In Response To A. Gaddafi.

THE LETTER:

Greeting's

I am Aisha Gaddafi from Libya. I am the surviving Daughter of Late Gaddafi my Father worked was leader for 42 years in Tripoli as a Leader of Libya, before he died in Libya during the invention of the NTC AND NETO. Father deposited the sum of ($10.5 Million) with a bank in Asia.

After the death of my Daddy, I have thought of investing the money in your country and my aim of contacting you is to be my foreign partner and business caretaker who will handle whatever any investment we are going to establish according to your directive. kindly provide me with the information i needed to enable me communicate you for further details.

1) Your full Name.........

2) your private phone and fax number...

3) your age and your occupation.....

4) Any of your ids...........

Please, consider this and get back to me as soon as possible.

Your Faithfully

Aisha Gaddafi

********

THE RESPONSE:

Dear Ms. Gaddafi,

First, let me start by saying that you have my sincerest condolences for the recent loss of your father. This is troubling news and I hope you and your family are coping.

Before we discuss the matter at hand, I beg your indulgence for, you see, I am somewhat slow on the uptake and, as such, have a few questions.

First, I am curious. If you don't mind me asking, is "Late" Gaddafi any relation to "Muammar" Gaddafi? The fact that Late “worked was leader” for 42 years in Tripoli and Muammar was the ruler of Libya, based in Tripoli seems awfully uncanny to me. Then again, maybe the name Gaddafi is very common in Libya, like Smith is here in the western world. As I said, I’m a little slow.

Was your father an inventor? That is an awesome job! I’m sorry that this NTC AND NETO thing that he was working on did him in. I guess that would be a hazard of the job sometimes. I suggest that your people shut down and dismantle his creation. Lock it away as soon as possible. We don’t want any more deaths at the hands of this thing. (Just out of curiosity, does it have hands?) Take my advice and do this before it’s too late! We don’t want it to grow too powerful.

Now, on to business. Let me just say that I appreciate you wanting to invest the money in my country, and I am honored that you would choose to contact me to be a part of this transaction as your foreign partner. However, I must warn you that you may not have made the wisest choice by selecting me. I do not speak in authority for my people. In fact, you could say that I am about as low on the rung of the ladder here as one can get.

I may not be the best person to be your business caretaker or handle your investments here. I am on the bottom rung after all. There’s a reason for that. Plus, to be perfectly honest, if you allow me to broker this deal, I will very likely just keep the money for myself and not use it for your benefit or the benefit of my country. Except when I spend it, that is. I guess I may still be doing my part by stimulating the economy that way.

The information you say that you “needed” me to furnish you with, is it still necessary? You did find my email address after all. (I commend you for this, by the way.) I assume that we can communicate further details just fine this way. Or is it that, in your anticipation of our impending business relationship you have gone ahead and started the paperwork. Again, indulge my slowness as I ask this.

Once again, thank you for selecting me. I hope we can further communicate and find a way to address both our needs.

I await your response.

Sincerely (mostly)

Vinny

Reconsidering [WARNING: There’s A Picture Of A Really Big S.N.A.K.E.]

You were warned…

Even here in the tropics you can get tired of the city life sometimes. When that happens, I imagine things would be better if we moved to country…

Then someone posts a picture like this on Facebook

I don’t know if this really was taken here.

Frankly, I don’t want to know.

Always Remember (Awkward Situations Edition).

You will meet many kinds of people in life...

Some, stranger than others.

(NOTE: THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED LAST WEEK. FOR THE RECORD, THERE WASN'T ANYTHING IN MY TEETH. I CHECKED.)

This Isn't Funny.

By not funny, I'm talking about my post on Sprocket Ink, that is. I'm putting funny shoes and balloon animals aside for a bit to talk about sports... Well, not really. It's more like an ongoing scandal in the sporting world. I'm not all that into organized sports, but I just had to say something on this one. Check it out.

Also, I created this Google+ page and I guess I should get to using it. So, if you're on Google+ you could... you know... add me to your circles... if you like. Just sayin'.

But go over to Sprocket first. That one's important. Then do the Google+ thing. Remember! First, Sprocket, then Google+. In that order.

'K, bye!

What Defines.

At some point we have had or will have that one pivotal moment or event in our lives that plays a major part in the direction our paths take. I've mentioned mine. When I lost my job at the bank more than two years ago. It changed my life irreversibly. I was set in a whole new direction that I never would have taken otherwise.

Recently I began to wonder. How many of us have had the rug pulled out from under us? How many of us have had our lives so completely upended by just one, singular event? It's so easy to let that one major triumph or defeat consume us. If we're not careful, that one life-changing event can become the thing that we use to define ourselves. Too often we get trapped in that moment. We let what we see as out biggest failure, or or even victory, define who we are. I know that was how it was for me for a while.

For a long time I let that one event define me. I let it cast a shadow over how I saw myself and dealt with others and with situations. I felt worthless, like everything I had accomplished up until that event was worthless. Worst of all, I felt like what had happened to me would be all I'd be known for. I just couldn't see past the mistakes I had made. At first, when my "big fall" happened, I hoped and prayed for some way to go back and fix the things that I did wrong. I knew it wasn't possible but if only I could only have a do over... But you can't go back.

After a while I became resentful. I blamed everyone, including myself, especially myself. I told myself I wanted nothing to do with that bank ever again. "Screw them!" I thought, "Banking isn't for me. I wasn't happy there, anyway." I know, sour grapes. But I meant it. I wasn't happy there. I would have preferred to have left under different circumstances, though.

I convinced myself that I was glad for it to be over. But, of course, it wasn't. I still have a loan and credit card there that I'm trying to pay off, so I have no choice but to go back from time to time. And for a while my stomach would turn every time I walked in the door. Even after months passed, I still felt pangs of guilt, shame and anger every single time I even passed in front of the building.

It took me a while to realize that that event wasn't all there was to me. I wasn't a loser or a failure because I failed at that one instance. Even if my mistake was a huge one, my life wasn't over because of it. It doesn't define who I am. I've realized that the only way it could do that was if I let every choice I continued to make was determined by that one incident. As long as I continued to live in that guilt, shame and anger I felt, then it would define me.

It wasn't the first time something bad had ever happened to me. More than likely, it wouldn't even be the biggest thing to ever happen in my life (even though one could hope that nothing worse could happen). Life has far too many ups, and even downs, to let just one event dictate who we are. The way I see it, you learn from it and do better the next time. Sure, shit happens, but as much as the situation may stink when it does, it will always stink if you just stay there and wallow in it.

I, for one, am tired of just wallowing in that shit.

[UPDATE] I didn't plan this but it fits. Check out Studio 30 Plus for other posts on this week's prompt "The Best Advice".

What I Didn't Expect To Hear Them Say.

I had no delusions when I started. I already knew that the hours would stink, the pay would suck and that it would be a lot of work. I knew all of that going in. I've accepted it as what comes with the territory in journalism and I'm okay with that. Even though a fat paycheck is nice I've always believed that, in the end, if it's what you really want to do and you enjoy doing it, then those things aren't supposed to what keeps you doing it. Of course, I say again, a fat paycheck wouldn't hurt.

When they said that, often, working well into the night was normal, I wasn't too surprised. When they disclosed the starting salary to me, I still took the job. I was a little daunted at first when they stressed how demanding the job would be, but I said yes anyway. In truth, I mostly expected all of this. What I didn't expect to hear however, when I submitted my first story was, "You write well... but you need to make it simpler. You're going to make the reader have to think too much."

Huh?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounds like they're telling me to dumb my writing down. Right? When did I need to dumb things down? I've always thought of my "style" (if you want to call it that) as pretty simple. I'd even go so far as to call it juvenile at times. I'm confused, to say the least.

And another thing, when didn't we want people thinking? I've always believed that one of the problems today was that people didn't think enough. I say, make people think more. Get those cogs in their noggins turning, dammit!

But then again, I guess I should play it their way seeing at they're the ones paying me after all. This is going to take some adjustment. Thank goodness I blog! At least you guys get me, right?

Swamped!

Between adjusting to work at The Paper and a slew of school projects I've been hit with this week, I've hardly had time to do any writing. Oh wait! Scratch that. There is something. Check out my story about a lying psychology professor on Sprocket Ink. He's a real piece of work.

Well... That's it for here. I've got a ton of books to wade through. Later.

Where My Mind Wanders To When I Find Strange Things In My Pocket.

Me: Hi!

Clerk: Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?

Me: Hi. I'd like to see No. 111.

Clerk: Excuse me?

Me: No. 111. I bought this shirt here a few days ago and I found this tag in the pocket. It says I should return this shirt to No. 111 if there's a fault or a defect.

Clerk: Oh. Is there a problem?

Me: Are you No. 111?

Clerk: No, I'm Cindy. But if you explained the problem, maybe I could help.

Me: Well... Okay... But it really says I should talk to No. 111...

Cindy: So, what seems to be the problem?

Me: It has this weird smell.

Cindy: It does? (*smells shirt*) Oh! Oh my! I'm so sorry, sir! I don't  know how this could have happened. If you have your receipt, I can exchange it for you.

Me: No worries. Here.

Cindy: If you don't mind me asking, didn't you notice the odour when you bought it?

Me: It didn't smell like that when I bought it.

Cindy: It didn't?

Me: No. It smelled like that when I got home. From work.

Cindy: Ummm... So you wore it?

Me: Yeah. To work! I work now. Awesome, right?! I can't stop talking about it.

Cindy: Well... congratulations.

Me: Thank you. Anyway, when I got home, I took it off and a few hours later, there was that smell.

Cindy: Oh. I have to ask. Did you sweat?

Me: Did I!?! I sweat all the time. I think I have hyperactive sweat glands. That's how much I sweat.

Cindy: Then maybe it's possible that the scent came from your sweating then?

Me: Uh-uh! No way! I thought you'd try to say something like that so I brought this.

Cindy: That's-

Me: My deodorant.

Cindy: I'm confused...

Me: Hello! De.o.do.rant! As in it takes the odour away. No way it could have been me.

Cindy: It doesn't-

Me: And what about the fact that the shirt was wet when I got home. It was hot yesterday. Not a drop of rain.

Cindy: Well... the sweating...

Me: Ah-HA! Look again. See?  It's also an antiperspirant. It blocks perspiring. Nice try, Cindy.

Cindy: Sir, I... You said you did sweat-

Me: You know what? Lemme talk to No. 111. I bet he or she could sort this out.

Cindy: Sir, these shirts are made in England. Whoever 111 is, they're all the way over there. I don't know the inspectors.

Me: Trying to stall me, huh? What's your number? I need to report this.

Cindy: I don't have a number, sir. Besides, there isn't anything we can really do for you.

Me: Well, that's not a very helpful attitude. It's no wonder you don't haven't been given a number yet. Is it, Cindy?

I'm On The Job.

This is an auto-post because I'm not here right now. That is because, today, I start my job at The Paper.

Wait... Don't be sad! You know I wouldn't just leave you hanging like that. Why not head on over to Sprocket Ink and read my post there, instead? It's there right now. Really! Go see for yourselves. I'll can't link it directly, but it shouldn't be hard to find. Just look for the potato salad.