Meh for the mehs AMA

I shall remain a turd polisher forever. But my passion and belief of what we *could* have done with social media, marketing, and business marketing will last with me forever...
So
AMA on any subject. I may give you one of my multi million ideas. All I ask is that you give me 1%. That's a fair, small number for changing your life and it's a HUGE number for me to build my not-for-profit dream
You literally have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
I'm an open book. 😏

My First Love Letter

Ok... Unless you were following me on MySpace back in 05 this story is new to you.

I went to a catholic grade school and my very first crush was a boy in my first-grade class named Joey. Joey was a troublemaker. He was always being sent home with a note pinned to his chest for his Mom, and this made me love him even more! He rolled his sleeves up and slouched in his seat. He ate paste on a dare and would always say “Yeah” during roll call instead of “Present.”

One day, someone stole my crayons from my desk. I immediately started crying because my mother had so meticulously printed my initials on EVERY crayon to prevent such a misfortune. Joey, taking pity on me, offered to share his crayons with me. I was so thrilled, I pretended not to notice the tiny “NM” printed on the paper wrapper of the Cornflower Blue Crayola.

Finally, I just couldn’t take it any more. I HAD to profess my love to Joey even if it meant that he might punch me in the stomach as I’d seen him do to other girls. I decided the best way to avoid physical harm was to launch a covert operation. I would write him a love letter!

“A Love letter! Perfect,” I thought to myself, “I can drop it on his desk near the end of the day!” I figured that the end-of-the-day confusion would allow me to place my missive of love on his desk and have plenty of time to get out of the way of any stomach punching.

That night, I spent agonizing hours hunched over the dining room table carefully constructing what was to be my opus of love. To this day, I have no idea what I wrote on that spiral-bound piece of notebook paper with my #2 pencil but I’m pretty sure it went something like this:

Dear Joey,

I love you.

If you love me, check this box.

After slaving over this soul-bearing note, I realized my mistake... I had written it on plain notebook paper! Love notes of this magnitude aren’t supposed to be written on plain notebook paper! What could I do? Re-writing it on stationery was out of the question. I was a lefty and a horrible printer. I was actually supposed to skip first grade but only if I learned to print legibly. Lucky for me, I refused to practice that summer or I never would have met my Joey.

The only viable solution was to make the note look better somehow. It needed a decoration of some kind to convey exactly how much Joey meant to me.

Seeing that my crayons were gone, I decided to remove several of the jagged strips of paper from the spiral in my notebook and tie them around my note, wrapping it up like a present... a small... crumpled up... wad-of-paper-like present.

The next day at school was a blur. I spent the entire day checking the pocket of my cardigan to make sure I hadn’t lost the note. I didn’t even participate in singing “Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes” for fear that it would fall from my pocket.

Finally, my moment came. As everyone in my class was getting ready to leave for the day, I executed my plan. I stood up with my trusty #2 pencil and went to the sharpener. This way I could survey Joey for the perfect opportunity (when he wasn’t punching people in the stomach) to make my move. Just as I ground my pencil to a stub, my moment arrived. Our teacher, Mrs. Smock, reprimanded Joey for horsing around and he was now sulking by himself with his head resting on his Evel Knievel backpack.

It was now or never... My palms were sweating profusely as I casually tried to stride past Joey’s desk. I reached in my pocket and deftly palmed my precious note. You couldn’t quite tell that the strips of paper had been tied into neat bows anymore because I had been squeezing the note all day, but I was sure that Joey would understand the painstaking amount of time that I had put into this note all for him.

With all the skill of a superior note-passer, I flipped the note out of my pocket and on to Joey’s desk where it gracefully slid and came to a stop just underneath Joey’s sulking eyes.

I did it!! With the delivery complete, I ran back to my desk so I could watch Joey’s reaction to my very first love letter from a safe distance. My mind’s eye was filled with endless afternoons of building Lego mansions together where our combined families of Fisher Price Little People would live happily ever after.

My reverie was suddenly broken with a shout.

“Hey!” Joey yelled as he stood up from his desk, my note grasped in his hand.

The entire room was suddenly silent. Joey’s outburst commanded everyone’s attention. All eyes were on him as turned, red-faced and angry from the teacher’s scolding, and pointed his finger right at me!!!

“Don’t you throw your trash on my desk... EVER AGAIN!”

With that, Joey took my heartfelt confession of primary school love, wadded it up (as if it could ~be~ any more wadded) and threw it in the waste basket.

I just stood there and looked at my love-letter resting on the top of the wastebasket... looking for all the world like a crumpled up piece of spiral book notepaper and not like a note at all.

The next day, I told Mrs. Smock that Joey had stolen my crayons and that I could prove it because my initials were written on every one. Joey was sent to the Principal's office and had to eat lunch alone for the rest of that week.

Heh, heh... Hell hath no fury like a first grader spurned. ;D

Lost in Translation

Here's an old favorite from an old hard-to-find blog of mine... I laughed so hard when I re-read it, I had to share it again to my new tens of readers. ;D

My Mom used to play the piano all the time when I was younger. I ~loved~ to watch her play! Her favorite music to play was Ragtime. She had a bunch of Scott Joplin sheet music and her two favorite pieces of his were "The Maple Leaf Rag" and "Solace"

Well, for some reason, that music popped into my head so I went to this website to dowload it (shhhh!)

Anyway... I only found one version of "Solace" (it has Itszak Perlman playing violin to the piano rag... not bad!) I see that the source also has some Flamenco Guitar as well so I start downloading that too when I suddenly get an IM from the source... it's in a different language. I recognize that it's a romance language and I'm pretty sure that it's Italian, but I have ~no~ idea what it says so I type back, "I'm sorry. I don't understand you." I get another reply of gibberish but the first word is "Scuza" (sp?)

Now, I know that... that's Italian so I write back Italiano? I get a "Si" so I decide (do not ask me why) to try to communicate with this person... Maybe it's because that's kinda' what I tend to do all the time... in work and in life... Anyway, I type something along the lines of "I'm American. I speak un poco espanol ... very poorly. See? I couldn't even remember the verb "to speak" ... I'm hopeless.

Then I remember... I have a friend at work who is teaching himself to speak Spanish. To me, this means that foreign language is fresher in his brain than it is in mine... So I print out the next reply I get which is, "io capisco poco spagnolo :-) sei molto brava" I call him up but there's no answer, so I run downstairs b/c I figure he's prolly outside smoking. I burst outside and shove this paper under his nose and ask him if he knows what this means... He doesn't know but he says he'll find out for me...

That's when I have my "light bulb moment." Duh... I'll go to one of those translation web sites and figure it out. So, by the time I get back upstairs and find a translation site, my friend gets back to me with this...

"io capisco poco spagnolo = I understand a little spanish.
sei molto brava = sei is six, molto brava is like 'very good' or something.
Wierd..."

I get about the same thing at the same time... He tells me that it's even funnier when you generate an english interpretation from the translation of your original english message...

So, I start to try to converse with this person and every time I translate a sentence from English to Italian, I translate ~that~ translation back to English just to see if it's making sense... and that's where it started...

The following is the conversation I had... After it was over, I hit the back buttons on my browser and saved it b/c it was just too damn funny to me. The person's name was Maria... I think... What you will read is what the website translated from her, what I wrote back (in English) and What I "really" said according to the web site... hee hee!

MARIA: I understand little Spanish. six much good one (this is the point when I write uno momento) and run outside to talk to my buddy.

ME: Hello, I'm back. I found a translation web page.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: Hello, they are behind. I have found a Web page of translation.

MARIA: I would drive crazy to serve some to me in order to express to me... come calls to you?

(at this point, I email my friend this message... agreeing that these translation websites do suck... He replies, "Well, shit, I would drive crazy to serve some to me in order to express to me as well!! Woudn't you?") LOL!!!! That was priceless. :::giggling like crazy!!:::

ME: hmmm. Maybe this web page is no good. That made little sense.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: hmmm. Perhaps this Web page is good. That one has had small the meant one.

MARIA: six much good one. of I was sure... qual' is your name? I of it do not have one true. chimano me to second of humor.... nearly pits one music : -)
(WHAT?! By now I'm thinking of my Parasite Pals lunchbox with the "engrish" that says, "Tickles Tapeworm like much the good food. Great friends we are to the extremity. LOVE ME! TAPEWORM!")

ME: My name is Nancy. I could not understand what you said about music.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: My name is Nancy. I could not understand that what you have said approximately music.

MARIA: you have reason... mi I call Maria

(The next part actually works out perfectly... I say Hi back and ask her where she lives in Italy. She tells me she lives in Palermo which is in Sicily)

ME: Palermo must be lovely. I live in Florida.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: Palermo must be beautiful. Alive in Florida.

MARIA: it is beautiful Palermo, a lot sciupata in true... Florida will be charming I I believe

ME: It is nice. I moved here from New York one year ago.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: He is pleasant. A year is moved me here from new York makes.

(here's where I think we both realize that we are hardly communicating...)

MARIA: never they have not been in America physically, but ideally they have been end where son succeeded to embrace : -) not me muoverò more from Palermo quì morirò : -)
((WHAT?! I try to stay on whatever track I can..))

ME: My ancestors are from France and Italy. I would like to go there someday. :)
WHAT I REALLY SAY: My ancestors come from France and Italy. I would want to go some day here:) (not bad...)

(~here's~ where any semblance of understanding goes ~right~ out the window) :-D hee hee!!!

Maria: creed that all we have ancestors in common... non you will truly remain disappointed....

ME: That was a little hard to understand but I do have some family still in Italy... somewhere. I only met them once when I was very young.
WHAT I REALLY SAID: That one was little a hard one to understand but I have still sure family in Italy... in some place. I have come them to contact only once when I was much young person

MARIA: it does not count the time that passes I not vredo of having one family, but not ago nothing

LOL! So it's here that my boss comes into my office to introduce me to this girl who will be helping me with some research... He asks me what I'm doing and I sheepishly look at him and say, "Ummm... blasting the Sex Pistols on my iTunes?" By the time I'm done talking with her, my new friend Maria is gone... swirling back into the Palermo sunset... or the flipping of her lap top shut is ending and bring to it the exit of the cafe full of internet ... who knows? ;)

Turd-L-Wax

I've been working on a BIG project so I haven't had much time to blog. However, a few days ago, I met yet another Turd Polisher! He's a news cameraman in Louisiana (see? Turd Polishers can be found in any profession!) Anyway, this blog has some great stories in it, so go check it out.

Which brings me to my next thought... Whilst browsing through my new friend's blog, I came across this lovely gem:

...and it made me think of those old 70's Game shows where the losing contestant always won "a year's supply of Turtle Wax." It always struck me as funny how the loser would get all excited when they heard this particular news, like the UPS guy was going to back up a truck to their garage and unload cases of the stuff or something... but if you think about it, a year's supply of Turtle Wax is ONE flippin' can!!!!

I mean, c'mon, how many times are you gonna wax your car in a year?!?!

Best polished turd ever!

Youth is Wasted on the Young...

"Cigarettes can kill you," singsonged the too cute, too thin "tweener" girl as she passed; flanked by her too lanky, too kewl sk8ter bois.

I had just made my way out of the "Super" Target after a grueling 2 hours - my favorite vice firmly embraced between my lips, laden with an overflowing cart and grateful for the sweet, sweet journey into flavor country after a very introspective afternoon.

Get the flip out. Theese things can ~kill~ me?!?! Get... the... FLIP... OUT!!!!

You have no idea what you just said, did you? Do you think your words just delivered me into the hands of salvation? Did you say that to make your cuties there think you have balls? Are you exerting smugness over me as if to say, "Look at me! I have my own mind! I won't succumb to your Gen X nhilistic ways. My body is my temple... and I've never even heard of Joe Camel, much less ~seen~ a phone with a rotary dial or have had to get up to change the channel! You are Grrl 1.0 - out moded, while I am Grrl 2.0! Whatever happened to you will never touch me for I am immortal!!!! MUAHAHAHAHA!"

For the record, I get it... how could this slip of a girl have any insight into my life. How could she possibly know that I once was "Francy Schmancy: QUEEN OF POTATOES," or that I went to a party thrown by Glen Danzig... or that I actually have my own midget story for cryin' out loud?!?

Note to self: Retrieve Midget Story from old blog and repost here... Add link in this blog when done.

My sweeping generalization for the day:
People just have no concept of time and youth is wasted on the young.

Not 30 minutes ago, I found myself in the Toy section... a thing I do less and less with each shopping trip as I grow older... Not so much because I'm growing older but because the toy section is just one big commercial. All the cool, weird, toys are now online (here's an example).

Anyway, as I strolled the aisles, searching in vain for something neat, I overheard a mother's comments to her (12-ish) daughter...

"Honey, don't you think you are getting too old for toys?"

Her reply:

"No ma! I just wanna look for..." blah blah blah (fade)

I wanted so badly to reach out, grasp that woman's arm and say, "Whatever it is your daughter wants... buy it. Don't argue, just buy it. Trust me when I say this... you will find yourself regretting that those words ever left your lips in about 6 months."

That right there is a product of my lame psychic abilities. I still regret not doing that. I even went back to find her but then I realized how weird that would be.

The thing is, who the hell am I to say that to her?!? I have no children.
Yeah, I've thought about it and yeah; I know that I would be a great Mom, but ... well... In my heart of hearts, I don't think that it's because I'm suddenly selfish, I think it's because I don't want to go down that road unless I can be there like my mom was... and right now, I can't be there. Plus, I think that maybe a person like me needs to do something more... like take in foster children or something...

Note to self: Look back to 2-3 years ago... Savor the irony of it all for a moment...

I want to give that tweener girl my email address and tell her to look me up in 20 years or so in order to apologize for her naivete' and tell me that she now grasps the uselessness of her remark...

I want to tell her that we are all dying and that I already know that I regret ever starting the smoking, but thanks anyway...

I want to tell her that she should shut the fuck up, go inside, buy herself a sammich and actually DIGEST it for a change...

I want to tell her that girls who wear long sleeves (like she does) in 98-degree weather have a lot more to worry about than the state of my lungs...

I want to flick my cigarette at her face and relive my old-school Roit Grrl ways...

and I want to thank her...

While she may not know it, she's inspired me to ~write~ for the first time in a long time. =)

So, UP YOURS TWEENER GIRL!!!!! >;D