Saturday, September 4, 2010
Joel Osteen Needs A Damn Good Whackin'
Do not their smug, self-satisfied mugs inspire the desire to bitch-slap them straight to Kingdom Come?
This was my response to a brilliant post at My Fat Life.
I've always wanted to slap Joel Osteen's smug mug. He and a lot of the New Age gurus have a lot in common. Their philosophies blame the have-nots for their condition. If you just BELIEVE you are wealthy RIGHT NOW, then you will be wealthy, and if you are not wealthy it's because you aren't believing strongly enough. Makes me want to do some chokin'!
I so agree with you about Oprah as well. Get thee to a doctor. Well, a lot of people can't afford to go! I only go for my yearly (it becomes kind of a semi-yearly) once-over and if I'm near death. It isn't just the cost of seeing the doc--the labs cost an arm and a leg too.
I so agree with you about Oprah as well. Get thee to a doctor. Well, a lot of people can't afford to go! I only go for my yearly (it becomes kind of a semi-yearly) once-over and if I'm near death. It isn't just the cost of seeing the doc--the labs cost an arm and a leg too.
Long Time No See
I haven't done any social networking or even worked on my story in almost two months. I got really worn down and then ended up getting sick and depressed. I decided to hold off on my final semester of nursing school and just take an online course instead. Instead I'm focusing on being supportive of my son while he goes through paramedic training. He says it helps to have someone help him study. Husband is actually a better source though because he trained and worked as an EMT early on after immigrating here.
Sometimes things come back and bite you on the ass no matter how much your life improves. I realize that I'm still very insecure. I started questioning what made me think I had any kind of talent for writing, and wondering who reads erotica anyway. And then I find myself wondering always what a handsome, slender guy like my husband sees in an old fat chick like me. I started getting paranoid to the point where I was thinking he must be looking around by now--after all, he dated this supermodel looking girl before we were together. He laughed it off, reminding me that surely since I work in the hospital too I must know that people don't actually make out in supply closets or unoccupied gurneys or beds like on E.R. or Gray's Anatomy. (I did know a couple who ended up making it on a slab down in the morgue once, no joke. Not for me! Laughed my ass off when they told me, though.) Still, I know it bothers him a bit when I start getting paranoid like this. I can't let it screw things up for me.
I'm going to try working on my story even though I still feel insecure about it. I've written this stuff all along for myself but doing it with intent to publish is something else entirely.