05-22T20:38:06.940-07:00The Big SpillI admit it. I am clumsy and I spill, drop, stain, and pollute things all the time, but I’m not responsible for the fiasco in the Gulf. I’m still not completely sure who is. I say keep blaming Bush. Who cares if he’s no longer our President? Just keep on blaming that poor sucker till he retaliates by invading your neighbor’s house. I am concerned about the environmental impact of the matter. Do I want to consume fish that’s been lubed up? Not really. Especially if it’s also full of mercury. Lord have mercy on my ulcerous stomach. Am I interested to see what kind of mutations might arise as a result of this disaster? Maybe a little. A two-headed Loch Ness might be kind of cool. One head goes under water but you still got a chance of photographing the other one. Now I see why those things prefer the fresh waters of Ireland. More low key. The poor amphibians. I feel sorry for them. No wonder the Little Mermaid wanted to be a part of our world. She was like “Screw this. Take my tail, my voice, all my stolen artifacts, I’m out”. The sea dwellers are sick of constantly having to put up with our human debacles. If a ship doesn’t dump oil and a factory fails to contribute toxic waste, then sure enough some pipe will burst. <br />
I keep imagining scuba divers or snorkelers passing by just as a load of oil covered them. “I know it’s our honeymoon Jim but what the hell? I asked you to save those games for the hotel room”. They were staying at Share-a-ton.<br />
I’m also horrible at cleaning stuff up. Once the deed is done and there’s a horrible mess I use one of the following tactics: either pretend like I have no idea what’s happening and run in the other direction or half-assedly cover it up and hope for the best. I have a lot in common with the BP (whoever that is but they seem to be overly involved). How hard can this be people? Oil and water don’t mix! Just take out the part that’s oil and leave the rest. I was hoping to limit my advice to relationships and entertainment but looks like I have to expand my horizons and start a column as the voice for all the environmentalists out there. <br />
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Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-7234100634408450042010-05-13T09:27:00.001-07:002010-05-13T09:27:17.520-07:00ConfessionI am harboring some mean-spirited feelings towards a new co-worker of mine. He is squeaky-clean, polite, pleasant and hard-working. Everybody else loves him. I want to send him back to Pleasantville, where he came from. This Stepford husband has just started his employment with our firm and he already managed to make all employees fall in love with him. I’m watching him closely and so far I have not seen him spraying love potion in the office. I don’t know what it is he does but I don’t believe the word “no” exists in his vocabulary. It’s the pre-programmed “Yes, Sir!, Right away M’am”. Needless to say that this kind of response automatically elicits a twitch in my arm, desperately trying to make contact with his face. The funny thing is he is extremely likeable. A diabetic’s worst nightmare, so sweet and saccharine that it will make anyone’s blood sugar rise. The skeptic in me wonders how anyone can possibly act that way and be genuine. Doggonit he IS genuine. Perfectly parted hair to the side, well-groomed and neatly-dressed. Whatever this boy scout’s selling, everyone’s buying. I help him out if the need arises. It may be hard to believe but I am a good person at heart. What I am far from though is picture perfect. My grooming habits are halfway-decent, I like to sleep in most days of the week and I do my best work after returning from lunch with a belly full of wine. I bet this kid doesn’t even know what alcohol tastes like. He doesn’t seem Amish but he sure acts it. For his sake I hope he’s a cult member. Only The Illuminati or Masons can brainwash someone to that extreme. I’ve never been so conflicted in my life. Just when I’m on the brink of clubbing him over the head I see his puppy dog micky blue eyes and my fist relaxes while I now struggle not to pet his perfectly arranged hair.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-74780508597636343232010-04-21T12:24:00.000-07:002010-04-21T12:24:22.522-07:00Volcanic interruptionTsunamis-check, earthquakes-check, hurricanes-check. What’s next you say? Of course, volcanic eruptions! Haven’t had those in a while. I had no idea Iceland even possessed a volcano, let alone an active one. All I know is that it’s not very welcoming of them to hang a huge ash cloud over their country after posting ads all over public transportation to come to Iceland for only $499 and take a dip in their geysers (hot springs and not aging Icelandic Vikings). Talk about blowing hot and cold. Make up your mind Iceland, which one are you and do you want visitors or not? To make matters worse, the rest of Europe has to suffer as well. England’s rightfully pissed: “We were going to knight somebody again but now you actually gave us a reason not to, MR. Olafur Grimsson”. No worries though; they’ll tackle this incoming danger like Queen Elizabeth tackled the Spanish Armada back in the day; with lots of prayers and hope for a thunderstorm. <br />
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Didn’t you learn anything from the Chernobyl catastrophe Iceland? Don’t spit out more than you can contain in your own airspace. Then again, what did you expect from something called Eyjafjallajokull? Definitely sounds like a terrorist training camp.<br />
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I admire the airlines carrying out “test” flights. What are they testing for exactly? “Ground control to Major Tom”. Major Tom is unavailable seeing as to how there’s something clouding his view at the moment. If they think that successfully flying a few jets, with some drunk souls aboard who might have nothing left to live for, smack through the middle of a fiery ash cloud will make everyone jump on that bandwagon, they don’t know nothin’ about the human psyche. I also love the boo-hoos of the misplaced and stranded folks. If they’d rather join the test pilots with an uncertain future instead be my guest.<br />
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Basically shit has hit the fan my friends and the time has come to brush up on your commandments.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-12589106646579276792010-04-09T12:16:00.000-07:002010-05-22T21:39:10.669-07:00Eco-hostileYou better start caring about the environment before it’s too late! I have an explanation for those of you who are wondering what got into me. I call it emotional development and making progress in the “I care” department. Normally I wouldn’t suggest what I’m suggesting but a certain change of scenery so to speak has opened my previously-half-closed eyeballs. I am a proud contributor to the environmentally-friendly website called <a href="http://www.envirocitizen.org/">http://www.envirocitizen.org/</a> (there I plugged myself). I admit I neither know nor care to know anything about the fifty ways one can save the environment but it’s like your teacher said: if you write something over and over again five hundred times, it starts to sink in a little. So here I am writing about our planet and the care we must show it, while awaiting the apocalypse and not having enough ambition to cook dinner. After browsing through my articles my own brother said: “Now I know that all those people who write self-help and educational articles have no idea what they’re talking about”. No argument there. My father wasn’t far behind with: “You should start making contributions to the NASA website” (although he meant it in a derogatory way I think that the astronomy courses I took in college give me a decent advantage). So go ahead stop taking showers, doing laundry, or flushing the toilet, and save environmental energy as well as your own. Have you seen whom true environmentalists resemble? A Woodstock explosion without the music. It’s like the hippies were finally up against the wall after the 70s to get real jobs and they’ve turned to “saving the planet”. I’m pretty sure that pot is more organic than Tylenol. <br />
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What I’m getting at is basically this: love your planet more then you love yourself because the Earth is eternal and you are only evanescent.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-1237736177737033732010-03-19T14:21:00.000-07:002010-03-27T15:46:23.030-07:00Thank you for chosing ContidelamerblueYou’re stuck in a confined space, suspended 30,000 ft in the sky, with nothing to do for the next nine hours. Airlines try to accommodate you to the best of their abilities for spending a small fortune on their dangerous transportation. There are TV screens with all the latest mind-numbing releases to keep you distracted so you stop pressing the “call” button for the stewardess. As we’ve learned though, the screens are really there not to rob you of watching your plane on the news for four hours in case one of its landing gears doesn’t ascend as planned. There are radio stations so you can pick soothing meditation to match your elevated state like a true yogi. Meals are provided which only work for those who like to stuff their face when they’re nervous and those who’re also sitting on their neighbors unbeknownst to themselves (the airlines conducted surveys and decided those two categories of flyers have the most frequent flyer miles and to hell with everyone else). Alcohol is served to take the edge off and better assist you with finding and making it to the nearest exit in case of an emergency. There are also overhead compartments so you have some leg room and supposedly if they’re tightly shut nothing falls on your head when you least expect it, since that’s the primary concern if the plane takes the occasional nosedive. The instructional video informs of the oxygen masks to play with (remember to secure your own first) before you wake up your neighbor and start attempting to plaster one on their unsuspecting face “just in case”. Broom closets are being passed off as bathrooms to empty whatever has accumulated in the past six hours of sitting in cold sweat. Good luck making it directly into the dwarf toilet with the combination of turbulence and alcohol (I feel sorry for the last person on that line who gets to enjoy the aromas of accumulations of all those ahead of him). There are seat belts (most ilkely used instead of straight jackets because it’s assumed we’re all mental patients/terrorists), only to be taken off when in line for the broom closet. I say stuff those waiting in line into the overhead compartments so they don’t fall on our heads. The flight attendants are supposed to be at your beck and call (unfortunately they do everything in their power for you not to bother them). Basically you’re sitting there strapped to your tiny seat with the oxygen mask on, stuffed, drunk, and afraid to get up and use the bathroom because the all-powerful captain hasn’t turned off the seatbelt sign. Have a pleasant flight!Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-52790266132233789632010-03-18T12:40:00.000-07:002010-03-18T12:40:58.479-07:00The fine line between beauty and the opposite of beautyHave you ever noticed how a person can look amazing one day and like the bum next door the day after? I’ve never been able to solve this mystery and it always interested me. How does one individual have two faces and who is responsible for picking which side of the coin will show up on any given day? We all wake up and hope for the best but sometimes hoping is not enough. I’ve read some helpful advice, claiming to be written for those having an “off” day but basically for extremely unattractive folks. Use this information as you see fit.<br />
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Smile<br />
You're on candid surveillance. This is like a slap in the face because if you look bad what’s there to smile about, your debt? You’ll feel even worse about yourself if you happen to be endowed with the lips of an ape and the teeth of a chronic tobacco and caffeine abuser. Should you smile anyway? I think that would require a serious self-esteem to be able to pull off without being considered offensive. This advice needs to be amended to: Smile ONLY if you have a pleasant smile, or have nothing left to lose, otherwise don’t bother. Of course feel free to smile in the privacy of your own home as much as you like.<br />
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Take care of your skin<br />
I know people who’ve been using so many facial creams, masks, Proactive solutions-you name it. They are still old and pimply. Are they just having some off days? This suggestion makes them question if they’re using enough. Here’s a thought: Maybe all those products are the ones making them look bad.<br />
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Be nice, kind and polite<br />
Again, like smiling, I wonder why would anyone be in a good mood if they’re sitting there looking like sasquatch? We expect those people to be rude and mean. It would be extremely unsettling if a disheveled witchy woman came up to me smiling and in high spirits, offering me tea with biscuits while showering me with compliments. You are how you look (not what you eat), so please act accordingly.<br />
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Don’t compare yourself to others<br />
But how do I stop others from comparing themselves to me? All of a sudden I will have a surge in popularity because more people would accompany me to lunch solely for the purpose of looking better in comparison. Moreover, how does not paying attention to others make one feel less hideous unless the side effect is disappearing mirrors? Notice there is no ban, however, of comparing yourself to yourself. If I see a bad image of me and still remember the good the end result is the same: automatically deflated mood.<br />
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I don’t know who this is trying to fool but if you fall for it than you’re also having a bad day in the cerebral department in addition to your failing looks. Stay tuned for advice on what to do if you’re not up to par mentally (either today or most days).Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-58191630565118105832010-03-18T09:00:00.000-07:002010-03-18T09:00:14.998-07:00Beware of hidden vitamin killersAh, the pleasantries of going through the dreaded physical exam. In the past week, I’ve been tested, prodded, pinned and needled, sampled, and interrogated. My arms swelled, my eyes bulged, and my skin chapped. I’ve never been more beautiful.<br />
Still the experts have not been able to determine what ails me. The best they’ve come up with was a severe vitamin D deficiency. I turned to google for worst case scenarios. It turns out that besides a futile attempt at ruining my looks, this quiet culprit boosts the chances of diabetes and osteoporosis. Thankfully, this can all be avoided by basking in some UV radiation. While deficiency is bad, so is an overabundance. I have to choose carefully. Milk or cod liver oil? Supplements or tanning salons? The prospect of my treatment alone, gets me excited. Yesterday at lunch, once I heard the disturbing diagnosis, I flew out the back of my building, threw off my sunglasses, and sprawled out on the cold stony bench (obviously also having a problem with Vitamin D absorption). The patrons of the same building were casually eating lunch (oblivious to my condition) and taking up all the space, which could’ve been used by those with a real “D-isability”. I’ve noticed that people only start caring about a particular cause once it directly affects them. They set up charities, donate to research, hold press conferences-all for “the cure”. I am thinking of becoming the voice for all the vitamin D deficients out there. I will start small, like posting signs, not unlike the ones we see on the subways every day, on the beaches and other sunny areas. “Get your healthy butt outta here and make some room for your fellow brethren, who may be in danger of osteoporosis. Oh yeah, it’s the law!” If you have a fair complexion, the consequences may either be a blessing or a curse. On the one hand, you will always have a seat if you look too pale and sickly. On the other, you will finally see how many people consider you pale and sickly.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-27835953224265813902010-03-03T15:29:00.001-08:002010-03-03T15:29:27.780-08:00Loopy mon/Mono ployMonopoly is evil. It unscrambles into a shady Jamaican calling you crazy or a ploy to pass on Mono. It brings out the Jew in your Hispanic friends and it makes your Jewish friends live up to every single negative stereotype. All of a sudden the sweet innocents become lucrative deal makers and business owners. Where were you during the Apprentice auditions?<br />
My mind works differently. When they say this is a game of chance, they ain’t kiddin’. To give you an idea how chance works: I don’t know the value of money, I suck at negotiating, and I just don’t give two craps. Armed with that information and the fact that it was my very first time playing, guess who won? <br />
This game proves that people go crazy over any kind of money, even the fake kind, and all of us want to be wealthy real estate owners. Nothing feels better than charging poor suckers rent-evidenced by the delirious rush of excitement when your best friend lands on your property. You can show your true colors without appearing greedy or immoral. If I ever had to collect rent from a friend I’d have to act cool and collected but if I confiscate said friend’s life savings and housing during Monopoly I’m allowed to jump for joy. I now have an idea of what landlords do in the privacy of their home when all the checks come in.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-32982595940844098832010-02-28T09:27:00.000-08:002010-02-28T09:28:33.663-08:00Under the pretext of...Once you reach a certain financial and educational level you can’t just frolic around like any Average Joe. Luckily, some clever Trump has come up with upscale versions for you to enjoy lower class and “trashy” things.<br />
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Ballet aka male strip club<br />
A true lady will never enter an establishment that degrades the male gender, unless it’s Carnegie Hall. I wonder if the dancers have been informed they’re on display or is this like The Emperor’s New Clothes? All I know is when I put on pantyhose I’m fully aware of the see-through/outline element, so due to modesty I usually wear a skirt on top. Pirouettes and splits do not conceal full-frontal nudity, in fact, they underline and put it in bold. I must say that male strippers are more reserved. At least they come out fully clothed and leave us wondering. Ballet dancers jump right out without warning or introduction. The females aren’t any better. They wear too-toos which are essentially belts made to resemble skirts. If this is done for the sole purpose of being able to distinguish between genders then the males pretty much got that covered (no pun intended). Basically I see your underwear lady, take care of that before pretending to be a swan.<br />
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Wine tasting vs bar<br />
What a delightful way for wine connoisseurs (stuffed-shirt alcoholics) to spend their day. What’s the matter? You don’t give a damn about wine and are simply looking to have a good time without being judged? I don’t blame you. Nowhere else will you still be able to come out with your dignity intact after drinking during the day while driving through the countryside intoxicated. <br />
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Home attendant vs nursing home<br />
Having a home attendant may not seem upscale to some, but to me it certainly does. Only nobility used to be able to afford their own staff and in my opinion it’s still very refined- even if Medicaid pays for it. Both parties involved benefit. Your behind gets wiped without having to wait in line and afterwards the attendant goes right back to the remote wihout missing the latest Brazilian soap operas. To pass the time, you can role play by pretending to be the affluent Juan Carlos, while your loyal attendant is the maid, Maria, who is really the wealthy daughter of Pedro Antonio, your next door neighbor.<br />
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A seat at the opera vs comfortable mattress<br />
The rich suffer from insomnia too. Sure they can afford the best beds around but we all know that nothing knocks out a person faster then listening to male and female voices urging us to assess the gravity of the situation. For those of you who didn’t get my drift: Men’s deep baritones may as well be used as substitutes for a war alarm due to their unique ability to foretell impending doom and female soprano screeching only aids the already rising panic. However, after the initial dramatic impact, comes a pacifying affect that somehow evokes lethargy leading to a fantastic two-hour rest. <br />
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Dental work vs Grillz/s<br />
At first I was going to use the grills as an upscale version of the two until I remembered the cost of regular dental work and the trashy look a grills inspires. Who knew that even platinum and diamonds can look disgusting when you use them to smile? Sure, not everyone can afford millions of stolen treasure glued to their incisors but neither can they afford a root canal, followed by a bridge and ending with complete tooth extraction. Besides, half the Russian aging population is sporting gold teeth, which were used thirty years ago instead of dentures, so the rappers are way behind the times. I say don’t stop there. Rip out your hair and get sapphire braids, get rid of your bionic (or regular) limbs in favor of pearl arms and ruby legs. Replace all your organs and get on the train at night preferably without jewelry (life) insurance.Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-3357540940124399832010-02-27T13:31:00.000-08:002010-02-27T13:32:47.541-08:00QuakesFirst Haiti now Chile. Better yet, tsunami headed for Haiti. It's been a long time since 2004 after all. Instead of thanking their lucky stars, Americans are complaining about a little snowstorm. If you hate the weather so much move to a warmer climate and suffer their calamities. If you prefer digging yourself out of rubble to shoveling your drive-way, be my guest. <br />
It appears 2012 is no joke. All the signs are there. It's even written about in a Russian magazine (the equivalent of National Inquirer) and has my grandma all worried. She doesn't know what day it is, but she sure knows that the end is near.<br />
The reason why the news don't show anything positive is not due to ratings but because there is nothing encouraging going on in the world. This is precisely why I strictly stick to children's programs. I can't deny that those are becoming increasingly violent (especially video games) but at least it's better than facing reality. <br />
Signing out,<br />
DKDianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232344953286086050.post-40225690460003163662010-02-25T14:34:00.000-08:002010-02-27T13:10:39.973-08:00GWGlobal warming is upon us people. We’re on a slippery slope bobsledding 90mph in Vancouver (we all know how safe those tracks are). The Olympics are so trouble-free this year that there’s almost nothing to talk about, so we’re left with the topic of global warming. Maybe that’s the reason Vancouver is having issues. Blame it on the A-A-A-, I mean GW (global warming and not our former president). Actually may as well blame him. He already ruined America and now he’s on a mission up the continent until he reaches the source of our suffering. After ruthlessly rampaging Canada, he will get to the axis of all evil (North pole) and melt the ice personally. I can’t believe that I’ve uncovered his plot and connected the Olympics fiasco with global warming. I’m a freaking genius! <br />
Seriously, what’s up with this weather? According to Facebook, everyone is sick of it. Uggs are ruined, views from windows are distorted, people can’t travel/commute. I’m so pissed that I’m going to hang a platinum medal around my neck in opposition. GW may have the gold but my brain’s techniques were more technically challenging. <br />
• This entry was not written by anyone from the Al Gore camp or Al Gore himself (I know how this looks since Al Gore is a strong opponent of both global warming and GWB)Dianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05864171842960241593noreply@blogger.com0