Seven Deadly (Conversation) Sins

storm trooper see no evil

Did you listen to extremely entertaining and informative This American Life last weekend?  I heard most of it while I was driving around town running errands (and listening to them on headphones while in stores, etc) and then re-listened to the podcast this week while I was going to/from work.  The topic was boring conversation and the seven topics you should never talk about in a social setting.  Obviously, if you are asked a direct question, go for it, but if you are at a gathering of people, these seven topics should be avoided because, frankly, no one cares:

1. Your period
2. Diet
3. Your health
4. How you slept
5. Your dreams
6. Route talk
7. Money

As we are entering the holiday party season, it may be good to hit ‘refresh’ on your conversation skills.  It is long been understood that religion and politics are not good topics to bring up in social settings because it could cause discomfort and conflict in others, but these seven topics are really more about being boring and self-indulgent.  It is really more about not making the topic that you talk about you.  We have all experienced being in conversation one-up-off with someone who has a personal story that is just a little bit more intense than your story and they top your story with theirs.  It is boring and annoying and you leave the conversation thinking that the person is no one with whom you want to cultivate a friendship.  Don’t be that person.

1.  Your Period.  Why would you think that anyone wants to hear about that?  No one cares.

2.  Your Diet.  If you are on a weight loss plan or are a vegan or gluten intolerant, don’t go into detail.  No one cares.

3.  Your Health.  If you have a cold, it is bad form for your to even be attending a social event, let alone talking about your cold.  I would say that anything less than cancer no one cares.

4.  How You Slept.  This topic is pretty much a conversation stopper.  You slept well, you slept poorly, there is nowhere to go from there and no one cares.

5.  Your Dreams.  Talking in length about your dreams is a lot about showing people your extensive collection of vacation photos:  they weren’t there and they don’t care.

6.  Route Talk.  A retelling of your choice of streets and the traffic on those streets is not interesting to anyone.  No one cares.

7.  Money.  It is widely understood that talking about money is crude and vulgar.  Talking about how much money you make or how much your paid for things is self-indulgent and unless you are directly asked, no one cares.

Obviously, the height of good etiquette is not pointing out others shortcomings.  Basically, it is rude to tell people they are being rude.  This is a self-governing list to bring awareness to your own topics of conversation.  If you find yourself in a conversation that is not entertaining to you, it is well within your ability to change the topic to something mutually interesting.  If the person brings it back to a self-indulgent topic, take a mental note, and find a way to extract yourself from the conversation.

There are times when letting self-indulgent conversation topics occur are in your own best interest.  When you are first meeting someone and it is important that it goes well, cultivating a line of conversation that allows the person to talk about themselves is acceptable.  I recently read an article called 8 Conversation Hacks That Make People Like You and there were a few that really helped me fine tune my conversation skills with people I have just met and with whom I really want to make a good first impression:

  • Invite People to Share About Their Lives.  Most people enjoy talking about what they are knowledgeable about and everyone know a lot about themselves.  Ask questions that encourage a bit of bragging.
  • Wait for Your Turn to Talk.  Do not interrupt. I have found that if you are not finding a natural break in the conversation, the other person will eventually need to take a breath.
  • Request Advice.  Not even advice, just confirmation.  It could be as simple as requesting affirmation of what you have said.  But asking advice will make the other person feel that their opinion is of value.

But most importantly, you should listen to the episode because it is hilarious, follow the links below, grab the podcast or listen to it right here:

DropBox Clearing House – Train Musings

thinking quote

Sometimes, I put things in my dropbox and they stay there, never to see the light of day.  I need to dust them off and take another look at them.  This one is not that old, only from Thursday morning.

I have a little twinge in my back that is uncomfortable and annoying.  It makes everything difficult and exhausting. I can’t go to the gym and my walk to the train takes longer.  It happened Wednesday morning.

I was feeling old and sorry for myself on Thursday morning as I slowly hobbled to the train station.  I passed a women walking with a cane and a man on crutches having a difficult time with the curb.  On the train, I sat behind two people chatting and laughing, both holding red-tipped white canes.

Is it the universe our God trying to send me a message to get over myself?  Is it my subconscious getting my to stop focusing on the empty portion of the glass?  I’m not sure it really matters that much on who our what changed my perspective as long as it has been broadened.

Since the ‘accident’ happened at work, I was required to document it, and by that, I mean fill out a six page insurance accident report for which I only knew half of the information.  I completed it to the best of my knowledge, sent it to my boss and she submitted it to the people she thought needed it.  It is always a bit of a guessing game as to who/where to send inquiries, so we thought it best to cover our bases and send it to anyone we think that would need it.  Two people who did not need copies of the accident report, two higher-up manager-types, responded with short terse emails stating that they did not need a copy of it and inquiries as to why they were getting it.  My response:  “I will be fine, thank you for asking.”

Yes. Rain. Fcuk. – That Questionaire

In an early (ish) Saturday morning nod to Inside The Actor’s Studio, I will answer some questions.  The questionnaire concept was originated by French television personality Bernard Pivot, after the Proust Questionnaire.
1. What is your favorite word? Indeed.  Use it when agreeing with someone, it guarantees a double-take from the person.  It’s classy and underused. (Plus, I found this giraffe saying it, so it must be classy.)

2. What is your least favorite word? Can’t. There are very few things that we can’t do and I feel like it is a lazy person’s excuse for not trying and a scared person’s excuse to avoid possible failure.

3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Conversation. Exchange of ideas where one is not trying to convince the other that they are right or wrong is exceptionally energizing.  Expressing passion.  And being a bit crazy never hurt anyone.

4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Ego. Nothing is more tiresome to me than arrogance and fear.

5. What sound or noise do you love? Rain. Rebirth, cleansing, nourishment.

6. What sound or noise do you hate? Garbage trucks or any large truck beeping as they reverse into your early morning slumber.

7. What is your favorite curse word? Fuck. Not original, but popular for all the right reasons.  Add it to your favorite sentence, not a lot, just enough. It is the cilantro of words.  (I would love it if I could just get myself to start using “Horse Shit” at times of exclamation, but it just hasn’t caught on in my brain.)

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Doctors Without Borders. Using knowledge to improve the human experience is the greatest act of selflessness in my opinion.

9. What profession would you not like to do?  The universally and rightly so hated Corporate Attorney. Protecting a business against people rapes your soul.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? “Wow, damn fine run. Wanna go again?  Oh, and ya, that guy isn’t my son, I am not sure where they got that idea.”

Why I am an Atheist

In 1903, Kentucky-based newspaper “Blue-grass Blade” asked its readers to write in and contribute to a forthcoming feature named, “Why I am An Atheist.” Hundreds of letters soon arrived and many were subsequently reprinted in the paper; over a century later, in 2011, they were compiled to form the book, Letters from an Atheist Nation.

Below is just one of the letters. It was written by Minnie Parrish, a 23-year-old divorced mother of four who later went on to become the first female doctor to practice in North Texas.

Why am I an Atheist


Because it has dawned upon me that it is right to be so, and upon investigation I find no real evidence of the divine origin of the scriptures. And because I cannot, as a refined and respectable woman, take to my bosom as a daily guide a book of such low morals and degrading influences. Written by a lot of priests, I cannot accept a salvation that is based wholly upon the dreams of an ancient and superstitious people, with no proof save blind faith.


Everything that so many people think transpires from the supernatural, and many things that would really perplex the average mind, have a natural and material foundation in the workings of the human mind; that is, things that are not connected with our solar system.


It is ignorance of the scientific working of their own natures and mind that keep so much “mystery” in the air; and as long as there is a mystery afloat the people will ascribe it to the supernatural.


I am an Atheist because I know the Bible will not do to depend upon. I have tried it, and found it wanting.


In fact, I found in the scriptures the origin of woman’s slayer, and that it was one of God‘s main points to oppress women and keep them in the realms of ignorance.


I am in the ranks of Liberalism because of its elevating principles, its broad road to freedom of thought, speech, and investigation.


23 years old
Leonard, Texas

Letters of Note: Why I am an Atheist.

40 Things To Say Before You Die – Self Help

Before you’re sprawled on your deathbed, there are some things you really have to say. They’re not complicated. They’re not poetry.

They’re just short sentences with big meaning.

I hope they get you talking.

“I wonder.”

Give yourself time to think so the time you spend doing things will be better spent.

“Today was good.”

If you can say it once, you can say it again. And again. And again.

“I believe in this.”

A god, a plan, a company, a person, an idea—you have to put your faith in something.

“I’m not finished.”

Only you get to decide when your life’s work is done.

“Thank you for making this possible.”

Because nobody does anything alone. We’re driven and supported and thwarted by others at every turn.

“That’s enough.”

Food. Drink. Episodes of Law & Order. Pairs of shoes. Overtime. Articulating your own limits is powerful.

“I can do better.”

As soon as you say it, you’re that much closer to making it true.

“I’m sorry.”

But you can’t just say it; you have to mean it. Really mean it.

“I survived.”

Moments of danger are the plot points of an exciting life.

“You’re amazing.”

Let yourself be in awe of another person, and you’ll feel strong and weak simultaneously.

“I am home.”

Home is every adventure’s final destination and starting point—and we all need one to call our own.

“I did my best.”

If this is true, you did something amazing.

“How can I help you?”

Because you want people to come to your funeral, and if they can’t make it, at least they’ll miss you.

“I’m lucky.”

You are lucky, in a way that no one else is. Now, what are you going to do with your good fortune?

“I want that.”

Ask for it: that’s you get what you covet—from others and for yourself.

“This is wrong.”

If you never say it, you embody the statement.

“I quit.”

Not everything is worthwhile, and sometimes we don’t find that out until we’re in the middle of a rotten situation.

“Isn’t this beautiful?”

The more often you notice the gorgeous world around you, the happier you’ll be.


Say this without jealously. Practice if you have to.

“Damn, I look good.”

You come from a long line of people who convinced others to sleep with them. Remember that.

“I can master this.”

The ability to learn is the foundation of every other talent.

“Hold the mayo.”

Ask for the little things on a regular basis and you’ll find that it’s easier to make larger demands on occasion.

“This is who I am.”

The nervous energy spent pretending to be something you’re not is better spent on practically anything else.

“Get out.”

It’s always harder to take back an invitation than to give one, but protecting yourself from personified trouble is always worth the effort.

“That was my contribution.”

Own what you’ve worked to create—that’s how your presence will be felt long after you’re gone.

“I’ll try it.”

Consider the impotence of never saying you’ll try.

“Tell me more.”

Really getting to know someone (or some topic) will help you better triangulate your own place in the world.

13“This is my favorite thing.”

Enjoy what you love and say this as often as you can.

“I earned this.”

There’s a layer of proud ownership over everything you possess that wasn’t merely given to you.

“I don’t care.”

Being able to discern between what’s important and what’s trivial is a skill that will save your sanity and your schedule.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Because it feels deep-down good to be trustworthy.


Being the first to know something is a delicious sensation.

“Let’s go!”

Where you’re going often matters far less than the enthusiasm you have for the trip.

“I trust you.”

We all need allies, and admitting as much helps forge alliances.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

It’s better to admit it and learn than to fake it and embarrass yourself.

“I’m terrified.”

Fear is an asset. It can save you from danger and alert you to trouble. Don’t ignore the tingles that run up and down your spine.

“This is going to work.”

When this is said truthfully, it’s an assertion of power.

“I made a decision.”

Autonomy transforms any activity from a chore to an act of destiny.

“I love you.”

We all want to say this, and we all want it said to us.

“I understand.”

More important than being right, or being important, is being truly aware.

Pray on, Praya

hrc logo

When Polling Turns Against You, Voters Reject You, and the Parties Abandon You, There’s Only One Thing You Can Do to Ban Gay Marriage

Posted by on Mon, Mar 25, 2013 at 11:07 AM


You can pray for the Supreme Court to strike down gay marriage. You can pray the justices will fear the wrath of a vengeful god. You can pray your bigoted little heart out. So that’s what Traditional Values Coalition president Andrea Lafferty, who has spent every other option, begs you to do in a letter:

In Washington this Tuesday, the Supreme Court of the United States will hear a landmark case that could redefine and ultmately abolish marriage as we know it. So I am asking you for one “donation” as we gear up to protect marriage here in Washington.


I know that’s not a normal request. This isn’t a normal time. As you know, the Supreme Court of the United States isn’t a legislative body. No amount of lobbying, no amount of protesting short of millions is going to sway the Justices of the court other than sound argument and conscience—and the impact of prayer. … They need our prayers. Your prayers.

Over the weekend and thru next week, take a moment to lift up this nation and our Supreme Court in prayer. Pray that God will allow them to be open to His word. Pray for wisdom. Pray for fear of the Lord. Pray for the millions who will be impacted by the decision of the Supreme Court. Pray for healing across America. Pray for a restoration of all things to Christ.

Pray for TVC and our mission. Pray to protect marriage.

The letter doesn’t end with a prayer, of course. It ends with a “donate here” button. And weirdly, their donation website isn’t collecting prayers.

You look absolutely terrific, honestly.

Happy New Year!

edie close up

I just found this photo when I was creating the “New Years With The Beales” entry and seriously fell in LOVE with it.  Edith Bouvier Beale died over 10 years ago and is most known for a 40 year old documentary about her life with her mother and people are still inspired.  That is a S-T-A-U-N-C-H CHARACTER!  Do your best to become a S-T-A-U-N-C-H CHARACTER in 2013!


Little Edie Blythe Doll
This is a special Blythe doll designed by Gina Garan and Christina/Oriettacat.  Gina is a successful photographer and operates a website devoted to the Blythe phenomenon and her husband, Asa, was a cast member of the GG Broadway musical.  Sounds like the best of both worlds!  For more information visit

And If you feel like it, watch the whole movie:

3rd (Self Help) Day of Xmas – Helen

Seriously?  When Helen Keller communicates, everyone should pay attention.  It is a wonderful letter about the importance of helping others.

It is true, we are only as good as our treatment of the less fortunate.  Everyone needs some sort of help.

helen keller

In March of 1906, unable to preside over a public meeting of the Association for Promoting the Interests of the Blind, deafblind activist and author Helen Keller instead sent the following stirring letter to her good friend, Mark Twain. On the day of the event, Twain, who was chairing the meeting in Keller’s absence, read her stunning letter aloud to all attendees and later included it in his autobiography, predicting that it would “pass into our literature as a classic and remain so.”

It’s very easy to see why.

Wrentham, Mass., March 27, 1906

My dear Mr. Clemens:

It is a great disappointment to me not to be with you and the other friends who have joined their strength to uplift the blind. The meeting in New York will be the greatest occasion in the movement which has so long engaged my heart: and I regret keenly not to be present and feel the inspiration of living contact with such an assembly of wit, wisdom and philanthropy. I shall be happy if I could have spelled into my hand the words as they fall from your lips, and receive, even as it is uttered, the eloquence of our Newest Ambassador to the blind. We have not had such advocates before. My disappointment is softened by the thought that never at any meeting was the right word so sure to be spoken. But, superfluous as all other appeals must seem after you and Mr. Choate have spoken, nevertheless, as I am a woman, I cannot be silent, and I ask you to read this letter, knowing that it will be lifted to eloquence by your kindly voice.

To know what the blind man needs, you who can see must imagine what it would be not to see, and you can imagine it more vividly if you remember that before your journey’s end you may have to go the dark way yourself. Try to realize what blindness means to those whose joyous activity is stricken to inaction.

It is to live long, long days, and life is made up of days. It is to live immured, baffled, impotent, all God’s world shut out. It is to sit helpless, defrauded, while your spirit strains and tugs at its fetters, and your shoulders ache for the burden they are denied, the rightful burden of labor.

The seeing man goes about his business confident and self-dependent. He does his share of the work of the world in mine, in quarry, in factory, in counting room, asking of others no boon, save the opportunity to do a man’s part and to receive the laborer’s guerdon. In an instant accident blinds him. The day is blotted out. Night envelops all the visible world. The feet which once bore him to his task with firm and confident stride stumble and halt and fear the forward step. He is forced to a new habit of idleness, which like a canker consumes the mind and destroys its beautiful faculties. Memory confronts him with his lighted past. Amid the tangible ruins of his life as it promised to be he gropes his pitiful way. You have met him on your busy thoroughfares with faltering feet and outstretched hands, patiently “dredging” the universal dark, holding out for sale his petty wares, or his cap for your pennies; and this was a man with ambitions and capabilities.

It is because we know that these ambitions and capabilities can be fulfilled that we are working to improve the condition of the adult blind. You cannot bring back the light of the vacant eyes; but you can give a helping hand to the sightless along their dark pilgrimage. You can teach them new skill. For work they once did with the aid of their eyes you can substitute work that they can do with their hands. They ask only opportunity, and opportunity is a torch in the darkness. They crave no charity, no pension, but the satisfaction that comes from lucrative toil, and this satisfaction is the right of every human being.

At your meeting New York will speak its word for the blind, and when New York speaks, the world listens. The true message of New York is not the commercial ticking of busy telegraphs, but the mightier utterances of such gatherings as yours. Of late our periodicals have been filled with depressing revelations of great social evils. Querulous critics have pointed to every flaw in our civic structure. We have listened long enough to the pessimists. You once told me you were a pessimist, Mr. Clemens, but great men are usually mistaken about themselves. You are an optimist. If you were not, you would not preside at the meeting. For it is an answer to pessimism. It proclaims that the heart and the wisdom of a great city are devoted to the good of mankind, that in this, busiest city in the world, no cry of distress goes up but receives a compassionate and generous answer. Rejoice that the cause of the blind has been heard in New York, for the day after it shall be heard around the world.

Yours sincerely,

Helen Keller

via Letters of Note: We have listened long enough to the pessimists.

“A Telephone Call” – Dorothy Parker

“A Telephone Call”
by Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)

PLEASE, God, let him telephone me now. Dear God, let him call me now. I won’t ask anything else of You, truly I won’t. It isn’t very much to ask. It would be so little to You, God, such a little, little thing. Only let him telephone now. Please, God. Please, please, please.

If I didn’t think about it, maybe the telephone might ring. Sometimes it does that. If I could think of something else. If I could think of something else. Knobby if I counted five hundred by fives, it might ring by that time. I’ll count slowly. I won’t cheat. And if it rings when I get to three hundred, I won’t stop; I won’t answer it until I get to five hundred. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty…. Oh, please ring. Please.

This is the last time I’ll look at the clock. I will not look at it again. It’s ten minutes past seven. He said he would telephone at five o’clock. “I’ll call you at five, darling.” I think that’s where he said “darling.” I’m almost sure he said it there. I know he called me “darling” twice, and the other time was when he said good-by. “Good-by, darling.” He was busy, and he can’t say much in the office, but he called me “darling” twice. He couldn’t have minded my calling him up. I know you shouldn’t keep telephoning them–I know they don’t like that. When you do that they know you are thinking about them and wanting them, and that makes them hate you. But I hadn’t talked to him in three days-not in three days. And all I did was ask him how he was; it was just the way anybody might have called him up. He couldn’t have minded that. He couldn’t have thought I was bothering him. “No, of course you’re not,” he said. And he said he’d telephone me. He didn’t have to say that. I didn’t ask him to, truly I didn’t. I’m sure I didn’t. I don’t think he would say he’d telephone me, and then just never do it. Please don’t let him do that, God. Please don’t.

“I’ll call you at five, darling.” “Good-by, darling.,’ He was busy, and he was in a hurry, and there were people around him, but he called me “darling” twice. That’s mine, that’s mine. I have that, even if I never see him again. Oh, but that’s so little. That isn’t enough. Nothing’s enough, if I never see him again. Please let me see him again, God. Please, I want him so much. I want him so much. I’ll be good, God. I will try to be better, I will, If you will let me see him again. If You will let him telephone me. Oh, let him telephone me now.

Ah, don’t let my prayer seem too little to You, God. You sit up there, so white and old, with all the angels about You and the stars slipping by. And I come to You with a prayer about a telephone call. Ah, don’t laugh, God. You see, You don’t know how it feels. You’re so safe, there on Your throne, with the blue swirling under You. Nothing can touch You; no one can twist Your heart in his hands. This is suffering, God, this is bad, bad suffering. Won’t You help me? For Your Son’s sake, help me. You said You would do whatever was asked of You in His name. Oh, God, in the name of Thine only beloved Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, let him telephone me now.

I must stop this. I mustn’t be this way. Look. Suppose a young man says he’ll call a girl up, and then something happens, and he doesn’t. That isn’t so terrible, is it? Why, it’s gong on all over the world, right this minute. Oh, what do I care what’s going on all over the world? Why can’t that telephone ring? Why can’t it, why can’t it? Couldn’t you ring? Ah, please, couldn’t you? You damned, ugly, shiny thing. It would hurt you to ring, wouldn’t it? Oh, that would hurt you. Damn you, I’ll pull your filthy roots out of the wall, I’ll smash your smug black face in little bits. Damn you to hell.

No, no, no. I must stop. I must think about something else. This is what I’ll do. I’ll put the clock in the other room. Then I can’t look at it. If I do have to look at it, then I’ll have to walk into the bedroom, and that will be something to do. Maybe, before I look at it again, he will call me. I’ll be so sweet to him, if he calls me. If he says he can’t see me tonight, I’ll say, “Why, that’s all right, dear. Why, of course it’s all right.” I’ll be the way I was when I first met him. Then maybe he’ll like me again. I was always sweet, at first. Oh, it’s so easy to be sweet to people before you love them.

I think he must still like me a little. He couldn’t have called me “darling” twice today, if he didn’t still like me a little. It isn’t all gone, if he still likes me a little; even if it’s only a little, little bit. You see, God, if You would just let him telephone me, I wouldn’t have to ask You anything more. I would be sweet to him, I would be gay, I would be just the way I used to be, and then he would love me again. And then I would never have to ask You for anything more. Don’t You see, God? So won’t You please let him telephone me? Won’t You please, please, please?

Are You punishing me, God, because I’ve been bad? Are You angry with me because I did that? Oh, but, God, there are so many bad people –You could not be hard only to me. And it wasn’t very bad; it couldn’t have been bad. We didn’t hurt anybody, God. Things are only bad when they hurt people. We didn’t hurt one single soul; You know that. You know it wasn’t bad, don’t You, God? So won’t You let him telephone me now?

If he doesn’t telephone me, I’ll know God is angry with me. I’ll count five hundred by fives, and if he hasn’t called me then, I will know God isn’t going to help me, ever again. That will be the sign. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five. . . It was bad. I knew it was bad. All right, God, send me to hell. You think You’re frightening me with Your hell, don’t You? You think. Your hell is worse than mine.

I mustn’t. I mustn’t do this. Suppose he’s a little late calling me up –that’s nothing to get hysterical about. Maybe he isn’t going to call–maybe he’s coming straight up here without telephoning. He’ll be cross if he sees I have been crying. They don’t like you to cry. He doesn’t cry. I wish to God I could make him cry. I wish I could make him cry and tread the floor and feel his heart heavy and big and festering in him. I wish I could hurt him like hell.

He doesn’t wish that about me. I don’t think he even knows how he makes me feel. I wish he could know, without my telling him. They don’t like you to tell them they’ve made you cry. They don’t like you to tell them you’re unhappy because of them. If you do, they think you’re possessive and exacting. And then they hate you. They hate you whenever you say anything you really think. You always have to keep playing little games. Oh, I thought we didn’t have to; I thought this was so big I could say whatever I meant. I guess you can’t, ever. I guess there isn’t ever anything big enough for that. Oh, if he would just telephone, I wouldn’t tell him I had been sad about him. They hate sad people. I would be so sweet and so gay, he couldn’t help but like me. If he would only telephone. If he would only telephone.

Maybe that’s what he is doing. Maybe he is coming on here without calling me up. Maybe he’s on his way now. Something might have happened to him. No, nothing could ever happen to him. I can’t picture anything happening to him. I never picture him run over. I never see him lying still and long and dead. I wish he were dead. That’s a terrible wish. That’s a lovely wish. If he were dead, he would be mine. If he were dead, I would never think of now and the last few weeks. I would remember only the lovely times. It would be all beautiful. I wish he were dead. I wish he were dead, dead, dead.

This is silly. It’s silly to go wishing people were dead just because they don’t call you up the very minute they said they would. Maybe the clock’s fast; I don’t know whether it’s right. Maybe he’s hardly late at all. Anything could have made him a little late. Maybe he had to stay at his office. Maybe he went home, to call me up from there, and somebody came in. He doesn’t like to telephone me in front of people. Maybe he’s worried, just alittle, little bit, about keeping me waiting. He might even hope that I would call him up. I could do that. I could telephone him.

I mustn’t. I mustn’t, I mustn’t. Oh, God, please don’t let me telephone him. Please keep me from doing that. I know, God, just as well as You do, that if he were worried about me, he’d telephone no matter where he was or how many people there were around him. Please make me know that, God. I don’t ask YOU to make it easy for me–You can’t do that, for all that You could make a world. Only let me know it, God. Don’t let me go on hoping. Don’t let me say comforting things to myself. Please don’t let me hope, dear God. Please don’t.

I won’t telephone him. I’ll never telephone him again as long as I live. He’ll rot in hell, before I’ll call him up. You don’t have to give me strength, God; I have it myself. If he wanted me, he could get me. He knows where I ram. He knows I’m waiting here. He’s so sure of me, so sure. I wonder why they hate you, as soon as they are sure of you. I should think it would be so sweet to be sure.

It would be so easy to telephone him. Then I’d know. Maybe it wouldn’t be a foolish thing to do. Maybe he wouldn’t mind. Maybe he’d like it. Maybe he has been trying to get me. Sometimes people try and try to get you on the telephone, and they say the number doesn’t answer. I’m not just saying that to help myself; that really happens. You know that really happens, God. Oh, God, keep me away from that telephone. Kcep me away. Let me still have just a little bit of pride. I think I’m going to need it, God. I think it will be all I’ll have.

Oh, what does pride matter, when I can’t stand it if I don’t talk to him? Pride like that is such a silly, shabby little thing. The real pride, the big pride, is in having no pride. I’m not saying that just because I want to call him. I am not. That’s true, I know that’s true. I will be big. I will be beyond little prides.

Please, God, keep me from, telephoning him. Please, God.

I don’t see what pride has to do with it. This is such a little thing, for me to be bringing in pride, for me to be making such a fuss about. I may have misunderstood him. Maybe he said for me to call him up, at five. “Call me at five, darling.” He could have said that, perfectly well. It’s so possible that I didn’t hear him right. “Call me at five, darling.” I’m almost sure that’s what he said. God, don’t let me talk this way to myself. Make me know, please make me know.

I’ll think about something else. I’ll just sit quietly. If I could sit still. If I could sit still. Maybe I could read. Oh, all the books are about people who love each other, truly and sweetly. What do they want to write about that for? Don’t they know it isn’t tree? Don’t they know it’s a lie, it’s a God damned lie? What do they have to tell about that for, when they know how it hurts? Damn them, damn them, damn them.

I won’t. I’ll be quiet. This is nothing to get excited about. Look. Suppose he were someone I didn’t know very well. Suppose he were another girl. Then I d just telephone and say, “Well, for goodness’ sake, what happened to you?” That’s what I’d do, and I’d never even think about it. Why can’t I be casual and natural, just because I love him? I can be. Honestly, I can be. I’ll call him up, and be so easy and pleasant. You see if I won’t, God. Oh, don’t let me call him. Don’t, don’t, don’t.

God, aren’t You really going to let him call me? Are You sure, God? Couldn’t You please relent? Couldn’t You? I don’t even ask You to let him telephone me this minute, God; only let him do it in a little while. I’ll count five hundred by fives. I’ll do it so slowly and so fairly. If he hasn’t telephoned then, I’ll call him. I will. Oh, please, dear God, dear kind God, my blessed Father in Heaven, let him call before then. Please, God. Please.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twentyfive, thirty, thirty-five.

No Ovaries Removed

No Ovaries Removed

On April 28th of 1952, medical staff at the Cedars of Lebanon hospital in L.A. wheeled an extremely nervous Marilyn Monroe to surgery where she was to have her appendix removed. Some time later, with Monroe unconscious and the procedure about to begin, doctors pulled back her gown to find the following note taped to her stomach. It was addressed to her surgeon, Dr. Marcus Rabwin.

Transcript follows.

(Source: MM-Personal: From the Private Archive of Marilyn Monroe; Image of Monroe in 1952, post-appendectomy, via.)


Dear Dr. Rabwin,

cut as little as possible I know it seems vain but that doesn’t really enter in to it. The fact I’m a woman is important and means much to me.

Save please (I can’t ask enough) what you can – I’m in your hands. You have children and you must know what it means – please Dr Rabwin – I know somehow you will!

thank you – thank you – thank you – For God‘s sakes Dear Doctor no ovaries removed – please again do whatever you can to prevent large scars.

Thanking you with all my heart.

Marilyn Monroe

via Letters of Note: No Ovaries Removed.