Friday, April 30, 2010

comparison essay revised

After working in the casino business for a few years, I’ve come to find how much the slot machines compare to my boyfriend. They’re equally amusing and fun to play with; they’re both very complex in their makeup and each one of them can either make or break me as far as money is concerned.

While the slot machines have all their bright lights and interactive play with bonuses and free spins, my boyfriend is just as fun and entertaining. Although I don’t have to put money in him to get him to engage in recreation, he still makes me happy and leaves me with a smile. He has such a dry sense of humor so I love when he tries to get a rise out of me by walking around the kitchen with his pants cranked up under his arm pits like Steve Urkle. It’s hysterical because he’s 6’3”and it’s so out of character for him to do stuff like this, but he knows I get a kick out if it, so he does it anyway. In fact, he’ll do anything to get a smile out of me.

The slot machines and my boyfriend are equally difficult to analyze with the considerable amount of parts that make them up. Both of them are very complex in nature because you never know what kind of reaction or behavior you’ll get from either of them on any given day. My boyfriend has a big heart and is very kind but he is also super smart and kind of eccentric. He’s the guy that observes and doesn’t say too much unless it’s about politics…..don’t get me started! You’d think with his long hair, beard and motorcycle, he’d be cussing and fighting when in all actuality, he’s very laid back and reserved until someone pisses him off. He can hold a grudge for a very, very long time.

If I allowed it, the slot machine, like my boyfriend could take me to the cleaners. I need to be careful and responsible when it comes to how much I’m going to give so I can control my bank roll. My boyfriend would give me the world if he could; he is always trying to do nice things for me. I have found out over the years, he’s a bit more of a spend-thrift than I am. His philosophy is you can’t take it with you…which makes me crazy. Unintentionally, he’s kind of sapped me out of funds during the remodel but I guess I allowed it to happen. On a positive note, the house will make me so it’s ok I went for broke in this particular case.

I’ve found the similarities between my boyfriend and the slot machines uncanny but it’s my boyfriend that wins me over every time. Although he’s a complicated guy, he means well and will protect me with his life. Along with the Urkle pants and the “kitty cat talking voice” he uses while chatting with our cats, I couldn’t ask for a more fun loving guy.

comparison essay

After working in the casino business for a few years, I’ve come to find how much the slot machines compare to my boyfriend. They’re equally amusing and fun to play with; they’re both very complex in their makeup and each one of them can either make or break you money wise.

While the slot machines have all their bright lights and interactive play with bonuses and free spins, my boyfriend is just as fun and entertaining. Although I don’t have to put money in him to get him to engage in recreation, he still makes me happy and leaves me with a smile.

The slot machines and my boyfriend are equally difficult to analyze with the considerable amount of parts that make them up. Both of them are very complex in nature because you never know what kind of reaction or behavior you’ll get from either of them on any given day.

If I allowed it, the slot machine, like my boyfriend could take me to the cleaners. I need to be careful and responsible when it comes to how much I’m going to give so I can control my bank roll.

I’ve found the similarities between my boyfriend and the slot machines uncanny but it’s my boyfriend that wins me over every time.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Example essay revised

After my parents divorced when I was 7, I lived with my mother until I was a teen. I ended up moving in with my dad and step mother just after my 14th birthday because I wanted to change schools. My stepmother had 2 boys from her previous marriage that lived with my dad, too. Actually, I grew up with these boys because when I visited my dad on weekends they were always there. Also, before the divorce, my step mother was my mother’s best friend. At one point, our families were inseparable and did everything together; then my step mother decided she wanted my dad and she won. Needless to say I harbored immense hatred and contempt for my step mother for apparent reasons; but she actually gave me a few others I’ll share with you.

My step mother got great enjoyment making fun of me and calling me names. Anytime I’d put make up on, especially eye shadow, she’d tell me I looked like a clown or how bad of a job it did applying it. She loved to tell me I looked fat or sleazy and actually threw out my favorite pair of Levis!! These jeans were worn and torn just the way I wanted and it had taken years to get them like that! I couldn’t believe the audacity! Whenever I’d lay out by the pool on my stomach with my bikini top unhooked, she’ d walk by my lawn chair and spew nasty things like you little slut, or you such a whore, etc…Our driveway was a ½ mile long and the house was in a secluded area, we had NO neighbors around to even see me!!!!! Visions of drowning her sorry ass in that pool crossed my mind more than once.

Not only did she make fun of me, she was a vicious liar about it. Whenever I would tell dad about these little incidents and she would cry and tell him it was MY fault, that I was the one that said all those mean things and hurt her feelings. One time she told dad I came home drunk from school and came after her with a knife telling her I was going to kill her while calling her every name in the book. The boys were always home after school at the same time I was, there was no way in hell I would have ever been able to get away with that. But her emotions were so believable and she was so good at manipulating him, dad sided with her on this one.

Dealing with the name calling, and the lying made life at that house a living hell. The worst part was her triumphant attitude after it was all said and done; especially when she was turning my own dad against me. She loved nothing more than to look at me with that smirk on her face knowing she won the game, again. Her smug demeanor and deliberate provocation toward me was relentless. It’s a wonder I didn’t burn the house down with her in it.

I only had to endure her crap for a couple years because once I graduated my junior year of high school, I was out of there. I’m not going to say I didn’t give this woman shit, because I went way out of my way to make her life a living hell. I always told her she’d be haunted for the rest of her life for what she did to my mother. Years have gone by and occasionally she does cross my mind. I can only hope the ole proverb “what comes around, goes around” has found its way into her life.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Example essay

After my parents divorced when I was 7, I lived with my mother until I was a teen. I ended up moving in with my dad and step mother just after my 14th birthday because I wanted to change schools. My stepmother had 2 boys from her previous marriage that lived with my dad, too. Actually, I grew up with these boys because when I visited my dad on weekends they were always there. Also, before the divorce, my step mother was my mother’s best friend. At one point our families were inseparable and did everything together then my step mother decided she wanted my dad and she won. Needless to say I harbored immense hatred and contempt for my step mother for apparent reasons; but she actually gave me a few others I’ll share with you.

After I moved in, I noticed she treated me way different than the boys. They didn’t have to lift a finger and I was treated like her new built in maid. Funny thing is, the boys and I were practically the same age and they didn’t even know how to load a dishwasher! I had a chore list like Cinderella and was busting my ass while they fucked off all the time. Needless to say, that little arrangement didn’t last long, I had those boys doing laundry and vacuuming within a month.

Another thing she loved to do was fuck with my head. Whenever I’d enter a room, she’d immediately stop talking; especially when she had all her friends over. She knew how to push my buttons and this little game she played really pissed me off. Not only would they stop talking, they’d all watch my every move and whisper between themselves. Then the giggling would start and it would make me feel so self conscience I wanted to crawl under a rock. How immature and disrespectful for adults to behave this way, I wanted to bash her in the head.

My step mother also got great enjoyment making fun of me and calling me names. Anytime I’d put make up on, especially eye shadow, she’d tell me I looked like a clown or how bad of a job it did applying it. She loved to tell me I looked fat or sleazy and actually threw out my favorite pair of Levis!! These jeans were worn and torn just the way I wanted and it had taken years to get them like that! I couldn’t believe the audacity! Whenever I’d lay out by the pool on my stomach with my bikini top unhooked, she’ d walk by my lawn chair and spew nasty things like you little slut, or you such a whore, etc…Our driveway was a ½ mile long and the house was in a secluded area, we had NO neighbors around to even see me!!!!! Visions of drowning her sorry ass in that pool crossed my mind more than once.

I only had to endure her crap for a couple years because once I graduated my junior year of high school, I was out of there. I’m not going to say I didn’t give this woman shit, because I went way out of my way to make her life a living hell. I always told her she’d be haunted for the rest of her life for what she did to my mother. Years have gone by and occasionally she does cross my mind. I can only hope the ole proverb “what comes around, goes around” has found its way into her life.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

effect essay

When I married my second husband, I thought it was going to be forever. He was a romantic, handsome poet; he’d have flowers sent where I worked; just because. He’d rub my head without me even having to ask; just because. He treated me like a queen, how did I ever deserve a man like him? Yes, I thought he was a keeper until I found out what a cheating whore dog of a man he really was. I should have known, I probably did, but refused to admit it, until the day came I wanted answers. Once I asked that question if he was cheating, my life changed in an instant. The three effects of marrying this unfaithful man resulted in heartbreak, near financial ruin and a very nasty divorce.

When I say heartbreak, I mean heartache, humiliation, paranoia, confusion, hopelessness; the list goes on with the countless waves of emotions you experience after you find out the man you are not only married to but are madly in love with cheats. Infidelity destroys trust and racks havoc on your physical and mental health. I heard from so many people he was messing around, and I was in complete denial. He would come home from work, shower and go out all hours of the night to go see the guys or fix something for a friend. Then one day I asked him flat out, “are you cheating on me” and he replied, “no, it’s not cheating, I love her” I can still vividly remember sliding down the wall in the living room in complete awe feeling like all the life had been expelled from my body at that very second. It was from that moment my life changed dramatically.

After renting for some time, we decided to buy our very own first home. We both had full time jobs; he was working as a maintenance manger (how he’d met the first one) and I worked at the hospital. For obvious reasons, once he told me he was a cheating pig, I threw him out and he did leave. The consequences of not having his income in the household were devastating. I was a scorned woman, I was the one suffering so I figured he’d still pay on the bills since he was the cause of all this disruption, he was the one in the wrong!! That was not the right answer, he did not help pay any of “our” bills and I was spiraling down the drain of financial despair quickly. Hard to believe someone so loving and kind could be such a bastard by not only ripping my heart out, but by continuing to make things worse by sitting back and watching me go bankrupt trying to keep that house afloat.

The day finally came for our day in court. I took that asshole for everything we owned, well as much as I could, or should I say what was left. During the process of the divorce many thing were sold, toys in particular. The boat we used for waterskiing year after year, our snowmobiles and the new/used Harley, gone. I even had a macaw that had to get sold because she wasn’t paid off and I couldn’t afford to pay for her. He bought Tallulah for me as a gift in exchange of work, which he never did. That sucked so bad having to sell my pet because he wasn’t able to follow through on anything. So, yah, I did take him for everything, because I was so angry at the time of the divorce. When we left the court room, and as I was driving out of the parking lot, I nearly ran him and his female lawyer over. I swear to this day he was screwing her, too. Should have seen the look on their faces; priceless.

It has been years since the divorce; I’ve moved on, learned to forgive and forget. I can safely say from experience, if something or someone seems too good to be true, that probably means it isn’t. Listen to your gut before you get emotionally involved and marry an adulterous man; save yourself the pain. It's true time heals, but there are so many other things in life to enjoy rather than wasting your time healing from the pain of a bad marriage.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

division essay revised

I inherited gray hair at an early age and luckily my sister went to cosmetology school to become a stylist. She cut and colored my hair for years until she moved to Florida. Thankfully, before she left, I was introduced to a new hairdresser she’d worked with at another salon. My new stylist knows what I like, listens to my needs and this is very important to me. I always look forward to my visit at the salon because I know I’m in for a treat. My hairdresser is understanding, skilled in her profession and has a great sense of humor.

Whenever I get my hair done, it’s the beginning of a great couple hours. Not only does she know how I loved to have my head and hair touched, she doesn’t mind when I rant about my job or at how pissed I am at Tim. I can tell her how I can’t understand why it has taken him so long to do the remodel or about the anguish I went through when my daughter went missing for a year and half, or about the bullshit I deal with every day at work. She listens and doesn’t judge me because she knows I’m simply venting. She always seems to have the right answer or at least is able to say whatever it might be I need to hear at that moment. She understands we all need someone to talk to once in a while and doesn’t mind lending an ear. On the plus side, when she’s got me in the sink, I do tend to mellow out and become more relaxed throughout the appointment.

When the shampoo and conditioning is done, we head over to the chair. She’ll comb my hair out and get ready for the color and highlights. It astonishes me to this day how she can whip up my color out of nowhere. I know she must have hundreds of clients and yet I’m treated like I’m her one and only. Even if I put a box color on my head, I have to read the instructions over and over and still question myself it I did it right. During the cut, she always asks if I like the length or if I want more off. Most of the time I tell her to do whatever she thinks would look best, or to take off as much as it needs for my hair to be healthy, I completely trust she’ll make it look great, no matter what.

We love to swap stories and tell jokes while I’m sitting in the chair. Last time I was in, she started with the one about the city gal that went to a dude ranch for vacation and the horseback instructor was very handsome. He wore the big ole cowboy hat, cowboy boots; the whole nine. The attraction for each other was mutual and that night after her lesson, they ended up in the sack. After it was all said and done, she left $200.00 on the night stand. He told her she didn’t have to leave a tip; her vacation package was all inclusive. She told him she did need to leave him the money because he needed to go buy himself a pair of cowboy boots that fit. Usually, near the end of my appointment, I’m in tears from laughing so hard because they just keep coming. Some people are born comedians, she happens to be one of them.

My stylist and I have become great friends over the years which make my appointment all the more enjoyable. It’s a time for us to catch up, reminisce and have a few laughs. I not only trust her ability, I trust her to not repeat the things we discuss while I’m in her salon. It’s almost like going to therapy but at a much cheaper hourly rate. She makes me e feel like a million bucks every time I step out of her shop, I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

division essay; what makes a great hair stylist

I inherited gray hair at an early age and luckily my sister went to cosmetology school and became a stylist. She cut and colored my hair for years until she moved to Florida. Thankfully, before she left, my sister introduced me to a new stylist she had worked with at another salon. My new stylist knows what I like, listens to my needs and this is very important to me. I always look forward to my visit at the salon because I know I’m in for a treat. My hairdresser is understanding, skilled in her profession and has a great sense of humor.

Whenever I get my hair done, it’s the beginning of a great couple hours. I absolutely LOVE to have my head and hair touched; I go into a trance each and every time. Once my head goes into the sink and the lathering starts, I’m in heaven. My stylist knows this and makes sure I’m in the sink for as long as possible. Her fingers work magic while the drool runs out of the corner of my mouth.

When the shampoo and conditioning is done, we head over to the chair. She’ll comb my hair out and get ready for the color and highlights. It astonishes me to this day how she can whip up my color out of nowhere. I know she must have hundreds of clients and yet I’m treated like I’m her one and only. Even if I put a box color on my head, I have to read the instructions over and over and still question myself it I did it right. During the cut, she always asks if I like the length or if I want more off. Most of the time I tell her to just do what you do best, I trust your judgment.

We love to swap stories and tell jokes while I’m sitting in that chair; thankfully she owns her own shop. When she gets on a roll and starts swearing like a parrot, I end up with tears streaming down my face from all the laughter. I’ll probably never know where she gets all these jokes, but I sure wish I could tell them the way she does.

My stylist and I have become great friends over the years which make my appointment all the more enjoyable. It’s a time for us to catch up, reminisce and have a few laughs. She makes me feel like a million bucks every time I step out of her shop, I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else.