Dear Grizzly: Evelyn ‘Envious of Everyone Everywhere

My mother is always saying we should count our blessings. 

 

DEAR GRIZZLY: Recently my husband left me for another woman, I don't make enough as a waitress, so I had to move in with mother, who looks after my daughter when I'm working and going to school at night. I drive an old beat-up car and I don't have the time, money, or energy to hang out with my friends on the weekends. My mother is always saying we should count our blessings. Right now, I'm feeling very unblessed and with the holidays coming up, I'm not feeling very thankful either. Have you ever been in my situation?                                

 -- Evelyn ‘Envious of Everyone Everywhere.’

 

DEAR ENVIOUS EVELYN: You asked if I have ever been in your situation. No, can’t say I’ve been married to a man who left me for a woman, and leaving me with a daughter I gave birth to. That would sure be one for my bucket list, now wouldn’t it! If you are asking if I have ever felt sorry for myself … yes … every time I look in the mirror. Once when I did not have any money for shoes, I was feeling sorry for myself, until I met a man at Walmart, in a wheelchair with no feet. I said, “Hey buddy, you got any shoes you ain’t needing anymore.” I learned a lesson that day, ‘…Watch what you say to old dudes in wheelchairs, they will think you’re being a wise guy and chase you out into the parking lot.

You have a mother, who took you in and is supporting you while you work and finish your education and looks after the most precious thing anyone could ever have, a child. You want something to be thankful for this season? Be glad I don't know where you live and come over there and kick your ungrateful butt. Now go tell your mother how much you appreciate her and give your kid a hug.

Signed: Grizzly ‘very grateful’ Gus

 

Dear Grizzly, is written by Gustaf Alford Grizzard, and was created a ways back. If you want nice and sweet advice for your problems - write Dear Abby. If you want someone to tell you like it is, contact ‘Dear Grizzly’ at.www.mdavidlutz.com; email: grizzlyggus@outlook.com; http://Facebook.com/grizzlyggus;

DISCLAIMER: The opinions and comments expressed by Grizzly Gus, are not necessarily those of management. As far as management is concerned, if the State Board of Mental Health saw fit to release him, then let them be responsible. Do not write to Dear Grizzly if you are experiencing really serious problems but seek professional help. Grizzly Gus holds no certifications or training. He is not even qualified to ‘speak’ to anyone, much less give advice: even his poetic license was revoked.

 

 

TIS THE SEASON

 

Here at the Prickly Heat Senior Citizen Trailer Park and Public Boat Launch – overlooking Lake Flaccid, somewhere near Lutz Lake, at the base of Viagra Falls, just outside of Gomer, Florida, is where I live with my pit bulldog, Ginger. The other resident octogenarians have nick-named me Santa Claus. Aside from the snowy beard of white, now stained by chain-smoking and an occasional snack of cheesy nachos with salsa, like ole Sant Nick I too keep a list of all those who are naughty and nice, and I definitely plan to visit all the naughty gals twice. Hey, why is it when Santa Claus ‘♫…knows when you are sleeping ♫ knows when you are awake ♫ knows when you’ve been bad or good ♫ … they write songs about him - when I do it, I get a restraining order!

While I may no longer be lively and quick – the ladies love me because I’ve got a big . . . dingy; that can take six comfortably out to my houseboat. I keep it anchored on the lake.

I am looking forward to a joyous and restful Christmas having just endured the onslaught of relatives residing in my residence and a Black Friday that had me risking life and limb at the shopping mall. My granddaughter made it abundantly clear that her life would end at the tender year of seven, if she did not get an Oopsie Doopsie Queasy Bake Oven for Christmas. I certainly did not want that on my conscience. I enjoy shopping about as much as I relish a visit to the proctologist; both are huge pain in the posterior. Speaking of which, I traveled thousands of miles to pay a visit to my elderly Aunt Louise, who can’t even remember what she had for breakfast let alone remember me. After many hours behind the wheel, sucking back one Red Bull after another, aside from the brief blackouts, I had ample opportunity to think about the true meaning of the holidays. It is all about relationships. For each person they can mean something different, such as an old spinster with her cat, a redneck and his truck, a gangster and a gun, a hillbilly with his cousin, a nerd and his computer, or a hermit with . . . himself. Specifically, I am referring to those relationships we have with our family. It is not the food, or the gifts, but the connection to others which means the most. The more I thought about it, I realized I'd missed the rest stop and had to pull over and hike into the woods to take a wiz. Afterwards, I came to the conclusion we do most everything either for or because of other people. So, as you are dashing through the stores to get a deal on a two hundred inch flat-screen TV or roasting a beast for the family feast, remember in the end, it is the memories that will remain along with all the bills to be paid. Happiest of holidays to you and yours.

 Signed: Grizzly ‘Ho Ho Ho’ Gus

 

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