What Does God Look Like ?

I believe this is a question that’s been asked by every human who every lived; but I don’t believe the same answer is shared by all. What does God look like?

I went to catholic school, and during those years, God was always referred to as He, and when a ‘He’ is mentioned, the first image that crops into my head is a boy or a man. So throughout my life, I’ve always pictured God to be a man.  The image of Him was simple–a man wearing a white flowing robe, perched high on a glowing cloud, surrounded by angels playing mellifluous melodies on trumpets.

Then as I got older, the image of Him changed. He was still a He, but there wasn’t a cloud, nor any angels. It was just Him. Then during a very traumatic time, His image went from being a tall man in a white robe to just His head. And I know that sounds blasphemous in a way, despite my intention.

Today, if you asked me to explain what God looks like, I couldn’t. Because in my head, He’s a he who’s not a he, but can become a he if he wants to. To me, He’s an encompassing swirl of energy that has conscience. Picture the wind. We can’t see it, yet we can feel it; it’s all around us. That’s how I picture God. Pure intelligence who is vaporous; who is ethereal; yet who could change form any time.

God is every particle of every atom of every existence, and that’s just in the physical world. I can’t even begin to fathom what He is outside of this realm.

What does God look like to you? I’m just so curious.

Advertisements

YO, Adrianne. That’s right. I have a New York Accent

I’m Valentine deFrancis, and I’m a writer from New York. Today, I would like to talk to you about stereotypes and how a typical New Yorker is stereotyped as, well, not so bright. Now I know that TV and movies depict New Yorkers as sausage eating, money hungry, pushy, arrogant, gangster-leaning types, but of all those things, what gets me the most is how our intelligence is based upon our accents. It’s true.  Hey, listen. I was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. Yeah. That’s right. Brooklyn—the pizza capital of the world; the place where John Travolta struts his bad-ass self in Saturday Night Fever. Yep, that’s where I was raised. But here is where the whole thing starts going uphill. People naturally think that New Yorkers are not sophisticated because we have that accent. Know what I mean? Let me educate you on our wordage, if I may.

The entire U. S. says the word coffee as follows:  caa fee

A New Yorker says  caw fee.

The entire U. S. says the word water as:  waa ter

A New Yorker says  waw ta

The U. S. says hello

A New Yorker says yo, whas up?

The U. S. says, forget about it.

A New Yorker says fuhgeddaboudit

The U. S. says, thirty third and third

A New Yorker says tirdy tird and tird


But people, does that make us stupid?

I was speaking to some friends from Myspace on the phone and each one of them giggled at my accent. Each one of them said, “Gee Val, I never expected you to sound so New Yorkish.”
Heck, people. What the hell am I supposed to sound like? A Frenchie? A Brit? A Korean? I’m a New Yorker! I’m supposed to sound this way, but that doesn’t negate my brilliance. Did I mention that New Yorkers are also very modest?
Just because I have this Brooklyn accent doesn’t mean that I was raised in a cabbage patch. Oh contrare, my lovelies. This Brooklyn native is quite intelligent and more than on her toes. You have to wake up prit-ty darn early to get over on me or any New Yorker for that matter. Get a load of this little diddy that happened two days before I flew out to Vegas last week.

I went online to purchase my plane tickets, and I happened to notice that you can buy extra leg room for $30.00 per person. I’m 5’7″, and the boyfriend is 6″, so I say to myself . . . great. I’ll buy the seats with the extra leg room. Who cares about the $30.00 per person. I need to be comfortable when I’m flying. Of course, my boyfriend doesn’t care where he sits because he’s a commercial pilot, and he’s used to sitting anywhere. So I buy the seats with the extra leg room.

Twenty-four hours before my flight, I print the boarding passes, and I see a little notation that advertises the extra leg room seats for $10 per seat. I say to my New York self, WTF? They ain’t rippin’ me off. So I call them, and this is the brilliant answer I get.

JetBlue, my name is Betty, how can I help you today?

Yes, I purchased two seats to Las Vegas, and I paid $30.00 per person for the extra leg room seats. I just printed my boarding passes and noticed that you are now selling the extra leg room for $10.00 per seat. I want my account credited for $40.00.

Let me check that for you ma’am.

I tap my pen and begin to softly hum, and then she comes back on the line.

Ms. deFrancis, the reason you were charged $30.00 per seat is because you have a longer flight time.

I laugh out loud.

Let me get this straight. I am charged more money for the same seat because I will be on the plane for an hour more? What kind of nonsense is that?

Well, Ms. deFrancis, if you think about it, it makes sense.

Oh it does, does it? Explain how.

Well, your legs will be stretched out for a longer duration, she says.

I bulge my eyes and shake my head, wondering if I heard her correctly.

Repeat that again?

Yes, Ms. deFrancis. Because you are using the plane’s seat longer, we charge you more.

I stare at my refrigerator for approximately 3 seconds before my New York attitude kicks in. Where are you located, Betty?

I’m located in Utah, she says.

Hmmm, Utah. Well, let me tell you something, Betty, from Utah. Do you expect me to buy that line of shit? Is that what JetBlue tells you to tell your customers, or are you just winging it? I have never been so insulted. What kind of crap is that? The plane and the seats are still the plane and the seats whether I fly to Florida or Vegas. So you’re saying that because I stretch my legs for 2 hours more, I’m charged for it?

Well, umm, yes Ms. deFrancis. That’s our policy.

DO YOU HONESTLY EXPECT ME TO FALL FOR THAT LINE OF HORSE HOCKEY?

Ummm, I can see you’re upset, she says.

No Betty, I’m not upset. I’m insulted at your pathetic attempt to demean my intelligence with that absurd answer.

She giggles.

I hang up on her.

Now people, tell me. Did that make any sense to you? I may have a New York accent, but I don’t hear with an accent. Geesh, give me a break!

FOR ONLY 3 EASY PAYMENTS OF . . .

Step right up folks and witness the miraculous handy, dandy steamer cleaner. You’ve never seen anything like this before in your life.
Yes people, this handy, dandy steamer cleaner will clean any surface anywhere in your home, boat, car, and office.
Yes, with this handy, dandy steamer cleaner, you will steam your way to health. Just aim, spray, and let it disinfect the germs and dirt away. It slices, it dices, it cooks your meals, takes the wrinkles out of your clothes, disinfects the toilets, makes the bed, feeds the kids, satisfies the hubby, and it can be all yours if you act fast.

Yes, people, for only 3 easy payments of $33.33, you can have this miracle cleaner and all of the attachments, but you’ll have to act fast. And if you act now, we will throw in the floor kit so that you can mop away your cares. And if that’s not enough to make you pick up your phone, we’ll even make the first payment for you. THAT’S RIGHT! YOU HEARD IT CORRECTLY. That means that this handy,dandy,miracle steamer cleaner and all its attachments, and the floor kit, and the hubby pleaser will be yours –all for only 2 convenient payments of $33.33. But you got to order now. Our operators are standing by. Please have your credit card ready.

DISCLAIMER
*****thehandydandysteamercleanermakesnopromise
toanyonepersontocleanuptheirlivesandmakesno
guaranteesthatyouwillnotgetastaphinfection
oranstdbynotdisinfectingyourtoiletandthesteamer
cleanermaycausepainttochipandfalloffyourwalls
andcountertopsanditcannotgetthedoodystainsfrom
yourhubbysunderwearorthekidsdiapers.thehandydandy
maycauseirritablebowelmovementssoseekprofessional
helpifittakesawayallyourgoodgermsthatfightoff
infection.blowupdollnotincluded

It’s a good thing I couldn’t find a pen.

Ooh, gotta go. Cindy Crawford is coming on and she has instant face lift in a jar.

Health care bill–I’M PISSED, AMERICA

I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, but I have to confess, I do not understand what’s going on with our country. Quite honestly, I wouldn’t be the least surprised if a revolution took place. I know that most of us feel that we have little, if not, no control over our places in this UNITED STATES OF AMERICA—aka THE LAND OF FREEDOM! Remember that, kids? Remember when we used to be referred to as the LAND OF THE FREE? So what the hell happened to our freedom? What happened to our Constitutional rights? Did our government toss the Constitution into a pit of fire and do the happy dance around it? I’m seriously fed up. Who died and left Obama in charge? We are one stupid nation, oh yes we are. We put Obama in the control seat and now look at what a mess we’re in: Health CARE BEING FORCED DOWN OUR THROATS??

The health care bill is two-thousand pages long, filled with BS that nobody has read. We should be able to read this two-thousand page bill. It should be available for our perusal. Who knows what’s really inside this bill. I mean, honestly . . . by the year 2014, it will be mandatory for all U.S. citizens to have health coverage. Really? And who’s going to pay for it? People across this nation can’t pay their bills as it is, and now they are being forced into having health care or else they’ll be fined? What kind of shit is that? Yes, I cursed, so what. I want to understand how we, the people, are letting this happen. People say that we have no control over our government? YOOOHOOOOOOO—–we voted our president into office. We the people are totally responsible for the rich getting richer and the government taking away our constitutional rights. Yes, wake the hell up.

The United States of America is the world leader, representing truth and justice and the freedom to pursue dreams and to live freely. What the hell happened? Who the hell does Obama think he is, telling us that we must have health insurance? Let him pay for it out of his presidential pocket if he wants every American to have it. Screw the war, screw the space shuttle, screw the polititians, screw the Ponzi victims (those who still are rich regardless) and screw everything else. We need help now! We, the people, need our government—the very same government that we voted in, to take care of us. Let them put the money where it counts the most–to aiding the economic welfare of the people who make up this nation. Man, I’m seriously pissed. I know this rant was slow in coming, but it just sunk in. We, the people, better do something about this. A revolution? Don’t laugh. It’s happened before.

is a duck’s ass water tight

We humans are so crazy, aren’t we?

Just the other day, I got out of bed as I normally do, went into the living room and cranked open the windows. From there, I went into my office and did the same. It was a beautiful morning. The birds were out back, calling to each other. My wind chimes were gently playing their mystifying melodies. And at that moment, all was good.

I proceeded to shower and dress, and as I was blow drying my hair, I thought it was incredibly hot in the bathroom, so I climbed into the shower and opened the window. Ahhhh, that’s better, I thought. When I was done, I went into the kitchen to grab a bite of breakfast. I walked over to the refrigerator to get the milk, when I happen to take notice of my thermostat–it read 70 degrees.

70 degrees, I said to myself, and I’m sweating?

Then I began to think. And we all know what happens when I think too much. Well, I thought back to only several weeks ago when it was cold out. While the winds were blowing gustfully and the temperature was only 35 or 40 degrees, I had my heat set at 70 degrees. I kept it that way all winter because of the high cost of gas. And because I kept it at 70 degrees, I froze my hiney off. I was dressed in sweaters, and a shawl over my sweaters, because as I said, it was ONLY 70 degrees in my house. Is anyone catching on to what I’m saying?

How come it’s 70 degrees in my apartment right now, and not only am I warm, I have every window open? Yet, in the winter when I had my thermostat deliberately set for 70 degrees, I froze my damn butt off. Can anyone relate to this?

It’s almost similar to this scenerio. During the summer, we crank our air conditioners to 65, and we’re totally comfortable, yet in the winter, if we were to keep our thermostats at 65, we’d freeze. So what’s the deal with that?

Okay. I thought enough for one morning. I know someone reading this can totally relate to what I’m getting at.

Fridays blogs and Christmas ?

I’m sitting here in sweat pants and a sweat shirt, sweating my bunns off. It’s almost 65 degrees here in Staten Island, New York, and I’m thinking this is so weird. Outside, my neighbors’ homes are fully adorned in Christmas lights and Santas. I mean really! It was only Halloween one week ago. Aren’t we skipping a holiday somewhere–like T h a n k s g i v i n g? Helloooo? We are going way too fast, folks! I am not ready for Christmas, people. I am not even ready for Thanksgiving. Heck, I’m still recovering from Labor Day. Is there a reason why we are rushing into all of this? Is Christmas going to disintergrate into space, never to be celebrated again?
I don’t want to think about Christmas in the beginning of November, and I don’t want to hum Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, and I don’t want to deal with going into the mall to conquer crowds of moms toting their screaming kids. I don’t want to! Does that make me a scrooge? Can’t a girl bask in the warm weather and ponder the days of summer, just for a little while?

Okay. So I used to own an Acura. I loved that car. It was luxurious, smooth, but most of all, soundproof. Acura makes a nice car, but alas, after ten years it went bye-bye, and I had to get a new car. Taking into consideration that I don’t have a garage to store an expensive luxury car, and taking into consideration that a luxury car gets less miles to the gallon, I decided that for my money, I would get a car that gets great gas mileage and one that I wouldn’t have to worry about–so I got a 2009 Toyota Corolla.
This little car has just about every feature that a fancy-smancy car has, except for one minor detail. Well, it’s not exactly a minor detail. OK! It’s a big detail. It’s made like doodoo. Don’t take this wrong. It’s a great car to drive. It drives fantastically, gets 34.5 miles to the gallon, has all the cool features of an expensive car, but it’s made of plastic–from bumper to bumper. What this means is that you kind of hear more shakin’, rattlin’, and rollin’ then you would normally hear in your leading luxury car. Which leads me to this little diddy.

*deep breath*  Yesterday, I was out driving, and I kept hearing a little thumping on the right side. It was driving me nuts, so in the rain, I took every single thing, including my jack, out of the trunk. The noise was still there. From there, I opened the hood and checked to make sure that the engine hadn’t fallen out–and it didn’t. My only choice was to go to the dealer, so I called.

“Come on down, we can take you right now,” the service writer says.

“Cool,” I say back, and I go.

Thirty minutes later, I pull into the service department, and they give me a ticket. “The service writer will be with you in a minute,” the guys says.

“Cool,” I say.

Ten minutes later, I hear, “G165,” being called out. I look at my ticket and yell, “Bingo!”

The writer smiles. “I get that every time,” he boasts.

So I walk into his office and sit down, and explain to him what I am hearing. He writes me up and gives the repair order to the next mechanic, who 15 minutes later comes over to me and says, “I don’t hear a thing. Take a ride with me.”

We get into the car and drive up and down quiet streets. I have my head cocked to the extreme right of the passenger side, saying “There it is again. You hear it, you hear it?”

He gives me a shifty glare. “No, I can’t hear it,” he says.

Finally, after driving around for ten minutes, we go back to the dealership, where he tells me that if it gets worse to come back. Ah, hello?

I proceed to the cashier where I am handed a bill which says $94.00 for labor. At the bottom it says $0.00. Of course, I don’t have to pay for anything as the car is only two months old, but I questioned the labor charge. After all, I found it to be more than expensive, especially since the mechanic only had the car for under a half an hour. The cashier cracks her gum and giggles, and then says, “I don’t know. I only work here.”
I turned my head and rolled my eyes, thinking . . . of course you do.

So my lovelies, I am giving all of you some advice. Don’t rush time, take a deep pause before you react, and get a really good headset that blocks out noise.

Oh, and check out these really good blogs. Blamin’ Palin by Fox News and this weeks Margaret and Helen’s blowing off steam

Seeya next time.

Valentine