This would be a good caricature of the face that glowers at me when I've "misbehaved" and questioned authority.
Add the pointing finger of an earlier post, and you've pretty much got the dominating, male authority figure that drives me up the wall and brings out my rebellious nature. Story of my life.
And here's my rebellious wildebeest side. I was once nicknamed "Wilda" by my co-workers. Now you know why.
6 comments:
Oh, that bird's face is PERFECT!! We only think we're different from animals! Print that and put it on the fridge to show to George the next time he does his perfect imitation! LOL!! I have to laugh it's so perfect!
Today Libby and Byron have had minor conflict over which color to paint the house. Let's face it. Byron does NOT have good color sense and is picking a green that has more gray/blue tones than yellow and the 70's stone work which is gaggy enough has yellow tones to it so this won't be a good choice in my opinion and Lib's. What I am discovering about myself is that I cannot now tolerate conflict however mild, even over paint colors. I have to retreat to bed and feel a valium calling. So what is that all about? I am sooo tired of what seems to be men bullying and women having to either defend, sounding like a shrew, or shut up. So it's not just about Carlos in Mexico, but the conflict he represents. I try to give him a simple instruction on putting Knox gelatin in the homemade yogurt and he interrupts to try to let me know he already knows everything (which he does not!), and I just want to leave or get my shotgun. Was Mom upset all the time over conflict with Dad like I'm getting to be? Who is the person in the family who can handle conflict without getting upset or retreating? Juancho? Is it you?
Me? F*ck no, don't look to me. I'd paint the house black. Besides, I can carry a grudge as far as it needs carried, for as long as I must. Not a good trait.
Ah, a nephew after my own heart! I've been carrying a grudge against the Whalen family for nigh on to 13 years. I rise above it, and it sucks me down again and again.
I think P's don't hold grudges because we pretty much live in the future so it's not the grudge that eats me but the in-the-moment conflict.
I woke up this morning and realized that I'm going back to Merida this week instead of bypassing it and going straight to Florida. With Walt is where I "feel I belong," punishment as it can be. I had a little conversation in my head with Mom and Dad, and they were puzzled about why I would go back to Florida now and leave him to pack up my stuff, take care of my dog, and with no way of getting his hands on money because I hold the ATM card. It feels right that I go back and do my thing on the road with him instead of sitting in the house alone in Florida.
Being an ENTP seems to mean doing things the hard way to keep my frantic mind stilled. I swear I should've been a pioneer woman, crossing the country in a covered wagon, setting up housekeeping in a sod house with flour sacks for improvising an endless number of necessities and with my shotgun at the ready to keep the wolves from the door and the men in line.
When you think about, that is pretty much what you do.
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