In the club last night.

[Betticus]

So, we have this club here. Kind of like Cheers, it's all under street level and it's quiet enough to talk without straining. I was sitting with a few girls I know and this one that I had met just last night was flirting with me a little.

She told me that she was the sweetest girl I'd ever meet. I looked at her and told her that wasn't true and that she could never replace my mother.

The look she shot me was pure interest. I was just being honest.

Women are strange creatures to say the least.

 

[Red Sonja]

So, we have this club here. Kind of like Cheers, it's all under street level and it's quiet enough to talk without straining. I was sitting with a few girls I know and this one that I had met just last night was flirting with me a little.

She told me that she was the sweetest girl I'd ever meet. I looked at her and told her that wasn't true and that she could never replace my mother.

The look she shot me was pure interest. I was just being honest.

Women are strange creatures to say the least.

I don't know about your part of the country, but one of the things girls are taught here is that you can gauge a guy by how he treats his mother. Granted there is a fine line between momma's boy, and grab him quick... but it is a test.

Just like boys are taught that you can tell a lot about a girl by how she treats her father...

This is not strange.

 

[Xelebes]

Yes It Is!!!

 

[graceanne]

So, we have this club here. Kind of like Cheers, it's all under street level and it's quiet enough to talk without straining. I was sitting with a few girls I know and this one that I had met just last night was flirting with me a little.

She told me that she was the sweetest girl I'd ever meet. I looked at her and told her that wasn't true and that she could never replace my mother.

The look she shot me was pure interest. I was just being honest.

Women are strange creatures to say the least.

You mean you caught a chicks interest by being honest? OH MY GOD, THE SHOCK IS GONNA KILL ME!

Very cool thing to say, though. Most men would have just agree and flirted and all that. It's why you caught her attention.

Edited to add: Besides I'm the sweetest person you'll ever meet.

 

[Betticus]

You mean you caught a chicks interest by being honest? OH MY GOD, THE SHOCK IS GONNA KILL ME!

Very cool thing to say, though. Most men would have just agree and flirted and all that. It's why you caught her attention.

Edited to add: Besides I'm the sweetest person you'll ever meet.

Nope, mom was the best. If she were still alive I'd actually go home for holidays.

 

[graceanne]

Nope, mom was the best. If she were still alive I'd actually go home for holidays.

*hugs* I know. Wanna come visit us for the holiday? No picking fights with K, though.

 

[rosco rathbone]

I hate my @#$% mother.

 

[Betticus]

*hugs* I know. Wanna come visit us for the holiday? No picking fights with K, though.

Awww, thanks. I'm gonna stay here where it's warm though. I'm a big wuss like that.

 

[graceanne]

Awww, thanks. I'm gonna stay here where it's warm though. I'm a big wuss like that.

Yeah, I know.

 

[Netzach]

I would love to indicate how fabulous I am via how I treat my father.

If anyone knows where the fucking bastard went, please let me know.

 

[AngelicAssassin]

I would love to indicate how fabulous I am via how I treat my father.

If anyone knows where the fucking bastard went, please let me know.

i could probably track him down QBoU.

Would you like to address the whole sperm donor, or just his head?

 

[Red Sonja]

I would love to indicate how fabulous I am via how I treat my father.

If anyone knows where the fucking bastard went, please let me know.

I didn't mean to offend. Obviously this assumes one's parents are worth treating well, and that of course, is not always the case.

 

[landcruisergal]

My first true love was his mother's golden child and she hated me from day 1.
( I was 17. I always tried to be the perfect guest and was on my best behaviour every time I met her. It upset me so much at the time, we split.)
So I would bolt for the hills if a guy ever said that to me.
Aint history a bitch?

 

[alice_underneath]

I would love to indicate how fabulous I am via how I treat my father.

If anyone knows where the fucking bastard went, please let me know.

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

Sylvia Plath

 

[@}-}rebecca----]

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.[/]

Sylvia Plath

Alice..........whoaa............

 

[shy slave]

My first true love was his mother's golden child and she hated me from day 1.
( I was 17. I always tried to be the perfect guest and was on my best behaviour every time I met her. It upset me so much at the time, we split.)
So I would bolt for the hills if a guy ever said that to me.
Aint history a bitch?

I can relate to this, from the parental side.

Could not stand my 18 yr old sons girl friend, she really was demanding and difficult; especially if he was helping me with something, the constant phone calls asking if he had finished and therefore visit her drove me crazy.

But he did love her.

Deep down, I know that in my eyes no-one was ever going to be good enough for him.

Different issue with my younger son, if he had a girlfriend he may at least wash and change his clothes.. I know he would still be in bed but you can't have everything

 

[alice_underneath]

Alice..........whoaa............

Whoaa indeed.

From my perspective, that's an extremely cathartic poem.

Sylvia Plath is an American poet, born in 1932. Have you heard of her? The autobiographical poem above (titled "Daddy") was written in 1962.

"At twenty I tried to die"... She attempted suicide while in college.

"A man in black with a Meinkampf look" ..... That's her husband.

"The black telephone's off at the root"..... She learned of her husband's infidelity when she caught him on the phone with another woman. (Sylvia ripped the phone cord out of the wall.) They subsequently divorced.

"You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you".... Her father, Otto Plath, was a college professor. He was an American of German descent.

When Sylvia was 8, Otto died of diabetes mellitus. Although this disease was curable at the time, he did not seek medical assistance until it was too late. (He was apparently convinced that he had cancer, and that medical treatment would be futile.)

I don't know any specifics about the relationship between Sylvia and her father before his death.

Sylvia Plath committed suicide in 1963. She was 30 years old.

 

[shy slave]

Slyvia Plath married Ted Huges and English , following her death and his administration of her estate many people thought he was using her work to promote himself in the literary world. He also destroyed her diary that spoke of their relationship.

Alot of her work was autobiographical, she had bi polar and had been hospitalised, many of her poems are about this time.


Wikpedia give an overview of Slyvia Plath and her life.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath

To me, many of her poems are aspects of a cry for help.
A part of me wants to see that in the 1960's people were not as aware of how to help people who had a mental illness, therefore they missd the signs of depression prior to her suicide.
The cynic in me said people involved in making money from her writings, realised that her best work was achieved when she was in a low state, therefore they ignored the signs due to altruistic reasons.

 

[alice_underneath]

To me, many of her poems are aspects of a cry for help.
A part of me wants to see that in the 1960's people were not as aware of how to help people who had a mental illness, therefore they missd the signs of depression prior to her suicide.
The cynic in me said people involved in making money from her writings, realised that her best work was achieved when she was in a low state, therefore they ignored the signs due to altruistic reasons.

Sylvia Plath was diagnosed with depression after attempting suicide in college. Her parents took her for "treatment" which included electroshock and psychotherapy.

Feminist criticism of her husband is scathing. He is viewed as an opportunistic jerk who attempted to manipulate her work posthumously for personal gain.

"Daddy" is one of many poems written by Sylvia in the last year of her life. She was writing between 4 and 8 in the morning (when her two young children were asleep). These poems were not published until after her death.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/5971

To see a photo of Sylvia, scroll down to the Mademoiselle cover at this link:

http://www.sylviaplath.info/biography.html