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Mozziestar Flashback Entry, Year: 1991

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 17, 2008

Today’s entry is a special and unique one.  You see, today, November 17th, is my precious Grandmama’s 90th birthday.  She is truly a remarkable gem of a mother, grandmother, sister, and friend.  She moved into an assisted living home several years back, and despite the heartache of leaving her home behind, she found and made a home there.  I was fortunate enough to spend my senior year of high school living with her in her small, rural Mississippi town of only 7,000 people.  What I discovered about this town is that it’s a living example of quality, rather than quantity, of people.  The year I spent with her was one of my happiest, by far.

So, without further ado, I like to share “Mozziestar Flashback Entry, Year: 1991” with you all.  Enjoy and always remember to take every opportunity to show love to your loved ones.  Life is a fleeting breath at best, and we never know when that life could be extinguished.  As Morrissey says, “Sing your life!” After many years of repression on my part, I am finally singing mine.

 

9am: It’s Saturday morning and my Grandmama is peeking into my bedroom to see if I’m “awake yet.”  Like most seventeen year-olds, Saturday mornings are a cherished commodity for me filled with sleep, sleep, and more sleep.  I stir when I hear my bedroom door squeak open and see her smiling face through the crack.  She says, “I’m sorry, honey.  I didn’t mean to wake you, but I thought maybe you’d like to go with me to the pharmacy.  I need to pick up a few things.  Would you mind going with me?”  At first, I’m a bit grumpy for being awakened so early on the weekend, but I quickly shelve my selfish feelings and reply, “Sure, Grandmama.  I’d be happy to go with you.”

 

9:45am:  I’m in the bathroom preparing for a hot, steamy, wake-up shower and Grandmama is standing post outside the bathroom door, patiently waiting for me to hand over my undergarments for the wash.  What you must first understand is that my sweet Grandmama is an ‘A’ personality type.  She consistently sticks to her routine and refuses to allow any dirty clothes or dishes to amass, not that they even possibly could.  Naturally, this personality quirk often bugs me, but I soon adapt and realize it is simply her way of showing love and affection.  Without any request on my part, she faithfully cooks my dinner each evening, packs my lunch each morning, and bakes homemade treats for me and so many others.  She is deeply loved and cherished by numerous people, and I am no exception.

 

10:30am:  I’m dressed and ready to make the trek to the pharmacy with Grandmama.  Given her age and increasing frailty, I kindly offer to drive and open the passenger door for her.  One of the inherent beauties of her small town is that you can virtually get anywhere within five minutes.  There is no rush hour traffic, no honking horns, and only one fast food restaurant to visit.  When I first came to live with her from the hustle and bustle of Atlanta, I wasn’t sure I’d adapt too well to this environmental culture shock, but I did.  Not only did I adapt well, but, I went on to college the following year to Mississippi State University because I fell in love with the sincerity and goodness of the people there.  I stayed for three years until I transferred to a school back in Georgia that was better suited for English majors.  I realize that transferring to a school back home was a necessary evil to continue my education, however, I never lost the love and zeal for Mississippi.  Even to this day, twenty years later, I still yearn to return there.  I hope that someday, when the need to be in a metropolitan, job-intensive city isn’t required, I will move back there.  If home is where your heart is, my home is there.

 

10:40am:  Grandmama and I arrive at the pharmacy and make our way inside.  Naturally, it’s fairly busy being a Saturday morning, and Grandmama quickly spots and greets many familiar faces.  That’s another interesting aspect of a small town.  It isn’t easy to disappear or blend in there.  Given that Grandmama has lived her entire life in this rural town, she knows virtually everyone.  An innocent, twenty-minute trip to the pharmacy always results in a two-hour outing for her, which is fine by me.  We agree to split up briefly in search of our own personal items, and meet up twenty minutes later at the checkout counter.

 

11am:  Grandmama and I reconvene with our toiletries in hand near the front register.  Feeling the need to wear my “Instigator” hat as I often do, I decide to pull a prank on her.  She briefly meanders off to talk to a friend, and while she’s away, I quietly slip an economy-sized pack of condoms into her buggy.  I prepare myself for the cackling (on my part) that will soon emerge, carefully constructing a mental picture of her face when she discovers this foreign item.  After ten minutes, she returns to her buggy, with me standing beside it.  There are at least five people in front of us in line, and naturally, they all begin talking to one another as they are waiting.  I hold my breath silently, knowing it’s only a matter of time until another person spots what is in Grandmama’s buggy.  And then, just like the beginning of a beautiful opera, I notice the lady in front of us peering down into Grandmama’s buggy, completely stunned when she sees the pack of condoms.  The lady swiftly retreats in disbelief and abject horror, and my Grandmama says to me, “Huh, that’s weird.  She is usually so friendly.  I hope everything is okay with her.”  I sheepishly agree and reassure her that I’m sure she is fine, but most likely needs to get home to tend to her husband and children.  Grandmama shrugs in agreement and makes her way to unload her items on the counter.

 

As she’s stacking the items side by side, she picks up the box of condoms and stares blankly at them.  I watch in amusement, realizing that she’s having trouble discerning what the item actually is.  After a few minutes, the light blub turns on at a full 1,000 watts, and she looks at me.  She says, “How in the world did these get in here?  Are these what I think they are?”  Keep in mind, readers, that my Grandmama became a widow nearly eleven years prior and certainly didn’t seek a replacement for my amazing Grandfather.  Given this, condoms are the last thing she would readily recognize, let alone purchase.  I pause for a moment and respond, “Oh yeah, those are mine.  I really need them.  You don’t mind, do you?”  At first, she is puzzled and perplexed by my question, having been completely taken off guard.  She quickly replies, “Oh, good heavens, Mozzie.  I know you are kidding with me.  Aren’t you?”  I successfully maintain a serious façade and tell her, “What’s the matter?  I need them.  At least I’m being safe, right?”  She quickly arms herself with the ‘I’m gonna call your Mother’ expression, before I lose my composure and begin to laugh hysterically.  She is instantly relieved, knowing that I’ve once again succeeded in pulling her leg, and she begins to chuckle in return.  I pick up the box of condoms, place them back on the rack, and help her bag her items.  On our way back to the car, I cannot resist the urge to hug her.  As I open the passenger door for her, I quickly grab her and shower her with affection.  As always, she reciprocates, as she is never first to let go of a hug.  I adore her for this, and still do.

 

So, precious Grandmama, Happy 90th Birthday to you.  I wish I were there to celebrate with you, but my heart and soul are with you always.  Thank you for your kindness, your love, and your unfailing support.  You have selflessly contributed to the person I am today, and I am so grateful to you for it.  If, by some struck of luck or fortune, I happen to live to see my 90th year, I can only hope that I will have made such an impact on others as you have.  There could not possibly be any greater accomplishment.

With love from your granddaughter,

 

Mozziestar

cake

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Sunday funny Sunday

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 16, 2008

shoe_box

A man and woman had been married for more than 60 years. They had shared everything. They had talked about everything. They had kept no secrets from each other except that the little old woman had a shoebox in the top of her closet that she had cautioned her husband never to open or ask her about.
For all of these years, he had never thought about the box, but one day the little old woman got very sick and the doctor said she would not recover. In trying to sort out their affairs, the little old man took down the shoebox and took it to his wife’s bedside. She agreed that it was time that he should know what was in the box. When he opened it, he found two crocheted dolls and a stack of money totaling $95,000. He asked her about the contents.
“When we were to be married,” she said, “my grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and crochet a doll.”

The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two precious dolls were in the box. She had only been angry with him two times in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with happiness. “Honey,” he said, “that explains the doll, but what about all of this money? Where did it come from?”

“Oh,” she said, “that’s the money I made from selling the dolls.”

 

0013-husband-cartoon

crash

 

A cutie tells what she would do if a monster comes to her room. Mind you, she says “ASK!”  Enjoy!

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A Saturday sprinkle to add to your Wheaties

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 15, 2008

Find a guy who calls you ‘beautiful’ instead of ‘hot,’ who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep.  Wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, and who thinks you’re just as pretty without makeup on. One who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky he is to have YOU. The one who turns to his friends and says, ‘that’s her.’
– Unknown

Just a few of my favorite quotes from Ralph Waldo Emerson, US essayist & poet (1803-1882):

emerson12_cr

“Be not the slave of your own past. Plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep and swim far, so you shall come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old.”

“The age of a woman doesn’t mean a thing. The best tunes are played on the oldest fiddles.”

 “God enters by a private door into every individual.”

“Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.”

 “Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist.”

 md68what-lies-behind-us-ralph-waldo-emerson-posters

 

 m135finish-each-day-ralph-waldo-emerson-posters1

I adore this scene from the movie, “As good as it gets”…

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Friday inspiration

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 14, 2008

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.  Flashback entries are woven into the mix.”

* All poems included here were written by Mozziestar and are protected under copyright law.

 

My mind still plays with
the silver memory of that evening;
I recall how the passion of your darkness
devoured my intellect
and with such precision,
your mouth delicately shaped each word
into a lasting impression.
I remember trembling
as my soul overflowed with you,
and feeling warm as the sun
set on our shoulders.

 —————————————-

I’m struggling to recall
the precise moment that I fell in love with you,
and I’m not certain, but,
I think it was somewhere around the time
when you were fantasizing about her. 
That makes sense.

—————————————-

Intimacy
is such a devil’s game
of haves and have-nots;
Perhaps a more skillful player
would rely on instinct rather than judgment
to guide the course of one’s actions.
Truly, a devil’s game
with such a thin line drawn
between love
and hate.

—————————————-

Separate
we comprise insanity,
but together,
we’d define perfection
if you would only open your eyes
and let us happen.

 

“When God leads you to the edge of a cliff, trust Him fully and let go. Only one of two things will happen: He’ll either catch you when you fall, or He’ll teach you how to fly. Oh, the power in one sentence! He will shift things around and let things work out in your favor. Life may close a door that no man can open, but God opens doors no man can close.”

– Anonymous

bird

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Mozziestar Flashback Entry, Year: 2000

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 13, 2008

3pm:  I have two tickets to see one of my favorite bands, Apoptygma Berzerk, that evening but am without a date.  I’m in the process of divorcing my cheating husband #1, so my original plan of the two of us going to the concert together is now completely out of the question.  Scrambling around at the last minute, I decide to call in a big favor and phone my older brother to see if he’s feeling graciously dangerous.  After pleading with him for a bit, he decides to ‘show me the love’ and agrees to accompany me to the concert.  In order to understand this magnificent feat, I’ll relay some background information.  My older brother is very conservative and colors within the lines.  We are on opposite poles of the personality spectrum, but both have a love for music coursing through our veins.  Naturally, my taste in music is anything but popular with most and his is more traditionally safe.  Realizing this, I know what an extraordinary act of kindness he is bestowing upon me by agreeing to see Apoptygma Berzerk (APB) that evening.  APB is a cutting-edge, electronic band with thoughtful lyrics.  They tend to attract fans that keep step to the beat of a different drummer.  I am one of those people, in case you are just tuning in.

6pm:  I arrive at my brother’s house to begin our trip downtown for an evening I’ve been anticipating for months.  My brother greets me at the door, decked in his Izod shirt and khackis, sighs, and rolls his eyes at my attire.  To quote Depeche Mode, “She’s dressed in black again and I’m falling down again. But, oh what can you do when she’s dressed in black?”  My sis-in-law, a sweet and loveable wife and mother, chuckles before bidding us farewell.  My brother says, “Great.  We’re off to see Tigger goes berzerk.”  I playfully punch him in the arm and issue a ‘hardee harr harr.’

6:45pm:  We arrive at the concert venue, The Masquerade, and stand in line with the other oddballs as we wait for the doors to open.  I tend to blend in among this crowd, but my sweet brother stands out like a sore thumb.  He begins to fidget uncomfortably and says, “I’m gonna get killed here tonight, aren’t I?”  I laugh in response and say, “Well, I might have given some thought to the khakis, but I think you will manage just fine.”

7:15pm:  We make our way inside and begin to navigate our path to the concert hall.  If you’ve never been to The Masquerade, there are three levels: Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.  Heaven is the concert hall, Purgatory is the dancing floor, and Hell is the bar.  Talk about pure marketing genius!  They should have hired me, though I couldn’t have done a more bang-up job myself.  We decide to find a table and relax while the opening act warms up to perform.  My brother is squirming in his seat and says, “Um, yeah.  I’m gonna go get a pitcher of beer, ok?”  I smile and nod in return, silently ingesting the glorious atmosphere engulfing me. 

9:15pm:  Two hours have elapsed and my brother has successfully consumed three pitchers of beer.  I have no problem with this, realizing that everyone needs to let loose every once in awhile, and realize that his ‘buzz’ will make the concert tolerable, at the very least.  APB takes the stage in a blaze of glory and I am moved to my feet, dancing and twirling in a dazy haze of smoke and incense.  My brother is nursing a beer, laughs quietly at me, but seems happy to see me enjoying myself after so many months of navigating stormy seas.

10:30pm:  APB takes a brief intermission to allow us to catch our breath before the second set.  I sit down next to my brother and take a swig of icy cold Bass Ale.  As we are talking, a beautiful girl approaches our table.  She looks at me and says, “Hi.  I just wanted to tell you that you have the most beautiful face, truly.  What kind of makeup do you use?”  I am touched by her kindness and we begin to chat, while my brother makes his way back to the bar for a refill.  While he’s away, she and I hit it off and she asks if maybe we can hang out sometimes.  When my brother returns, she briefly steps away to reconvene with her friends, and he has a concerned and perplexed look on his face.  I look at him and say, “What’s wrong?  You ok?”  He responds, “Geez, Mozzie, that girl is totally hitting on you.”  I cackle in disbelief and assure him that he is mistaken, but he continues to try and convince me.  I say, “Well, there’s only one way to find out.  I will ask her.”  My sweet older brother, a true pacifist by nature, looks like he’s in the first stage of cardiac arrest.  I motion for the pretty girl to come back to our table and she quickly returns without hesitation.  I say, “Hey, can I ask you something?”  She graciously nods in agreement and says, “Well, of course!”  I take a deep breath and respond, “Are you gay?  I tend to be oblivious to these things, so I just thought I’d ask.”  Lord, have mercy…my brother is about to launch out of his seat in embarrassment and fear at my boldness and direct line of questioning.  The girl grins sheepishly and says, “Yes, I am.  Aren’t you?”  I politely smile and respond, “No, hun.  I’m not.  Sorry.”  She purses her lips and says, “Hmm…my loss.”

12:30pm:  We make our way out to the car to begin the trek back home to surburbia.  My brother is relatively silent, leaving me to bask in the afterglow of my evening with APB.  I will never forget this night or this concert.  My brother walked on the razor’s edge, a pretty girl attempted to boldly go where no girl has gone before, and I made a lasting memory.  Not a bad way to spend an evening.

“Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory.” 

 ~ Oscar Wilde

“Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” 

 ~ Berthold Auerbach

“Kathy’s song” by Apoptygma Berzerk…

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We hate it when our friends become successful

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 12, 2008

Yesterday was a busy and emotionally draining day, but, I took a big step forward in the quest to reclaim my life.  My legal counsel says that given the circumstances of my case and my ‘bad’ husband, the process should be simpler and more expeditious than most.  Despite the approaching calamity, I do take comfort in that.  Thankfully, I have a sturdy umbrella of family and friends who support me in riding out the storm.

This morning, I paid a visit to my former office to sign several documents releasing my whopping two-week severance package.  The office had an eerie silence and is nearly vacant now, having laid off the majority of the people who were doing all the work.  After my obligatory meeting with HR, I begin to make my way down the hallway to the exit.  Predictably as ever, ‘Deer in headlights’ spots me and runs up to throw her unwelcomed hug around my shoulders.  She says, “OMG.  It’s SOOO good to see you!  You have no idea how much we all miss you.  How’s it going?  Good?”  I manage to repress my utter disgust with her false concern and politely respond, “Things are good.  I am hanging in there, thanks.”  She stares at me, obviously dazed and confused, expecting me to share my sob story and personal tragedy with her.  I am a private person by nature, yet despite this, I would never give her the pleasure of knowing any personal details of my life.  Even if I did tell her, she would require Cliffs Notes to decipher the meaning.

Almost to a clear getaway, ‘Old Mother Hubbard’ sees me in the hallway and rushes up to greet me.  I almost don’t recognize her at first glance.  In my absence, she has undergone an extreme makeover and looks fantastic.  I hug her and compliment her on her newly transformed look, and she smiles from ear to ear.  Bless her heart.  In her case, the lights are on, but no one’s home.  Despite this, she is a kind-hearted woman and with the help of a beautician, is now ‘Sixty and Smokin’ too.

Before departing, I peek into ‘Mack the Knife’s’ office for a surprise visit.  He is naturally happy to see me, as he is now left alone to navigate the shark-invested office waters.  We talk for a bit and he tells me, “Boy, do I have some stories to tell you.  Maybe we can meet for lunch next week?”  I graciously accept his invitation and tell him that I will be certain to bring my notepad and pen to gather writing material.  Thankfully, I am not part of that office environment anymore, however, I do keep in contact with the few there who are genuine comrades.  As Morrissey says, “Hold on to your friends.”

As I make my way to the elevator and say goodbye to my pregnant ex-coworker, ‘The Stomping Bean’ passes us in the corridor.  He has an annoyed look on his face, most likely due to my presence there, but says hello before he enters the men’s restroom.  I sigh at his blatant disrespect and predictable lack of concern on my behalf.  As I walk out to my car and into the parking lot, a particular Morrissey song springs to mind, ‘We hate it when our friends become successful.’  So, on that note, I will leave you with Mozziestar’s slightly tweaked lyrical version of this classic song.  The video posted at the end of this entry is the actual song by Morrissey.

‘We hate it when our friends become successful’ (lyrics by Mozziestar)


”We hate it when our friends become successful.
Oh, look her clothes,
Now look at her face, it’s so old,
And such a crummy blog,
Well, it’s really laughable,
Ah hahahaha…
We hate it when our friends become successful,
And if she’s southern,
That makes it even worse now.
If we can destroy her,
You bet your life we will destroy her.
If we can hurt her, well, we may as well.
It’s really laughable,
Ah hahahaha…
They say, ‘it should have been me,
It could have been me.
Everybody knows, everybody says so.’
They say, ‘Oh, she has loads of talent,
So much talent,
More talent than we can stand.

Just read her blog…’
Ah hahahaha…”

Posted in "Bad Husband" Chronicles, Bad boss, Bad Husband, bad marriage, bad spouse, children, co-workers, Comic Wit, Difficult Spouse, Divorce, Dogs, family, friendship, Funny, Humor, Irony, kindness, laughter, Life, Love, Marriage, marriage problems, Morrissey, Office drama, office humor, office politics, Pets, poetry, relationships, sarcasm, Spouse, wives | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments »

Time marches on

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 11, 2008

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.  Flashback entries are woven into the mix.”

Today, I received an email from my 11th grade AP English teacher that I mentioned in the entry “Time stands still.”  I’ve posted the link to that entry below, in case you may have missed it.  Her email response is listed below the link.

https://mozziestar.wordpress.com/2008/10/24/time-stands-still/

“My goodness, Mozzie!  I am in tears as I read your fabulous writing.  I am glad that I waited until today to read your blog.  I needed to be uplifted – You saved my soul today.
Thank you, little angel.”

wh_a_great_teacher_takes_a_hand__2_

Posted in "Bad Husband" Chronicles, Bad boss, Bad Husband, bad marriage, bad spouse, children, co-workers, Comic Wit, Difficult Spouse, Divorce, Dogs, family, friendship, Funny, Humor, Irony, kindness, laughter, Life, Love, Marriage, marriage problems, Morrissey, Office drama, office humor, office politics, Pets, poetry, relationships, sarcasm, Spouse, wives | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Monday morning revelations

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 10, 2008

On Saturday evening, the husband’s youngest son (11 years young), phones him after six months of successfully avoiding his father.  The husband is stunned, as his last conversation with his son amounted to his son not wanting him in his life anymore.  His son is terribly bright, knowing that his dad is a worthless father and that he will never measure up to what a father should be.  Nevertheless, he’s still a young boy and believes in the goodness of hope.  I believe in it too.  As Tim Robbins’ character says in the movie ‘The Shawshank Redemption,’ “Hope is a good thing, perhaps the best of things, and a good thing never dies.”  I couldn’t agree more.

After talking a whopping ten minutes to his son, the husband promises him he will call him again tomorrow and arrange a time for them to see each other on Monday.  Later that evening, his son phones my cell and tells me how much he misses me.  He says, “I really wish I could see you too.  You are so nice.  You’re like the father I’ve never had.”  I am touched, but know I am not a replacement for an absent father, nor should I be.  I tell him how sweet he is and that I am always thinking of him.  He chuckles an innocent, childish laugh and says, “I love you” before hanging up.

Sunday arrives and the husband has been sleeping all day in his recliner.  I try to remain uninvolved in these matters, but I’m silently stewing knowing that the day is drawing to an end and the husband has yet to honor his promise to his son.  I kick the footrest on his recliner, waking him, and tell him to call his son.  He says, “Oh, thanks babe.  I almost forgot.”  I think to myself, ‘Yep.  Naturally and as predictably as ever.’

The husband tells his son that he will come and take him fishing at 10am on Monday morning and that they can spend the afternoon together.  Obviously, the little fella is excited at the notion of spending time with his dad and graciously accepts.  Monday morning arrives and I trot downstairs at 9:45 to find the husband on Mapquest trying to find directions to his ex-wife’s home.  I am infuriated that he’s procrastinated and now will be late to see his son, after making such a heartfelt promise to be there by 10am.  Realizing that he is a dumbass and incapable of deciphering exact directions, the husband phones his ex-wife and says, “Uh, damn.  Ya’ll sure do live far away. Can you tell me how to get there?”  Naturally, she is livid.  Once again, the husband has sloughed off and broken another promise.  I hear her voice gradually amplifying on the phone, while the husband tries to make excuses and shift the blame to her.  After a few minutes, she tells him to get his ass in gear and come see his son.  The husband shuffles out the front door, grumbling and issuing threats to her, and is on his backwards way.

Several minutes pass and his ex-wife phones me.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like most women or wives.  I’m not petty, I don’t place blame where it doesn’t belong, and I listen to all sides.  She and I have always gotten along because she knows I’m a good person and want only the best for her and her son.  She sees that in me and respects me for it.  I respect her for raising her son with little or no help from anyone else.  She deserves kudos for that.  I recommend to her that she steer clear of the husband as he is always looking for a scapegoat for his own failures and shortcomings.  She agrees and thanks me for being such a good person and for understanding.  I tell her I understand perfectly and always have.  We politely say goodbye, but before she hangs up, she says, “You know, Mozzie.  I always keep you in my prayers.  There’s a special place in heaven for people like you.”  I thank her for her kind words and respond, “Well, I believe there’s a place in heaven for everyone.  It’s just a matter of living up to it and not losing sight of your seat.”

So, what’s the moral of the story?  Always treat others the way you want to be treated.  In giving love, kindness, and respect, you shall also receive.

goldenrule1

And just to answer the burning question that so many of you have, yes, I am working steadily on removing the husband from my life.  I am pursuing all avenues and exhausting all resources.  Hopefully, this effort will be fulfilled sooner than later.  I will keep you posted…pinky swear. 😉

serenity-prayer

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Today was Sunday and Sundays are always bad

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 10, 2008

These are a few of my favorite poems by Peter McWilliams, a famous writer with whom I was fortunate enough to exchange emails before his death in 2000.  As a writer, there is nothing more rewarding than knowing that your words have touched the hearts and minds of others.  Fame and fortune are but secondary and tertiary, and often happen without desire or ambition.  Below is a brief excerpt of Peter’s philosophy on ‘creative things.’  In a nutshell, he believed they are to be shared.  I hope to follow in his footsteps, and in doing so, celebrate his contributions.

“Creativity stimulates the creators and entertains everybody else. The vast majority of people need to be entertained. God bless them every one. Creative people, however, need to be stimulated, inspired, nudged, cross-pollinated, and occasionally kicked in the ass. Art both entertains and inspires at the same time.

These are your poems.  I only wrote them down.”

– Peter McWilliams

Although my
nature is not to
live by day,
I cannot
tolerate another
night like this.
So,
I will wake up
early
tomorrow morning and
do do do
all day long,
falling asleep
exhausted tomorrow
early evening,
too tired
even for
nightmares.

_________________________

I’d have a nervous breakdown,
only
I’ve been through
this too many
times to be
nervous.

_________________________

This season is called
Fall
because everything
nature builds
all summer long
falls
apart.
Like our love.

_________________________

She asked me if seeing
you was a drain.
Seeing you is not a drain.
It’s a sewer.

 

In Memoriam…

 

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A cackle a day keeps the grumpy away

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 9, 2008

Your daily dosage of all-temperature cheer…Enjoy and keep shining! 🙂

Posted in "Bad Husband" Chronicles, Bad boss, Bad Husband, bad marriage, bad spouse, children, co-workers, Comic Wit, Difficult Spouse, Divorce, Dogs, family, friendship, Funny, Humor, Irony, kindness, laughter, Life, Love, Marriage, marriage problems, Morrissey, Office drama, office humor, office politics, Pets, poetry, relationships, sarcasm, Spouse, wives | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

What is the nicest thing you’ve done lately?

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 8, 2008

kindness

I’ve temporarily shelved my “Instigator” cap and have switched gears.  Today’s challenge: “What is the nicest thing you’ve done recently either for a loved one or a stranger?”  This doesn’t have to be an enormous thing.  In fact, often the kindest gestures arrive in small packages.

As Morrissey says, “Such a little thing, a fumbling politeness; Oh, the difference saved me.”

Please share your random acts of kindness in the “Comments” section below.

Hold on to your friends,

Mozziestar  🙂

“Such a little thing makes a big difference” by Morrissey…

My favorite scene from the movie “While you were sleeping.”  Fast foward to 7:50 on the clip

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Come out and play, readers!

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 7, 2008

revenge1

So, I’m thinking since it is Friday and we all have our minds on anything but work, let’s sit around the campfire and share stories.  I’ve got my “Instigator” cap on.

I want to know, “What is the most classic thing you’ve ever done to get back at an Ex or spouse?”  I’ve got some hilarious stories of my own, but I want to hear yours!  So, post your stories under “Comments” here and fire away.  Your identity is completely private and email is not required.  I know you all still have some tart to go with your smart.  I double-dog dare you to show it!  🙂

Facebook readers:  Please leave your comments/contributions directly on the blog so everyone can enjoy them.

Let the good times roll!

Morrissey was right.  “Most people keep their brains between their legs.”  Check it out…

BUSTED on Craigslist!

billboard

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TGIF humor

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 7, 2008

These are a few of my favorite clips on YouTube.  Enjoy and happy weekend to all.  Make it count!  🙂

Children…don’t ya just love them?

God bless all the puppies and kitties of the world!

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Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 6, 2008

6am:  I roll over in bed, shout out my predictable ‘Oh, my back!’ and let out an enormous sigh.  Given that my dog has been my love and companion for eleven years now, he’s learned to decipher my words and body language.  A sigh or a groan signals, ‘Immediately go to the mama’s side to assess the situation.’  I do love him for that.  Unsolicited morning lovin’ from a snaggled-toothed puppy is my favorite way to start the day.  He plops down beside me in the bed, lays his head on my pillow, and stretches his paw across my chest.  If God has a place for animals in heaven, my sweet little dog will be sitting at his right hand.

7am:  I enter the bathroom, splash cool water on my ever-aging face, and think about last night’s dream.  This is (at least) the third episode of this bizarre and inexplicable episode.  It’s always the same:  I’m somewhere random, either talking to someone or by myself, and I keep trying to pull gum out of my mouth.  I tug at the gum and keep pulling it, but there is no end in sight.  It’s like an endless ball of yarn that knows no end.  Being a frequent user of Xanax, I realize that bizarre and off the wall dreams are a common side effect. However, I do find it perplexing that this particular dream appears to be in syndication.  So, being the ‘Google Noodle’ that I am, I hop online to consult The Dream Dictionary Doctors at www.dreammoods.com. 

“Gum”
To dream that you are chewing gum, suggests that you are unable to express yourself effectively. You may feel vulnerable. Alternatively, is symbolizes a sticky situation that you found yourself in. To dream that you are unable to get rid of your gum, suggests that you are experiencing some indecision, powerlessness or frustration. You may lack understanding in a situation or find that a current problem is overwhelming.

Wow.  These guys either work for the Big JC or for Dionne Warwick and her Psychic Friends Network.  Once again, I contemplate what the Dream Dictionary Doctors would say about my reoccurring night terror.

“Dear Mozzie, thank you for consulting The Dream Dictionary to better identify the meaning and cause of your reoccurring gum nightmare.  We recommend that you switch to Big League Chew, preferably grape flavored, to rectify this problem.  If the problem does not cease, as we are inclined to believe in your case, please contact your closest mental health facility.   We feel confident that you are either a nutzoid, a schitzoid or an android.  Best wishes for your lifelong recovery, The Dream Dictionary Doctors.”

1pm:  I’ve retreated upstairs in hopes of achieving a nap to ease my three-day migraine.  I enter my bedroom, anxious to fall face first into my flannel sheets, when I notice that the husband dumped the clean laundry from the dryer on to my bed.  I remember now that the husband offered to “help” with the laundry the evening prior, and obviously didn’t have the abundant energy required to fold the load once it was finished.  I sigh, knowing my dream of napping is once again postponed, and begin folding the laundry.  Upon further investigation, I notice that the clothes from this load are all colors and varieties.  I realize now that the husband didn’t take the time to separate the lights from the darks and instead, threw them all into the washer for a tumbler rumbler.  After folding the first few garments, it appears that everything is unscathed.  By the fourth piece of laundry, my favorite pink towel, I notice what appears to be either red ink or blood stains all over it.  I peer in closer to assess the damage and surmise that the husband’s crimson red shirt faded all over my favorite pink towel.  I begin to grit my teeth in a deadlock and contemplate how quickly arsenic can be absorbed into a Coors Light.  I stomp downstairs to confront the husband and he is snoring like a zombie in his recliner.  Undoubtedly, washing one load of laundry exhausted his capabilities, and most of all, his common sense.

3pm:  I receive a phone call from my now former co-worker, ‘Mack the Knife.’  We talk frequently still, perhaps every other day or so, and I worry about his survival in the office that nearly took my sanity before it took my job.  He tells me he’s had bronchitis for three weeks now, obviously not helped by working twelve hour days in the sweat shop there, and now he has developed pneumonia.  I gasp and my heart goes out to him, knowing he is alone there without any voice of reason or comfort after so many people were unmercifully given the ax.  I share with him my idea about perhaps pursuing a teaching career now that I am once again unemployed, and he is not surprised.

‘Mack the Knife’s’ response is similar to what my best friend told me a few days ago.  My BFF said, “Mozzie, think about it.  Where has your corporate career gotten you?  Years of busting your ass, working harder and longer than everyone else, only to get kicked to the unemployment curb time and time again?”

I think that he is right about that.  When life closes a door (or two or three or four), somewhere God opens a window.  The trick is to notice that ray of light before darkness falls. That is my plan; that is my goal.

towel

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Where there’s a will, there’s a ‘weigh’

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 5, 2008

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.  Flashback entries are woven into the mix.”

7am:  The dog has to poop and his circling around my bed to alert the media.  Given that I am his favorite journalist, I spring into action and head downstairs.  The husband left me a love note, stuck to my coffee pot, where he knows I am usually first to visit in the morning.  “Hey babe, would you make sure to get me up at 9am?  I have to go to work tomorrow, so make sure I’m up, k?”  Aww, isn’t that sweet? 

8am:  It’s time to wake the sleeping giant and I pause to consider my tactic.  I look over at the dog and begin to plot my revenge.  I issue my command to my obedient pup, “Hey, go see the Daddy!  Go see him!”  Like lightening from the sky, the dog bolts up the stairs and I hear a loud ‘thump’ as he catapults directly on top of the husband.  I begin to chuckle imagining the husband’s grumpy face upstairs and then I hear him say, “Damn, puppy.  I was asleep.  Whatchu want, huh?” 

9am:  The husband meanders downstairs, places his behind predictably in the recliner, and begins moaning about how hungry he is.  I am in the middle of responding to a text message from Mom who always checks in each morning to make sure I am alive and kicking.  Suddenly, mid-text, I receive an incoming text message from the husband, who is sitting a foot away from me in his recliner.  It reads, “Hey babe.  Since everyone else gets to text you, can I?  Love U.  Sure would like some of your flapjacks.”  Awesome.  Not only does the husband invade my physical and emotional space daily, now he has invaded my cyber space.  That is just WRONG on so many levels.

10am:  The husband is prepared for his departure to work and is thoughtful enough to quickly apprise me of the status of our collapsing economy and impending Armageddon.  I sigh, give him my obligatory ‘I hear ya’ nod and begin to push him out the front door.  Before he makes his way into the driveway, he says, “Oh yeah.  I saw that Petco is hiring.  You should definitely apply there since you love animals so much, k?”  I struggle to contain the ‘I’m gonna git you sucka’ look on my face and send him packing.  I think to myself, ‘Pet this!’ and give the husband the bird while he is driving away.

  petthis

5pm:  The parental units call and ask if I would like to meet for supper.  I happily agree and we decide to go for Mexican.  I’m hoping not to see any familiar faces as I look like a bowl of warmed over, lumpy oatmeal.  We scoot in the booth, order drinks and cheese dip, and begin sharing our day’s experiences.  I am struggling to hear Mom, as she is a soft-spoken Southern belle and ‘La Bamba’ is blaring over the restaurant speakers.  I ask her to speak up, which she does, and then an elderly gentleman in the booth adjacent to ours begins an hour-long coughing spell.  At first, I think to myself, “Maybe it’s just a chip that got stuck or he swallowed his soda too quickly?”  After twenty minutes of his endless coughing and hacking, I realize he’s not likely to let up.  According to the FDA, eating dinner with a side of emphysema is always a tasty and healthy addition to any meal.

12am:  I head upstairs to retreat into my bed and decide to step on the scale.  Granted, this is an activity I enjoy about once a year, usually around the time of my favorite trip to the female doctor.  I’ve noticed lately that my britches are looser than normal, so I figure I might as well check it out.  I step aboard, balance myself, and peer down in disbelief.  I have lost ten pounds!  Wow, starvation really works.  I give myself a ‘thatta girl’ pat on the back and reward myself with a Hershey’s miniature.  Like me, it’s full of sugar and spice and everything nice.

sugar_spice_and_everything_nice1

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Now showing at Mozzie’s pad

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 5, 2008

Mozzie’s evening movie line-up.  Bring the popcorn…extra butter!

6pm:  “Reality Bites”

 

8pm:  “The Groomsmen”

 

10pm:  “Gas, Food, Lodging”

 

12am:  “The Way We Were”

 

2am:  Web research: “How to become certified to teach.”  (I keep hearing that I’d apparently make a fantastic teacher.  Hmm….)

logo

4am:

sleep


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Tuesday morning poetry

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 4, 2008

* All poems below were written by Mozziestar and are protected under copyright law. 

“Do not disturb”

 

I think I need a vacation.

More than a day or two,

or even a week,

but truly, a vacation.

A time to reflect on

the promise of tomorrow

and shelve away past regrets

and present sacrifices;

If only I could find such a place of peace,

(if such a place exists)

I would pack my bags

and leave nothing behind,

not even a forwarding address.

 

——————————————————-

 

“For Toni”

Your ghost paid me a visit today;

I was haunted by each move the stranger made,

reminding me so much of you that I wept

until my heart ached.

I fought the urge to reach out and grab her,

to reclaim a memory lost but not forgotten;

The tears flowed and I wept,

realizing once again,

that the girl I loved

was gone.

 

——————————————————-

 

I believe that God gave us children

to remind us that despite

the hateful nature of adulthood,

there was once something beautiful

inside of us.

 

——————————————————-

 

I yearn

for intellectual

pollination.

 

——————————————————-

 

I’ve grown tired of playing

silly, childish games

so,

I’m throwing out my marbles,

my paper dolls,

and You.

 

——————————————————-

 

Here I am, alone,

buried under blankets

and dusty memories,

while you are somewhere

out there,

smiling with her

and replacing our memories

with new ones

 

 

  

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To err is human, to read is divine

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 3, 2008

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.  Flashback entries are woven into the mix.”

9am:  I’m up and about with all my Southern bells jingling.  I brew the coffee, let the dog out for his morning potty routine and contemplate the day’s agenda.  The husband has once again left a beautiful present for me in the kitchen sink.  At first, I thought the stench was the lingering smell of the husband’s late night culinary creation, but apparently, he was kind enough to leave his dishes in the sink for me as well.  So, imagine if you would, the most disgusting and nauseating dinner ever created.  Okay, now add eight hours and the stench of rotting garbage in the kitchen sink.  Mmm mmm, finger lickin’ good!

12pm:  I’ve spent over two hours sorting through automated job offers in my inbox and fanny fatigue has set in.  I rise, stretch my legs and attempt to get the blood circulating again in my left buttock.  I silently wonder, ‘If I can’t feel my butt, reckon it’s still there?  If numbness causes it to disappear, I will drive myself immediately to the ER and request a shot of morphine.’  I chuckle to myself and think about what Dad always says to me regarding my ‘Mozzie got back’ status.  He says, “Sister, if someone told you to haul ass, it would take two trips!”  Aww, thanks Dad.  Given that Dad always points out that his purpose in life is to “tote, haul, fetch, pay and wait,” I am happy that I fit into at least one of those categories.

2pm:  After unsuccessfully avoiding the husband for several hours, I decide to escape upstairs, away from the husband and his infinite tirades, and take a nap.  I curl up, place my ‘Who put the ‘M’ in Manchester?’ DVD in the DVD player and am lulled to sleep with Morrissey snugly beside me.  Ah, bliss at last.  Dearest Morrissey, if you are reading, “those alcoholic afternoons when we sat in your room, they meant more to me than any, any living thing on earth.  They had more worth than any living thing on earth.”  And even after spending twenty years on your trail, they still do…more than you could ever know.

7pm:  I decide to take a break from job hunting and submerge myself in the book that my brother’s girlfriend bought me during our vacation, “Best Poems of the English Language.”  Good heavens, where do I start with so many beautiful creations inside?  If you haven’t noticed, I adore poetry.  The heartfelt sentiment so rarely verbally communicated by the author, the secret meaning that each reader can derive, the lovely gift of language.  Poetry is such an undiscovered treasure by many; a beautiful gift with a treasure hidden inside.  Luckily, I am a tootsie-roll pop kind of girl.  It’s what’s on the inside that is the prize.

9pm:  I make my way downstairs for a glass of water and notice the husband is reading something other than the back of his eyelids.  Overwhelmed with curiosity, I lean over his shoulder to sneak a peek at his compelling reading material.  After reading the title, I make my way back upstairs as quickly as possible, knowing that LMAO directly in his face might not be the best idea.  So, for your amusement, I’ve included two photos below.  The first is what’s currently showing on my recommended reading list.  The second photo…well, I’ll let you find out for yourself!

Photo 1:

Photo 2:

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A magic carpet ride to 1984

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 2, 2008

I’ve often been told that in each of us, God places a special and unique talent; A distinctive seed that is planted in childhood and is up to us to fertilize and allow to blossom.  My gift is the ability to transcribe my thoughts and feelings into the written word.  That gift has always been nestled deep inside me, even as a child just beginning to find her own voice in the world.

 

Yesterday afternoon, I visited my parental units and spent several hours rummaging through their basement and unearthing personal things of mine that I have not seen in 25 years.  Even as a child, I managed to save nearly everything that I thought might be meaningful to me years later.  Digging through these dusty boxes, I found my first writing samples which began when I was only ten years old.  I’ve decided to include two of those samples here, the first of which was a classroom writing assignment entitled, “Future Me: Describe what you think your life might be like in the year 2008 when you are 35.”  The second sample is a poem I wrote when I was ten years old, entitled “Springtime.”

 

The irony of finding these ancient relics now, at 35 years old, is a bit remarkable.  I wrote these pieces when I was just a child.

 

“Future Me”

May 31, 1984

 

If someone were to ask me what I would like my life to be like when I’m 35, this is what I’d say.  I would be married to a very nice, successful and handsome husband, and I would have three healthy children.  I would have two boys named Christopher and Matthew and one girl named Stephanie.  I would also be a part-writer and a part-homemaker.  In my spare time, I would dedicate my duties to shopping or something more exciting than staying at home and listening to my kids argue.  But, once in awhile, my husband and I would need some time alone and we might go out to supper together.  I think I will drive a small car, maybe even a convertible.  I haven’t really decided yet.  Well, this is sort of how I’d like my life to be in the future.

Teacher’s note:  “You have an amazing gift.  I hope you never forget it.”

 

“Springtime”

 

The time has come again

To see the pretty flowers of red and pink,

and to smell the lovely smells of spring.

The gentle breeze in the trees,

The children playing in the bright, green grass,

The warm weather and beautiful sunshine;

The birds are chirping in the hazy blue sky,

The bees are buzzing once again

I can taste the fresh, mouthwatering strawberries;

Spring is fun, fun, fun!

       

 

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Sell “crazy” somewhere else. We’re all stocked up here.

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 1, 2008

3am:  I am in the middle of the most bizarre dream where I am back at my office, but wearing no pants.  Now that I’m awake and heading downstairs, I fasten my ‘Google Noodle’ hat and decide to try and figure out what this dream could possibly mean.  One of my favorite websites on dream interpretation is http://www.dreammoods.com.  I find it very entertaining and somewhat insightful; however, the most fascinating aspect of it is that someone actually gets paid to determine these meanings and interpretations.  Talk about a “fun” job…sign me up!

So, here is what I was able to find regarding my dream:

 

“I’m Naked!”

So you are going about your normal routine – going to work, waiting for the bus, or just walking down the street when you suddenly realize that you are stark naked. Dreaming that you are completely or partially naked is very common. Nudity symbolizes a variety of things depending on your real life situation.

Becoming mortified at the realization that you are walking around naked in public, is often a reflection of your vulnerability or shamefulness. You may be hiding something and are afraid that others can nevertheless see right through you. Metaphorically clothes are a means of concealment. With clothes, you can hide your identity or be someone else. But without them, everything is hanging out for all to see. You are left without any defenses. The dream may be telling you that you are trying to be something that you really are not. Or that you are fearful of being ridiculed and disgraced. If you are in a new relationship, you may have some fears or apprehension in revealing your true feelings.

Nudity also symbolizes being caught off guard. Finding yourself naked at work or in a classroom, suggests that you are unprepared for a project at work or school. You may be uninformed in making a well-formed decision. With all eyes on you, you have this fear of having some deed brought to public attention. You fear that people will see through your true self and you will be exposed as a fraud or a phony.

Many times, when you realize that you are naked in your dream, no one else seems to notice. Everyone else in the dream is going about their business without giving a second look at your nakedness. This implies that your fears are unfounded; no one will notice except you. You may be magnifying the situation and making an issue of nothing. On the other hand, such dreams may mean your desire (or failure) to get noticed.

For a small percentage of you, dreaming that you are proud of your nakedness and show no embarrassment or shame, then it symbolizes your unrestricted freedom. You have nothing to hide and are proud of whom you are. The dream is about a new sense of honesty, openness, and a carefree nature.

Rock on!  So, according to this compelling description, I’m either vulnerable, shameful or concerned that someone will discover I am a phony.  Perhaps I should click on the ‘Contact us with comments or suggestions’ button and send them a note requesting a psychiatrist’s referral.   I can only imagine their response:  “Dear Mozzie, thank you for contacting us.  Enclosed is an emergency referral to your closest mental health facility.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect $200.  Best wishes for your lifelong recovery, The Dream Dictionary Doctors.”

 

9am:  I’m busy surfing internet job postings when I receive a text message on my cell from the one and only, ‘Countess of Wedgewood.’  It reads, “Hey Anigo, what would you do if I knocked you in the head?  Love ya!  The Countess.”  And the family says I am the instigating black sheep of the family?  Well, naturally!  I scratch my head and think, “Things that make you go, Hmmm…”

 

1pm:  The husband finally rises from his coma and stumbles downstairs.  Given that I have been up most of the night and morning as usual, I feel the need to grab a power nap to recharge my battery.  I pass the husband on the way upstairs and tell him that “I’m really tired and just need to rest for a little while, k?”  He nods, which I interpret as an acknowledgement of this statement, and we go our separate ways.

 

1:20pm:  I’ve managed to reach that blissful state of pre-slumber where you are nearly to the REM stage, but still aware of distant sounds in your surrounding.  I sigh, snuggle down and then hear the faint sound of the husband beckoning from his recliner downstairs.  After a few minutes of successfully ignoring him, I realize that this could go on for hours.  I begrudgingly rise from my bed, stand at the top of the stairs, and say, “Yes?  Did you need something?!”  The husband responds, “Yeah.  Could you come down here for a minute?  I need to mail something.”  So, I drag my lazy bones down the stairs and stand in front of the husband to assess his apparent emergency.  He says, “Hey, babe.  Did you have a good nap?  Do you think one stamp is enough for a letter?”  I grit my teeth and answer the husband, all the while knowing why I am now completely aware of why so many homicides are committed by ‘loved ones.’

        

 

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Saturday morning poetry: It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 1, 2008

* All poems below were written by Mozziestar and are protected under copyright law.  Please enjoy and always remember:

  

 

 

  

 

Your memory

evokes smiles and tears,

as I daydream

about where you are sitting;

I close my eyes

and taste your lingering presence

so sweetly

stained upon my lips;

I smile again, when afternoon comes,

remembering how

you are

wonderful

 

—————————–

 

I

love

our

Togetherness

 

—————————–

 

“My loving lament”

 

I miss you in my bed;

The softness around

the back of your neck,

the curve of your shoulder,

the warmth of our security.

When you’re gone,

this bed is so empty

that even our memories

aren’t enough

to fill the space

 

—————————–

 

“Tidbit”

 

Laughter is like penicillin;

It relieves the pain

and prevents the spread

of further infection.

 

—————————–

 

As our arms meet and brush together,

our palms reunite in a hug;

It is the sweetness of this affection

that fuels the promise

of our tomorrows.

  

 

To dream the impossible dream….

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Floridian vacation entry: October 2008

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 31, 2008

Given that I got a bit sidetracked when I returned home from vacation by getting canned at the office, I never had the opportunity to share my favorite story from my vacation two weeks ago.  Enjoy…

2am:  I awake to a raging fire of indigestion.  I sit up, stumble blindly into the bathroom, and notice my ‘Wondertwin’ brother is still up reading in the living room of the condo and his girlfriend is asleep on the sofa.  Being completely disoriented, I say, “What in the world are you still doing awake?  Have you been up all night?!”  He stares at me, now holding my chest while trying to douse the flames of my heartburn, and responds, “WTH?  It’s only 2am.  Did you think it was morning already?  What have you been doing in there?  Is it not just you in the bedroom right now?!  It sounds like thirty people at a bar fight.”  See what happens when you forget to take your Xanax before saying ‘night night?’

6am:  Realizing that I am completely institutionalized from my normal ‘Groundhog day’ routine at home, I awake at the crack of dawn despite the fact that I’m on vacation.  I brew the coffee, grab my iPod, and head out to the patio and watch the sunrise over the beach.  This morning, only Enya will suffice for my morning tribute to sunrise appreciation.

 

8am:  I’ve been sitting on the patio for two hours now when I hear a noise five stories below from the hot tub area.  I lean over the railing, peer down, and see a large fella in the hot tub drinking what appears to be, a Bloody Mary.  Out of the blue, he notices me looking down from my balcony and says, “Mornin’ sweetheart.  What’s for breakfast?”  I take a second before politely responding to him, all the while wondering, “How did the husband find me down here?!”

 

12pm:  My brother and his girlfriend begin their persuasive techniques in order to convince me to accompany them to the pool.  To try and explain why these techniques are necessary, please allow me to relate a little personal information.  When people are referring to themselves and say, “Yeah, I’m really pale and light skinned,” they have no idea what they are talking about.  Imagine Casper the friendly ghost, or someone with a moon tan, and you’ve got an accurate mental picture of me.  After even 40 minutes or less in the sun with sunscreen, I am still substantially cooked.  So, somewhat reluctantly, I agree to accompany them to the pool.  The three of us first decide before we make our departure, to have a few rounds of shooters before we go.  So, we start laughing and taking shots, and more shots, and then finally head down to the pool.  I apply two layers of 50 spf sunscreen on my body, lie back in the beach chair, adjust my iPod, and begin to drift away into lyrical bliss.

 

3pm:  I’ve applied four layers of 50 spf sunscreen in three hours and I’m beginning to feel the sizzle.  Not to mention, I’ve mustered up an incredible thirst, a bit of hunger, and the desire to keep my buzz.  I put on my t-shirt and shorts, temporarily bid farewell to my brother and his girlfriend, and make my way back upstairs to the condo for refreshments.  Once in the kitchen, I begin searching for a quick, easy and refreshing snack.  I open the fridge and notice a large plate of Jell-O shots sitting on the top rack that we made the night before.  Now, keep in mind, I have not had a Jell-O shot in nearly twenty years and am not much of a drinker now in my old age.  I pause for a moment, reach in, and remove the tray from the fridge.  I think to myself, ‘How much alcohol could they really have in them, anyways?’  I proceed to pop one into my mouth, savoring the fruity flavor of tangerine, and lick my lips in satisfaction.  ‘Wow, these are so good.  I don’t even taste any Vodka in these.  A couple more won’t hurt.’ 

 

3:45pm:  I stare down at the once full plate of tangerine Jell-O shots and notice that I have consumed the entire plate of twenty or more shots in under an hour.  I couldn’t help myself, really.  I was only going to have one, but they were so magically delicious, that I couldn’t stop.

 

5pm:  My brother and his girlfriend arrive back at the condo after their afternoon sunning by the pool.  I work diligently to compose myself and my behavior, feeling the full impact of 20 Jell-O shots hitting me like a freight train.  My brother opens the fridge and says, “WTH?  What happened to all of the Jell-O shots?”  I quickly try and cover my guilty tracks.  I respond, “Gee, maybe the cleaning crew accidentally threw them out earlier today?”  Knowing me all too well, my brother glances over at the trash can and sees a mountain of tiny, empty paper cups filling the trash can.  He says, “You have got to be kidding me.  You ate ALL of the Jell-O shots?  How is that possible?  Are you crazy?”  I attempt to defend myself by explaining again how they were so magically delicious, but he’s not terribly amused…at least, not yet.

 

9pm:  We decide that we are hungry and my brother orders several pizzas for delivery.  Papa John’s arrives and we all help ourselves to the feast (apparently, some more than others).  When my brother returns for his second round, he notices that most of the pizza is gone.  Naturally, he looks my direction as I am nearly always the guilty party.  I say, “I think I had two, maybe three pieces.  I can’t remember.”

 

11pm:  The complete and irreversible effects of pre-pool Rum shots, post-pool Vodka Jell-O shots, and a handful of beers in between is now upon me.  I am rolling and cackling with laughter and silliness.  I enter my bedroom and can’t stop giggling.  My brother and his girlfriend enter and are sufficiently entertained by my current state.  My brother lies down on the bed and I proceed to belly flop on top of him.  His girlfriend is nearly peeing in her pants at this, watching me slam on top of him and him gasping and struggling for air.  I roll off the bed onto the floor and proclaim, “Woo hoo!!! (*ROFL*)  Dude, I had five pieces of pizza, two containers of garlic butter, a two-liter of Fanta and a plate of Jell-O shots!!  And I wasn’t even hungry!!!”

 

           

 

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Friday morning poetry (a tad bit different than usual)

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 31, 2008

I selected today’s poetry with several people in mind.  First and foremost, for a special friend of mine whose mother is currently fighting for her life.  Secondly, for an elderly couple who were attacked in their rural Mississippi home several days ago and are now in critical condition.  Dear friends, my thoughts and prayers are with you and your families.

“The Lord Bless You and Keep You”

(from Numbers 6:24-26)

 

The Lord bless you and keep you;

The Lord lift His countenance upon you,

and give you peace,

and give you peace;

The Lord make His face to shine upon you,

and be gracious unto you;

And be gracious,

The Lord be gracious,

gracious into you. 

 

“Thanatopsis”

by William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan which moves

To that mysterious realm where each shall take

His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain’d and soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

 

“Because I could not stop for Death”

by Emily Dickinson (1830 –1886)

 

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, be passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

Aging”

by Mozziestar

 

Standing in the corner is an elderly man;

his face drenched in wrinkles

not only of worry, but experience.

His eyes are tired and drooped,

as gray as the rainstorm outside,

and as he moves each leg,

I sense his pain.

His every movement is slow and calculated,

while his voice crackles and sputters

when he attempts a single word.

Rather than struggle,

he stands silently in the corner

and stares at his shoes;

A burden to no one but himself.

 

“Unknown”

 by Mozziestar

I am a lost and forgotten soul.

I have few friends or family left to mourn me,

and I dwell in an unmarked grave.

I receive sympathy from an occasional

passer-by who may trod over my

surrounding earth and sacrifice a thought

to who I might have been.

But, that is all.

I can offer nothing now.

I can only wait here for God,

and hope that He might pay me a visit.

 

Prism”

 by Mozziestar

 the rose,

white,

with a thorn called

Life,

sucks up all the air

and

occupies the space

around

my

grave

* All poems included here, written by Mozziestar and others, are protected under copyright law.

“Asleep” by The Smiths…

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Hilarious email of the day, compliments of my ‘Wondertwin’ younger brother

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 31, 2008

Preface to email below:  My ‘Wondertwin’ younger brother works in IT.

“Hey Sis,

 

We had a power outage in the office this morning and all the morons here thought it was The Holocaust, Part Deux.  So, it has been great fun for the family all morning. (*sigh*) But, all of the cats have been herded back into their comfort zones, and we now have returned to our regularly scheduled programming.

 

Okay, so just imagine 40 people calling all at once just to tell you the power is off…  

 

Them:  “Holy crap, the lights are off!  What do I do???  I can’t see anything!  Will I lose data?!?!?!?  I need a cookie!!!  BTW, did I mention that the lights are all off?!?!?!”

 

Me: (*sigh*) “The lights, you say??!?!  Wow, thanks!  I thought the darkness was the sudden on-set of cataracts!  Phew, I’m so glad you called in with the hot tip.”

 

Then, some poor chica-boom lost it from the Marketing department.  She went totally nuts and they had to call 911 to get an ambulance to come get her.  We think she had a nervous breakdown or something.  She is a large woman and they said she just stood up and screamed out, “Lordy Lordy, take me!”  Then, she started getting in everyone’s face saying, “Whooooaaaa!  Oh Lord, take me!  Whooooaaaa,” with her eyes real wide.  (*sigh*)

 

So, wassup with you?”

 

 

 

 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

October 31, 2008

###

ATLANTA, GA – Mozziestar is now on Facebook.  Search for “Mozzie Startime” or mozziestar@gmail.com under “Find friends.”

 

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Mozziestar Flashback Entry, Year: 2007

Posted by mozziestarlet on October 31, 2008

A note from Mozziestar:  “New readers:  Many of you have stumbled upon my blog mid-story and are confused as to the order of events.  When you view the blog, the most current entries are on the main page.  I always write the blog one day after events in my life unfold, so hopefully that will clear up any confusion.  Please click on ‘Archives’ to begin with the first entry from September if you have just tuned in.  Flashback entries are woven into the mix.”

7am:  I enter the husband’s quarters to wake him to remind him that the cleaning lady is coming today and being in his birthday suit upon her arrival will undoubtedly make a lasting impression and add that extra pep in her step.

 

1pm:  The cleaning lady phones me at the office to confide that tiding up my house while avoiding the loaded weapons decorating our home truly gives her a feeling of security.  Once again, the husband has given another person a genuine feeling of comfort and ease.  I am thrilled that I can now, more than likely, look forward to cleaning the entire house in my ample free time.

 

6pm:  I’m two miles from my driveway and I get the added bonus of a 15 year-old driver running the red light at my intersection.  The sound of my car smashing into hers at 40 mph is heavenly music to my ears.  Teenage drivers with an inclination towards rebellion are always welcome during my drive home from the office.  I emerge slowly and carefully from the wreckage that was once my car and ask her if she is ok.  She fails to respond, as a phone call to her BFF always takes precedence over my whip-lash and lower back pain.

 

7pm:  The police arrive to take our statements and I am touched by the brutal honesty that my teenage comrade exudes as she tells the officer that she “had the green light at the intersection.”  Clearly, the word of a 15 year-old driver with a two-week old Learner’s Permit outweighs my twenty year clean driving record.

 

11pm:  I finally arrive home after my evening ordeal and wipe my tears away as I inspect my car.  Ironically, its current state of disrepair and wreckage mirrors my tattered emotional state.  I retire upstairs in hopes that Xanax and a dose of Morrissey can work magic.

 

3am:  I awake to the sound of my own groans and tender body aches as I’ve attempted to roll over in the bed.  I’m convinced that my chest is caving in because every breath hurts worse than the one before.  I rise, enter the bathroom, and flip on the light to take a closer look.  I raise my shirt to my chin only to find the most colorful display of black, blue and lavender bruises all over my neck and torso.  I look in the mirror and say to my reflection, “Wow…pretty.  If everybody loves Raymond, ya think everybody loves rainbows too?”

 

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