Harts Beat

Jukebox Hero

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Tue, 26 Dec 2023 22:22:00 +0000

I didn’t have a good childhood, so I have few good memories. But the jukebox IS one of the absolute best memories of my life.

When I was little, my Pap Pap gave us a 1951 Seeburg 100 Jukebox. My dad said we got it in 1968 and believes my Pap Pap got it from a vendor. I have no clue; I know it was in our basement in my childhood home before my parents divorced.

My dad rigged it so we didn’t have to put coins in it to play songs. So, my brothers and I would start hitting buttons—A1, A2, C4, K5 and so on. It held 50 records and could play both sides. Hence Seeburg 100. It was filled with songs by Elvis Presley, Patsy Cline, Tammy Wynette, and even the Chipmunk’s song and Rock ‘n Robin.

I had a rocking horse on a stand and would ride that horse and pretend I was riding over a hillside and through the woods. Typically trying to get away from “bad guys.” I also had a fake gun on my hip.

When my parents divorced, the jukebox moved with us to Millvale, where it sat in the damp basement for years. After David and I got married and bought our first home, I took the jukebox with all intentions of having David refurbish it. It sat in our garage for years. Then, I gave it to my brother Danny, who kept it in his garage until March 2020.

During the lockdown fiasco, my brother and his son Seth took that jukebox to a man in New Wilmington who refurbished them for a living. My brother tells the story of how the man said he was thinking of retiring so Danny could buy one already done and how Seth said, “Dad, Aunt Pammy will know, and she’ll be mad.” (He knows me well!) Then my brother told the man about the history of the jukebox.

Our history.

At the end of the history lesson, the man said, “I’ll do this one for you.”

Over three years later, the jukebox is done. And it’s beautiful. I visited my brother, and he played some 45s for me. A1, A3, K7 —just like the old, old days.

I don’t cry often. I don’t show a lot of emotions in general. I’m more stoic and hold it inside. But Patsy Cline belting out She’s Got You tugged at my heart and flooded me with fond memories.

Thank you, Seeburg, for the good times you gave me. The fun I felt riding that horse to the beat of your music. And thank you for the contentment I felt listening to all those songs and dreaming. You are a Jukebox Hero in my heart.

The Tale Of Two Bubbas

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Thu, 18 Nov 2021 14:54:00 +0000

I was doing my normal morning routine, which includes cleaning Bubba's litter box. I scooped then added more litter, which left the litter container empty. In order to remember, I texted myself and to my surprise, I got a HUGE laugh.

*4127669877 (not my real number)

Litter for Bubba

A minute later I received a text.

*4127669878 (not the real number)

Better get lots. He's been pooping up a storm.

I looked at the text, thinking I might have texted my husband by mistake. Then I noticed the number. It was one number off at the end. I'd texted a complete stranger!

ROFLOL! OMG! I tried to send that to myself! As a reminder! I'm so sorry to have bothered you. But you seriously made my day.

Ha. That's what I was thinking. You have a good one and don't forget the catnip.

This is Bubba.

He looks like a Bubba.

This is my Bubba. All 18 lbs of him.

So a wrong number not only had me belling laughing but we actually had a Bubba in common! It was truly refreshing. Especially in today's times when we get so many scam calls or if we dial a wrong number, we get someone screaming at us.

Have a super day!

I'm Officially A Published Author!

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Fri, 01 Oct 2021 14:57:00 +0000

Since I can remember, I've always wanted to be a published author.

I wrote my novel many years ago. It underwent changes, but the premise has always been the same - family, integrity, and values. I did send it out to numerous publishers and yes, it was rejected (I still have those on file!). Over the years, I would pull it out, read it, revise it and submit it again. And it was rejected again.

Then with all the uncertainty in the world these past 18 months, I just needed to do something positive. I needed to do something fun. I needed to have control over something. I needed to reach a goal.

That goal was to have Heritage And Honor accepted by a Publisher. I could've published my novel myself. Many authors do. And one day I may go that route. But for my first novel, I really wanted it to be wanted by a Publisher. I teamed up with a best-selling author, Donna Russo Morin. And then Next Chapter Publishing accepted my novel and voila - it's published!

The genre isn't for everyone - a historical romance with a mystery tossed in just for fun. I wrote what I love to read.

I purchased my own copy and held it in my own hands and read it with my own eyes. It was an extraordinary experience!

If you're interested in reading it, it's currently on Amazon and coming to a book store near you! The audiobook is in process as I write this.

So... Hi. I'm Pamela D. Hart, published author.

Subvert Your Lashes

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Mon, 25 Apr 2016 12:00:00 +0000

Every woman has a beauty issue–some of us more than one. And what we perceive to be an issue is amplified when we look in the mirror.

An issue I have is pulling out my eye lashes.

No, I don’t purposely pull them out. I curl them with an eyelash curler and for some reason my right lashes fall out, while my left lashes stay perfectly intact. This is a problem for me because my right eye has gaps and then about 10 lashes. It looks stupid and ugly. I do have false eye lashes but they are a big pain in the butt. I’d just rather have thick, long lashes on both eyes, thank you very much.

But since the universe rarely bequeaths my wishes, I do the next best thing— I buy what I want. In this case I buy Urban Decay's Subversion Lash Primer. You can get it just about anywhere, although I love Ulta and Sephora, so I purchase a lot of my products there. Plus you can order on-line, which I love.

I have used many, many eye lash primers and conditioners over the years but Subversion is definitely the best one I’ve used. It’s a primer, so you can apply the primer then overlay with your favorite mascara. I just use it at night to condition my lashes. And when I do that, I notice new eye lash growth within a week. It really does work that fast. It also has great reviews on Ulta’s website.

So if you are like me and yank your eye lashes out with your eye lash curler, or if your lashes just aren’t as thick and long as you’d like, give Urban Decay’s Subversion Lash Primer a try.

Be Attentive With Internet & Social Media

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Fri, 22 Apr 2016 18:31:00 +0000

Even before social media, there were scams. But back in the day it was more difficult, and a lot more work, to steal someone’s identity. Now-a-days, it’s pretty much easy peasy.

A lot of scammers troll Facebook. They send out quizzes asking things like what’s your favorite pet’s name; the name of the street you grew up on; your first car; your father or grandfather’s nic-name. The answers are logged via IP addresses. Once the scammers get enough info, they can hack your passwords and steal your identity.

They are also good at sending out emails that look legit. I received one the other day at work. I never saw the email address before and it wasn’t signed by anyone, so I was suspicious. I replied with a question and viola—it came back undeliverable.

Just today I received a friend request on Facebook. Before I accept any invitations, I look at the person’s profile. First, to see if they are legit and second to see if they are friends with anyone I know. I won’t friend strangers. Period.

This guy was good-looking—clean cut and smiling. But his profile had nothing. No friends or posts. The only thing was his profile which was added back in December. His info says he’s a Lieutenant in the US Army and he’s from Houston but living in Silsbee, Texas. I ran his picture through TIN EYE.

Well, the picture is stolen:

username: Frankray name: Frank Ray
email: frankray015@yahoo.com
age: 43
location: Los angeles, United states
ethncity: white
occupation: –
marital status: single
IP address: 146.145.58.118
description: i’m a very hardworking, passionate,emotional and laid back am not perfect yet but maybe when with you all will be right and well….God fearing and very fun loving and love to protect those i truly care about. Thank you for viewing my profile, I’d hope i interest you in anyway. Don’t hesitate if i do. say Hi message: –

WHY IS IT A SCAM / FAKE:
IP is a proxy
IP doesn’t correspond location
Pictures are stolen from a known source
Nigerian wording

I was really bummed that he was a scammer. I mean he’s not perfect yet and he’s hoping he’ll interest me in anyway. Damn, how could a woman go wrong with someone so articulate! I’m almost tempted to go to Nigeria and find this poetic hardworking, passionate, emotional, laid back guy.

NOT.

Good grief.

I really hope parents are teaching their youngsters about social media safety. It truly is a danger. Not just for identity theft, but because of child predators. They are both real threats and adults need to practice safety too.

It’s a really bad idea to post where you are. As in your location. That just gives the bad guys the heads up you aren’t home and ripe for robbing. Use caution not just on Facebook, but also with your emails.

Just like when we are walking down a dark street, we pay attention to our surroundings; we are cautious, so should we be when using the internet, etc.

A Dodge Girly-Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Thu, 21 Apr 2016 16:21:00 +0000

I’ve worked in the auto industry since 1984. I began my career with Chrysler at a Dodge store. From there I went to a GM store, but eventually went back to Chrysler. And I worked for Toyota for a spell, but again returned to Chrysler.

We say you can take the girl out of Dodge but you can’t take the Dodge out of the girl.

I currently have a Mazda CX5 and while I like it, I’m not in love with it and actually wish I would’ve purchased a Dodge Ram Truck.

So, I’ve been looking and I found the Dodge Rampage and I hope FCA (Fiat Chrysler Automobiles)takes it from concept to production line.

If not, I’ll settle for the Dodge Ram 2500. And yes, I will get this sucker with a lift-kit.

My Child Within

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Fri, 25 Mar 2016 19:52:00 +0000

Growing up with addictive parents was nothing less than challenging and every bit traumatizing. I had to grow up way too fast and missed out on a normal childhood. I’m not spontaneous and it’s difficult for me to have fun. I was stunted as a child and as an adult I’m trying to unlearn what the abusive adults in my life taught me—about life and about myself.

I’m very hard on myself. I punish and berate myself over everything. I strive for perfection. However, that’s unrealistic—no one is perfect—but I still strive. I suppose some habits are just hard to break.

I stifle my inner child. She’s always frightened and I don’t want to nurture her. She’s just too demanding. And I think I’m ashamed of her. I know I shouldn’t be. None of what happened to her was her fault. But when you are super-responsible, everything’s your fault.

The more I heal, the more I feel, and all the more anxious I become. There are days when I wonder if recovery is even worth it. Even with not knowing, I will continue to work on myself. And maybe one day I will reach in and touch, love and nurture my child within.

I found my child within today,

For many years so locked away,

Loving, embracing, needing so much,

If only I could reach in and touch.

I did not know this child of mine,

We were never acquainted at three or nine,

But today I felt the crying inside,

I'm here I shouted, come reside.

We hugged each other ever so tight,

As feelings emerged of hurt and fright.

It's okay, I sobbed, I love you so!

You are precious to me, I want you to know.

My child, my child, you are safe today,

You will not be abandoned, I'm here to stay.

We laughed, we cried, it was a discovery,

This warm, loving child is my recovery.

-Kathleen Algoe, 1989

Customer Service Sucks These Days

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Fri, 08 Jan 2016 01:31:00 +0000

There probably isn’t a person out there who hasn’t called a customer service number and gotten so frustrated and completely irate. It’s really annoying not to get a real person and hear a recording say:

Thank you for continuing to hold.

Your call is very important to us.

The next available agent will be with you shortly.

Um, I’m not continuing to hold because I want to. Nor am I continuing to hold because I have nothing else better to do. Actually, I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a broken pencil instead of continuing to hold for your dumb ass.

If my call is so important, why am I holding for 15 minutes listening to horrible music or static and a freaken recording telling me how important I am?

Perhaps if you have enough agents, I wouldn’t have to hold for 15 minutes listening to horrible music or static and a freaken recording telling me how important I am.

I also hate when I complain and the agent immediately says, “I’m sorry” or “I apologize for your inconvenience”. How about they stop the cookie cutter answers and talk to us. Ask, “How can I make your experience better?” or “Is there anything I can do to relieve your frustration?”.

I mean, heck, having someone acting human is just a thought.

What do you hate about calling customer service?

I Have Another Fur Baby

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Fri, 06 Nov 2015 01:24:00 +0000

On Saturday, September 26th, my husband and I went house hunting.

We found a kitten.

The house the kitten was in should've been condemned. It had a huge hole in the living room floor. I saw the kittens—yes there were two—opened the window and pulled one out. The other shot back in the hole and never came out again. I held this tiny kitten in my arms and said to my husband, "I have to save it."

"I know you do," he replied.

Kitty went to the vet the following Tuesday. She didn't look well. Plus she was sneezing and had snots in her eyes. Turned out she was sick and undernourished—only weighed one pound! She got medicine and began to look, and apparently feel, better because she went from a snuggle-bug to a demon-kitty.

Snuggle Bug because she wasn't feeling well.

She can't jump yet. But she can climb and she likes to be on top of my chairs! My custom chairs. Which is an absolute no-no. My dogs never go on these chairs, so there's no way Kitty is going on them.

Chillin' on my custom chair !

Kitty doesn't have a name yet. If I name her, she'll be a permanent part of our family and I just don't know if I can take care of another animal right now. They need a lot of time and attention. But I am willing to get her ready for adoption.

Pretty, spoiled, Kitty.

Only time will tell.

If I've learned anything in my 50 years, it's plans are sure to get screwed up. So, until I make a decision, Kitty is happily running around my house, eating a ton of food, gaining weight and learning the word "no".

I'm Not Crazy

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Thu, 22 Oct 2015 01:49:00 +0000

Do you hate noises? Cracking gum, smacking lips, teeth scraping over a fork, fingernails tapping on a keyboard and even the clicking of a mouse? And when I say hate, I actually mean you-could-slap-someone-hate-it.

You see, I do. I can’t tolerate those noises and many, many more. I remember feeling like this when I was ten years old. I used to think I was bitchy, but as I got older and my sensitivity to noise grew worse, I began to think I was crazy. I found out today, I’m not a bitch (well, sometimes I can be) and I’m not crazy.

I have a rare, newly recognized disorder called Misophonia: The strong dislike or hatred of specific sounds. What makes this bad is the noise can set me off. My heart races, my muscles get tight, my stomach and head can hurt, setting off a migraine. And I get angry—very, very angry.

It didn’t make sense because it was just a noise. But apparently the neurons in my brain don’t respond to sound stimuli like other people. I’m relieved to know what it is, but not too happy there isn’t a cure.

So when you’re around me, don’t chew with your mouth open, crack your gum, tap your fingers, hum, click a mouse, use your fingernails to type on your keyboard, cough, sneeze, snore or breath and I won’t feel the urge to slap you.

Happy Birthday To My Husband David

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Sun, 23 Feb 2014 17:05:00 +0000

A little over thirty-three years ago, I began dating a young man. I didn’t know at the time that I’d end up marrying him and having two sons. Nor did I know we’d shelter one another through storms and hold hands while we’d climb some pretty hazardous mountains. I had no clue that life would be hard at times and he’d have to dry my tears and support me while our life spun out of control, and that I’d do the same for him.

I didn’t have a crystal ball to see that this young man would make a good husband and father. But in hindsight, I made a damn good decision in marrying him. He’s kind, compassionate, intelligent, chivalrous, romantic and dignified. And I’m very lucky to call him my husband.

David, I love you and I’m honored to be your wife and the mother of your sons.

Happy Birthday, David!

Happy New Year - From Berra

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Tue, 14 Jan 2014 05:00:00 +0000

Hi! Guess Who?

It’s me, Berra. And it’s been a very long time since I’ve updated you on…well, me!

Today is two years since I came to live with the Zydel’s. Can you believe it? Two whole years!

I only weighed five pounds back then and now I weigh forty-eight. Mommy says I’m a fatty-ma-watty, but she says it with bunches of love in her voice.

Back when I weighed five pounds, Madea and Kommit were afraid of me. Well, Kommit passed on to the Rainbow Bridge a year ago September. Mommy was so sad. She cried and cried. She says she still misses that Wiggle-butt. Madea’s still here and I love her so much. I kiss her and snuggle with her. I also bite her legs and steal her toys. And she doesn’t even get mad at me! She the best sister ever!

And I got the bestest news the other day. I’m getting another sister. And she’s an Elkhound, like me! Except she’s older. She’s eight. Her name is Bacardi and she’s been living outside in a dog house and Mommy and Daddy felt so sad that they just had to adopt her. She’ll come to live with us in a few days. I’m really excited. I’ll have another dog to snow snorkel with because Madea isn’t really a snow dog like us Elkhounds. We even like that frigid, sub-zero weather we had not too long ago.

I go out then come in. And then I ring the bell on the door about five minutes later because I want to go back out. And I do this, oh, all night. Mommy tells me no but I don’t give up. I look up at her and she says, oh all right, but just for a minute. A minute in Berra time can last a long time. Or until Mommy says, Daddy said come! Then I know she means business and I bark at the night air and run up to the door.

My family is wonderful to me. They spoil me something fierce. I have lots of toys and I pull them all out and scatter them all over the floor. I like to have two or three under my snout at a time and if someone picks a toy up, I drop what I’m doing and run to them because I want what they have in their hand.

I especially like when they have food. My favorite is licorice. Mommy will bite off itty-bitty pieces and I will sit or dance or give my paws to get those pieces. I get treats too. Mommy buys Madea and me special ones. I know right where they are and when I do something cute, I run to the treat drawer and sit down like a good girl. It’s hard for Mommy not to reach in that drawer and give me one.

Dalan is my boy. I love him more than my treats. I miss him when he’s away at that college place. I know the sound of his car though and I run to the door to greet him. And when he’s home, I’m right by his side. I snuggle with him and he pets and loves on me. Austin is good to me too and I will snuggle with him when Dalan isn’t home. I have four people to pick from. I’m the luckiest dog in the world!

I can finally jump on the beds by myself now. It took a long time. I used to just place my front paws on the mattress and they would boost my bummie. But now I’m a big girl which is good because I can jump up and down whenever I want!

I have a good life and I’m a very happy dog. I’ll let you know how I like my new sister. Until then, have a Happy New Year!

~Berra

Golden Spammers

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Fri, 15 Nov 2013 01:42:00 +0000

It’s been awhile. And when I say awhile, I mean it! Sorry I’ve been away so long. I’ve been quite busy. But what better way to come back than with a Spammer letter. And this one is just as golden (wink, wink) as all the others!
Dear Sir/Madam, We are Africa Gold Miners from Kisangani Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC)in Central Africa. I don’t recall asking what the heck you do or where you’re from. But, congratulations all the same! We have huge quantity of alluvial Gold Dust for sale at a considerable price of $16,500USD per kilo,Nuggets $27.000USD per kilo,bar $28.000USD 22 Carats at 93-98 purity which is below world market price because we recently decided to expand our business scope internationally and are on the move of building our customer and partnership network. We want only reliable and serious buyer or broker for a long term business relationship.

Let me get this straight. You have a HUGE supply of GOLD DUST. Like the dust from the Gold Rush days that everyone and their brother was rushing to the West for back in the 1800’s? Back when they had pack mules and gold essay offices? And where exactly do you think I’d take this dust to now-a-days? And you have bars of gold. AND you have 22 carat gold. Gold at 93-98 purity. Did you know that 22 carat IS 98% pure gold? Or did you think that I wouldn’t know that so you threw some high numbers in there hoping I’d think, “Wow! This is fantastic! Some guy from Africa emailed ME! From the 300 million people in the United States, he wants ME!”

Yeah. I mean, no. I’m not stupid. But I’m sure you can find some stupid schmuck in our population to help you expand your business scope internationally since you are on the move of building your customer and partnership network.

If you are interested,do not hesitate to get back to us as soon as you receive this mail so that we will prepare and send you our full co-operate offer (FCO). Even if you are not prepared to buy our Gold now but can get a buyer for us, we pay 5% commission per kg to Agent/Mandate or Intermediary.

I am not interested now or ever. Not if you have a full or even a partial co-operate offer. I wouldn’t do this if you paid a 100% commission. This just plain sucks.

We look forward in doing a long lasting business transaction with you. N.B Prices are negotiable depending on KG Best Regards Africa Miners Gold,Diamond,Minerals Kimunya Patrick B.P 747 Kisangani CONGO (DRC) Email:kimunya.patrick@gmail.com SYKPE:Africaminersgroup

Don’t look forward to anything, especially a long lasting business transaction. Nothing is negotiable. I wouldn’t email you for all the coffee at Starbucks and oh DEAR GAWD! I just threw up in my mouth thinking about SKYPING you!

If I could, I’d have you arrested, thrown behind bars and the key melted into your forehead, you scum-bucket-spammer!

But since I can’t do any that, I’ll just have my fun typing this knowing my friends will get a chuckle and knowing they too won’t be stupid enough to fall for your crap.

Now I Have A Police Record

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 02:57:00 +0000

I’ve had dogs all my life. I’ve also trained my own dogs. My boxers were the best. Not only were they quiet, as in they barely barked, they were also smart. They did all sorts of tricks, Kommit even sneezed on command. They stayed in our yard without leashes too. Many people walking past our house asked if we had an electric fence. We don’t.

Madea, our German Shepherd mix, is also intelligent. She barks but only if she thinks there’s a threat. Berra is smart. But she thinks leaves blowing in the back yard are a threat. The ~~bitch~~ darling thinks everything is a threat. And she knows I don’t like her yipping because she’ll bark then duck her head as if to say, “Oops, my bad, Mommy. But I just couldn’t help myself.”

Berra also likes to test me by leaving the yard. She walks out of the driveway and barks at people pushing their baby strollers. I don’t know why she does this, because she’s anti-social. People will put their hands down to greet her and she’ll back away with her hair sticking up and bark as if she’s the meanest dog on earth. Except she only attacks moths and stink bugs.

I have to watch her like a hawk when we’re in the front yard because as soon as I turn my back, she heads for the street. Almost like she’s pissed the plants are getting my attention. And if dogs are smart enough to cut off their noses to spite their faces...Berra did just that.

The other night I received a call on my cell phone. It was from the Chief of Police. He asked, “Is this Pam?”

Of course I said yes.

He proceeded to tell me that he received an anonymous complaint about my dogs going into the street and barking at people who walked by. I had to clarify dogs, as in plural, because Madea doesn’t do that. She stops at the end of our driveway and she doesn’t bark unless she’s in the house and someone comes to the door. However, Berra barks at everything and she has gone into the street and barked at people.

Damn her.

My perfect record was shot.

I explained to the Chief that Berra was a yipper and it pissed me off but I didn’t leave her unattended, ever. Although there were a few times she did get out of the yard but she’d never hurt anyone. I told him I did understand that a barking dog in the street could scare some people when they didn’t know the dog and from now on I would leash her when we were out front. He was pleased with this solution.

After the call ended I looked at Berra and said, “You got me in trouble. And now you’ll be on a leash.”

She wagged her tail.

Probably because I was talking to her...again, or would that be still?

Then it dawned on me, the Chief called my cell phone and never used my last name.

He must’ve gotten the information from the NSA.

People Too Stupid To Be Moms & Dads

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 23:42:00 +0000

What in the name of all that’s holy is wrong with people? Men AND women?

Orlando Shaw, 33 years old of Tennessee, has 22 children to approximately 14 women. The man has no job, is an ex-con, and is tens of thousands of dollars in arrears in child support.

He says he loves his children though. He proves it by showing up each and every time he’s summoned to the court house. However, the only parenting he does is via his cell phone, oh, and on the weekends, when he rotates his ~~hockey team~~ kids. He does have a plan though—he plays the hell out of the Tennessee lottery.

Where the hell does he get the money for his cell phone and the lottery tickets? He doesn’t have a job. The Tennessee tax payers are footing the bill for his 22 children to the tune of seven thousand dollars a month. Are they supporting him too?

The story gets better.

Orlando has the audacity to say he didn’t use birth control because he was young, ambitious and loved women. I call bull shit. A man who loves women doesn’t knock them up, leave them with passels of kids, then not support them.

This man loves sex. Period. He has no respect for women. He has no respect for his children or his fellow man either, because he doesn’t give a flying crap that the taxpayers are footing the bill for his illegitimate offspring. The man’s a pig.

It’s not just Orlando who’s at fault here either. The baby mamas are just as guilty. FOURTEEN women knowingly had sex with this man without birth control and brought TWENTY-TWO innocent children into the world. That means more than one of these women had more than one child a piece with him. What the hell is wrong with them? Were they in some kind of contest? There is no way fourteen women were ignorant to this man’s past. Yet they knowingly had unprotected sex any way.

But in the long run, it’s the innocent children who will suffer.

This type of behavior isn’t indicative to Tennessee either. It’s a national epidemic. If I didn’t believe in the constitution, I’d demand sterilization. However, I do believe in individual rights and forcing sterilization on someone would go against everything we, as a nation, stand for.

I don’t know what the answer is to cases like this. I only know that Orlando is a disgrace. These baby mamas are a disgrace. And my heart breaks for the children. They are growing up in broken homes. Their father is an ex-con with no job who thinks playing the lottery is a good plan. They deserve so much better. All children deserve a fair chance but when they are dealt shitty mommy-daddy cards, they don’t get a re-deal. They have to play the hand they’re dealt.

I hope against hope kids like Orlando’s will somehow break the cycle, because I know according to statistics most end up just like him. That fills my heart with sadness. If I could take all the children with crappy moms and dads, I would. But since I can’t, I can only hope they will one day find peace and security within.

More Dumb Ass Spammers

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Wed, 05 Jun 2013 02:44:00 +0000

Hi! It’s been awhile since I’ve posted. You know how it is. Work, husband, kids, dogs—what can I say? I’m totally blaming my lack of time management skills on other things. But those sound better, don’t they?

Anyway. I was going through my spam messages and realized I haven’t shared Idiot Spammers with you lately. That’s mighty rude of me. So I’ll be generous and spread the stupidity.

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Dear Design Entrepreneur, Hence, it’s apparent as a wart on a witch’s nose that you’re the one in dire need of schooling, not I. Not only do you need a diploma, but you are in sore need of basic common sense. The post you commented on was sarcasm, as in humor, and it’s about Barbie dolls. Therefore telling me about email marketing companies is just plain idiotic—Barbie’s don’t email. Plus you made a grave mistake in thinking I want someone to tell me what to do. If you knew me, you’d know that I am the bossy one. So I won’t be visiting your website anytime soon.

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Dear Workout, take a vertical leap off a bridge. But that’s not all I have to say. Literally, you’re a total dumb ass. I have never used a video on any blog post since I began blogging back in 2007. Apparently you have no intelligence to speak of so why bother pretending you can read? Again, take that vertical leap and save all Bloggers the torture of seeing your pitiful comments.

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Oh.Dear.Gawd! Are you serious? Your web-site is about webcam sex and you have the audacity to ask me about my web host? Ever hear of Google? And no, it’s not a sexual position. Pig. The only thing I will recommend to you is to drop off the end of the earth. And take your webcam with you.

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Dear Guitar Solo, you’ve got some gonads. In the blogging world it’s rude to point out spelling mistakes. But I’ll bet dollars to donuts that my posts aren’t rife with them. However, your spelling and grammar are horrendous. Maybe you should get a Beta reader before polluting comment sections with your garbage. And NO, please do NOT come back.

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Dear Tattoo, I’m glad you’re impressed. But I’d rather you be absent much. If I may make a suggestion? Rather than seek sarcasm, search for Rosetta stone, preferably English. Or better yet, use some of that permanent tattoo removal on yourself. Thanks and goodbye.

There you go, folks. Idiotic-stupid-dumbass Spammers who just plop sentences and links into your comment sections which don’t even pertain to your post. They are annoying but they are also amusing.

Go ahead, poke fun at them.

Too bad we can’t poke them with marshmallow sticks.

Don't Play With The Equipment

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 01:15:00 +0000

I went to a doctor’s appointment the other day. And guess what? I had to wait. I know, I know, you’ve never heard of such a thing. That’s why I’m telling you about it.

Over the years, I’ve waited about twenty or thirty minutes for this doctor. So Tuesday, after forty minutes, I tapped on the receptionist’s window and asked, “Is there a problem? I’ve been waiting forty minutes.”

She replied, “I don’t know. The doctor must be running late.” (Oh, duh. Ya THINK.)

I pointed to the sign that hung on her window that read:
IF YOU ARE FIFTEEN MINUTES LATE, YOU MAY BE ASKED TO RESCHEDULE
And said, “Because if we’re fifteen minutes late, we have to reschedule.”

I don’t think she liked that very much.

Within ten minutes, I was called back to the examination room. Where I waited.

And waited.

After fifteen minutes I was so damn bored.

Then I saw it.

The gooseneck examination lamp.

I reached over and switched the light on and off, and on and off. Then I twisted the gooseneck up and down and around and back again. Then I dropped my hands and swung my legs and adjusted my lovely paper nightgown. But my eyes were drawn back to the lamp.

I switched it back on and aimed it toward the wall where it cast a bright circle of light. I placed my hand in front of the bulb and tried making an animal shadow puppet. I sucked at that. But I was good at making a pretend mouth, though. So I made it talk.

It said, in a deep tone, “Doctors shouldn’t make you wait and if they do make you wait, they should let you know if they are going to be longer than forty-five minutes. And if they are longer than forty-five minutes, you sh—”

The nurse walked in and looked at me as if I had three purple heads.

I flicked off the light, dropped my hands back to my lap, and said, “I had to amuse myself somehow. You don’t have a television back here.”

“There’s some magazines,” she said, pointing to a stack of dog-eared magazines, at least a year old.

“I don’t like magazines. They’re crap.”

After giving me another strange look, she told me the doctor would be with me in a few minutes.

The doctor came back in forty-five.

I guess my definition of few and the medical profession is completely different. Too bad I can’t apply their few minutes to my daily life and mine to doctor’s appointments and work.

Oh, and if you expect me to wait, and don’t want me to play with the equipment—install a television with cable.

Sneak Peak At Heritage And Honor

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 03:16:00 +0000

I mentioned that I’m writing a novel. Well, I want to give you a little excerpt from one of my chapters. My story takes place in 1887 Montana and the working title is Heritage and Honor. Here's a synopsis:

Donning trousers and wearing a gun wasn’t conventional in Charlotte Mason’s world. But how else could she rope and brand cattle? Besides, Charley wasn’t a conformist. Although the traditions of family, truth and honor were as much a part of her as the Montana earth she was raised on. She’d be damned if the two men claiming to be her brothers would destroy any of it.

Morgan Ramsey and his brother Warren knew the only way they’d get their revenge on the Mason’s was to strike from the inside. They had it all planned too. But Morgan hadn’t reckoned on Charley. She made his blood ride high. Now he had more secrets to keep than he cared to count. Each day with the Mason heiress brought him closer to damnation—or was it salvation.

From Chapter 3:

Charley gained a foothold on the pond’s rocky bottom. She freed her face from long, wet strands of hair, then looked at the man standing on shore.
His arms were crossed over his wide chest, his legs in a wide stance. He was the handsome stranger from the saloon. Charley’s legs turned to jelly as she precariously balanced on jagged rocks. “You! What are you doing?”
“I was riding by and saw a horse. Then I saw you. Thought you might need rescuing.”
“As you can plainly see, I’m in no need of saving.” As soon as she finished speaking, Charley slipped on a rock and went under water. Resurfacing and spitting water, she heard his rumble of laughter. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.
“Really? Are you sure you aren’t drowning?” His taunting grated on her nerves, especially since she was naked and shoulder deep in water.
“I’m sure,” she told him through clenched teeth.
He uncrossed his arms.“Perhaps I should assist.” He took a step forward.“In case you go under again.”
Charley held up her hands. “That won’t be necessary. I can assure you.”
“I wouldn’t want—”
“Do you mind?”
His eyebrows creased. “Mind what?”
She smacked the water with her hands, making a splash that didn’t reach him.“I’d like to get dressed.”
He laughed, then looked around until he spotted her clothes. He walked over to the pile and picked it up. “These yours?” He held her clothes in his hands.
“You know they are.”
He smiled. It worked slowly across his face until it reached his eyes, leaving a devilish flicker. “You want them? Come get them.”
Charley wanted to slap the grin off his roguish face. But the gauntlet had been thrown and Charley didn’t run from a challenge. She took a deep breath, to give herself inner strength, then slowly walked out of the pond, her eyes locked with his.
His smile disappeared as he watched her walk onto the shore. His mouth and jaw tightened when she stopped and stood in front of him.

Catch Me & Please Pam

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Mon, 08 Apr 2013 10:00:00 +0000

I told you my husband is a clown. He’s always joking around. Even when I tell him something serious. I also think it’s a gene he passed on to our sons. The ~~monsters~~ darlings will ask me why I don’t joke around more. My answer? Someone needs to be the adult in the house.

However, I do get a kick out of my husband’s texts. It’s been a while since he’s sent me any I could lol about.

I think he’s part bear. He doesn’t hibernate in the winter, but he should, because he’s grumpy. We don’t have warm weather yet here in Pennsylvania but we’ve noticed something rare in the sky lately. It’s big and yellow and it radiates light. Oh, wait, I remember now, it’s the sun! And I’m pretty sure it’s making my grumpy husband happy, because when I sent him a text Friday asking if he wanted to go out to dinner, here’s what transpired…

David: Sure. I would capture all the sun’s rays if it would please u.
Me: I’d rather have moon rocks.
David. I’m on my way. Not sure if I will be back in time 4 dinner.
Me: No excuses for missing a dinner date.
David: I’ll be there.
Me: Ok. But no more playing. I have to work.

Now Dr. Laura says a man loves you if he’s willing to swim through shark infested waters to bring you an iced tea. I’m betting a man loves you if he’s willing to get close to a 10,832 degree ball of fire merely to please you.

Although a vanilla latte would be nice.

I’ll put in my order via text.

Almost There

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 01:54:00 +0000

You may not know this, but I wrote a novel. I did. A long time ago. That novel has been through a couple creative writing courses with me and a couple evaluations. I stuffed it in a folder and put it in my file cabinet.

It sat.

And it sat.

Then last September I read something that said write what you like to read. I knew my novel’s conflict and plot were what I liked. After all, I wrote them. So I pulled out my manuscript and read it.

I laughed.

To keep myself from crying.

There was no freaken way any agent would sell it.

It’s not a bad story line, but I was telling, not showing. It needed some major editing. But where the heck could I get help?

Aw, Google!

I found Critique Circle, and I joined. At first I only critiqued. Then after a month, I got up enough nerve to post my first chapter. I have to tell you, I received more information and knowledge about writing from that chapter than all the courses I had taken! I was hooked. So I posted chapters two, three and four. And the results were the same. Great advice and suggestions. I took those four chapters and the suggestions I received and got to work.

I am proud to say that I just finished chapter twenty. I’m almost done—ten more to go! That might not seem like a big deal to some. To me. It’s a huge deal.

I have no idea where this will lead. In my heart of hearts, I hope publication. My dream has always been to get a book published. However, once it’s complete—I mean really complete—I won’t be afraid to let people read it. I’ll probably ~~threaten~~ beg people to.

Right now, I’m proud I got this far. Writing a novel is a long process, even if you love writing. I’ll be even more proud when I polish off the last ten chapters. I say this because as I’ve told you, I don’t manage my personal time very well. I suck at it, truth be told.

Maybe one day I’ll be asking you all to read my completed manuscript. Or better yet, my book. That would be so awesome, yes?

Until then, wish me luck on these last chapters.

Should's And Win-Win's

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 00:22:00 +0000

I think we should be able to drive with our eyes closed and get where we’re going safely. Think about that. If you have a long commute to work, you could catch up on your Z’s. Driving the kids to soccer or football practice—snooze away. You wouldn’t even have to worry about those pesky red lights or stop signs. Or the idiots who text while driving. You wouldn’t have to look at those dumb asses anymore—your eyes would be closed! Sounds like a total win-win, to me!

I think we should be able to eat while lying down and not choke to death—hear me Mama Cass? You wouldn’t even have to get up in the morning. Just lie there and have someone shovel those eggs into your mouth! When lunch rolls around—open wide and shove that peanut butter and jelly sandwich right on in. If you’re hunkering for a snack, well, you can lie there and toss some Oreos in the air and catch them with your teeth—never getting off your back! You want milk with that, you say? Just rig up a cup and straw on your bedside table. See? Another win-win.

I think female dogs should be born spayed. Unless you want your female puppy to grow up and breed, of course. But in my case, I haven’t had a minute to get my female puppy to the vet—except for her shots— and yep, you guessed it—she’s back in her hot pants. So if girlie puppies were born already unable to have puppies it would save people, like me (who lose track of time for various reasons I won’t go in to right now ) a lot of aggravation. Therefore, female puppies already sterilized is a win-win, in my world.

I think that television shows should be filmed and then run consecutively. Waiting a week in between shows, or in the event of the Oscars or a stupid sporting event, puts a major cramp in my style. There are a bazillion television stations in this century, why must they interrupt my shows? And why must I wait to see what happens to my make-believe characters? I want to see the plot, conflict and mishaps right.now.all.at.once. So for me, that would be a win-win.

I think that we should be able to use electrical devices while taking a bath without getting dead. Image that for a few seconds—or minutes, if your brain is operating in slow-mo like mine this time of year. If you could lounge around in your tub—with bubbles and candles—with your laptop, or even your Kindle or other E-reader. That would be fun! Or what if you wanted to do your hair with a curling iron? Or maybe you want to sand a piece of wood with your handy-dandy wood sander. I mean, come on, there are tons of things you could do in the tub with electronics. But let’s face it. If you did, you’d get zapped and you wouldn’t be able to read my blog. That’s just not right. We have the technology to take out terrorists without setting foot in their country. We can spy on our own citizens while they lounge around their house in their underwear. Heck, we cross breed dogs, plants and fruit. But we can’t bathe with electronics without getting zapped? That’s a problem. I think we should fix that into a win-win.

And last, but certainly not least, I think Mother Nature should stop delaying spring. Or at the very least, we should be able to kick Punxsutawney Phil’s furry ass. I’m sick of the cold, the wet and the dreary and if I don’t get warmth and sunshine soon—I’m gonna go ape shit on Mother Nature AND Phil. And THAT would FEEL like a win-win right about now.

I'm Not Perfect, But I Love To Write

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 01:29:00 +0000

I just got a new book, If You Can Talk, You Can Write. At first glance, I thought, No way! I can’t possibly write everything I WANT to say. I’d lose all my friends and for sure uninspire everyone!

Then I began reading the book and realized it’s not about writing uncensored. It’s about writing like we talk and banishing our inner critic. I like the idea of banishing my inner critic. It’s been too loud lately. Ha! Who am I kidding. It’s been loud all my life.

But lately I can’t seem to write a darn thing I like. No matter what I write—Nope, not good enough. Or, Nope, that’s boring. And if I do manage to get a piece done, I rip it apart. I’m terribly hard on myself. I think it has to be perfect. Whatever that even means.

Oh, and when I don’t write—which is often— I tell myself it’s writer’s block. Well, the author, Joel Saltzman, says that writer’s block is really perfectionist’s block. It’s a way for us perfectionists to avoid writing because we never think it’s good enough, or it’s never going to be good enough. We make excuses: We have to research. Answer emails. Pour another cup of coffee. Rewrite that scene.

Bingo! That’s so me! So now that I know the problem, I can fix it.

No, I lied.

I can attempt to fix it.

Hello, I’m Pamela and I’m a perfectionist and it’s going to take time to fix my tendency to want to be perfect. And I may never fix it. I may have to accept that I’ll always want to be perfect but I won’t ever be perfect.

In the meantime, I have to let go and do what I love and that’s write. No matter what it’s about—just write.

So, here I am—writing, because it brings me happiness.

What makes you happy?

Robotic-Jackass People

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Thu, 21 Feb 2013 15:42:00 +0000

I truly would like for someone…anyone to tell me how some people keep their jobs.

This is just ONE thing that has pissed me off recently.

My son’s orthodontist’s office called yesterday and left a message. I gathered the information that was needed this morning and called back—knowing full well the secretary wasn’t going to be in and I was going to get the answering service.

When the answering service answered I said, “I’m returning Mary’s call. I’d like to leave a message for her to call me and a number where I can be reached.”

Answering Service spit out, “She’s not in the office.”

“I’m well aware of that. That’s why I said I want to leave a number where I can be reached,” I told her.

“Wow,” she snapped.

“Well if people would listen rather than go off on their robotic responses maybe something would get accomplished.”

She hung up on me.

I called back.

When she answered, I said in my motherly-pissed-off- tone, “I’d like to leave a message for Mary.”

“Your name,” she said in her snooty voice.

But seriously, what the hell is wrong with people? Why can’t they LISTEN when you say something? WHY are so many people robotic—following a set of automatic responses rather than listening to what you’re saying?

And while I’m on the subject of robotic-jackasses, just Tuesday, I called my Senator’s office giving the aid TWO very specific reasons WHY I wanted to speak with the Senator.

What did I get?

An email telling me to have my son apply for Veterans benefits.

Not only was I not given the courtesy of a return call, but the email had absolutely nothing to do with my phone call!

Either the aid ignored me when I was speaking or he was a total dingbat—proving our tax dollars are NOT at work.

I take pride in my work but apparently other people do not or they are just too damn stupid and only have their jobs out of pity… or maybe it’s too difficult to find competent people these days.

I’m glad I don’t own a business. If I had to find employees, with all the jackasses out there—I’d hire a horse.

Dumb Ass Spammers

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 06:00:00 +0000

Blogger does a good job of catching Spammers. The comments automatically go into a spam folder, where you can view them then either post them or send them into the web ether, where they’ll float around—invisible and unseen by anyone, except you— for eternity. That’s a good thing, otherwise your comment section could get cluttered with useless jargon that doesn’t even pertain to the post at hand, and you’d be wasting precious time trying to delete the annoying advertisements when you could be posting, reading or ~~Flirting~~ Playing With ~~Non-~~Friends. However, there are just some spam comments, that are so freaken priceless, one simply cannot send them into the web ether without first sharing! What kind of ~~Non-~~Friend would that make me?

Over the past six months or so, my Happy Birthday Austin post has been inundated with Spammers. None of them make sense; they’re trolling for hits to their stupid-ass sites. But if I could respond to their dumb-as-they-come comments, this is what I’d say:

Dumb Ass Spammer #1: Write more, thats all I have to say. Literally, it seems as though you relied on the video to make your point. You definitely know what youre talking about, why throw away your intelligence on just posting videos to your weblog when you could be giving us something informative to read? Here is my web site - rid of acne

If that’s all you have to say, then it’s apparent you have no intelligence. Because I don’t have a video on that post. Or any of my posts, for that matter. So, you’re just too damn dumb. And on another note, did you even LOOK at my son’s picture? Your web-site is to rid of acne. My kid doesn’t have ONE pimple! Like I said, you’re just too damn dumb...literally.

Dumb Ass Spammer #2: I always spent my half an hour to read this weblog’s content everyday along with a cup of coffee. My web blog - tattoo removal cream

Holy crap! If you spend half an hour reading my blog EVERYDAY, you really need a life. Especially since you posted this on January 11, 2013 and I haven’t posted consistently since last July! And tattoo removal cream? Really? If I purchase that, do you have some swamp land in New York City I can buy, too? Because I just don’t have enough places to ~~waste~~ spend my money.

Dumb Ass Spammer #3: Thanks in support of sharing such a fastidious thought, article is nice, thats why i have read it completely Also visit my weblog tattoo removal cost

Oh.Good.Gawd! Do you really think that because you utilized the word fastidious I would click your site? Did you bother to check your grammar? Because it sucks. I mean, dude, take a gander at the letter “i”. And where’s your punctuation? Where are the periods? Apostrophes? How about you forget the tattoo removal and go learn you some English?

Dumb Ass Spammer #4: magnificent points altogether, you simply gained a new reader. What might you suggest in regards to your put up that you simply made a few days ago? Any sure? Review my homepage - propertyinturkeyforsale.net

Okay, wait. I don’t think I simply want to gain a new reader. Especially one who wants to sell me property in TURKEY! It’s only a bazillion miles from my family and, oh, near Syria and the Middle East, where it’s ON FIRE and crawling with fucking terrorists! And yeah, I’m very any sure!

Dumb Ass Spammer #5: An impressive share! I’ve just forwarded this onto a friend who has been doing a little homework on this. And he actually bought me dinner because I stumbled upon it for him... lol. So allow me to reword this.... Thank YOU for the meal!! But yeah, thanx for spending some time to talk about this matter here on your site. Feel free to surf my blog :: immobilienalanya.net

Really? Your friend is doing homework on MY son’s birthday? And he bought YOU dinner because you stumbled onto my blog post? Wow, what the hell would he buy you, if, say, you stumbled into a worm hole? Let me rephrase that. lol. (And I’m laughing AT you, not with you). You’re welcome. I like writing about MY son’s birthday. I guess because I was the one who carried him inside my body then pushed him out of my hoo-hah. Maybe your friend should buy ME dinner. Actually, I’ll take you leaving me alone as payment in full.

There you have it, guys and gals. Spammers who will try and leave hyper-links in your comment section regardless of whether it relates to your post or not.

Feel free to poke fun at these dumb asses in MY comment section!

Flirting with Friends – Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Pamela Zydel) — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 18:44:00 +0000

I told you how I began playing Words With Friends and some Yo-Ho wanted me to send him a picture, cuz he wanted to see what I looked like. Needless to say I was disgusted and of course I didn’t send him one.

I resigned that game and found me a new opponent!

Well, it was someone called D-boy. As soon as our game started good ‘ole D-boy messaged me asking me where I lived. I rolled my eyes and thought, Jesus H. Christ. Not another one. I typed: Washington. I lied. I live in Pennsylvania. He messaged me back that he lives in California. Like I gave a flying shit. Then he asked me how old I was.

Here’s the exchange:

I showed this exchange to my husband and sons. My fifteen year old said, “Mom, he likes older WOMAN." The guy’s 28 and doesn’t know proper grammar!

Then my three males went on about how disgusting it was that SOME males have to ruin it for LADIES, like me. Aren’t they sweet? Not only am I married to a gentleman, I raised TWO gentlemen!

So, back to D-boy.

He just wasn’t giving up.

When I read THAT exchange to my guys, they were REALLY mad! I’d bet if D-boy lived within our vicinity, they would’ve hunted him down. And trust me, my boys are HUGE. They are weight lifters and very protective of me—I’m their Princess. Yes, I’m SO bragging. I just eat that shit up.

D-boy is gone, along with that other ass-wipe. But then there was a Roberto. He asked me how I was and I said, “Fine.” He resigned the game. I’m just going to cut these idiots off at the pass, so to speak.

But I’m lucky because I am playing with my niece, a friend from my fan-fiction group and my friend Bubbe! We found each other through a little brain-work—we’re so smart!

The best thing to do when these ass-wipes message you for your age and photos—resign the game. Don’t encourage them. Have innocent fun with REAL friends! Or fake friends, because not every opponent is a disgusting jerk.