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Tuesday, March 8, 2016

I'm Done With No Fun And Anne DIMaio

The last few months of my life have not been the greatest. No, there are no health issues, thank the Fates, and for that I am grateful. 

I won't bore you with the details -- the days have been tedious and mind numbing to say the least and I am not giving them any more energy.  So there.

That said, I will mention (in a wry, dry and not very kind tone) something I learned to do very easily in this aforementioned period, which I will henceforth call the Era of Don't Bore Me With Downton Abbey I'm Sick of British Dramas. The number of people with whom I formerly surrounded myself has shrunk tremendously. It wasn't something I set out to do, but something which just happened as a result of the Era of Don't Bore Me With Downton Abbey I'm Sick of British Dramas.

I no longer deal with Passive Aggressive. I don't get it, I don't want to get it, I don't want to be around it. Frankly their behavior is truly dichotomous, way too much trouble to comprehend and ultimately making the whacked-out dual nature of Geminis seem much more appealing. 

I'm done with folks who crab about "negativity" in their lives. They activate my gag reflexes. You cannot have all "positivity" because that's not the way the world is made. Something inside you should run when you come across one of those "Happy! Happy! Happy!" birds who are all sunshine and light and chirping and flitting about the place. I tell you the Positivity People are hiding something sinister that will eventually explode out of them. So I say negative to positivity. I plan on introducing them to The Stinky Sewer People who routinely tear up the roads near my house.

I'm finished with people who make plans with you and then at the last possible minute bail out, usually with some illness like ebola or they found kudzu in their front yard or the New Year's Ball slid off its pole, rolled over three states and finally landed on top of their Buick. You get my drift the excuses are palpably false.

And I suppose I must write off those who don't like that I write about my life and probably include them in my scribblings. Here I say to them the holiest of all truths: if you don't want to be written about don't hang around with writers. We can't help ourselves. We are born to tell stories and if we get some wine into us we will probably share one or two of those stories. We might spin a yarn about how we think your brother is an insecure goon who secretly hates women and probably mistreated you when you were a kid. C'mon, you know it too -- but you won't say it. Apparently you can't let us do that for you, so you are next off the list. 

My Feet at Gulf Coast Hospital
Yeah, I was bored.

And finally, one more -- one which I will use the name of the actual person. Last year I got violently ill after eating oysters at a Bristol bistro before leaving on a Florida job hunting expedition. No sooner I reached Florida when I ended up in the hospital for three days -- turns out I had C-Difficile.  (It's nasty, you don't want to get it.) 

Meanwhile I had been staying with a friend of mine -- Anne DiMaio -- who wigged out completely as I lay on the gurney stabbed with an IV and trying to figure out why my insides were roiling and coiling with such venom. She really lost it -- went back to her house, got my suitcase and dumped it in the hospital lobby, telling me that I was on my own and then barrelled out the doorway of the hospital making enough of a scene that I had to explain it to the medics in charge.

Needless to say I didn't talk to her after that, and have not done so since -- and now put her in a blog where she will permanently reside as part of the era of Don't Bore Me With Downton Abbey I'm Sick of British Dramas and weird antics by former Marines.

I'm done with Anne DiMaio, I'm done with the others, and most of all, I'M DONE WITH NO FUN. Yes, I yelled it out. I haven't had a lot of fun lately and I'm going to make up for long time. If I see you out and about and invite you to join in, then you haven't been picked off like unwelcome lice from a kid's head.  So join me for some much needed R and R. 

All the rest of you I'll discreetly walk away from if I catch you staring at me at the grocery store, the gas station or any of those other places were are likely to run into each other. I'll nod my head, but that's about it.

Amen, and pass the butter because some of you are toast. 

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