I am finding someone who can specifically design a bra that fits ME. I am so tired of having to waste time trying them on, which is gross if you think about the other people who have done the same thing, only to find that ONE specific size does not fit me; it depends on maker and style, as well. I am 5 feet tall with a size 36 D or something for bra size. I am short, and little, and the biggest thing I own are my boobs, and every single freakin bra I buy eventually sags to my knees because my back is skinny and short and either the cups let my boobs fall all over the place, or I quickly lose the plump and perky look they have when I first buy a halfway decent bra. I mean, who designs these? Men? Because I would hope that a woman would better understand the complexities of boobage. And my back and shoulders hurt.......aaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!

So.....if anyone else has this problem, let me know, and let me know if you have any little secrets that might help. I will forever love you. Seriously.

All I want to do is post to my blog, and after miraculously remembering the password after a year, I have to deal with a new interface and linkage and some crap and I just woke up and I'm high as FUCK! lol.....I just want to type this out.....lol. So frustrating!

So.....I forgot what I was gonna blog about....lol. Anyway, I think it's time to change up my approach to writing. Hang on everybody....it's gonna be a fun ride!!

The Candyman Can- But not how you think

Children’s movies have received an abundance of media attention since Disney came out with its first animated film. Websites are constructed, reviews are printed, and some movies have garners an almost cult-like following. One film in particular has caught the public’s eye more than others, and it is based on a popular, though highly controversial, children’s book by Roald Dahl.

“Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” was released in 1971 and it was loosely based on the book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Dahl. The book itself has been used by schools nationwide to teach children literature, politics, economy, and more, but what does the story really teach our children? I think Mr. Wonka deserves a closer look.

Roald Dahl wrote the book in 1964, when major world events were determining the fate of thousands of lives in the political arena- the Gulf of Tonkin incident between the United States and Vietnam launched the infamous Vietnam War; China was testing its first atomic bomb; Martin Luther King was meeting with Malcolm X and speaking out about civil rights; and Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for opposing apartheid in Africa.

Yet nobody seemed to notice, nor was concerned by, the obvious political, racial, and economic references in the seemingly innocuous children’s book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

According to the story, mysterious eccentric Willie Wonka, owner of the ever-looming Wonka Chocolate Factory, has brought in Oompa Loompas to work for him. As a result, the surrounding village has been impoverished by this bourgeoisie attempt to stifle the proletariat, as evidenced by Charlie’s poor mother, who must slave away all hours of the day doing other people’s laundry in order to feed her son and his four bedridden grandparents. Eventually Wonka sees the need for someone to inherit his “kingdom” and devises a contest to choose the lucky winner. Five children of various ill morals and character find the Golden Tickets that have been hidden in the wrappers of chocolate bars, and thus begins an incredible journey behind the gates and walls of an enormous candy factory that resembles a maximum-security prison. Oh yeah, this is great stuff sure to appeal to children- candy, oompa loompas, kids we can all relate to, bright colors, and more.

Wonka, however, begs for a closer inspection of the hidden agenda behind his seemingly innocent motives. Why does he hire outside help to work in his factory when there are plenty of able-bodied people in his own community? He takes all the potential for capital away from people who are, in effect, his main customers, leaving them jobless and penniless. They are reduced to the status of peasants, forced to eke out whatever meager salaries they can performing menial labor for other, more well-to-do people.

When Dahl wrote his book, he portrayed the Oompa Loompas as “black pygmies imported from the deepest part of Africa where no white man had ever been.” In 1964, when African-Americans were working hard to achieve equal rights, this was an extremely risky venture. David Wolper, director of the 1971 movie, understood the need for political correctness and changed the Oompas into dwarfish creatures with green hair and orange-brown skin, but let’s face it folks- they were still slaves. According to Wonka, he saved the poor creatures from a nightmarish existence in Loompa Land, where they were eaten and abused daily by terrible and fearsome Horn Swagglers, Rooten Vermicious Kinids, and Swangdoodles. (Sound like politicians to me.) He brings them to his factory to replace all the villagers currently working for him, with the caveat that oompas work for free, minus all the candy they can eat. Wonka is nothing more than a smart and resourceful plantation owner.

During the sixties, people were experimenting with many drugs. LSD was a favorite of the so-called hippie set and this is hinted at via Wonka’s  psychedelic boat ride through the tunnel of hell. Punctuated by images of turbulent colors and massive insects, it is a bad trip, literally. Wonka himself alludes to this fact with his cryptic poem about rowers who don’t know where they are going although they keep rowing faster and faster without slowing down. A metaphor for life?

The 1971 movie does soften the impact of the book, especially when four of the children are systematically eliminated for bad behavior. In the book they meet with very questionable demises, such as when Augustus Gloop is turned into fudge (in the book he merely exits the factory through the fudge tube), and when Veruca Salt is dumped down t he garbage disposal to either live out her life or be chopped up (in the book she is deposited down the ‘bad egg’ receptacle where she is later retrieved by her father). An element of gleeful cruelty remains in the movie version, however, as each child is forced to endure a little torture before being released, as in the case of Violet needing to be stomped back into shape after blowing up like a huge blueberry, or Mike Teevee being hauled off to the stretching room after being shrunk. Makes you wonder, did Mr. Dahl even like children?

Children frequently watch movies without really thinking about the underlying messages- they enjoy the songs, the colors, and the amusing antics of oddly-shaped people or creatures. As adults, however, we are blessed (or cursed) with critical-thinking ability- takes all the fun out of innocent imagination, doesn’t it? Maybe Roald Dahl was an ahead-of-his-times political commentator cleverly disguised behind children’s literature. After all, who would ban a children’s book?

To write, or not to write....

Okay, so I want to take writing classes and workshops, but I can't afford all that money......then I considered enrolling in a college online to get my writing degree, but I am left wondering how practical that is. Does anybody read this? If so, I could use some advice.

defeated

Tired, through and through. Worn, washed-out, sick of being played and thrown to the floor. You love me for what I GIVE only because I never ask for anything in return. I'm so tired.

Love....effervescent, time-stopping, body-numbing love. Have you felt it? Does it even exist? Since time began, man has yearned for companionship, and woman has been the slave of her husband, or, as the bible says, "her wanting will be for her husband, and he will have dominion over her." Is that supposed to be a curse, or a blessing? 

Am I supposed to feel comforted by that thought? What about free choice? What if I can't remain in subjection to my so-called husband, and that's if I marry at all? Why should I? 

But what about love? When two people love each other, aren't they really in subjection to each other?  To love, honor, and cherish, with a commitment to remain loyal forever, until death do you part.

Does that even exist anymore? 

Did it ever?

Random free write

Pandemonium reigns supreme
 inside this sacred holy being of velvet
and soft rabbit fur,
I looked away-another blur
flew past my eyes and I saw not
the shadow creature up on top
of rotting hills and mountainsides,
and tears that flowed when God did cry. 

I am the captain.......

I had the most amazing dream last night....outside of my usual weird and horror-filled ones.  In this particular dream, I had magic skills. Something almost went horribly wrong- something that wouldn't be able to be changed once it had happened-but I was able to use magic to make everything right again. And then I took this trip- I was flying through the air, going backwards in time, seeing myself doing everything only backwards- my kids, school, my childhood, until I was an infant. It was exhilarating!!

I realized today that if I want to be a writer I have to write...here, in my home journals, on facebook, in letters.....I have to write. It is time to begin reading all those books I have bought. I began the year with a resolution to make resolutions....only to try my hardest at whatever I endeavored to do. I still have some work to do...we all do....but I am finishing my third class in college with an A, and have begun practice writing, and am participating in several write-a-thons. I am moving into a two bedroom apartment down the hall....got a miniature schnauzer, and feel good about where my life is going, for the first time in years.

I want to share some stolen inspiration, but it has become my mantra....."I am the captain of my soul."

Invictus William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be  For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance  I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance  My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate,  How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

P.S. See the movie...it's astounding!!

On death and life......

My neighbor died a week ago last Friday. I know because I discovered her body. Or I should say....I called the cops to investigate the smell in our apartment hallway, and I worried something had happened to her. She lived directly across from me, and I knew she had health issues, and I hadn't seen her for a few days.

As soon as the cop entered our building, he said, "Oh yeah. I know that smell." And I knew. So he found her door unlocked, went in, and came right back out, then called whomever he needed to call.

All day was back and forth, with the apartment open most of the time, smell wafting.......and me feeling sad that she spent so long alone before anyone cared to call it in.

She wasn't a friendly person, and enjoyed picking on me because my granddaughter made "too much noise," but still...I put flowers in front of her door.

What we do in life is what people will remember in death. I plan to make my life count. As much as I can, anyway. My granddaughter needs me, my kids still need straightening out, and I have plans to do great things. I want to work with autistic children. I want to go to Italy. I want to learn to water ski. I want to publish a book. Maybe I want to teach in an underprivileged country. I want to rescue homeless animals

Point is, life matters so much more than how and when we die. No matter  how many times Marilyn (my neighbor) complained, I always greeted her warmly. I do nice things for people. I am a good listener for anyone who needs one. I donate to charities. I help people and animals alike. And I love God. I don't always understand Him, or His methods, but I love Him.

I hope all that counts or something when I die.  

Daily living

I should be writing...have been musing over a poem for the past two weeks for poetry class using alliteration, assonance, and consonance, all in the same poem. I could write garbage, of course, but I prefer perfection, or near enough to it.

Instead I am watching a bad Amityville sequel, and waiting for Peabody's to deliver me up a nice taco salad and BLT sub. I also took a nap for an hour. Such a difficult life I lead.

Underneath all this hubbub is real noise and discontent. I am currently seeking custody of my granddaughter because my daughter would rather party. I am trying to lose weight. 'Nuf said about that. I am seriously trying to take like 6 or 7 classes, all leading somewhere. And I have been tired, so tired lately......naps daily. I am worn out. Exhausted. Pooped.

I have been introduced to new writers, however, and am trying to learn from them.

hm.....food is here. Maybe I'll splash some writing up later.