The Norm of Evil

Published October 23, 2014 by Sandee

I told my neighbor once that I want to be Kathleen when I grow up. “Oh really!” He said, looking at me sideways. Though we love her, she has a reputation for being — mean. Kathleen’s old, 87, and lives two floors down from me. She never married and rides her bike everyday. I gave her the bike helmet my dad bought me fifteen years ago. I was too vain to wear it. She still uses it. She’s feisty, independent and has a foul-mouth. She’s pretty with a pixie cut, sharply-defined chin and clear eyes. Kathleen came from Ireland in the ‘50s and has a slight brogue. When I’m running to and from like most people, she’s ambling along the street with Molly Malone, the tiny dog she named after a prostitute. “Oh hurry, hurry, hurry! — It’ll be the death of you, dear!” She’ll screech after me, her way of expressing the slight she feels when “we youngins” don’t have time to shoot the shit with her.

Her voice sweeps up in cadence at the end of her biting observations. I found her “observations” at one time quaint and refreshing. “Ooohhh what a little cunt that one is!” She’d say referring to the old French woman Hélène who lived in this building. I sort of agreed with that observation, but later decided that Kathleen had too many “observations” about people and that perhaps I didn’t want to be like her. She was too damn mean.

On her way to church, she told me about the woman she took to emergency one night. “Oh, Sandee she’s ab-solutely looney tunes! I picked her up and she was dripping in jewels as if she were going to the ball – when we were just going to the fucking emergency room.” The woman happened to have just walked by. Kathleen more or less talked about her in front of her face. “That’s not nice, Kathleen,” I said.

Another time she said she hated the banality, “Have a nice day.” I told her that we could use it as a euphemism for “fuck off and die.” So then I’d see her while I was rushing in and out the way she hates and I’d say in passing “Have a nice daaay!”

Yesterday she had the sweetest demeanor. I hadn’t seen her in a while. I hugged her. I know she needs love. She just gets on my nerves with that negativity shit – to the point where I avoided her last summer. She said, “I don’t know why I’m so happy all the time now.” There was a trembling vulnerability about her. We talked. “I was even humming earlier – that’s not me — for God’s sake Sandee, I think I’m going senile!” She said. Before I finished laughing she asked if I had planned to freeze my eggs, switching the subject quickly the way old people do often because of the ticking clock. “I hate eggs,” I told her. “These eggs.” She pointed to her stomach. “Hell no. I hate kids – I mean I don’t hate kids, I just never thought I needed any,” I said. Perhaps she was advising me on the regrets of not seizing time.

As we departed, she told me that I was the second person who’d hugged her that day. Finally, she said she got a diagnosis from the doctor. She had dyscrasia, she explained. But she said she felt healthier than a horse. “I’m ill,” she said, however. She didn’t look the least bit. I told her to please call or come up anytime – she has my keys. “Get a second opinion,” I advised. She was so pretty, small and delicate, possibly the side-effect of the news. It was a definite departure from her norm of evil.

Phantoms of the Mind that Walk in Darkness: A Night in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery

Published October 9, 2014 by Sandee

Sandee:

My guest post at “The Year of Halloween:”

Originally posted on :

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, 1864 ed, William Hart

John Paulding helped to capture John Andre. He was the British spy who plotted with Benedict Arnold to give the British plans on how to take over West Point. For that crime John Andre was hanged in Tarrytown. Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow have a rich Revolutionary War history. West Point is not far from Sleepy Hollow, and there are West Point soldiers buried at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery where I am a docent. My connection with this region is just under the surface and has probably always been there.

About fifteen years ago, I began to imagine myself living in the town of Sleepy Hollow in a little cottage in a semi-bucolic area, as an old writer and part-time hermit. I was enamored with more than just the name. There is that mystique that Washington Irving had given this town back in the 19th century. Though this was after the Dutch…

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Love, Sandee

Published October 7, 2014 by Sandee

Do you think that I enjoy putting hexes on people? No! Yes, it’s necessary sometimes in the playground of my mind for me to believe that I have this option, while we all know this is delusional.

witchWell anyway — but I did take a hex off a guy I decided I liked. I discovered he did something very nice for somebody. So I thought about it all and decided that for the rest of the week I’ll go on a love mission. This means that I’ll have compassion for people and their stupidity, ignorance, fear and self-loathing. I’ll try to identify with these human frailties instead of suffering from the self-righteous indignation that fires me up to a state which makes it completely okay for me to damn people to hell.

Love,

Sandee

P.S. Still, if I could only — hahahaha! — Check out this cool witch’s coven –“She must die, die, DIEEEEE! — Give me power — sickness, sickness…death, death DEAAAATH!”:

 

 

 

 

 

 

What’s New Pussycat?

Published September 2, 2014 by Sandee

My inner-ghoul wanted me to write a dark humor piece about this thing I saw on aol news, but my new-found maturity stopped me because it coincided with something really unfortunate in the headlines. Nowadays, I’m sensitive to things like that. Ah well — file it away for later.

So, supposing there was mischief waiting to burst out of me, I conjured this bit of nostalgia – I guess also, I’m needing a reason to blabber on my blog…

…I was a young lass living in a brownstone on 147th Street off Riverside Drive, across the hall from a young man who hit on me from time to time – this guy and the one in the building across the street who called one day with a great level of astonishment in his voice — “You’re sitting in your rocking chair – you’re naked!” He accused. He could see me through the blinds slats.

Well, anyway, the guy across the hall would try tickling my fancy talking Chinese really loud on the phone – he was black, so he thought it was exotic — some kind of an aphrodisiac. We were in our lower twenties. One day on a full moon he chased me through the hall and we ran back and forth between our apartments – I was wearing clothes, by the way. I’d been hammering a nail, so when he picked me up and spun me around, the hammer flew out of my hand and hit the floor – we laughed and laughed and laughed then he chased me into my bathroom where I fell into the tub. It turned still then. He sat on the side of the tub and ran his index finger across my foot, staring me seriously in the eye. But, oh no. Though the vibe had shifted, I was able to break that mood. He’d never seen me naked and wasn’t going to. You don’t shit where you eat, mon cheri.

Oh but good times prevailed – this guy was a Leo who loved to laugh, heartily. One day I heard him through the walls while some song played on his radio. He burst through, knocked on my door – excited – “Turn on the radio!” It was some student station at the end of the dial — maybe NYU. He was nearly crying — out of breath. We listened – then I became hysterical. It was Tom Jones’ “What’s New Pussycat?” with all the “cats” taken out of it — so mostly everything ended with the word — well, you know. Oh, so you’ve heard this rendition? Well, for those who haven’t — I couldn’t find it on youtube — but here – it’s the regular one. Use your imagination:

Boundaries

Published August 11, 2014 by Sandee

Recently, I have been redirecting a relationship with someone who had been very touchy-feely for the last ten years. I have finally been successful at establishing a boundary. This person was overstepping my boundaries, without taking the hints. I would take a few steps back from them to create a distance, but they would move in and grab my waist anyway — lunge at me to grab my arm — they were rather sneaky about it too. Years ago I thought I would have a talk with them, but decided against it. The situation was delicate. Maybe it was my own “boundary problem.” There is another woman who has an issue with this person doing the same to her, and she only brought it up after I mentioned it to her, so I don’t think she was planning to approach him about it — not to say that this makes it okay that I haven’t said anything.

We were friends and I liked this person a lot, and it didn’t happen often enough to be urgent, but whenever I saw them – maybe a couple of times a week, it would be an issue. They would rub my arms or shoulders, squeeze me, touch my waist, and generally stand too close. It was all under the guise of friendly touching – which makes it kind of sticky. I don’t shrink from confrontation and usually have no problem telling people what I think. But as an older adult, I’m attempting to be graceful, and I guess I chose this situation to exercise that trait.

Part of the problem is language. The person’s first language is Spanish, and they have a strong accent. They might have a problem understanding what I was saying, especially if I tried being tactful, using delicate language that isn’t literal, with subtleties that they might not understand. If I went the other way with a direct approach, saying, “You’re touching me too much and I don’t like it. It’s not necessary for you to touch me every time you see me,” there might be confusion since there were times when I expressed affection with a hug, after not seeing them for a while. I have also touched this person during conversation, but not often – so this might cause additional confusion. This person might see my touching them as an invitation to touch me whenever they want to – every fucking time I see them — five or six times, anywhere on my body. No.

The subject of how to approach the situation has plagued me for years. Finally I had just had it, and decided that I would simply recoil dramatically with my body whenever this person stepped too closely into my circle. I literally sway my body away from theirs, or take three of four steps backward. In addition, I keep conversation short, yet cordial. That was another boundary issue, excessive talking without respect for my time. I think they’re finally getting it.

I don’t care if they think I’m moody, or that I don’t like them anymore. I waited too long as it is. If they don’t see what I’m “saying” this time with body language, the next step is to tell them directly. At the end of this, I’m thinking maybe I will just tell them directly, if it happens again. This person is an adult who should know better, really.

 

A Dime-a-Dozen Blogger

Published August 7, 2014 by Sandee

After starting my blog, I read hundreds of other blogs and followed quite a few. I didn’t anticipate what I encountered, people looking for a place to belong, people who needed somewhere to vent. Some of these people had found friendships they couldn’t develop in the three-dimensional realm. A lot of us are really co-dependent.

Someone said, “With Facebook, there’s a lot of psychological stuff going on.” I extend that observation to blogging. I size up someone’s personality from their blogging habits. In the blogosphere, I see approval-seekers, trend-followers, and those who blog in certain communities because they feel that they belong – it’s a place where certain people finally feel popular. Sometimes the sharing is intense, and at times I wonder, when the bloggers disappear from the ‘sphere, if they are okay, as they had talked about experiencing severe depression.

I am fortunate to have close friends that I can share personal things with, though some people consider the people that they meet in the blogosphere to be friends, and they are fulfilled by those relationships. I’m not opposed to forming friendships with bloggers, but I have to be able to smell, touch and hear you – I have to know you a couple of years, and to be able to read your aura before making that blood pact. I don’t use the word “friend” loosely.

The blogging environment can be affected, and there is playacting. Behind the wall, there’s no shame in blowing things up pretty big – you can hide behind a persona – be that tough girl, the femme fatale (I think I tried to play that one up a couple of times – hahaha!). There are professional bloggers. But some of us take blogging a little too seriously.

In the 1800s, Washington Irving described the flood of “writers” with their pretenses at the proliferation of printing houses – ha! I wonder what he’d think today when everyone and their mother can claim literary importance with the multitude of outlets — myself included.

In the blogosphere, alternate universes are created. Some people imagine that they’re larger than life. But WordPress hosts thousands of sites, and bloggers are a dime a dozen. A blogger actually did once describe us as “dime-a-dozen-bloggers”, and I loved it – it put us in our place. We all have different angles, and some are actually great writers. Most of us are in the middle, and some of us are awful. I don’t even make a big deal out of new followers, because 97% of the time, they don’t even “like” or comment. They’re just trolling for followers. I do enjoy a lot of blogs, but I have to have a balance with my real life and with the real world.

I don’t want to lose perspective. The blogosphere is a place for me to share dime-a-dozen thoughts, to practice writing, and to trade comments. I remind myself of this, otherwise I can delude myself into thinking I’m Sandor-the-Barbarian, destined to rule a demented corner of the blogosphere.

 

I should be ashamed.

Published August 6, 2014 by Sandee

View More: http://imagesbypatrik.pass.us/sandy

I should be ashamed of myself!

I read something (which shall not be named) where the person posted a so-called “damning” text exchange with someone they demonized, but I am solely obsessed with the degenerate scenario that this ‘demon’ set up – was it muy hot-to!

I do need help…

But, who has the right to damn anyone – I live in a glass house and have thoughts that should definitely be terminated. Ask my sister –

“Who thinks that?!!!” She tells me.

“Really, you don’t, think those things, ever?”

“No!”

Well, at least I don’t actually act the things out, not really.

I tell you one thing, that scenario, I’d like to act that thing out – ha!

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