Age Two-

       I wanted to go to my uncle’s wedding. My parents left me with my grandmother on my father’s side. I didn’t know her as well as I knew my other grannie, so I cried and cried. When my mother phoned to check on me and heard me crying, my parents decided to come get me and bring me back to the wedding with them. The wedding was just as much fun as I knew it would be. They played ‘Tequila’ by The Champs and it became my favourite song.

That day, as I danced at that wedding, I thought I could get everything I wanted in life.

 

Age Five-

Was how old I was the first time my mother slapped me. She hit me right across the face for sassing her. To this day, I remember exactly how that slap felt and the shock of it.

That was the day I learned my world was not the wonderland I’d believed it was. And that I might not always get all I wanted in life.

 

Age Six -

I was in first grade  and wanted to play with the other girls in my class at recess. A girl named ‘Janie’ seemed to be in charge. Janie said I “was allowed” to play, but there was another little girl who “wasn’t allowed.” Even though I didn’t like the sad expression on that excluded little girl’s face, I said nothing in her defence, because Janie made the rules, I wanted to play and she said I could. I played while that little girl watched sadly, but I didn’t enjoy the game as much as I’d hoped.

That was the day I realised that there were times that I was going to truly hate myself.  Years later, when I looked back at a class photo, I saw that the girl who hadn’t been allowed to play was either Hispanic or black.      

 

Age Ten-

By fifth grade I was considered popular by my classmates. I was like Janie had been back in kindergarten, only without the meanness, I hope. Along came another girl who was also considered popular, but she was even meaner than Janie had been. She decided there wasn’t enough room in one fifth grade class for two popular girls, so she started a campaign against me. I never told my parents, but my classroom teacher knew and ignored it totally. The bullying was creative and inescapable, involving every classmate, all of whom somehow felt compelled to take sides, and either be my friend or hers, but not both. There were a few holdouts for a while, and always a few whose opinion didn’t count either way, but eventually she was the reigning queen of that fifth grade class. Once possessing that crown, she wielded her power mercilessly, doing everything she could to make my life at school hell. This included commandeering boys to step on my feet at ‘line-up time,’ or dumping my books out of my schoolbag and getting girls to pour orange juice down my back at lunchtime, plus more. After months of daily bullying, I’d finally had more than I could take, and one day, in the girl’s locker room of the school gym, though I’d never been in a fight before, I beat the snot out of Queenie. She ended up crying and telling the gym teacher, who unbeknownst to me, had also been aware of what had been going on. The only thing the gym teacher said about the incident was directed to me, “about time you stood up for yourself.” And then she walked away. Queenie’s ladies-in-waiting were appalled by the teacher and by my actions. They were solicitously sympathetic to her, but none of them ever hassled me again. I felt sick to my stomach after that fight, astonished at the teacher’s words and amazed at my ability to defend myself.

That was the day I recognised that people could be disgusting when they were part of a crowd, and that being ‘popular’ was worthless. And that sometimes, like it or not, I’d have to defend myself, even if it made me feel ill.

 

Age Twelve -
 
My best friend and I were on the playground again. This time, the person being taunted wasn’t me, but a mentally-retarded girl who was also challenged by the condition known as albinism. Her parents had decided to ‘mainstream’ her. But, considered “too white” and “too stupid,” by many of her schoolmates, the things she was subjected at school made my trials the year before seem tame. That day, a group of sixth grade girls and boys locked hands in a loop around her. They wouldn’t let her out as they circled and taunted her. But whether age or experience had changed me, this time, I didn’t pretend not to see or care. I marched right up to that band of cohorts, my best friend right behind me, and we pulled that poor girl out of there. She was nearly hysterical. We brought her back to her ‘special ed’ class,’ then went straight to our guidance counselor to tell the story. The counselor told us there was nothing she could do, the girl’s parents insisted on her staying in that school.

That day, I felt good about what I had done and about myself,  but learned that grown-ups don’t always have all the answers, don’t always do what’s right, and that sometimes, as much as you wish that you weren’t, you are powerless to make any changes.

 

In only five days, I learned so much that defined much of me going forward:

1)  Some days you achieve all you want, and it truly seems that the world revolves around you. Those are the days you have to seize when you get them, and dance like mad to “Tequila.”

2)  However, the world really doesn’t revolve around you, and your parents can never be the gods we imagined or wished they were. 

3)  Popularity is worth less than a pile of dog droppings if, in order to achieve it, you have to give up your integrity.

4) Popularity can also change in a heartbeat. It’s far better to stand alone and, if necessary, stand for yourself.

5)  Just because people are older, or our parents, or our teachers, or our counselors, or our priests, or anyone in authority, we shouldn’t automatically assume they’re smarter than we are, or can handle things better than we can. 

6)  Be for what’s right and fair always, even if the rest of the world isn’t. It might not give you the power to change anything, but you’ll be able to look yourself in the mirror and sleep a lot better at night. 

 

So...what are your defining moments? Ever think about them?

 

When I was in sixth grade, none of these words/phrases existed. Now, every sixth-grader with access to a television or laptop knows their meanings. In case you’re still confused - don’t worry -  I’m here to help. Using the expertise afforded me by my self-proclaimed Ph.D Degree in Patrochism, I’ve painstakingly compiled these definitions to get you up to speed. Words (in alphabetical order, of course) are in bold text, with their definitions beneath them:

 

Blog
What you are currently reading. Duh.                           

Bushism 
There was an oil man from Texas
Who needed more fuel for his Lexus
He started a war
tried explaining what for, but
on what he meant to say, we’re still taking guesses!
                            
Celebrity Rehab
The attempt of washed-up  actors, singers and musicians to rehabilitate their careers by generating  the sympathy and voracity of the tabloids.

Cyber-bullying
A method of intimidation applied by parents to their teenage children in order to get them to switch off their computers. 

Docutainment
Half facts, half entertainment, sort of like the 2008 United States Presidential Campaign.

Egg Harvesting
A scientific system of producing greater quantities of chicken eggs developed by the Easter Bunny, that will probably get him in deep shit with PETA.

Enhanced Interrogation Techniques
This term is a bit confusing to some, because it sounds a lot harsher than it actually is. You see, ‘interrogation’ is just another way of saying  ‘interview’ and ‘enhance’ means ‘to make improved, or more attractive.’ So ‘enhanced interrogation techniques' are not as bad as the relentless questions your mother asks you about stuff that’s none of her business, but more like a give-and-take dialogue, a 'conference,' if you will, at which they serve extra-special tea and biscuits.

Gay Marriage
‘gay’ is synonym for ‘happy,’ so ‘gay marriage’ means ‘happy marriage.’ Because 'happy marriage’ is an oxymoron for many people, ‘gay marriage’ is still deemed implausible in most states.

Global Warming
Global warming is a wonderful happenstance. Due to internet blogging (see definition above) people from all over the world can communicate much more easily. As a result, we’re getting friendlier with each other, we can even say ‘warming up’ to each other. As a result, the globe is a chummier, ’warmer’  place to live than it used to be.

Googled
Past-tense of the verb 'to google,' which means 'to get very familiar with,' as in, “I googled him last night for over an hour.”

Homophobia
Fear of homeless people sleeping on subways. But in today’s economy, a secondary meaning is ‘fear of becoming a homeless person.’

Oprahesque
An adjective that describes anything that is showy, warm and generous.     Synonym (UK)- DameEdnaesque, Antonym (International) - Cheneyesque

Reality TV
The difference in level of entertainment between watching Lucy and Ethel stuff chocolates in their mouths and a scowling Brit with bad hair insulting stars-in-their-eyes wannabes.

Reproductive Rights
The Xerox Corporation’s ongoing civil rights struggle to overcome the English-speaking world’s discrimination  that “xerox” should be used as a synonym for “photocopy.”

Social Media
In this instance, ‘social’ is a synonym for ‘sociable,’ meaning we see emerging from our television nightly newscasts, our newspapers and our internet web hosts a happier, more upbeat and positive reporting of current events. This is accomplished by leaving out of the headlines anything ‘disturbing’ and filling our pretty little heads with fluffy pieces of drivel, instead.

Speed Dating
An unusual, serendipic circumstance whereby a female gets on a bus to go to work and on jumps a very handsome policeman, who tells her there's a hidden bomb onboard which he has to find and detonate while she drives the bus. After this is accomplished, they go out together for a coffee. ‘Speed dating’ occurs so rarely that when it does, a film is made about it.

Video Beatings 
Described by cynics and bleeding hearts alike, as 'the pitiful cry of some teens who, in today’s uncaring, harsh society, are desperate to display their sociopathic, self-absorbed, shallow tendencies, in order to get help against such.' Described by realists as 'parents reaping what they sow.'

Truthiness
Pretty much everything you’ve read here.

I know my dictionary is not complete. I welcome assistance in making it so.  Anyone who contributes a word and definition could be eligible for an honourary BS degree in Patrochism.

 

 

 

 

 

This post is dedicated to you. You know who you are, though not many others do. You trust very few with your secret, the terrible, shameful secret that your mother, your father, maybe even your brothers and sisters, are not talking to you, or you've stopped talking to them.

Or perhaps that's not quite the truth, perhaps you do still talk to them, but wish like hell you could find the nerve to sever ties. Because every time you see them, you leave feeling sick and humiliated. They twist your guts up every time, but you keep going back, because you think- hope- it will be different this time. This time, you’ll do or say the one right thing, the one clever thing, that will make them love you or be proud of you, or, at the very least, respect you.  Or maybe the reason you go back each time is because you had it drilled into your head long ago that you have to accept any bad behaviour from them because they are "your family." Possibly your priest told you that, or your rabbi, or even your best friend, who just happens to have a family who treats him/her in a similar way.  

But more likely, it was your parents themselves. Starting from when you were quite young, after they tormented you in some physical or mental way, they told you that you were to blame, you forced them to treat you in an unbearable way, because you were an unbearable child.

And when you got to too old for them to mentally or physically persecute you, (but only because you moved away,) they continued their campaign against you by “gathering armies.” They told your brothers and sisters how reprehensible you are and that it was acceptable, preferable even, for them to dislike you, even hate you. They passed this sentiment on to aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, anyone they could martial to listen to and sympathise with their complaints about you.  Some were happy to join their crusade. Others were skeptical, though nonetheless, they never defended you.

So for a long time, as you grew to adulthood, you believed them, all of them, that you were ‘argumentative,’ or ‘ungrateful,’ or ‘disrespectful,’ or ‘selfish,’ or ‘crazy’ or coldhearted, or ‘too big for your britches,’ or ‘difficult to handle,’ or whatever. Whatever the reason that they reviled you, you knew it was your fault and you tried to 'fix' it .

But, you never could, could you? No matter what you attempted, be it reason or tears, no matter how you begged for acceptance, wanted so much to explain who you were, and how much you loved them, they wouldn’t hear you and you couldn’t earn their love.

So you struggled hard to close yourself off from the pain of it. You swallowed all their contempt, pretending that you didn’t even sense it. You chastised yourself every time you weren’t stoic enough, numb enough, to convince them and yourself that their barbs, their accusations, didn't hit their mark.

You may have even gone out and found others who treated you the same way your family did. Your wife, your husband, a new friend, even a coworker, picked up the signal from you that it was okay to treat you despicably, because your own family had taught you that you deserved to be despised. You provided a great outlet for these people, because you would never react. And that was because you wanted to be too tough to care.

Sometime in your late twenties or early thirties, it all gets to be a little too much, however, when someone steps over even that meagre line of self-respect you’ve allowed yourself. It might be that you get turned down once too often for that promotion you richly deserve, or that your husband’s verbal assaults become physical. Maybe you have child and one day, when you look at her, you see the child you once were.  So you decide to create a better world for your child and you. You seek “help,” another thing your family ridicules you for, as more proof that you’re the problem. They see you need to go ‘get right in the head,' while of course, they don’t.

For a hefty fee, your therapist is sympathetic and points out the obvious - you didn’t deserve to be brutalised because you couldn’t have been all that intolerable when you were in middle school. So, it’s not you, after all. You wasted almost three decades to anxieties and unmerited hurt, but now you can feel better. Now you can say, “it’s not me,” with some conviction, because your therapist told you so. And will keep telling you so, as long as you keep going back and paying to hear it.

Eventually you stop having to go back and hear it, either because you do finally truly believe it, or because your health insurance runs out. You feel much better about yourself. You learn to have productive relationships. You learn to assert yourself, even like yourself. You meet others who like you, too and whom you can like right back.

And yet, there’s always that hole of lingering hurt. You try to fill it. Maybe with food, maybe with exercise, maybe with sex or achievements. But deep down, you know you weren’t really hungry and all your accomplishments still don’t give you what you want -  that primal approval from the ones who mattered first, though not necessarily most, and the complete release from the little guilt devil who still remains tethered to you. He’s much less significant now, but he’s still there. He’ll never completely go away.  And do you know why?

It’s because you really are guilty.

You are guilty of possessing that one rogue gene from the putrid family pool that gave you a luminous soul and a heart full of compassion.

You are guilty of making the rest of your pitiful family feel envy and resentment that not only were you the only crab who crawled out of their barrel, but you offered others a hand up, too and they didn’t want to take it.

You are guilty of overcoming hardships and rejoicing in your triumphs, while your relatives only see that you have “good” luck, whilst theirs is “bad.” 

And though you may always feel slightly sad that your “good luck” did not extend to who your family is and how they will always see you, that experience helped shape you into the empathetic, productive person you are.

And so, you are guilty, my friend, of being capable of embracing life, drawing others to you with your lure of joy, while your relatives only want to wallow in misery and wait to die. It was a choice they made long ago, that separates you from them and always will. If you can’t fully get over it, sigh deeply, and get used to it.

Then, surround yourself with people like yourself and celebrate the miracle of you, the guilty, wondrous, miracle of you. 

My last post was directed to younger women. This one is for woman who are no longer so young. But it’s not for every older woman. It’s not for those who are divorced or single and very contentedly plan to stay that way. Kudos to those women who are happy in their single state. You know who you are and you rock, girls.

No, this post is for the over-forty, single woman who says that she wants to get married, or have a partner, but, “there are no nice men out there my age.”

To those women, I say, “You’re right.” 

 

That is, if your definition of  ‘nice,’ is, “looks like George Clooney, with a body like Brad Pitt, a sense of humour like Chris Rock, the money of Warren Buffet, the gentility of a Welsh prince, the intelligence of Stephen Hawkins and the fashion sense of Michael Kors. In that case, then, you are indeed right - there are no ‘nice’ men out there your age. In fact, by that standard, there are no men any age with any chance of pleasing you.

What’s going on? I’ve been running into forty to sixty-year-old females who are acting like little girls. They will reject a perfectly wonderful man because he’s bald, or short, or has an odd laugh. One intelligent woman I know even dismissed a man who was interested in her, only because she didn’t like the shirt he was wearing!

And here’s another rather drastic example. I recently met an attractive, 56-year-old woman, beautifully groomed and in great shape. But one thing that struck me as at odds with her obviously devoted beauty regimen was that she had a perpetual look of displeasure, because of two very deep grooves that started at either side of her nose and ran right down to her chin. Lines on a 56-year-old face are normal, but these frown lines were so entrenched, they’d had to be decades in the making.  My supposition turned out to be accurate, when one of the first things she said to me was, “I’ve been married thirty-three years and I’ve hated every day of it. I just can’t stand my husband.”

 

She went on, “But, I can’t get a divorce. There are lots of reasons to stay married.”

That might be true, but she never explained what those reasons were. And she never explained why she couldn’t stand her husband. But later in the conversation I picked up some clues, when I happened to mention that my husband likes to eat peanut butter and graham crackers for lunch, every day.

“Every day?” she asked, already frowning. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Not at all,” I said, “I just buy very big jars of peanut butter and very large boxes of graham crackers.”

I thought she’d laugh, but instead, she frowned some more and those lines on her face got as deep as the Straits of Corinth. “How do you put up with that?” she asked, seriously. “That would really annoy me.”

Then I understood. This woman had spent the last thirty years trying to make her husband over into something he hadn’t been when she’d chosen him. So, naturally she was miserable. And I bet her husband’s life was no picnic, either.

In that one conversation, I learned everything I needed to know about her idea of marriage.

And sadly, she’s not the only one. Many women are expecting some idealised, stylised,  made-up version of man to show up at their doors and be a reflection of the make-believe that they’ve been carrying around since they first saw Walt Disney’s Sleeping Beauty when they were children. And that’s why they’re sad and/or lonely. That man they’re waiting for was invented by romance novelists and Hollywood. The Johnny Depp they’re dreaming of is a phantasm who doesn’t exist.

That’s why, with all due respect, I simply have to say, “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, because you’re missing something very big.”

Johnny Depp might be a perfectly fine human being, for all we’ll ever know, but when he’s working, he’s put together by make-up artists, a team of hair dressers and costume experts. His every move is choreographed by professionals and his every sentence is memorised from a script.  If his leading lady is taller than he, they stand him on a box and the camera hides the fact that she’s crouching as she says her lines to him, while desperately trying to ignore the smell of onions on his breath from the sandwich he had at dinner break.

And yet, a real, live, breathing human male hasn’t got a chance against him with a woman who compares him to her sexual fantasies of chocolate-eating Irish gypsies, blind murderers in Mexico and pirates with bad teeth.

But a fantasy can’t hold you at night, talk over breakfast with you in the morning and grow old with you. A fantasy doesn’t listen when you talk about your dreams, your mother, your fears. A fantasy doesn’t trust you with his utmost vulnerabilities, see you as the most beautiful woman in the world.

My husband, the graham-cracker-eater, is not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. He tells me he has wrinkles, but I just can’t see them. I’m too focused on his gorgeous eyes. They reflect his joy of his everyday life with me, our children, his work, his hobbies. They glisten with compassion over the terrible things we read in the news. And at night, when we’re together, they shine like a boy’s, a boy who is unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting for all his life. With no offence to Johnny, because I love his movies, too, but I just don’t think he could pull that off every night in my bed, script or no script. Because Johnny is not in love with me, but my husband is.

Honestly? You know what I really wanted to say to Ms. Furrow-Face when she was so patently annoyed by peanut butter?

I wanted to ask her, “When was the last time you and you husband gave or received oral sex to each other and really relished it? Not just because you were horny, but because you were doing it with the one person in the world who makes you feel that nothing could possibly be better than this?”  

But sadly, she’ll never feel that. Instead, she’ll spend the next thirty-three years forcing her poor sap of a mate to have a varying lunch menu every day of the week, because that’s what she thinks he should want.

Gosh, I sure hope she enjoys those lunches. And I guess, I’ll just enjoy the screaming orgasms my husband happily provides me at least four times a week. I hope those last another thirty years, too.  But when they stop and it’s time for my life to end, I really, truly hope I die in his arms, with our children around me. 

Knowing that he’d be there for me, till the very last, well, that’s what’s sexy to me.

Ladies who are looking for love, please listen to me - sexy, nice men are everywhere. They’re short, they’re bald, they’re old, they’re young, they’re fat, they’re skinny, they’re smart and not-so-smart, well-dressed and badly-dressed, straight and gay. They’re construction workers or business men. They’re even posting on VOX.

To illustrate, I will outline a partial list of men here, in alphabetical order, who, if I were not already in love, or if I were younger, or older, or living in their country, or if they weren’t already attached to some other lucky (and very smart) woman, I’d make a beeline for. And no matter what shirt he’s wearing, or what he eats for lunch, I’d find him sooo attractive, just because he’s HIM:

1.  Ancora Impara
2.  Baria
3.  BlackJavaBean
4.  Crowseer
5.  Himanshu Gupta
6.  IlliasK
7.  Jack Yan
8.  Jayd
9.  Kirk
10. Paxton
11. Petermcc
12. Phillhellene
13. R.G. Ryan
14. Snowy
15. Steve Betz
16. Toe-Knee

Why did I pick these sixteen men? Not because they’re pirates on a dead man’s ship. Just read their  blogs and their comments on other people’s blogs, and you’ll know why. They’re compassionate, passionate, family-loving, smart, sincere, insightful. They say kind things, have a world outlook, are productive human beings and caring friends. In short, “SEX BOMBS,” every last one. And there’s more where they came from, if we only look away from our movie screens and novels and out in to the real world. 

 

_____________________________
DISCLAIMER: Don’t get upset because I’m directing this post to only my sex. I know there are foolish men out there, too, who make the same mistakes when they’re looking for a woman to love. In fact, I divorced one of them.

I've just learned that one of my favourite Voxers shares a birthday month with me. She'll be turning 21, whilst I'll be turning fifty-two. So for her and for every other younger woman on VOX, I've learned some valuable things about life, love and being female over the past half-century and I thought if I passed some of the more important ones on to you, maybe it will save you some precious time:

 

 

1) You are at least ten times prettier than you think you are. That holds true no matter how pretty you already think you are! Don't believe me? Ask your mother/auntie/grannie if she thought she was pretty when she was twenty. She'll say, "no." Then find a photo of her at that age. See what I mean?

2)The only thing you should be faking is confidence. If you don't have it yet, pretend you do. In every new situation, pretend you're not nervous, pretend you're not afraid. After a few times doing this, the pretend part disappears.

3) Want to try something new, like painting, skiing, running your own business? Go to the library and borrow ten different books on the subject. Skim through them all, find the ones that have the most vital information and study them. Then see number 2.

4) No matter how old you get, remember what it was like to be a nine-year old girl. Remember the feeling of freedom. If you've already forgotten, do a cartwheel. You can so still do one. Savour that feeling.  Wake up with it every day. You'll stay young until the day you die.

5) In the same vein, cut or potted flowers are never a waste of money. Because every time we glance at them, they remind us how much beauty there can be in the world.

6) Speaking of money, starting right this moment, whether you're twenty or sixty, you can change your finances around. Don't leave someone else completely in charge,whether it's your husband, partner, parents or banker. Become financially saavy.  Financial independence gives you the freedom to walk away from many bad situations. How do you know you're in  bad situation? See number seven.

 

7) If your stomach hurts and you haven't got a virus, you're in a bad situation. Before you know what it is, your stomach always does. Give yourself some time to ponder what it might be that's making your stomach hurt. Chances are you already do know, you just don't want to believe it, for some reason. You can ignore advice from your friends, even your own brain, but you can't ignore your stomach, because the stomach never lies. Oh, and by the way? - Drowning your stomach in alcohol won't make it stop telling you the truth, either.

8) When meeting someone new and he or she seems to be behaving like an assh*le, show compassion first. If after you display your sincere compassion, they are still acting like an assh*le, walk away. If they follow you, call the police.

 

9) Wear sunscreen on your face, neck and hands every day, winter and summer. I don't care how dark your skin naturally is. Wear it. You'll remember me when you look in the mirror at age fifty. Always keep in mind that Your body is directly connected to your spirit. Look after your body. Exercise, floss and brush your teeth. Put nothing in your body that can permanently harm your spirit, including the wrong man.

10) And if you are in bed with a man and he's the right man - meaning your stomach doesn't hurt, he's smiling at you, he knows your name, he's not drunk and neither are you- for goddsakes- enjoy yourself. He is not at all thinking about how fat your thighs look.

 

What Shall We Do on Christmas Day?

 

 

1)  “The hind legs of the tiger are longer than the forelegs. It is this that enables them to jump impressive distances. There have been instances recorded of tigers leaping widths of as much as twenty feet, with one tiger seen to leap thirty feet.

It is not uncommon for wild tigers to make vertical leaps of up to six feet in an effort to scale an obstacle. On one occasion a tiger was recorded as carrying the entire carcass of a domestic cow over a six-foot wall.

Some captive facilities now include circus-like activities to prevent boredom in their cats, and to improve general physical and mental health. Leaping over natural obstacles is often part of this.

Utilised in long-range communication the roar is infrequently used. Easily heard for over 3 km, it advertises location and warns away other tigers, or attracts them when the search for a mate is on. Sometimes it is sounded after a successful kill, but never during the actual attack, which is carried out in silence.”excerpted from lairweb.org.nz

 

2).  Definition of “Captivity and Animal Captivity“- excerpted from WIKIPEDIA:

a. “The state of being confined to a space from which it is difficult or impossible to escape;  the same used in a figurative sense, like for example, female captivity, as allegorically portrayed in The Gilded Cage”

b. “Keeping wild, non-domesticated animals in menageries, zoos, aquaria, marine mammal parks, for various reasons:
prestige (to display wealth and power)
entertaiment and Amusement
profit
science
education
conservation biology

Captive animals, especially those which are not domesticated, sometimes develop repetitive, apparently purposeless motor behaviors called stereotypical behaviors , thought to be caused by the animals' abnormal environment. Many zoos and research institutions, attempt to prevent or decrease stereotypical behavior by introducing novel stimuli, known as environmental enrichment.
 

3) In Carlo’s Sousa’s own words from his MySpace Page:

" Hey What's Up!? My Name is Carlos, Im portugeese and brazilian. I'm 16, I love my life, but its gonna get better. I want to be DJ someday. I Hang with the family , and my true homies play basketball and go out to the movies and partyharder then a rock star, only sumdayz wen i have my days off of work. I'm just a laid back guy looking for some cool new friends! So if anyone wants to talk, just say wat it doo doo!!"

4) Various Posts/Blogs about the San Francisco Zoo Tiger Attack:

According to his last post on his MySpace page his mood was "high". So maybe the Tiger just wanted some spiked brownies.

-------Posted by: Dencio | Dec 27, 2007 5:53:06 PM

Man , I looked at his site and he comes off as being a punk and obnoxious ,I think it will come out that they taunted the tiger and if they did it is say the tiger had to be put down...even on his tribute site people are anonymous since they don't want to look bad when the surveillance video is played back. Another sad thing ..how did this guy every even graduate high school ..he even says in his profile that he is into 'being dumb'

--------Posted by: Aslanspal | Dec 27, 2007 10:10:03 PM

Just looking at his MySpace it's obvious he did drugs. Friends left comments like "where da treez at". Also, the other public MySpace mentioned on this page has comments on it where they are mentioning Ecstasy prices. Also, "going dumb" is San Francisco slang for taking ecstasy. I am sure these Dhaliwal brothers did drugs too. Another news report says that Sousa's father called the Dhaliwal household looking for his son. He was told that he was not with them when in fact he was. To me that screams that they were out doing drugs, acting stupid. Look what it got them.

---------Posted by: nik | Dec 28, 2007 12:08:52 AM

So, let me get this right. If someone happens to taunt the tigers and the person’s conduct enrages the tigers, then the zoo is without responsibility because the person and/or other visitors should have known that the tigers could easily escape their enclosure? How absurd. I guess all zoo visitors better stay home, as really, you never know when someone may taunt a tiger or for that matter, engage in conduct that triggers an attack mode and really, if so, you, as a visitor deserves to be mauled to death. Silly me, somehow I expected zoo officials would have considered a wide range of possibilities (including taunting) when they built the height of the enclosure. 
 May your soul rest in peace Carlos.

 --------------Posted by: Rene | Dec 27, 2007 11:56:26 PM

 

5. Newspaper Reports/Blogs on Manuel Mollinedo, Director of San Francisco Zoo:

Manuel Mollinedo was the search committee's unanimous pick for director. "The nice thing about a zoo is that you can put your arms around it,'' he says.---from San Francisco Chronicle

Mollinedo left his job as director of L.A.'s Department of Recreation and Parks in 2003, to take the San Francisco Zoo job. He previously was director of the Los Angeles Zoo from 1995 to 2002 and won high praise for his management there despite his lack of background in animal care or zoos. The job usually requires at least as much knowledge in the care and feeding of politicians and donors as it does oversight of exotic animals.

Mollinedo ran the L.A. Zoo in 2001 on the day that a komodo dragon bit off the toe  belonging to the San Francisco Chronicle's executive editor Phil Bronstein. That's a fact that may help keep the Chronicle's attention on Mollinedo as the probe of the tiger attack continues.

-------------Posted by Robert

“At the news conference, Zoological Society Chairman Nick Podell lavishly praised the beleaguered Mollinedo, who took over at the zoo in February 2004 and was earning $314,038 a year plus $15,702 in benefits and a $9,548 expense account, according to zoo tax documents filed in November. The society operates the zoo, although the land and animals are owned by the city.”----San Francisco Chronicle

“The very public tragedy overshadows decades of problems - and the troubles of the current zoo administration, which began in February 2004 when Manuel Mollinedo became director of the 100-acre facility.

Almost four years later, attendance has increased, celebrations built around ethnic holidays have drawn crowds, new arrivals such as KuneKune pigs have proved popular, and two splashy exhibits - Hearst Grizzly Gulch and the long-planned African Savanna - have opened. However, problems have multiplied and employee morale has plummeted. The director's tenure has been highly eventful.

Three of the zoo's four elephants have died since March 2004 - two at the zoo, a third at a Calaveras County sanctuary where it was sent, broken-down and ailing. The lone survivor still lives there. The fight over the pachyderms' fate, taken up by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors and animal rights activists, enraged the national Association of Zoos and Aquariums, which tabled the zoo's accreditation for a year.

This summer, two giant elands, valued at $30,000 apiece, were killed by their peer soon after all three arrived at the zoo, during a quarantine that sources say was doomed and mishandled. Two black swans, introduced with much fanfare in May 2006, also didn't last long.

A year ago June, some parakeets in the zoo's big summer blockbuster, Binnowee Landing, tested positive for psittacine beak-and-feather disease, which is contagious and often fatal to other birds, including family pets. The zoo knew about the problem but did not warn visitors until it was reported in the press.

Meanwhile, plans were quietly killed for the Great Ape Forest exhibit, highlighted in a $48 million city bond measure approved by voters in 1997 to upgrade the zoo. And four would-be inhabitants - aging wild-born chimpanzees- are still living in a concrete grotto while their handler continues her lonely quest to make sure their rare and invaluable genes are passed on through breeding.

The chimps' longtime zookeeper, Lisa Hamburger, has occasionally appeared at monthly meetings of the Joint Zoo Committee, a city panel that oversees the zoo, to plead her case. As she prepared to speak one afternoon, Mollinedo got up and walked out of the room.

"It would appear that his management style - which downplays the value of staff and the welfare of animals - remains in place," said a former worker from the Los Angeles Zoo.

Since Mollinedo took over, there has been a steady exodus of employees, including the deputy director, education director, two successive public relations managers, development director, curator of birds, marketing manager, events director, human resources manager, general manager of concessions and a number of veteran keepers.

6) Newspaper Reports on Events that took place Christmas Day, 2007 at the San Francisco Zoo:

Two victims of a lethal Christmas Day tiger attack were harassing the big cats at the San Francisco Zoo shortly before a 350-pound feline escaped its enclosure and mauled them, a woman told The Chronicle on Wednesday.

Jennifer Miller, who was at the zoo with her husband and two children that ill-fated Christmas afternoon, said she saw four young men at the big-cat grottos - and three of them were teasing the lions a short time before the tiger's bloody rampage that killed 17-year-old Carlos Sousa Jr.

Miller called the behavior she witnessed by the victims "disturbing."

"The boys, especially the older one, were roaring at them. He was taunting them," the San Francisco woman said. "They were trying to get that lion's attention. ... The lion was bristling, so I just said, 'Come on, let's get out of here' because my kids were disturbed by it."

Her family was looking at the lions when the young men stopped beside them at the big-cat grottos - five outdoor exhibits attached to the Lion House. The young men started roaring at the lions and acting "boisterous" to get their attention, said Miller, who added that she watched the four for five minutes or so a little after 4 p.m.

Taunting an animal at the zoo is a misdemeanor. Zoo officials declined Wednesday to specifically say that they suspected taunting in the escape of the tiger.

"Something prompted our tiger to leap over the exhibit," said Manuel Mollinedo, executive director of the zoo, in response to questions during a 13-minute press conference attended by at least 40 media representatives on Wednesday.

The two surviving young men who were attacked denied harassing any animals. Their lawyer is attempting to sue the zoo for character defamation.

7) Final findings in the San Francisco Zoo Tiger Attack, according to newspaper reports:

SAN FRANCISCO (AP) - One of the three victims of San Francisco Zoo tiger attack was intoxicated and admitted to yelling and waving at the animal while standing atop the railing of the big cat enclosure, police said in court documents filed Thursday.

Paul Dhaliwal, 19, told the father of Carlos Sousa Jr., 17, who was killed, that the three yelled and waved at the tiger, according search warrant affidavit obtained by the San Francisco Chronicle

“As a result of this investigation, (police believe) that the tiger may have been taunted/agitated by its eventual victims," according to Inspector Valerie Matthews, who prepared the affidavit. Police believe that "this factor contributed to the tiger escaping from its enclosure and attacking its victims," she said.

Sousa's father, Carlos Sousa Sr., said Dhaliwal told him the three stood on a 3-foot-tall metal railing a few feet from the edge of the tiger moat. "When they got down they heard a noise in the bushes, and the tiger was jumping out of the bushes on him (Paul Dhaliwal)," the documents said.

Police found a partial shoe print that matched Paul Dhaliwal's on top of the railing, Matthews said in the documents. Authorities believe the tiger leaped or climbed out of the enclosure, which had a wall 4 feet shorter than the recommended minimum.

The affidavit also cites multiple reports of a group of young men taunting animals at the zoo, the Chronicle reported.

Mark Geragos, an attorney for the Dhaliwal brothers, did not immediately return a call late Thursday by The Associated Press for comment. He has repeatedly said they did not taunt the tiger.

Toxicology results for Dhaliwal showed that his blood alcohol level was 0.16—twice the legal limit for driving, according to the affidavit. His 24-year-old brother, Kulbir, and 17-year-old Sousa also had alcohol in their blood but within the legal limit.

All three also had marijuana in their systems, Matthews said. Kulbir Dhaliwal told police that the three had smoked pot and each had "a couple shots of vodka" before leaving San Jose for the zoo on Christmas Day, the affidavit said.

Police found a small amount of marijuana in Kulbir Dhaliwal's 2002 BMW, which the victims rode to the zoo, as well as a partially filled bottle of vodka, according to court documents.

"Those brothers painted a completely different picture to the public and the press," Singer said. "Now it's starting to come out that what they said is not true."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I met your father, one of the first things he said was,

 “I have four wonderful sons and I love them very much.”

Men on the prowl might keep that fact hidden, so as not to scare off any potential ‘temporary’ lady birds. So, I’d already learned two things about him just by that one statement: his children came first and he was looking for a serious relationship.

And I thought to myself, Now here’s man I’d like to get to know.

We spent only one week together in Greece and we were already halfway in love. Now came the tough part - meeting the offspring. He was nervous about meeting mine and I was nervous about meeting his.

But it didn’t take long for me to figure out your dad was right. You and your brothers were indeed absolutely wonderful. And since today is your birthday I’d like to tell you both 

The Top Things (at the least) I Like About You: 

 

ANDY

You hadn’t even met me yet and you sent me an email. (I still have it, you know.) It was in response to my email to you. I’d found your email address on my computer because when your dad came to visit me in Greece, he’d written to you. I wanted to surprise him with a Christmas gift and since I hadn’t known him long, I’d no idea what I should get. I wrote to ask your opinion, but I wasn’t sure if you’d answer it. After all, you didn’t know me. But not only did you write me a carefully thought-out letter, you apologised because you thought you hadn’t answered quickly enough.

That wouldn’t be the last time you showed your caring nature. You gave up your seat on the leather couch at dad’s house the first time we all stayed there together, because you thought I wasn’t comfortable where I was sitting. It was only me, you and Tim in the room watching television, so you didn’t do it to impress your dad. Then there was that first Christmas we spent together. We were decorating the Christmas tree and you were the only one in the room who noticed how much I wanted to have my favourite Santa at the top of the tree. You put it up there for me and then said, “That’s the nicest Santa I’ve ever seen.”

What’s fun about you is that out of all your blood brothers, you’re the one who reminds me most of me and Nick. It’s your emotional outbursts. Are you sure you’re not Italian?

But, it’s the long talks on the phone we’ve had, when I really see what you’re made of.  You’re smart, you’re a deep thinker, you’re loyal to everyone you care about and you’re not looking for any free rides. You’ve always been willing to do more than your share of work and you respect people who do the same.

CLINT

That last paragraph applies to you, too. Do you know when I was most proud to know you? It was when I saw the way you handled that work dilemma you faced in Southern California. You had a position you’d wanted badly and had worked very hard to get. But in order to keep it, you later discovered you’d have to do something nasty that would betray all the men who worked for you. You could have found a million excuses to do it and thus keep your job. You didn’t do it. You quit instead.

And then, there’s the way you act towards women. Over and over again, I’ve seen you treat your mother, me, your girlfriends, or your friends who are girls, all the same - with respect. (You get that from your dad, in my opinion.) The gal who gets you for life will be a lucky, lucky gal.

You also have a remarkable charm for such a young age, Clint, that’s dynamite.  No matter who’s speaking to you, whether it’s my old, deaf uncle with the thick Sicilian accent, or the prettiest girl in the room, you focus on that person, listen to what they’re saying and make them feel as though they’re the most important person to you at that moment.

This rest goes for both of you:

How is it possible that two such extraordinarily, identically handsome young men, (identical with the exception of that one little mole on Andy’s lower cheek) are not the least bit vain? Not even a bit? I don’t think I’ve ever met two less self-absorbed people in my life.

Then there’s the sense of humour. I love to see you both, because I just love to see you, but I also know you’re going to make me laugh.

Thank you for making it so easy for me and Nick to become part of your family. Thank you for making it so easy for me to love you.

And I do.

Happy Twenty-sixth  Birthday, Clint. 

 Happy Twenty-sixth Birthday, Andy.

I wish you all the happiness in the world and that every one of your dreams comes true.
 You deserve it. 

 

Today would have been the day I posted the last in my series on men, titled, “In Danger From The Outside World.” But, I’ve had to postpone because several events have occurred in the last two weeks that have prompted me to make this announcement:

I am Ann Coulter.

That’s right. She and I are the same person.

Look - this chart (Chart I) will prove it:

 

                                     Patricia V. Davis                          Ann Coulter

age	51	47
height	5 ft. 3 inches	6 ft.
weight	124	unknown
Hair colour	dark brown	blonde
Eye colour	black	blue
Education	Teaching Degree	Law Degree
Residence	California	New York
Self-defence	Can leg press 270 pounds	Owns guns, has body guards

 

 

Though this chart does not show much similarity, if you look at our photos, you will see that Ann and I are wearing a similar beige, sleeveless blouse.