My Bona Fides

Posted on February 17, 2012. Filed under: General Interest | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |

Who I am not.  A big name celbrity, lottery winner, high profile politician, college big wig, college drop-out (they say you have to actually enroll to qualify as a drop out), super athlete, bungee jumper, skateboarder, sky diver, CEO of some ginat corporation heading for a long stretch in stir.  And, contrary to certain unfounded rumors, not a Pole dancer.  I’m not even close to being Polish.

Who I am.  Hermit.  Possessor of several degrees of b.s.  MIGSUC.  Drop-out from Marital Arts Class (she, it seems, graduated cum laude from Martial Arts.  The placement of that damned “I” seemed to keep me on her fighting side.)  Aquarius (the zodiac sign, not the constellation).  Opinionated.  Often grumpy.  And hungry.  In other words, APYMOTS.

Sorry about that.  I have a thing about acronyms.  You may find it annoying, but, it’s not my fault.  I blame the medical and scientific communities for it.  Those medics keep coming up with new monikers for conditions that used to have descriptive names.  Remember rheumatoid arthritis?  Impotence?  Now it’s RA and ED (a sun god and a talking horse?).  Those astronomers, cosmologists and mathematicians seem to have contests to create an acronym of the day.  So why can’t I dabble in it?

Okay.  Here they are.  MIGSUC:  Member In Good Standing of the Uncertainty Club (my cynicism makes me ambivalent about most evertyhing.  APYMOTS:  Any Person You Meet On The Streets.

So, what do I, an admitted APYMOTS, have to offer?  Mostly, just a big dose of irritation.  And, that’s not my fault, either.  I was born naked, clueless, and totally helpless.  I was rushed out of my nice, warm cocoon into a cold room where entities with only eyes on their faces grabbed me, slapped me around, and wrapped me like a mummy.  (It’s not like I remember any of that; I’ve just seen how others are treated in their first minute of life.  It’s a real attitude setter.)  But, here’s the kicker.  I didn’t get an instruction manual upon my arrival.  I don’t know if there is a packing slip that makes me accountable for the unseen document, but, I swear… I never saw that thing.  Thus the source of my irritability:  with not even a quick-start sheet to get me rolling, I am at the mercy of everybody who says, “I’ve got your answers.  Do it my way, or pay the price.”  My irritation turned to chaffing when I realized that all these gurus were born naked and clueless just as I was.  The’ve just picked up a shtick and leaned on it to make things work for them.  And, turn a buck or two at my expense.

Next up:  Shtick this.

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