Here comes the turnip truck!

Hi Oprah. Hi Tina. Hi Ellen.

And, hello again my lovely followers readership. I’m trying not to refer to my subscribers as “followers” anymore because “followers” makes it sound like I’m running some sort of cult and I’m not. This is just a blog and I am just the writer of this blog and you are just my people. So don’t let anyone trick you into thinking this is a cult of any sort. Cult leaders brainwash innocent and common people and the only person I’ve consistently and successfully brainwashed is Margaret – and she is not innocent or common.

I do, however, like to use The Force on people – especially my husband Jim. The Force is a sophisticated way of convincing people to do your bidding. Brainwashing is a more ferocious way of achieving the same goal.

Jedi Masters: Mace Windu, Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Princess Toe-Nina

By using The Force – again, a more dignified form of mind control – I will fix Jack’s little pooping problem (Reminder: Jack is my 2-month old nephew). Currently, Jack poops like Mount Vesuvius explodes. Seriously. It is disgusting. (See Post #5: Find the Barrel Kermit for more detail.) I will start by buying him a plunger for his first birthday. At first he will play with the plunger like it’s a toy then eventually, when he starts potty training, he will use it for its intended purpose and he will have fun doing it! He will think of it as a game.

And don’t go writing nasty comments… I am well aware that Jack cannot control his poop cycles at present. I am just saying… it’s gross. Besides, if we start brainwashing teaching kids important lessons (like cleaning up after yourself) when they are really young these lessons will eventually become engrained in their psyches. (To Jack’s future spouse who will be so happy I taught him the joys of cleaning a toilet when he was young: “You’re welcome.”)

Baby Jack

And don’t you go passing judgement on me either. You are ALL brainwashers. Yes, it’s true. You are. Every single one of you has brainwashed a young mind in your lifetime, but without The Force to guide you, your methods have been unforgivably cruel.

There is a theory that when a baby comes out of his/her/its mama’s womb, his/her/its brain is a tabula rasa. A tabula rasa means “blank slate”. More specifically the term often refers to the human mind at birth as having no innate ideas.  On this slate any half-witted shmo can impress upon it directions (either in hieroglyphics or regular writing) on how one should think, act, feel, behave, etc. (See. It’s my parents’ fault. They wrote weird things on my impressionable young slate.)

A Blank Slate

This impressing of ideas onto the slate takes place until the day we die unless we do something to mess up the inputting. There have been plenty of times when people of a certain age decide they want to start over and they erase everything that was written on the slate over time so that they can rewrite their story. This is not a good idea.

Mr. Forgetful

People attempt to rewrite their history for several reasons. Sometimes people erase their past because they don’t want to remember the other people or events in their life because those other people and/or events are/were horrible. Sometimes people erase their past because they want to reinvent themselves – a librarian longs to be a spy or a horse jockey longs to be tall. Sometimes people erase their past because they want to experience all that fun again.

Unfortunately, after most people erase everything from the slate they can’t remember how to write on it again.

Darn it! I should have written the directions down.

Know that I am not referring to folks who have a true forgetting disease here. I’m talking about the people who forget to buy items their partner put on the grocery list. I’m talking about the people who make pretend they don’t see you and/or know you at the Hallmark store. I’m talking about the people who make plans with you to go out to dinner and then cancel at the last-minute because they got a better offer, but they tell you that they forgot. That is who I’m talking about.

The hardest part for a person who is “being forgotten” is accepting the fact that someone doesn’t want to remember them. Some humans have such gigantic egos that they think the world revolves around them. They want all inhabitants of the Universe to always remember who they are or who they were and their list of accomplishments. We are all – whether we admit it or not – ego-driven people. We can’t fathom the idea that anyone would choose not to remember us and all our narcissistic obnoxiousness. 

People, you need to get used to the fact that we are all forgettable in the end. Just like the Tostitos my husband forgot to buy yesterday.

Multigrain Tostitos

Fear not, my young Forget-Me-Nots! You can help the forgetful person create new memories; but, please be sure to use your imagination and make the world a better place for yourself. To do this well you have to train to be a Jedi Master and I recommend you wear a disguise (remember the person is forgetting you on purpose so you don’t want them to know you are wiggling your way back into their life). Begin your training by manipulating your significant other, your child or your pet. Persuade them to do things for you and to believe that their only goal in life is to service you and make you happy.

For example, after the Tostitos incident, I used The Force on Jim to get him to give me a foot massage, to clean the bathroom and to buy me a new outfit. You may think this was simple brainwashing, but you are wrong because not only did Jim do these things for me – he actually thinks he enjoyed doing them! Remember, the difference is in controlling your subject’s emotions, as well as their thinking. You also want them to think that they came up with the idea on their own. So, you might say something like: “Jim, don’t you think you would enjoy giving me a foot massage?”

Maybe in the end when we are tearing up the nursing home together Margaret won’t remember how I had fun manipulating her thoughts and emotions in our younger days. Maybe she already forgot. That’s OK by me. I will always know that if it wasn’t for me she never would have ended up with her two cats.  She loves those cats so much and that is all I can ask for.

You are probably saying to yourself: “Margaret has two cats?”

Yes. She does.

Here is the story of how the cats came to be part of Margie’s life: A while ago I started making fun of Margaret because she likes to drink alone in bars (her beverage of choice is Milk) with only her nook to keep her company. I told Margaret to stop being such a loner because she was making the other bar-goers uncomfortable. I told her that the rest of the people in the bar, who only want to go out and tear it up for a night, end up depressed and deflated because they feel so sad and sorry for her when they see her sitting all alone with her milk and her Nook in the corner. I also told her they probably all wonder and take bets on how many cats she has at home.

I then constantly asked Margaret how Portia and Peknuckle, her cats, were doing. At this time Margaret didn’t actually have cats, but I had fun playing with her mind. After this went on for a while Margaret reprimanded me via text because she was starting to believe she really was a crazy cat lady who drank alone at bars with her Nook. No matter which way you bake it, a brownie is still a brownie, Margaret.

A Nook

I ignored Margaret’s pity-party, paid her no mind and included the part about Portia and Peknuckle in her living eulogy (excerpt below) because I was sure that one day this idea of mine would come to fruition. And it did a few weeks after the eulogy was “published” – the cat part, the bar and Nook thing was already a reality.

 The day Margaret texted me to tell me she adopted a ragdoll cat named Peknuckle was a very happy day for me. Happier still was the text announcing that she had adopted a ragdoll kitten named Portia. Two down 98 to go! You’re welcome, Margie.

Portia and Peknuckle


My Friend Margaret

A Living Eulogy

Parts I ½ and II of VI

Part I ½ of VI

Much like Lola who was a show girl with yellow feathers in her hair and her dress cut down to there – Margaret enjoys drinking in bars alone with her Nook. It’s too bad that Lola didn’t have a Nook to keep her company – she would have been better off in the end. Just ask Margaret.

Part II of VI
Margaret is a wonderful and crazy cat lady. She has two cats that adore her – their names are Portia and Peknuckle. I like these cats because they are elegant like Margaret.

Until next time…

I’m turning off the turnip truck.