WHERE CAN I GO TO GET MY GAYDAR FIXED?

This may seem an unusual question. Actually, it may be an unusual topic.

I am not tryin to be either politically correct or incorrect. It's just that I met a woman yesterday, with a group of other new people who are neighbors, and it may have passed through my mind, but so subliminally that I didn't pay attention. In case you're wondering, the answer is yes. That's not the relevant part. What's relevant is that it got me thinking about gaydar.

I don't know when that word came into usage, but I do love that so many languages evolve to fit the times we live in.

That's not the point. You who have been reading this, know I get to the point, when I get there. It can't be rushed.

Growing up I lived in Brooklyn. I can't remember how old my sister and I were, but my dad and the family would drive into Manhattan to go to Chinatown or eat in the Village or go to Central Park.

 


I recall driving through Greenwich Village one night and my dad pointing out the gay men walking in the streets.  Unless my memory is really distorted, I believe he talked about some of them wearing butt enhanced underwear to look more appealing. It was something to that effect. I don't know that he said appealing. I just recall the butt enhancement part.

I do not believe that most children had an education of this sort.  Most likely with good reason.  Even if we were, say 9 and 11 years old, why on earth was he telling us this?  My mom was in the car, I'm sure, being quiet no doubt.

If this happened on more than one occasion I can't say, but it would be likely. My did liked to eat in an Italian Restaurant called Minetta Tavern on the corner of Minetta Lane.  We loved going there.  *a digression. Once, when we ordered I asked for a coke, no rocks. The waiter and everyone thought it was hysterical. I was ten. It only took me twenty years after his death to realize he was an alcoholic, but that's a whole 'nuther story.

So, I was obviously aware of homosexuality at a young age. My home was very liberal so there were no condemnations or negative opinions. That's just the way it was.  Racism, hating people because they were different were not acceptable. I am happy that I was raised that way.

When I was younger, I thought I had pretty good gaydar. I suppose I've always been a people watcher so picking up on things, the nuances were what I did.

My parents had several couple friends for their entire married lives. One of the couples had a boy and a girl, both somewhat older than me and my sis.

I'll call the son Hap. He was very smart and nice looking. He went to Columbia and his parents of course, wanted him to be a doctor. He flunked out his first year which was the only way he could not do what they wanted.

Anyway, I was reasonably sure that Hap was gay.  No one ever said anything about him. How did I know?  Something about the way he smiled and laughed. His speech pattern. His presence. That little something.  However, it was not a topic for discussion.

Long after his parents died, his sister finally confided in me. He's since passed, although fortunately not from Aides although his long time partner succumbed to that. They had been living together but not together when his partner got ill.

I usually was able to pick up on  men who spoke English or Spanish.  Some of the Hispanic men I used to see were the most "flaming".

I've had many gay friends.  When I was in my early twenties I was in a therapy group (big shock) and one of the guys was gay.  We used to hang out and talk about the men we were attracted to and I got to say that it was sometimes weird being attracted to the same guy.

Through one of my Park Slope ( Brooklyn) friends, I met a Lesbian couple who lived next door to CeeBee GeeBees on the lower east side.
They were great. We all used to party together and one night I slept at their house because I was too um, drunk to drive home. I was the only straight person there and it was very heady. Like having a glimpse into a whole 'nother world.

I then met my future husband. The first one. I'll call him Flame. He was Israeli and we were just drawn to each other. He came from an orthodox home, although he wasn't religious. I was a little worried about how he would deal with my gay friends.  As it turned out it wasn't any problem. I was a little surprised, but happy because they were important to me.

We moved in together in a Brownstone in the Slope. There were two apartments on each floor. A woman lived in the apartment in the back on our floor. We got to know her after she moved in. I was in back of her and a friend of hers, as we all walked to the train for work.  Something clicked and I saw that whatever it was. She was gay.  It took her a while to tell me, but she did. Of course it was fine.  We had her and her new girlfriend over for dinner. She asked me to try out for a volley ball team she was on. I hadn't played for a few years, but I said I'd try. It was of course, a gay team.  They thought we were together. It was a compliment. She was a beautiful woman. But no. I was married to Flame.

Flame got a job way out on Long Island. The commute was awful, but trying to find a parking space when he got home took almost as long. And so we uprooted and moved to Bayside Queens. I was a fish out of water.

I'm going to jump now to three years after we were married. I stopped working and we were trying to have a baby. That wasn't working. And our relationship was becoming strained. And then, things got a little weird. I am trying to keep this short, so I'll leap into the fire. Flame tells me he's bisexual and want to see men. And has in fact, been kind of looking.

Holy Mother of Christ. How could this happen?  My excuse is very good. When we first met, we were doing a lot of drinking and smoking weed. And, my dad and mom had divorced because he was a whore. He left my mom and married a girl two years older than me.  So, I was not going to marry someone like my dad, and I never once saw Flame look at another woman. Ha. The joke was on me.

some other person is tired of putting up with their crap.

Bla Bla Bla.   We got divorced after five years of marriage. Man was I angry. At him. At me. How could I have missed that one?  Love must be deaf, dumb and blind. At least we're still friends. And I still love his family. That part is nice.

However, after that. I saw gay in every man I met. I couldn't trust my judgement. Not for a long time. And I think, unless a person is just so out there, I stopped caring or looking.

Last story. When my second husband and I moved to Florida I started to get tattoos. I went to a shop that had been recommended and there was a female artist who was free. She was so punked out, I really liked her. She did all my tattoos except the first.  It might have been after a year or two of knowing her when my husband said something about her being gay. I said, "huh?"  Why do you say that?"  He asked if I'd ever noticed the tattoo on her leg. I said I guessed not.   

"Well, he said, you should take  look.  There's a large penis with a big red X over it." "Hmm. I never thought about it".  He was right.  And of course it didn't matter.

Maybe that's what happens when you get used to something or someone that you once thought was different. You stop seeing the difference. 

Theory.  I just told you. Weren't you listening. Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me. Don't you know I'm always right?  (that's what happens to you when you grow up in an alcoholic home).

SURVIVAL OF THE FLEETEST by LUKE SHYWALKER

yay monkeys!

My monkey mind works and wham!  A great title for something comes into my brain. Sometimes, I even have a story [or a post ] that would go with it. Often, ( Like always, who am I kidding? I know I'm not going to write a book, so it drops out of my mind and is gone forever. If I were an author, the world has missed some seriously great titles. 

A little ray of cloud shine

Do you think there is a market for a book that consists of just book titles, but, without the book?  I suppose it would look a bit like an end page of a book listing all the books the author had written, only would hopefully be funny or esoteric or with a double entendre.

I'll see if I can think of some since I can't remember any at the moment and if I wrote some down, I can't remember where to look.  How About?

•  The Isle of Lesbos isn't just for Lovers. 
•  Camel toe. A Tale of King Arthur's Court and the Knights of the Tight Pants Table.
•  Death Becomes You. (that sounds familiar, it's probably been used.)
•  My husband just suggested one after I forced him to look at this.
•  An intergalactic tale about Luke Shylocker, sky pawnbroker.
• How To Do Nothing Successfully.  (I think I mastered this one)    

 
He says that I have a, what was the word?  Unusual sense of humor? He's right. I don't mind making jokes about death or disease and a guess it used to be called a black sense of humor, but I'll be politically correct and call it dark.


I also make  great typos and mix up the beginning and end of sentences. That only happens when I'm speaking because even I would see that it made no sense. Probably.  

For example, not long ago I said that "I feel obligated to start what I finished."

Then I was writing about Star Wars and I created (by accident), a new character named Luke Shywalker.

And something else happens, at night. I think of something that I want to say or write. Usually, I don't get up to write it down, but when I do, the words stop flowing and it just doesn't sound the same. That's when I wish there were a machine that could take my thoughts down like a tape recorder. At least if I had an actual transcript of what I'd been thinking, I'd know for sure whether or not I was deluding myself. After all, it may sound as horrible in my head as it does on paper.

As you can tell. This was not thought out. Of course, most of them aren't but this is particularly on the fly. So I will sign off and probably remember twelve good titles that I should have written. Just like what happens the day after someone insults you. Everything you could have said comes to mind. But as they say, better never, than late.
Adios.

I'm Goldilocks and I'm looking for the fourth bear.

There are so many times that I feel like I just don't fit in. It's as if the world is either too large, too small or just not accommodating to me. Particularly to ME.
  Perhaps other people feel that way too. I'm not sure, because it's not polite to ask people a question like, "do you feel irregular".  Now that I see it written down, they might think I'm asking if they are constipated.

I am not going there. There are things I  won't write about. They come under the heading of "Too Much Information." I have been know to cross that line and I'm working hard on my boundaries.


Of course I can't remember how Goldilocks ends or what she was doing in the woods. Was she taking a walk?  Did she run away from home?  Was she arrested for breaking and entering after the bears found her?  Didn't the bears chase her out of the house?  I will be writing a post about fairy tales, and how child friendly they aren't, but that will be another day.


I'm attempting to stay on one topic at a time.

Still, even if Goldie got tossed, she had found a place where , she eventually found a good fit for all her needs.

I am not Goldie.  I'm not having her luck in finding a good fit.  At least I won't get tossed out of my house.

ANYWAY

I've written previously about the miss sizing of clothing and shoes. Oh and hats. Not that they are miss sized. They think we all have the same head size. I feel like my name should be Dr. In-between. I'd like a shoe size of seven and a quarter please. Oh, and maybe they can have built in arches too.  And the hats are all too big. Why do men have hats with measurements but women don't? Just wondering.
 


Even though I'm short enough to wear petites, they don't fit well either. The pants can be too short. How is that possible?  They're made for short people. I'm short and getting shorter as I write.  And the tops?  The smalls have gotten a tad tight in the chest, and in the mediums the shoulder seams come down mid arm and it's too big around the bust.
Of course, some of this depends on the manufacturer, color of the item, the type of store, the day of the week, and whether or not the moon is in the seventh house.  I have no idea what the size I may need.  Stores should really make allowances for this and let you take in twice as many items because you need to take in at least two of what you want to see what size you need.
The only thing I can usually guarantee  for myself, is that it won't matter how many sizes I take in to try on, most of them won't fit.

Pants are the worst. If they look good while I'm standing up,  I can't sit down in them. They dig into me which is really uncomfortable. If they are almost falling down around my butt, I can sit. But then I need to use a belt, and when I do, I can't sit again. I have met a few other women with this problem. I'm sure you're out there, but who wants to talk about this?  It's a bit personal. But I've decided to break the silence, so there you have it.

Next area of complaint is my head. I have to wear glasses all the time. Remember my hat problem? Well this affects glasses too. They are either too wide or too narrow. I have to go with the narrow so they stay on my face.  No matter how often they adjust them, they pinch behind my ears. I can't wait to get cataract surgery just so I won't have to have glasses on all the time. Of course my dry eye will possibly get worse. I wonder if someone has invented a pair of glasses that water your eyes periodically. I've thought about those weird beer hats that have a straw so you can drink from your hat. I could use a bike helmet like that. Anyone reading out there good at inventions? Steal my idea. I won't mind.


You already know I have flat feet but you don't know that I  have no fingerprints. Well, they can't get them so I assume I don't have any.  And it's not due to old age unless 35 is  old.  That was the first time I couldn't get my prints done. At a police station, so it wasn't because they didn't know what they were doing. And no, I wasn't arrested. I was thinking about getting a job in Florida and they wanted my prints. *AD  After three times, I figured God didn't want me to move so I  gave up.  Good thing or I'd still be working and my pension would be elephant food. Thank you Universe.
 
I know that I once did have actual fingerprints. When I started to work at the Board of Education  (now the DOE) I was 22. They took my fingerprints and gave me a job and didn't make me come back three times looking for them. So.

Did they get stolen when I wasn't looking?  Did I work so hard that I wore them off?
I don't know. The only positive to this would be if I were a criminal I wouldn't have to worry about leaving prints. Of course DNA is another issue, but lately, I'm not so sure it would be.

Must husband and I decided to do the DNA tests at ancestry.com. They sent us each a kit to give a DNA sample and send it back.

There was a test tube that you placed a funnel around, and were required to spit into the tube up to the marked line. They specifically said not to count bubbles as saliva. We all now know I have dry eye, but guess what?  I also have dry mouth.

It took me over an hour and a half to get enough wet saliva to fill the tube. And, I'm not sure if it was enough. I'm counting on some of the bubbles melting and turning liquid. I expect the lab to send me a letter saying I have to do it again, this time with more expectoration.

And on to other medical anomalies. Everyone who has stomach problems has plain old  GERD, your garden variety of acid reflux. Not me. At age 38 I was diagnosed with Barrette's Esophagus, which is like reflux, except it goes up into the esophageal lining and eats it.  Yummy. Also it could become cancerous so I have to have an endoscopy every two years. Again, thank God I don't need a colonoscopy every two years. At least this one doesn't require any prep. Just no eating. That I can do.

Every one I know has Carpel Tunnel Syndrome. Many of my friends have had surgery for it. Not me. I got De Quervaine's Disease instead. Again, when I was in my thirties, and in both wrists. First my left hand, then my right. It's caused by a twisted tendon that affects your thumb mobility. Meaning, any time you move your thumb you experience excruciating pain. Get up and try to do anything without moving your thumbs. Pull you pants down. Pull them up. Scream.

I walked around for a year and a half with what I call air casts on my arms. It was a lovely look. At least the beige matched my clothes. The cortisone shots fixed the left hand, but I had to have surgery on the right.  Knock on wood, they are usually alright.


At this point I'll just list the surgeries to complete the picture. Bunions (optional) back, not optional, ovarian resection, not optional, fixing stomach muscles from previous surgery, Optional?  Oh. Almost forgot. Two arthroscopies in my right knee and a partial knee replacement in the same knee. Two deviated septum's, since the first one sprang back. I use the word the ENT used. In the olden days, they didn't cut the cartilage. The pushed it aside. Or something like that. In any event, I couldn't breathe again.

There were some other things like cysts and polyps that I'll just ignore. It's hard to remember. I try to do a body inventory by going from my feet to my head in my mind, but it's like when I'm counting my tattoos, I usually forget one.

If all these things happened to me in my dotage, I'd be like, okay. That's what happens as you get old. I started to require surgery when I was 22.

Not that I'm complaining. I would never do that because I am very fortunate.  I actually did find the fourth bear. I married him. And of all the things that need to fit, well, that's the only really important one.



MORAL OF THE STORY

It doesn't matter how irregular you are. Once you accept it, you can find someone who accepts you too. Just like you can accept all their irregularities.

THEORY

Everyone needs to believe they are unique. And is some sense, everyone is. It's our uniqueness that makes us interesting. And as we've evolved, we've come to embrace what's different. Now, if the whole human race could just figure that out, maybe we'd stop looking at the differences.

TOPICLESS (NO, NOT TOPLESS) : WANTING TO WRITE BUT HAVING NO PARTICULAR GOOD IDEA

Yup. That is me this morning. I want to write and I don't like the ideas that I have. I almost feel empty-headed. I'm used to having my thoughts flying around like the Wicked Witches Monkeys, so I feel bare, barren and bereft.

Some of it has to do with hypochondria. I've been getting really bad muscle cramps in my legs, feet, toes and yesterday for the first time in my hands. Like my fingers were involuntarily making the Spock, Live Long and Prosper Vulcan sign.

As you know I've thrown myself into exercising. Well, thrown might not be exactly accurate.
And, I've had these types of cramping's long before I was riding the bicycle and doing crunches and Yoga.  It's just that they have increased and last night was really bad.

So, while not falling asleep I was wondering what sort of incapacitating muscle disorder I was going to get and when I slept I had dreams that I don't remember, but know that they were painful somehow.

I got up and here I sit. Of course after doing a thorough enough search on the net, to figure out that what I have is probably exercise related. So, I'm not worried about it now. Except it seemed to clear my mind of its useless information leaving me to rely on my brief notes that at this moment, don't seem right.

Is it weird that I have to be in the right mood to write about other blind dates? Or when my apartment was robbed?

*AD  (digression)

Oh and thank you all for confirming my worst nightmare,  that the post with the most hits ( discounting the time I got a brilliant review, way back when) was the lewdest one.
It seems that people liked the post and most likely, the illustration for Bouboutins.
Which has now led to a topic for this post.

I'm actually doing a local art show (don't get excited, it's at an appliance store)  but, Let's give a shout out to Jetson of Saint Lucie West Florida for supporting the local art community. I framed her and am going to put her out with my other work (you can see it on Pinterest)  and am worried that they will not let me show her. I don't know if they allow nudes, and even if they do, she isn't exactly a Degas.

I'm bringing framed photographs as well because I have them, and would rather sell those than my paintings. I haven't done that many and besides not wanting to part with them, have no idea on how to price things.

I'm putting on that brown backing paper which I've learned is called a dust cover (I think) although I'm not being precise like the real framers.

THEORY:

When all else fails, stream of thought will always flow.

Now for the gallery.  Please excuse the non-cropped, partially cropped and lousily cropped up-loads. Since I never know what I'm going to be using beforehand, I don't have the time to fix them before I use them. And, it's not easy for me to find them. I think I have over 4000 pictures. Just use your imaginations, like I do. And pretend they are all perfect.

watercolor still life with the still life

acrylic from photo I took

acrylic of a daisy from a photo I took





so far, my only pastel copied from an old Home journal cover

acrylic of Banyan trees from photo

my favorite. From a photo in Caesarea Israel circ. 1982

remember Mary?

Copy of a Backus, highwayman acrylic



An actual request. Left up to me. My divorced friend. I sent her a tall, dark handsome, wild animal, And of course, a mensch.

Copy of pic from net. Acrylic.

For me to try to remember my history.

Copy of Poster. Date changed. Acrylic



Horus and Falcon. Acrylic copy.

Acrylic from photo of Biltmore Mansion, Ashville, NC

From my demented mind. Sand hill cranes, golfing. I gave it to my son-in-law who loves golf. Trouble is I haven't seen it hanging in the house. I guess they didn't love it as much as he said. That's okay. But if you don't want it. Give it back. I won't be hurt.

That's about it. Almost.

 

.



I had the photo framed like the acrylic. Which is which? Top is A. Bottom is B.
You can answer in the comment section. Prize to be announced for winner.

I HATE PEOPLE WHO STEAL MY IDEAS BEFORE I THINK OF THEM

I AM USING OTHER PEOPLE'S MATERIAL. THIS IS NOT PLAGERISM. I WOULD TELL YOU WHO SAID IT, BUT I DON'T KNOW.
 
You know I love ironing, but I also love irony. For example.
I asked a girlfriend if she'd seem my Bouboutan ad. She hadn't. I asked her to look at it.
I, of course thought it was hysterical. She later sent me an email that said "Ridiculous. Who would buy them?" hmmm.

She didn't apparently realize the blog is called, Ridiculous Theories. So, had she used the word "ridiculous" ironically, that would have been great. However, when I asked, she didn't get it.  She just thought they were ridiculous.  Ah well.


SOME FAVORITE LINES:    

• I'd kill for a Nobel Peace Prize.
• If you're waiting for a sign, This is it.
• Work fascinates me. I can stare at it for hours.
• Time traveling is coming. When, is irrelevant.
• I'm not late, I'm early for tomorrow.
• I'm a history buff. I'd find you more interesting if you were dead.
• Old age comes at an inconvenient time.
• Like many women my age, I am 29.
• I dream of a society where a chicken can cross the road without its motives questioned.
• Don't go to bed angry. Stay up and plot your revenge.
• Who says nothing is impossible? I've been doing nothing all day.
• Normal is just a setting on the dryer.

   I have a magnet collection with cute photos or drawings that have wonderful sentiments on them, as well as about 8 small tiles, that are similar. You've seen a couple of photos. Oh I almost forgot. I also have coasters that are, well, I guess sarcastic, funny, unusual.

   I realized that being sarcastic was mean. I don't want to be mean. I think it's genetic.
And so I have tried hard to only say nice things. I keep the rest to myself. Now I just realized that I have surrounded myself with the things I no longer say.

POSSIBLE THEORY:
 We all have traits we don't like. Sometimes we realize that they don't serve us in a good way. If we are lucky, we recognize that and change our behavior.
However, sometimes the only thing we can change is our behavior. The feelings and thoughts just don't seem to go away, so we find an outlet for them. I suppose I have found mine.

MARK TWAIN WROTE "IF VOTING MADE ANY DIFFERENCE, THEY WOULDN'T LET US DO IT". So, WHY DO WE HAVE POLLS, SURVEYS AND QUESTIONNAIRES?

 

 One of my favorite stories about polling comes from this 1948 election.

OOPSY!

Dewey Defeats Truman" was a famously incorrect banner headline on the front page of the first edition of the Chicago Tribune on November 3, 1948. Incumbent United States President Harry S. Truman, who had been expected to lose to Republican challenger and Governor of New York Thomas E. Dewey in the 1948 presidential race.


What a famous error. How could they have gotten it wrong?  If my memory serves me, and it may not, (but who cares,) it fits.

A telephone poll was done and the results showed a healthy margin for Dewey who was the republican candidate.  As often happens in research, an unaccounted for factor screws everything up. An unknown variable. Unforeseen, not well thought out or sometimes just dumb.  In this case it was economics. It usually is.

 What the pollsters did not take into account was who could afford to have telephones in 1948. It wasn't at all like today. Many people or households did not have their own phone. For real. Not even a landline. Wow. Therefore, the people who did have their own phones were rich folks. And in those days, unlike now, that meant republicans. (not all republicans are rich. Some are just poor people who don't know any better) Just my opinion.

In essence it would be like calling up every member of the KKK and asking if they would vote for Obama. Anyway.  Who started this; asking public opinion, surveying, and why?

 When you don't know the answer, you look it up on the internet. Or you can make up your own information because most people don't bother to fact check.

Ancient Surveys

(Hubpages)

The Babylonians were the first society known to have taken a population census, conducted around 3800 BC. Like most civilizations that would follow, the counts took note of citizens as well as livestock and other goods.

The word census comes from the Latin 'censere' or 'estimate'. The Ancient Roman census was the most accurate of all the ancient civilizations. Conducted for tax purposes, it is one of the factors in the long lived prosperity of the empire. By taking an accurate census, more citizens and lands could be taxed, providing wealth for expansion and trade. The Roman census was carried out every five years. 
The United States Census records from 1790 to 1940 are maintained by the National Archives and not the U.S. Census Bureau.   I suppose they don't care much about old data. I also put this in because it looks like the US started to take a census in 1790.

Opinion Polls

(Wiki)
The first known example of an opinion poll was a local straw poll conducted by The Aru Pennsylvanian in 1824, showing Andrew Jackson leading John Quincy Adams by 335 votes to 169 in the contest for the United States Presidency. Since Jackson won the popular vote in that state and the whole country, such straw votes gradually became more popular, but they remained local, usually city-wide.

 

Feedback

 

(Dictionary.com)

 

1. Electronics. the process of returning part of the output of a circuit, system, or device to the input, either to oppose the input (negative feedback) or to aid the input (positive feedback) 

2.acoustic feedback. 

the furnishing of data concerning the operation or output of a machine to an automatic control device or to the machine itself, so that subsequent or ongoing operations of the machine can be altered or corrected.

3. A reaction or response to a particular process or activity:

He got very little feedback from his speech.

4. Evaluative information derived from such a reaction or response:

to study the feedback from an audience survey.

5.Psychology. knowledge of the results of any behavior, considered as influencing or modifying further performance.

Compare biofeedback.

6. Biology. a self-regulatory biological system, as in the synthesis of some hormones, in which the output or response affects the input, either positively or negatively.

 

 SO WHY AM I MENTIONING THIS?

Since the Babylonians, humans have been taking population censuses. Counting probably started for the same reason.  I want to know  "how much?" how many" and "how can I make it mine?"
 

 

WHAT ARE THE REASONS BEHIND POLLS SURVEY QUESIONNAIRES AND FEEDBACK?

Historically, if you read between the Babylonian lines, it's about wealth. In like, hmm, how many people do we have? Have many crops do they produce? How much meat do they get from their livestock? How much of it can we take for ourselves for providing,  providing, okay. They probably didn't provide their citizens with much. I doubt they had garbage removal days or police or schools. So, how about;  give us what we want or we take it all away and kill you?

I'm not sure how much things have actually changed since then. The Romans at least did provide services to their citizens and they used the money for taxes. Theoretically. What happened in actual practice I'm not going into. You know, like using taxes to pay armies to take over the world so they could get more wealth. I wonder if they reduced taxes after a big conquering? Okay. back to topic.

At some point in time, a brilliant manipulator figured out that they could use public opinion for  lots of other things. I'm skipping a lot of history which I'm sure you won't mind.

Still, the people with big money could find out what the people with less money wanted and figure out how to sell it to them and take their money by razzle dazzling them/us.

Advertising. Need I say more?

 feedback:

WHAT STARTED AS GRASS ROOTS AND WAS MEANT TO BE HELPFUL TO US REAL FOLKS.  (*another digression)

It wasn't easy  for me to find out about feedback on the internet. Probably because I don't know where to look. My first personal experience with it was on Ebay.

Brilliant. Rating your fellow Ebay buyers and sellers based on your own experience with them. As God said, "In the beginning" all was dark. (or something.)  Feedback was meant to give us honest opinions that would help us.

I still read feedback although it too has gotten a little corrupt. Flame wars come to mind. Fear became an issue. If I tell my truth and the person feels besmirched, I get reamed by them.  I no longer put quite as much stock into Ebay feedback as I do with Amazon and other commercial sites. Still, it is a very democratic idea. I don't like to buy anything on line without having some feedback.

BACK TO THE QUESTION

Back to the question at hand. Why do we ask other people's opinions?
For that, I think there are several answers.

1.Some of us don't value our own opinions or judgement, so we look to someone else to get an answer. Then, if we screw up, we don't have to take full responsibility.

2.Some, are truly curious to know what others think and like to use it to help themselves to get as much information as possible. (I like to think that's me)

3. Some, just want your money. This is true about lots of things.

4. If you're in research, it's a valuable tool to get information.

 

THEORY

We are ultimately social animals. We do not live in a vacuum. We need the feedback and opinion of others for survival.
Like all other aspects of homo sapiens, this has evolved into areas that our genetic selves don't need.  It is no longer about survival.

THE REAL REASON FOR THIS THEORY, TODAY,

I am curious to know what the people who are reading my posts think about them. Same for the photo album I posted.

I would like comments to know if there are things you would like to read a theory on.

I would like to know if you agree or disagree. (I get that a lot of my posts are personal and you can't really comment on those, unless you wanted to tell me that I used to be an idiot or harlot or something else).

I'd like other people's feedback. And so, that's what I wrote this. Just asking didn't help. 
 I think there is a place where you can just click and give positive feedback. You don't even have to post a comment.  If you like a post or a photo, that's all you've got to do. Otherwise I feel as though I'm living in a vacuum and I don't like the feeling.

Ultimately, I'm writing all of this for myself. I'll keep writing  until I don't want to. In the meantime, it might be nice to hear from people other than my good friend Len.

Even my husband seems to have stopped commenting. If that means he's stopped reading this, well, there are lots of stories I'd like to tell that he wouldn't be happy with.  I guess I'll find out now, won't I? Will you?

 

QUESTIONNAIRE IS THIS AN AD FOR........

 

 

 

 

Please choose from the following answers: 

 

a.   Christian Loubiton Shoes

b. The American Plastic Surgeon Association

c. New product that rims your breasts red

d. A ridiculous idea

 

 

 

 

Short term memory loss. Yesterday morning, in the kitchen. Husband making coffee. Topic of breasts came up. Why? I have them?

Somehow the thought of Loubiton shoes came up and I had an image of underlining breasts in red and calling them Boobitons.

Later traced a pic from a Pin Up art book and here we have it.

 

 

I mean, some women spend thousands of dollars on these red bottomed shoes that you can't even walk in. At least with your Boobitons you'd get a lot of use out of them. Am I right or what?

 

 

Theory?

Women want to look sexy. Read previous post on that.

Red bottomed shoes? Why not go Rhesus macaques monkey butt instead? Or my latest invention of red bottomed boobs?

Red is sexy. The monkeys bottoms attract partners. Hopefully not any Homo Sapiens.

 

Request

 

please respond to survey, I want to know if I should start production.

Imagine you saw this ad and were asked the questions. How would you answer?

I'm collecting data.