<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389</id><updated>2012-02-16T08:22:27.374-05:00</updated><category term='Return'/><category term='Food rules'/><title type='text'>The Rules of Family</title><subtitle type='html'>The Madrone tells you what's what. What you do with it is your own business.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>149</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-4081350572371894566</id><published>2010-07-01T10:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-01T10:36:30.545-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Who can you talk to</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;Who can you say what to? If you don't have this straight you can really mess things up.&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Let me&amp;nbsp; help you out. You belong to a bunch of groups, some tighther than others. First off there's your mother and you. You can say anything to your mother about anyone, and no one can say a word.&amp;nbsp; If you want to rave about how your hubby's mother is a raving lunatic who ought to be housed in the third basement of the local looney bin, no one can tell you not to. However, YOUR mother can't tell anyone what you've said except her hubby and maybe your siblings. Now of course, it may not be a good idea to stir up bad blood between families, which is what this is, but you certainly can't rage at your hubby about his mom.&amp;nbsp; That is NEVER in any circumstance a good idea. The only exception to this is that it's not good to trash your own kids to your mother, because the rule about never getting in between someone and their mother also applies to you getting in between you and your own kids.The only exception to this rule is talking with the co-creator of the child, and even then things are at a very sad state of affairs if the parents are trashing their kids for any reason whatsoever.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-4081350572371894566?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/4081350572371894566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=4081350572371894566&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/4081350572371894566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/4081350572371894566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/07/who-can-you-talk-to.html' title='Who can you talk to'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-7454282551023003124</id><published>2010-06-30T11:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-30T11:25:35.528-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Can you believe this?</title><content type='html'>I read the other day, in one of those columns where people say they are giving advice, but really they are just saying things anyone could say, without even understanding the littlest thing about the rules of family, where a mother is complaining that HER mother is giving the kids treats behind her back.&amp;nbsp; The so called ADVICE person, went and trashed the grandmother to the mother. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?&amp;nbsp; How can anyone say they are an expert on family matters when they don't even know how to keep the first rule of family which is NEVER GET IN BETWEEN SOMEONE AND THEIR MOTHER.&amp;nbsp; Seriously, I mean, can you believe it? But I read it with my own eyes. I am still shaking my head.&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-7454282551023003124?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/7454282551023003124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=7454282551023003124&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/7454282551023003124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/7454282551023003124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/can-you-believe-this.html' title='Can you believe this?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3355099436047121001</id><published>2010-06-14T21:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-14T21:49:06.581-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What's with all the vampires?</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;Dear Madrone,&lt;/i&gt; my youngest girl, Lolla is 13 and&amp;nbsp; loves the vampires. It's blood this and moon that, and I can't understand what the big deal is.&amp;nbsp; Should I be worried?&amp;nbsp; &lt;i&gt;Mom in Morrisburg&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Dear Mom&lt;/i&gt;, Nah, it's no biggie. She's thirteen, that's what they do.&amp;nbsp; If it isn't vampires, it's horses, if it's not horses, it's Frankie Avalon. Or Frankie Avalon on a horse. Whatever.&amp;nbsp; It's nature's way of getting you ready for when she goes out with an actual boy (two legs, no bloodsucking.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3355099436047121001?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3355099436047121001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3355099436047121001&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3355099436047121001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3355099436047121001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/whats-with-all-vampires.html' title='What&apos;s with all the vampires?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3772572178187462176</id><published>2010-06-12T10:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-12T10:29:23.192-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Gratitude VS Attitude</title><content type='html'>Sometimes you do someone a big favor and they thank you. Sometime you do the same favor for someone else and they hate you forever.&amp;nbsp; Gratitude on the one hand, attitude on the other. It's less mysterious than it seems.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A favor says &lt;i&gt;"I own you" &lt;/i&gt;You may not mean it that way, but that's what it says. You are up. The other person is down.&amp;nbsp; Maybe in no other respects than the favor you are going to do them, but that's what it is.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I could never get my father, may he rest, let me even buy him an ice cream cone. . UNLESS I bought one for myself that I didn't really want and then said. Will you do me a favor? I can't finish this ice cream cone. THEN he would take it. TRUTH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3772572178187462176?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3772572178187462176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3772572178187462176&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3772572178187462176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3772572178187462176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/gratitude-vs-attitude.html' title='Gratitude VS Attitude'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-5582084453614067658</id><published>2010-06-11T11:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T11:04:46.716-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking Heat</title><content type='html'>Ok, I just want to be clear about something.&amp;nbsp; The Rules of Family are the rules.&amp;nbsp; It's pretty clear to me that if you are a breathing human being, it's the same. Don't mess with someone and their mother, heck even bears and moose know that.&amp;nbsp; BUT! it doesn't mean you don't break them. Sometimes you have to. It only means that people won't thank you.&amp;nbsp; For example, your child is married to a low class no good. You couldn't stop it, and now they've got kids. And the guy is bad news, really bad.&amp;nbsp; You step in, break things up because you figure your kid is going to end up hurt or worse.&amp;nbsp; You do it because you have to. BUT do not under any circumstances expect gratitude. You may get it, but you may just as likely get attitude. Trust me. If you don't understand that this is a likely, normal reaction, you will be in for big surprises...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-5582084453614067658?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/5582084453614067658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=5582084453614067658&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/5582084453614067658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/5582084453614067658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/taking-heat.html' title='Taking Heat'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3321902908437715999</id><published>2010-06-08T08:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-08T08:40:24.394-05:00</updated><title type='text'>More on donuts</title><content type='html'>The donut conversation went on for quite sometime... After everyone agreed to disagree on how the donuts GOT to the bbq,&amp;nbsp; everyone started to eat them. One mother said to her kid, who, between you and me, would have done well to stop after the first ten, &lt;i&gt;hey fatso, stop stuffing yourself.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/i&gt;No one said anything, because it was the mother, and there's no point in interfering, but I noticed a few eyeballs rolling.&amp;nbsp; The rolling meant a few different things though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Put the kid on a strict one donut limit.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Don't call the kid names, no wonder he's eating like there was no tomorrow.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Let the kid eat.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&amp;nbsp;Any of the above might be a good conversation starter in another universe, but in this one you can't tell a mother anything. Oh people try all the time, but it does no good.&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3321902908437715999?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3321902908437715999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3321902908437715999&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3321902908437715999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3321902908437715999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/more-on-donuts.html' title='More on donuts'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-8070802255661711592</id><published>2010-06-07T07:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T07:55:34.719-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Donuts</title><content type='html'>&amp;nbsp;The question came up when I was at the family BBQ yesterday, who should bring the donuts? We chewed that one over for quite some time and no one's mind was changed.&amp;nbsp; Some said the donuts should be brought by the oldest, some said the youngest, some said the person who lived closest to the bakery, some said the person who lived closest to Tilda's which everyone admits is the BEST bakery, some said that the person who invites should make sure there are plenty of donuts on hand, just in case no one brings any.&amp;nbsp; Me I kept my mouth shut, since I don't care for donuts, give me some cheesecake any day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-8070802255661711592?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/8070802255661711592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=8070802255661711592&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8070802255661711592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8070802255661711592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/donuts.html' title='Donuts'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-6623405124543360745</id><published>2010-06-06T14:48:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-06T14:49:19.511-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Flowers VS Vegetables</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I live with my sister, both of our husbands have passed, may they rest, and while it's sad they're gone, they were good providers and we're not big spenders anyhow.&amp;nbsp; So everything is hunky dory. Except this. I myself love a flower garden. My sister thinks they're a waste and wants vegetables.&amp;nbsp; We bicker over this every year, and have never come to any agreement.&amp;nbsp; So please we ask you, which is better?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Sisters, ok except for this one thing.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Dear Sisters,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/i&gt;I beg to differ with you, if this is the thing that bothers you so much that you need to waste my precious minutes, then you are definitely not OK.&amp;nbsp; This so called problem is so easy there are at least one thousand ways to solve it. Here's ten&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Take half the garden each year&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Take turns every other year&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Let the other person have her way because you love her&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;have no garden at all&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Mix the flowers with the vegetables every year&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Flip a coin each year, the winner gets to pick&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Ask a random stranger (or ten or thirty, however many) what they think you should do and do that.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Repeat #7 only do the opposite of what other people think.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Add up the number values of the words flower and vegetable, and then compare them to the winning numbers of the Pick 5 on the first day after the danger of frost is passed and whatever is closest, do that.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;i&gt;Decide if you spend more on cut flowers or fresh vegetables and go with that&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;I could go on and on and on, but just in case you don't get my point, here it is. You haven't solved this problem because you DON'T WANT TO. &amp;nbsp; That's a whole other question, which is one you haven't asked, but should.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-6623405124543360745?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/6623405124543360745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=6623405124543360745&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6623405124543360745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6623405124543360745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/flowers-vs-vegetables.html' title='Flowers VS Vegetables'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1758046124180154338</id><published>2010-06-04T18:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-04T18:42:45.633-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Asking Family</title><content type='html'>It's really important to remember that when you ask family for something NO MATTER WHAT, it's going to be bad if they tell you no. Even if you're a jerk for asking, even if they don't have what you ask for, even if they've given to you a hundred times before.&amp;nbsp; Th&lt;i&gt;at &lt;/i&gt;no is going to stand between you forever. People don't understand even the simplest things sometime&lt;i&gt;.&amp;nbsp; What's the worst that could happen&lt;/i&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;you ask. Ha! There are so many worsts..here's just one.&lt;br /&gt;My brother in law knew a guy.&amp;nbsp; This guy was a no good, a dead beat, and he was into the bookies for mucho moolah. Now the guy had a younger brother of his own, who was pretty well heeled, mostly because he worked like a dog and saved his pennies, and the wife did too.&amp;nbsp; They had a nice house and a couple of kids who were clean and smart. The no good always went to the brother for cash when the heat got too hot, and the brother always gave.&amp;nbsp; Until one day, when the debt in question was caused by the no good taking a nice trip to the old country on a credit card he did not deserve. This was the last straw, the brother said no. Enough. What happened? The mother, who had mostly kept out of it, blamed the younger brother when the no good got worked over by a disappointed gentlemen. Pointed the finger at them, at a family dinner, which started a screaming fight between the younger brother and his wife later than night when the wife made noises about the nerve of his mother (Breaking the biggest rule, really not a good thing to do) which resulted in a pot of sauce being thrown though a window, and landing on a poodle that had been walking by, and breaking its leg, which was a very bad thing as this dog had a pedigree out the wazoo, and was ruined by the incident, which resulted in a nasty lawsuit that the poodle won and put the younger brother in the poorhouse, without a wife, who left, with kids, married a guy with even more money and no brothers.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO it's very bad to put family in a position where that could happen, and it happens all the time, every minute,just like that world population counter at Penn Station in the city.&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1758046124180154338?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1758046124180154338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1758046124180154338&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1758046124180154338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1758046124180154338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/asking-family.html' title='Asking Family'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1394916037624543313</id><published>2010-06-03T07:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-03T07:56:19.683-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Saying No To Family</title><content type='html'>When is it OK to say no to family?&amp;nbsp; I have news for you. It's never ok.&amp;nbsp; When family asks you for something you must give or be ready to take heat.&amp;nbsp; &lt;i&gt;So, Madrone, &lt;/i&gt;you ask me,&lt;i&gt; does that mean I have to be a doormat&amp;nbsp; for my cousin Joe Schmoe who asks me for a ride every day to work and never offers gas money. I'm on the hook for the dead beat? &lt;/i&gt;No, not exactly.&amp;nbsp; All I'm saying is that when you lay down the law, and say, pay up you cheapskate, you will be the bad guy, not Joe Schmoe.&amp;nbsp; It doesn't mean that you have to be walked over, it's just that no one will pat you on the back for it.&amp;nbsp; If you think people are going to pin a rose on you, you're in for a surprise. You may be right, but that's not going to stop anyone from giving you the hairy eyeball as the next Sunday barbecue.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1394916037624543313?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1394916037624543313/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1394916037624543313&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1394916037624543313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1394916037624543313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/saying-no-to-family.html' title='Saying No To Family'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1936827273360258425</id><published>2010-06-01T07:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T07:59:40.900-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back.</title><content type='html'>Hope you all enjoyed your barbecues, or however you heat your meat on a holiday weekend.&amp;nbsp; I had a very nice time, thank you very much, and now I'm back.&amp;nbsp; It's the warm weather, and that's a good thing.&lt;br /&gt;A question came up the other day, which I am still thinking about: when is it OK to say no to family?&lt;br /&gt;It happens all the time, but people don't think about it.&amp;nbsp; And they should.&amp;nbsp; More tomorrow on that.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;God bless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1936827273360258425?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1936827273360258425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1936827273360258425&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1936827273360258425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1936827273360258425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/06/back.html' title='Back.'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-225057832732084778</id><published>2010-05-16T09:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-16T09:20:35.693-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Going to Atlantic City</title><content type='html'>The hubby and I will be going to Atlantic City to play the slots.&amp;nbsp; Will be back in a couple of weeks, richer or no poorer.&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;God bless!&lt;/i&gt; &lt;i&gt;Donna&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-225057832732084778?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/225057832732084778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=225057832732084778&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/225057832732084778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/225057832732084778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/going-to-atlantic-city.html' title='Going to Atlantic City'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-846594764438265918</id><published>2010-05-14T11:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-14T11:21:19.788-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mind your own Beeswax</title><content type='html'>A question came in from Fort Maryton...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Madrone&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; When is it ok to butt in?&amp;nbsp; My neighbor down the&amp;nbsp; block has a brother whose son is a no good lying two face ratfink SOB.&amp;nbsp; And I mean no disrespect to the rest of two face ratfinks, who tell&amp;nbsp; the truth and are legit.&amp;nbsp; Whatever. This guy is no good. And he married a sweetie pie, who has no clue that he is sleeping around with UPS delivery lady, this week! Last week it was the cheerleading coach, and the month before that, the sister of the wife he's making a fool of.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Everyone knows, except the wife.&amp;nbsp; And everyone says, butt out. No one will take pity.&amp;nbsp; Should I?&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Concerned.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Dear Concerned&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; No good answer for that, because whatever you do, the guy will still be a stinker.&amp;nbsp; I'd tell, but I'd understand that there is a 90% chance&amp;nbsp; (which for all you brainiacs out there, means 9 times out of ten) that YOU will not be thanked. In fact, you will be forever the one who is attached to the truth, and by attachment I mean an ugly wart that sprouts hairs will be plastered on the middle of your forehead ever ytime the wife looks at you.&amp;nbsp; She won't be able to help it.&amp;nbsp; Now you could say, why does she have to know it's me? Well she doesn't, you could go that way, but then you'd see the wart when you looked in the mirror.&amp;nbsp; Oh it will be there ok.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Now if you don't tell, no wart, but a no good lying two face ratfink SOB has turned you into a doormat. So you can't even look in the mirror, unless it goes down to the floor, like at the shoe store.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;God Bless&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: &amp;quot;Helvetica Neue&amp;quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-846594764438265918?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/846594764438265918/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=846594764438265918&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/846594764438265918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/846594764438265918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/mind-your-own-beeswax.html' title='Mind your own Beeswax'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1604665529031418301</id><published>2010-05-13T14:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-13T14:42:38.165-05:00</updated><title type='text'>When things get OFFICIAL</title><content type='html'>By Official I mean that the families understand that a new family is going to be created. This is a big deal, and there has been much blood and tears shed, particularly when people enter into it unmindful of all the dangers.  So a word to the parents involved. This is IMPORTANT. I don't know how many times people tell me that they never met the mother and the father or the whoever is in that place of the person their kid is going to marry until the wedding. GET A GRIP!  And along with the grip, get the address and the phone number or the whatever from the intended of your kiddo and pull on your grownup panties and make nice. I say get it from the intended just in case THEY have strong objections, which they might...but that might be worth getting out in the open early.  I for one don't care for surprises, like one time, my aunt's niece was gonna marry a guy and it turned out that he was wanted in four states by four different women, who wanted him to come home and help sweep out the yard of the house they'd bought when they'd gotten married. (Guess who paid for the houses, BTW...the ladies, of course, no surprise there)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1604665529031418301?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1604665529031418301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1604665529031418301&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1604665529031418301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1604665529031418301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/when-things-get-official.html' title='When things get OFFICIAL'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-8723795603376848775</id><published>2010-05-12T08:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-12T08:08:21.416-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Meeting the in laws.</title><content type='html'>Ok, so you are madly in love, good luck with that!  This isn't about the two of you, it's about the rest of the story. So, when do you have the first summit meeting? Bringing YOUR intended to meet your family?  Well, if you think it isn't a big deal, think again.  I will talk at a later time about the proper attitude of a family towards a potential new citizen, this one's for you buddy. DO NOT bring anyone home that isn't a potential keeper.  If you're just fooling around, it's very confusing for all concerned.  If you're so young that meeting the folks can't be helped, (because they are driving you on your dates) that ought to tell you something right there.  And if you're way past old enough, but you still sleep with your parents down the hall, that tells you something else.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-8723795603376848775?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/8723795603376848775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=8723795603376848775&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8723795603376848775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8723795603376848775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/meeting-in-laws.html' title='Meeting the in laws.'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3926578416875471975</id><published>2010-05-12T07:15:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-12T07:22:30.546-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Food rules'/><title type='text'>Food Rules</title><content type='html'>This the Madrone's friend, Lily. We go way back, to when our sons were babies and we couldn't imagine them doing anything we hadn't already done. Thirty years later, they figured out a few things but we'll keep those private. Today's lesson is that food rules in family-you need to figure out the rules and then learn to live with them or work around them. For example, say your mother in law lived through the Depression and thinks Starbucks is a bar. DO NOT bring Starbucks to her house just because she only drinks instant coffee. Do what I do, offer to run an errand (preferably something that takes at least 20 minutes)- before running the errand, go to Starbucks, get your latte, drink it in the car, dispose of the cup (or if you're ecological, hide the cup) finish the errand and chew gum so she can't smell real coffee on your breath. Next week I'll give you instructions on other food rules such as learning to live in a meat based family when you're a vegetarian. (Do not try slipping the meat to the dog, the dog will rat you out) &lt;br /&gt;God Bless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3926578416875471975?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3926578416875471975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3926578416875471975&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3926578416875471975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3926578416875471975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/food-rules.html' title='Food Rules'/><author><name>lilyliberty</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tIusqJHI3xA/SSA8wECC9mI/AAAAAAAAAFM/qGeFwDsK2g4/S220/FL000012.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-4564107050724124619</id><published>2010-05-11T11:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-11T11:45:05.841-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Families are like countries.</title><content type='html'>You have to understand one thing. Families are like countries, they have borders, some of them are theocracies, some are dictatorships, some are anarchic hullaballoos. Some have great cuisine, some are multiethnic, anything a country is, a family can be. With more power over the person who lives there than any country can ever have, I don't care what. So when you go with someone, to that person's family  YOU are a foreigner.   If you're a tourist, they will not pay you much mind and you'll get some souvenirs, and some photos for an album, that you may or may not burn at a later time. But if you're planning to apply for citizenship, you have to understand that there are rules, regs and all sorts of taxes. Ignore them, and you end up in exile, with or without your sweetie.   Most families will recognize dual citizenship, which means things like they will understand splitting the holidays and giving equal time with the eventual grandchildren. But in some cases, you're expected to renounce your allegiance to your own family, or that your honey bun can have no real doings with yours. It's good to figure that out ahead of time, if you can. Some warning signs&lt;br /&gt;                  1.  All wedding and prom pictures of any of your sweetie's siblings exclude mates and dates.&lt;br /&gt;                  2.  Your sweetie attends the weekly barbecue, with or without you.&lt;br /&gt;                  3.  Your sweetie has to think about whether to attend your parents' 25th anniversary party or the dance recital of a second cousin's third grandchild, scheduled for the same day.  Trouble!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-4564107050724124619?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/4564107050724124619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=4564107050724124619&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/4564107050724124619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/4564107050724124619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/families-are-like-countries.html' title='Families are like countries.'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-2842623736908555937</id><published>2010-05-10T14:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-10T14:28:23.407-05:00</updated><title type='text'>First things first? or Second?</title><content type='html'>Ok, now about inlaws, when should you start caring?  There are two different schools of thought on this. &lt;br /&gt;Love first, family second or never  &lt;br /&gt;Worst Case: Romeo and Juliet, (unless you think everyone in the entire world knowing your business long after you're ded is a good thing)&lt;br /&gt;Best Case:Mr. and Mrs. LaVerio down the block.   Their families HATE each other, always have, but they didn't care. Everyone else is dealing with it, they're going on 60 years married, still laughing their a**es off at everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Family first, love no biggie&lt;br /&gt;Worst Case: My sister in law's little sister married the guy down the street because the families thought that they were perfect, and she ended up in court after trying to stab his eyes out with a salad fork from the silver set she got from his granny. Mess.   &lt;br /&gt;Best Case: Beauty and the Beast.  She did her thing with the monster to save her dad's hash, and ends up with a rich, good looking guy. (warning, this is the best case,most time what eventually gets revealed is less pretty, with worse manners) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nine times out of ten, it doesn't predict actual happiness. So suit yourself on this one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-2842623736908555937?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/2842623736908555937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=2842623736908555937&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/2842623736908555937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/2842623736908555937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/first-things-first-or-second.html' title='First things first? or Second?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-6879505198121626205</id><published>2010-05-06T06:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-06T06:21:20.199-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Arranged Matches</title><content type='html'>First: This advice is NOT for the people who let their families do the matchmaking. In that case, everyone is damn well sure they know each other, that's the whole POINT! &lt;br /&gt;Now many readers write to me, asking me my thoughts on this matter. And I say, I would never get in between someone and their mother. That's rule one. So if your mother wants to pick your dearly beloved for you, I"m not going to tell her no. If you don't like it, YOU'VE got to tell her yourself with no help from yours truly.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you are in that boat, the one that the families involved all have an oar, when the happy couple starts to row, it should be in the same direction.  I'm not saying it makes things easier on the couple. It does make things easier on the families. Not the same thing at all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-6879505198121626205?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/6879505198121626205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=6879505198121626205&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6879505198121626205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6879505198121626205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/first.html' title='Arranged Matches'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-5746792481771114264</id><published>2010-05-04T08:33:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-04T08:40:22.122-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In Laws</title><content type='html'>Right around this time of year, people like to have weddings.  It's like they think that nice weather means a nice life. Which it may or may not, what do I know?  I do know a thing or two about in laws. I've seen plenty of good people come to grief because they have no idea of the dangers that lurk.  Kind of like you're on a boat, and the weather is great (hah!) and the sea is calm and you are singing a song, thinking everything is hunky dory, but you have a crappy map and what it doesn't tell you is that under the surface there are very pointy rocks that are going to rip a hole in the floor, or whatever it is they call the bottom of a boat, and the water that floods in is going to drown you and sink your ship. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So think of the next few days of advice as a really good map, which you should not leave in the trunk of your car.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-5746792481771114264?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/5746792481771114264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=5746792481771114264&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/5746792481771114264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/5746792481771114264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/in-laws.html' title='In Laws'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-6813848889521327947</id><published>2010-05-03T13:14:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-03T13:17:11.323-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back</title><content type='html'>I've been away and now I'm back.  Turns out there's just too much not following of the rules, and everyone needs as much help as they can get.  What is clear and simple if you have your head on straight gets complicated fast when the head is up your (or someone else's_a**, excuse my French. Nine times out of ten, simple is better than complicated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-6813848889521327947?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/6813848889521327947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=6813848889521327947&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6813848889521327947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6813848889521327947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2010/05/back.html' title='Back'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-6528457002565002017</id><published>2009-03-28T11:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T11:17:01.712-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Too Skinny, Too Fat</title><content type='html'>My head is going to explode. People are too skinny or too fat, nobody is in between. Whatever.  It doesn't really matter, you know.   You hate yourself fat, you're going to hate yourself skinny.   Yes, it's that simple. Now you may want to know how not to hate yourself, that all depends. Worst case, you are a despicable low life, and should be hated. Best case, you just need a talking to from someone that you'd listen to.  Which may or may not be me. &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-6528457002565002017?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/6528457002565002017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=6528457002565002017&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6528457002565002017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6528457002565002017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/03/too-skinny-too-fat.html' title='Too Skinny, Too Fat'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-8132186840932488146</id><published>2009-03-27T20:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T20:45:20.654-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Money</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Everybody and their uncle is going crazy about money these days. And what can I tell you, if you don't have a roof over your head and food for your kids, cash looks good. Check that, cash is good.  But once you have that covered, what's to go crazy about?  Money stands in for other things, if you have the things, you don't need the money. Love? Free.Health? A matter of smarts, and luck, although extra dough might seem to buy you a few minutes here and there, don't be fooled. You don't get any more time than it takes for you to finish the work you're supposed to do on this earth. And nobody, not even me, knows what that is. Respect? You can get the respect of people who respect money. but that's it.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-8132186840932488146?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/8132186840932488146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=8132186840932488146&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8132186840932488146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8132186840932488146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/03/money.html' title='Money'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-2109211889646771147</id><published>2009-03-21T08:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-21T08:32:53.786-05:00</updated><title type='text'>WORK</title><content type='html'>Things are tough these days, and if you have a job, you count your blessings, even if the job  is a PITA.  But let me tell you, even when times are good, jobs are jobs. That's why they pay people to do them. If it was all fun and games, you'd pay to do it.  So get a grip.  &lt;div&gt;I've been through plenty, let me tell you, and I've seen lots, crappy bosses, evil co-workers, cowards, cheats, blowhards, ninnies and crooks.  What can you do? You deal, that's what.   Work gets you through the week.  Which is not something to sneeze at. Because even if you hit the tri state powerball, you still have to get through the week, and in some ways it's harder, because you have to tell yourself what to do then, and that makes you your own boss, and you have to talk about yourself behind your back, and that's not that much fun. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-2109211889646771147?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/2109211889646771147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=2109211889646771147&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/2109211889646771147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/2109211889646771147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/03/work.html' title='WORK'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-365719831857242830</id><published>2009-03-20T09:49:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T09:49:35.328-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another thing my father said</title><content type='html'>Every key is a headache.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-365719831857242830?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/365719831857242830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=365719831857242830&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/365719831857242830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/365719831857242830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/03/another-thing-my-father-said.html' title='Another thing my father said'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-2658377715292468733</id><published>2009-03-18T15:12:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-18T15:16:28.227-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Things My Father Said</title><content type='html'>My father, may he rest said a lot of things.&lt;br /&gt;Here are a few&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can talk and talk and talk, but nothing gets done until someone picks up a wrench.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If bullsh## were production, we'd all be out of work&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chop chop, Count that day lost whose low descending sun sees from thy hand no worthy action done.  (Ok he didn't make that up, but he said it  A LOT)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can't have two mechanics on a job. Someone has to be the helper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All things being equal, I'm giving overtime to one of my own.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-2658377715292468733?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/2658377715292468733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=2658377715292468733&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/2658377715292468733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/2658377715292468733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/03/things-my-father-said.html' title='Things My Father Said'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1154873227510422930</id><published>2009-03-17T09:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T09:33:03.754-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lists, continued</title><content type='html'>If you have lists, it means you divide people up. For/against, good/bad, jerk/stand up guy, whatever.   They aren't a good thing, in the big picture,people change, you can be wrong, or both.  But in the short run,  I can't do without mine. It helps the day run smooth to know where you stand. For example, if someone you annoy asks you for a favor, and you do it, you understand that they won't be grateful, and you don't have to waste time waiting to be thanked.  In fact, you understand that they'll just be annoyed even more. So you can decide whether or not you want to do the favor, balance out the plus it puts in the favor bank vs. the minus of more annoyance on their part.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1154873227510422930?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1154873227510422930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1154873227510422930&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1154873227510422930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1154873227510422930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/03/lists-continued.html' title='Lists, continued'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3449351542658448717</id><published>2009-03-17T09:25:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T09:31:21.278-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How you know you are a saint.</title><content type='html'>This is how you know you are a saint. You have no lists.  That's that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3449351542658448717?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3449351542658448717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3449351542658448717&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3449351542658448717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3449351542658448717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/03/how-you-know-you-are-saint.html' title='How you know you are a saint.'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-8218301748792826878</id><published>2009-03-16T20:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T20:30:08.444-05:00</updated><title type='text'>List of Lists</title><content type='html'>I realized the other day that I keep lists.    Here's a list of some of them&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. People I would give a kidney for, no questions asked&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. People who annoy me&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. People I know I annoy (Oddly not the same as #2, go figure)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. People I don't respect&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. People I respect&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. People I would take on a treasure hunt&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7. People I hear and obey&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8.People who can do no wrong.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9. People I would throw under a bus&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10. People who would throw me under the bus&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;11. People who have what I want&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;12. People who want what I have&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I bet there's more.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-8218301748792826878?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/8218301748792826878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=8218301748792826878&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8218301748792826878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8218301748792826878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/03/list-of-lists.html' title='List of Lists'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1427125243304726193</id><published>2009-02-13T13:20:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T13:28:25.663-05:00</updated><title type='text'>More on Threats</title><content type='html'>Listen up,  I can't help it if this disturbs some of you, all this talk about threats.  What can I tell you, the world is the world, if it was perfect, you'd be happy, but you wouldn't know it, because you can't know what happy is without sad. You'd just be. So leave me alone about it, it's not my fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so here's some rules.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Never make a threat that the threatenee thinks you don't have the nerve to carry out.&lt;br /&gt;2. As much as possible make threats you know you won't have to carry out.&lt;br /&gt;3. Follow through, only as a last resort. But don't half-a$$ it if you do. Nothing worse than that.&lt;br /&gt;4. Learn how to threaten to threaten- that's the best.  If people wish to avoid your threat to threaten, you're golden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1427125243304726193?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1427125243304726193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1427125243304726193&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1427125243304726193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1427125243304726193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/02/more-on-threats.html' title='More on Threats'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1789473543607914362</id><published>2009-02-12T07:25:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-12T07:47:22.084-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Threats</title><content type='html'>Threats.   Not just anyone can make a threat.   Making threats is an art form. If you can't make a decent threat, you might as well put a sign on your head that says, DOORMAT.   I mean, really.   Now you're going to say, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Madrone that's terrible. What if everyone went around making threats like you recommend. Wouldn't the world be awful?? with everyone going around and smacking each other down? &lt;/span&gt;To which I say, if you make a decent threat, you never have to lift a finger. A person who knows what they're doing makes life easy and simple.  It's the people who don't know what they are doing who end up with lawsuits and restraining orders.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1789473543607914362?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1789473543607914362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1789473543607914362&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1789473543607914362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1789473543607914362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/02/threats.html' title='Threats'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-8552584706764243128</id><published>2009-02-10T17:26:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T17:39:22.743-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What is Respect-2</title><content type='html'>Ok so you still are wondering what respect is.  Let me put it this way. Here's an example of what it isn't. &lt;div&gt;  My neighbor down the block was married to a real bachagaloop, my hand to god.  He would rage if the soup was too hot, he would rage if it was too cool, he would rage.   Every one stepped around him in fear, even the dog.   And the dog was big, with sharp teeth.  As far as we knew he never raised a hand, only his voice, but still.  He was mean. Hard as nails.  But he was  a good provider, so what could anyone say? A good provider who doesn't beat is not that easy to find.  He fell over one day, kapow, heart attack, and after we were all back from the cemetary, my neighbor announces  to us that she was going to take  the insurance money to take tango lessons.  And everyone applauded her.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-8552584706764243128?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/8552584706764243128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=8552584706764243128&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8552584706764243128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8552584706764243128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/02/respect-2.html' title='What is Respect-2'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-769469082728553850</id><published>2009-02-09T22:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-09T22:34:31.194-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What is Respect-1</title><content type='html'> &lt;div&gt;LOVE: will do ANYTHING for you &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;FEAR: will do ANYTHING  for you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;RESPECT: will do some things for you, and takes both the heat and the thanks in stride. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-769469082728553850?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/769469082728553850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=769469082728553850&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/769469082728553850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/769469082728553850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-is-respect-1.html' title='What is Respect-1'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3508501047690964336</id><published>2009-02-08T08:53:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-08T09:04:19.351-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So what is Respect?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Readers,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;  So the question comes up, if respect is such a big deal, what exactly is it? How do I know if I have it, how do I know if I'm getting it.  Sometimes I am surprised at the questions I have to answer, but then I think, of course I have to answer them. That's why I'm the Madrone. If people knew these things without asking..well the truth is they DO know these things, but they don't believe it unless someone like me tells them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So respect.  It isn't 100% love, and it isn't 100% fear, but it's a combo of the both mixed with admiration for  the integrity and spine of  some who has savvy.   There's actually a formula that goes like this&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; Respect  =   L  [A&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;d&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;(I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;nt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt; + S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;p&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;) + S&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;]/F       Do the math.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;PS- Coming soon, examples for those of you who stunk at algebra&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3508501047690964336?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3508501047690964336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3508501047690964336&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3508501047690964336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3508501047690964336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/02/so-what-is-respect_08.html' title='So what is Respect?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-911486103555485862</id><published>2009-02-07T17:06:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-07T17:12:54.618-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What's the big deal?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Readers:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;Sometimes people come to me and say, &lt;/span&gt;Madrone, you always tell us what's a waste of our time, but when is something a big deal? &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;This is a good question.  Here are some guidelines for knowing whether something should be a big deal in this life. Actually there is only one guideline. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Does it get you respect from people you respect? If it does, then it's a big deal.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now I may think the people you respect are a bunch of idiots, so it wouldn't be that big a deal to me, but you wouldn't care what I thought, most likely.  Now it's possible that you might respect people who think each other &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;stunada&lt;/span&gt;, in that case, you probably need therapy, or write me a letter about it, it's cheaper.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-911486103555485862?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/911486103555485862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=911486103555485862&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/911486103555485862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/911486103555485862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/02/whats-big-deal.html' title='What&apos;s the big deal?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-5053649299207877681</id><published>2009-02-06T22:23:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T22:48:21.067-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Reminder about the main rule</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Readers, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I just got through listening to some TV program where they interviewed the lady who had 8 kids at one whack, when she had six others running around at home.   It's not for me, that's for sure, but according to the rules of family, it's nobody's business but hers and whoever she's convinced to go along with her for the ride.  Now if she forgets where she leaves one, or decides to  make them work sewing machines in the basement to make fancy dresses for rich ladies who don't have kids of their own to sew, people might make a case for stepping in. But short of that, it's not anyone's place to   look down their noses at her, or make noises about who can do what.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The main rule of family is NEVER GET IN BETWEEN SOMEONE AND THEIR MOTHER. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This goes for any mother, and any someones, especially if there are 14 of them at once. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God Bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-5053649299207877681?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/5053649299207877681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=5053649299207877681&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/5053649299207877681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/5053649299207877681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2009/02/reminder-about-main-rule.html' title='Reminder about the main rule'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-153412166037321497</id><published>2008-09-09T09:55:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T09:56:29.401-05:00</updated><title type='text'>SEPTEMBER</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;People write me all the time and ask me what I think about all kinds of things, because they need someone to tell them the most basic facts, like where is their elbow. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Here’s some things you need to know, if you’re gonna live right.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;SEPTEMBER&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Ok. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;About September. 99% of my family have birthdays in September. Do the math.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It’s cold in January, you know what I’m saying.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So, the first thing about September is what to do about all the people you have to remember, otherwise your name is mud.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Basic gift giving guide is the same all year round, but it comes in handy when you have to figure out what to get 25 relatives or more. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;Under five,&lt;/b&gt; the present is not for the child, it’s a message for the parents how they stand with you. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;Between five-twelve&lt;/b&gt;, it’s about what you think of the child. If the kid is an egghead and you get him a book, it means you approve. If you buy him a soccer ball it means you don’t. Simple. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;12-moving out of the house,&lt;/b&gt; it doesn’t matter what you get, you can’t get them what they want, which is the freedom to &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;do stuff that we all did when we were there age, but don’t talk about now. And friends, and REALLY GOOD Friends. Bottom line, nothing you can do to make them happy. At best, they’ll remember you tried. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;After moving&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;out to their own kids moving out- &lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Write a check&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;Anyone older than that- &lt;/b&gt;No one cares that much to be reminded.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Exception – Your own mother. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;People ask me all the time about the big ones- The Three 0 and the Four 0 all the way to the really old 0’s like 8 or 9. If you don’t have a big party does it mean you have a bad family?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Honestly I don’t know where these ideas come from.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I don’t care what you do or don’t do.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These big to-dos aren’t about the person, not really. They are about the family. It’s like hanging out a sign that says&lt;i style=""&gt;, wow, what a great family we are, there’s lots of us and we live a long time, and we have the money to spare on this. Good for us.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;Which may or may not be true.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Who knows. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;About those parties- Same rules apply as apply to weddings, but only half the bloodshed, since it’s about one family, and not putting two together to make a new one.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-153412166037321497?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/153412166037321497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=153412166037321497&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/153412166037321497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/153412166037321497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/09/september.html' title='SEPTEMBER'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-6301990650129810850</id><published>2008-09-08T13:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T14:16:21.082-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What Gives?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    What do you think of this? I  am going with a girl, let's call her Sue, because that's her name, for a long time,, maybe even years, whose counting?  But I had to move to another city, let's call it Chicago, because that's where I went, and she didn't want to, because, well let's face it, her mother is not there, and she loves her mother. Ok I accept. So we talk by phone, I visit whenever, I send cards on the right days, and flowers too.  We get together, if you know what I mean, not that often. I never complain, but finally I said, so what about it and she tells she wants more space.  What gives? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lonely, and puzzled without Sue in Chicago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Without,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Get a clue. And a new girlfriend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God Bless, Donna&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Seriously some people don't know what gives until it comes around and bites them on the a**, and even then.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-6301990650129810850?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/6301990650129810850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=6301990650129810850&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6301990650129810850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/6301990650129810850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-gives.html' title='What Gives?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3450232923859148368</id><published>2008-08-22T12:30:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T12:40:13.488-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Priorities</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;   My husband's father's sister in law is a nice lady.  She's way up there in years, for sure, lives in one of those state where people live a long time, I guess it's the cold that preserves them.   We visit once in a blue moon, it's a drive, and she's not a blood relative.  We were planning to visit in the fall, had everything set, but it turns out it's the weekend that a neighbor's son down the street is getting married, and we're invited.   My husband feels the need to visit the aunt, who knows what's around the corner.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what's the thing to do?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Torn, Mount Redding.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Torn,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;   Good God, Gertie , you're kidding me right. You have to ask? Is this the first you've ever heard of me or anyone remotely connected to me? Were you born under a rock, or living in a cave, or are you just out to lunch?  This is a no brainer, even for people with no brains.  This is a trick, right? You kids who hang around the Pizza Carnival ought to get jobs instead of stuffing your faces, and bothering people who have better things to do. Sheesh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  PS- In case this is legit, I take pity and spell it out.  Unless the neighbor in question &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;saved the life of someone whose death would distress you greatly, you give them a nice gift, maybe nicer than you would have, explain you have family obligations, WHICH YOU DO, and go with your husband. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3450232923859148368?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3450232923859148368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3450232923859148368&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3450232923859148368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3450232923859148368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/08/priorities.html' title='Priorities'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-5633750428773351388</id><published>2008-08-11T08:11:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T08:20:54.773-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Scootching</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;     My neighbor's daughter's cousin's children are &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;scootches&lt;/span&gt;. They tease and tease and tease until somebody ends up crying, usually the smallest one who started it. It drives everyone on the block crazy,but when we tell them to stop, they run away.  What can we do to have peace?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Scootchified, Dix Hills&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Scootchified,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;     What can I tell you? If you are not their mother, there is not much you can do. Unless of course this takes place in your home, in which case you can uninvite them from the premises.  You can complain to the mother involved, but that is very dangerous, because you would be breaking the rule of rules.  (If I have to remind you what THAT is, I will, after I'm done, but I can't believe you would forget what it is, but there you go, if people remembered everything important I would have less work.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So assuming this is not taking place in or around your own house or children, you're best off just shaking your head and steering clear. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;READER! THE RULE OF RULES, if you follow this, nine times out of ten, you'll solve your own problems:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Never get inbetween someone and their mother. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-5633750428773351388?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/5633750428773351388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=5633750428773351388&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/5633750428773351388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/5633750428773351388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/08/scootching.html' title='Scootching'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1368342562554115824</id><published>2008-08-07T10:26:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T10:29:29.291-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Summer</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I hate summer.  Is this normal?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sweaty,  Nome&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Nome&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;       No.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;PS. &lt;/span&gt;Don't look at me like that. You asked, I answered.  If you meant to ask something else, what do I look like a mind reader?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;READERS- Nine times out of ten, the question people ask is not the one they want the answer to, but help me out here, throw me a bone, and give me something to go on. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1368342562554115824?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1368342562554115824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1368342562554115824&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1368342562554115824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1368342562554115824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/08/summer.html' title='Summer'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-208727112404109061</id><published>2008-08-05T08:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T08:54:41.770-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Family Snafu</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;   I lied about being busy to get out of a family barbecue at the home of a cousin I do not like, and  wouldn't you know it, my cousin Alpa saw me at the mall, where she was also avoiding the same event.  Now she is telling everyone she saw me shopping while she was working which was the lie she told, since she was surrounded by twenty boxes of shoes at the DSW, and not at the cosmetic counter at Clarins.  Should I combat this lie with another one?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Looking for guidance,  Mt. Kisco&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear  Looking,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;Lying doesn't work unless you are bald faced about it. Sounds like your face has some hair. So  tell the truth to whoever asks, and let the rest go.  People will forgive you, they have to, you're family. If they don't then there's nothing you can do. And the question you didn't ask, but should have, is why you lied in the first place.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;PS- &lt;/span&gt;You might be surprised at how little people care.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-208727112404109061?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/208727112404109061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=208727112404109061&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/208727112404109061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/208727112404109061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/08/family-snafu.html' title='Family Snafu'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1398052582032312990</id><published>2008-08-02T08:09:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T08:50:57.171-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Important things</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/span&gt;   &lt;div&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;You have a waste of time hall of fame, but what's the opposite? &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Curious, Forth Worth&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Curious&lt;/span&gt;,  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Everything else.  Look, let me break it down for you...we only have a certain amount of minutes on this earth.  You have to spend a certain number of them doing stuff that can't be helped, sleeping, eating, ironing. And by ironing, I mean all the other stuff you have to do to to get by. Now you can either iron your own stuff, or get someone to iron for you, but either way, it has to get done.   The better you are at the ironing part, the more precious minutes you have to kick back. Anything that interferes with with your enjoyment is a waste of time.  Now some people don't know whether they are enjoying themselves or not. I will deal with that next time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1398052582032312990?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1398052582032312990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1398052582032312990&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1398052582032312990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1398052582032312990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/08/important-things.html' title='Important things'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1376229156830871382</id><published>2008-08-01T08:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-08-01T09:04:36.508-05:00</updated><title type='text'>FUGGEDABOUDIT</title><content type='html'>FUGGEDABOUDIT- This is a beautiful thing, this fuggedaboudit.   Roughly translated it means,," &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this is how much I love you, I'm not going to smash your face in, which I could do, if I felt like it, without blinking, but of course I don't because this isn't worth a precious minute of my time, and neither  are you if you keep up this garbage. So... back off /apologize/drop dead ...before you're sorry you made me turn my mind to what you ...said/did. Got that? Good. Now ...get outta/come over ... here.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;When someone backstabs you, this is best option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not everyone has the chops to pull this off. In fact very few.    &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1376229156830871382?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1376229156830871382/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1376229156830871382&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1376229156830871382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1376229156830871382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/08/fuggedaboudit.html' title='FUGGEDABOUDIT'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3813461245485814661</id><published>2008-07-31T06:57:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T07:17:43.362-05:00</updated><title type='text'>FORGET VS FUGGEDABOUDIT</title><content type='html'>Say you  are in line for some paybacks- someone you trusted ratted you out, or stole you blind or otherwise took advantage of your good nature.  And you can't forgive. And you won't ignore.  Vengeance is out, because the rat in question doesn't want anything you have badly enough to make it worth the splash back.  So what's left? &lt;div&gt; Two things- You can forget it. OR you can fuggedaboudit.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's the difference.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Forgetting is you put it out of your mind. Like it never happened.  This is NOT, I repeat, NOT ignoring.  In order to ignore something, you have to know it's there, you just pretend it isn't.  Forgetting is erasing the incident completely from your mind.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fuggedaboudit is a combination of forgive, ignore and forget.  It's also a form of revenge.  Anyone who can do this is a person you want on your side in a street fight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tomorrow, an example. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3813461245485814661?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3813461245485814661/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3813461245485814661&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3813461245485814661'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3813461245485814661'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/07/forget-vs-fuggedaboudit.html' title='FORGET VS FUGGEDABOUDIT'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-3637603031559437365</id><published>2008-07-30T14:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T15:17:48.802-05:00</updated><title type='text'>RESPOND</title><content type='html'>So where were we? Yeah, you have a serious problem, someone backstabbed you. No way are you going to ignore. Ok then, good idea, you're gonna do something. &lt;br /&gt;    Vengeance: You can make them pay, which only works if you have something that they want.  Example: My neighbor's ex husband, may he rest, was a good provider, (not much else) He left ALL, and I mean ALL, every last cent, to his first wife, left wives two, three and four (my neighbor) out without a pot.  Now the three xes wanted payback, but what could they do? They didn't have anything he wanted.   Warning- With vengeance, there is always a splash back. &lt;br /&gt;   Forgive:  So should they forgive? Well in the case of the stiffed ex wives, they couldn't.  Sounds pazzo, but forgiveness only works if you have something they want, too.  Otherwise, it's something else, which we'll talk about tomorrow.   Forgiveness is really nice, noble, but most people can't really do it. They only SAY they are, but what they are really doing is plastering on the guilt. And guilt is a waste of time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-3637603031559437365?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/3637603031559437365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=3637603031559437365&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3637603031559437365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/3637603031559437365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/07/respond.html' title='RESPOND'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-8906712347992864445</id><published>2008-07-29T07:03:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T07:21:50.376-05:00</updated><title type='text'>IGNORE</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt; My cousin's aunt's sister in law  Nessie was betrayed by her own brother, Lando, who told their mother that she spent the holidays in the Bahamas with her in laws, instead of in the hospital.  The mother in question was a piece of work,  Nessie should have told her to her face, and taken the heat. BUT Lando  shouldn't have spilled the beans, that breaks the rule of rules.   What if Nessie just ignored her brother's backstabbing? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This takes fortitude and attitude.  If you ignore in the right way, you aggravate everyone, because it's just like saying, whatever. Who cares about you?  If you do it the wrong way, you just look like a mealy mouthed doormat, inviting people to wipe their feet.  So it's dangerous.   If you are ignoring cause you are afraid of a fuss, believe me,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;nothing fuss likes better than fear. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-8906712347992864445?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/8906712347992864445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=8906712347992864445&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8906712347992864445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8906712347992864445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/07/ignore.html' title='IGNORE'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-8345200319655957002</id><published>2008-07-28T14:52:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T07:17:07.376-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Vengeance</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Betrayed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;   &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;You wrote me with this question: &lt;/span&gt;How could I possibly hurt them as much as they've hurt me?  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;Many people ask me this all the time, for all sorts of reasons, not just the one you have.  And I answer, always the same thing=You can't.  It isn't to say that you can't hurt them, because you can do that, no problem, but not as much as they've hurt you, because the way it works is this= vengeance comes back at you.  It just does.  So add the hurt that they did to you + the splash back hurt from your vengeance, and it will always be that you hurt more.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;   The question you didn't ask, but I will answer, just on the off chance that you didn 't know you should have asked it, and might possibly be interested in the advice (which most likely you aren't, but even so, someone might) is this: What now?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;  There are four possibilities, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;A. Ignore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;B. Respond&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Forgiveness&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Vengeance&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div&gt;C. Forget&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D. Fuggedaboudit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will discuss these tomorrow.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God Bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-8345200319655957002?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/8345200319655957002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=8345200319655957002&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8345200319655957002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/8345200319655957002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2008/07/vengeance.html' title='Vengeance'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-7347242359211642131</id><published>2007-06-16T18:56:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-06-16T19:32:16.128-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A real dilly</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; The other day, I was sitting at my formica table, in the kitchen, trying to get my papers in order, and staring at the pictures on my refrigerator, of the kids and their kids, all smiling, but none of them as young anymore as they are in those pictures. I can't complain, my children call me, they come around, and they treat me right. And my health is not bad considering I'm pushing 90. But all the papers, the bills, and the junk, it comes every day, rain or shine, and I wonder why we go through it all. make ourselves crazy trying to get our kids raised, keep food on the table, the house clean, all of it, since in the end, we check out, people divide up the stuff, and maybe say a few nice words, or shed some tears. What's the point of it all? &lt;em&gt;Sitting around, Merrick&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Sitting, &lt;/em&gt;What do I look like? The Pope? As my father used to say, may he rest, if you could talk people out of being crazy, the looney bins would be empty. I have nothing to tell you that is going to me of much use. You have a nice house, good health and children who show you respect, even if you don't appreciate it. Somehow this is ruining your day. It takes all kinds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Readers, remind me tomorrow to tell you more about a shot of stupid. It's not sinking in.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-7347242359211642131?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/7347242359211642131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=7347242359211642131&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/7347242359211642131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/7347242359211642131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2007/06/real-dilly.html' title='A real dilly'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-4292215416475073334</id><published>2007-05-17T16:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-17T16:56:29.034-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What can you do?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear  Madrone&lt;/span&gt;, What can you do when you hear something awful has happened? I never know. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Befuddled,  Millville.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Befuddled,&lt;/span&gt; look at it this way, even when you don't hear it, something awful has happened, is happening or will be happening. You know this, it isn't any big lightbulb I'm turning on for you. My point is that you get up and make the coffee and go to work if you have a job, or whatever it is that you spend your precious minutes on. And the awful things keep coming. I recommend a shot of stupid. Not too much of one, because that can get you arrested, just enough for you to make the sad face, say the sympathetic word, but still get the dog out for its walk. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. Nice things happen all the time too, that's what's so crazy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-4292215416475073334?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/4292215416475073334/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=4292215416475073334&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/4292215416475073334'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/4292215416475073334'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2007/05/what-can-you-do.html' title='What can you do?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-1032157725629035819</id><published>2007-05-14T19:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T19:43:46.163-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Return'/><title type='text'>Back Again</title><content type='html'>Hey, how ya doing? It's been a while, what can I say? I've been busy. Family stuff.. weddings, babies, good things..I wish I could say I learned something, but actually I knew it all already. Now don't get me wrong, I am not saying anything special except that I know the rules of family and they always apply. They do. Not a single thing I've been through this past year makes me think any different. Now you could say, hey, your mind is made up, Madrone, so how could you learn anything? But what do you know about my mind, it's open... like a book or a door, or my cousin Silla's house, which she never locked because she was crazy.. Someone could have waltzed in and stole the pillow out from under her head, but they never did, so she always figured she was right not to lock. That's exactly how open my mind is. I will try to break it down for you, little by little, in the meantime...I got stuff I gotta do. &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-1032157725629035819?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/1032157725629035819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=1032157725629035819&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1032157725629035819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/1032157725629035819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2007/05/back-again.html' title='Back Again'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-115140651956670756</id><published>2006-06-27T06:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:55.329-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Japanese Thumb Trap</title><content type='html'>You can get these at a carnival, or the variety store... you know what I'm talking about, those little straw tubes, you slip a pinky into each end. IF you try to pull out, it just tightens up, no go. You can't get the fingers out because the harder you pull, the skinnier the tube gets and the more you're trapped. Instead, here's the genius part...you have to push in, the tube scrunches up and gets wider, and bingo, your pinkies are free. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like that with the eyerolling inlaws. Don't resist, go with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sample conversation:&lt;br /&gt;YOU: Pass the broccoli&lt;br /&gt;In Laws: You really need to be careful of anemia, &lt;br /&gt;YOU: I know, I know, you're so right. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The key to this is to say it while you are shoveling in the broccoli. Under no circumstances use sarcasm. Drip with sincerity.  After a few times, they'll stop mentioning it. Trust me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-115140651956670756?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/115140651956670756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=115140651956670756&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115140651956670756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115140651956670756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/06/japanese-thumb-trap.html' title='The Japanese Thumb Trap'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-115136005334116241</id><published>2006-06-26T17:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:55.252-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Story of My Life 3</title><content type='html'>Rudolpho was a mean mean boy. And I mean that.  I still get the willies when I think about the cats whose ears he cut off.  Seriously. In those days you didn't know that meant you were going to turn into Jack the Ripper or whatever. And he didn't. He became a Pella Window salesman and a Grand Dragon of the Knights of Columbus.   So go figure.  But when I was one, he was thirteen and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. I got beat from here to Sunday, but never straight out, and no one to run to. So I figured out how to make myself invisible. It's a good trick. The other thing I figured out is that funny is good, crazy is good, and funny crazy is better. So if you can't be invisible, make them laugh and be nervous at the same time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-115136005334116241?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/115136005334116241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=115136005334116241&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115136005334116241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115136005334116241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/06/story-of-my-life-3.html' title='The Story of My Life 3'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-115126107654807310</id><published>2006-06-25T13:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:55.175-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Family Resemblances</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone&lt;/em&gt;, Please help. What do you reply when someone asks you who the baby looks like, particularly if it does not look like anyone in particular, or worse, it does, but not someone that it would be polite to point out the resemblance, if you know what I'm saying.  &lt;em&gt;Sign me, the Milkman.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Milk,&lt;/em&gt; There is only one response that I recommend in this case, no matter if the baby looks like the twin of the father, the mother the next door neighbor, even the family dog. You say, and in this case sincerity isn't even required, because the person who is asking already knows what they think, and just wants you to confirm or to pick a fight (it's what's known as a trick question) Oh, The baby is a perfect mix of -----here insert the name of the parents--------.  Trust me this will be the end of the conversation, and you can move on to something less dangerous, like politics or religion. &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-115126107654807310?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/115126107654807310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=115126107654807310&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115126107654807310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115126107654807310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/06/family-resemblances.html' title='Family Resemblances'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-115118695112165414</id><published>2006-06-24T17:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:55.090-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Bone to Pick</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; My in laws  eat meat. I don't.  They make me special dishes, no meat at all, tasty things, lots of eggplant, lasagne all cheese, you name it. And yet,  they still roll the eye and make it their business to inquire after my iron levels and blood pressure and other items that are none of their business, but they are trying to be helpful. I don't think they mean to be rude, but it feels that way. What do I do, my spouse is  a vegetarian,too,  but he loves his parents. As he should. I am beginning to become aggravated, but I feel I can't say anythng that would make things better not worse  &lt;em&gt;Veggie, Vegas&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Veg,&lt;/em&gt; You are subject to conflicting rules. You can't get in between someone and his mother, and you can't pretend things are nice when they are not. The first course of action is to talk to your spouse about how you feel, but the way you put it is crucial. You can't say I think your family is crazy, why do I have to put up with them? Because he is putting up with your family, trust me, I don't even have to know the details, that's how it is. If that doesn't bring you satisfaction, and you still are having agita, you can use the Japanese Thumbtrap approach, which I will explain in greater detail, tomorrow. &lt;em&gt;God Bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-115118695112165414?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/115118695112165414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=115118695112165414&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115118695112165414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115118695112165414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/06/bone-to-pick.html' title='A Bone to Pick'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-115076551417051089</id><published>2006-06-19T19:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:55.005-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Story of My Life 2</title><content type='html'>My father, who was not a bad man, even if he wasn't a particularly good one, remarried ASAP. Not like he had someone hiding under the bed, we don't think, but then in those days, no one talked much about that sort of thing. Raised eyebrows, knowing grunts, that's what you had to decode, but where was I, my father,  may he rest, got himself another wife pronto, who took on the nine of us, and proceeded to have four of her own.  Madonna! It was a mad house.  Let's see how many were we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rudolpho&lt;br /&gt;Lentini&lt;br /&gt;Michaela&lt;br /&gt;Elsina&lt;br /&gt;Francesco&lt;br /&gt;Babba&lt;br /&gt;Rocko&lt;br /&gt;Vespalla&lt;br /&gt;Me (Donna)&lt;br /&gt;Mary&lt;br /&gt;Sally&lt;br /&gt;Pete&lt;br /&gt;John&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me tell you, it was not worth your life to turn your back on either your food, your clothes, or your pride.  Anything and all would be snatched before you could say hey, that was MY ... fill in the blank, pillow, dessert, friend, air.. it was one big scramble.  Now here's the part where you expect me to say, it was tough but we had love and laughter. Well forget that. We didn't have all that much love, and the laughs were usually at someone's expense. But hey, I'm not complaining. I'm not in jail or in the looney bin, and I managed to stay alive without killing anyone. Not bad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-115076551417051089?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/115076551417051089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=115076551417051089&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115076551417051089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115076551417051089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/06/story-of-my-life-2.html' title='The Story of My Life 2'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-115065368093268838</id><published>2006-06-18T12:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.926-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Story of My Life  1</title><content type='html'>I was born. It wasn't easy, not for anyone. Not for my mother, who swore on her mother's grave that if she lived she would take a knife to the privates of my father so as to never go through this torture again. (PS. she didn't, live that is) for me, who was slapped on the a** and sent to a &lt;em&gt;strega &lt;/em&gt;of a nurse, who shoved formula down my throat and thought I was ugly, for my  8 siblings who now had no mother, and for my father who was left with nine children and no wife- who he never believed for a moment would have un manned him and of who he was fond, in his way, which was not much.  Not the best start for a fairy tale, or maybe the best start, who knows. But let's put it this way, I learned about the rules of family from day one. I broke the first and main one, which is to never get in between someone and their mother, I got in the way of eight, big time. Hey, you do what you got to do, and I had to get born. Guilt, who needs it? Not me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-115065368093268838?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/115065368093268838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=115065368093268838&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115065368093268838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/115065368093268838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/06/story-of-my-life-1.html' title='The Story of My Life  1'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114919267694023247</id><published>2006-06-01T15:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.853-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Awkward Moment</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/span&gt; I was at the health club the other day and Rosie, my son's first girlfriend's mother was weeping and moaning over the retirement of her hairdresser, and her disatisfaction over the state of her highlights. The following conversation took place ME: Rosie, you look fine HER:  you didn't say Rosie you look stunning.  ME: uh uh&lt;br /&gt;HER: Gotcha, didn't I. ME: uh uh.  What should I have said? We were at our exercise place, just finished 30 minutes,and she looked fine, not stunning. But I meant it as a compliment not an insult which is how she took it. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Unintentional Insulter, Half Moon Bay &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Un,&lt;/span&gt; This is her problem not yours. Let it go. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114919267694023247?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114919267694023247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114919267694023247&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114919267694023247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114919267694023247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/06/awkward-moment.html' title='Awkward Moment'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114912616384358185</id><published>2006-05-31T20:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.776-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Is Family Everything?</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; Is family everything? Isn't there something that isn't? &lt;em&gt;Wondering, Missoula&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Wonder, &lt;/em&gt;Family is everything. And everything is family.  Now, remember, what's family to you isn't family to someone else. For example, my cousin Alberto never married, and his mother and father died young, may they rest, but he belonged to the local garden club, and was well known for his prize hybrid teas. He had a garden as big as a football field, filled with every kind of rose you ever heard of and some you never did. He watched over those plants like they were children, which they were to him and his garden club buddies were their aunts and uncles.  He was never lonely, in fact he did much better than my neighbor Frankie, who had seven brothers who teased him and a wife it was clear he couldn't stand, and ingrate children who took him for all he was worth and let the state pay his nursing home bills when he fell and broke his hip. Sad, but true. Just goes to show.  &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114912616384358185?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114912616384358185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114912616384358185&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114912616384358185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114912616384358185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/is-family-everything.html' title='Is Family Everything?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114904410384493190</id><published>2006-05-30T21:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.698-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Japanese Thumb Trap</title><content type='html'>You can get these at a carnival, or order them through the computer- you know what I'm talking about, those little straw tubes, you slip a pinky into each one. IF you try to pull out, it just tightens up, no go. You have to push in, the tube scrunches up and gets wider, and bingo, your pinkies are free. It's like that with the eyerolling vegetarian inlaws. Don't resist, go with.  &lt;br /&gt;Sample conversation:&lt;br /&gt; YOU: Pass the meatballs&lt;br /&gt;VEGGIES:  You really should be careful of that red meat, mad cow, all that.&lt;br /&gt;YOU:  I know, I know, you're so right. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The key to this is to say it while you are shoveling inthe meatballs.   Under no circumstances use sarcasm.  After a few times, they'll stop mentioning it.  Trust me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114904410384493190?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114904410384493190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114904410384493190&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114904410384493190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114904410384493190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/japanese-thumb-trap.html' title='Japanese Thumb Trap'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114894269201896344</id><published>2006-05-29T17:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.620-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Vegetarian  Smackdown</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; My in laws don't eat meat.  I don't mind that.  I make them special dishes, no meat at all, tasty things, lots of eggplant, lasagne all cheese, you name it. But that doesn't satisfy them, because they roll the eye and make it their business to inquire after my cholesterol and blood pressure and other items that are none of their business, but they are trying to be helpful. I don't think they mean to be rude, but it feels that way. What do I do, my spouse is not a vegetarian, but he loves his parents. As he should.  I am beginning to become aggravated, but I feel I can't say anythng that would make things better not worse. &lt;em&gt;Carnivorous, Carnarsie&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Carn&lt;/em&gt;,  You are subject to conflicting rules. You can't get in between someone and his mother, and you can't pretend things are nice when they are not.  The first course of action is to talk to your spouse about how you feel, but the way you put it is crucial. You can't say I think your family is crazy, why do I have to put up with them? Because he is putting up with your family, trust me, I don't even have to know the details, that's how it is.  If that doesn't bring you satisfaction, and you still are having agita, you can use the Japanese Thumbtrap approach, which I will explain in greater detail, tomorrow. &lt;em&gt;God Bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114894269201896344?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114894269201896344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114894269201896344&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114894269201896344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114894269201896344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/vegetarian-smackdown.html' title='Vegetarian  Smackdown'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114873079634545672</id><published>2006-05-27T06:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.545-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Money Problem</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; I have a good job, but never enough money.  How can I save? &lt;em&gt;Always behind, Littleton&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Behind,&lt;/em&gt;, Remember what I told you? It's never just about the money. Don't shake your head at me...you have some need to be in the hole.  I have no idea what that is, either, since you don't say.  Trust me on this one. Like my sister's mother in law's sister, who NEVER learned to drive, you'd feel sorry for her, but she got everyone and their uncle to take her to the Walgreens and the senior citizens. IT may be like that for you with money. Or not.  &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114873079634545672?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114873079634545672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114873079634545672&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114873079634545672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114873079634545672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/money-problem.html' title='Money Problem'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114868400487495152</id><published>2006-05-26T17:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.476-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Silent Treatment</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone&lt;/em&gt;, My last boyfriend talked me to death. I finally broke up with him because he would go on and on and on and on about every little thing, what we should eat, how well we got along,(only we didn't, he didn't notice me covering my ears in pain) whether or not it was worth spending the extra money for a car with six cylinders. You name it, everything was a federal case. My latest boyfriend is a mummy. I could run over his cat with a pick up truck (in fact I did, I told him it was an accident, but I wanted to see if he'd open his mouth)  Not a word, just a nod, and a quick burial, and a shrug. He gives me the silent treatment at least once a day. Why can't I find someone in between?  Is there anyone?  &lt;em&gt;SeeSawing, Salamanca&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear See Saw,&lt;/em&gt; In answer to the question you asked, Yes.  In answer to the unspoken question, which is &lt;em&gt; why can't I find someone like me?? &lt;/em&gt;  I don't think you'd want to. &lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114868400487495152?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114868400487495152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114868400487495152&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114868400487495152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114868400487495152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/silent-treatment.html' title='The Silent Treatment'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114859444107366013</id><published>2006-05-25T16:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.380-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How I got this way</title><content type='html'>Readers sometime ask me how I got this way.  Here's how, I lived.   Plenty of people live, but they might as well not get out of bed, for all the good it does them, they don't learn a thing.  I made plenty of mistakes, I don't deny. But it also helps to have a good imagination, there's plenty of mistakes I don't make just because I can imagine EXACTLY what will happen. People know more than they let on, they just hate to admit to themselves what's what.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what can I say, some of it I was just born with. Lucky me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114859444107366013?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114859444107366013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114859444107366013&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114859444107366013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114859444107366013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/how-i-got-this-way.html' title='How I got this way'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114851868411609644</id><published>2006-05-24T19:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Can you believe this?</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; A friend of mine from the old neighborhood moved to the middle of Pennsylvania or upstate NY, someplace you think it would be nice to visit, but never do because it's so far. She just sent me an invitation to the first communion of her grandchild, and I have no intention of going, especially since I haven't seen hide nor hair of her since her daughter was eight. What should I do about the gift.I don't think I can send one with a gracious heart. &lt;em&gt;Concerned, Tribeca   &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Con, &lt;/em&gt; Then don't. &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. If you are asking if you can stiff your friend without causing her aggravation, the answer is no.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114851868411609644?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114851868411609644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114851868411609644&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114851868411609644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114851868411609644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/can-you-believe-this.html' title='Can you believe this?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114842986215685547</id><published>2006-05-23T19:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.218-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Attitude</title><content type='html'>Here's a question I get all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone&lt;/em&gt;, what is attitude? How do I get some?  &lt;em&gt;Doormat, Lesterville&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;To ALL the Doormats:&lt;/em&gt;  Attitude is related to savvy, but not the same thing. A person with attitude but no savvy often ends up in the emergency room of life, with things broken, hearts, noses, promises.  A person with savvy, but no attitude might end up a professor or something, an egghead who knows what's going on, but can't do anything about it. Attitude comes in degrees, and you don 't have to say a word...it's how you look out of your eyes. BACK OFF! or DON'T START WITH ME! or I KNOW WHAT"S WHAT. In other words, MESS AT YOUR OWN RISK. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, how do you get that? Some people are born with it, Even in the playpen the other babies steer clear, give over their pacifiers. But you can learn it by getting fed up with being a doormat, and saying&lt;strong&gt; ENOUGH.  I don't give a rat's A** if you're upset. Here's how it's going to be. &lt;/strong&gt; No one can talk anyone into having attitude. It's something you have to come into all on your own.  Good luck. &lt;em&gt; God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS...A little attitude can go a long way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114842986215685547?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114842986215685547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114842986215685547&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114842986215685547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114842986215685547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/attitude.html' title='Attitude'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114825702078715320</id><published>2006-05-21T19:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Shy Boy</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; Please help. There is this boy in my class, he is smart and funny and thoughtful. I really like him. He asked a couple of other girls out, and they gave him the cold shoulder, so now he thinks no one would like him.  I thought about making the first move, because with some guys, you can be all over them, but this one is old fashioned, I don't think he'd see it as a plus. . So how do I get him to ask me out??  &lt;em&gt;Eager to please, Julian&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Eager,&lt;/em&gt;, You're waiting for the light to go on, but you don't want to pull the switch.  Couple of things here. He may not like YOU, and is too polite to encourage. OR, as you suspect, he is down on himself because of a couple of bad outings.  Cut this out and leave it where he will find it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HEY YOU! Get over yourself, and take a look around. Luck can change.  The person who cut this out and left it around thinks you should take a shot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;God Bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114825702078715320?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114825702078715320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114825702078715320&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114825702078715320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114825702078715320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/shy-boy.html' title='Shy Boy'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114821933698607141</id><published>2006-05-21T08:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:54.054-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Not malicious</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; there is this person on my block who thinks who she is. And we always have to hear it. I can't stand to hear one more word about what a good deal she got on this, or the fabulous the home of her car dealer son, god forbid she should admit that she ever had a problem or that someone else might have something good.  And yet, she's not malicious.  What can I do about this? I have read through your guidelines and I don't believe my family can take hers in a street fight.&lt;em&gt;  Sick and Tired, San Leandro&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Malish, &lt;/em&gt; With that attitude, there is nothing you can do. Avoid or suffer. That's it. &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114821933698607141?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114821933698607141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114821933698607141&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114821933698607141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114821933698607141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/not-malicious.html' title='Not malicious'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114804802763810194</id><published>2006-05-19T09:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.969-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mustard Sandwiches</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; Rory, the youngest child of my oldest cousin's next door neighbor is notoriously fond of mustard sandwiches, which are made by slathering French's mustard on Wonderbread. I have personally seen him devour four of these at one sitting, and neighborhood legend has it that he eats little but. This can't be right. What's wrong with his parents, would it kill them to feed him pastini or a meatball once in a few? I am outraged,but my better half says I should mind my own beeswax, as said child is not my own and besides, is always smiling and is on target to grow tall enough to play center forward for the Knicks.  But still.. &lt;em&gt;Itching to hotline them, Ft. Drum&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Itching,&lt;/em&gt; The diet you describe is criminal, I agree. By all means hotline.  I'm sure the smile is a cover up to hide the pain.  OR worse, he may have no idea what eating is about, and so does not know any better than to be happy and thrive. BUT BE WARNED   as a** backward as his parents may be in this  matter, it's still between him and his mother. You may certainly interfere, but expect major paybacks heading your way.  You will be reviled by the neighbors for sticking your nose into their business, because they WILL find out it's you, trust me, and your spouse will be disgusted and you, mark my words, will be the bad guy. &lt;br /&gt;Just be sure your righteous feeling is worth all the grief you are going to get for being such a busybody.  &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114804802763810194?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114804802763810194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114804802763810194&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114804802763810194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114804802763810194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/mustard-sandwiches.html' title='Mustard Sandwiches'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114798389756934630</id><published>2006-05-18T15:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.889-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheapskates</title><content type='html'>I've been thinking about cheapskates lately. Listen to this&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt;   Last week I met my cousin in the city for lunch, and since I paid the last three times, it was her turn to pick up the tab. And she didn't. I ended up paying again. It's not like she doesn't have the money, she is paid very nicely at her company, this we all know, as she's mentioned it more than once. I can afford it, and up until this last time I had the gracious heart. No more. I am beginning to feel like a doormat.  Should I insist she pay next time, or let it go? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Troubled, Hartland&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Hart,&lt;/em&gt; Just how much is this cousin's company worth to you? For example, is she nose snorting funny? You have three choices. Insist she pay, keep paying, or avoid - make excuses- no need to lie, adjust your life.  Any of these will work, but don't expect your cousin to either change or thank you for your honesty.  Cheapskates don't think of themselves that way.  &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114798389756934630?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114798389756934630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114798389756934630&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114798389756934630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114798389756934630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/cheapskates.html' title='Cheapskates'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114789873217218032</id><published>2006-05-17T15:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.809-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hang Dog Boy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/span&gt; I am concerned about my son. He is always so hang dog, moping around the house, you think that he just lost his best friend, but he couldn't due to the fact he has no friends at all. He's fourteen it isn't normal for him to keep his nose in a book, or glued to a screen. I've done everything, including spend hours and hours of time with mothers I don't particularly care for, in the hopes that he would show some signs of life and interact.  I give up. It's his life, yes? or no? Should I keep trying?  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Fed up, Balboa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Fed,&lt;/span&gt; Trying what? Pretending you like people so he can learn to have pretend friends, too?  Leave him alone. There's no need for everybody to be a social butterfly.  Unless of course, you suspect that instead of a placid pool, you are raising a time bomb with a very silent tick, what's the big deal??  There are worse things a 14 year old boy could be doing besides reading, unless of course he's reading about those things, which still isn't that much to write home about.  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114789873217218032?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114789873217218032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114789873217218032&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114789873217218032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114789873217218032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/hang-dog-boy.html' title='Hang Dog Boy'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114781013122449408</id><published>2006-05-16T14:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.737-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wild Girl</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; My mother's aunt's goddaughter Lena is wild. She's always running with the boys, and has a reputation. The father has tried locking her in her room but she is expert with a picklock and has no fear of heights. The mother prays constantly, and everyone berates her, but it does no good. Lena is the most defiant person I have ever met. What can anyone do?  &lt;em&gt;Concerned, Center Moriches&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Concerned,&lt;/em&gt; IF the child in question is under eighteen, berating, incarceration, deprivation and certain varieties of punishment are all worthy tools, as are heart to hearts, see how much we love yous and reverse psychologies.  However the mistake is thinking that these are going to be effective in the short term. They are not.These are long term strategies. The truly wild child, if they survive,  grows up and nine times out of ten, turns into a stricter parent than their parents ever dreamed of being.  If you are talking about an over eighteen year old, there is nothing to be done. However,it is best to keep in mind that no rule of any sort requires that you fund activities that disturb you. &lt;em&gt; God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114781013122449408?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114781013122449408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114781013122449408&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114781013122449408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114781013122449408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/wild-girl.html' title='Wild Girl'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114761891090165929</id><published>2006-05-14T10:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.668-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back stabbing, Part 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; I wish to take out my betrayer. Please advise. &lt;em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; Still Furious, Malaga&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Mal, &lt;/em&gt;,  All you need is a heart of reinforced steel.   Once you go down this road,the one who prevails is the one who shows no mercy. You must be willing to pursue your vengeance with a single minded determination, the kind that chews up asphalt, mows down any obstacle and pays no attention to weeping children or limping dogs along the way. IF you can summon up a no regrets resolve, then pretty much  it doesn't matter what you do, you can ask your betrayer to pass the salt, and she will feel dread.  She will know that you are willing to lie, steal, damage, poison anything of value to her and will be unable to have a completely peaceful moment until she breathes her last or makes amends, sobbing at your feet. &lt;br /&gt;And yet this power is like acid, burns the container too.  My uncle's best man Rolly was betrayed when his brother Lou told their mother that Rolly had, against her wishes, dated a person who was, shall we say, different.  The mother cut Rolly dead. Rolly made it his business to make Lou's life after that a living hell.  The two of them went to early graves, they died of heart attacks a week apart. The mother buried them both, and ended up living in an old age home that smelled of wet cats with no one to visit her. It wasn't pretty. &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna &lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114761891090165929?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114761891090165929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114761891090165929&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114761891090165929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114761891090165929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/back-stabbing-part-2.html' title='Back stabbing, Part 2'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114752726671726278</id><published>2006-05-13T08:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.589-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Family Health</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; How can I tell if my family is healthy?  You hear so many stories of people thinking everything is OK, then Kaboom, this one does themself harm, or that one tells everyone off, then disappears. Like my cousin Rodella's son's girlfriend's aunt, who everyone thought was with the program, until one day, she came home with a tattoo displayed prominently over her left bazoomba stating YOU WISH and blew town with a biker boyfriend.  No one saw it coming. Is this preventable? Was there anything anyone could have done? &lt;em&gt; Anxious, Ocean City&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Anxious,&lt;/em&gt; Family health is not easy to determine because a family is composed of individuals, who for some reason known only to heaven, are not identical. The same family that is healthy for one is poison to another. The only answer I can give to your first question is the same one the dentist gave me, when I asked him if he thought my wisdom teeth might be impacted.  He said, when they are you won't have to ask.  As for the tattoed biker chick, who knows? People run off for all sorts of reasons, some of them good, some of them bad.  &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114752726671726278?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114752726671726278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114752726671726278&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114752726671726278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114752726671726278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/family-health_114752726671726278.html' title='Family Health'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114748243519722401</id><published>2006-05-12T19:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.351-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back Stabbing</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt; My best friend from across the street, my so called &lt;em&gt;I swear  I'll never tell, on my mother's life, you can trust me,lying through her teeth &lt;/em&gt; is a complete back stabber. She told a dead secret of mine, and now my reputation is ruined, my  marriage is in a shambles and mostly likely I will lose my job. The B*** excuse my French is looking to take my place all sympathy with my husband, and ready to talk me down at any chance. How can I make her pay? &lt;em&gt;Furious, Malaga&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Mal&lt;/em&gt;, You have two choices. Forget it, and move on. I don't mean you ever have to talk to your betrayer, or even wish her well, I mean don't obsess. Or you can take her out.  There is no in between. Consider very carefully before you take her out. How far are you willing to go? Jail time? Large amounts of payments that you may lose in a civil suit, the pity of your friends if it doesn't go well?&lt;br /&gt;Even if it does go well, there can be blow back.Sympathy goes to the latest victim, and you might even discover you have a conscience which gives you remorse, although that's a waste, you still can be hamstrung by it. The other way is healthier all around. Think about it and let me know which way you want to handle this and we'll take it from there. &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna &lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114748243519722401?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114748243519722401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114748243519722401&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114748243519722401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114748243519722401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/back-stabbing.html' title='Back Stabbing'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114738658302874443</id><published>2006-05-11T17:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.275-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Can you believe this one?</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt;  My father's sister's husband's cousin's oldest daughter has four children, three of them are the spitting image of the father, like three dumplings, brown eyes, brown hair, the same schnozzola, which is sort of a pity for the girl, although it didn't keep her from making a good match, who is no prize himself in the looks department, but makes a nice living,and would walk through fire for her. However The fourth and youngest child looks like no one else. Blonde as can be,thin and fair, and legs three miles long.  What do you think? Is it really their daughter?  &lt;em&gt;  &lt;em&gt;Suspicious,&lt;/em&gt; Coram&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Suspicious,&lt;/em&gt; Do they act like she is? Then she is, end of story. &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114738658302874443?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114738658302874443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114738658302874443&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114738658302874443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114738658302874443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/can-you-believe-this-one.html' title='Can you believe this one?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114730379546060752</id><published>2006-05-10T18:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.176-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Everything is crazy</title><content type='html'>Sometimes people say to me, &lt;em&gt;Madrone, everything is crazy&lt;/em&gt;. By which they mean, somethings aren't the way they expect them to be. Like this lady who writes me from  Floral Park: Dear Madrone, &lt;em&gt;Everything is crazy.&lt;/em&gt; My son just graduated from nursing school and my daughter hauls bricks for a long distance trucking company. Where did I go wrong?  &lt;em&gt;Topsy Turvey&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Turvey&lt;/em&gt;, Unless I am missing something, you haven't gone wrong. Unless  you are hiding something, I don't know what your problem is. Are your children healthy? Do they support themselves? Are they jerks? If you can answer  yes, yes, no, than you have done about a good a job as any mother living or dead. Get a grip.  &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114730379546060752?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114730379546060752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114730379546060752&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114730379546060752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114730379546060752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/everything-is-crazy.html' title='Everything is crazy'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114722902621176447</id><published>2006-05-09T21:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.103-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What did I tell you?</title><content type='html'>What did I tell you a million times about getting in between a person and their mother? This person doesn't understand that there are no exceptions to this rule. I mean really. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Madrone, My youngest brother is like a king in our home. He doesn't lift a finger and expects the world to be brought to him on a carpet.  The rest of us slave like dogs, bring our mother to the doctors, run ourselves ragged, only to listen to what a pearl the no good is.  When we speak up, our mother says we're jealous, he deserves the best. But he wouldn't walk across the street to pick her up even if she were lying in the gutter.  Worse, she gives him everything we give her. Everything. Which he gladly takes like he's doing her a favor. How long can this go on?  &lt;em&gt;Despairing, Lost River &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Lost,&lt;/em&gt;  It will go on as long as your mother wants it to go on. What did I tell you? There is nothing you can do. Oh you probably want some magic formula, but there is none. Your mother is a doormat for her youngest son, who has no shame about walking on her. Good or bad she has her reasons. Short of declaring her legally incompetent, you have nothing to say about who she gives what, and that's that. &lt;br /&gt;Interfere at your own peril.  &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114722902621176447?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114722902621176447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114722902621176447&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114722902621176447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114722902621176447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/what-did-i-tell-you.html' title='What did I tell you?'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114712073653143968</id><published>2006-05-08T15:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:53.025-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Nine Times Out of Ten...</title><content type='html'>Oh there's more:&lt;br /&gt; Nine times out of ten, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the disaster that you think of ISN'T the disaster that happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the thing you worry that you forgot to do, you did, but you don't even think about the thing you actually forgot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the person you bent over backwards for holds it against you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the money you spent trying to make someone love you makes them resent you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the bad thing that happens has unexpected good results&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the good thing that you got also came with  side effects you didn't count on and don't want&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114712073653143968?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114712073653143968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114712073653143968&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114712073653143968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114712073653143968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/nine-times-out-of-ten_08.html' title='Nine Times Out of Ten...'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114704774936470853</id><published>2006-05-07T19:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.950-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Nine Times Out of Ten....</title><content type='html'>Nine times out of ten, when people say they want you to be honest, they don't.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114704774936470853?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114704774936470853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114704774936470853&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114704774936470853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114704774936470853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/nine-times-out-of-ten_07.html' title='Nine Times Out of Ten....'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114685995426049196</id><published>2006-05-05T15:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.877-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Nine Times Out of Ten</title><content type='html'>Nine times out of ten, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.You don't get money back when you lend it to family.&lt;br /&gt;2. The person you don't want to hear what you said behind their back hears it&lt;br /&gt;3. The day you call in sick to go to the sales at National Liquidators even though you NEVER do it and probably won't again, is the day that the big boss comes around to inspect. &lt;br /&gt;4. Your children will grow up and do all the things they swore they'd never do when they had children of their own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is more.  This is just some of what you can count on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114685995426049196?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114685995426049196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114685995426049196&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114685995426049196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114685995426049196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/nine-times-out-of-ten.html' title='Nine Times Out of Ten'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114677743575513876</id><published>2006-05-04T16:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.794-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Warning: Avoid the crepe hanger</title><content type='html'>Listen up.. crepe hangers are not worth your time. Avoid them.&lt;br /&gt;Now you may ask me, &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Madrone, what if I am related to one, or married to one, or someone I am married to is related to one or someone I am related to is married to one? What do you suggest I do then?&lt;/span&gt; Well, one part is easy, nobody broke your arm to marry did they?  If you'd listened to me in the first place and avoided the crepe hanger, you wouldn't be filing the joint tax return now. But if you're related to one, there are two options..Avoid, and take the heat from the others who do not understand, or Put up with, and be aggravated. When the aggravation you feel outweighs the heat you will get from other family, then you will act. Now there are ways of avoiding, some better than others, to be discussed later. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS- A crepe hanger is the kind of person who, even if you meet them on a sunny day with a $1000  from the lucky four scratch off instant lotto in your pocket, you end up going home thinking about skin cancer and the bite the government is going to take out of your winnings.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114677743575513876?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114677743575513876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114677743575513876&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114677743575513876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114677743575513876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/warning-avoid-crepe-hanger.html' title='Warning: Avoid the crepe hanger'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114669491599078043</id><published>2006-05-03T17:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.713-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pity</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone, &lt;/span&gt;why do you have such a stake up your butt about pity? I pity you. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Kind hearted, Los Angeles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Los, &lt;/span&gt;I, however, do not pity you back. I will, after answering this letter, ignore you, and that's about that. What good does your pity do for me? Nothing. It only serves to make you feel good about yourself, but for nothing, which is why you are wasting your time. IF I put any stock in pity I would be sorry for you using up your precious minutes on this instead  of   knitting mittens or buying a lottery ticket. Something useful.&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114669491599078043?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114669491599078043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114669491599078043&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114669491599078043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114669491599078043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/pity.html' title='Pity'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114659798881723492</id><published>2006-05-02T13:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.473-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Shots...... I tell you #2</title><content type='html'>With big shots, it all depends, are these cousins, with a small c or Cousins with a capital C or COUSINS, all caps, which probabably means their mother and father are sister and brother to your father and mother. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Small c, you are free to insult or ignore- the only heat you'll get is from them, and that is only if they actually register your existence. People like that usually don't know other people breathe. Everyone else will understand.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Capital C means you have to see them every week at the barbecue, the only way you can avoid them is not going, but that's cutting off your nose to spite your face. Short of open warfare, which is sometimes called for, but not for this penny ante stuff, you can take measures.  Under no circumstances try to do them one better, you can't. Instead confine yourself to this one comment, every time. :&lt;strong&gt; You are the luckiest, smartest, bravest, thriftiest&lt;/strong&gt;- pick whatever adjective applies to the circumstance- &lt;strong&gt;people I have ever heard of.  Madonna, I hope you are wearing a little red ribbon.&lt;/strong&gt; Trust me, after a while they will stop. But you have to say it like you mean it. This will make them nervous. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ALL CAPITALS- You are stuck with these people, no matter what.  The only way you can break from them is amputation. If they're gangrene, by any means, you cut them out of your life.   Just be sure it's &lt;em&gt;an arm or a leg your cutting out, not a heart or a liver.   &lt;/em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114659798881723492?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114659798881723492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114659798881723492&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114659798881723492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114659798881723492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/big-shots-i-tell-you-2.html' title='Big Shots...... I tell you #2'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114651281847364467</id><published>2006-05-01T14:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.394-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Big Shots........You tell me #2</title><content type='html'>Ok, what would you do with this one?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone&lt;/span&gt;, my cousins are always shooting off their mouths about this car they bought and that vacation they took, and how much their children give them and how great a deal they got on this or that high priced item. I have not the faintest idea how they afford all that, the husband works in a shirt factory, or so he says, but I don't see no shirts. Well he could work in a hundred shirt factories, if I have to listen to one more story, I will have to do damage...how can I get them to shut up?  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Frantic, Altamount&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114651281847364467?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114651281847364467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114651281847364467&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114651281847364467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114651281847364467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/05/big-shotsyou-tell-me-2.html' title='Big Shots........You tell me #2'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114641348787579337</id><published>2006-04-30T11:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.322-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Beware of Onesy Onesy</title><content type='html'>Onesy Onesy is a dangerous game. It goes like this. Your wifey makes a comment about your mother's gravy, compares it unfavorably to the starchy crapola purchased at the local A&amp;P.  You take this without comment, but later that night, you mention in passing that the last time you had dinner at with your inlaws, you practically had to beg for helpings, they are so stingy with portions,how on earth could your family be so flabby. Then the wife hits you up with a comment about the water bill being paid late, just like the way your brother always returns the lawnmower needing gas. To which you reply at least he mows his lawn, which is a slap at her sister who the wife can't deny  has a disgraceful amount of dandelions on her front lawn, only it isn't  your place to point it out. AND SO IT GOES.  Trust me, if you don't stop it, it ends with gunplay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114641348787579337?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114641348787579337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114641348787579337&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114641348787579337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114641348787579337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/beware-of-onesy-onesy.html' title='Beware of Onesy Onesy'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114633328032515119</id><published>2006-04-29T12:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.242-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sticky Fingers....................I Tell You #1</title><content type='html'>Ok, If you said she should rat out the person in question you were right....&lt;br /&gt;AND wrong.  Because according to the rules of family, unless of course, she was stealing from yours, let's assume not, since nothing was said in the letter, you can go either way on this, it doesn't make any  real difference to anyone but you.  So you could just decide to MYOB, who asked you, you don't know the whole story, why get involved, let it be.  Or you can confront directly and say, I know what you're up to quit it or I'm turning you in I don't recommend this, too complicated, and really namby pamby. Besides you can't talk people into being honest.  Or if you bring in the heat, you can either play dumb when people wonder who called the gendarmes or say directly I called the cops, she's a disgrace bringing up my taxes. All of these options are equally fine: do whatever lets you sleep at night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114633328032515119?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114633328032515119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114633328032515119&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114633328032515119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114633328032515119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/sticky-fingersi-tell-you-1.html' title='Sticky Fingers....................I Tell You #1'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114625062207784397</id><published>2006-04-28T13:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.158-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Sticky Fingers..............You Tell Me #1</title><content type='html'>Ok all of you, I know what's what, but I can't be there all the time when this or that happens, and you need to rely on your own savvy, which some of you, we all admit, have in short supply. But hey, I'll be a big shot and lend you a hand.  Here's the question, you think what you should do with it, and I'll tell you  whether you know how to act like you were raised right.  (Now I'm not saying you weren't, please this isn't about your mother, it's about you, I keep my own rules, at least most of the time.) How do you advise the poor schmoe who asks me this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/span&gt; I am in a pickle.My girlfriend's best friend's cousin has sticky fingers. I mean we can't go to the store, to a restaurant that something doesn't walk out with her that didn't walk in.  Now I'm not a saint, and I have been known to stash the odd packet of Equal from the diner and who doesn't take conditioner and shampoo from the motel, even if you didn't open it, everyone knows they throw those out if you don't.But this one's a real prize, I've seen her lift an entire wardrobe, include matching underwear and co-ordinating press ons.  No one says boo to her, her father is on the job.  But this can't be right. Should I rat her out?  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Honestly concerned, Philly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114625062207784397?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114625062207784397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114625062207784397&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114625062207784397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114625062207784397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/sticky-fingersyou-tell-me-1.html' title='Sticky Fingers..............You Tell Me #1'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114615499765358534</id><published>2006-04-27T11:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.086-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Meaning of Trinacria</title><content type='html'>The Trinacria is the symbol of Sicily. It's Medusa in the middle, and for your information, Medusa has been given a bum rap- she's always the bad guy in the stories they tell the kids, but believe me she's not. Which isn't to say that she couldn't turn you to stone, but that's not the whole story.  The legs stand for the three corners of  the island, but also could stand for kick butt, kick up your heels, and alive and kicking.  Or kick off, kick the bucket or kick in the slats. Take your pick.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS- Medusa is just PO-ed, and she has a right to be.  Look it up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114615499765358534?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114615499765358534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114615499765358534&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114615499765358534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114615499765358534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/meaning-of-trinacria.html' title='Meaning of Trinacria'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114605665654796755</id><published>2006-04-26T08:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:52.010-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Trinacria</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/427/2090/1600/trinacrialg.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/427/2090/320/trinacrialg.0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To Be Explained.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114605665654796755?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114605665654796755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114605665654796755&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114605665654796755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114605665654796755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/trinacria.html' title='The Trinacria'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114605637632078666</id><published>2006-04-26T07:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.929-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Move on.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/span&gt; I have done a terrible thing. My cousin's best friend was going out with someone I had my eye on.  So I told him that said person was cheating on him.  A nasty fight ensued, the relationship went in the dumper, they both married other people and the marriages, I must say were not happy. &lt;br /&gt;One marrige was recently profiled on the front page of the Daily News and the other has given plenty of work to the reporters on Court TV.  I am so sorry for what I did. Is there any way I can make up for it?  &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; Regretful, Regency Park&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Ful,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Forgeddaboudit.  Nothing you can do. What did I tell you about regret, waste of time.  Let me ask you, did you learn anything?  Well you should have, even if it was just that lying is hardly ever the way to go, although sometimes it is.  Not in this case. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS-Liars annoy me, but sometimes agita is just the price you have to pay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114605637632078666?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114605637632078666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114605637632078666&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114605637632078666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114605637632078666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/move-on.html' title='Move on.'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114599161821999606</id><published>2006-04-25T13:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.702-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Free Show</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/span&gt;  My next door neighbor's daughter wears the skimpiest  dresses, you can practically see her hoosis, and her girls might as well be uncovered, for all the protection and support she gets from her clothes.  This is disgusting.  How can I suggest to her mother that she should cover up? &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Blushing in Flushing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Dear Blushing&lt;/span&gt; First off, you sound like someone whose son, or husband, why not, is enjoying the sights a little too much.  Be that as it may, you suggest to the mother she cover up by going over and saying I think your daughter should cover up. What you really want to know is if there is any way to make this suggestion without making war with the family next door, well you can't. Because no matter if the mother says I know I know, you'll be breaking rule #1 by suggesting to a mother she doesn't know how to raise her own child.  So decide which is more aggravating.   The free show or bad blood with your neighbors. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114599161821999606?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114599161821999606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114599161821999606&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114599161821999606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114599161821999606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/free-show.html' title='Free Show'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114592671648544412</id><published>2006-04-24T19:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.627-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The big deal about sex</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone&lt;/em&gt;, what's the big deal about sex? &lt;em&gt; Bamboozled, Boise, Idaho&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dear Bamboozled,&lt;/em&gt; Idaho huh?  Well first you do not say whether you have had any first hand aquaintaince with the topic, that's one answer.  IF you HAVE any actual experience, and just didn't find it all that appealing, that's another.  I will answer in general, since you do not indicate why you ask.  As far as families are concerned, in the old days, sex was the only way you could make new people for the new families. So THAT was the big deal.  These days, if people aren't growing on trees, they will be soon, so sex gets to be more of a hobby, like knitting or model railroads, and you know how crazy people can get about their model railroads.  &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114592671648544412?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114592671648544412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114592671648544412&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114592671648544412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114592671648544412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/big-deal-about-sex.html' title='The big deal about sex'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114581312630722462</id><published>2006-04-23T12:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.554-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Spare me!</title><content type='html'>Here's something I wish to be spared- listening to idiots complain about things that can't be helped. For example, it's raining.  Can you help this? No.  Or the sun is too hot. Can you help this? No. Either way, you get an umbrella, problem solved. Many things in life are like this.  I woke up this morning, listening to some jamoke on the radio actually having a conversations with some other palooka talking about making laws to decree what is or what isn't a family.  Look, I'm as traditional as the next person, more traditional. I'm so traditional you can set entire calendars by the rules I follow.  But I know better than to beat my head against a wall. But here I am annoying myself, complaining about stupidity which has been around a long time, and doesn't seem to be going anywhere fast.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114581312630722462?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114581312630722462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114581312630722462&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114581312630722462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114581312630722462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/spare-me.html' title='Spare me!'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114558121829395873</id><published>2006-04-20T19:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.481-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Garter Belts and  the perfect world</title><content type='html'>Something to consider:   It will not be a perfect world until men can wear garter belts the same way women can wear pants: Which is to say if they feel like it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114558121829395873?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114558121829395873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114558121829395873&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114558121829395873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114558121829395873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/garter-belts-and-perfect-world.html' title='Garter Belts and  the perfect world'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114553484905383601</id><published>2006-04-20T07:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.414-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Another thing that annoys me</title><content type='html'>Backstabbers&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114553484905383601?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114553484905383601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114553484905383601&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114553484905383601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114553484905383601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/another-thing-that-annoys-me.html' title='Another thing that annoys me'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114544721578655665</id><published>2006-04-19T06:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.339-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life is not fair</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/em&gt;   I buy the lotto every week, faithfully since I was twelve.  I play every lucky number, I pay attention to my dreams, and have promised half my winnings will go to the church.  Nothing, Nada, I don't even come close.   The lady down the street, who is not the nicest person in the world, plus her front lawn is scattered with the toys of her unruly children and the neighborhood stinks from the droppings of the dog she doesn't leash, SHE hits the powerball yesterday for 150 million.  And I just saw on the TV that this is the only time she's ever played, "bought the ticket on a whim."   I am gnashing my teeth. Is this fair? &lt;em&gt;Shaking my fist, Port Jarvis &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Fist,&lt;/em&gt;  My advice is to unclench that fist, and go get yourself a cup of coffee and a nice anisette to dunk and let it go. The answer to the question you asked is no. The answer to the question you didn't ask is that nobody deserves anything, not the good stuff that happens to them, not the bad.  It's just what happens.  If you think that it actually MEANS something, that you can act a certain way to get a certain thing, good luck with that. &lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114544721578655665?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114544721578655665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114544721578655665&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114544721578655665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114544721578655665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/life-is-not-fair.html' title='Life is not fair'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114536468470603674</id><published>2006-04-18T07:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.271-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Whining</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,  &lt;/span&gt;My boyfriend is a doll face. However, his family whines. All the time. As if the good Lord himself had added an eighth day to creation, just to invent aggravation for them alone. The weather, the cost of sausage, the quality of the plastic with which they protect the couches that they paid an arm and a leg for but weren't worth it. The  doctors that  prescribe them medicine that they take but does them no good.  They don't complain, complaining would mean some backbone, which they do not possess.   I love my boyfriend, but his family is already driving me out of my mind.  Is this grounds for breaking up?  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Enough already,  Marina Park&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Enough,  &lt;/span&gt;Tough one.   It doesn't sound so good from here.  I mean, you are already writing for advice, and he hasn't  yet coughed  up  the ring.  Unless you think he is sincerely ready to make a break with the old ways and form a new, more content family with you.  In which case, it might be worth a shot.  In that case, ask yourself , can you refrain from whining to him about his family? Because can either  join  in,  or resent. Either way you're in a fix.   And remember, you will never be free of his family, even if you live a thousand miles away.   &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114536468470603674?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114536468470603674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114536468470603674&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114536468470603674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114536468470603674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/whining.html' title='Whining'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114529703120749471</id><published>2006-04-17T12:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.197-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Heat</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Madrone,&lt;/span&gt; you're always mentioning the heat. What exactly do you mean by it?? &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Curious, Santa Ana&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Curious,  &lt;/span&gt;It's whatever bothers you. Some people don't like being put in handcuffs and hauled away to do time. Other people can't stand it if their next door neighbor, who just moved in and they don't know them from Adam, gives them a look because of the dandelions on the front lawn going to seed.   No matter what sets it off, it's ALWAYS better to face it up front, or it comes around later to bite you. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114529703120749471?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114529703120749471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114529703120749471&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114529703120749471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114529703120749471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/heat.html' title='The Heat'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20747389.post-114521274312931800</id><published>2006-04-16T13:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T12:34:51.126-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I repeat myself</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Dear Readers,&lt;/em&gt; I have been given gas on the previous subject, but I repeat myself. It is a very common mistake to mix up families and religion. Most of you are thinking about going to church, or temple, or mosque, or whatever, with your kids. That is a good thing to do,  helps with all the lessons you want them to learn like being nice to other  people, and being honest, and in general cleaning up after yourself when you make a mess. If more families could follow that, then life would be simpler all around.   This is an entirely different thing than believing a religion.  Now I mean no disrespect to people who actually BELIEVE in a religion, whatever it is,and by believe I mean practice it,which if you're being honest at all, you can say that very few people do.    Those people let gothe things of this earth, which means NOT putting food on the table for your babies, or having parties for your father when he turns 80, or driving a nice, safe car with air bags and a really good child seat, and making cookies for the PTA or working overtime to pay for the braces.   Those things are what family is about...taking care of each other, as best you can.  Religion is all about letting someone else worry about those things.  Next time you're in church, look around  see if anyone around you is dressed in lily petals, or eating worms.   &lt;em&gt;God bless, Donna&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20747389-114521274312931800?l=dcorleone.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/feeds/114521274312931800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20747389&amp;postID=114521274312931800&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114521274312931800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20747389/posts/default/114521274312931800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dcorleone.blogspot.com/2006/04/i-repeat-myself.html' title='I repeat myself'/><author><name>The Madrone</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12915782564352582199</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
