Monday, October 28, 2013

Poor, Poor, Pitiful She

Now, that's a hand-slap attributed to the insensitivity of The Offbeat Drummer and all her Blue Meanies. 

The definition of conjecture is "an opinion or conclusion formed on the basis of incomplete information."

After a conversation with an interested party last night, I've come to find out that Ms. Blog Stalker is not, in fact, as tough skinned and badass as the majority of the posse I know, and is going through "rough times." Rough times, Sister Sledge? I hold my head high (when I'm not suicidal, but I'm bipolar) and don't give a damn what people think of me.  I'm neither afraid nor give a damn about the criticism of the prose I compose on a regular basis, and who would think my blog is fictional to begin with? While I have a college degree in writing, I sucked at fiction writing. I think I got a C from the esteemed Robert Hellenga, best-selling author at Knox College. 

Whatever "story" which was presented to to the interested/involved party was pure conjecture. The ludicrous idea was suggested by this person, who's in the blog frequently, that I revert the blog, which is my running, rambling autobiography, into a work of fictitious "short stories." I listened to his rationale, and he made his case, but I just kind of "Uh huh'd" and "Mmm Hmm'd" my way through that part of the conversation. If I even attempted to all of a sudden say "This is a short story based on my imagination or recent events," at this point, nobody would believe me, because the vast majority of my reader base knows I tell nothing but the God's honest truth, which can be brutal and vulnerable at times. Is it risky to *not* write under a nom-de-plume?  Yes. Those who ask for pseudonyms or nicknames, I honor. Others who are bold enough and have nothing to hide from the universe, like me, use their real first names.

I've been hinging on a PhD or EdD in Creative Writing versus a PsyD doctorate in psychology once my masters is completed. I honestly would like to provide therapy, for which I'd be licensed, but a side gig as a college writing professor would make me very, very happy. Said contributor said I should I get that PhD in creative writing because it's my God given talent, just as we're all blessed with certain talents.(Ms. Blog Stalker is good with numbers but atrocious with English and vocabulary or intellectualism). I haven't outed anyone's libelous last name or real name who've requested. Should Ms. Blog Stalker require armchair therapy, I suggest she broach that with her friends or a real doctor, not this unlicensed psychologist. Otherwise, she's welcome to seek out my solicited advice, but it'll cost her $150 under the table to listen to her bitch for an hour.

The medical practice, remember, is deemed "Balderdash and Verities," which I borrowed from the late Harry Chapin, which essentially means what's truth and what's a lie. And trust me, there are plenty of crocodile tears and hurt feelings among the staff still working there, lies and covering one another's asses. Put simply, balderdash is bullshit & verities are the epitome of what's truthful. 

My friend's suggestion that I revamp "Rhythms" into a work of Lifetime TV movies is, the more I ponder it, ridiculous. Who would believe I'm fictitiously making this stuff up? Truly, as the cliche goes, the truth is stranger than fiction. My merry band of friends and family are what spice up my blog. To imply that it *was* fictitious or out of  purely my imagination would be non-authentic to  myself and what I write about. Nobody would believe me, certainly not the faithful readers, if I fictionalizaled stories of what has happened in mine or their lives, or that it was *good* fiction writing. 

At any rate, I've casted the perfect actress to play Ms. Blog Stalker, minus about 90 lbs and actually pretty, the inimitable Susan Lucci:

I'm irked more and more as the night progresses because this particular co-worker of Ms. BS, I believe, only heard her version of the story, which evidently he heard third-hand, so he has a one sided, crocodile tears "Andrea's harassing me!!!" Wah. When, as I said, I have proof that the site was accessed from B&D and the invasive and annoying texts weren't my instigation at quarter to five in the morning. He did't seem to care. At all. He has lost his mind, because he suggested that MS. BS and I actually have lunch to iron things out, but at least leave the Henchwoman out. No dice. She accessed me twice through home before I blocked her IP and that of her Henchwoman, yet released the office. I have nothing left to say. I'm a very busy grad student. I have moved on. There is literally no reason for our lives to intersect at this or any other juncture. 

"Rough times." Yes, we all go through them. Trust me that my illness has caused the worst of them, but I manage it as best I can But the strongest of us have the capacity, no matter how desperate things seem in the moment, to carry on. We don't cower and beg for alms of pity, and myself and most of my friends (and family) have been through far heavier shit and survived. The tenure at B&D almost literally killed me. Why would I want to relive that past, aside from making one lifelong friend?  I have no idea. She needs to grow a pair. All of this will make me a terrific therapist, no? This is how I'll end up:

But no, I've decided after pondering, that I'm not prefacing my blog entries, as "imaginative" they might be, as being stories of fiction, because they're actually things which happened to me or the people I care about. Perhaps a lesson of prose vs fiction is in order. I don't know. The verity is that I (pats back) am a good writer, most of the time. The balderdash would be making shit up you can't make shit up about. Literally.

So no, I'm not "harassing" your office staff. Like my friend Very said, Dr. Interested Party. They have an awful more to lose than I do. If you would take the time to read the emails I DO send, you might grasp that, since our propinquity has been askew, and spending time with me doesn't fit into your extremely busy schedule. 

Suffice it to say, while I was thanked for my card and token of extreme Miklasz family legacy, I didn't get the warm reaction I anticipated. Though atheist BMF was thanked profusely for his mass card, which was very thoughtful of him, especially given he was overseas and is an atheist, I got a chilly but acknowledged response for my gesture.

Ok, so what do I say next? This whole blog is a work of fiction? People please. I wouldn't insult your intelligence in such a fashion. Verily, that. Stop.


Very Moon said...

See, even Dr. Bob has it. Stop! Also, another top notch blog. Stop.

Andrea Miklasz said...

Stop it!

What are you, some kind of kook?


And that was an Ambiened out blog!

BMF said...

Oh boy. I know who you're referring to, and clearly he hasn't read the transcript of the blog; otherwise, he wouldn't be all over your cute butt about harassing his employees. Where does his alliance lie? With you, whom he's told he loves a dozen times, or with Arlene, who's a weak pussy who can initiate a bullshit conversation or with you? This is more complex than a Buzzcocks song and takes 58 times as long to figure out.

Kate's on spot per the other blog. You are a drama magnet. People wish they had the opportunity and magnetism you have surrounding you.

From what you told me, Arlene works tireless hours at the medical practice, then does a stint at a funeral home. How fucking exciting must THAT be?

"Rough times?" Sweetums, these assholes don't know rough times from their butts in a port-a-potty. But you succeed and turn it into awesomeness instead of a pity party.

Sure, sometimes you come across as feeling sorry for yourself, but you always spin it around where you come out the champ. So way to go, Girlfriend!

Now be a good girl, take your medicine and go to bed. We'll catch up in the middle of your night.

Love you tons and tons!

Kate said...

Thank you for the Mass card for my mother . I just got the card because I am in NY and my brother took his time sending it on to me. The same with Miguel's letter causing me to miss an important meeting.
Forget Hans and Frans. My mother is dead because my brother had her medical proxy. She had transferred it to me but the doctor never sent the document to me. My brother put her in hospice and they drugged her up wouldn't listen to anyone about how she was before she got an U.T.I. I was with her when she died. I was there when they washed her and I picked out the clothes she would wear. I dressed her in one of my best red dresses she loved. This is the woman who got married in black. No funeral , no memorial, nothing . Michael wouldn't allow a priest to come to the house when she asked for one.
After they took the body away ,they vultures arrived just as my mother had predicted to me about a month ago before she died. The Blast of Ignorance , along with The Hippo who gave you inaccurate and unsolicited advice and her mirror image daughter , started rifling through draws looking for priceless antiques. I yelled at Michael and he told them to stop. How crass can you get? Big Mike obviously does not understand Probate Court. If you ever need a focus group on an entire family suffering from Anti-Social Personality Disorder , I know where you can find one that is completely delusional.
That is a real problem. Your text mess buddy should get a life and stop being intimidated by you.

Very Moon said...

Dear BMF: These are just delicious lines, but I'm sure you knew that. If they were chocolate, they'd be some fancy Swiss shit that I have no hope of ever pronouncing.

"This is more complex than a Buzzcocks song and takes 58 times as long to figure out."

And, I COMPLETELY agree, I wanna know where the hell his allegiance actually lies. I totally get that he needs to run a practice, but come the hell on.

Also, this one: "Sweetums, these assholes don't know rough times from their butts in a port-a-potty."

As the kids used to say, no rest for the wicked!

BMF said...

Heh, thanks, Very.

By the way, I hope I didn't insult Rob about my funeral home comment. Rob's a funeral director. Arlene's a funeral babysitter. Big diff.

I guess I'm glad Dr. Devo appreciated the mass card, and I need Kate's address, Annie, but couldn't he show a little more emotion about what you so thoughtfully gave him....something you honestly could've kept for your your own grandchildren someday? I shouldn't call him a prick in his time of mourning, but, well, prick.

Kate, karma. They'll get theirs in due time. Besides, what's more priceless than any antiques in the house was that you got to spend that time with your mother, as difficult as it was. I am very sorry for your loss. xo

Andrea Miklasz said...

Kate, I can't believe there was no proper funeral or memorial service for your mother. That's ludicrous but typical if your siblings were in charge. Vultures indeed.

Rob Cheney said...

@bmf No offence taken and @Kate sorry for your loss and the way your siblings treated you.

Anonymous said...

I understand, Kate, that expeditious estate settlement is always the preferred route, but for your relatives (Andrea's told me all about them) to rifle through stuff as soon as the coroner pulled away is tacky, tacky, tacky. I have several siblings, and when our mom died, everyone played fairly and while she didn't have the magnitude of the estate I assume your family has, we acted like adults, regardless of the sibling hierarchy. Probate court isn't out of the realm of possibility if your family is nuts. You seem to be the only one with all her mental faculties in check. I'm so sorry this is happening to you right now; it's the last thing you need.

How's your new puppy? Andrea told me he's darn cute.

And Andrea, seriously I agree with BMF. Guy loves-loves you and he's siding with his fawning, breathless idiot office manager? Keep the peace in the office, sure, but again, THEY stalked YOU, no the other way around.

What does babysitting in a funeral home mean?

Andrea Miklasz said...

Arlene's like the night/weekend receptionist at the funeral home where she works. She doesn't embalm anyone or sell caskets or anything. She'd be the position that would report to Rob and do whatever he asked her to do.

Very Moon said...

I totally read that as "she doesn't embalm anyone or sell cupcakes."

Because hey, why not.

Andrea Miklasz said...

More funeral homes should have bake sales.