Vacation review

So, we drove down to NC. Took us two days because we're getting too old to drive nine hours straight.
The back ache started then.
It continued throughout the whole week. Excruciating pain that I tried my best to hide.

There were times that I just climbed into the bed and lay there, waiting for the fake Advil to work. It didn't help too much.

All the work I intended to do on my story didn't get done. My gmail refused to accept my passwords, stating that someone was hacking into my account.
It was me.
So much for that.

I did work on two other people's stuff, getting it done in time to have them post their stories on Amazon.

And, probably because I was suffering in silence and not including anyone else in my misery, I was rewarded with a dream that I managed to write down--a complete story, beginning to end. I will write it right after I finish Mermaid.

Life is bizarre.

Lipstick Hyperbole

Someone on FB posted the question: lipstick or not?

I had to reply to this one.

Red lips are amazing. They catch the eye, center focus on the lips, brighten one's face, yadda yadda yadda. But, alas, red lips are not for everyone.

When I was in 8th grade, back in 1962-3, all the girls started wearing stockings (with those awkward garter belts) and lipstick. They already had their bras, because--I lived in a well-developed town. So, it was off to the nearest 5 and 10 for lipstick.

I can't remember the name or the brand, but after the Tangee phase passed by, it was on to Cotton Candy Pink or something along those lines with a pink plastic tip coming out of the top of the tube. It was the only one light enough that mothers would allow. We all applied it liberally and pouted into toilet paper to blot it as we had seen our mothers do.

We had arrived.

We were women now.

As the real reason for coloring one's lips is to bring attention to the fact that our lips were now kissable and luscious, I seem to remember that none of the 8th grade boys gave a damn. Oh, there were some who knew what was happening, but most of them didn't understand. Some actually laughed when a particularly backward female donned lip paint.  But it had to be either the Tangee or the lightest pink of pinks.

I did want to wear lipstick. I even found a light light caramel color that had taste and scent that was light enough since the pink fad was gradually on the fade. I put it on right. Blotted it, wiggled my lips in the mirror, saw that it was good. 

Nobody noticed it was so close to natural.

Then I tried red. 

Disaster! Yes. Lipstick made my lips kissable!

I couldn't go anywhere without people wanting to kiss me!

The guys queued up.

Aunties, uncles, grandparents, not brothers (good thing, that) but people on the street, babies! Everybody wanted to kiss those lips of mine.

I couldn't walk down the street without being accosted.

It was as if I were wearing a sign that said KISS ME.

It was so wrong. Red lips spelled trouble. On me.

Other women could wear red, just not me.

It was magnetic to every male anywhere.

There is a line from the song "Love Potion Number Nine" where the guy takes a sip of the potion and goes crazy wanting to make love to someone.

It goes, paraphrased, "I didn't know if it was day or night! I started kissing every thing in sight, but when I kissed a cop down on 34th and Vine, he broke my little bottle of Love Potion Number Nine".

Well, it wasn't me who did the kissing, it was everybody else.

What did Mr. Tangee or Mr. Cutex put in that lipstick?

That's when I learned how to run and hide. Picture me running around corners, hiding behind brick walls until the horde passed by...actually, picturing me running is difficult enough. Attention can be good, but it can be really really bad if it isn't wanted!

Took me awhile to realize that I wasn't popular, I had these inviting red lips.

Red cape in front of a bull and red lips on me...danger danger danger.

So, I stopped wearing the red. I tossed out the caramel colored/scented tube, too. Got rid of the pink with the little colored plastic tip sticking out of the top of the cylinder.

My love affair with lipstick ended.

It has continued to this day.

It just ain't fun any more

Let me start out by saying that I have a terrible temper. Keeping it under control is difficult, but most of the time, I can manage. But repeated attacks on my control wear me down and eventually, I will let it loose. The tiger gets out of the cage, King Kong breaks his chains, Godzilla rises from the depths and I blow up.

 

If there are other people who suffer from this same affliction, and it must be an affliction as it doesn't seem right, it doesn't seem natural, it seems more like something Jesus wouldn't do.

 

Oh, wait!

Jesus lost his temper with the guys selling stuff outside the temple and went around wrecking their tables and throwing a hissy fit! It says that in the BIBLE somewhere. So...while most of the time, Jesus was going around barefoot, being kind to dead guys, blind guys, lepers, his mother...his buddies, even the people who set Him up to be crucified.

Hey...He could have zapped them and walked away. He could then have zapped every other person who got in His way and been King of Kings.

 

But, for some reason I still have trouble figuring out, He didn't. He kept His cool and allowed Himself to suffer a horrible death.

 

Well, I can't be like Jesus.

 

I have been pushed to the brink and my temper is simmering, no-- maybe it's boiling by now.

I feel the burn in my gut.

The lava of fury is rising.

 

When I break, it's gonna be explosive as all hell.

Sorry, Jesus.

No Klondike bars for me.