What’s Wrong With This Picture

Facebook Arrests Ignite Free-Speech Debate In India

Not our country, not our customs, not our problem? Something is VERY wrong with that kind of thinking. It is our problem. It is one thing to observe time-honored traditions held in high regard by a people group for the purposes of preserving peaceful relationships and creating a sense of community. It is quite another to observe traditions of manipulation and intimidation that force women to keep quite. Believe whatever you want about the sanctity of life, marriage, modesty, but if there are laws that deem those things sacred and yet allow the subjugation of women and violence toward them to exist, that is most definitely everyone’s problem.

This is a small post with a big message. We need to be paying attention to these events. Not to shout and curse and call people names and play the blame game. Our thinkers, our leaders, our speakers need to speak up. Speak up with focused passion. Speak up with a measure of reason. Speak up so we can hear something besides fear mongering bullshit.

The story that sparked this post: Facebook Arrests Ignite Free-Speech Debate In India

“For What It’s Worth”

The Perfects

We all know them. Growing up they won the spelling bees and all of the track and field events. Including the long jump that you practiced for a whole year jumping the drainage ditch across from the Dairy Queen. The Perfects’ moms brought cupcakes to school on their birthday and invited the entire class to a skating party where they gave out gift bags filled with Jolly Ranchers and Silly Putty and fun size Three Musketeers. Perfects got two gold stars for their book reports. They always took home blue ribbons for their science projects and always got chosen to dust the erasers!

(If you don’t know what dusting the erasers is, ask your parents.)

Perfects received brand new cars when they turned sixteen and scholarships to the top party schools most prestigious institutions of higher learning. Yeah, hours in the library, the gym or waiting tables after school couldn’t get you what they had – the brains, the bod, the bucks. The Perfect life.

Now we’re adults. Perfects have successful careers, destination weddings, thousands of Facebook friends and drive big ass SUVs. They’re different people with different names, but in your mind they are still The Perfects. You’re not jealous. No, there’s not an ounce of envy for what they have or where they go. “Poor little rich girl,” you say as you pull the trash can out to the curb and watch Perfect’s daughter whiz by in Daddy Perfect’s Beamer. You feel sorry for them. Momma Perfect’s on another “medical spa” trip. You know this because you use the same pet groomer as the Perfects and the receptionist gave you the 411. Little Ruffles came in again smelling of Chanel and bourbon. Sad.

Perfects at work don’t even cause the green meanies. You’ve come to grips with the fact that they kiss ass way better than you ever could. So what, they have off site “one on ones” with the department head. You don’t care, the company pays for your data plan so you can be available to the boss 24/7 via text AND email. The mortgage and the therapist get paid on time. It’s all good.

No, it’s the imaginary Perfects that really send you into the pits of hell. The cyber ones, you know, the people we think have a perfect life because we see what they want us to see. They LOL at inside jokes with other Perfects. What the hell? You followed them first! Their 140 characters are always #soooo.ff, their YouTube videos go viral, their blogs get re-blogged and they get virtual rewards for their shit all the time. Perfects!

You start to curse them, and not just under your breath. You stop, drop and roll everywhere you go – timelines, blogs, chat rooms – soon you’re known as the F Tweeter. You didn’t want that title, but once you let loose, it stuck.

***The Fine Print***The Perfects aren’t perfect. Everybody, EVERYBODY has shit in their lives. Funny, cool, sassy, passionate, creative people are also vulnerable, flawed, generous, ordinary people looking for a way to connect, to share something of themselves that can be accepted, supported or recognized by someone else as good, or at least good enough.

Check out an entertaining and honest look at Fame and Glory and Freshly DePressed. We’re laughing together, and there is nothing more perfect than that!

Sometimes I’m Wrong

I think they call it a freeway because people driving gas-powered cell phones should feel free to GET OUT OF MY WAY.

I think because I say something with confidence my husband/children/strangers should understand that I know what I’m talking about, even if I really don’t.

I think people can hear my Southern accent when I write swear words and they might think I sound ignorant.

I think people who are ignorant shouldn’t be the ones they put in front of a news camera to give an eye-witness account or be a spokesperson pretending to understand basic human anatomy and physiology.

I think just because someone is smart or pretty or rich or a good dancer or able to beat everybody at Scrabble or not burn the dinner rolls, that they DON’T  have the right to be a jerk to the rest of us.

I think it would be great to be able to laser assholes right off the planet.

Thinking can make your head hurt. Not thinking can make your entire body hurt. I’ve said before that I’m an over thinker and have expected people to understand what that means. It occurs to me now that maybe a brief explanation is in order.

Even computers with Pentium processors need to power down from time to time to keep their mother boards from warping or whatever. My brain is no Pentium processor, but it could stand a little down time. It hardly ever stops in there, and while it isn’t cause for alarm, I do need to be more focused. Sure, I can make a split second decision to have a bag of Doritos and a sleeve of Girl Scout cookies for lunch. I can extrapolate subtle wit from mountains of bullshit. Unlike most brains however, mine isn’t a blob of grey matter. It’s more like a bowl of rainbow sherbet. Actually more like a trough than a bowl really. A trough filled with rainbow sherbet, nuts and sprinkles. Also swirling organ music, drunken carnies offering free rides on a rusted out Tilt-A-Whirl and wild panthers chasing feral hogs through a field of poppies.

Yeah poppies…

Anyway, that is just an example of what I mean by over thinking.  I think writing has been great for me and I’m happy with blogging as a means of connecting with other creative types, sharing photos from my travels and stories about people and places I love. I have to tell you though; I was wrong to think my BiG Fat Italian Anniversary trip was my reward for hanging in there for twenty years with my loyal follower. Nope. The trip was just a decoy. He had something else in mind.

Happiness is a new washer/dryer. Seriously?

Yep, now everyday is gonna be laundry day at Honie’s house! I could be wrong about that.

It isn’t what you have or who you are or where you are or what you are doing that makes you happy or unhappy. It is what you think about it.~~Dale Carnegie


Always read the fine print. Enjoy!

Originally posted on Freshly DePressed:

Hi, my name is HonieBriggs. I was Freshly Pressed for Confessions of a Constant Commenter. It’s been one week since I was famous.

Even though I am healthy enough to engage new followers, it’s only fair that I admit to experiencing a little performance anxiety when over one hundred new followers appeared after my post was featured on Freshly Pressed. It may be normal to ask if I’m blogger enough to keep them satisfied, but I’m at an age when I know what I’m made of and it didn’t occur to me that stiff competition might make it harder to focus on the task at hand. Readers do have thousands of other blogs from which to choose. So, lying down on the job is not an option.

I began to notice getting up in the morning was more difficult than usual. I tried to convince myself it was all in…

View original 190 more words

Thanksgiving Is For The Birds

Once the messenger of choice for royals and riffraff alike, only to lose that title to the Pony Express, today’s pigeons are still thankful. First the transatlantic telegraph cable and now the internet made their skills obsolete, but on this day each year in the United States of America the much maligned for their messy potty habits, shunned fowl of the freeway underpass are thankful. Thankful I say! Thankful that city dwellers drop bagels as they rush passed them on the busy street, thankful that tourists throw breadcrumbs they buy from an old lady in the park, thankful for street venders who toss stale pretzels near the dumpster in the alley. Oh, and thankful, oh so very thankful that they are not turkeys.

If a lowly pigeon can be thankful for these small gifts, there is no excuse for me not to be thankful every single day of my life. Thankful for my breath, my sight, my strength. Thankful for those who love me when I’m not being particularly lovable. Thankful for those who’ve hurt me and made me aware of just how much pain I can tolerate. Thankful for those who’ve helped me and taught me how to be gracious. Thankful for the gift of laughter, the delight and wild abandon of dancing in the sunlight and singing in the rain.

Thankful I have a soul and for the knowledge of its value. Thankful for the regard of a stranger who becomes a friend on a bus. Thankful for the freedom to choose to praise whatever I deem worthy and despise the hour it is ripped away. Thankful for the love I share, the love I receive, the love I hope to know in the future. Thankful for peace in my home, on my street, in my country today. Thankful I do not need. Thankful I do not want. Thankful every time I wake up and can still be thankful for these things.

Gobble Gobble everybody, tomorrow you shop! Thankful, so very thankful, I will not be in a retail, department, discount or on-line store on Black Friday.

Oh, and I’m thankful that I am not a turkey!

Bird Is The Word!!!!

Every day is Mother’s Day
Why did the Thai chicken cross the road?
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!