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Sep
27

STINKIN THINKIN’

By Kim Sisto-Robinson · Comments (0)

How differently the river gleams now that you’re gone—Roberta Hill Whiteman

 

 

I need help. Heaps and heaps of help.

Seriously.

Since my sister’s murder, I’ve recognized that I cannot do it alone.  God knows, I tried…I tried…I damn well tried.

At last, I surrendered.

 Everything.

Before getting out of bed each morning (I dread getting out of bed) I say:

Jesus, you allowed the best person in my universe to die. I have nothing left to give you.  Take it all.  My heart.  My words. My body. My mind.  My dreams. My soul. Just take it.”

What?

Did you imagine I’d be okay after four months, four years, the rest of my life?  Did you suppose I’d go to go back to my old ways and discuss irrelevant, ridiculous, idiotic gossip?

 Did you assume I’d be unchanged?

If so, stop reading this blog.

You don’t know shit.

Your sun may be balmy and brilliant… but mine has moved to Oneonta Cemetery.

Your moon may be illuminating your nights…but mine has darkened in the sky.

Therefore…

I schedule an appointment to see a psychologist, a shrink, a counselor, whatever people label them nowadays.

I observe Lake Superior from his window.  Silky.  Soothing. Ships flowing into port. Waves rolling into shore. An acceptable site for mourning people to dwell upon while they get sewn back up.

“If I could give you a pill to take away the pain, would you take it? he asks.

“Yes, do you have one?” I answer.

“That’s not the answer I was looking for,” he smiles a half smile. “If you don’t feel the pain now, you’ll feel it later.  Do you still want that pill?”

‘Yes,” I say again.

“What do you miss about your sister the most?”

“Her presence.  Her existence.  HER everything.” Then I look him square in the face and say in a loud voice, “I WANT HER BACK!”

Silence. Too long. Too awkward.

“Well, she’s gone.” He finally replies.

WOW, did you figure that out all by yourself?  Did you obtain your PhD from “Dumb-Ass University?

But I just utter “Yeah, I know. I get it.”

Weeping. Regret. Anger. Sadness.  Hopelessness.

“If only I’d been there. If only I had taken her out of that hell hole.  I might have saved her.  If only…If only…”

“You know what that’s called–STINKIN’ THINKIN,’Kim,  What you’re doing right now is Stinkin’ Thinkin.’

You’re an imbecile.  You’re a dip shit.  I hate you. Don’t look at me.  Have you ever lost part of your soul, your life, your heart?  Have you ever lost anything in your entire Stinkin’- Thinkin’-$200.00-per- hour- life, you Freudian Freak?

“Yep, Stinkin’ Thinkin.  Now, reflect on the good things, Kim.  Think about the enjoyable things you did together.  Your hugs.  Your holidays. Your carefree days. Grasp unto those thoughts and hold them tightly.”

He lifts up a hand and closes it abruptly as if catching a butterfly.

She was murdered.  Shot in the head three times.  KILLED. Assassinated. Now she’s GONE.  And you want me to talk about the carefree days?

“Yep, I’ll grasp onto those sweet thoughts,” I murmur snottily.

He looks at his watch.  “Well this session is complete, Kim.  Make another appointment with the front desk, alright?”

I don’t make another appointment.

Rather, I  meet girlfriends for Merlot, hot artichoke dip, brushetta, and tears.

I tell my story over and over again.  I tell my story until my napkin is drenched with salt and snot and stained with mascara. 

I tell my story.

…And they listen.better times…..Kim, Kay, Susie, Shirley, Caroline, Bonnie…….Cousins Weekend 2010…….I shall NEVER forget


 

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~I once knew a dude named Vito.  He worked for Carnival Cruise Lines.  He was an Italian Officer, a big shot, a womanizer, a smooth cat, and a rat.  Do you remember “Officer and the Gentleman?”  They are not really gentleman.  I know.  I worked for Carnival Cruise Lines, too. 

Anyhow, I never really knew what Vito did on the ship, you know, his line of work.  I guess being an Officer Was his profession.   All I know for sure is that Vito and his fellow officers were in the club every night picking up passengers. And I swear to you, I was told by a reliable source that “picking up chicks, flirting ceaselessly with them, and asking them to dance” was part of their job description.

What a big fat joke. 

 

I remember the elderly women, the ugly ducklings; the flirty married women, and the single college girls would giggle like fools at Vito’s jokes.  Hell, the guy barely spoke a word of English, except when he’d utter in that lush Italian accent…. “Come Sei Bella (how beautiful you are), or Voglio fare sesso Conte,” (I want to make sex with you).  They’d snicker and cackle and gush and get all red in the cheeks….and I’d think to myself, “All of you are complete and utter dumb asses, aren’t you?”

My pit boss, Ellen, was sleeping with the Captain.  She walked around the casino as if she were Queen of Sheba, as if she owned every blackjack table and roulette wheel in the joint.  She might as well of had a sign screaming, “Look at me.  I’m finally somebody, cuz I’m sleeping with the Captain of the ship.   Yeah, you heard me right—the old guy that navigates this vessel, babe.”  I heard through the grape vine that Ellen had been dating Captain Stubbing for about two years; that he was VERY married with kids; that she moved out of her little all -girl cabin into his big-boy cabin, and that he thought her teeth were ugly, so he paid big bucks to have all of them capped in Miami.  Ellen’s teeth were perfect.   And quite honestly, after hearing that story, I felt a bit differently about Ellen.  I felt sorry for her.  Sorry that she was dating a damn jerk that didn’t think her teeth were good enough for him.

The Casino Girls couldn’t dance in the ship’s night club, which I never completely understood.  We had to sit there watching as Vito and all of his married cheating Italian friends seduced the female passengers one by one with their sexy voices, crisp white uniforms, and smooth swaggers.  It reminded me of that scene out to “European Vacation” where Chevy Chase and his family are sitting in this stylish French restaurant utterly mesmerized and captivated by the waiter’s dialect. But the audience can observe the subtitles of what the waiter was TRULY saying:  “You American’s are all Ass Wipes.  Yes, you Americans are Dumb Shits, aren’t you?!”  That cracked my up.
 

From another source (I had several sources) I heard the Officers had a massive chart in their quarters with the names of women they had sweet talked into their Italian- 500- count –silk sheets.  I was so appalled by this outrageous, sexist behavior that I snuck in their break room once to check it out.  Vito caught me, grinning with that delicious grin of his.  “Come Sei Bella!!!” He purrrrred.

I never did see that sex chart, but Vito valiantly denied everything.  I believe he lied right to my face.

The main land could have exploded and I wouldn’t have known the difference.  I was too busy dealing blackjack, and observing Veto and the other officers strutting around the ship as if they were desirable Greek Gods, as if they were indestructible, as if they were sex machines.  

Of course, I never told them I’d be writing every little detail down…every little sin.

A few years after leaving the ship, I was informed that Ellen and Captain Stubbing broke up.  Perhaps, he found another young thing to worship the ground he walked on. Perhaps he was working overtime to pay for a boob job for her, or liposuction, or something to make her worth his while.  I never cared for that Stupid, Stupid man.

But I do wonder about Vito.  He seemed a little different than the rest, a bit more thoughtful, a bit more female.  In the photo below you will see Nikki, Vito, and I.  Vito actually treated us both for dinner in Cozumel, and we took this picture beforehand.  We ordered stuffed calzones and sweet, fruity Sangria. We had stimulating conversation.  And yes, Vito was an absolute gentleman.  If not, I would have told you so…

Nikki, Vito, & Kim / Carnival Cruise Lines / good times,  carefree days.


 

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~~ Every once in a while, I get this urge to get on my soap box and give the world a piece of my mind;  to run to the window and scream bloody murder,” I’m Mad as Hell and I’m Not Going to Take it Anymore!”

       This is one of those times.

I am soooooooooooooooooooo sick of these idiotic, absurd, ghastly, disgusting, noncontributing, foolish, brainless,  and revolting- so-called-celebrities making the news for NOTHING,  being famous for NOTHING.

What have they done?    What have they donated to society?  Why are they taking up space on the airways, in the news, and especially 

    Excuuuuuuuuuuuuse Meeeeeeeeeeeeee….

In case you haven’t heard…..there’s a little war going on in Afghanistan.  Our health care plan is in the shit hole without a paddle.   We are about a GAZZILLION dollars in dept.  And more than that, millions of people are dying every single day from unclean water, violence, terrorism, hopelessness, oppression, and starvation.

    And what, I ask you, do we see on the news?

Paris Hilton strutting into a Christmas party with her Gucci dress and Jimmy Choos–twirling her hair around her finger as if she’s the fuc%#ing Queen of England.

Come on, this girl is only famous for having money, blonde hair, and revealing her muffin.

    What else do we see?

Kate Gosselin — is hosting the “The View!”  Are you damn well kidding me?  THE VIEW?  Goslet is on 20/20, Larry King, Nancy Grace, 60 Minutes.; Gosselin is being interviewed by my hero, Barbra Walters, as one of the most fascinating people of 2009; even my Anderson Handsome Cooper is rambling on  about her on his show.  I’m ashamed of you Anderson.  Bad , bad boy!

    I am burning inside.  I am bubbling.    I am bewildered.    I am angry.

I mean, this freak-show of a woman had eight babies.  That’s what she did. She reproduced.  She gave birth.  A woman does this from time to time.  I did it.  Do you give a flying shit?  Do you desire to watch me on CNN because I delivered my two, (may I say softly and humbly), beautiful boys?  Nooope.

Nevertheless…

This is Gosselin’s  accomplishment.  This is her story. This is her moment of fame

Don’t even get me going on her idiotic-cheating-good-for –nothin’ husband. 

  His achievement:   He gave Gosselin  a bit of his slimy-slippery- sperm.

SO WHAT!  WHO CARES!  What is he legendary (in his own mind)  for?  If you can tell me, I’ll stop writing this blog immediately. 

And then, last but not least, there is the annoying as hell, nauseating family– “The Kardashians.”  Sounds like a freaking appetizer.  Well, perhaps, it is.

An appetizer that is so overwhelming, over-filling and exasperating that it makes you want to throw up directly after you consume it.

So there’s Kim, Khloe, and Kourtney, and I can’t seem to figure out what they do or why they’re admired and famous.  Did they win the Nobel Peace Prize?  (No, that was Obama).  Did they donate to some great charity or make a contribution to society in some wonderful way?  Did they do anything besides begin a reality show called “Keeping up with the Kardashians,” which we can’t possibly keep up with because the superficiality is so thick and unbearable that it makes one want to commit suicide from all of the plastic boobies and fake eyelashes pushing against our faces. 

And what’s up with the damn mom?

My suggestion is: Go to the window right now.  Open it.  And Scream Loudy,

I’M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE!    NOT ONE MORE SECOND!”


 

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    ~~Are you just dying to know how to channel 50,000 visitors a month to your blog?  Don’t you want others to relish what you write because your content is so damn profound, witty, amusing, and intuitive?  I mean, sometimes it takes blood, sweat, and tears to get those words out of our brains, traveling down our fingers, and onto the computer.  

     You know what I’m takin’ about, Sistahs.

Sometimes we desire more than our family, who typically think we are amazzzzing and brilliant, to read our stuff.

      Well, don’t we?

I wanted to know why some  blogs get massive hits and others don’t;  why some people have 80 responses and others have nada; why readers gravitate to one site and not another.  What are the secrets to becoming a successful blogger?

      I had to know.  TODAY.

So I contacted Brittany Gibbons (aka; “Barefootfoodie,”)   who is ranked number 7 in the 50 most Influential Bloggers Online… and number 9 in the Top 50 Mom Blogs of 2008.  She is also featured on various local and national news and online media sites.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 
K.–What inspired you to begin Barefootfoodie? I like the unique title.

        Brittany–  When I first started blogging, I was a food blogger.  And pregnant.  Again.  Hence, the barefoot reference (barefoot and pregnant, get it?) Anyways, I sucked.  Hard.  
 
K.–Why do you think your site receives over, 50,000 hits a month while other sites get a measly 500? 

        Brittany– I am not entirely sure.  I really work on putting good content out there.  I am involved in social media, and I attend conferences.  I think that stuff is important; people want to know you and relate to you on more than one level. 

K.–Why do your readers keep coming back?  As Doctor Phil often asks…”What are you offering people that is satisfying and fulfilling?

        BrittanyI am a humorist, irreverent, and brutally honest, and I think people enjoy that.  They read my work and relate to it on some crude level.  If you ask my husband, he would have no answer for you.  He knows I am a total nut job.  What’s that saying?  People love a train wreck?  Is that a saying?  I think I just made that up. 
 
K.–If you say yes to this question, I shall become the most envious woman in the Universe:  Are you making enough money from Barefootfoodie to quit your day job?

        Brittany–Barefoot Foodie is my day job.  And night job.  And 3am when I wake up with some crazy ass idea about sex with Tom Selleck job.  But, it’s the best job I ever had.
 
K.–Do your advertisers seek you out or do you seek them out? 

        Brittany–A little of both.  I am lucky to have worked and be working with amazing advertisers and sponsors.  I am extremely picky when it comes to working products into my brand, and I respect my readers too much to overload them with PR pitches I don’t believe in.  I think companies can respect me for that. 
 
K.–Why do you think Mommy Bloggers thrive in this business?  I mean, look at Dooce!  What the hell; I just watched her on Oprah and she admits she earns about $40,000 a month (A MONTH!!!!)   Talk about a freaking dream job. 

        BrittanyWell, I think bloggers are the new influencers.  Even my Grandpa is online, and he thinks when people leave him messages on his answering machine, it’s a ghost, so my point it, being online?  Everybody’s doing it, and corporations and advertisers see this, and they want in on it.  The more influence you have, the more money you will see.  
 
K.–Tell us a secret.

        BrittanySometimes when I am waiting to back out of a parking spot because someone is walking behind me, I imagine backing over them with my car.  I don’t know what that says about me.  
 
K.–How often do you add material, essays, blogs, and insight on your site? 

        BrittanyUmmm…not as often as I should.  Ideally I try to post twice a week.  It takes me a long time to publish a post.  I write it all out at 2am, sleep on it, and then wake up and edit out 50% of the offensive shit and curse words.  I obviously need a better system.
 
K.–What makes Barefootfoodie influential and interesting? 

       Brittany–I have no idea.  I think I am the weirdest person ever, so I am endlessly excited when people admit, publicly, to reading me. 
 
K.– One last question:  If you could say one thing to women bloggers out there, what would you say?

        BrittanyKnow your worth as a writer, your content has value and influence, don’t give it away for free.

~~Experience the hilarious, insightful, and interesting Brittany, here and now.  Believe me; I’ll be contributing to her thousands of hits…even though I’m envious as hell.

 Brittany Gibbons IS the Barefootfoodie.

One last thing, Brittany……”Train Wreck” has just taken on an entirely new meaning. 


http://barefootfoodie.com


 

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