More than 6 years I've been researching political movements and history. I've been reading books written in the late 1930's - to the 1970's in a sort of quest to understand history as it unfolded, through the eyes of people as they were experiencing it.
I'd had a quote about freedom from Rose Wilder Lane tucked in the quote book I created from quotes that struck me along the way as I read.
I knew Lane was the daughter of Laura Ingalls; however, I didn't know she was considered one of the "mothers" of the Libertarian party.
I started to read her book, The Discover of Freedom, yesterday, June 2. I was amazed at how my thoughts and feelings and ideas imitate Lane's - and yet, I'd had no idea she was such a political (and fiction writer) phenom.
This is what makes me sad about the years I spent doing mind numbing, soul crushing, things; parties, bars, movies, days spent lost watching TV shows (Ok, Friends was not really a loss because we all need a few breaks now and then), reading fiction - and in the last few years: getting hopelessly lost on Facebook (do I really need to spend 45 minutes looking at the 'wall' of people that are friends of friends?).
I keep working on a few different projects and have one major project that I keep refining, re-tuning. It is full of big ideas - big ideas that are very simple. I just wasn't sure how to whittle them down and explain them in relate-able language.
And then I stumbled on Rose Wilder Lane (who's quote had been with me for years, I simply did not seek out information on her nor the book it came from until now) and there was my answer.
No one has ever mentioned her in any of my research. I have Libertarian friends and her name has never surfaced.
How sad!
There were actually 3 women who gave the Libertarian party some street cred: Ayn Rand, Lane, and Isabel Paterson.
I feel finding Lane is the last push I need to wrap up the big project.
I felt I might be insane as I have a ton of binders filled with notes, thoughts, highlights from books, etc. I have notebooks filled with personal essays, and, indeed, blog posts - lots and lots of blog posts. But most of them are scattered (the blog posts) - because I'm easily distractable. Most of us are; we have different people, different hobbies, pulling us in all sorts of direction. It's easy to lose sight of the few things that are truly important.
I was thrilled to learn that Lane had filled over 84 notebooks with her writing at the time of her death (she died in 1968 (the same year I was born) at the age of 81).
Maybe I'm not so crazy after all. Distracted - yes. Quirky - absolutely. Insane? I hope not.
Friday, June 3, 2016
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Lindy West - Professional Victim Living in Hypocrite City
The following is a review of the book SHRILL by Lindy West (a WOEman). She is a perfect example of someone who believes MOXIE WON'T. Someone who uses excuses and makes a living being a victim. She is a divider, not a unit-er.
Lindy West is a Seattle-based writer, editor, and performer
whose work focuses on pop culture, social justice, humor, and body image. She's
currently a culture writer for GQ magazine and GQ.com and a weekly columnist at
The Guardian, as well as the founder and editor of I Believe You | It's Not
Your Fault, an advice blog for teens. In 2015 she wrote and recorded a story
for This American Life about confronting an Internet troll who impersonated her
dead father. She also was listed as "Internet's Most Fascinating of
2015" by Cosmopolitan.com, and helped launch the viral #ShoutYourAbortion
hashtag in defense of women's reproductive rights.
“Three aspects of the self betrayer's conduct always go
together: accusing others, excusing oneself, and displaying oneself as a
victim.”
Oh Lindy Lindy Lindy.
This book is so...sad.
Lindy admits she was raised in a wealthy home with a
progressive mother. I can somewhat identify, though my family didn't talk
politics, my mom was a product of the feminist movement.
However, like Lindy, my mom was torn between two worlds.
Wanting to be loved and hold on to traditions of romance -
and yet wanting to be independent.
I also, in a way, am like Lindy in that I was highly
influenced by pop culture. I thought "progress" meant sexual freedom
and gratification and putting pleasure on the top of the "To Do"
List.
As I grew older, I realized that not only is pleasure
fleeting, it's disabling and dis-empowering. It corrupts our spirit and soul -
which then leads to what Lindy is experiencing: a very troubled angry person
who lashes out and throws everyone under the bus (with the pretense that
"it's for their own good").
Don't get me wrong - what is the point of being an author if
not being authentic. I 100% believe that it's great to name names and shame
people who have mistreated people.
HOWEVER, the theme in Lindy's book is ANTI-SHAMING people!
She feels she's been bullied, but then turns around and does the exact thing
she claims to be a victim of.
This book is not funny.
It's not empowering.
LIndy claims to be self-confident; her writing speaks to
something different: she has no confidence and so she clings to a movement that
does nothing but confuse and divide its members.
Of note on being part of the Twitter panel that "seeks
to provide a safe place from bullying."
I read Shrill just as Azealia Banks went on a Twitter
rampage against Sarah Palin; calling for Palin to be gang raped by black men
and assorted other horrible tweets.
Banks was not muted, nor was she kicked off Twitter.
However, Twitter (thanks to the feminist "safety
council" in which Lindy is a part of) has been responsible for shadow
banning many prominent conservatives who have never said anything as hateful
nor violent as Banks.
Chuck C Johnson, Robert Stacy McCain, Milo Y, etc.
The thought of "silencing" any speech no doubt has
Ray Bradbury and George Orwell turning in their graves. The party of
"progression" is now regressing to the era of book banning.
And if Lindy truly cared about bullying and shaming, well then,
she'd stand for ALL women and not just select women.
By the end of the book, I found myself feeling sorry for
Lindy. She is confused and being exploited by a group of people who seek power
and gain by promoting victimization, by dividing us, and distracting us.
The book is hypocritical, lacks integrity and authenticity.
It's hard to believe she is a champion for women when she only comes to the
defense of a certain few.
Freedom of speech is the most powerful weapon we, as a
society have. Those that control speech control power. The more a society is
secure, the more those who want to rule need to divide, decay, district, in
order to ‘save.’ And the first thing they target is speech and status. Those
that advocate collective rule are distrustful that man is capable of making his
own choices.
Monday, May 2, 2016
Sunday, May 1, 2016
I'm Dying (Again)
I am certain that I’m going to die soon.
I have to have surgery to remove my meniscus.
Now, listen, to any other person, surgery like this is not a big deal.
But I am not like any other person.
I am overly dramatic.
I also have a cardiac history which I was assured was “nothing” only to discover upon waking up after surgery to have my breasts enlarged (by far the most ridiculous thing I’ve done) that I went into bigeminy and trigemniy while under anesthesia. I also have a tendency to turn anemic, and I have low blood pressure.
So now, anytime I have to have anesthesia, I freak out. I still have my wisdom teeth and was advised to have them removed. But they aren’t causing problems, so I don’t want to take the chance of going under.
I was supposed to have a colonoscopy. Nope. It’s not going to happen. I’m never going to do it. Not unless I’m in so much pain that the fear of being in constant pain lessens the fear of dying on the table. Case in point: I had a complete hysterectomy. I took the chance of dying on the table rather than living with the debilitating symptoms.
Now, the interesting thing is: prior to my hysterectomy, I was sick for almost a year. My blood work correlated to the fact that something was causing my extreme fatigue. I couldn’t take a shower without getting out of breath. Could barely walk the dogs without wheezing. After testing, bumping up my iron, things improved. But in the meantime, the tests had revealed a lesion on my liver, a large diverticulum on my duodenum (I still really do not understand what that means but my GI guy said stop worrying about it, so finally, I did), and a cyst on my ovary that never went away and others that had bled and left scars.
I really became convinced I was dying. And with that in mind, I started to question my life choices. I’d read a series of books that had provided many brilliant insights to how my life might have been more…successful. Might have saved me from a whole hell of a lot of embarrassing choices and mistakes that had been chronic. Would have made me a better parent. A better person.
So I threw a book together as fast as I could and called it “Something that Will Change Your Life.” I took a pen name: Moxie Will (because listen, if people can self-identify as different RACES, surely, I can choose a different name).
I’ve always loved the name Moxie, and believed it fit my personality: quirky, colorful, strives to be courageous. And Will: because I truly believe self-determination is the key to happiness. We makes the human race unique is that we are born with the ability to control our own thoughts, our own attitude. But we’ve been conditioned to believe that we are not capable of making our own good choices. That we are damaged and hardwired to fail; we aren’t really responsible for our actions –we’ll be doomed no matter what we choose, so why not choose pleasure as often as possible!
But as I honestly reviewed my life and my choices, I realized my thoughts had been highly influenced by society: Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” video was released when I was 16 years old. And the articles I read in Teen magazines had less to do with respecting your body by NOT having sex and focused more on “the right of young women to choose to HAVE sex.”
But mostly, it was the books I’d read and movies I’d watched: everything had to do with love. Love was the thing that made the world go around. Finding a person to love you was finding someone who would provide you with a soft landing when the sea of life got too rough.
My parents had been a product of their upbringing and the generation that always sided with adults and placed little value on their kids feelings.
Being the curious and outspoken kid I was growing up; I was often in trouble for question authority (I know, can you believe it?). My parents almost always sided with the ‘grownups.’ – so I was eager to find someone to stick up for me, fight for me – someone like the love interest in almost all the books I read and the movies and TV shows I watched.
Obviously, I didn’t die. I ended up having a hysterectomy and came through with flying colors.
Only now that I was better, the immediacy of getting the lessons I’d learned (so that hopefully, others might make less mistakes and have more satisfaction and happiness in their lives) was not so immediate.
And then my fear of looking stupider than I usually do – which could possibly cause my husband to divorce me (which, would then take away my medical insurance!) – which could alienate my children (who are already embarrassed by ¾ of what I do and say), fear and self-preservation wormed it’s way into mindset.
Also, I was no longer the fun girl. I cared more about striving to be good; to be better, than to be out drinking, partying, shopping, being entertained. To me, learning WAS fun. (Oh my god, maybe I have brain cancer). I focused on history and little known books from the 1950’s and 60’s.
I had all these IDEAS. I have binders full of notes. Full of highlights. Full of writing. Yet, I was too afraid to put anything out there.
I don’t really fit anywhere.
I’m not religious, though I very much respect and admire those who practice.
I’m spiritual in a naturey sort of way.
I’m more Conservative in my values. I believe in tradition. Yet, I’m still, under it all, a rebel who questions the status quo. I’m a huge believer in personal freedom. It shouldn’t be about anyone controlling anyone – it should be about teaching people the value of character and courage and common sense, so that when they are faced with temptations of temporary escape and excessive pleasure; they are aware of the long term consequences to their spirit, their character, and ultimately, their happiness.
When I didn’t die from a mystery disease, when I didn’t die from surgery, a part of my rebel spirit did die.
When I had convinced myself I might be , probably was, dying, I felt free to be myself – to continue to rebel!
When I woke up after surgery (and it takes a-while to heal from a hysterectomy) I was very aware of my mortality.
When I was young and a rebel; it didn’t worry me too much; I still had plenty of time to find a partner and/or become so successful I wouldn’t have to worry about where I’d live and how I’d survive.
Then I started to notice the crows feet, my body started complaining, and I had not become wildly successful.
I did/do have a partner, however. He was/is getting a bit tired of my creativity AND his buying the groceries. I had my own money, but it was not very much. Okay, it’s actually so little that I have stopped even going to consignment shops, coloring my hair, and avoid any celebration that requires giving gifts (which, let’s be honest, the whole gift thing is WAY OUT OF HAND, even people who can easily afford giving gifts agree with me). He has been hoping his support will pay off. I think he’s starting to have more hope in winning the lottery.
The bad news is: I need to have surgery.
The good news is: I again, believe I’m going to die during the operation; it gives me an excuse to worry less about making a fool out of myself, and concentrate more on helping people realize what the difference is between a significant life and a superior life, and what long held beliefs and influences are holding them back from true happiness.
The bad news is: I have no plan of implementation. I am not totally focused. I absolutely know I’m going to embarrass myself (that’s good entertainment for you though, right!).
And if I DO die, well hell, hopefully my message will reach many more people much faster and I’ll save the world after all! Or at least the part that isn’t 100% committed to the Kardashians.
So stay tuned. Though I don't have a concrete plan, I DO intend to blog every day until the surgery. To share things I've experienced. I plan on writing about Tinder. Sex. (Okay, I guess they are the same thing). All the Liberal Things I've Done. Hypocrite City. How Forgiveness is Mostly Bullshit. Why we should stop celebrating everything. And much more...
And if I don’t die; then at least I will be farther than I would have been by keeping everything bottled up until I was able to formulate the “perfect” plan. I will know that, once again, I’m facing life in my quirky, somewhat courageous way, and if my husband divorces me, at least I’ll have two good knees to continue dancing through life. In consignment store (but fabulous!) shoes, of course.
I have to have surgery to remove my meniscus.
Now, listen, to any other person, surgery like this is not a big deal.
But I am not like any other person.
I am overly dramatic.
I also have a cardiac history which I was assured was “nothing” only to discover upon waking up after surgery to have my breasts enlarged (by far the most ridiculous thing I’ve done) that I went into bigeminy and trigemniy while under anesthesia. I also have a tendency to turn anemic, and I have low blood pressure.
So now, anytime I have to have anesthesia, I freak out. I still have my wisdom teeth and was advised to have them removed. But they aren’t causing problems, so I don’t want to take the chance of going under.
I was supposed to have a colonoscopy. Nope. It’s not going to happen. I’m never going to do it. Not unless I’m in so much pain that the fear of being in constant pain lessens the fear of dying on the table. Case in point: I had a complete hysterectomy. I took the chance of dying on the table rather than living with the debilitating symptoms.
Now, the interesting thing is: prior to my hysterectomy, I was sick for almost a year. My blood work correlated to the fact that something was causing my extreme fatigue. I couldn’t take a shower without getting out of breath. Could barely walk the dogs without wheezing. After testing, bumping up my iron, things improved. But in the meantime, the tests had revealed a lesion on my liver, a large diverticulum on my duodenum (I still really do not understand what that means but my GI guy said stop worrying about it, so finally, I did), and a cyst on my ovary that never went away and others that had bled and left scars.
I really became convinced I was dying. And with that in mind, I started to question my life choices. I’d read a series of books that had provided many brilliant insights to how my life might have been more…successful. Might have saved me from a whole hell of a lot of embarrassing choices and mistakes that had been chronic. Would have made me a better parent. A better person.
So I threw a book together as fast as I could and called it “Something that Will Change Your Life.” I took a pen name: Moxie Will (because listen, if people can self-identify as different RACES, surely, I can choose a different name).
I’ve always loved the name Moxie, and believed it fit my personality: quirky, colorful, strives to be courageous. And Will: because I truly believe self-determination is the key to happiness. We makes the human race unique is that we are born with the ability to control our own thoughts, our own attitude. But we’ve been conditioned to believe that we are not capable of making our own good choices. That we are damaged and hardwired to fail; we aren’t really responsible for our actions –we’ll be doomed no matter what we choose, so why not choose pleasure as often as possible!
But as I honestly reviewed my life and my choices, I realized my thoughts had been highly influenced by society: Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” video was released when I was 16 years old. And the articles I read in Teen magazines had less to do with respecting your body by NOT having sex and focused more on “the right of young women to choose to HAVE sex.”
But mostly, it was the books I’d read and movies I’d watched: everything had to do with love. Love was the thing that made the world go around. Finding a person to love you was finding someone who would provide you with a soft landing when the sea of life got too rough.
My parents had been a product of their upbringing and the generation that always sided with adults and placed little value on their kids feelings.
Being the curious and outspoken kid I was growing up; I was often in trouble for question authority (I know, can you believe it?). My parents almost always sided with the ‘grownups.’ – so I was eager to find someone to stick up for me, fight for me – someone like the love interest in almost all the books I read and the movies and TV shows I watched.
Obviously, I didn’t die. I ended up having a hysterectomy and came through with flying colors.
Only now that I was better, the immediacy of getting the lessons I’d learned (so that hopefully, others might make less mistakes and have more satisfaction and happiness in their lives) was not so immediate.
And then my fear of looking stupider than I usually do – which could possibly cause my husband to divorce me (which, would then take away my medical insurance!) – which could alienate my children (who are already embarrassed by ¾ of what I do and say), fear and self-preservation wormed it’s way into mindset.
Also, I was no longer the fun girl. I cared more about striving to be good; to be better, than to be out drinking, partying, shopping, being entertained. To me, learning WAS fun. (Oh my god, maybe I have brain cancer). I focused on history and little known books from the 1950’s and 60’s.
I had all these IDEAS. I have binders full of notes. Full of highlights. Full of writing. Yet, I was too afraid to put anything out there.
I don’t really fit anywhere.
I’m not religious, though I very much respect and admire those who practice.
I’m spiritual in a naturey sort of way.
I’m more Conservative in my values. I believe in tradition. Yet, I’m still, under it all, a rebel who questions the status quo. I’m a huge believer in personal freedom. It shouldn’t be about anyone controlling anyone – it should be about teaching people the value of character and courage and common sense, so that when they are faced with temptations of temporary escape and excessive pleasure; they are aware of the long term consequences to their spirit, their character, and ultimately, their happiness.
When I didn’t die from a mystery disease, when I didn’t die from surgery, a part of my rebel spirit did die.
When I had convinced myself I might be , probably was, dying, I felt free to be myself – to continue to rebel!
When I woke up after surgery (and it takes a-while to heal from a hysterectomy) I was very aware of my mortality.
When I was young and a rebel; it didn’t worry me too much; I still had plenty of time to find a partner and/or become so successful I wouldn’t have to worry about where I’d live and how I’d survive.
Then I started to notice the crows feet, my body started complaining, and I had not become wildly successful.
I did/do have a partner, however. He was/is getting a bit tired of my creativity AND his buying the groceries. I had my own money, but it was not very much. Okay, it’s actually so little that I have stopped even going to consignment shops, coloring my hair, and avoid any celebration that requires giving gifts (which, let’s be honest, the whole gift thing is WAY OUT OF HAND, even people who can easily afford giving gifts agree with me). He has been hoping his support will pay off. I think he’s starting to have more hope in winning the lottery.
The bad news is: I need to have surgery.
The good news is: I again, believe I’m going to die during the operation; it gives me an excuse to worry less about making a fool out of myself, and concentrate more on helping people realize what the difference is between a significant life and a superior life, and what long held beliefs and influences are holding them back from true happiness.
The bad news is: I have no plan of implementation. I am not totally focused. I absolutely know I’m going to embarrass myself (that’s good entertainment for you though, right!).
And if I DO die, well hell, hopefully my message will reach many more people much faster and I’ll save the world after all! Or at least the part that isn’t 100% committed to the Kardashians.
So stay tuned. Though I don't have a concrete plan, I DO intend to blog every day until the surgery. To share things I've experienced. I plan on writing about Tinder. Sex. (Okay, I guess they are the same thing). All the Liberal Things I've Done. Hypocrite City. How Forgiveness is Mostly Bullshit. Why we should stop celebrating everything. And much more...
And if I don’t die; then at least I will be farther than I would have been by keeping everything bottled up until I was able to formulate the “perfect” plan. I will know that, once again, I’m facing life in my quirky, somewhat courageous way, and if my husband divorces me, at least I’ll have two good knees to continue dancing through life. In consignment store (but fabulous!) shoes, of course.
Something Wishful This Way Comes...
Something Wishful This Way Comes...
Would you live your life differently if you knew that one day your deepest desire would be fulfilled?
Hollywood A-List actress Moxie Bleu is wildly successful but lonely. On the eve of her latest movie premiere, Moxie discovers she's been drugged and deceived. When a wizened old woman stops to help, Moxie finds herself confessing she feels like a fraud, undeserving of her fortune and fame. The woman offers a solution to Moxie’s unhappiness and with one wish, everything changes.
1958 homemaker Sadie Cooper is the envy of every woman in the cozy town of Honey Hollow, Pennsylvania. Married to charming Jack Cooper, the mother of two darling daughters, Sadie is well loved by family and friends. Lately, though, Sadie finds she is distracted and a bit resentful that she gave up a career in theater to get married and raise a family. One evening in July, Sadie’s sister, Kitty, talks her into visiting the old antique shop: May Contain Magic. The shop is rumored to be run by a family of sisters that have ties to Salem. Sadie soon discovers the meaning behind the name of the shop: May Contain Magic.
The next morning, Sadie and Moxie wake to find they have switched lives.
Sadie must navigate through the technological advances of the 21st century and Moxie's professional career –which is in shambles.
And Moxie finds it difficult to live in a world not constantly connected by the internet or cell phone - and that being an actress is a piece of cake compared to being a mother and wife.
Diary of Movie Star Moxie Bleu is a story about wishes coming true, the magic of friendship and family, filled with humor and includes a recipe for cookies that will surely bring a little bit of magic into every readers' life.
Available on BN.COM for Nook 2.99
Available on Amazon Kindle 2.99
Hollywood A-List actress Moxie Bleu is wildly successful but lonely. On the eve of her latest movie premiere, Moxie discovers she's been drugged and deceived. When a wizened old woman stops to help, Moxie finds herself confessing she feels like a fraud, undeserving of her fortune and fame. The woman offers a solution to Moxie’s unhappiness and with one wish, everything changes.
1958 homemaker Sadie Cooper is the envy of every woman in the cozy town of Honey Hollow, Pennsylvania. Married to charming Jack Cooper, the mother of two darling daughters, Sadie is well loved by family and friends. Lately, though, Sadie finds she is distracted and a bit resentful that she gave up a career in theater to get married and raise a family. One evening in July, Sadie’s sister, Kitty, talks her into visiting the old antique shop: May Contain Magic. The shop is rumored to be run by a family of sisters that have ties to Salem. Sadie soon discovers the meaning behind the name of the shop: May Contain Magic.
The next morning, Sadie and Moxie wake to find they have switched lives.
Sadie must navigate through the technological advances of the 21st century and Moxie's professional career –which is in shambles.
And Moxie finds it difficult to live in a world not constantly connected by the internet or cell phone - and that being an actress is a piece of cake compared to being a mother and wife.
Diary of Movie Star Moxie Bleu is a story about wishes coming true, the magic of friendship and family, filled with humor and includes a recipe for cookies that will surely bring a little bit of magic into every readers' life.
Available on BN.COM for Nook 2.99
Available on Amazon Kindle 2.99
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Steak. Shrimp. And Food Stamp Abuse.
Two things I know for sure about myself:
1.) I am insanely curious. About people. What makes people tick. What is needed in this life to make for the ultimate life experience. I love going to bars, not so much for the drinking (these days), but for the conversation. People and their stories intrigue me, inspire me, and sometimes horrify me (looking at you liberals!).
2). I don't tolerate bullshit.
I've tolerated much bullshit in my personal life. Because I once believed you never abandoned family or commitments. I also had that gene that most women have that believe we can somehow change a person for the better if only we love them enough. (This is totally false as I've learned).
So personal bullshit, I once tolerated, not so much anymore. And I'm not sure if I have less personal bullshit in my life because I don't tolerate it or because I've just been lucky enough to be surrounded by some great people.
However, in my professional life, I tolerate NO bullshit. I do not kiss ass. This has led to me working many different jobs. Which gives me a vast amount of knowledge about many careers.
Worked for a fortune 500 company. Was one of the top producing sales reps. I was told that what made our company different from our competitors was that WE would not lie to our customers. Our company stood for honesty, values. Then I found out that this was NOT true at all. I couldn't lie to my customers. I had really believed it in the beginning, and so it was easy for me to "upsell" my customers. I believed we were an honest company. I believed we were better. I showed up at 6am for meetings with construction customers. I called one company manager who used our competitor every Friday to ask him to give us a shot at his business. I left very funny (well, I thought they were funny) messages. Every Friday he ignored me and I left a voicemail. Then after 3 months, I missed a Friday. He called me. And after two meetings, he dropped our competitor and went with us.
And then I found out we were ripping off our customers. My sales dropped. I was furious. I was also young. Naive. I left emotional calls to the head of the company. They were worried I would make such a commotion that they offered to buy my silence and I accepted. Looking back, it was not much money, but for a young single mother, it was enough to help me get caught up paying my bills.
I was a paramedic. Loved that job. Despite a really shitty boss. I ended up leaving that job after getting stuck with a dirty needle and my boss never sent in the paperwork - which ended up causing me to wonder if i'd contracted AIDS or Hepatitis for over a month. (I'd have known within 24 hours had he sent in the paperwork as required by law).
I was an undercover store detective. Seriously the most fun job I've ever had. No money in it though. But seriously fun.
Anyway. I've worked many more jobs. I'll probably continue to work many more. For me, the more I experience, the more I understand, the more I understand life.
Right now I'm working as a cashier at a grocery store. I love it. I love the brief encounters I have with people. Most of them are happy (they are buying food, after all!). I learn so much from just a few moments. I can spot the people who will be buying organic. I can spot the people who will argue with me about coupon expiration dates. I can spot the people who will be buying Red Bull and paying for it with crumbled dollar bills and change.
What I can't spot, however, are the SNAP (food stamps) customers.
I can tell you, SNAP is highly abused. And the abuse is not perpetrated by any one race or nationality. (Interesting note, when I was an undercover store detective, the majority of stealing was done by Russians.)
Some of my SNAP customers have jobs. However, they spend over 300.00 each time they shop and they are buying steak, Doritos, shrimp, Oreo's, and lobster.
Then, there was my customers; a very well dressed middle aged woman with a sleek modern haircut (think Lisa Rinna), nails perfectly manicured. She was with her mother - and older woman also smartly dressed. The older woman didn't speak English. They bought high end spaghetti sauce, olive oil that cost as much as 2 tickets to movie, and expensive, organic Italian herbs. Their bill was over two hundred dollars, and I had them pegged for classy Italians.
Well, these classy Italians paid with a SNAP card. I had to try hard to hide my disgust.
I have so many customers that are elderly. They live on a fixed income and make do with a banana, a few slices of lunch meat, and reduced bakery rolls. Often, they have to put an item back because they don't have enough money (usually they only spend about ten dollars).
I see so many families struggling. Watching what they are buying. While the people with government handouts? Top of the line seafood, steaks. Junk food. Gatorade. No store brand "generic" ice cream for them - it's Ben and Jerry's or bust!
And then...there is the couple that I refer to as WPOS. White Pieces of Shit.
She has a Coach purse. An unhealthy obsession with tanning beds. Diamond rings. She's eaten way too many cannolis but squeezes her body into flashy clothes. And her boyfriend. He's a skinny guy. Wears a sports shirts. Too much cologne. Always seems embarrassed to be seen with her. Or perhaps he's embarrassed that they use SNAP each time they buy their Red Bull, steak, and hoagie rolls. One Sunday he was wearing an Eagles jersey and I said I hoped the Eagles won, and he said, "Me too, were on our way to the bar to watch the game."
And then his tubby, overly leathery, girlfriend whipped out her diamond encrusted hand and swiped her SNAP card to pay for their groceries.
Ah, this cashier job at the grocery store. I don't get paid much. But the lessons I'm learning are invaluable. Most of my customers rock. They are awesome and kind and funny. They are eager to share their favorite recipes. Their favorite new ice cream.
The people I work with. Interesting. So many personalities. From the 77 year old man who lost his wife to cancer and is now pushing carts around the parking lot because he has to pay for obscene medical bills to the quiet teenager who works his ass off in order to save money for college. To the manager who makes out with her boyfriend in front of customers. While she's working!
The management...well, that is yet another story. For the first time in my life, I can see where the advantage of a Union might make sense. Though I still believe that if employees stuck together there wouldn't be a need for a union. However, in my richly varied career experiences, I've learned that people are easily intimated and influenced when their livelihoods are threatened. It's easier to remain quiet and under the radar and complain quietly than it is to stand up to people taking advantage of you.
The grocery store is like a blue collar soap opera. I love it.
What I do not love, however, is the abuse of the food stamps. What I do not love is watching as elderly people quietly (never complaining) struggle to make ends meet with a few bananas and reduced baked goods while the people getting help from the government buy shrimp, lobster, and steak.
We need is a complete overhaul of the welfare system. End it. All.
Start over again so that those who truly need it (and I see a-lot of customers that could benefit from Welfare but refuse the help) actually receive it. With the advances of social media, Go Fund Me organizations, etc, there is no reason that we can't help each other. Take it out of the government hands and put it in the hands of the people, of the local community, local churches, local volunteer organizations.
Unless, of course, you enjoy being abused and used, working your ass off, clipping coupons to save money so that you can supply steak and shrimp for those who use their money getting manicures, tans, and Coach purses and your money for buying their food.
1.) I am insanely curious. About people. What makes people tick. What is needed in this life to make for the ultimate life experience. I love going to bars, not so much for the drinking (these days), but for the conversation. People and their stories intrigue me, inspire me, and sometimes horrify me (looking at you liberals!).
2). I don't tolerate bullshit.
I've tolerated much bullshit in my personal life. Because I once believed you never abandoned family or commitments. I also had that gene that most women have that believe we can somehow change a person for the better if only we love them enough. (This is totally false as I've learned).
So personal bullshit, I once tolerated, not so much anymore. And I'm not sure if I have less personal bullshit in my life because I don't tolerate it or because I've just been lucky enough to be surrounded by some great people.
However, in my professional life, I tolerate NO bullshit. I do not kiss ass. This has led to me working many different jobs. Which gives me a vast amount of knowledge about many careers.
Worked for a fortune 500 company. Was one of the top producing sales reps. I was told that what made our company different from our competitors was that WE would not lie to our customers. Our company stood for honesty, values. Then I found out that this was NOT true at all. I couldn't lie to my customers. I had really believed it in the beginning, and so it was easy for me to "upsell" my customers. I believed we were an honest company. I believed we were better. I showed up at 6am for meetings with construction customers. I called one company manager who used our competitor every Friday to ask him to give us a shot at his business. I left very funny (well, I thought they were funny) messages. Every Friday he ignored me and I left a voicemail. Then after 3 months, I missed a Friday. He called me. And after two meetings, he dropped our competitor and went with us.
And then I found out we were ripping off our customers. My sales dropped. I was furious. I was also young. Naive. I left emotional calls to the head of the company. They were worried I would make such a commotion that they offered to buy my silence and I accepted. Looking back, it was not much money, but for a young single mother, it was enough to help me get caught up paying my bills.
I was a paramedic. Loved that job. Despite a really shitty boss. I ended up leaving that job after getting stuck with a dirty needle and my boss never sent in the paperwork - which ended up causing me to wonder if i'd contracted AIDS or Hepatitis for over a month. (I'd have known within 24 hours had he sent in the paperwork as required by law).
I was an undercover store detective. Seriously the most fun job I've ever had. No money in it though. But seriously fun.
Anyway. I've worked many more jobs. I'll probably continue to work many more. For me, the more I experience, the more I understand, the more I understand life.
Right now I'm working as a cashier at a grocery store. I love it. I love the brief encounters I have with people. Most of them are happy (they are buying food, after all!). I learn so much from just a few moments. I can spot the people who will be buying organic. I can spot the people who will argue with me about coupon expiration dates. I can spot the people who will be buying Red Bull and paying for it with crumbled dollar bills and change.
What I can't spot, however, are the SNAP (food stamps) customers.
I can tell you, SNAP is highly abused. And the abuse is not perpetrated by any one race or nationality. (Interesting note, when I was an undercover store detective, the majority of stealing was done by Russians.)
Some of my SNAP customers have jobs. However, they spend over 300.00 each time they shop and they are buying steak, Doritos, shrimp, Oreo's, and lobster.
Then, there was my customers; a very well dressed middle aged woman with a sleek modern haircut (think Lisa Rinna), nails perfectly manicured. She was with her mother - and older woman also smartly dressed. The older woman didn't speak English. They bought high end spaghetti sauce, olive oil that cost as much as 2 tickets to movie, and expensive, organic Italian herbs. Their bill was over two hundred dollars, and I had them pegged for classy Italians.
Well, these classy Italians paid with a SNAP card. I had to try hard to hide my disgust.
I have so many customers that are elderly. They live on a fixed income and make do with a banana, a few slices of lunch meat, and reduced bakery rolls. Often, they have to put an item back because they don't have enough money (usually they only spend about ten dollars).
I see so many families struggling. Watching what they are buying. While the people with government handouts? Top of the line seafood, steaks. Junk food. Gatorade. No store brand "generic" ice cream for them - it's Ben and Jerry's or bust!
And then...there is the couple that I refer to as WPOS. White Pieces of Shit.
She has a Coach purse. An unhealthy obsession with tanning beds. Diamond rings. She's eaten way too many cannolis but squeezes her body into flashy clothes. And her boyfriend. He's a skinny guy. Wears a sports shirts. Too much cologne. Always seems embarrassed to be seen with her. Or perhaps he's embarrassed that they use SNAP each time they buy their Red Bull, steak, and hoagie rolls. One Sunday he was wearing an Eagles jersey and I said I hoped the Eagles won, and he said, "Me too, were on our way to the bar to watch the game."
And then his tubby, overly leathery, girlfriend whipped out her diamond encrusted hand and swiped her SNAP card to pay for their groceries.
Ah, this cashier job at the grocery store. I don't get paid much. But the lessons I'm learning are invaluable. Most of my customers rock. They are awesome and kind and funny. They are eager to share their favorite recipes. Their favorite new ice cream.
The people I work with. Interesting. So many personalities. From the 77 year old man who lost his wife to cancer and is now pushing carts around the parking lot because he has to pay for obscene medical bills to the quiet teenager who works his ass off in order to save money for college. To the manager who makes out with her boyfriend in front of customers. While she's working!
The management...well, that is yet another story. For the first time in my life, I can see where the advantage of a Union might make sense. Though I still believe that if employees stuck together there wouldn't be a need for a union. However, in my richly varied career experiences, I've learned that people are easily intimated and influenced when their livelihoods are threatened. It's easier to remain quiet and under the radar and complain quietly than it is to stand up to people taking advantage of you.
The grocery store is like a blue collar soap opera. I love it.
What I do not love, however, is the abuse of the food stamps. What I do not love is watching as elderly people quietly (never complaining) struggle to make ends meet with a few bananas and reduced baked goods while the people getting help from the government buy shrimp, lobster, and steak.
We need is a complete overhaul of the welfare system. End it. All.
Start over again so that those who truly need it (and I see a-lot of customers that could benefit from Welfare but refuse the help) actually receive it. With the advances of social media, Go Fund Me organizations, etc, there is no reason that we can't help each other. Take it out of the government hands and put it in the hands of the people, of the local community, local churches, local volunteer organizations.
Unless, of course, you enjoy being abused and used, working your ass off, clipping coupons to save money so that you can supply steak and shrimp for those who use their money getting manicures, tans, and Coach purses and your money for buying their food.
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