Culture – Page 2 – Shannon Kernaghan

May 26, 2017June 19, 2020

Hula Girl Chucks Her Chastity Belt

audio version

I’m in the mood for another stagette. At my last, the highlight prop of the eve was a metal chastity belt for the betrothed. This locking chain device was straight from a tickle trunk of the Spanish Inquisition. The belt didn’t stay on our bride-to-be for long. I tried it; sitting on cold rigid metal isn’t as sexy as it sounds.

The Hawaiian costume we brought stayed on a little longer. My friend was adorable in the colorful leis, hula skirt and flower-covered bra she wore over her clothing. Not surprisingly, she attracted plenty of interest from men in the bar.

As the evening progressed, we moved to a club where we danced long into the night. The betrothed removed her grass skirt, and then off came the floral bra. At some point I slipped on the bra and leis to become the latest Hula Girl. The details are a little hazy, Your Honor. I blame the light show and loud music. Tack on the trays of shooters.

The night was packed with learning lessons.

Lesson one: hang out on the dance floor with attractive young women and men will quickly orbit. I danced with a cute guy who turned our fast dance into a slow, touchy-feely tango. The imprint of his plaid shirt stuck to me for days.

Did I feel flattered that a much younger man wanted me to join his table? Sure, for 30 seconds. But I’m not stupid. I knew where I stood, or tangoed, in the wild kingdom’s pecking order. On the dance floor I was the older antelope of the herd. If a man – let’s compare him to a lion – was unsuccessful in capturing a younger, prettier member, he figured he can pick off me, the slower one.

Lesson two: I look better to people who imbibe. For an instant ego boost I shall spend more time in places that serve liquor. Lots of it.

Lesson three: a little costuming goes a long way. Countless men reached out and stroked, poked or squeezed my Hawaiian bra as I walked past. The first few times I was shocked, since I forgot I was wearing it. By the tenth man to cop a feel, I realized that it doesn’t take much to stir up that lion’s den.

When I later complained to Paul how men felt entitled to grab me simply because I draped a few plastic flowers across my chest, he answered, “Then why didn’t you just take it off?”

Um, good point. Again, I blame those shooter trays.

Now where did I leave that Hawaiian get-up? I hope to wear it again soon. I might be an aging antelope, but I’m still running with the herd.

Audio version song
“Bet on It”
by
Silent Partner

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May 19, 2017June 8, 2020

Beware the Grammar Slammer

audio version

Here’s a frightening thought – grammar is a window into your soul. It’s not what you say as much as how you say it. And it’s not only what you utter, but what you type into your computer. Yikes!

After reviewing the patterns of politicians, court witnesses and bloggers, linguistic experts can identify a person’s sex and age by the words they choose. Your choice of words is revealed by the pronouns, articles and prepositions you use as well as how you end your sentences because it’s oh-so tempting to end on “to.”

Apparently liars don’t throw around the “I” word. And they’re equally stingy with “but,” “without” and “except.” Those words make the lie more difficult to keep straight, according to linguists.

The analysis extended to the wacky world of dating. After studying 1,600 personal ads on a dating website, some definite trends have surfaced. Turns out women use the words “no” and “never” the most. My husband Paul heartily agrees with that summation.

“Honey, wanna buy a [fill in any type of expensive watercraft/tool/ toy]?” he’ll ask with childlike innocence.

“No, not now.”

“When?”

“How ‘bout never.”

Back to dating. Gay men use long words in their ads. Lesbians tend to use shorter words and write the shortest ads. Straight men use long sentences and swear more often. No wonder their sentences are longer – those expletives take up space. Based on the study’s 80% accuracy rate, this is useful info if you’re looking for love through the personals, unless you’re lying about yourself or your sexual orientation.

One of my friends opted for online dating and is now married to the man she met through the web. Since she had success, she sent me her Woman’s Dictionary for Personal Ads:

attractive = pathological liar
40ish = 49
easygoing = desperate
contagious smile = does a lot of pills
New Age = body hair issues
sociable = loud and obnoxious
fit = flat chested
hot-blooded = sloppy drunk
needs soul mate = stalker

Obviously this dictionary is more about reading between the lines than analyzing the actual words.

Phew, I’m getting tired, and a little depressed by all of this revealing analysis. Soon I’ll be afraid to write anything for fear of being confused with a liar or a politician. Wait, that didn’t come out as intended . . . or did it?

I’d better go and carefully dangle a few participles before I get into serious trouble.

Find Shannon’s books on Amazon

Audio story music
“ERSATZ BOSSA”
by John Deley and the 41 Players.

May 14, 2017June 19, 2020

My Beer is Child-Lite

audio version

I don’t want children. My decision is not for physical or political reasons, or because I had a rotten childhood. It’s simply a personal decision.

I refer to myself as child-free. If I call myself child-less, it suggests I’m missing something, like a limb. On the contrary, I feel quite intact.

Well-meaning people have made what I consider dumb comments in regards to my choice. One woman said, “Don’t you want to leave behind a little piece of yourself?” She asked this while struggling to hold a red-faced squealing toddler in her arms.

“Not really,” I said as her son kicked her in the shins. Her face melded to a mix of grin and grimace.

I’m not geared for this kind of commitment. When Paul and I are out for coffee, I order a to-go cup, even if we plan to stay. What if I want to finish it later, or what if I want to leave? It’s obvious I’m not a fan of long-term leases or events that map out my future.

My biological clock must be set on perpetual snooze because countless women have told me there’s no turning off that shrill buzzer. But I’ve never heard mine. If I were a brand of beer, I’d be Child-Lite.

The other dumb comment I hear is, “Won’t you regret not having children when you’re old?” I liken this to being born with one eye and then asked if you miss the second. How do I know? Since I’ve never had the urge to reproduce, it’s tough to regret what I’ve yet to miss.

This subject of children comes down to choice and circumstances. Perhaps if Paul and I could put down deeper roots instead of always wanting to move or travel, I might have been more enthusiastic. And I’d probably be a decent mother, if the wonderful relationship I’ve shared with my own mom is any indication.

For example, I’d pass on sage advice to a son: “Don’t run with that stick. What are you trying to do, poke out your eye? You’ll miss that eye when you’re old!”

Or to a teenage daughter, “You need a bra under that top. It’s so transparent I can see what you’re thinking!” Um . . . perhaps I’m channeling my own mother here.

It’s easier to compare apples to apples. Or babies to cats. We had cats for years and I was absurdly maternal in regards to their well-being. I lost sleep, wept buckets and altered trip plans over our four-legged friends. Paul once chose a house “because the cats will love the screened-in porch and balcony!” But not everyone wants cats.

His comment is the most realistic yet: “If we have a kid, it’ll be the baby, the cat, and then me. I’ll come third!”

Is that an alarm clock I hear in the distance? Nope, it’s only the buzzer on my dryer. I might not have children, but I still have plenty of laundry.

So go forth and multiply. Or not.

Audio version song
“The Emperors Army”
by
Jeremy Blake

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April 30, 2017June 19, 2020

Octopus Boy Rocks

audio version

The announcer referred to the winner as an American hero. “The game is immaculate,” he said. “It’s the game of the people, and it’s the only game people are equipped to play from birth.”

The tools? A hand, a wrist and an arm. The game? Rock Paper Scissors. The competition? The USA Rock Paper Scissors League Championship, held in Las Vegas. The prize? A new car and $50,000. Not a bad payout, considering the limited body parts required.

I learned good advice while watching this on Secrets of the Masters. “Know your opponent, inside and out. Beginners are very predictable and they usually throw rock.” This is good info. Who knows when I might have to compete for that last slice of pizza.

Rock Paper Scissors isn’t new to me. I had a quick match with a friend. We’d been arguing over who would sit next to the cute brother on our drive home from a party. I should have thrown paper – her rock garnered the front seat with Cute Brother. My scissors sent me to the back with Octopus Boy.

An octopus in its marine landscape is an enchanting creature, less so when those probing tentacles are confined to a car. On that drive home, I wish I’d come equipped with an ink cloud to spray.

Apparently the game dates back to cave dwellers. It was simpler then, known as Rock Rock Rock. The game either resulted in a tie or death from exhaustion.

I took in some invaluable tidbits during this hour-long program. Here’s one: you can fold paper into a crane and it’s called origami, but you can’t fold a crane into paper. Here’s another: paper is money. Paper cuts hurt. I am paper. Wow, those people in Vegas are deep.

RPS could be called the great equalizer, especially when the woman with a 43 IQ beats the woman with a 172. There’s a common denominator in Vegas – cocktails. The audience was full of cheering people who gripped assorted bottles and glasses.

Another common theme was costuming. Both competitors and audience members alike came outfitted in weird get-ups that included boxing hoods, horned Viking helmets, capes and masks.

The mask wearers were the wise ones. I wouldn’t want others to know I was competing in an RPS tournament. Especially if I told people I was away on a humanitarian mission. With a mask, what happens in Vegas . . . you know the rest.

Some competitors were philosophical. One male master admitted to using an ancient Hindu technique known as Subliminal Advertising.

“When I face off against an opponent, I’ll pepper my speech with such phrases as, ‘Did you see the SCISSORS on that chick?’ or ‘that green hat of your really ROCKS,’ and 63% of the time, players will throw exactly what they heard.”

That technique I’ll use on my sweetheart: “Honey, did you see the DIRTY LAUNDRY on that woman?” Maybe that’ll encourage him to pick up his wet towel from the bathroom floor.

“Hey, get back here. I didn’t say FOLLOW her!” Some ancient techniques can’t be universally applied.

Three symbols, a world of possibilities. The most amazing aspect of the championship is that I watched it from start to finish.

I’ll be too busy practicing RPS to watch more TV. Never know when I might meet up with Octopus Boy again.

Audio story music
“Windows Rolled Down”
by
The 126ers

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April 30, 2017June 19, 2020

Feng Shui, Meet My Dragon

audio version

Feng shui = wind + water.

Feng shui = the Chinese art or practice of positioning objects, especially buildings and furniture, based on a belief in patterns of yin and yang and the flow of chi that have positive and negative effects.

Feng shui = two words I can never remember how to spell.

The positioning advice doesn’t end with buildings and furniture. For optimum luck and wealth, I’ve been advised to hold my handbag on the left side. Apparently more will enter than leave.  That’s because the left side of my body is a “green dragon” and everyone knows that green dragons bring power.

All handbag-carrying people should make that adjustment right now . . . wait, I’m right-handed. That means if I carry a purse on my left arm, I can access my wallet with ease. Open and dip, repeat as necessary. Picture me reaching for the cold cash of my green dragon. Are those its scales my sleeve just snagged? Nope, merely half a forgotten granola bar.

Feng shui is big business, at least for those who believe in its powers. A woman named Gwen in San Diego teaches FS classes to help people learn how yin and yang can create perfect harmony for wealth, health and relationships.

I’m already at work on the wealth part, with my purse slung to the left . . . wait, is the muscle in my left arm supposed to be twice as large as my right? I really must pare down my purse contents.

Gwen says, “You will learn how to use the ancient feng shui to capture your Prince Charming. I will share with you my secret of how I used feng shui to capture my husband 33 years ago.”

Save your price of admission. I’ll tell you how Gwen captured her Prince Charming. Years ago she went on a blind date with a man. Gwen invited him back to her place because she wasn’t about to let a good catch slip through her fingers. Not after all the frogs she’d kissed.

She mixed him a Screwdriver (this is before mojitos and micro brewed beers) and dimmed the lights. Her trap was nearing completion. While Prince Charming was using the washroom – citrus drinks always aggravate his bladder – Gwen consulted the rule book of feng shui and quickly rearranged the room.

Poor Prince tripped on a piece of modular furniture on the way to her bean bag chair. He suffered from amnesia and two days after the bandages were removed, he found himself walking down the aisle with a woman named Gwen, who always carried her purse on the left.

Now that Gwen did the husband capturing, she’s focusing on the wealth part. The proof is in her web site – www.fengshuisandiego.com. Every time you switch to a different page you’ll hear the clinking of coins.

I couldn’t resist scanning her testimonials. Here’s one from Bradley: “Since we painted the door, the spa has been doing great!” And this from Liz: ”Just to let you know that after I arranged my desk the way you instructed, my business picked up immediately.”

Painted the door? Shifted some furniture? Sounds like these people didn’t need a feng shui expert, but a spruce up.

I’ve arranged my desk many times. No additional business has magically appeared although I did find the other half of that granola bar.

Gwen’s backed herself up with a disclaimer: “We make no claims to absolute effectiveness and success. Gwen and Associates are not responsible or liable to any loss or damages caused by following any of the suggestions in our readings and services.”

Although I’m comforted by a good disclaimer, I’ll stick with the knapsack I carry on my back. It takes more energy to reach for my wallet. That means less is going out because the effort to make a purchase is increased. Inconvenience + laziness = less spending. That’s my feng shui.

As for the green dragon, I’ve learned to love him, powerful or not. He’s lucky that dragons are on the endangered species list or I’d turn him into an adorable handbag faster than you can say “hogwash.”

Audio version story
“Bluesy Vibes”
by
Doug Maxwell/Media Right Productions

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