FREE MONEY!!!

Free money, huh? My ship has finally come in!!! Here I am just checking my morning email...expecting some threats from companies to whom I owe money and I find this! I can FINALLY breathe easily. Man I can't wait to give this guy my private mobile, telephone, and fax numbers for easy communication! Read on and get on board! FREE MONEY! RISK FREE! It's true. He says so himself. Now remember, keep it on the DL. It's super top-secret.

"From:MR FRED SIBAYA No.54 Palm Groove,
Braafontein
Johannesburg
South Africa Tel/Fax+0027 86 529 0021 Dear Sir,
I am MR.FRED SIBAYA from Zimbabwe the first Son of MR JOHN SIBAYA, who was murdered in the land dispute in Zimbabwe by the agents of the ruling government of President ROBERT MUGABE, you must have heard his alleged support and sympathy for the opposition MDC PARTY led by the minority white farmers. My Father was among the few black Zimbabwean rich farmers murdered in cold blood by the war veterans backed by the government.
Before the death of my Father, he deposited the sum of US$12M (Twelve Million United State Dollars) With one of the security company in Southern Africa, as if he knew the looming danger in ZIMBABWE. The money was deposited as a gem and precious stones to avoid much attraction from the security firm. The money was earmarked for the purchase of new machinery and chemicals for the farms and the establishment of new farms in Lesotho and Swaziland before the regretted incident. This Land problem arose when President Robert Mugabe introduced a new land act. Which wholly affects the white rich farmers and some few blacks vehemently condemned the "Modus operandi" adopted by the government. This resulted to rampart killing and Mob actions.
My mother and I are staying in South Africa now as Asylum seekers, which have not been beneficial to us; I have decided to transfer this money to a foreign country where we can invest it. I am faced with the dilemma of investing this amount of money in South Africa for fear of encountering the same experience in future since both countries have the same political policy and also law does not permit us to investment hence we’re refugees. I must let you know that this business is 100% risk free. I and my family have agreed to give you 20% of the total US12M, 5% will be mapped out for all expenses that maybe incurred during the transfer 5% for any charity organization and 70% will be for me and my family’s investment in your country.
Therefore if you are willing and interested to render the needed assistance, endeavour to reply through fredsibaya0@gmail.com for more brief clarifications. I also need your private mobile, telephone and fax numbers for easy communication. Remember; this is highly confidential and the success of this business depends on how secret it is kept. Expecting your reply soonest.
Best regards,
MR.FRED SIBAYA (FOR THE FAMILY) "

Now what the heck are you waiting for? Get your free money!

Oh, How Far We've Come!!!

Dear "Friend" of mine who is sending around an email with a subject line that reads "FBI uncovers plot to trap Obama", that when opened shows a picture of a box with a watermelon in it, held up by a stick with a string attached to it (the kind that will trap something when pulled. i.e. a rabbit or squirrel),


You're not even a little bit funny. You're fucking racist. May your daughters breed with handsome and intelligent men of color, and may their beautiful, successful, well-adjusted off-spring dance on your grave. Asshole.

Here, I got a pic for you:Love,
rem

The WAWA Sisterhood!

Dear Jenny,

DUDE! It's your birthday! Ever since that beautiful day when you gazed into my eyes and said, "Dude, if you try to make me munch box we can't be friends." you have been the Tango to my Cash. The Laverne to my Shirley. The Cage to my Jack. And other gay-ass shit. You've withstood threats on your mother from mine. Meriwether family Christmas trees, Letters of Dismissal, Leo the Dick, Laura, ME, my break ups, me "reeeeeally meaning it this time!", you brought donuts to my grandmother's funeral (and came to the church way early b/c I had to be there way early...I really loved my grandmother. You got that without making me say it and sound like a pussy), and SOOOOOOOO much more.

You think that singing in a person's face in a car ride is ok. More than ok. It is expected. You know that me going home means I'm actually going to your house while I stop by my mom's a few times. You pretty much just assume you're picking me up from the airport. You never complain about it. You gave me your green shirt when I moved away. You stopped talking to me for a REALLY long time the year I forgot your birthday, and I wasn't all THAT concerned because I knew we'd eventually be fine again. That's how we are. I'm sure that you love me. You and only one other person (actual statistic). You've ridden out my career changes. And you make me laugh. We both think the other person is funnier. I'm right. And you too believe that posing for weird pictures is the right thing to do. You too believe that food IS therapy...especially since if it's from WAWA. And you fully support my idea to move to the fictional town of Stars Hollow.

This could go on forever. What it really comes down to is that it's awesome how we're awesome.
To the WAWA sisterhood!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DUDE!

-rem

p.s. remember how this time last year we spent the day in court shaking our heads at my brother in disbelief??? BEST. BIRTHDAY. EVER!

well, hello there...

Hi. I think I’ll dust off my blog again and see what happens. To all of my reader who messaged me a few times asking me to start er’ up…well, thanks! Here goes:

I…well...ok so I don’t really have anything to say and I don’t know why I chose tonight to get going again. Um…I could just update you and we’ll start from there.

Let’s see…um…my job and school are stressful, I have too many pets and a baby is moving in with me on Saturday…like pretty much almost perminantly-ish. I’m like almost a mom-type person. Which is pretty much a bad idea. I still fall asleep with my contacts in, curse at the television when the Bears play, leave the iron on, forget to pay my cable bill, think that writing papers while drinking is ok, hate cleaning, HATE my alarm clock, love the wrong people, have holes in my socks, am raising a puppy (and by raising it I mean yelling at it for pooping on the floor b/c I need to wait until the Gilmore Girls rerun I’ve seen several times and have on dvd is over before I take him out) and am planning on faking my death and moving to Tuscany to avoid paying back my student loans. But I love baby…so I guess I’ll do…ok(???) Let’s see…what else, I’m a vegetarian again. I even hate my own self for that. But it gives me room to make sure people know how much better I am than them. Now instead of telling people who smoke that smoking can kill them, I can tell people who eat meat about the meat industry and how meat was once alive. I find it to be a real eye opener. Most people have no idea that their steak came from a cow. I do what I can, you know; saving the world one pretentious, passive-aggressive comment at a time.

I’m dating someone. We get along and don’t think the other person is always lying to us. I guess that’s pretty good. I found out my ex HATES me. Whatever. The CTA has gotten worse. The hope for the country’s future has gotten better. Soy turkey is surprisingly good. Jewel coffee is unsurprisingly bad (I bought the economy size and am going to attempt to anonymously leave it in my office kitchen). I got a bowflex. I haven’t used it. I’ve decided that law students are intolerable. My brother turned one this week. I left my mittens in the bathroom and Nordstrom’s and am REALLY pissed about it. My friend’s are pretty cool. They got baby lots of stuff. I’m a happy person. I think that’s pretty strange but I’m going with it. I am over all of my ex’s. Either b/c they are fucking assholes who can’t get over themselves, or b/c I don’t really give a crap about them. Mostly the former. AANNND that’s it. We’re up to speed. So this week I will start er’ up for real. Thanks for the emails. I’ll try to go well with your morning coffee ;-)

"Why don't you ever blog anymore?"

Hey there.
Ok, so I've gotten a fair number of texts/IMs/emails/actual voice comments in conversations (i didn't know people still did that) asking me why I don't blog anymore or asking me when I'm going to blog again, and variations of the sort. First of all, thanks. That's super nice that anyone would ask me stuff about me and what I'm doing.

Second, I'm busy (for the record, when I first typed that I wrote "busty". I think that's funny.

And finally (I think we're on third) and most importantly, I don't really have anything to say. I don't have a blog that keeps people informed (like fannie, grace, and garvey). I have a "let me tell you what I think and feel" blog. Like Brita. I don't really feel all that interested in sharing my thoughts and feelings anymore. It works for some people. It most certainly does not work for me. I think I feel safest (smartest) when I keep those to myself. If that changes and I want to write something I will let all my reader know by putting my link under my IM name. Email me if you want my IM and don't have it.

Thanks,
rem

Comments?

Does anyone know where my comment thinggie is on my blog? I can't find it. I played with settings and now stuff is funky. I accept that I'm stupid. Now someone tell me the answer.

Humble Pie

I am a social worker. Like many professions we are governed by a code of ethics and we take an oath. It’s long, so I’ll just give you the gist. It a little diddy that goes a lil’ somethin’ like this:

“…The primary mission of the social work profession is to enhance human well-being and help meet the basic human needs of all people, with particular attention to the needs and empowerment of people who are vulnerable, oppressed, and living in poverty. A historic and defining feature of social work is the profession's focus on individual well-being in a social context and the well-being of society. Fundamental to social work is attention to the environmental forces that create, contribute to, and address problems in living…”

M’kay. So that’s my job and I guess I take it seriously or whatever. They call it a “helping profession.” Oh. So I guess I help people. In theory. But what about being helped? I must say that until recently I never really thought about it. I mean, why would anyone help me? For starters, I don’t need help. Further…well I can’t really imagine who’d want to help me. I’m very…average, and have been proven to be easily dismissed and disposable by people who I was sure cared for me. Cue the violins, right? Wrong. I’m actually a very content human being who really doesn’t think about that sorta thing unless asked to do so.
I have a point, I swear.

This leads me to my story. I must preface this with saying that I am seriously embarrassed to talk about this. It’s far too sharey. But I’m working on my humility, which ties into this story, so here goes.

Those of you who know me know that I am in my final year of graduate school. I decided to take a summer course. Like many I rely on student loans to get through school and when things go wrong with them…well as I have recently learned, that can be a bad thing. Not, “oh man there’s nothing on but Two and a Half Men reruns” bad. but like, “Oh man. My period is three weeks late” bad.

I’m going to make a VERY long story short so I can get to what matters here. My school fucked up my summer loan package so badly that my loan are now four weeks late and I am told won’t be here for another 6 days. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I’ve been out of food for a while and so have my pets. We’ve actually been sharing what’s been left of my food. I’ve told a couple of close friends and was over-heard by one of my co-workers talking to my best friend from home, practically in tears. Now before this sounds like a pity-party, let’s get down to what’s really going on here.

This is not a story about my temporary poverty or my not so sharp financial aid dept. at school. So, starting about a week ago a few people found out about how bad this whole thing has gotten (for me. There are people in this world who are far worse off and it is not temporary, as my situation is. That is important to note.). And in the past week, this is what has happened:

Last week a co-worker dropped a month CTA pass on my desk and $15.00 and said in a deep Bosnian-war surviving-mom voice, “take this and don’t say a word. You will buy some food.” I peed a little. She’s scary and sounds like Dracula…and is one of the most loving humans I’ve ever met. My birthday was 2 days ago and the Saturday prior friends took me to eat and refused to let me pitch in a nickel (good. I don’t have one). On my birthday I got into work and there was a gift on my desk and a birthday note…and cookies. A different co-worker handed me money and said, “I didn’t have time to get your gift. Take this. Go buy pet food. It’s your birthday, you can’t say no.” Then my co-workers took me to lunch near my house, stuffed me and sent me home…I worked only two hrs that day. The night of my birthday my friends (one of whom is a relative of an ex and doesn’t even need to acknowledge me, let alone spoil and love me) got me pizza and cup cakes and watched my favorite dvds with me while we stared at the most perfect birthday gift ever, that they got me. Yesterday, my co-workers found another lame-ass excuse to take me to lunch despite my protests. My friend Anne sent me a birthday card with a note in it that made me feel for the 1st time in as long as I can remember that I might be worth being loved even though I fuck up so, SO much. I feel confident in saying that she is my friend and she loves me. And I don’t feel weird saying that. Yesterday my friend Donna took me to the movies and got me my favorite movie snack for a post-birthday, friend-date. Tonight my friend Kim took me for birthday drinks because she missed my birthday. But here is the kicker…I got a sudden knock on my door tonight and when I opened it there was my friend MSG and her gf with bags of groceries for me and my pets. Like, for real.

I didn’t ask a single one of these people to help me. I didn’t expect any of them to care that I felt frustrated and fearful. They just…helped me. I spend a lot of time thinking about who doesn’t love me and I risk missing the people who do. I don’t really think this was that good of a story, but it’s a true story. People helped me b/c they wanted to and because maybe some people think I matter. I didn’t know that. I hope I deserve it. So that’s my story about humble pie. Maybe it was more for me than it was for you. And yes. I cried when I wrote this. Maybe I’m getting old. I’m not sure what I think, but I do know that I’m catching myself in the middle of almost knowing something. I’ll let you know when I figure out what that is. Maybe it’s just a matter of trying to maintain whomever it is that those people think I am that compelled them to want to make me feel safe. Ok. I’m out of thoughts now. I’m going to bed. Wait. One more. I don’t remember the last time I told someone I loved them who’s not a baby or an animal. I…yeah. That’s all I got so far.

**POINT OF INTEREST: I was not drunk when I wrote this.