i promise to be an instrument of good.
i’ll be a good witch, not a bad one 🙂
i promise to be an instrument of good.
i’ll be a good witch, not a bad one 🙂
“whenever in doubt, read the instructions.”
she said that a bazillion times to me…usually saying it when i’m stuck on a project and start getting pissy.
i don’t know if her dad drilled the same line into her and she passed it on…or what.
that line still helps. i’ll have to google its etymology.
i should be putting my twitter posts here instead. twitter’s too weird for me. @allenmcnulty is my twitter name if you want to read my crap and/or follow me 🙂
you did something courageous that i could never do…you said goodbye.
i tried numerous times, but i never wanted to hurt you like that. i’m happy now that you had the courage to call it off. it had been over for a while, so an ending was the best choice.
my anger when you left was, among other things, my fear of losing my best friend of 13 years. i was also angry that you barely helped with anything: with the chores, a job, nothing. you did “you know what” every day, remained that way all day/evening/night, and played video games almost 24/7. when you *finally* made an attempt at bringing in income, it was too late and you quit doing even that after a very short time and went back to playing video games, and continuing our arguments about your not doing chores. you’re not the only one to blame, but that was the case for our entire relationship. a little help could have made me see you in a different light…but you kept getting darker and i eventually didn’t even notice you any more.
so me, butter, and tommy, wish you well and hope you become a responsible adult one day.
smell ya later,
he looka like a man
batman was one of my favorite tv shows. during fight scenes it used a lot of onomatopoeia by splashing words on the tv screen…like “POW!” and “BOOM!” maybe that was there way of getting around the censors for violence? regardless, it became an icon.
i bet they saved a lot of footage and editing doing that. plus, it was weirdly cool.
(i should buy one of those subscription sites where i can use any of their images without copyright issues.)
mostly, i grew up in north carolina. then i learned the internet before the majority came along, so i attempted to sell websites to people. i went on over 100 calls. some were intrigued by the “concept”, while everyone else looked at me like i was speaking a the language of an unknown african tribe. i made 4 sales that cost me way more than the travel expenses, had to print new brochures that dumbed it down a bit, ramen noodles, etc. 🙂
one day, i got a wild hair to move to seattle. i had one friend who lived there who was happy to help me transition. rec’d all my ups shipments (like my heavy, at that time, desktop computer, monitor, and peripherals…along with quite a few shipments of stuff i argued with myself a lot to keep or lose forever. the computer and cat was all i really needed, i guess.
anyway…seattle proved to be a great decision as they were very high-tech with tech-savvy people (for the most part). after my culture shock (among the other horrible things i saw, i constantly ran into people begging for food or money and a LOT of homeless people of all ages. i actually had to switch off that ethical part of my program. i was helpless to help (hundreds a day).
the rain? for me, it seemed to rain mostly during non-summer times. summers were always cook-out ready 🙂
one of the many culture shocks was that people didn’t hold or open the door for you. perhaps a rare person, but probably a tourist. i retained my southern hospitality by always checking mu 180 to see if the next person needs a small help. but my big question is….is this just a southern thing or is it everywhere except seattle (even the pacific northwest at large?) just wonderin’ 🙂
when i was a child, the majority of my white friends *hated* people of color. an indescribable, deeply-seeded, hate. my mom was absolutely racist and (i think) the rest of her immediate family was, too. i recall that my mom told me her dad (my grandpa) was once the grand wizard to the local kkk. i say this with neither pride or reverence.)
to this day, i don’t get why the color of someone’s skin initiates such hatred and/or violence by white folk. what could possibly be the predominant trigger. first psychologically? but why/what? ingrained pre-conceived notions?
looney tunes was very racist with some characters/situations and every child i knew were glued to the tv to watch bugs bunny, etc…so were most shows, until “good times” and “sanford & son” hit the waves. by local black credence, i was not allowed to call them between 1 and 2pm on sundays, because that was when “soul train” was on.
when kevin rotary dialed me (or anybody black my mom recognized), she’d shout out the door “one of your little friends is on the phone.) when my white friends called, she’d *always* call them by their name. did she not remember their names? would saying their names summon a demon?
anyway, hanging out with my black friends for much of my young life, showed me so much. i got lucky.
i was called “n-word lover”, by white people,for most of my young life. although i had no fear, fast wit, and was a tall for my age…i coulda’ raged out on them, but one of my (black) friends told me to ignore it…don’t respond…be the bigger man. because of his advice, and as much as i could, i felt a piece of his struggle for a moment. he goes through life like that (and worse) than i could ever fully empathize with.
i know it’s 2019 (as i write this) and that very little has changed on the racist rage, violence, and wrongful murder nightmares. i just thought it would all get better. do things really have to get that bad before it gets better? seems like it’s been plain long enough.
feel free to comment below…
the rules of google, bing, et al are constantly changing. what once was good for your site, can now be penalized by the big search engines.
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men continue to have power and use it to tell women what they can do with their bodies.
that’s effed up.
i mean, women in power don’t make laws about my junk.
don’t tell me what i can/can’t do with my penis.
(looking at you lady at gas station who told me to go fuck myself.)
i feel sorry for my mom, in that she didn’t get a “stereotypically gay” son. i didn’t know i was gay yet (til 19) and all i cared about was playing sports and watching tv. she’d ask me which outfit looked best and i just didn’t know. poor thing never got the benefits package.
trying to decide what philanthropic thing i’ll do when i hit a big lottery. there are so many issues that need money. i think paying for rape kits sitting on shelves to be processed would be one. also, the innocence project. something with animals, too, but not sure what. (comment below if you have any thoughts on this…)
florene richardson williams — 1928-2015
i visited aunt florene about a year or two before she passed away. we both knew i wouldn’t be coming back, so we said our goodbye’s then. she told me how much she loved me…and that she always had. i knew she loved me, but it was still nice to hear her say it one last time.
she protected me as much as she could and i’m forever thankful to her for that. i think she knew it was an impossible task, but she persevered nevertheless. she was my advocate when nobody else would take on my biological mother. only i knew how to handle my batshit, abusive, mother. aunt florene always tried to reason with her, but you can’t reason with crazy. i would usually disarm my mom with a smile…something only i was able to do…but only sometimes. aunt florene tried to apply logic to an illogical scenario, where i used humor and guile. my aunt never gave up, where eventually i did.
aunt florene was about the only member of my small family i truly loved and respected. she was somewhat well-read, easy for me to make laugh, strong, and determined. she was a country girl who never left the tiny town of eagle springs, nc, where she was born and raised. she had a strong, drawn-out, southern accent, that gave my name more syllables than necessary. most of the time when we arrived at her house on our usual sunday visit, she wasn’t in the house. i always knew where to find her, though. i’d run through the field of cows to the gigantic chicken houses, where she’d be feeding and checking on her chickens. there were a bazillion of them and i hated going inside when the chickens were adults. what assholes chickens can be. when they were chicks (baby chickens, but she called them “bitties”), it was easier to walk through them to get to aunt florene for a hug and kiss.
my aunt was even tempered. the only time she would scold me was when i’d sit in one of her dining room chairs and put my feet on the foot rails. drove her insane. you see…she and uncle marvin were simple folk. they farmed, raised chickens, and lived a meager, country lifestyle while raising two daughters. having survived the great depression, they wanted the few things they had to last an eternity. my scratching up the foot rails with my shoes was counter productive to that. even to this day, i think of her when i rest my feet on my own chair rails. it’s odd the things that become forever etched in our memories.
after her brother, in a drunken fit of rage, burned down the house my grandparents left to my mother and me, i stayed with aunt florene for a while. i slept on a pallet on the floor and woke up every morning to her cooking breakfast for me before school. this was something i hadn’t experienced before. my mother raised me, an only child, to be independent and not to count on others for anything life asked of me. waking up to scrambled eggs and sausage being cooked is an indescribable olfactory experience. i mean…i cooked it before myself on many occasions, but waking up to that smell was like…um…it was like…god, i wish i could think of a clever simile right now. i’ll just say she was like the mother i never really had. i know it’s trite, but it’s true.
i will forever love and miss you, aunt florene. thank you for everything. gonna’ rest my feet on the chair now (sorry), dream of scrambled eggs and sausage, and remember your loving smile.
Below is a brief list of the mad skills and experience I’ve obtained:
(Important: When hired, I promise not to bill you for breaks I take to watch cat videos. To you, this I promise.)
* Top 5% of my graduating class. No college degree.
* 2 Years As Editor-In-Chief For A Monthly Newspaper
* 7 Years of Management Experience in Retail
* CEO/Owner of Successful Company For Over 20 Years
* Advertising Executive For 3 Years
* Web Designer, Graphic Designer, & Programmer For Over 20 Years
* Expert With Grammar, Copy Editing, Proof Reading, & Digital Multi-Media
* Expert With Search Engines/SEO, Marketing, Advertising, E-Commerce, & Most Areas Business-Related
* Computer Expert (Including PC/Network Security & Military-Grade Encryption Solutions) (PC/Windows Only)
* Sense of Humor, While Maintaining Professionalism
* Extremely Creative
* I can implement your project myself, manage a project, and/or help you as a consultant.
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today seems like a good day to tell this bit of self-trivia…
i was almost a veteran 🙂
with no direction in life, i (almost) joined the air force at 18. i was recruited to be a fighter jet pilot (weird, huh?), based on my scores, etc. so…i jumped through the hoops, went to the base for my physical (where they asked me if i was a ‘practicing homosexual’ or had ever participated in any homosexual activities…to which i said no).
the physical started at 6am and ended the next day. after which, i was called into an office where the dude told me there was a white bump on my tongue (had been there for years) and that i had to go to a civilian dr. to get it checked out and report back to him with the results.
when i got home, my mother said we wouldn’t have the money for a week or so….so that gave me time to think about things. i got a part-time job offer in a big & tall store and decided the military wasn’t for me. i never did go to the dr. to check out the bump, which mysteriously disappeared about a month later.
the recruiter was fukin pissed at me. called all day and night, every day and night, until my mom cursed him out and said “it ain’t happening” and called him some racist stuff. he stopped calling.
i moved up to full-time, then asst. manager, then (only a year later) was promoted to store manager. i was the youngest store manager in the chain’s history 🙂
thank you to all the veterans out there for your service. especially the ones who didn’t have a white bump on their tongue. or bone spurs.
was poking around google and found this:
although he left us at 4 years old and i only saw him 3 or 4 times in my life. you’d think someone would’ve googled me and told me. a relative, the military…someone.
oh well…i guess now i know.
whatever your reasons for distancing yourself from me, i forgive you. rip, walter allen mcnulty iii (“Mac”). (july 12, 1942 – june 16, 2018)
[update: 8/11/2018] found my “aunt paddy” (his sister) and we’ve been communicating via email about dad’s death. she apologized for not contacting me…said she didn’t have any contact info for me. he didn’t want an obituary, so maybe this blog post is it. she was with him and cared for him until he went peacefully into the night. part of me is disappointed he didn’t contact me, but the other part is happy he had his sister there with him towards the end. just got his official death certificate in the mail, with that, i can get more info from the military…then i’ll update this post again.
[update: 8/29/2018] below is the permanent gravestone for my dad (credit goes to findagrave.com)