Falling Whistles

I guess you could call me naive.  If my mama hadn't raised me telling me "not to talk to strangers" and instilling fear of the unknown in me for my own protection, I probably would be dead by now at the hands of someone or something I thought had pure intentions.

I hear stories about loss, tragedy, torture, cruelty...whether in other countries or in my own backyard. (that's a metaphor...don't go thinking I torture people in my yard now.)  I believe them, sure, but I always find myself thinking...."It can't really be that bad can it?"  I support TOMS, and have since I first caught wind of the company's mission.  "One for One."  Buy a pair of shoes, and another pair is given to an unfortunate child in a developing country.  Of course, as we know, this company has swept the nation and TOMS are now a hot commodity.  The message is now buried between customized Botas and a new line of TOMS eyewear.  But the message still remains, and the movement is still making a huge yet simple difference in millions of lives.  People may buy the shoes just to make a fashion statement, or just because they go with pretty much everything, but those who truly believe in the cause are the ones who really benefit from a pair of simple, cloth shoes.

A lesser known charity buried in a fashion commodity is Falling Whistles.

Those of you privileged enough to know me may  (haha) may have seen me wear a long, rustic silver chain with a 4 inch whistle with the engraving "fw" on the front.  Yes, it really works.  But the purpose behind it is something much more significant.

Recently I have found myself wearing the whistle more, as it jazzes up any outfit, and initiates conversation, which is the whole purpose behind Falling Whistles...conversation.  To get people talking about the horrific story behind this beautiful, simplistic little whistle.  As more people have been asking, I decided to dig a little deeper into the Falling Whistles website so I had my facts straight the next time someone asked what it symbolized.  I was asked not two days ago what the whistle was, and I chuckled as I explained, somewhat embarrassed, what it stood for.  My embarrassment was only because I wasn't fully aware of what exactly I was wearing around my neck, and what exactly that whistle nestled right over my heart meant to children in a country far, far away from me.

I would explain more, but I don't think my words would do the story justice.  I wept at my computer this morning as I read a man's first-hand encounter with these children, enslaved for reasons they can't begin to comprehend, and treated with less respect than a mangy animal.  My blog requires very little participation...you read it or you don't.  You like it, or you don't.  (In which case, I again reiterate your freedom to leave at any point.)  But I am pleading with you all to take 5 minutes and read this story.  I have even pasted the link below for you, so it requires even less effort.  I promise you, even if you don't find yourself buying a whistle after you're done, you will see the world a little differently today.

http://www.fallingwhistles.com/story/

Pointing Fingers

I think about what to post in my blog a LOT.  I try to pick something that is timely and appropriate; something that relates to worldly issues currently going on.  Alas, I always fail and instead write about, for lack of a better word, nonsense. And considering my last few blogs have been summations of personal annoyances that I feel other people will be able to relate to, I'm going to try something a bit different.  Go for a more "classical" approach to the web-log world.  (Please be forewarned that at the end of this, you will probably realize that this post is nonsense as well.  So really I'm not changing a dang thing.)

The presidential election kills me.  I watched the debates the other night against my better judgment, because I knew before they even began that I would be left at the end more confused and irritated than before.  Is it just me or has the presidential election turned into something resembling an amateur match of pointing fingers?  How are you supposed to find clarity and a real connection with one particular candidate, when literally the rebuttal is always just about calling the other a liar?

Obama will describe his plans for lowering the national debt (of course, not before mentioning that the debt was never really his fault in the first place) and then Romney will come back by saying that Obama has been cheating the country since his term began, and that it will continue unless he is elected president, where he can really make a dent in this huge hole our economy has dug.  He uses concrete examples of why the current president and his cabinet haven't turned this economy 180 degrees and put us "back on track." Then of course, big O will come back by saying that Romney is lying straight faced about the numbers, and that in all actuality, every word he is saying about what he "plans" to do, is literally impossible.  It's like a ping-pong match of "No, you're lying!" "No, you're lying!"  Like, what the hell?!

I read an article trying to sort through the muddle of apparent lies and deceit to try to figure out what small chunk of the debate could actually be taken to the bank (yes, pun is always intended) and I got a breakdown of what each candidate said, and how much of it was truth.  The article left me even more disappointed, as it confirmed what I already believed: that the debates, and the whole manner of the election process in fact, is just a back-and-forth game of making the other look bad.

If we could just call a spade a spade and make this thing official, we may as well throw in a part of the election where each candidate struts around in a Speedo so we can judge based on physique, too.

Now I know there are those of you thinking "Do the research, Meg.  Look up the facts and really dig into what's true and then decide who gets your vote."  Um, no thank you.  For several reasons no thank you.  Not only do I think it's bologna that only those who have the dedication or right mind to "do the research" are the ones that will be making an educated decision come election day, but I don't think that months should be spent campaigning when in the end, I have to figure out what each candidate is really for.  And even if I did "the research," how am I supposed to believe a damn word either of them say??  I'm just ready for  November 6 to come and go and for us to just put an end to this madness.

On a happier note, I have been planning to write a post with links to some of my favorite Youtube videos...ones that really stir my insides and make me shout obscenities because they're so awesome, cursing is the only thing I can think of doing that will express my disbelief and gratitude at these people for sharing their music.  However...that takes a lot of executive decision making (as I have a lot of favorite-goosebump-inducing videos that I'd like to share).  So today, you get one.  Let me assure you, though, this one is stupidly amazing.  I'd like to know your thoughts.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hOKuAigsrec

WHY DO YOU HATE MY BABY?!

I started writing this blog yesterday.  I always start with my bullet points, and then come back to the intro at the end, as it will usually be based on my mood the day I decided to actually hit "Publish."  Yesterday was a glorious day.  The day flew by with no real disasters, and then I had a great workout, went to the parents for a delicious dinner with the family (thanks mama T) and then watched my favorite show premiere with mama and saster.  Today hasn't been quite as awesome, due to some annoying "road blocks," but I'm going to the Rangers game tonight, so I can't complain because I. Love. The. Rangers. 

I will preface this blog by saying if you are offended at any point while reading this, know that my intentions are pure and I mean no harm or ill feelings.  Also know that you are probably being a little too sensitive, in which case you should steer clear of my blog and Google blogs about cooking or crafts.  Those things couldn't be offensive if they tried.

1. If you know anything at all about me, you know that pointless Facebook statuses bother me.  In general, Facebook bothers me.  I would delete my account if I knew with complete certainty that I wouldn't run back to it the first time someone said "Did you see on Facebook...?" and I didn't.  Most of all, I hate the people who post picture, after picture, after picture, after picture, of themselves.  I hate it even more since last week, when my dear sister-in-law informed me that a Facebook friend of hers made some snarky status about people who post picture, after picture, after picture, after picture of their baby/ies/children.  Now I can't hold this girl completely responsible, as she is apparently not a mother so she doesn't know the true joy of parenthood.  But who in their right mind, gets irritated by pictures of babies!?  I'm sure she was just trying to give my dear (can you tell I like her?) sister-in-law a hint that people don't like looking at pictures of adorable infants all day. Ah, yes.  You figured it out, woman.  People would much rather read about how you just got done with a GREAT workout and are now heading to have drinks on the patio with a friend <3 <3 <3. And can we please get a picture of you in your barely-there workout shorts, too?  It's like a breath of fresh air compared to the picture of my friend's kid's first day of school. (Oh and while we're at it...having drinks on the patio immediately after what you deem to be a worthwhile exercise session kind of defeats the purpose ya' idiot.)

2. I'm nervous about having a little mini-me running around for a number of reasons.  Most notably though, I am nervous about people grabbing at my tummy while I'm preggo, and even more notably, my baby, after he/she pops out of there. (That's my eloquent way of describing the miracle of birth. Nice, huh?)  I see it all the time.  In crowded rooms, it's like people (women most frequently) lose all sense of decency and personal space, and just grab at the baby like it's a sample at Costco.  I'm not worried about it because I'm some germophobe, but as someone who thinks personal space is something not to be taken lightly, I think just grabbing at someone's child, especially a newborn or infant, like it's a God-given right, is just ludicrous! I am fascinated by big boobs, considering the good Lord forgot to give me a pair of decent-sized real ones, but you don't see me goin' around grabbing people's chests just because it's something they have that I  want!  I ask before grabbing! (kidding.) Just as people should ask before grabbing at a mother's child (a human being, mind you).

I only have two bullets, because my day ended on a slightly sour note.  (I haven't got my gear on for tonight yet, though, so I'm sure it will turn right around once I'm decked out in beloved red and blue. Also...I'm not a mom.  So come back to me in a few years and I'll have a "WHY DO YOU HATE MY BABY?! Part II")

You stay classy, Cyberspace.

Application for Designating of Idiots to Restricted Places Committee

I wish I could save the world.  From exactly what I'm not entirely sure...it's tough to pinpoint the source of the frustration I feel at how messed up this planet is.  To be completely honest, I wish I could take over the world.  I think I have at least one person behind me, and I'm not sure if he's only behind me because of that vow we made a couple years back, or because he gets bored easily...but most times when I ask "What do you want to do tonight, shnookums?" He replies: "Same thing we do every night, Pinky....try to take over the world."  It's comforting to know we're on the same page.

I'm not exactly sure what my strategy will be once I'm Ruler of the World (and inherently, since I will govern space research, Ruler of All Planets and Extraterrestrial Life), but I have a few ideas up my sleeve.  My main idea involves implementing the "eye for an eye" strategy in the judicial system...as well as designating uninhabited (but ugly) countries as permanent living space for idiots.  For the latter, I will need a trusty committee to decide who these "idiots" may be, so if you think your definition matches mine, send me your resume, please.

But to help you in the process, I will give examples of said "idiots" and let you decide for yourself if you're up to the task of serving on the Designating of Idiots to Restricted Places Committee.  If you find yourself nodding your head while reading the below examples, and muttering to yourself "I know exactly the kind of person she's talking about...and I hate them to," then apply away.  However, if you find yourself distracted while reading, thinking instead of counter-arguments and rebuttals to my examples...then don't waste your time applying.  Oh, and get off my blog.

Remember, these are just examples.  If you need further clarification, stay tuned, as I'm sure I'll give more later.

Exhibit A:

I was watching a special last night on the 9/11 attacks, and hubs and I got to discussing the controversies laced throughout that tragic day and the events that followed.  I remember the grief President Bush got after footage was aired showing his reaction immediately after someone whispered to him that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.  People were outraged that after he got the news, he calmly resumed his reading with elementary school students, looking impassive and unaffected.  To those people who feel as if his reaction directly mirrored his thoughts when he received this news, and who subsequently believe it reflected his disappointing presidency and lack of sympathy for the victims of 9/11, I wonder how they would react were they in the same situation.  Would they prefer that he had shot out of his chair and waved his arms around, outraged, shouting orders as he ran frantically out of the room?  Would they prefer he had hung his head in sorrow and began weeping in front of the class?  Or perhaps they wish he had simply informed the class that thousands of people had just lost their lives after a possibly-hijacked airplane crashed into the WTC in New York City, but promised: "Don't worry, I'll take care of it.  Please, continue your reading while I excuse myself."

Exhibit B:

I'm not the sharpest tool in the box, but I know there is still racism out there.  I want to change it (hence the whole "taking over the world" plan) but I accept that there are some people so single-minded that they still believe their race is superior to all others.  My issue goes a lot beyond that...to the people who not only believe racism is still out there, but let this belief rule everything about their life. Not to do the cliche dictionary definition thing, but....I'm gonna do it:

Racism: a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races  determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one's own race is superior and has the right to rule others. 

Those people who "cry wolf" by hollering about how some racist discriminated against them probably never consider that the "perpetrator" is discriminating against THEM, not their race.  I know it's a hard concept to wrap your head around, but perhaps your demeanor is the very thing that's causing you to be pre-judged, and perhaps you are the one jumping to the conclusion that it's your race.

Exhibit C: (don't worry this one's not as deep)

My mama raised me right, and I plan to mirror her parenting advice to a "T" when I have some little rugrats of my own. She didn't necessarily write the book "How to Raise Your Child Right."  (Man, that would make an editors' skin crawl.)  She practiced what some would call "unorthodox" parenting methods, but overall I think I turned out pretty dang close to OK, contrary to unpopular belief. (Yes, you read that right.) I'll give one example, because if I give any more, I fear she would give an entirely new meaning to the cliche "I brought you into this world, I can take you right out of it."

Of course, this story has only been re-told to me, as I was far too young to remember...but I have been told that I grew into and quickly grew out of the pulling hair stage.  Why?  Well because the first time I pulled my mom's hair was the last, as she pulled mine right back.  From what I've been told, I looked shocked and appalled as she pulled mine right back, but obviously it worked, as the pain made me realize it wasn't a fun thing to do.

Despite teaching me that intentionally harming others in the form of hair-pulling, biting, hitting, or with use of foreign objects, she taught me courtesy.  Not just "Yes ma'am," "Thank you," and "Please," but things like waving at people when they let you over into their lane, holding the door open for those less fortunate, "killing with kindness," etc.  One form that she taught me that apparently 90% of the population was not taught is to PUT YOUR DAMN GROCERY CART AWAY. It literally pains me when I see one left out amongst the many cars in the parking lot.  It pains me more to the point where I see red and have to remind myself that my bed is much more comfortable than a jail cell, when I actually see someone leave their cart out.  Not only do I wish to point out that they could probably use the exercise (as I've noticed it's often people who would only benefit from a few extra steps on the ol' pedometer) but I would like to see their reaction if all the carts they had left out in their life came back to attack their car all at once and they were left with dings and scratches.  It is negligent.  It is lazy.  It is rude.  But most of all...it is annoyingly idiotic.

That's all I got folks...and to quote the lovely radio personality Kelly Raspberry..."how'd ya like that?"

I don't have a creative title today.

I almost feel like I need to be consistent with my inconsistency and keep up this trend of posting sporadically every few months or so.  But what can I say?  I've felt the love lately, and....I give the people what they want.  Which is more insight into this conundrum of thoughts going on in my noggin every day.

Which brings me to this...

1.  This Lance Armstrong "scandal" has really thrown me into a tizzy. (I'm feeling British this morning...or whatever nationality/species it is that uses the word "tizzy.")  The ADA declared him guilty recently, after Lance bowed out of an arbitration hearing fighting the charges that he doped from 1999-2005.  Lance claimed that he was tired of the fight to prove his innocence, and that the ADA claims were baseless and it was a witch hunt to try to strip him of his Tour de France wins; something that my dear friends at the Ticket don't feel will happen, considering the ADA doesn't have the power to strip him of his titles.  I agree that Lance really chose the lesser of two evils, and that no matter what, this situation is a lose-lose for him.  If he went through with the arbitration, person after person would come forward, claiming that they "saw Lance doping with their own two eyes," thereby ruining his reputation indefinitely, not to mention his Livestrong organization/foundation.  The arbitration would carry on for weeks, each day with more ugly claims, and of course, who would ever believe these claims to be false or libelous?  There's no proof.  The guy passed more than 500 drug tests, and yet the ADA is still claiming he doped?  What's the point of drug tests then, if you're only going to refute their credibility?  The other choice, the one Lance chose, is to give up the fight, consequently giving the ADA what they want by declaring him "guilty."  True, his reputation may take a bit of a beating, when all those (for lack of a better word) haters, begin singing their "I told you so"s.  Is it so unbelievable that a man who battled testicular cancer could win a cycling race 7 times on sheer talent and determination?  And if that is too hard to wrap your head around,then why is it soooo hard to believe that the ADA has ulterior motives and is a corrupt governing organization who has nothing better to do than to make baseless claims that would jeopardize one of the most honorable, gifted cyclist this world will ever see?  Oh that's right...we only see the bad in people.  Maybe Lance did dope during his winning streak.  But until you show me the smoking gun, he's a-OK in my book.

2.  I love watching people drive.  It's one of the most vulnerable times in a person's life...and yet there are so many witnesses to it.  Complete strangers.  I personally sing...nay...BELT it while I drive.  Sometimes I plug the ol' iPod in and jam out to songs I know I sound good on...other times, I try out songs I know I don't sound good on, because it's the only time I'm completely alone.  (I'm fairly sure hubby jams out to the show I put on in the shower sometimes).  It's one of the most embarrassing things when someone catches me.  The worst is when it happens at a stoplight.  I still haven't decided if I should keep going, confidently shrugging them off like I'm not bothered by their awkward glances, or if I should stick to my instinct and snap my mouth shut and turn bright red in the face.  (This is what I usually do).  I love that distracted driver (you know, texting/putting on makeup/eating/reading my blog/taking a nap while driving) who reacts by throwing up his or her hands in defiance and giving a dramatic "WHAT?!" look after nearly side swiping the car in the next lane.  I want to follow that person to wherever they're going, get out of my car and say "I'm so sorry I almost interrupted your driving by....my driving.  And I apologize even more deeply for honking my horn at you to alert you to the fact that you almost just took my life while you were applying a second coat of mascara to your already overly-mascara-ed spider eyes.  I know now that the sound of a horn apparently strikes a nerve.  Next time, I'll whisper 'watch out' and hope you hear me."

There's more in my head...but my fingers hurt.  

I'm no expert buuut...

Again, I find myself trying to reinforce the name of this online monstrosity: "Bond's Mindless Wanderings."  In all honesty, the title couldn't be farther from the truth.  These little thoughts that flutter in and out of my brain almost constantly throughout my day are very mindful, and quite often lead me to believe that I have powers beyond my wildest dreams, and that I really belong at Hogwarts.  If only I could get to Platform 9 3/4.... harumpf.

1.  I realize statistics don't lie.  I realized this when I took Statistics in college, and got an A+ (don't question it...they give A+'s in college).  So it would seem that giving statistics to rebuttal someone heralding an athlete  as "awesome" or "good" would be logical, eh?  I don't think I need to give an example, as I'm sure you are all picking an instance where this has happened to you...you post a gleeful status about your love for, say, David Murphy, (my favorite underrated player), only to see hours later that a small war of words has broken out while people rattle off stats like his low batting average, or errors this season, or strikeouts in away games...or something.  My point is this: I don't like you people.  And although statistics may prove that a player's stats aren't as high as some other player's stats, I beg you to show me your stats and we'll see if you can do any better.

2.  I feel bad for people who like themselves soooo much so, that consequently, they end up liking themselves far more than anyone else likes them.  I don't mean this to be funny....I genuinely feel bad for these people.  Two schools of thought on this one:

• They either suffer from such serious low self esteem that the only way to console themselves is to boast about how awesome they are in hopes that someone will actually believe them. In which case, I feel bad for them, because "you are beautiful in every single way, and you are beautiful no matter what they sayyyy..." (Thanks X-tina.)

OR

• They genuinely think they are far superior than any other friend, family member, acquaintance, colleague, etc., that they're associated with, and in doing so, cause those people to cross their fingers and pray/hope patiently that said person gets a reality check in the form of a swift kick to the gut.  In all seriousness, I feel more bad for these people because it's sad to say but, they probably aren't nearly as awesome as they think they are, in which case I wish they would become conscious of this reality so they could step off their high horse and have fun with the rest of us.

3.  If you're at all worth my while, you know my parents have a delicious little cafe in our hometown.  One of our business priorities is to make each person's dining experience personable and friendly; we want you to feel like part of the family.  One of our tactics in carrying this ideology out is to ask each person when they approach the register:

"Can I have your name, please?"

...................WHY IN THE NAME OF PETER, PAUL AND MARY IS THIS SUCH A DIFFICULT QUESTION?!?!

Sorry for that outburst. *Ahem.* But for real.  Nearly every time I ask this, people either give me a blank, utterly confused stare and begin to blubber, "uuuh, whaa....uhhh, -J-Je-Jeff."  "See, that wasn't so hard Jeff....assuming you've had this name longer than 5 minutes and aren't a con-artist using an alias.  In which case, don't worry; I'm asking your name not because I'm an undercover cop, but so that I know who to give your flippin' flapjacks to."  Other times, it's a couple, in which case they look at eachother with a confused look, until one of them coughs up, usually the other person's name.  In which case I'd like to reply:  "Oh I'm sorry, is this a blind date?"  My favorite is when they glare at me.  This one's rare, and when it happens, I know I'm in for a real treat of an individual...you're seriously going to act irritated that I asked you one of the most common questions on earth, and simply for the reason that I'd like to ensure that the food you're about to request and pay me for makes it to your table in a timely fashion??  It's not like I asked what size underwear you're wearing, ya fatty.

Ahhh....release.  I feel better after getting those little nuggets out of my head and onto the computer screen where they're safe.  Goodnight, blog-world.

Threat to all Fellow Bloggers

More often than not, I get discouraged by reading other people's blogs.  My sweet cousin has not only the most adorable little family that frequently pops up in her blog (making it much more attractive than mine), but she also seems to have the most interesting "ordinary" days, which give her lots to write about.  My mom's friend has a blog and I swear, when I'm reading it, sometimes I feel like I'm reading a TV script for some witty show like "New Girl" or "The Office." Other blogs are annoyingly intelligent and discuss things I only pretend to understand, but their overuse of words more than four syllables intrigues me, so again, I get jealous.  I'm most envious of blogs filled with creative recipes, DIY crafts, or "Things for the Home," and I find myself not only becoming depressed about my own boring blog, but then I start sulking about the fact that I'm living in an apartment above a warehouse the size of these people's garages, and those "Things for the Home" couldn't apply to me even if I wanted them to.

So alas, I resort to blogging about....my own blog? (Much improvement, Margaret.)

My dad seems to like my blog.  My dear friend Alex loves it, although I think it's just because his job and subsequently entire day is that boring.  Hubby compliments it, which I used to find very flattering, until I realized he actually writes extremely eloquently himself, so now I feel like when he says "Hey shnookums, your blog was great today," what he's really saying is: "I could have done so much better."

I'm sure the dogs would like it, because it seems they're the only people in this world who like everything I do.  They especially admire my trait of leaving TOMS on the living room floor, and are even more fond of my inability to resist their begging eyes when I'm eating/cooking.  However, they can't seem to articulate that they like my writing....and to be honest, I'm not sure hubby listens when I tell him to let them read it.  Psh...men.

Regardless, I used to think I suffered from severe writer's block.  I would use my trusty little notebook to jot down thoughts or ideas about what my next post could be about.  I would create a little "note" on my iPhone with little snippits I thought I could include in my next entry, and I've even go so far as to start a post with the hopes of striking some inspirational chord and being able to finish it later.  But then I leisurely read my favorite blogs and that little balloon of hope and inspiration slowly deflates, leaving me wordless and frustrated, but most of all, sad.

So I'm asking (nicely but forcefully) for all you dear, fellow bloggers, to stop showing me up.  Did you read the paragraph above? You're making me sad.  I ask, how can you sleep at night knowing that showing pictures of your almost unbelievably adorable child on your blog, or bragging about how you had the funniest experience today while tending to the lemon trees in your backyard, makes me feel inadequate and meaningless?  Give me a chance to scrounge up something in my life that is hilarious and adorable at the same time...something I can write a mere two paragraphs about that will leave people saying "That Meg, she has a way of painting a picture with just a few simple, one-syllable words."

Just give me a chance.