Wednesday, March 25, 2015

~ Lamenting Lotioning

BBGConfession:  I loathe lotioning.

Pretty much every time I have no choice but to lotion up I find myself thinking, 'it puts the lotion on its skin'.  ( -- James GumbOf course there is a choice.  It's called ashy

When I see advertisements put out by the big moisturizing complex the end user always looks ecstatic over the endeavor.  Meanwhile I just feel a bit bitter.  (Dear Epidermis,  I've already washed and shaved [most of] you.  What the fuck more do you want from me?!?) 

I've tried to make the task as palatable as I can create it.  I've
Sunday @ Nana & Papa's
purchased products that I think are funny.  ...Oh?  You're cocoa scent-y?  A brown girl smellin' like a chocolate bean? HA.  Sold.  Or sentimental.  (Chime-y flashback music)  When I was a Little Brown Girl (LBG) I lived one house away from my Nana and Papa.  I'm just realizing I'm probably the only person I know who grew up with two bedrooms spread over half a block.  I could be either place at any time.  But Sunday evenings I liked to take my bath at Nana and Papa's.  It was a whole thing y'all.  Looking back it was like being at a kid spa.  Nana would git me all squeaky and then like a miniature body builder getting tanned and/or oiled I'd get splashed with Nana's Jean Nate after bath splash, lotioned up with corresponding lotion and then reaching the the bath-y promised land, a coupla bops with the Jean Nate powder puff.  It was tres grown up.  Once pj'd up I'd retire to the tv room to watch the Wonderful World of Disney and Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom, whilst Nana clipped my toe nails.  ...So, yeah.  I thought when I randomly spied Jean Nate on the shelf for the first time since 1984 it was some sorta divine intervention leading me to the path of not being pissed off for havin' to do something I don't want to do., ya know?  As for how that's workin' out?

Bonus BBGConfession:  Occasionally on a Sunday evening I'll find myself wondering if I lived close to Nana if she'd be willing to bring back our Sunday ritual?  Don't judge me.

I adhere to a fairly strict If It's Seen Routine, eliminating any unnecessary lotioning efforts.  (Dear Skin, Sorry to be a pest, but seriously?  Everything swimsuit covered?  It's doin' fine on a live and let live basis.  Why are your limb-y areas so fucking needy?)  Unless money and/or cotton candy falling from the sky as a reward for lotioning is something I can arrange I don't know what more I can do to make it a better experience for me. 

...And yet the other day I caught myself bein' momentarily mad at my vagina for being self lubricating while this skin had the nerve to make me do all the work.  Ugh.  Once I took the step to imagine how that'd work (if flip flopped) I decided that all-in-all the current arrangement was probably for the best. 




Friday, March 13, 2015

~ The Power Of Booze, Magic & Racism

As is probably surmiseable from the title of this blog I am a chunky monkey girl.  A full-fledged, properly fat American.  It's obvious. 

(Halloween ghost of Blind Melon Past, Present & Ridiculous)
I say, 'obvious' because you have eyes and can see.  What advantage is it to me to try to perpetrate a lie about it?   A:  It's not.  That's why I don't.  I'm at peace with bein' a fat girl.  But what if I told you that despite what you are fully capable of seeing that you are wrong in your fat ass appraisal of me, Pop Quiz what would you think?

Maybe a lil':  'I'm not fat.  I know I look fat in that picture, I'm not really.'  Or some:  'Fat?  Nooooo.  ...Tipsy?  Randomly amused by 80's music video's with a stellar eye for detail and almost zero shame?  Yes, yes and yes.  B-b-but fat?  Nope.  Not one bit.'
(BBGNote:  I use fat as a declarative statement and not a pejorative one.)
I suspect most of you would think holy fuck, look at that complete break with reality she's having.  Clearly, what that photo shows is the truth about the matter.  There is no option B over whether that cool ass chick is fat or not.  (Ok.  Sure, there are other options; zaftig, voluptuous, plump, corpulent...)  You and I both know what we see is exactly what it is.  Period.  End of story. 

Unfortunately, this doesn't always translate into other scenarios.  

Fact:  The ability to discern from bullshit (that we tell ourselves, others, or have presented to us) is a craft that requires honing, ya know, as it is an integral part of not being a dumbass, I say one worth investing a few minutes on an obscure blog to sharpen.  And we're off...

By now you've probably seen the SAE version of a video diary of bus ride.  If you haven't, here.  Heavy sigh.  Serenity now.  It is obviously exactly what it appears to be.  There is no option B here either.  It looks racists because it is racists. 

And there is no excuse for that.  But in no way has that kept some pretty audacious assertions from bein' floated out there as excuses for what you've seen.  So far?  Booze and magic, mainly.  (Here is clip containing the actual statements, I'm paraphrasing.)  Both are poor defenses. 

A)  Booze.  Some people are mean ass drunks, some are love-y dove-y, some slutty.  There are Evil Knievel drunks, Alex Trebek/Cliff Clavin/Martha Stewart drunks, Casey Kasem drunks, and Sylvia Plath drunks.  I thought I knew my drunks.  I mean, I've been post-21 for some time now and have witnessed a good amount of in the cups behavior.  Hell, I've been the actual star of a few of those drunks. For legal reasons I can not be more specific.  But apparently now there are Jim Crow drunks.  (Save it, nitpickers of the interwebs.  I know Jim Crow isn't a real name.  Neither is Evil.  Suck it.) 

Why that's a shitastic defense?  Well, we all know booze can combine to concoct any number of drunk-y type behaviors, and we also know that booze has one universal constant and truth;  What ever comes out when it's mixed in?  That's what's in the person, that for whatever motivation is often without the benefit of booze held at some measure at bay.  It's not an aberration of character, it's an illumination of it.  Simply put, booze is truth juice.  So, pointing to something known to be second to sodium pentothal in it's The Truth Will Set You Free-ness as an excuse for why a bunch of racism fell out of your heart and mouth, hey, it's a free country, have the fuck at it, is, um, weird.

But honestly?  Not as weird as the other plot line aka: magic.  As near as I can piece together from comments along the lines of, 'ok, yeah, that's me on the video (being racist) but that's not an accurate representation of me', like if spoken three times into a mirror (Candyman shout out) regardless of the truth that we can see LOOK OVER THERE (misdirection)  Abracadabra!!  (Steve Miller shout out)  *waves wand with a grand flourish* makes it definitely, 100% for sure, unequivocally, absofuckinlootly, not in my character to engage in racists ass behavior.  Because these magic ass words say so.  The actual defense strategy seems to be;  Disregard the fact that you've already seen the truth.   
It puts me in mind of that Groucho quote...
...And guess what?  That's going to pass for perfectly acceptable for some folks.  (But not you, you well honed in bullshit detectin' magnificent bitches!)  I'm confident of that fact because there's a label on my hair dryer advising me not to use it in the shower. (Is there anything else ya need to know about how inept some folks are at understanding how the world works?...) 
Thanks to the people who are the reason a hair dryer has to explicitly say don't use in the shower, to a higher degree than I'm comfortable with, a certain percentage of people will accept the possibility that an option B (aka: the boozy magic loogie theory) alternative is a more reasonable conclusion than the obvious. 
My let's be super clear here point? 
I must admit, I kinda respect the amount of sheer balls it takes to attempt to explain away I would say the undeniable, but these cats) are actually denying it...  The struggle of Tooliteralism is real, yo. racist behavior with an offering of booze and magic.  I mean, that's amazing.   No less amazing than if I really would try to sell ya on the fact that that photo above is just 'big boned'.  ...I don't know if you know this or not, but I was drunk in that picture, which makes a person look fat.  And, also, that photo was taken while I was under a spell, and in a doll house of miniature-ness making me look fat. (POOF!!)  It's just not an accurate depiction of me.  Come the fuck on.  It's not smart on their part.  But then, I suppose smart is never a thing I associate with racists anyway. 
"When people show you who they are, believe them."       - Maya Angelou




Tuesday, March 10, 2015

~ I'll Take Things That Aren't For $1,000 (Outdoor Pets)

I have no patience for things that aren't being passed off as things that are.   Drives me bonkers.  Apparently this bothers others less.  And by 'less' I mean, not fuckin' at all.  

Today's Things That Aren't?

Outdoor Pets.

I'm sorry.  What are outdoor pets?  I don't care how many times you said or heard this, it is, in fact, not an actual thing.

Country caveat:  If you live in the country this is a thing.  Hi, barn cat.

Again, in the city?  Not.  An.  Actual.  Thing.  (Yes.  Geography sometimes matters in ruling out thing/non-thingness.) 

Take the Are You In The City Quiz?
  • If you had to run to your neighbors house is it such a distance that you would have an MI (heart attack) before you arrived? 
  • Is your only source of delivery pizza DiGiorno's?  
  • If you buy ice cream at the grocery has it turned into a cookie dough cosumee by the time you've arrived home?
(If you answered YES to 1-3 of these questions you do not live in the city.  [Enjoy your outdoor pets.]  If you answered NO to 1-3 of these questions you do not live in the country. [Try not to be a dickwad neighbor.])

Obviously, a pet is a thing.  As is the outdoors.  Both certifiable things.  Check.  But there is no (I-live-in-the-city) outdoor pet.  Nope.  Pets are animals that have people in charge of them.  A pet has someone with opposable thumbs who tends to their needs who they rely on for food, housing, health and shit picking upping.  (In the case of talking birds, a human to teach them to say ironic, ridiculous and/or curse-y phrases.)  A pet lives in conjunction with their human(s) under some level of restraint.  (Yes, sometimes a pet lives outside of the house in its own house generally hemmed in by either a fence or chain or barn scenario.  [read: not free range])   Essentially a pet is a furry, wet nosed hostage.  This is mine:

Inside?  Check.  On a human bed?  Check.
Safe 'n warm?  Check.  ...Ladies & gentlemen we have a pet.

Things that live outdoors are not pets.  Don't be mad at me.  I don't make the rules, I'm just reporting them.  They are free range animals.  Newsflash:  Feeding doesn't make it a pet.  I can't feed a local coyote and then contend it's my pet.  Why? 'Cause that sounds, and would be fuckin' crazy.  ...Oh, that?  That's my pet deer.  I leave food out for it.  It comes around...    

How long would it take for someone to ask how exactly bat shit crazy you were once ya started talkin' 'bout your pet deer or opossum?  Not long, right?  2.6 seconds, maybe?  (Hello?  Yes, I need to know the procedure for getting someone signed up for a lil' 5150?  Oh?  She's babblin' some bullshit about the existence of outdoor pets, like, she says she has a pet crocodile so send someone immediately.)  ...But say cat and six people will trip over themselves to tell ya about a pack of feral cats they're sustaining, because, ya know;  outdoor pets. 

One of my neighbor's *outdoor pets* gawking at me from my hot tub.

BBGSideBar:  Ugh.  So now I'm gonna have to fight felines this summer to enjoy my deck.  Now you know that's some bullshit.  I'm allergic to cats.  I have to be careful in other peoples homes because they have cats.  That's cool.  We're in charge of what we're in charge of and I'm not in charge of how my body receives and deals with cat-y proximity.  Accepted.  Someone having a cat has never stopped me from hanging out with them.  But I sure as shit shouldn't have to be careful in my own damn (cat free) home.  I've been thinking of ways to deal with the situation.  As I believe that what we put out there reverberates.  Bad begets bad (good, good), call it karma if you will, and I'm not tryin' to invite any extra drama trauma across my path.  Or as I told another neighbor whilst discussing our mutual free range cat overrunning situation, "I did the math.  She (cat feeding neighbor, Kooky McBean [not actual name]) is lucky I'm a 3% better person than I want to be.  'Cause if I were the 3% worse person I wanna be?  There'd already be a bowl of anti-freeze out there.  Problem solved.  Evidently, 3% is where a good amount of--   ...You are not a dick.  ...Now you know you could kill a person if ya had to but there's no way you could kill an animal [like on purpose, not euthanasia].  ...You'd 100% be haunted by some freaky deak-y gaggle of cat ghosts all the rest of your days.  --I can't have that on my head stuff/I'm not that person, lives.  The extra 3% that is who I am (not what I want) is saving those kitty lives."  ...So, non-leathal solutions.  I've heard setting up mouse traps along where they travel?  And putting moth balls out along their trails (which apparently, is conveniently, everywhere [see below].)  Any ideas, my Big Brown Girl World-ers?  Seriously.  Help!

I say sustaining, but honestly I think it's, at least in these parts, kinda cruel.  Let's face it, in large part free range dogs get picked up by the authorities.  But cats?  It's not uncommon to see them pouncing about, well, really, anywhere.  It gets cold here.  (Not a complaint)  It's no surprise when the temp dips into the minuses.  For weeks.  Feeding feral cats doesn't save a cat.  It creates 8 new lil' kitties freezing in sub-zero temps, attempting to dodge the coyotes foraging for food of their own.  Ya know, warm fuzzy, four legged food.  (Meow)   That doesn't make any cat-y situation better, in fact it's worse eight-fold.  So, congratulations?

Last week the weatherman told me that we had been above freezing (32 degrees) for a grand total of two hours total over the past 2 wks.  Schools were closed several times over that period because it was deemed too cold for children (human, dressed in layers, waiting for a bus amount of time outside-- and these are 'Merican kids, so they were probably well insulated to begin with) to be out and about.   But tell me more about how it's humane to be cultivating extra cats to endure such conditions?

I always say when I run the world things are gonna be a lot different.  (#BBG2016)  For starters?  Things that (actually and straight up legit) aren't will no longer be given equal time, benefit of the doubt or agree to disagree designation.  For the same reason we wouldn't put stock into someone contending that cigarettes are healthy or that the earth is flat just because people say/believe it.  They will just be wrong.  There will be no back and forth-ing, (arguing/debating) only an immediate indication of dumbassery followed by subsequent pointing and mockery

                                                                       -  President Josiah Bartlett

Other Cat-y Posts:

Coming Soon-ish Sometime, Other Things That Aren't:
  • Accidental (child) shootings
  • Reverse racism



Friday, February 27, 2015

~ Crash. Boom. Bang.

It's been a long time since I was involved in a car crash.  How long?  I was 16 driving my sweet ass 1977 Chevette by my crushes house with a gaggle of girls ridin' shotgun when a local physician leaving a drinking establishment drove into me. 

Apparently, last week my number was up (again).  Whilst on my way to the grocery store a vehicle turning left (into oncoming traffic they couldn't see) hit me.  By all rights this should have been the worst part of the crash experience.  It was not.

For starters in the immediate aftermath he other driver informed me that "you don't have to be angry".  (The response to my query of why a person would pull out into traffic without the ability to see all oncoming traffic?)  ...Really?  'Cause someone else bashin' into my ride due exclusively to their dumbassed decision making seems like exactly the time I get to be angry.  (Now between you an me-- you know [if you've spent any time 'round the BBGW, or known me for 3+ minutes] I like to use the curse-y words.  But four-lettered words used during this conversation?  A:  Zero.  And my voice never raised.  So?  How angry was I?  Plus, while having a conversation with a supremely nice random citizen who had witnessed the crash and stopped and waited to make a statement to the police I had already mentioned that this was crappy and not how I intended to spend my day, but all 'n all if this is the worst thing that happened to me today I still can't complain.  ...Everyone's ok.  Alive.  Breathing.  Hashtag Perspective.)

Post Crash Pro Tip:  You don't get to cause the crash AND dictate the reaction to said crash.  It's not the way it works.

I'm (apparently?) angry.  It's 15 degrees.  I'm dressed warmly enough to run into the grocery a block from BBG HQ, but not for standing outside for an hour doin' post crash police paperwork.  I think the worst of this event is over.

I am, however, about to be proven exceedingly wrong.

Now, I expect the next day to be a volley of phone calls to and from my insurance, the other driver's insurance company and perhaps the dealership I intend on taking the BBGmobile to.  Which obviously thrills me.

The reality?  Between 08:00 and 10:30 I received seventeen calls.  7fuckingteen.  Body shops, chiropractic practices and injury attorneys.  The pace of unsolicited and completely irritating ring-a-ding-dings was sustained all day.  I found myself realizing that the only thing worse than being involved in a crash itself (assuming all are fortunate enough to be physically unharmed) is being hounded by phone.  ...That is until I returned to BBG HQ to see that a injury lawyer had actually been to my house.  

BBG Fact:  People I'm cool with dropping by unannounced?  No.  One.

Kid* came to my house.

(Was the home visit payback for Kid's* (Robert Nestico's)

Some states don't make crash information public.  Ohio isn't one of 'em.  Which (obviously) sucks, if you live in Buckeyeland.  And, ya know, value not having to field tons of unsolicited phone calls, or random ass, business hunting people swinging by your house.  As ticky as I've been over the intrusions I can't imagine how close ones head would be to exploding if you were actually injured and recovering from a crash to have to deal with such shit.

Post Crash Pro Tip:  Keep a list of the businesses that call if (and I'm knocking wood that you're not) you're involved in a crash and ask-tell* (it's something I've been told I do  [P.S.  It's super effective, and makes life a lot easier.]) each of them to take you off of their call list.  They have to comply with your request or are subject to fines.   You will also need this list to place in your 'Places I'm Never Doin' 'Bidness With' file.  As I have.

* Ask-tell:  To pose as an order in the form of a (polite-er) question.


Friday, February 20, 2015

~ The Day The Pope Called Me Selfish

Scroll.  Scroll.  Scroll.

Minding my own business.  Trying to be knowledgeable of the worldly ta-doin's.  (And schnauzers going rogue to find their people)  Deciphering raw data to determine how many layers will equate to comfort when the mercury takes its impending sub-zero nosedive.  Internally embellishing the phrase 'checkin' the weather'.  Then.  Bam.

Pope Francis: "Not Having Children Is A Selfish Choice"

What.  The.  Holy.  Fuck?

I pride myself on keeping the expectation level of any given day to a minimum.  Like, a bare minimum.  It's why each morning when my peepers pop open I my first reaction is, 'oh?  This is happening.'  The fact that I wake up alive is considered a win accomplished even before my feet hit the ground.  Anything else decent-to-good?  Is quickly classified as icing on the cake.  ...It's one of the tools I use to keep from shanking every dumbass I come in contact with.  

BBG General Daily Expectations:
  • At some point something inexplicably stupid and/or ridiculous will tumble out of my mouth
  • I will learn sumthin' new
  • Someone or some circumstance will cause my head to explode which will in turn cause a smartass or ass-y ass comment and/or gesture on my part that I will be unable to hold in
  • I will then remind myself that whatever cosmic infraction has happened is nothing compared to being dead (#Perspective) and will is THAT something shiny? 
  • An interaction with someone will make me happy to be a human
  • An interaction with someone will make me sad to be a human
  • My food pyramid will be constructed of ill-advised food sources
  • I will laugh at something no one else finds hi-larious (which will make it even funnier)
  • There is a high probability I will sustain some self imposed injury
A Day In The Life...  Getting in the BBGmobile. 
Hit head on garage door opener clipped to the over head shade thingy.

But of all of the things I expect on any random day?  Having to defend or offer any explanation of why I've never put my baby maker to work has never crossed my mind. 

Ok... that's not exactly the truth, the whole truth and nuthin' but the truth.  Exhibit A:  Aniston, Jennifer.  Now I'm not one to be all up in some celeb's 'bidness.  Generally?  I could not give less of a fuck about any celebrity.   But on the other hand, it's 2015.  Good luck trying to watch any news program that doesn't report on shit that in my opinion should be left to the likes of EnterAcessExtraMZ.  While I have no real feelings good or bad about Jennifer Aniston I've always found it weird that she is frequently questioned about the unused state of her uterus.  Weird in the sense that, how the fuck is that a question a reporter thinks germane to any press junket proceedings?  Weirder still that her personal reasons for not populating her personal uterus becomes fodder for negative and judgmental commentary, as if it has any bearing or impact on anyone else's life.  ...So, the thought of having to (if you're a XX chromosome'd human) defend one's like-new state of their uterus has crossed my mind.  But I sure as shit never thought I'd be caught up in such a thing. 

That was before Pope Francis called me selfish.

So here we are.

Dear Pope Francis,
Long time listener, first time caller (ahem) random blog-y cyber letter writer.  I am one of the never used uterus people you called "selfish" last week.  Like you, I think selfishness is a very poor character trait and habit.   It seems more prevalent than ever these days.   It diminishes our connection and understanding with each other.  I'd go so far as to say it blinds us to our own ability to be empathic -- which is kinda the root of everything terrible humans manage to do to one another, no?  

Selfishness is when my needs and desires automatically supersede yours.  That's what you called me.  As it's clear you wanted me to know that, here is what I want you to know*;  I am a registered bone marrow donor.  While a friend's toddler battled leukemia I added myself to the potential donor list.  I knew I wouldn't be a match for him, but I knew maybe I could be a match and offer health and life to one of God's other children.   I am a registered organ donor, meaning when I don't need them any longer my organs are up for medical grabs to provide a second chance at living or an increase to the life quality of some stranger.  I also am a regular blood donor.  And have donated hair.  I use my able-(non-baby'd filled) body to fulfill acts of kindness, generosity and service to others routinely.  And even though cells have never multiplied in my uterus I have helped mother children.  And if we're keepin' it real, other adultsLiterally down to a molecular level I have tried to lay a foundation that builds my character and legacy as unselfishly as I can cobble together.  Don't get me wrong.  I realize I'm no Mother Teresa(Mother Teresa probably wouldn't have dropped 'fuck' twice already.)  But, clearly, I'm trying to be cognizant of putting efforts into being the antithesis of selfish.  Meanwhile, according to you the fact that I've never birthed a baby denotes some kind of latent selfish streak?  Not cool, Pope Francis.  Not cool.

While I do not agree that baby free equates to selfishness, I'm even  more confounded how that even began being a consideration or working theory?   Not having a baby is arguably one of the least selfish things anyone can do. 

The Top 10 Selfish (and uber common) Reasons for Having Babies (-5):
- To 'save' the relationship
- Because, Opps 
- Wanting a mini-me/legacy/someone who'll never leave/love me always
- All the cool kidz are doin' it (societal expectations)
- Someone to care for you in your old age

A lot of babies are the result of actual, straight up legit selfish reasons as anyone with more than 5-7 friends who are parents, or is super self aware and honest can attest to.  Those of use who, for whatever reason (couldn't/didn't want to, etc.) did not (are not) procreate(ing) do not deserve the head of the Holy Sea labeling us as selfish, especially when our actions indicate exactly otherwise.

I don't mean to be impertinent, your Holiness, but you are so off base on this that it seems you actually believe being child free is some sort of radical choice.  Fact:  Some people have no choice.  (7.4 million U.S. women have sought medical intervention for infertility issues)  Some people decide they are not parent material, again for whatever reason.  Personally?  I think *I don't want to do that* is a perfectly valid enough reason to not have children.  (I never really understand why parenthood is so ripe and rife, for and of, mass coordination's of peer pressure to jump on the bandwagon?   Parenthood is the last thing a person should be talked into.  Talking people into trying a new food? Good.  Talking people into trying a new brand of toothpaste?  Fine.  Bearing other actual human beings?  Nooooo.)  Point of fact, I never decided not to have children.  I always assumed I would have them.  I also assumed some guy, who if he never became a millionaire, or short stop for the Cincinnati Reds, or discovered the cure for cancer would still think he was among the luckiest men in the world because he had become mine would come along.  That hasn't happened. (Yet.)  So I ask?  What exactly was my choice?  Settle for a guy I knew wasn't for me just so I could pop out a few wee ones before we inevitably divorced to avoid shankin' one another?  Or to have lived a life that put me in likelihood of becoming an single parent?  (Which as I recall from my years matriculating at Our Lady Of Bad Catholic Kidz is Catholic-y frowned upon.)  Those were the two choices that have presented themselves.  Your error is in not recognizing that not choosing to exercise either of those options (in the event life doesn't unfold to bring the right mate by the right date) is an unselfish act. 

But it's not just me. 

Last week my selfish babyless friend shared her lunch with a homeless man.   Another selfish child free friend spends her time on works to end sex slavery, participates in several charities providing health and education for disadvantaged children.  Yet another of my friends who has never used her uterus is a mother figure to her nieces, nephews and grand nieces and nephews.  As someone who has no children and started of his career being called 'Father', I would think recognizing that those without kids do indeed serve to benefit the lives of others in great and small unselfish ways would be easy to accomplish.  It wasn't last week when you called me selfish, but I hope it is now.



 * Apologies for breaking the Ash Wednesday Rule  (But ya kinda forced my hand, didn't ya?)   " favorite mass of the year is Ash Wednesday.  One of the readings is about how you're supposed to do your 'good works' on the down low.  So much so that your left hand shouldn't know what your right hand is doin'.  Basically the passage says if you're making a big show and/or tell in order to let others know how fucking awesome you are, you're a dick.  Obviously, I'm paraphrasing."  

‘Be careful not to parade your good deeds before men to attract their notice; by doing this you will lose all reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give alms, do not have it trumpeted before you; this is what the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win men’s admiration. I tell you solemnly, they have had their reward. But when you give alms, your left hand must not know what your right is doing; your almsgiving must be secret, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.  ‘And when you pray, do not imitate the hypocrites: they love to say their prayers standing up in the synagogues and at the street corners for people to see them; I tell you solemnly, they have had their reward. But when you pray, go to your private room and, when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in that secret place, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.  ‘When you fast do not put on a gloomy look as the hypocrites do: they pull long faces to let men know they are fasting. I tell you solemnly, they have had their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that no one will know you are fasting except your Father who sees all that is done in secret; and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you.’


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