Month: January 2011

Raised by Wolves, Culture Shock, and How to Avoid Criticism

1 Comment

Steve-o can partially be excused for his puerile behavior due to his age.  When you’re a 19 year old kid it’s funny to flip off the camera and moon people, especially blood relatives.  I don’t have too much problem with it when it’s all in fun.

But when you’re almost 54 and still partying like it’s 1975, it’s time to get a clue.  It’s not funny any more when you’re of the Geritol set but still think you can drink a twelve pack a night and blare the stereo.  Yes I have the noise canceling headphones and have been enjoying some 80’s Robert Plant, REM, Journey and other aesthetically pleasing music.  Otherwise I’d have to throttle the old goat.

I know Jerry was raised by wolves (my in-laws came from deep in the hollers of rural WV and have about a fourth grade education between them) and I am no authority on Appalachian culture or the lack thereof, but come on.  Just because your parents grew up having to share a double bed with sixteen of their siblings and/or cousins (let’s hope that there was a bit of diversity in that gene pool) does not mean you necessarily have to become a crude and rude beer swilling, loud music blaring deviant.

I tried to be a good mother.  I know, I failed.  But Steve-o does have an expansive vocabulary when he chooses to communicate with verbal or written language instead of the extended middle finger.  I did something right, I think.

Today I heard a wonderful little axiom that was music to my ears, especially when everyone is so overloaded with so much politically correct touchy-feely mind-numbing swill these days.

How to Avoid Criticism:

Say Nothing.  Do Nothing.  Be Nothing.

Dad’s bit of wisdom on these lines is a similar sentiment, though a bit more pragmatic.

If you aren’t screwing up, you aren’t doing anything.

Well, let’s see.  I get a lot of criticism so I must be saying and doing something.  I screw up a lot too, so if nothing else, I’m busy.

This is a pic of Steve-o when he was a week old.  He weighed over 10# and looked like he was at least three months old.  That was the first and last time he ever wore that outfit.  A word to the wise- when buying baby shower gifts, a few people should bypass the newborn to 12 month sizes (this was a six month outfit and he only fit into it once) and get some of the larger sizes in case the poor woman gives birth to a behemoth child who will never wear newborn sizes.  Just a thought.

Oh, can I wring his fool drunken neck yet…pass out already I’d like to go to bed.

E.D. Soup, Face Nair, Pathos, and The Vacuum Cleaner Sucks

Leave a comment

Maybe I’m the only one who sees the humor in this.  My thought is: Is the soup ostensibly a cure for E.D., or is it something designed to cause it?  Is there salt peter in it?  I know E.D. is no laughing matter- it can be rather pathetic, especially if you’re a woman consigned to involuntary celibacy because of it.  Of course, the poor guy at the Chinese joint (who is from China, and English is not his first language) probably had no idea “E.D.” is a common abbreviation for “erectile dysfunction.”  He used E.D. as an abbreviation for “egg drop.”

I love Chinese food and Chinese restaurants but I never really had much of a taste for egg drop soup- generally I prefer wonton or occasionally hot and sour.  This order of egg drop soup was for one of the guys I work with.  I am not going to ask him if his soup order affected his love life in any way.  That would be TMI.  There are some things I really don’t care to know.

Now I remember what I forgot to get at Sally’s- Face Nair.  I do have that handy $5 off coupon I got for renewing my card which will cover most of it.  I buy plenty of stuff at Sally’s- more than enough to justify having the discount card.  They are the only ones who have the fiberglass nail wraps and acrylic resin I use on my nails.  I hate the powdered crap (it doesn’t work) but the liquid acrylic resin with the spray hardener is the way to go.  It’s similar to the stuff used in auto body repair.  Go figure.

Just thinking about Jerry’s most disturbing inadequacy is depressing.  I can forgive the drunkenness, slovenliness (even right after his tirade of a few minutes ago, when he was bitching because I had not cleaned his mess up in a more timely manner, and the tirade that directly followed the “you need to clean up my mess- again- tirade,” when he bitched about how he didn’t like how I listed his crap on Craig’s List,) and his downright lack of anything resembling consideration or manners, but I find his unwillingness to address his E.D. the worst of all his flaws.  I know he was raised by wolves and that explains a lot of his ignorance and rudeness.  But one would think a normal man would actually care whether or not Willie works, and  I would presume a normal man with a limp willie would do something about it.  I am surprised his Dad hasn’t told him to soak it in kerosene (apparently this is an old time Appalachian hemorrhoid cure) but I doubt that he and his Dad have had a man-to-man about his malfunctioning member.

I’m learning to tune out the bitching.  I even have noise canceling headphones so that I can drown out the oat opera torture sessions.  I don’t have a reasonable substitute for a real man though, and that bothers me sometimes.  In fact, it bothers me a lot of the time.  So much so that it requires me to (vehemently at times) resist the temptation to reconnect with a certain old friend.  As much as I would love to rekindle communication with this particular old friend, I don’t trust myself.  There is too much potential there for me to cross boundaries it would be wrong for me to cross. Suffice to say if times and places and circumstances had been different-there could have been something wonderful there- but if my aunt had balls, she’d be my uncle.  Some things simply weren’t meant to be, and I am enough of a realist to know better than to ruminate on impossibilities.

Color me old-fashioned, but I am not the “friends with benefits” type.  I can’t say that I am a terribly emotional person, but even the rational side of me has a hard time making the disconnect between physical contact and emotional attachment.    I have a hard time with any sort of physical contact with people anyway- even men I find to be attractive.  I generally don’t like to be touched even in the most innocuous ways.  I even hate having my hair cut because I don’t like people touching my hair.  I do my own nails partially out of poverty and partially because it is weird for me to let people touch my hands.  Even if I had the emotional connection I would need to even want to get physical with a man,  I can’t live with the guilt and I’m not into those kind of games.

There are days I really want to knock Jerry on his ass but then I’m probably not the easiest person to live with either.  I try to be quiet and stay out of the way for the most part.  It’s safer that way.

I can’t help it.  This is funny.  I know there are those who will claim that humans can do just fine on a vegan diet.  Perhaps this is true, and more power to the vegans and vegetarians out there.  But I like meat.  I also find it ironic that vegans would keep cats (and many do) knowing that cats are obligatory carnivores.  Cats will die without meat products in their diets.

I can eat meat…but…never mind.  It’s not nice. I’m trying to keep my mind out of the gutter, and my heart from despair.

Maybe someone will get me something on my birthday list.  Even the 12 pack of Diet Dr. Pepper would be nice.  Or a new vacuum cleaner that actually sucks and that still has wheels on it.  The vacuum cleaner, the one thing that is supposed to suck- doesn’t suck very well unless I constantly empty the dirt box and unclog the dog hair from the intake.

The vacuum cleaner sucks more when it doesn’t suck.  What irony.

If beating my rugs would get the dog hair out of them, I’d try it.

The Intellectual Superiority of Dogs, Ban Stupid People, and Other Utopian Impossibilities

Leave a comment

I had to take a picture of this yesterday when I saw it, as it mirrors my sentiments regarding both the dispatch of the stupid and those misdirected souls who would ban certain dog breeds.

Banning dog breeds or labeling particular breeds as “vicious” because some humans misuse them follows the same flawed logic and makes as little sense as banning the responsible ownership of firearms because some people misuse firearms.  I am particularly sensitive to such nonsense because I own dogs that have the potential to inflict grave injury if they are mishandled.   ALL dogs have some potential to be dangerous to humans if mishandled, though usually the larger and more assertive the breed there is little margin for error in handling the dog, and the potential for the dog to inflict harm, is greater.

Much has been said in the popular media condemning the Pit Bull breed (which is in reality a robust variant of the American Staffordshire Terrier.)  Irresponsible humans have done unspeakable cruelty to Pit Bulls by conditioning them to fight and training them to intentionally attack other dogs.  When properly conditioned and socialized, pitties (or as some owners prefer to refer to them- AmStaffs-) are some of the sweetest, most gentle and lovable dogs on Earth.  The difference between the lovable pittie who plays with children and lounges in the TV room and the deadly fighter who tears and rips other dogs to death is the human factor: are the humans responsible for the dog caring for it, socializing it, and handling it correctly?

I remember well that other breeds have been demonized in the media as being inherently “vicious” also- Dobermans, GSDs, Rottweilers, Chows, and Akitas to name a few.  However, in the rush to condemn a particular breed for being inherently prone to aggressive acts, the human factor was ignored.  Certain breeds do possess personality traits that can lead to aggressive acts if the human handler does not know how to deal with those traits.  A good example is our GSD/Chow mix, Lilo.

Lilo is a very territorial dog (typical of both Chows and GSDs) and always stands ready to defend what she believes is hers.  This personality trait can lead to aggression- and someone getting his/her face ripped off- if Lilo is improperly handled.  We understand that Lilo must be carefully introduced to both new people and other dogs so she doesn’t see the “interloper” as a threat.  We reward her when she is polite to new people and other dogs so she will associate being sociable with getting an extra something.   Lilo is heavily food motivated, so we encourage new visitors to pay tribute to Miss Lilo with a piece of cheese or meat.

Clara (Belgian Malinois/GSD) is every bit as territorial as Lilo, (pity be on any fool who would turn up in our house without proper introductions) but Clara is not nearly as demanding or headstrong as Lilo can be.  Clara is easier for me to handle than Lilo because she has an endearing and typically Malinois trait- her primary motivator is affection rather than food.  She won’t turn down food, but she lives for positive reinforcement.  She is very much a pleaser, but with one condition.  She will do virtually anything if she knows that’s what I want her to do.  If I am handling her she can be the gentlest and most docile dog imaginable no matter where we are.  She was a most welcome and sweet visitor to the nursing home my Grandma was in.   However, I am sure that the kids who tried to climb the fence saw a very different Clara- one with hair raised and teeth bared, charging at them full bore and ready to take a healthy chunk or two out of some miscreant butts should they land on the wrong side of the fence.  I am thankful that they made a wise choice when they saw her coming at them- they dropped and ran before they got over the fence and into Clara range.

Sheena (Husky/GSD) is rather harmless to people and could care less who walks in the house as long as they pay attention to her- she is not territorial at all, but she can be dog aggressive if she thinks she is not getting as much food or attention as the other two dogs.   She is a special case because we have only had her for about eight weeks and that’s the only socialization she has ever had.  She has gotten puppy obedience down and can obey simple commands.  Sheena is extremely food motivated and we are still struggling with some of her bad habits such as trash-digging and food-stealing.  She has that bullheadedness that is peculiar to Huskies- she makes Lilo’s “Chowtude” seem mild in comparison, and she is by far the most difficult of the three dogs to handle, at least right now.  She has made a great deal of improvement but needs to make a great deal more.  Especially when she gets the bright idea that uncoordinated large dogs can table dance.

For most people, Clara would be the more difficult of the three to handle simply because she is extremely perceptive and sensitive.   I can handle her with ease because her goal in life is to please me.  As long as I have had her (hard to believe it’s almost been six years) we sort of read each other’s minds, and she usually knows what I want before I give the command.   Now I know why the police and military love the Malinois breed.  As far as Clara obeying anyone else…well that’s a crap shoot.  Jerry can handle her to a degree.   I have to be with her for veterinary treatments.  If I am with her she will comply with any necessary procedure, but she freaks out if they take her in the back where she can’t see me.  Yelling at her only causes her to cower and hide, so any training method with her requires a lot of redirection and positive reinforcement as well as no loud commands or physical corrections.  I am glad Clara is an intuitive and quick learner.  Sheena is the exact opposite.  She’s not stupid, but extremely stubborn. She seems to do better when I’m brandishing the water bottle and she understands the threat of punishment should she fail to comply.   Lilo is a happy medium by comparison.  She’s not a pleaser but she will do what the humans want to get what she wants (food, and to a far lesser degree, attention.)

The bottom line is that it’s not about breed but in how the individual dog is socialized and handled.  Knowing that all three of my girls have very different learning styles as well as vastly different strengths and weaknesses gives me a guideline of how to help them be successful and well-adjusted.  I would not try to take Lilo to a dog park or to visit a nursing home.  She does not make (human or dog) friends easily.  Sheena would be wonderful in a meet-and-greet situation with humans (when her obedience skills are a bit more refined, she would be wonderful at the nursing home) but not so much with other dogs.  Other dogs have to be addressed with caution with both Sheena and Lilo.  (Oddly enough, Sheena and Lilo get along well- most of Sheena’s conflicts have been over being jealous of Clara.)  Clara is probably the most versatile of the three as in the proper context she gets along well with dogs and humans.

I get really disgusted with people who claim that dogs are not situational creatures, that they simply react on instinct or out of fear of punishment. I know this is NOT true.   Some dogs are more rational and sentient than a great deal of humanity is.  Dogs are situational creatures and can adapt their behavior accordingly.  They read human behavior better than other humans do.  It’s what they do to survive and thrive.

In some ways I get tired of people who continue to believe in spite of boat loads of evidence to the contrary that it is possible to create utopia on earth.  I think we can (sort of) create the dystopia we like the best, but there’s no getting back to the Garden, folks- not on human effort, anyway.

The “Crazy as a Shithouse Rat” Files

Leave a comment

 

How can you say no to a request like that?  I, for one, will be absolutely sure to keep my munchables good and far away from the toilet brush holder.

My grandfather (my Dad’s Dad) was one of the most taciturn individuals I’ve ever known- I think he could go days with little more than a grunt or a “yep” or “nope” when asked a direct question.  He could read Louis L’Amour or Zane Grey and watch Westerns for days on end without saying a word to anyone unless he was asked a question.  Grandpa didn’t usually talk unless there was something worth talking about. 

There were certain people in the public eye who he would comment on, and when he did, the tirades were priceless.  For some reason he didn’t much like Jimmy Carter. When President Carter was in the news, Grandpa would go on and on as to why Jimmy should have stayed down in Georgia picking peanuts.  Nor did he like Ted Kennedy, or for that matter, the whole Kennedy family, who he saw as being “Nazi-loving tomcats.”  I always wondered about that statement as a child, but in light of evidence suggesting Joe Kennedy’s pre -WWII support of Hitler and Nazism when he was Ambassador to England, I believe Grandpa actually did know what he was talking about regarding the Kennedys.  Grandpa didn’t care a whole lot for Reagan at first, either (I’ll forgive him for that) as he wasn’t much of a fan of his acting, and Grandpa thought him too old to be President,  but he did gain a lot of respect for Reagan after the assassination attempt. 

But when Grandpa had a really low opinion of someone, he would consider them “crazy as a shithouse rat.”  I have been known to use that simile myself in regard to certain people, but coming from Grandpa the phrase had a deeper dimension to it.  Until the early 1960’s they did not have an indoor toilet.  He used an outhouse for many years and probably encountered real live shithouse rats.  I remember an incident from when I was maybe five or six years old that helped illustrate the point. 

Back in the 1970’s there was still an open sewer that ran parallel to the railroad tracks that were not even a block away from my grandparents’ house.   We didn’t really understand what it was, we just called it the QuQua ditch, and we knew that the water in it was really dirty. It was OK to float paper boats in it- if you could stand the smell- but you dared not wade in it or even touch the water.  It was several years before I learned why this was so imperative.

An absolutely huge rat – and this is no exaggeration, it was the size of a small dog- came up from the sewer grate in the street (not far from the open ditch, as the storm sewers ran directly into the QuQua, along with lots of other unspeakable things) and was leisurely strolling about in broad daylight when we kids were playing outside.  I was completely freaked by this and ran back, screaming, into my grandparents’ house.  Grandpa looked out the window, saw the rat and got a shovel from the garage.  As the rat sauntered ever closer to the yards and the sidewalk, Grandpa ran up behind it and bashed its brains out with the shovel.  He scooped up the dead rat with the shovel and dumped it in the trash.  All he said about it was that we kids should never get near any rats or possums that come up from the sewer in the daytime because they have rabies and if they bite you’ll get the rabies. 

Nobody wanted to get the rabies, believe that.  We didn’t understand what rabies is, but we didn’t want to get it either.

That was probably the closest I ever got to a literal shithouse rat.

I have had pet rats- they are smarter than gerbils or hamsters- but they still have the common rodent problem of no bowel or bladder control.  Somehow a pet loses some of its charm when it is constantly going to the bathroom on you.  Our snakes eat rats (I have a ball python and Jerry has a red-tailed boa) which is sort of difficult because the snakes like their food live.  I know, it’s weird to have snakes, but Jerry likes them, and even I have to admit they are cool to watch.

Which brings me to today’s example of “crazy as a shithouse rat.”  Sadly, he’s from Ohio, albeit the northeast corner of Ohio where the lunatic fringe tends to congregate.   Dennis Kucinich is in the news again- for suing the government over an olive pit.  And I thought Obama’s priorities were screwed.  Compared to Kucinich, Obama almost looks reasonable and sane.

Why, oh, why, don’t the voters send their space cadet of a Representative back to the mistake on the lake where he belongs?

And speaking of being a space cadet, Kucinich claims that he saw a UFO while hanging out at Shirley MacLaine’s.  And I’m the Queen of England.

It may be unfair to the rats to compare them to Kucinich- he’s truly a nut job.  However, infamy is still a form of fame.

Beam me up!

Snowbooger Grey and Oat Opera Torture

Leave a comment

I can’t say that I enjoy near-zero temperatures.  I don’t mind the cold as much as many people do but should I have a temperature preference I’d like high 60’s-low 70’s, which occur naturally in Ohio about twice a year.  The only problem with the partial thaws between deep freeze episodes is that the snow doesn’t completely melt.  It simply turns to this horrid grey scuz consisting of partially melted snow, carbon from vehicle exhaust, and other assorted unidentifiable detritus that could be (and probably is) anything from dog shit to medical waste. 

Of course, a snowbooger is the sticky, nasty build up of partially melted snow, road filth and so forth that accumulates in the wheel wells and splash guards on cars.  It’s getting to that time of year when the whole world will take on that snowbooger pallor.  I think I understand the statistics behind February deaths.  I can understand someone who is terminally ill surrendering the will to live upon viewing the drudge of the landscape.  If I were suicidally minded (no, I’m not, but if  I were) the pervasive snowbooger grey of the entire month of February and most of March usually too, might just be the tipping point. 

I am trying to force myself to do things that I’m not always motivated to do up front, but that I’m glad to do when I’m doing them, or shortly thereafter.  Of course Jerry does not like me doing anything that does not directly involve kissing his ass, and nothing infuriates him more than me forgoing kissing his ass to do something that is actually good for me.  I was looking forward to going to my church group last night and I was sure to go, and was glad I did.  This did not make Jerry happy, so he decided since he was sitting at home alone with no one to run and fetch for him, that he would drink his Natties and crank up his vile collection of completely putrid country music.

When I say country music, Jerry likes  the really awful old-time twangy stuff like Hank Williams and Willie Nelson.   No Wynona Judd or Clint Black for him.  When you hear the stuff Jerry likes, you understand why David Alan Coe wrote his parody song, “You Never Even Call Me By My Name.”  The following excerpt from his lyrics says all I need to say about dreadful country songs:

“…I wrote him back a letter and I told him it was not the
perfect country and western song, because he hadn’t said
anything at all about momma, or trains, or trucks,
or prison or gettin’ drunk. Well, he sat down and
wrote another verse to this song and he sent it to me and
after reading it, I realized that my friend had written the
perfect country and western song. And I felt obliged to include
it on this album. The last verse goes like this here:

Well, I was drunk the day my momma got out of prison,
And I went to pick her up in the rain.
But before I could get to the station in the pick-up truck,
She got runned over by a damned old train.”

I think I will have to wash out my brain with Metallica after last night, just for good measure.  It did help that I had the noise-cancelling headphones and was able to drown out most of the oat opera torture with some old Journey songs.  God bless Neal Schon.

I am not going to let Jerry get away with his manipulative snit-fits.  I know why I got the oat opera torture last night- because I didn’t just stay home, and I didn’t cart him over to Bob’s so he could get drunk and act stupid and waste time rambling on about BS over there. 

Tonight I am going to another class at church (this one only lasts three weeks) on understanding the Bible (I need all the help I can get) and I know he won’t like that either, but this class is only an hour.  Hopefully he will be too hungover from last night to want beer and I should have enough money to bribe him with the promise of Chinese takeout when class is over.  He’s worse than a little kid who pouts when Mommy leaves him with the sitter- but he swears up and down he’s not high maintenance.  Yeah, right.  He’d be high maintenance on the separation anxiety factor alone.  One would think a grown man could occupy himself with ESPN or something for an hour or two and not get too bent out of shape.    Too bad there aren’t any NASCAR races on Tuesday nights.  He wouldn’t even realize I was gone if there were a race on or a football game.  He doesn’t like basketball.  If he were a basketball fan he would have had some games to watch last night.

Exploits of the Inane, A Case for Devolution, and Early Bird Birthday Requests

1 Comment

I don’t deal with the general public very well.  Perhaps my cynicism and wafer-thin tolerance threshold comes from years of dealing with retail parts customers and (worse) service customers.  I have no problem dealing with the technical aspects of automotive repair, etc. but dealing with people when they’re being ignorant, stupid, or just plain out of control really gets on my nerves.  I think I lose my patience the most when I explain things to people multiple times and they still fail to get it.  As Ron White put it, “You can’t fix stupid.”  Even so, some people have problems with spoken and written language (not necessarily foreigners…) and perhaps it may help to have things explained to them in pictures.  This must be the logic behind today’s traffic signs.

I remember when I was growing up you would see signs like this when there was roadwork ahead:

This sign seemed self explanatory to me.  Somewhere up ahead some dude with a flag will be waving traffic past.  Apparently as time went on, political correctness crept into the world of road signs.  “Flagman” apparently implied that women weren’t allowed to wave traffic past, so someone came up with a new term and a new sign:

I always thought “Flagger” sounded kind of dirty.  It isn’t, but it should be. 

Then of course, because no one in state governments or Congress has the stones to insist that if people want to live, work and be in this country that they need to speak, write and understand the English language, the sign was changed yet again:

See how humanity has devolved in the past 30-40 years.  Devolution has been going on since the Fall, but I truly believe it’s picking up momentum.

Some people (rapists, murderers, child molesters, animal abusers) should not be permitted to suck up valuable oxygen.  Others are simply crazy as shithouse rats, and should be protected from themselves and the greater society.  Unfortunately, when you work with the general public you WILL encounter them.  The good thing is today I have my GPS equipped cell phone handy, and 911 on speed dial.

The most memorable “crazy as a shithouse rat” individual from my days of being a service advisor actually tried to throttle me, as in pushing me against the wall, grabbing me by the neck, and attempting to asphyxiate me.  White powder (i.e. cocaine) was a real problem back then. As we found out later, the dude not only was one of the biggest drug dealers in Delaware County, he had made the most common mistake of drug dealers- getting high on his own supply.   Had this happened in more recent times (this has been almost 20 years ago) I would have called the cops and had the dude charged with assault.   I was happy enough when my boss heard the fracas, (as well as I would assume he could smell the techies’ sneaker smoke as they were all running out the side door-the pussies!)  ran out, told the guy to leave, and threatened to call the cops if he ever came back.  Hell, I had the license number as well as the guy’s address, phone number and VIN.  Could have, should have, would have called the cops, but hindsight is 20/20.  My boss didn’t want any further trouble.

It would possibly been different if I’d done anything to deserve a throttling, but this guy was torqued for a really illogical reason.  He had bought an extended warranty on the car for which there was a $50 deductible for every visit– no matter how much work the tech did on it.  Most customers who have this program and who are endowed with any sense will tell the advisor, “fix anything the tech says needs attention,” and the tech will gleefully oblige.  This guy (did I mention he had a white powder problem) brought this late model Camry in and requested we repair the torn CV boot ONLY and nothing else, which I noted on the repair order.  Unfortunately the only thing the tech saw was the extended warranty, so (like any normal flat rate tech would do when basically given carte blanche) he went over this car with a fine toothed comb.  He fixed a few minor transmission leaks, replaced a wheel bearing and hub assembly,  replaced the distributor shaft seal, CV boot, water pump, and made some other repairs typically required on a high mileage Camry.  99.9999% of customers would be overjoyed to get all this work- about $1500 worth- done for $50.  This guy was out of his mind in more ways than one.  He was truly shithouse rat crazy as he went into a rage.  I just had the bad luck of being the nearest target.

Thankfully, two weeks later this dude and a few of his friends’ drug ring got brought down.  I wonder if he’s still in prison.  Being an asshole, as well as a white powder sniffer, has a way of biting one in the ass.

I need to watch the Three Stooges more often. There were a few episodes on AMC last Sunday and it was most enjoyable watching them.  The Stooges are still funny, albeit predictable, after all these years.  I happen to believe this is a perfect illustration for how I see golfers:

The major difference is the Three Stooges were less pompous and better dressed than most of the PGA wannabes I encountered at the Infiniti dealership.   From what I’ve seen of golfers and the holier-than-everyone-else attitude they emanate,  they can keep their hoity-toity sport all to themselves. 

Yes my birthday is coming up and since nobody gives a rat’s ass, and my odds of receiving birthday gifts I might actually want are slim to none, I might as well request big. (in order of most to least outrageous)

1. Bahamas/Caribbean Cougar Cruise- as in ten days of delightful sailing on the tropical seas, where I am The Cougar, and the rest of the ship is staffed with buff young men between the ages of 21 and 30 who are ready and willing to cater to my every whim.

2. Total body laser hair removal- all of my unwanted/superfluous body hair, gone forever.  I would never have to shave, pluck out the Unibrow, or Nair my face again!

3. A year’s membership to the “Y” so I can go to the indoor pool whenever I want.

4. A day at the indoor waterpark.

5. 10 3- packs of Hanes Her Way size 7 white hi-cut undies (thought I forgot about yesterday’s request, didn’t ya?)

6. A $25 gas card.

7. A 12 pack of Diet Dr. Pepper.

Knowing my luck my Mom will buy me some more cookie cutters.  The gift that says to the diabetic, “Hurry up and die, already?”  She will remember my birthday, but the older she gets, I am afraid to think with what.

A Plea for Some New Granny Panties (‘Cause My Kid’s in College and I’m Poor)

Leave a comment

No, this is not a joke.  I need these.  A three pack of Hanes Her Way size 7 white hi-cut underwear is $7.99.  I don’t like the expensive ones, and regular briefs don’t fit right.  Since I have endured two major abdominal surgeries, I have to be a bit picky about comfy undies.  I am too poor to afford these because my kid has no motivation to get a job, and he is draining me of every dime.  Every single pair of my underwear looks like the dogs have played tug of war with them and it is getting to the point where I might as well go commando because there are so many holes in them. I have had most of these for several years and they’ve done their time.

If anyone would like to send me said undies, I would be happy to forward along my address where they can be drop shipped.

Steve-o, are you reading my blog?

Steve-o?

The Scourge of Winter Apathy, Interpersonal Relations for the Ineffable Introvert, and a Dearth of Common Sense

Leave a comment

Ok, so it is Monday.  I am a misanthropic soul, most admittedly. Yesterday’s sermon really pointed that out to me even more than I wish to admit it.  The summation of this is that I love people but from a distance, and I don’t love the stupid things people do.   When I am deprived of my weekly quiet time (i.e. stuck at home to run and fetch for Jerry) I get more than a bit cranky. I am trying to overcome the scourge of winter apathy, but when it’s too bloody cold for even me to go outside without layers and layers of clothes, it’s not easy, and it gets worse.  It doesn’t help that Target had their usual swimsuit extravaganza on display as of the 15th of this month.   This is Ohio.  The only people buying or wearing swimsuits in January either a.) have their own pool or hot tub, or a membership to an indoor pool, or b.) are going on vacations to places where it is warm enough to go swimming outside.  Since I fit into neither of those categories, the swimsuit display only serves to remind me just how bad I look in a swimsuit anyway, and how long I will have to wait to go swimming again.  When I am in the pool I can care less who is looking at me anyway.   The thing I don’t understand about the early bird swimsuit display is, where are the parkas in July?  If you are going to sell totally seasonally inappropriate apparel, then it would stand to reason that anyone looking for shorts and halters are going to find long-johns and thermal socks.  That wouldn’t surprise me either, although I highly doubt parkas are going to sell very well in high summer when it’s 95 degrees with 100% humidity. 

Usually the end of February is the worst part of winter.  The dismal pallor of late February in Central Ohio has a despair all its own. It’s still technically winter, but it’s just warm enough for the whole outside to thaw out enough to be damp and covered with the old, grey snowbooger scuz instead of permafrost, but it’s definitely not spring.  It rains, but it’s a constant, overcast drippy drizzle, not the torrential rains that accompany “springtime” in Ohio.  The torrential rains- as well as thunderstorms and tornados- come through in March and April.   There isn’t much to look forward to in late February except maybe Mardi Gras.  At my age I want people to forget my birthday, and through some stretch of luck, and the pervasiveness of winter apathy, they usually do. 

If anyone does remember my birthday, try to remember I’d like a one day pass to the indoor waterpark.  Either that or go whole hog and buy me that “Y” membership I can’t afford. 

Hell, I’d be happy with a few new packs of granny panties.  Mine are getting rather threadbare.

Jerry doesn’t seem to realize the toilet isn’t a very good ashtray either.  I think he will find all kinds of disgusting sleaze when he snakes it out.  He likes to flush everything and then wonders why you have to plunge it every time someone takes a healthy poo.  Then again he wasn’t blessed with much common sense.  Since I know that I should forgive him.  Maybe that’s what’s the Prozac is for.

That’s the only way it’s going to get there, too.  Martha Stewart I ain’t.

Ground Control to Major Tom, Aggressive-Aggressive Revenge, and Forgiveness is Divine

Leave a comment

I adore spring flowers, especially in the depths of Central Ohio winter.  Right now the weather alone is depressing.

I am thankful that I dragged my sorry carcass to church this morning even though venturing out on a Sunday morning when it’s seven degrees out is difficult when compared with staying in the comfort of my own bed.  But as far as going to church goes,  I don’t “deserve” to be there- I need to be there.

Today’s sermon especially hit home.  Right now our Pastors are teaching on the parables of Jesus.  Today’s text was Matthew 18:21-35, the parable of the unmerciful servant.  Talk about hitting me where I live.

I’m not a very forgiving person.  I do tend to scorekeep, mull over past slights, and I’ve not been above aggressive-aggressive revenge as well as all of my signature forms of passive-aggressive revenge.  God forgives me for all the crud I’ve done- and believe me I have done some pretty shameful and terrible things (no this is not repressed old Catholic guilt resurfacing.)

I find myself more often than I’d like in the position of the unmerciful servant- God cuts me a break, over and over and over again, but I end up feeling slighted and wanting payback every time someone does something wrong or bad to me.

I have to admit that sometimes forgiveness is the last thing on my mind.  Yesterday when my Saturday nap was rudely interrupted and then postponed, I admit that forgiving Jerry for his total lack of consideration was pretty low on my priority list.  He did come off of enough money for dog food (Nutro ain’t cheap- Clara has corn allergy and requires a corn-free lamb and rice diet, but it is a high quality food and they do well on it, so they all three eat it) so coming off of $51 for a 38# bag of dog food assuaged my angst somewhat.  But I shouldn’t be concerned with keeping score.

I am really bad about holding grudges, and I admit I adore getting even.

This is not a good thing because in spite of my sense of humor and oft times salty language, I do take my faith seriously.  I take it seriously enough not to candy coat it with false piety.  Martin Luther said, “Sin boldly.”  I think he meant it as, “Live honestly.”  Don’t put up a front and be who you really are.

Some of the pettiest wieners I’ve ever known are the “Dana Carvey as the Church Lady” types.

Granted, I believe there is a spirit world.  I believe Satan is real, but I don’t attribute everything remotely bad as being of Satanic origin.  Most of the evil in this world is simply the result of fallen and fallible human beings screwing things up, because that’s what we do.

I also believe that those of us who believe Jesus and are following Him fail to do the world any favors by acting “holier than thou” and/or putting up those lily-white goody-goody fronts.

If there is any holiness in me, it doesn’t come from me, believe that.  I am a human being who is most fallible, who screws up constantly, and who therefore has a deep need to be a little more compassionate even when other people are being stupid.  I do enough stupid things myself- let’s see- abysmal choices in relationships, career choices in which I got screwed, disastrous financial mistakes, being gullible, being taken advantage of, taking advantage of others, et cetera, ad nauseam.

I’m pretty sure I will continue to laugh at my own stupidity and the stupidity of others- but I can only pray for a greater compassion and understanding when other people continually do stupid things that piss me off or inconvenience me. (i.e  Jerry is currently whining for me to get him his pills, a task that an adult male of reasonably sound mind and body should be capable of doing for himself but he won’t, so I will have to do it so he will shut up already…)

Tomorrow’s Monday.  I’ll have my chance for good or ill to apply the lesson of today’s sermon.  Lord help me! I will need it.

I know Jesus wouldn’t punch him out or tell him where or how high to shove the pills (perhaps they are more effective administered rectally?) so I will try to follow His example.

A Cynic’s Contrition (Sort of,) Taco Tuesdays, and Dysfunction can be Fun!

Leave a comment

Perhaps I should forgive Jerry his utter lack of appreciation, consideration and/or common human decency.  He was raised by wolves after all. Ten minutes with the in-laws is all it takes to see just how true this is.  This is how Jerry’s mother typically greets him:

“Where you been, asshole? You got my money?”

‘Nuff said.

His mother is actually the most compassionate one of the entire horde.  His dad is a tightwad to a fault and is 100% devoid of warmth or compassion (never trust anyone who hates dogs!)  I do find it funny that he will only go to Taco Bell on Tuesdays because that’s Senior Discount day.  Apparently 89 cents for a taco is just too much without getting that extra 10% discount.  I would rather fix my own tacos at home so I know what’s in them.  Then again I don’t eat out much.

I don’t trust any of his sisters any further than I could throw the largest of the three, who is probably 4’8″ and 220#- since she lost all that weight. (Seriously!)   In some ways I do feel sorry for him and his rather frightening upbringing, even though as the “precious only male child” he was the recipient of many special perks, such as his own room, special meals (his mom thought he was “too skinny”) and new clothes.

I know too many couples who have kept on trying to have kids until they end up with that “precious only male child.”  I work with one guy who pretty much ignores his daughters and dotes incessantly on the bratty son because he thinks the kid is going to be some kind of amazing sports prodigy.  I am far more realistic with my own son. I simply hope that someday he is gainfully employed and self supporting and that he stays out of jail.

My parents gave up on that “precious only male child dream” once I was born.  I don’t blame them.  Three kids are way too many.  One is more than enough, trust me.  I’m sorry for them that they ended up with all daughters.  Hell, if I knew better- even though I got the “precious only male child” on the first try, I’d forgone childbearing altogether and stuck with dogs.  They cost a lot less than kids and don’t get smart mouthed with you.


Any time is a good time to insert gratuitous pics of the illustrious, and beautiful, Clara. Belgian Malinois rule. Clara is likely a crossbreed between a Malinois and a German Shepherd, (she is a rescued dog after all) but she has the primary characteristics of a Malinois.  Excellent, intelligent, wonderful dogs.

As far as dysfunctional upbringings go, my parents (as well as my sisters and the kids at school) beat me too.  That was normal in the 60’s and 70’s.  Get over it and move on already.  Try to find the humor in it.  It’s the only way I stay relatively functional and sane.  I don’t expect anyone to feel sorry for me because I was raised in a rather screwed up way.  I do admit Jerry’s family was probably worse than mine (his parents have about a fourth grade education between them, and a good deal of their sorry parenting was due to ignorance) but not that much worse.

How many kids today can say they’ve survived being tossed head first into garbage cans, being chased around a classroom by a crazed pervert as he’s chanting, “titty, titty, titty,” and living through the divers and sadistic tortures of one’s evil siblings?

Apparently there are people out there with far worse upbringings than either mine or Jerry’s!