Wednesday, March 31, 2010

From Russia with love...

I got this in a junk email today and it was just too good not to share....

Hello the stranger. We are not familiar with you. But I very much would like to get acquainted with you on closer. My name is Ekaterina, I from Russia and me of 27 years. I work as the seller in shop and I write to you from work. I when did not get acquainted before with men on the Internet it is my first time. I have decided to find to myself of the partner in life through the Internet and have written to you. I very much was disappointed in men from Russia, I wish to meet now the prince on the Internet. I send to you I wash a photo.

If I have interested you, write to me on mine e-mail: (hidden)

And I will necessarily answer you. You to me seem very good man with which it will be interesting to communicate. I would like you to learn better and more close to get acquainted. I will wait the answer.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Effing Karma

Karma. I'm not even sure what it means. It's often quoted, though; I know that much. And usually only referred to when plans don't work out, or destiny comes into question.

Is this karma in action?

A for sale sign in the window and several months worth of ads in the penny saver will net no interest from possible buyers. But the day you throw up your hands and take the damn car back to the dealer (a 100 miles away), you get asked "how much?" at the gas station, the drive through, and every stop light on the way out of town. Effing karma.

After a Saturday morning soccer gear safari with the boy, finally having rounded up the required items for the next several Saturdays, lunchtime hits and before you commit to the order, good guy voice on your shoulder suggests you get enough for everyone at home too. Don't be selfish. Fine. Extra food. Drive home. Win win, everyone eats. Nope. Karma had other plans. "We already ate," is waiting at the door. Not even a thank you. Effing karma. (And you know for damn sure what would've happened if you weren't such a thoughtful son of a bitch... no one would've had lunch yet.)

The little humans in this house are messy as hell. Ketchup stains, gogurt stains, mud stains, juice stains, toothpaste stains, and any one of a number of other stains thrive like industrial disaster areas on 10's of dozens of all those cute little garments. Washing them in a timely and predictable order is apparently too much for us. Laundrey pile, a nefarious lifeform if you will, mocks us every day and every night we let another opportunity to make a dent pass us by. The clock ticks down and laundrey pile spreads his influence ever further over the washroom floor.

Right before dozing off for the night, you recall a tear-stained, weeping child who has "nothing to wear tomorrow." Heavy sigh. It's only 12:33 in the AM. So you throw a load in, and wait. It'll be about an hour to cycle and then the dryer can finish up the job. You turn on the TV, and flip channels for minutes and minutes and minutes.

You land on "Spartacus: Blood and Sand," an original series on Starz. Holy Moses! Who else is wide awake in about 16 seconds? You've seen this story before: gladiators, honor, blood, swords, lots of people in robes and forced accents wandering about pontificating the glory of Rome. Oh, and none-stop humping. Humping in the foreground, background, off the ground, on the ground, in the streets, on the seats, etc. More skin, sweating, writhing and humping then you could ever recall witnessing on TV in your life. It's like, instead of beautiful architecture and believable scenery in the backgrounds, the producers and director only requested naked "actors" willing to hump the whole time, no matter what, no matter the scene being played out on screen. I'm certain they're trying to tell a story somewhere between the barrage of humping. But it's hard to gather an actual story unfolding at all. People smarter than me -- who make more money than me -- decide these things.

Full disclosure, I watched until the spin cycle stopped and the final credits rolled. Effing karma laughs yet again at a simple man trying to do the right thing for his children, late at night, when he should've just gone to sleep an hour earlier. Oh, and that was just the set-up, because when morning came the kid was sick, and she wouldn't be needing any of those freshly washed clothes today. Not one. Just awesome! What gives? Effing karma.

Then the others, like: washing your car on a sunny day only to have it rain a few hours later. Or, choosing not to mow the lawn this evening because you have the whole weekend to worry about it (a weekend full of rainy days). Or you cut and trim a stretched-too-thin budget, because it's a smart thing to do, only to have the unexpected repair, mechanical failure or doctor bill gobble up your surplus like a yellow lab woofing down dog chow. Effing karma.

I don't know what the hell karma is. I just know whatever you're planning to do will have little to do with your destiny. Thems are the breaks, kid. Whatever belief system you go by, or religious compass you adhere to, the concept of karma is universal: that the more you convince yourself that you're in control of every last detail of your life the more evident it becomes that you're really not. That faith, good habits and common sense will surely help you navigate that which unfolds along your path, but you will never know -- never really know -- what awaits you around the bend.

Effing karma knows.