Category Archives: Rants

Lisa goes off on things that made her nuts.

World’s least effective sales pitch …

Posted on November 22, 2013 | Leave a comment
Vanilla Hazelnut Latte

(Photo credit: KelvinSnaps)

Just a quick rant today, to get this off my chest. I want ad agencies to know that this too-common sales pitch has the exact opposite of their desired effect: “For the cost of a latte a day, you can have (insert product name here) …”.

Here’s why that line actually turns me against buying the product.

  1. I don’t drink lattes.
  2. If I did, don’t try to guilt trip me into giving them up, as if they’re a luxury I can do without.
  3. Lattes are expensive! A latte a day adds up. Ipso facto, your product is expensive!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make myself a cup of tea.

Here’s you a dog … in a cup.

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Change the blade

Posted on December 13, 2012 | 1 comment

ME (in the shower, thinking, as I shave my legs): I only have one new razor blade left, but this one is going dull. I can feel it tearing into my skin. I really should change it, but they’re so expensive.

INNER CHEERLEADER: Wait a minute, not taking care of myself when I need to is a ‘lack of abundance’ mindset. I need to change the blade and declare to the Universe, “I can afford all the razor blades I need.”

ME: Yeah, but we really don’t have the income right now for something that has become a borderline luxury. That’s fine ‘pie in the sky’ thinking, but the reality is I really should be frugal. I’d hate to be so poor someday that I can’t afford even that and look back on today, thinking, “God, I was so wasteful back then. I wish I’d had the foresight to not blow through the last of our money.”

INNER CHEERLEADER: Oh my god, listen to all that negative talk! I am powerful! I am the creator of my life! I am abundant! I am prosperous, and phooey on that negative karma!

ME: Yeah, but there’s no reason that razors should be so expensive! Have you seen the price of them lately? And I really resent the forced upgrades that all of the brands are doing, adding more and more blades, and making the triple-bladed kind, which I was just fine with, obsolete. In fact, the brand I used to buy regularly before the upgrades don’t even work that well anymore. I wonder if the manufacturers use deliberately dulled blades in the older versions so we consumers have to buy the higher priced ones.

INNER CHEERLEADER: What are you, a conspiracy theorist now? The new, quadruple bladed ones work better because of new technology and advancements in their research.

ME: Maybe, but still …

(the razor handle slips out of my soapy hand, falls to floor of tub and the cartridge pops off)

BOOMING VOICE: Oh, for fuck’s sake, change the blade already!

***

Moral: the more of your old shit you let go of, the less time you’ll waste on inner dialogs like this.

Here’s you a shaved dog:

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Posted in Humor, Law of Attraction, Life is Fun!, Rants, Uncategorized

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Look how high I am!

Posted on October 12, 2012 | 4 comments

Sometimes I feel a little snarly toward people who post condescending “Isn’t life great when you’re me?” statuses on their Facebook profiles. I feel like Paula Poundstone talking about her cat  that climbs the curtains and pronounces, from the top, “Look how high I am!” and all Paula can do is sit there and resent the cat, “Yes, you’re very high.”  To these people I might add, “Quit showing off and show me how to get up there, too, or shut up.”


(fast forward to about 6:40 in the video for that specific bit)

I say that before I say this. Look how high I am!

I think I finally figured something out, something big! I’ve been practicing that metaphysical, law of attraction, new age mumbo jumbo for a very long, long time. I can totally relate to people who ask Abraham, at Esther Hicks’ seminars, “I’ve been doing the work. Where’s my stuff!?!” Lately, though, I’ve had a really nice, steady flow of feeling okay. Things are pretty good and getting better.

This comes after years of long stretches of down between the ups. The highs were really amazing, but the lows were so freakin’ low (no, I’m not bi-polar, I’m learning to fly). But recently I have been able to maintain a feeling of grooviness for a longer time. I’m gaining altitude and it feels NICE.

Then, out of the blue, yesterday, I crashed. Hard. I felt like I was hit in the face with a brick. After such a long time aloft, it felt awful. The contrast was so harsh that all I could do is shake my confused head and wonder, “wtF???” Suddenly, money was flying out the window for really stupid things, I felt like crap, and I was filled with rage.

Now, this morning, I feel amazing again. Just like that. Double WTF? So I thought about this.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been stewing over some imagery in my head, trying to put it into words, trying to grok. I’m still having a hard time verbalizing the essence of the image, so try to feel into what I’m saying here, because sometimes there are just no words to describe a vision. It’s an image of a lightswitch, of sorts, that we can flip to instantly turn on what Abraham calls “being in the vortex.” I’ve been feeling like this is an ability that I’m evolving into (and probably so are you) but I just couldn’t grasp how to flip that switch. I knew it was possible, but couldn’t reach it.

I think that yesterday’s crash and today’s miraculous rebound were the Universe’s demonstration to me of the stark, immediate contrast between here and there, and how it’s only a matter of stepping from one vibe into another just by remembering what it feels like to be here. That switched can be flipped by a memory of feeling awesome, and if it doesn’t work right away, just keep trying. Eventually the circuit will connect.

I’m interested in hearing your thoughts on this. Share it with your friends and ask them to add their two cents. Let’s figure this out together.

Here’s you a dog:

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Posted in Humor, Law of Attraction, Life is Fun!, Rants, Spirituality

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If you can’t say something nice …

Posted on June 15, 2011 | Leave a comment

The news has been exploding lately with stories about the rich and famous saying and doing really stupid things. They then exacerbate the situation by making excuses or lying about what they said or did, instead of just coming right out and saying, “Oops. That’s not who I meant to be.”

Maybe it’s because that’s not what they meant to say either, but I’m taking this opportunity to learn from their mistakes. After all, that’s the job of the famous, isn’t it? To be role models, either good or bad?

I’ve always suffered from foot in mouth disease. Apparently it’s a Sagittarius trait and I have it in spades. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve said something stupid just because it sounded funny in my head but when it left my mouth it was offensive or disturbing to the person I was talking to. They couldn’t see the entire train of thought that made sense inside my head before it derailed as the words spilled from my mouth and off the track.

So I’ve learned, over the years, to just shut up and really think hard before I open my yap. (That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen anymore, it just happens less often.) Therefore, I actually feel compassion for these people when they get busted by the media saying or doing something stupid. I try not to throw stones at their glass houses.

At least, that’s how I look at it from the 3D side of the veil.

In the metaphysical, spiritual realm, where we see that our words are the magical tools of creating our future, these people are teaching me another lesson entirely.

As you no doubt know, what we speak is a reflection of what’s going on inside, and manifests externally. When Tracy Morgan goes on an anti-gay rant on stage, even though he’s known by his friends as being gay-friendly in “real life,” it shows that his internal world is conflicted on this issue and has now manifested physically as his external tangle of apologies and career nosediving.

When Sarah Palin completely destroys one of the most well-known, elementary school stories in American history in front of the media, it shows that she’s more concerned about being known as an intellectual instead of a simple person with other important personality traits that are not valued in the government. (You don’t know how hard it was for me to write that because, in the 3D world, I really wish she’d just go away.)

When I find myself gossiping, complaining or just saying something stupid (which, fortunately, I don’t do as often as I used to, but I still find myself blabbing like a Sagittarius from time to time) I know that I’m not speaking from my higher Self, I’m speaking from the part of my ego that feels excluded from a happy life. And this manifests physically as the people and circumstances I prefer to be around moving away from me, vibrationally. It creates a world where I’m on the outside of the “vortex,” as Abraham calls it, looking in.

So when I catch myself doing that, I remind myself to shut up for a minute. I center myself, pull my inner Self up and out, and start over. I speak from the heart and find that I’ve turned back into the healer and powerful manifester of groovy stuff that I know I really am.

I can honestly say, “Oops. That’s not who I meant to be,” and start again.  And then I thank the Anthony Weiners, Arnold Schwarzeneggers and Sarah Palins of the world for showing me who I do want to be.

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Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be sextoys

Posted on May 13, 2011 | 3 comments

(WARNING: HARSH LANGUAGE AHEAD) Let’s review. Over the past couple weeks or so, I’ve posted (here and on Facebook) various, unrelated stories that I’ve found in the news about the oversexualization of females, particularly the younger ones. By themselves, the stories are gross enough, but when you look at the big picture, which gets bigger and more grotesque every day, I’d say we have a serious problem that we need to be addressing.

Here are just a few examples. I’m linking to the discussions from my Facebook page, which include links to the articles I’ve found in just the past few weeks. This way, you can read the article and the conversation we’ve had about it. Keep in mind that I’m not deliberately looking for these stories. I don’t spend my time glued to the ‘puter just to ferret out hidden gems to incite my rage. These are stories that I find just by surfing various news sites. So imagine what’s going on that we’re NOT hearing about.

Story 1–Pole-dancing lessons for little girls, which aired on CBS’s show “The Talk” recently:
https://www.facebook.com/lbonnice/posts/208670462486946

Story 2– “Exercise” sneakers aimed at tween girls to help them have nicer butts, with which to impress the boys:
https://www.facebook.com/lbonnice/posts/183689621679596

Story 3– Sexy clothes for little girls:
https://www.facebook.com/lbonnice/posts/118703878211146

Story 4– An 8-year-old girl whose mother injects Botox into her face and makes her have regular “virgin waxing” to prevent eventual pubic hair growth :
https://www.facebook.com/lbonnice/posts/199063270136463

I was inspired to write a bit of a song parody of an old Waylon and Willie tune, Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys. (I have included the original lyrics and video below, for your reference.) The lyrics are a bit offensive, but not any more so than the horrific subject matter. My song is entitled:

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be sextoys

Sextoys need them some botox cuz at eight they look old
But they’d rather play with Barbie than earn you some gold
Grown-up girl makeup on little girl eyes
And how did she end up this way?
Cuz if you don’t understand her, that she’s just too young
You must have been damaged that way

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be sextoys
Don’t let ’em be strippers who act like they f*ck
Make ’em be doctors and lawyers and such

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be sextoys
They’re dancing on poles and waxing their holes
And wearing sports shoes for their butts

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be sextoys
Just let them be little and play with their toys
Wait ‘til they grow up to push them at boys

***
And the original version:

Cowboys ain’t easy to love and they’re harder to hold
And they’d rather give you a song than diamonds or gold
Lonestar belt buckles and old faded Levis
And each night begins a new day
And if you don’t understand him and he don’t die young
You’ll probably just ride away

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don’t let ’em pick guitars and drive them old trucks
Make ’em be doctors and lawyers and such

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys
They’ll never stay home and they’re always alone
Even with someone they love

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Posted in Rants, Shape Shifting

A Muslim actress in Playboy?

Posted on April 30, 2011 | 1 comment

A Muslim actress named Sila Sahin has come under fire recently after she posed for Playboy magazine (the German version) and, of course, I’ve got an opinion about that. I’ve been thinking about this for a few days, wanting to make sure that I know exactly how I feel  and how to say it, because I think this is an important issue.

Sila Sahin, a 25-year-old Turkish German living in Berlin, has been branded a "whore" and a "Western slut" after appearing topless on the cover of the magazine's May 2011 issue, The Sun reports. (credit FoxNew.com)

First, let me admit that my original reaction was one of pure disgust, because out of all the things in life that cause me to knee-jerk into feeling helpless, hopeless, and bitterly angry, Hugh Hefner and Playboy rank right up there on top.

It’s not because of the nudity. I live in a nudist resort. And it’s not because of the sexual content. I have sex, I enjoy sex, I have no problem with it. I just feel like Playboy is the sleaziest of the bunch because it tries to pretend to be a classy thing as it objectifies impossibly gorgeous women, with the implication that the vast majority of women are too ugly to be “Playboy material.” At least Larry Flynt is honest that Hustler’s purpose is to be whacking material.

Anyhoo, after I had some time to think about this in an adult manner, (without the knee-jerk-reaction-due-to-personal-issues) I was able to take in what the article says about her reasons for doing it. She just makes so much sense when she says that the photos are a reaction to the “slavery” of her youth.

From Marjane Satrapi's book Persepolis, which illustrates what life was like for her, as a girl growing up in Iran.

Sila Sahin says, “What I want to say with these photos is, ‘Girls, we don’t have to live according to the rules imposed upon us’. For years I subordinated myself to various societal constraints. The Playboy photo shoot was a total act of liberation.”

Wow. I get that and I’m moved by that. I can’t imagine living under the strict rules that many Islamic women must obey, with the veils and burqas and complete subjugation. I don’t know how they survive. Heck, I find it hard enough being a woman in American society. So I do hear her message and applaud her for it.

But did it have to be Playboy? She simply jumped from the chauvinist frying pan into the sexist fire! Couldn’t she have done this for a woman’s magazine? I’m sure there are puhlenty of them who would have loved to help her “spread” her feminist message.

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An older woman’s rage

Posted on April 6, 2011 | 41 comments

(NOTE: TODAY’S BLOG IS A VERY ANGRY RANT. HARSH LANGUAGE LIES AHEAD.)  Oh, I wish I had not seen this news story, about waitresses at Resorts Casino who were fired because they are too “old and unattractive” to wear the skimpy new uniforms.

I know I get worked up by these things, that it’s one of my personal issues that not everyone agrees with. Therefore, I’ve learned to just look elsewhere, because I’m powerless to stop the rest of the world from doing what it wants to do. In fact, it’s not even my place to deprive someone else of their karmic storylines. In that way, I get it. We all learn from experience, and this is the experience they are choosing. So I try to ignore it. But I cannot ignore this one. There must be women who share my views or this wouldn’t be a news story.

There’s an insidious Beast running a segment of our society, a beast that feeds on the bodies, minds and spirits of our young women. This Beast tells them that they are valued primarily for their beauty and their sexuality. It tells them that they should give their bodies up freely to any man who wants it, or he’ll just find someone else who will. It convinces them that they should lift their shirts in exchange for beads or a shot of booze during spring break, and never mind the video camera or drooling cameraman. It persuades them that the voices of older women who try to tell them to STOP feeding the Beast are just old and envious because no one wants to look at them anymore.

This Beast tells them that they should wear almost nothing while selling cocktails or wear tight t-shirts to sell burgers. It tells them that they should dance on poles and have anal sex, even if they don’t want to, because all the porno girls are doing it. It convinces them that this is the way to get rich and famous. And it believes that it can have its cake and eat it too.

Unfortunately, it’s right: the girls are its cake and they are being devoured. There are countless young women out there right now who are degrading themselves in this way, who have been taught to believe that people who think like me are full of crap and just jealous.

The result? Second graders having oral sex in the back of a California classroom. Channels that used to be geared toward children now showing bitchy, slutty girls competing for boys’ attention. Neighbor girls showing my granddaughter how Girls Gone Wild act, because they see it on TV, and teaching her that this is what big girls do.

Maybe the reason this really has my ass chapped today is because I’m writing a book with a woman whose father started raping her when she was four. I’ve been trying to get into the headspace of what that must have been like for her, and it’s a horrible place to be. I see little girls at the grocery store, and wonder how long they’ll get to keep their precious innocence. I saw an adorable little girl today wearing fairy wings, holding her daddy’s hand, and wondered how long it would be before the Beast brutally nails her because it detests her glittering girlyness.* But, hey, that’s what girls are for, right?

That’s the Beast, right there. It hates girls and teaches girls to hate themselves; it hates what girls can become (mature women who don’t tolerate that nonsense) if they’re not crushed by the weight of such extreme pressure. I was going to say “sexual pressure,” but this isn’t sex. Sex, to me, is fun and mutually enjoyable. This garbage isn’t sex, nor is it sexuality. It’s stealing the souls of half of our population and I’m pissed.

So yeah, young cocktail waitresses at the Resorts Casino, go ahead and wear the skimpy uniforms and triumphantly push aside the older waitresses who trained you to do the job and then got fired because they don’t “look good” in the bits of fabric they’ve been given. Go ahead and be flattered by the attention you’re getting because you do look “good” in them. Go ahead and feed that Beast. I just hope you survive with a little bit of dignity intact when they’re through with you. And when you’re done, we “old and ugly” elder women will be here to help you reconnect with your soul.

* Just to make this clear, because that line really infuriated a male reader, I wasn’t talking about the DAD abusing the daughter, I was talking about the allegorical “Beast” that I’m writing about in this blog.

And, just for the record, I’m not even talking about men in this post, because women participate, too. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be an issue. “The Beast” in this post is the societal pressure that feels, to many women, like it says: “Every female must be a sexpot or they are unworthy of existence.”

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Kevin Costner, the Gulf oil spill, and the color of your bra

Posted on May 27, 2010 | 2 comments

Kevin Costner made big news last week when it was announced that he has been involved, since the Exxon Valdez oil spill, in funding the development of a device that can clean up such a disaster. He and his company have several of these machines ready to go and, supposedly, are testing them in the Gulf. However, we haven’t heard a single word about this in the news since it was first announced.

(For more information, visit this link)

It bothers me that when Britney Spears leaves her house without underwear, or Kate divorces John, or Sandra Bullock’s husband cheats, we receive wall-to-wall coverage from major media outlets. But where is the coverage on the Kevin Costner story, which carries with it HUGE, life-changing implications? Why aren’t we hearing whether Costner’s machines work and whether they’re being used?

Not long ago, Facebook made national news when a bunch of users posted nothing but a color as their status update, with a behind-the-scenes explanation being sent to all the female users, telling them to post their bra color to “raise breast cancer awareness.” The fact that this did nothing to affect breast cancer is beside the point—the point is that bra color Facebook statuses made national news.

So I’ve started posting the following as my Facebook status:

“My bra is pink, but what I want to know is why is there no news coverage about Kevin Costner’s machine that can clean up the oil spill? If we all make this our status, maybe your bra color will help bring attention to the real story since the bra color game was on national headlines!”

Hey, it can’t hurt to try, right?

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Does ridiculing celebrities help us or hurt us?

Posted on May 2, 2010 | Leave a comment

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON THE NING SITE ON FEBRUARY 11, 2010 (I’m moving old posts from that site, which is closing down, to my WordPress blog):

I was stepping into my morning shower when I caught a glimpse of my naked backside in a full length mirror on the door behind me. Shuddering with disgust, I couldn’t help noticing the cellulite and crease of skin that runs from my back to my breastline. I quickly stepped into the water and closed the curtain so I wouldn’t give my inner critic any more material, because it was revved up and ready to go already.

“Jesus, you’re gross,” it said. “Do you really expect Jeff to be attracted to you, looking like that?”

I told it to shut up and explained to it several things:

a) I’m in my forties (and so is Jeff, who looks it, too).

b) Even at my physical best, I cannot look like a centerfold. It just isn’t in my genetic makeup.

c) Realistically, I don’t want to look like a centerfold. I truly dislike being leered at.

d) I have legitimate health issues that block me from rigorous exercise and I do what I can (not that I’m arguing for my limitations, but I have yet to overcome these difficulties).

e) I don’t care enough, most of the time (until I see that view in the mirror or some exquisitely beautiful woman) to give deliberate, intentional focus to creating a buffed and ripped body, so the chances of my actually ever having one are slim and none.

f) I wrote a friggin’ book on this topic and ought to know better than to let my inner frat boy beat me up.

So once I shamed the inner critic into silence … after all, I wasn’t making excuses, I was cutting myself a legitimate break … I was allowed to think and my mind wandered. I recalled, a few days back, surfing the web and looking at pictures of celebrities on one of those gossip websites that prides itself on running unflattering photos of those who we, as a society, have put on pedestals. You know the kind of pics … you see them at the checkout counter on the tabloid covers … pictures of stars in bikinis with cellulite and back fat, or poor Kirstie Alley who NEVER catches a break with these people.

I understand why these pictures are popular … they help to smooth the sharp edge off of the unrealistic demand that we, the unwashed masses, somehow diet, sculpt and exercise our ways into looking like people who make a career out of looking amazing with surgery, personal trainers and rigid diets. In fact, recalling these pictures immediately after seeing my own fat ass, actually did help me to stop bashing myself. After all, if one of the rich, wealthy and worshiped looks like I do naked, then I guess I must look like a fairly normal human specimen and that’s okay.

So, yeah, I can dig it. There is a need for us to see the truth that lies beneath the phony Hollywood veneer. But do they have to be so mean? Do they have to sound like my inner critic?

I would love it if one of these sites were to run the exact same photos, but add kinder captions. I do want to see these pictures, because they shatter the illusion and, therefore, help with self-esteem issues. But instead of headlines that scream “Look at her fat aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaass!” I would prefer they say something like, “Hey, her ass looks just like mine!”

Hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?

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