Saturday, March 27, 2010

Dear Bonsey, Part 1

Dear Bonesy,

I work at the Radio Shack in Beckley, you know, by the one by the movie theater. Everytime I step into my establishment of employment I have accompanied by long stares into the abyss. I often wonder how I got here. Please Bonesy, help me to turn my life around, rid myself of the razor blades and emo music and make better career choices


Dear Radio Shucks,

As I drove past you that one night and caught you staring out the window*, your dead, soulless eyes told me all I needed to know. I thought to myself, "What could make that poor girl so despondent on such a night as this?" "Oh yeah, she's working the night shift at Radio Shack." "Boy, I'm hungry." And that was that. I had no more thoughts about your plight. That was because most everyone has a 9 to 5 that they may or may not resent. My advice to you is to stop your moping and sell more flat screens or you might be staring blank, cold, and hungry out of a card board box.

Forever Yours,

*Based on actual events


Dear Bonsey,

Can you tell me why old people dont get yearly driving tests after 70? B/c they are Causing me stress and the other drivers as well. Thank you for talking time in reading my question and I look foward to your wise advise.


Dear Scared of Driving Miss Daisy,

I too have been at the mercy of our senior citizens on the road. They can be slow moving and dangerous in their lane changes but if I'm being honest, I'd be more scared of teenage boys in their black '96 Eclipse crossing over two solid lines with zero visibility on Eggleston Rd.

With that said, every time you want to tail Virgil on the way to his doctor's appointment, just fast forward a few years and imagine yourself in the drivers seat barely able to see past the steering column, scared out of your aging mind, dodging trees and pedestrians alike. Have a heart, young whipper-snapper.

To answer your question regarding mandatory testing for seniors, places like California now require drivers over 70 to retest if they are involved in two or more crashes in one year. I don't know about you, but that provdes me with real comfort.

Similarly, there have been proposals in several other states to toughen licensing requirements for older drivers however, their efforts have been thwarted by senior-citizen lobbying groups who say age-based measures are discriminatory. They claim that a person's chronological age is not an accurate predictor of driving ability.

Apparently neither is being able to see without the aid of magnifying glass.

But God bless our road-warrior senior citizens. And let us remember that recently and humbly, we in our sound youthful minds tried to put diesel fuel into our gas tanks.


Thursday, March 25, 2010


*Quivering lips*

*Downcast glances*

*Wet eyelids full of bitter, salty tears*

I had these visions of grandeur that, well, people would really like my idea of a Dear Bonsey column, but alas with the one dear exception of "Heather" and her quandary involving old people on the road, due to a lack of response I shall take my life at 2 pm today. It has been written in the stars. No need to talk me out of it.

But in case I don't go through with it, I would like some new and perplexing inquiries for possible publication next Friday.

What do I have to do to get some feedback, people? Remove an article of clothing, dedicate a statue in your honor in my weed garden, buy you Walmart stock? Because, unlike my fake suicide attempt, I will.

Monday, March 22, 2010

1+1= Corvette

Boy, I've been busy this week! Busy destroying cars that is. Cheryl and I were out driving last week when about 2 miles from the nearest exit, she started acting like a fool. I kept asking her why she was shaking so bad. Was she cold or something? It was 65 degrees outside. Anyway, she wasn't talking. Then, as I pulled off the interstate, she started smoking. I yelled at her, "Cheryl, when did you start this filthy habit?"

"Fifth grade. Whatsittoya?"

Then I knew she was serious. So I pulled into a parking area just off the beaten path and listened to her sizzle, hiss and moan for about 30 minutes before they came to take her away.  She has been laid up in the repair shop now for 5 days. They said she needed a new belt. "Sure" I thought, "And scarf, and spring jacket, and new sandals." Prima Donna.

Just three days later I was driving "Creed" (our Rodeo) and again about 2 miles from my exit, he begins to wobble back and forth violently on the road, literally tossing me side to side in my seat and totally embarrassing me in front of the other vehicles. "What are you doing, Creed?!" I hissed.  But Creed was too busy allowing rust to completely envelope his nether regions to respond.  We think his issues might be terminal.

So, what's the lesson to be learned here? It is, you bang up enough cars in a week, your dad will give you his prized 1990 Chevy Corvette to zip around town in. Gosh, don't I feel like a big loser here.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Dear Bonsey,

Yours Truly would like to begin an bi-monthly Friday advice column, like Dear Prudence or Dear Abby, but just Dear Bonsey.  Clever, I know.  Every and any question or scenario will be considered for publication, so make it good and perplexing. 

Happy Submissions!

Thursday, March 18, 2010

How Handy

I like hands. Most every pair.  Unless you're a man with dainty fingers. *shivers*  Hands tell their own story and are unique to each person, which is why I dig them so much. 

Take my father for example, ye ol' sausage-links or his "Jimmy Dean's" as I call them. His fingers simply don't taper.  It's strange.  If I cut them up (sans nail and bone) and threw them in a frying pan with some eggs... 

Moving on to an unrelated story, in sixth grade I helped prep lunches for elementary school kids and worked with a petite and lively Italian lady who stood at 5 foot nothing.  It was quite possible that I was slacking off on the job so to jump start my work ethic, she grabbed my impishly youthful hands and rubbed them up and down on her palms saying to me, "Feel these?! These are the hands of a hard working woman!"  And friends, it was like skimming a Brillo pad.  I wanted to ask, "Lady, do you exfoliate your hands with a cheese grater?" Anyway, I've never forgotten that.

Actually, this was just a piss-poor excuse to show off my new paint job. Thanks for humoring me.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Ode to the St. Patty Fatty

Bucky, Frip, Frippy, Buckingham... You came into this world on St. Patricks Day in the year of our Lord, 1986. You weighed a kingly 9 pounds (God bless you JB) and your arrival was captured by none other than your own father, Dean "shutterbug" Brdlik who was sitting posterior to mom, snapping away on his Nikon as you were making your great exodus. We still have those pictures if you're ever interested in stabbing your own eyeballs with a fork.

Dad was thrilled that you were a boy. We all were. At least, I think I was. Not sure but I can envision myself hands clasped behind my back, pacing the shiny hospital floors, eyes scanning my immediate surroundings for things that could muffle a cry or just breathing in general. I enjoyed my status as The Baby for those few years. But, my heart was big. I let you in.

You grew in stature and most notably in head size and circumference. You resembled the leaning tower of Pisa as you waddled around in your nappies.

I think Dr. Seuss might have had this to say about your toddler noggin:

Whether he went here or there or anywhere
His bulbous balloon was sure to lead
Hop, skip, shuffle, popple
Plum down to the ground he'd topple
Oh, the crashing and bumping, ruckus and clunking!
A mother laments and wails 'til she's spent
"Why can't you stand straight and tall as a pine?
Why must your head be so large by design?"
Of all the magnanimous monstrosities to be had
A head so large was bad for the lad
Shimity lou and skitty do da
I'll keep my day job and continue to blog
We have countless home videos of you running down sidewalks and into *traffic, chasing after "vroom-vrooms" which consisted of motorcycles and cars, but mainly you loved tractors, especially Kubotas. I have this engraved image of you in my mind sitting in a tractor seat, pot belly sticking out of your waistband, sucking on your thumb, happy as a clam.  You loved big machinery.

Now you're a man and could easily grind me into a fine pulp-mist, but you don't and I really, really like that about you.  I don't just speak for myself when I say that I am very proud of the man you have become and am very excited to see what is in store for you, big-little brother.

Happy Birthday to you, Bucky. I love you.

*Dad was awarded "Father of the Year."

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Don't stop believin'!

I'm here!  Seriously.  I'm not really that busy, especially in light of my sister who is raising four children, a brother who is tying up his last year at a competitive college, another sister who is busy with her two smarty boys who received straight A's on their last report card and a father who cooks, cleans and looks after the family cat so I don't have to.  Seriously, what do I have to do with myself all day?  Eat, scratch, drive recklessly, tail people, think, stutter, drool, wash, rinse, repeat.  That's what.

Rob just suggested that I take this blog in a positive direction where people come to get educated about something.  He said I should pick a place on a map and offer specs about the country and specific information about the food, people, culture, etc, etc.  I know, right?!  Hil-arioous.  I explained to him that you people come here to be entertained, not informed.  That's what Wikipedia is for.  He tries.

So, please don't stop believing in me.  I will be back next week.  For now, I go to Florida to celebrate the birthday of a dear friend.  I would like to bring you all in my suitcase but it's already packed to the gills.

I hope you understand.

Bon voyage.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Lil miss informed

When I started up this blog, I had to determine the kind of tenor I wanted to create. Was it going to be strictly surface biographical in which, trust me, I have plenty of stories to tell or did I want to go all real world on you to include current events and politics?

Initially, I thought I would keep it neutral to pacify the masses but most of you know me anyway and know that I have plenty o' anarchy up my crawl. Plus, there are no masses reading this, so I will really be offending no one. I don't even have liberal friends.

Just kiddingggg.

Be that as it may, I do enjoy a good debate whilst trying to keep heated political dialog to a minimum, understanding that these ideological differences tend to divide and rarely conquer minds or hearts. Finding that zen place between being a silent objector and fact slapping someone in the face is difficult to balance but it's something I hope to fine tune over time. Balance that is, not the fact slapping in the face part. Well, maybe just a little of the slapping.

When I air my grievances, groan and capitulate, question and jest to your disenchantment, know that there within lies my bona fide self, and in that sacred place, we can hold hands and just agree to disagree, okay? Great.

With that said, here is a letter I constructed after receiving an unsolicited email from a well intentioned, probably sweet girl named 'lil miss hottie'.  She babysits on the weekends for cash and wears sweatpants with the word "Juicy" on her backside.  I'll bet you my first born.

--------------------------------Original Message---------------------------

From: lil miss hottie

Date: Dec 2, 2008 11:59 AM

are you tired of global warming? acid rian? polution? people dying everyday?

well with your help we can stop it!

earth day is April 22nd and if you will wear green and a green wriste band and spread this meassage to all of your friends that would be so great!
thx for you suport!

Yours Truly responds:

Dear lil miss hottie,

I congratulate you on your eco-efforts, however, let’s walk through a few things before I have to add another wrist band to my rainbow of causes.  The pulse on my right arm is now in the single digits.  I care too much.

Hottie, judging from your half-naked default picture, your best bet is an audience of older men who have a heart for poorly conceived environmental causes and young nubile bodies.  I have no such affinities. However, I am curious as to why you think these are the issues that I need to tell all my friends, okay, friend about.

Tell me, how many times did you step out of your home this winter and say "Why the fish sticks is it 4 degrees again today?"  100 times?  50 times?  More than you ever have in your 14 years of living?  This winter's temperatures were some of the coldest the earth has had in decades.  Those inconvenient truths.  Do you remember your teachers in school telling you about the polar bears drowning in the arctic because of the rapidly melting ice caps?   Well, it's rumored that a family of traveling arctic polar bears came into your backyard and snacked on your family cat.  Why?  Because conditions all over the globe are getting colder, not warmer.  To them, Cleveland seemed downright tropical and Murphy was very old and slow moving.

Acid rain.  Ahhh yes.  I love the alarmist language here.  I don’t doubt the reality of this, however, how do we realistically fix this in a way that would satisfy the most ardent of our environmentalist friends?  Let us remember that acidity in the atmosphere is also caused by occurrences out of our control such as volcanic emissions, wild fires and cows with IBS.  We can see that acid rain has been happening for thousands of years because of acidic detections in glacial ice.  Thankfully, hundreds of generations before us have built up immunity to the adverse affects of the dreaded summer-time sprinkle.

Finally, what to do about the problem of  "people dying everyday."  This is a tough one.  I digress.  I suppose it is possible to stave off or postpone death with clanging symbols and fog horns but this can only be temporary.  It can also be a hindrance for those who are ready to get a move on already.

Certainly your intentions were good, lil miss hottie, but for now there are things that have more merit in your world, like dreamy Brian Peters in 2nd period History class and edible lip-gloss.

Best Regards,