Twenty years ago I learned how to do Past Life Regression Therapy from Brian Weiss. And this morning,there was Brian's face, on FB in an ad.

This is a picture of Dr. Brian Weiss
for an advertisement.

I was on Facebook this morning and looked over at the adverts.   I hate that they have ads, but since no one has yet asked me, I assume they will continue.

In any event I was a bit surprised to see Brian whom I know. Or at least did about 20 years ago.

 

BACKSTORY ON GETTING TO KNOW ABOUT BRIAN'S WORK

 

A colleague of mine had lost his mom and I went to pay a Shiva call. (That's what Jewish people do instead of a wake)

 

While I was there I told my friend that I was heading off to Barnes' & Nobel.  He asked what book I was looking for. I told him it was kind of a joke to me. I had gotten a new age catalog and a book had been listed called, "Blame it on your past life" by Dick Sutfin ( I think). I said that it was hard enough to get one's patients to take responsibility for their issues at all, and for someone to write a book about it being your fault before you were living was absolutely ridiculous. (YOU should know by now, I like that adjective).  Phil asked if I had ever heard of Brian Weiss. I said no.

He told me that he had read two of his books, one "Many Lives, Many Masters" and the other, "Through Time into Healing".

They were about reincarnation and it's use in psychotherapy. I really respected Phil, so when I looked in the store and wasn't able to find the book I had come for, I found the one I hadn't known about.

Of course, I read the back cover and was intrigued. Dr. Weiss had graduated from Columbia University and Yale Medical School and was the Chairman Emeritus of Psychiatry at the Mount Sinai Center in Miami.

 

Those were some pretty heavy credentials so I bought the book.  I read it in the course of a day and a half. In some ways, it change my life.

 

BACKSTORY ON ME

 

I was brought up in an atheistic home, so God was not a concept that I could wrap my head around. However, the spirituality he discussed, and the story he told made me believe there had to be more than this.

 

I knew I would want to lend my friends this book, so the next morning, a Sunday, I went to a different B & N to buy two more copies.

The New Age section was in a different part of the store. After I found it the section, which was in a corner, all the New Age books were on  the top shelves.  So, being vertically challenged, I had to pull a stool over to stand on to read the titles.  I was having trouble finding his, and when I glanced down to get off the stool,  there were two copies at the bottom by my feet.  Woe. I had just walked past this spot and there  were no books on the floor. I was in a corner, alone,  and the store had just opened.  It was all neat and tidy. How did they get there?

 

Just wonderin.

 

MEETING DR. WEISS

 

The first time I saw him was at a weekend workshop at the Omega Institute in Reinhardt, New York. I found out about the weekend and really wanted to go, but it was last minute and I didn't know if there would be any room.

I happened to speaking to my friend Leslie, also a psychologist, also single and I mentioned the Brian weekend.  She was like. "OH Wow" " I have two tickets and a room for two, but my son just told me he doesn't want to go.  Do you want to?"  "Hell yes" I replied.

I asked if she knew about Brian, but she didn't. (I found that really weird, but....) She was going because she had gone there to a summer camp when she was a child, before it became Omega; and they were having a basketball weekend [I think with Phil Jackson] and she was hoping to meet some men.

 

She came to the sessions, but wasn't impressed like I was. I started reading more.  The following summer Brian was giving a five day workshop in how to do past life therapy for professionals. I asked Leslie if she wanted to go, but she didn't.  So I went by myself. There were only 120 of us so, I was able to get to know Brian fairly well. He was totally accessible as was his lovely wife Carol.

 

It was an awesome experience. My roommate was a wonderful woman, originally from South Africa, but living in Cincinnati.  There were two other women in the next cabin from Long Island and one man and another woman, also from Long Island.

  We all bonded and stayed connected for many years.

 

As I was licensed in New York at the time, I was able to be on Brian's referral list and  got many calls treated many people that he referred.

When I first moved to Florida and got my license I was also able to get referrals.

 

We all received a letter telling us that he would no longer be able to give referrals due to some legality.

 

Brian has traveled around the world doing his thing. I've seen him on TV and when he would come to NY we would go to see him.

It's been many years, but he has a spot in my heart.

 

WHAT I RECEIVED

 

Without his books I would have no faith.  It's not easy to develop when you were told much of your life that such things do not exist.

There is of course much much more that I could write. I think this will do.

 

THEORY

 

I now do not believe in coincidence. Things happen for a reason.

There is probably one why you stumbled upon my blog.

And here we were. I'm sorry I cut off my friend, but I don't know if anyone would want their picture up without permission. That was probably around 1998. No glasses and no hair.

I wonder what today is?

Oh. This isn't related to my being calendar challenged. I like to view my stats. I admit it. I'm hungry for attention. Here, online.

Anyway. So far today I had something like 148 "reads". Where I live, it's 9:30 a.m.  I posted last night around 11 p.m.

I also apparently have followers all around the world. Here is the breakdown. I love when copy and paste works.

United States	1129
France	129
United Kingdom	63
Germany	43
Netherlands	35
Ukraine	34
Poland	31
Russia	18
Romania	16
Mexico	15                                                                                                             If we open the spigot, we might drown the angel                   For some reason, Mexico is following me.  I tried to stop it but now they're all moving.  Bloody Hell.            So, about the time. Today is any 24 hour period. Except it's different if you're reading this in Europe or Asia which I think I had too. They all didn't copy. The point is, that I have to wait until at least 24 of my hours have passed to see what was read. This hurts my head. And teaches me a lesson. I am becoming too obsessed with this blogging and all its aspects. I am so happy to have so many readers and from so many places. So, today is just a word. Like so many others. Created for us, in an attempt to communicate in a meaningful way.       Theory. Words are symbols, that attempt to represent concepts and feelings,  I added time  but realized that it too is a concept.   Sign language does the same thing. Body language and touch are other ways to communicate with one another.   My belief:  We have yet to develop a really good means of communication. If we did, we would be able to be at peace with one another. Wouldn't that be nice? True understanding of another's experiences, concepts and feelings?  I really pray for that day. I'm so tired and distressed at watching people, hate and kill one another.  Maybe Today, it will stop.   Thanks for reading.

BRIEF CONVERSATION WITH MY HUSBAND

My husband and I were just watching TV. Well, the DVR.
He was fast forwarding and I said:

This has nothing to do with the discussion. I'll find a TV and  put it at the end. This was from an airplane when I went to NY to visit friends. Nice, huh?

 

 

 

Me:  I finally did the Yoga DVD today.

Him:  You should get a helmet.

Me: I didn't realize Yoga in the living room was dangerous.

Him: No, for when you ride the bike.  You're sitting high off the ground and actually, there are several things you should get.

Like lube.

Me: KY?

Him: No! What's wrong with you?

Me:  What do I know about lubes?

Him: He starts laughing and goes into the kitchen and on his way out

Him:  There are a lot of different kinds of bicycle lubricants. Since you'll be riding this one, you should be taking care of it and know these

Me: That was a rhetorical question.

Him: Uh, yeah. As I was speaking I realized that.... vey feh. Push the play button.  

 

This is symbolic of my verbal communication skill.

 

 

 

Anyone else have this happen with their spouses?

Well, spouse. I hope you only have one because if not, it would be bigamy or polygamy and I think sometimes, that one is a tad more than I can handle. One at a time, anyway.

 

Bra's and why they don't fit and aren't comfortable.

  Wow. I actually was able to copy that from an online image.  I suppose that's as good a place to start as any.

This past season, my husband and I were watching Blunt Talk on Showtime. It was really funny. On one of the shows, they started talking about the shape of women's breasts and had actual classifications. They used three. I could only recall one. I just asked my husband and he could only remember one also. The same one.

The champagne glass. This was considered the "best" in show (LOL).  Two of the women at the table had the other types of breasts. The men were very nice and of course, told the women they liked those too. *(AD)  We all know men have preferences, but when they are with a naked woman, they don't care what type, as long as it's a pair.  I suppose.

I had to do a search on shapes  just now to see if I could find the other two types. Turns out, there are quite a number of types and descriptions which I decided to try to narrow down. Somewhat.

First, I am trying to discuss the shape, not  the size.  In some cases it matters, in others it doesn't. What the men on the show considered the best were referred to as "champagne". Like champagne glasses are.  Round with (I can't believe I'm writing this) with a how do I even say this? How about a nipple in proportion and of a nice rosy color .  Rather like my face while I'm writing this.

The terms vary and I'm not putting in photos of naked boobs. Probably.

One site I looked at had photos of real people. One woman's  chest looked cockeyed.  Wrong word. I just looked it up. Drunk; they weren't;  a bit awry perhaps. It was like she needed to see an ophthalmologist because they were facing her armpits.   Which, if I were a man looking at her, I might find disconcerting. You know. Making eye contact. And we all know that most men don't look you in the eyes. They look you in the boobs. Where would he look? Would he keep sweeping his eyes back and forth? I get dizzy thinkin about it.

I changed my mind. I was able to copy and paste these renderings.

This is from one of the sites I found.

One was called "swooping" which from the side looked a bit like a ski lift. Not as bad as Bob Hope's nose, but you get the idea. Probably from the front they look perky and may be looking at the ceiling.

The next were "sagging". I think most women of a certain bigger size, age, or after childbirth know what this means. Hanging your head in sorrow. Looking down.. If they were really large, probably looking at and reaching the floor. Sorry ladies.

Not too long ago I was asked if mine sagged. At a family gathering. I was the only small breasted woman at the event,   [can I call myself  not large breasted, since  all the other women are?] Anyway,  I told them no. Which is true. In my "size'" I said they just slid down a little. *(AD) I heard that many years ago from Suzanne Pleshette  on the Tonight Show. She said they used to be up here, and now there're down here.  That's the way it is. Thank you.

One site I looked at had photos of real people. Just their torsos. One woman's looked cockeyed.  Wrong word. Just looked it up. Drunk, they weren't, a bit awry they were. It was like she needed to see an ophthalmologist because they were facing her armpits.   Which if I were a man looking at her, I might find disconcerting. You know. Making eye contact. And we all know that most men don't look you in the eyes. They look you in the boobs. Man, that would make me dizzy.

Other's were just called small. They are also known, unkindly as mosquito bites, eggs, sunny side up and flat chested. Women are very self conscious about this. I imagine almost as bad as a man with a very little penis. Almost.  The jokes on the men. At least women can have breast augmentation surgery.  Finally. Something else besides childbirth that only women can do.  YAY LADIES!


 The one's that are labeled tubular;  I'm trying to imagine those. Long and thin?  From the side drawing it was hard to say.  They look how I feel during a mammogram.

Then, my favorite, was snoopy. Yeah. Like my favorite dog. It was like the swoop, only the nipples were larger and sloping up.

What have we learned boys and girls?  That women's breasts come in a zillion different shapes and sizes, and change over the years.  Not that any of this should be new. Although I do remember years and years ago when I realized that not all women's breasts looked the same.   It wasn't like I had been exposed to many real women during my younger years. I saw breasts occasionally in movies, but back then, even that was held to a minimum. And mine seemed to look like those I saw. I will disclose. Champagne.  Doesn't matter because my  bra's were always uncomfortable. And they still are.  And that's really why I'm writing this.

I won't blame the manufacturers, because they seem to make so many different styles and sizes that one should be able to find something that is flattering, not flattening and comfortable. Apparently that is too much to ask.  I guess I am blaming them. Why not? I like to blame companies.

For a number of years, in my early twenties, I stopped wearing bras. It was liberating because it was comfortable. I was a feminist but I shaved.

For men, who may not understand, even though there are hooks and elastic in the bands, in order for them to stay in place, they need to be a little bit tight. Or they ride up or fall down. Then, why bother putting it on?
 Guys, think about Thanksgiving. You finished your wonderful meal and are sitting at the table. Your waistband is beginning to pull and you're getting that feeling. So, you do what you can. You unbutton the top button and yes.  You can almost breathe again.  This is never an option for ladies. Well, hardly ever.

Only in extreme circumstances would a woman take off her bra.  If she can do it discreetly, she will. I guess.


           A Story about a third or fourth date

    This couple went out dancing for the evening. It was a nice.  The woman was wearing a little black dress that required a strapless bra. For those of you who know and those of you who don't, they have to be really, really tight because at least with regular bra's, the straps help hold them up.  So, while the couple was dancing, the woman was losing her bra. It was sliding around like a dancer on a pole. It was driving her crazy and was interfering with her ability to dance and enjoy her date. She excused herself to go to the ladies. In the stall, she took it off and breathed a sigh of relief.  She then realized she had a new problem. What would she do with it? She only had a tiny evening purse and no jacket. Fuck. She was going to throw it in the trash, but she just couldn't. They can be pricy and when not dancing or jumping around for long periods, useful. What to do, what to do.
    She decided to be brave. She came out, holding it tightly in her hands and went to her date and asked if he could put it in his jacket pocket. Duh? in a flash it disappeared.  Later,quite some time later, he told her that he thought that she must some real live wire. Taking off her bra and giving it to him?  He thought he hit pay dirt. Poor guy.  He didn't know that desperate times call for desperate measures. That didn't make her a desperate woman.


Back to the point
    As a woman, do you have this problem too?  I know some friends who do, but unless you shop together it's not a topic that's going to arise. I've even used  one of those women who come to the department stores to measure you, because they always say you're wearing the wrong size.
    She measured me and brought me the size I wore for years and they were ultimately still not comfortable.
    I tried sports bras for a short time, but they not only make you look flat chested, they're tight and cut into your back and shoulders.

   So, any ideas? Other than braless because I am still vain and don't like looking  flat and think everyone knows that I don't have one on, and I get self-conscious.

   And no. I will not be having surgery as a solution. Although, I hear they stand up by themselves which could mean no bra is really needed. Hmmm.   

You would think I would find one that fits and flatters. Humbug.

WARNING DO NOT SWALLOW oops

IF I SHOULD GET TO  LOOK LIKE HER, I WON'T WANT TO.

 

I got up this morning as usual and went into the kitchen to take my meds.

I am on a variety of them, but today I'm going to talk about Spiriva. My inhalation drug for my mild COPD.

I take three other capsules in the a.m.

My friend Pat is having a knee replacement this morning, so I was thinking about her when I took my pills. Without thinking, I swallowed the Spiriva.

Oh Shit. I pulled the information package out of the trash.( It was a new pack and I've been taking it for a few years.) Why would I need the insert?) I looked all over the 3 foot insert and it said in several places "DO NOT SWALLOW" followed by a circle with a line through it. I forgot. this is the digital era. I can take a picture of it. Wow. So cool.

 

 

This is in several places. It makes me think that if I do swallow, there will be consequences. And not like winning the lottery kind.

 

No where did it say what to do if you did. I read as much as I could of the tome. The only place that sort of mentioned it was about overdosing.  Under that was accidental ingestion. To quote -

"Acute intoxication by inadvertent oral ingestion of capsules is unlikely since it is not well-absorbed systemically."

If I knew exactly what that meant, I would have felt better. Since I wasn't sure I spent the next portion of the morning looking for a phone number to contact.

Thank God it was not an online venture because you know as well as I, that they hide their phone numbers because they never ever want you to call.

I did find a number under general information and I called it.

A lovely automated voice asked if I were a physician, pharmacist or pharmaceutical rep. Nope. Not one of those. It did go on and eventually gave a number to talk to an agent.

Not me. Not yet.

I pressed the number and a man answered. I told him my plight and he said, okay, can I have your name an number in case the call is lost? Then he added, when I transfer you to medical assistance.

I was proud that I wasn't panicking. He didn't seem at all concerned which didn't make me feel better. Shouldn't someone say, don't worry or something soothing?   He told me he was transferring me and I should have a "wonderful day". I'm thinking....Did you not hear me? I'm nervous. I may have swallowed poison? I could need to be rushed to the hospital and you're telling me to have a great day? (okay I don't remember which adjective he used.)

Breathe. Breathe. And then a woman answers the call and tells me she's a nurse.  Before saying don't worry or anything to calm me, she says she has to get some information. She did know that the call was about swallowing the pill, so I was able to get some solace from that. She was very professional and was one of those programmed people. You know, when they read the script so many times they have it memorized?

Finally, she said I should be alright. The medicine in the pill is poorly absorbed by the system and the capsule is gelatin and will either dissolve or be passed.

Medical Care or lack thereof.

Whew. I tried to joke around since I was relieved. Maybe she had no sense of humor or they are monitored really closely.

After she told me I would be okay, she wanted addition information for the record. I decided to be polite, since I wasn't going to die and answered with my name, address, DOB and length of time on the pills. I lied. I have no idea. Ha ha on you.

She did ask I had any further questions and I did ask if she could pass along to the people who print the insert, that it might be nice if they told you what would happen after they scared you to death about not swallowing. She didn't know what to say. Above her pay grade and would require her to do something she isn't involved with.

She asked if that was all. I said yes. And she told me to have a GREAT DAY. Also, would I answer a three question survey? Sure.

The first question was, do you think the representative cared about you. As I had spoken to two people-bots and not one, I decided not to give a bad mark, just not a great day one.

 

The good news was that they were Americans and spoke English well.

I just laughed. I imagined getting someone with a heavy Indian accent (please don't take offense, I'm not good listening to any accent).

I imagined that I couldn't understand what the rep said and it sounded like "You vill be notfectid since yr sytome vilupserv de trio tope iem. Have a mice day."

 

Yeah. The good old days.


So. Today. No theory. Some questions instead.

Have you ever done something like this?  My friend's mother once brushed her teeth with preparation H. yick.

When you were distracted, what was the mistake you made? Could be the silliest, most serious, funniest, dumbest or ridiculous.  You can post anonymously so no one will know. And I have been getting email. If it won't link, copy and past.

HAVE A GREAT DAY

 

 

 

 

My sick sense of humor. Please read before opening the link

https://plus.google.com/+StanWinstonSchool/posts/CsKaWDD9dTR



I joined some blogging communities. This morning I saw this photo and decided to comment on it. I was able to get the link. I would rather have been able to cut and paste, but You can't always get what you want.

The picture is interesting. I hope you will find my comment funny. And on the side of very sick humor.

Foiled Again.

One of my friends emailed me and told me that he wasn't able to post his comment. I should have not much to do tomorrow, except for several laundries. During the wash and dry I will attempt to use the Help section of blogger and google. Perhaps this time, they will actually help.

I do not blame them. I am hopeless with instructions.

Until then, if you would like to contact me I have a gmail address.


it is dr.gsridiculoustheories@gmail.com

If I'd have known it would be so damned long, I would have tried a shorter one.

at least it appears to be a link so good luck and carry on.

 

 

Dr. G's Ridiculous Theories: WHY DO PEOPLE MAKE NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS???

Dr. G's Ridiculous Theories: WHY DO PEOPLE MAKE NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS???:   I am making only one New Year's Resolution: That next year, I will make one New Year's Resolution. The Resolution is, that I will...

For God's sake, why aren't you talking to me???????

watching TV

One of the things that Wiki said made blogs a part of social media was it's ability to be interactive with the comments. I found this amusing.  Mostly it's my husband who's interacting and he's in the next room. Now that's Ridiculous!



Feedback is important. If the people who do the counting aren't lying, thousands of people have at least looked at these posts. Maybe you just like to tease bloggers and open their posts and close them without even looking. That would be really cruel.
 I know the comment section didn't work in the past, but I'm sure it does now.




Okay, this is a real excuse. your hands ae tied up.



running to get somewhere.

So. What do you have to say for yourself?  Are you

too busy blogging to comment?  Reading better blogs? Sleeping? Eating? Working?  Taking your psych meds?  What gives?


Oh, I have theories on this one.
1.    You can't comment because you tried and tried and gave up.
2.    You don't like to write.
3.    You're afraid your stalker will find you. Don't worry. It's anonymous.
4.    Your stalker found you some other way and you're a little busy now.
5.    You want to say something mean, and your mother said it's better not to say anything.
6.    You've never done anything like this before.
7.    You don't want to give me the satisfaction of me getting what I've been begging for.
8.    You don't understand it.
9.    You actually didn't read all of it.
10.  You didn't read anything but the title.
11.  You don't know how to read.
12.  You want more adult content and are shy so you don't ask.
13.   You have no reason whatsoever and my theories make you nauseous.

that's enough.

WHAT THE HELL IS A BLOG, ANYWAY?

Dear Diary, I wish someone would accidentally read you and find out all my secrets and then tell me what they think.

Seriously. I just looked it up. It's a contraction of web log. At least I think so. My short term memory sucks. I'm sure I already mentioned that, but I can't remember for sure. ha ha.
I started to write this, meaning the entire blog, with really no idea of what a blog is or should be. After reading about it just now, I know about as much.


      The sentence that follows was the last sentence I wrote at the end of the post, but I put it here. Slightly out of context but so am I. I don't want you should miss this important fact.

So, why aren't you interacting? Maybe I should lead with this. Maybe you aren't reading the whole thing and missing the comment section.

If I were a man, this would be how I'd look, burning the midnight oil, writing this blog.

 

 

It can be like a diary or a journal. Or an advertisement where you're hoping to make money. Of other stuff. Very articulate. Id use the excuse that it's late, but I'm just feeling lazy.

In one of the comments I got on the momentous day when my blog was critiqued by someone with a zillion followers, I was admonished about my spelling.  But it got over 2000 hits and it was long and in my humble opinion, not my best.

About that.  The spelling.  When I was in grade school I did well on post tests. Do you remember them?  Monday you got the pre-test with the new words and Friday you got the test that counted. I had five days to memorize those suckers and I usually did.

Then, I went on to real life. No rehearsals when you're turning in papers. Actually, no spell check or computers. Typewriters with little piece of white, chalk like paper that you could sometimes correct an error with. I just ended with a preposition. I don't think the grammar police like that.

Not my grades. No way.

Anyhow,  writing papers was an ordeal. Especially when I realized I couldn't spell.  . I still can't. Mostly, it's the endings that could be any vowel invented. Like correspondence.  Wow. I got it right before spell check. I think it should be an "a" not an "e". I suppose it depends on where in the country you're from and what your accent sounds like.  I spell phonetically. I know now, that this is a handicap since things don't sound like they look.  Much like the people on the phone now that I'm thinking about it.  Oh yeah. And I didn't know you had to do research when you wrote a paper. I remember when I was in my second or third term, when my good friend Leah, took me by the hand and "introduced" me to the library. I was astounded. So many floors. So many books. And nice green leather couches in the ladies lounges. She had to show me how to use the card catalogs and where to look for the books. If I had known better, I would have been really embarrassed. Or impressed. I had gotten through High School and part of College making up papers out of my head. And I was a B student. Go figure. 


sunning yourself?

I also have trouble with words that could be "ible" or able". I actually do proof read my posts before I publish them. However, over the years I have learned that you read what you think you wrote, not what you actually wrote. I would usually find this out when going over a psych. report with a parent, three weeks after writing it. And after they had a copy. oops. Only after time had passed could I really read what was there.

As usual, I have kind of slid of the topic. Except, that since a blog can be anything you want it to be, I really can't go wrong. Can I?

One of the things that Wiki said made blogs a part of social media was it's ability to be interactive with the comments. I found this amuzing.  See I'm leaving that wrong. In college, I would go to the dictionary, check the spelling and not remember it by the time I got back to my paper. 

So, why aren't you interacting? Maybe I should lead with this. Maybe you aren't reading the whole thing and missing the comment section.  I left it in here too where it makes sense.

Feedback is important. If the people who do the counting aren't lying, thousands of people have at least looked at these posts. I know the comment section didn't work, but I'm sure it does now. So. What do you have to say for yourself?  Are you too busy blogging to comment?  Reading better blogs? Sleeping? Eating? Working?  Taking your psych meds?  What gives?

dribbling? drooling?

running away from your problems?

Me, reacting to your comments. I'll take selfies and show them. Deal?

Blind Date Flashback number 1

I've had many blind dates and first dates during my single years.  Since I've been married twice, I refer to them as single 1 and single 2. My first marriage is the dividing point.

 

This blind date occurred during  single 1.  I was perhaps 22 or 23.  I was living in the apartment in Park Slope. The one I posted about my first Christmas tree.  Since I couldn't get a teaching job because they'd all been filled by young men who didn't want to go to Vietnam, I ended up working at a dress manufacturer in the Garment District in Manhattan.  Me and the Garmentos. Oy. What a match.

Why printed pix are nice to have. Me at work.

 

The year was 1972 or 1973.  I was part of the disillusioned, disappointed discouraged generation that is referred to as the Baby Boomers.  

 

I had never gone full hippy. I didn't drop out, move out or stop shaving my arms and legs. A shiver just ran thru me. It was really gross. One thing you do not want to see in the summer is a woman with dark hair with braided armpits and what might look like Uggs.

 

Still, I embraced the values that were not those of my parents. I know. You're asking "What happened on the date Can't you ever get to the point?". Fine. You're right. But things don't make sense without background.  Haven't you heard about character development and setting the scene? Sheeesh. Alright already. Back to the story.

 

THE PHONE CALL

A friend set me up. I don't remember the set ups name, but he was a business man, so I'll call him Suit. (And if he looked like any of the men on the show suits, well this story would be different. Except for Lewis. Him, I met)  

 Suit called me and we were having a conversation on the of phone. You know the type of phone.  It has a wire that goes into the wall. It has only one kind of ring and to make it even more primitive, it was before we even had answering machines.  I suppose that lent some mystery life.  All you knew was how the person sounded. Let me say, that there is no connection to  the voice and imagination. No one ever looked like he sounded. On the plus side, no one was sending you photos of his junk.

 

The part of the conversation I recall, was him inviting me to Miami for the weekend. He had to go there for business (of the monkey kind?) and he wanted to take me. I thanked him, but said that I didn't think it was a good idea, since we hadn't met yet and might not, how did I put it?  Get along?

His response was that it was only two days, how bad could it be.  I thanked him again and said no. Several times. He was persistent. Maybe he was in sales or a lawyer.

 

Instead,  we made a date for dinner after he got back. 

 

A Little more background to set the stage    This is important. It's part of the character development. 

 

I was taking an adult education class that had something to do with Marxism and Capitalism. I had just read Wages, Price and Profit by Karl Marx, and I had to admit, he made sense. Actually, some of what he wrote that I remember, still does.

 

I was not particularly materialistic then and was very happy to able to wear jeans and tees all the time. Even to work, because I was behind the scenes. That was pretty much it for my wardrobe. Even if my roommate dressed better than I, she weighed over 300 pounds, so borrowing something to wear wasn't in the cards.

 

The date

 

Suit picked me up on his way home from work. He was wearing a very nice suit, and a Rolex. His Mercedes was double parked outside. I don't know how I know these things. He must have slid them into the conversation. I knew that they were very expensive, but at the time, I wasn't impressed.

 

I had gotten dressed in the best I could throw together; a dungaree skirt and a long sleeved, scooped neck top. It was like the old leotards that had snaps in the crotch so you could pee, and they didn't ride up. The shit I remember amazes me.  *(AD)  What I need to remember, like what happened to my rose gold chain and little heart charm - lost in space. Or hopefully somewhere in the house. I'm still looking.

 

I do not know why I didn't just go out and leave with him when he arrived, but we sat on the sofa in the living room. Maybe I wanted to talk a little before we left. I mean, I didn't know him from Adam.

 

I don't remember what we were talking about, but no doubt I brought up something about he didn't like.  What I remember was him calling me "little lady." The first time he did I was surprised. I responded, my name is G.

We kept on conversing and he called me little lady again. Again, I told him my name is G.  The third time it happened, and I corrected him, he told me that it was very annoying and I should stop doing that. I told him that being called little lady was very annoying and if he stopped doing that, I wouldn't have to be annoying.

 

As you may have guessed. That was when we decided to part company. He left and I didn't. I can't remember what I felt. Perhaps disappointed since I really did want to find a boyfriend. At least that's what I believed.

 

I told my Dad the story. And he asked the only pertinent question. "Did you think he was attractive?"  I had to be honest. He wasn't bad, but no. Whatever my type was, he wasn't.  So dad said if he was, I'd have gone and not pulled the shit I had.  Much to my shame, he was right. It still would have been a disaster because our views would still have clashed, but I'd have at least given him a chance.  Point. Women are as shallow as men. But as they say, it is better to give than to receive and I'd been on the receiving end of that situation more often than I care to think about.

Is he hot or not?

 

HOW THIS POST CAME TO BE

 

I started to write a post that just wasn't coming together. This brought me back to when I was just out of college. Now I have to try to trace back to where this new thought started.  I often have to. You've probably noticed that staying on topic is hard for me, so I really have to be able to trace back or I'd never get anything accomplished.

 

TRACING THE THOUGHT

 

I was thinking about the current ridiculosity (I just made that up) of being Politically Correct.  It brought me back to the days of early feminism.  *(ad) I have avoided saying how old I am, because I'd like to think it's only a number.(DENIAL) . You already know that  I hate my scale, but at least that can go in either direction. Age, well it just keeps on going up. So, in case you've wondered, I'm 66.   I was smack dab in the middle of a lot of "happenings."

 

 What is so strange is that now it's called history. If any of you who are reading these are young,(whatever that may be)  you might want to consider that you too will be a part of history.  A little advice. What you do now, may someday be  considered a pivotal event. While you're doing it, you just think you're living your life. You and your cohorts or generation or whatever "they" decided to call your generation.

 

We boomer thought we were hot shit. We were going to change the world for the better. We were going to bring peace and love to this planet.

 

We did some good, but we also screwed up.

WHY CAN'T WE FIX STUPID?????

Notice anything wrong with her name?

 

I have no idea what made me think of this. I was ironing my hair. And no, it doesn't relax me like real ironing does.

Anyhow, I got to thinking about stupid.  We hear that word daily. We see more jokes on Facebook about stupidity than most things, and, many comics build their routines around it.

The expression, "you can't fix stupid" came to mind. I wondered, how in the age we live in, with all the knowledge and technology we have, we can fix and or replace, people's joint's, blood; send people to outer space, talk to people around the world on a phone that fits in our hand, and also see them if we want to. Take pictures and videos with our phones. Play games online with people we'll never meet.

We can find and buy almost anything we might want online and you know, the list goes on. And yet, something so simple as "stupid", no one can figure out how to eradicate?

I'm going for my dictionaries. I want more than one for this definition.
Ancient days first.  My 1927 Pocket Oxford Dictionary of Current English.
  American edition. ( I wonder if they dumbed it down for us?)

Woe.  Hold on to your hats. Unintelligent or Uninteresting. Uninteresting? Well, that changes a lot for me because boy, are there a lot of things and people I find uninteresting.  Later on that.

Looking at a somewhat more current book, Webster's New World Dictionary. Did that mean us instead of England? Am I stupid for not knowing? Yeah, actually I am. The bottom of the book states "of the American Language".  Oops. I didn't know I was speaking American.  Thought it was just me accent mate.

This edition is from 1979. Okay, not quite new, but you don't need a hard cover dictionary anymore. You could look it up on line. Sue me. I don't have room for any more books!


The definition has broadened, yet remained the same.

1.  Dazed, stunned, stupefied.
2.  Lacking NORMAL intelligence; slow witted; dull
3.  Showing or resulting from a lack of intelligence; foolish (wasn't that  
    redundant?)
4.  Dull and boring.

 

So, how does one know one is stupid?  I do believe that if you ask someone if they are stupid, they will say they are not and then hit you for asking.

 From observing (which, if you read the research post you'll know it's scientific)  you catch it from other people telling you that you are stupid.

   This usually occurs when you are quite young and do not know any better.  Not because you are actually stupid, you are too young to know what it is. By the tone of voice, and look on the person's face, you know that it is a bad thing. And if you want to get approval from your parents, friends relatives and teachers, you learn that stupid, is not a good thing to be. Or to be called.

 Developmentally we move from calling each other doody heads to stupid head.

If you don't get enough praise to overpower the amount of stupid you've heard, you may deep down, believe you are stupid. That's really sad, because it's not true.

I shall point to Intelligence Tests to illustrate some facts. Damn. Back to statistics.

Anyway,  we'll use a scale from 0 to 160. Zero, being able to breathe possibly on your own, and 160 as high as you can get. On this scale. No, I'm not referring to weight or a really good head.

We're weighing your grey matter.

You've heard of the word average, right?  If you're average, you're okay, you're normal and you're in the middle of the scale. Let's say between 90 and 109.

If you fall between 80 and 89, you're a little below average, but that's not so bad.  If you're above 110 to 160 you shoot from high average to genius in a heartbeat.

Where does that leave the people with numbers of 70 to 79?  At this point in time, they are referred to borderline. They should be learning, just at a slower rate than the other groups.

 

Funny thing about this group. I can't remember what year it was. I wasn't a psychologist yet. I'm pretty sure I was in school, so it wasn't like, a really, really long time ago. But enough to have affected people who are currently alive. The people who made the tests decided to move the 70 to 79 group up to borderline. Some other people had previously decided, that these folks were mildly retarded. They were classified that for many years.  And just like that. With the stroke of a typewriter key, they weren't retarded anymore.

I can't imagine coming home from school that day.  "Hey mom. Guess what?  I'm not retarded anymore."

 

Crap. I can't remember the figures so I have to find a book that has them. It hopefully won't take long. Especially not for you. It will seem like I never left.

Okay. Boy was that quick. According to the Text Book, The normal curve has the distribution of IQ scores that say that most of the population falls between 84 and 116.  And the best part is that only 16% of the population has scores below 84.

This means that only 16% of people you meet are "duller" than you. So how can so many people and things be so "stupid"?
 
*(D)  The IQ tests are no longer the only thing used to measure intelligence. The numbers are not always correct. Especially if you are from another culture, culturally deprived or maybe have test anxiety. Now, one has to use an adaptive behavior scale as well. These ask about your functioning skills and a lot of people who may not score well with numbers do really well with functioning. So, just a little more food for thought. Which is a really dumb thing, because I have no idea how to "think" food without it being actual food which would make me hungry and I don't want to eat so why would someone even think of saying that? It doesn't mean anything. And yet, there it was, lurking in my brain ready to show up and make me sound like a dummy.  **This was not another digression. I think it was the only one, so therefore, I left out the "A."


    OUR Perceptions dummies.!!   Everyone one of us is stupid according to someone else. Maybe, I think you're stupid. But not if you read my blog. Obviously you have a keen intelligence and high level of curiosity.

The rest of the world however. Not so. If I don't like your politics I think you're stupid. If I don't like your hairdo, I think you're stupid.  If you don't like my ideas, you think I'm stupid. Hell, you may even KNOW I'm stupid. And you might be right.

The reason you can't fix stupid is because, like charity, it should begin at home. Can you fix your own perception of who and what you think of as being stupid? Are you willing to admit that you see things in a way that allows you to see other people in a bad way?  And maybe, just maybe, they aren't stupid. Maybe you just don't like them. Or how they look or how they think. Maybe it's because they are ......pretend I'm whispering......different.

So, should anyone ask. Tell them that Dr. G knows how to fix stupid. Just stop looking for it and it'll go away. Pretty simple. And if they tell you that it's a stupid idea...... I would never say to hit anyone or call them names. Although doody head might be the appropriate place to start.

LET'S ELIMINATE STUPID FROM OUR VOCABULARIES.