I’m Not Normal, You’re Screwed Up, and That Might Be OK

February 21, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

Straight to you from the compost heap. Steamy!

The self-help subdivision of pseudopsychology offers a rich source of fodder for the cynical mind. Since my mind is one of the most cynical around, I’ve found self-help (with rare exception) to be more of a source of self-humor than self-help.

True self-improvement is a beautiful thing, but changing one’s character or habits in a meaningful way is neither typical nor easy. I’ve been saying for years how I want to have washboard abs (yeah, right) or thousands of dollars saved back, but those things don’t happen. My physical condition is better than it was, which only means that I have both feet out of the coffin instead of only one. Financially, well, there are people worse off than me and I’ll leave that exactly where it is. I’m thankful every time I’m able to pay for my scripts and have food in the fridge.

I think the thing that really turned me against the self-help genre was the plethora of vapid works available in the 80s and 90s. Crap like “Think Yourself Thin” and “Co-Dependent No More” might actually be useful for some people, depending on where they’re coming from. However, I am not a typical woman. Appealing to my emotions doesn’t generally do squat for me. Appealing to my intellect can influence me, if the information given is relevant. I need a do this=____result. I don’t do very well with a maybe do this and maybe something might result- or not.

There is a lot to be said for making a conscious choice to behave differently, to achieve specific goals, etc., but that determination only goes so far. I’m all too aware of how finite and limited my efforts are.

One of the techniques used in cognitive behavioral therapy (which, by the way, can be effective if it’s used properly) is to “re-write your script.” The thought behind this is that if you can convince yourself that you really weren’t the little geek kid who was continually getting beaten up, you’ll be able to respond and function in a healthier way as an adult. If you can convince yourself that you used to be Billy Bad Ass back in the day, instead of the nerd who got tossed face first in the trash barrel every morning, then you might be able to act like Billy Bad Ass now, instead of always being the town doormat.

As much as I like the concept behind the re-write, it’s a bit intellectually dishonest. I was never Billy Bad Ass. The closest I ever came to it was the one time I beat the hell out of my oldest sister, and that was a gut reaction fueled by years of repressed rage.

However, with a little creativity, “re-writing my script” could be hilarious as hell.

I wasn’t a sickly kid born into a poor family who got my ass kicked on a daily basis for the first thirteen years of my life. Hell no. I was a freaking princess, complete with a tiara.

Check it out!

I liked to kick ass, so I took martial arts lessons and got my black belt in Karate.

How you like me now?

And when I got older and was mega-cool, I got to hang out with Steve Perry.

Yeah, we were buds back in 1983.

While coming up with such stunning fictional scenarios can be fun, then it raises the question, “What the hell happened?”

Apparently I need to lower my standards.

I wonder if this is creative use of Paint or Photoshop, or if someone really had the balls to spray paint this on a real sign:

Something in my twisted sense of humor hopes it’s real.

Yer Gonna Die!!, Cold, Dead Fingers, and the COMA Speech

February 13, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if you’ve been born, then die you must! And if you are a conservative, Obama will be happy to help hurry it along!

I know many American Christians don’t get the whole Ash Wednesday or Lent thing, unless of course they’re Catholic or come from a liturgical tradition (Episcopals, Presbyterians, Lutherans, some Methodists, and the Orthodox observe Lent to some degree.)

A simple explanation of Ash Wednesday is it’s a day to remember our mortality. Yer Gonna Die!!!- get used to it- is the message. Sooner or later everyone’s going to end up worm food. It’s just as guaranteed as Obama making an idiot of himself in the State of the Union address by addressing gun control (something about 70% of Americans fervently oppose) and not saying anything of relevance or substance on the economy or anything else that people who pay taxes actually care about. Unless of course, it’s about how he wants to raise taxes to pay for more drivel that the taxpayers are already sick as hell of being forced to pay for to begin with.

Wormy wormy wormy worms, dancing in and out of my eye sockets, feasting on my liver, yum!

I don’t remember where I saw it or I’d give due credit, but I heard someone refer to Obama’s sickening speech last night as the COMA speech- the Condition of My Agenda. Unfortunately his agenda- Marxism- is alive and well, no thanks to those in Congress who have no spine and who will not stand up to illegitimate tyrants. If Congress had a pair, Obama would have been impeached and removed in 2009 for not proving his citizenship, which he still has not done in a satisfactory manner. His wanna-be highness has absolutely no clue as to the “state of the union” – hint #1- it sucks, and hint #2- he has positively no idea what’s going on in the real world. The main problem is Obama doesn’t care about anything unless it interferes with his vacations and his hob-nobbing with the smarmy likes of Jay-Z and Beyoncé. Far be it from His (un-)Holiness (I guess since the Pope’s retiring, Obama will just start using that title too) to actually give a fart in a high wind about all those “rednecks who cling to their religion and guns.” He’s more worried about whether or not non-citizens have the “right” to go to the early voting center to vote multiple times- as long as they are voting early and often for Democrats, of course.

If the election of 2012 was fair and legitimate, I’ll be the first native born American to become the Queen of England.

I’m surprised Ted Nugent wasn’t more incensed by what he heard, as he was in attendance while the Thief in Chief spouted his lies, but I have a feeling Ted is treading lightly. I don’t think Ted could have been shocked at the lack of substance in that speech as it was typical Obama hearts and flowers and faux do gooder tripe with lots of taxpayer-funded “giveaways” and warm fuzzies for Democrats and their lackeys. That’s the only spiel Obama can do. However, I agree with Uncle Ted on one thing- the infringement upon Second Amendment rights is not something that the majority of Americans is just going to look the other way at. There are people in this country from whom their guns will have to be pried from their cold, dead fingers, and there are more of those kinds of people than B.O. and his minions can dream to imagine.

If it sounds like I’m angry, I am angry. I know there isn’t much I can do to change the situation, but silence implies consent. I do NOT approve and I did NOT concede. Millions of Americans do NOT approve of this illegitimate squatter in our White House, or of what he’s doing to this country.

Yesterday I was reminded of one of the two absolutes in this world: Taxes, and the Marxists who want to steal from me to give to the chronic welfare class as well as to union lackeys and Obama’s corporate pets.

Let’s see: identity fraud, voter fraud, the Benghazi scandal, bypassing Congress with frivolous executive orders-

Congress, What the HELL is this guy still doing squatting in OUR White House?

Today I am reminded of the other absolute in this world: Death, and it almost makes me thankful that in the grand scheme of things, my time is short.

Because we all know how splendidly Marxism worked in the USSR!

If You Only Knew What’s in Food, You’d Never Eat Again

February 9, 2013Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

Today I am glad I don’t live in the UK. Or at least that I didn’t eat frozen lasagna in the UK.

Cheddar cheese on lasagna? That’s almost as bad as eating Mr. Ed!

Maybe I shouldn’t be so critical. I love the Brits in most things, but English food is scary as hell to begin with, at least to American sensibilities. It’s not necessarily dangerous to eat horse meat, but it is culturally taboo, even in the UK where people eat really nasty sounding things like blood pudding and kidney pie and haggis. I think as far as frozen lasagna goes I’ll stick with the Stouffer’s red-box stuff. It may be mystery meat, but it’s still some tasty stuff.

They don’t claim that the meat is beef. It’s just “meat” which could be anything.

I think if we really knew what was in food we would never eat again.

Gravy happens. And this stuff looks like puke. I want to know who tasted it to verify that it “tastes like beef stew.” Used beef stew?

When my Dad was growing up on the west side of Marion, there was a dog food manufacturing plant about 2 miles from where he and my grandparents lived. In the 1950’s horse meat was a major ingredient in dog food, as well as carcasses of various livestock. Back then, pretty much any meat source that could be rendered down was used in dog food. The dog food plant closed down in the early 1980’s, (long after it had been made illegal to use horse meat in dog food) but I can still remember the stench of that joint if the wind was blowing the wrong way. It was not a pleasant smell.

One night the horses they were keeping to slaughter the next day got out and followed the railroad tracks to my grandparents’ house. Dad woke up and was screaming about horses running through the back yard. Grandpa thought Dad was nuts until he saw the horses for himself.

Sometimes I almost get the vegans’ argument against eating anything with a face. I couldn’t imagine eating an animal like a horse or a dog if I put a face on it, but then I remember that cats are obligatory carnivores, and I remember that most humans who espouse vegan eating really aren’t as healthy as they want to suggest, mentally or physically. I just don’t think that smelling like an abattoir, (in spite of not eating meat?) having grey, scaly skin, braid-able hair on the armpits and legs, and straw-like scarecrow hair sticking up from one’s head are indicators of health. Nor do I think wiping with reusable cloths or burying my car is a good idea to “save the planet” either. I like an occasional Porterhouse steak. I like my leather shoes, I like to remove superfluous body hair, and I’d rather be dead than have dreadlocks.

Never trust the unbathed.

I understand meat-eating is a cultural thing. Personally I find the thought of eating dogs highly offensive, but they do it in Asia. I have no problem with eating rabbits, squirrels or deer, while some people I know think that’s the grossest thing ever. I don’t care for lamb or mutton, but the dogs love it. Supposedly that’s what their food is based on, but I really don’t want to know what’s in dog food. It’s bad enough to consider what’s in food meant for humans.

I found a taste tester.

I could save a lot of money this way. Just shut up and eat it. You just don’t want to know.

Don’t Wanna, Can’t Make Me, and Sweet Dreams are Made of These

February 6, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

So, for a brief sanity break, leave those who were raised by wolves to figure things out for themselves from time to time.

The zoo calls that “enrichment” time for the animals. Let the bears dig their dinner out of a bucket instead of just putting it in front of them. It makes their lives more fun. Or at least, it makes it more fun for the humans to watch.

I strive to have high standards for myself, but I don’t really expect much from rest of the world. I know that might sound arrogant, but should I expect anything from anyone, even if I spell it out clearly, odds are that they will disappoint. The old axiom, “if you want it done right, do it yourself,” certainly does apply in my life, although I should re-word it a bit for the 21st century.

“If I want it done at all, I better do it.”

If I keep my standards low, then when someone actually does perform adequately or appropriately, I am pleasantly surprised. It’s sort of a twisted way of looking at the glass as being half full.

Of course there are some things I could give a rat’s ass less whether they’re done or not, because they just don’t make an appearance on my priority list.

I’m not a sports fan. I struggle to commit to regular workouts for my health’s sake. I’m still trying to learn to enjoy exercise. I appreciate being able to go to the Y and use the machines and the pool there, but the only person I compete against as far as fitness or athletic (in)ability is myself.

I will make time to work out, but I still don’t care to watch sports. Especially next month when they will be clogging up TruTV with that March Madness basketball mess. I know some people want to watch basketball, but why on the same channel that “World’s Dumbest” is on? Why not cut a few of the late night pecker pump infomercials and have basketball on then?

I can’t say I am a huge fan of constantly dusting things either. I don’t dust as often as I should, but dusting is one of those exercises in futility that I positively loathe. Jerry is a constant smoker, which creates even more dust than what would be in a normal house. That nasty nicotine encrusted film covers everything in the house. If I get to it, I get to it, but it’s not one of my really compelling priorities. I can dust the whole frigging house from top to bottom and the filmy sludge will return in less than a day. To me that seems like an insane waste of time, which reminds me of poor Sisyphus. We the unwilling, doing the impossible for the ungrateful. Sometimes I think I have more in common with Sisyphus than I’d like to acknowledge.

I know I torqued Jerry off last night by not fixing him dinner, however, he has spent the last few days being particularly obnoxious. Last night I did make a special trip to get him chocolate milk. That favor was greeted with a tirade about how he had to get up and lock the door. I was gone for five minutes, in broad daylight, and the door leading into the kitchen was locked. The outside door was unlocked because it’s a little easier to only have to dig for one key- once you’re already in the foyer- when it’s cold and your hands are full. But since His Nibs doesn’t do anything that might involve carrying in groceries or anything like that, he wouldn’t know.

It’s my own fault for being too nice.

Here’s a lovely little slice of paradise. Or it would be, if there were a pool and a pool boy.

The bad thing about me and utopian scenes is that I’m always the one who cues in on the one nasty thing in the picture. For me the idyllic scene above becomes:

This would be the kind of dream I have. Everything is perfect for a minute, and then there’s flaming porto johns, Richard Simmons, and flatulence-provoking taco references.

Now here would be my definition of a nightmare:

It would be my luck that when I die I’ll end up in Detroit.

February 6, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

It wasn’t just Milwaukee, or Wisconsin. The same garbage went on in OHIO too!

Dog Doo, Tea Bagging, Dingbats and Family Annoyances

January 29, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I’ve never been much for political correctness, but my boobs aren’t speaking to you, bubba.

I’ve always had a sort of loathing for meetings/seminars/workshops in which the facilitator requires the participants to wear name tags. At least a name tag like this could have served a practical purpose in a few of those sort of events. I appreciate my anonymity, and hide behind it whenever I can. I never had the choice of a cute HK tag to wear, even as the only chick at most of the automotive functions (there still aren’t very many female parts or service managers in car dealerships) I’ve attended.

I really don’t give two shits in a high wind if some stranger from Moose Dick, Alaska, who I will never see again, remembers my boobs, or my name. I’d rather he forget them both. Unless he’s hot, and there are exactly -0- hot guys on the planet who have ever bothered to drool on my shirt.

I’ve considered it a plus when the boob-oglers had teeth and hair.

Of course now that I’m older, the kinds of guys who would be ogling my cleavage (providing their vision is still good enough) have gotten even more scary than they used to be.

Some older guys are hot. Unfortunately they were hot when they were younger too, and they ignored me then, too. I was a kegger when I was 21, and that has not improved with age. I am not one of the beautiful people, and usually that doesn’t bother me much.

I guess if you’re that dumb, you deserve to be removed from the gene pool.

Today I’m sounding pretty misandrist (which is unusual for me, because I generally like men and get along better with them than with other women) and I’m sure it has to do with Jerry. He did go and work out last night which I am proud of him for. I just hope he isn’t too disheartened to find out that he can’t keep up with me. I can bench press more than he can. But in all fairness I quit smoking over 10 years ago, I don’t drink, and I’ve been working out already pretty consistently for the past 3 years. He’s 12 years older than me, still smokes like a freight train, considers beer a food group, and lifts weights 12 ounces at a time. That mindset apparently doesn’t do jack for your upper body strength.

Jerry can be a horrible dingbat at times and he displayed that today. I really hate any family member calling me at work unless it’s something important. Usually it’s dumb shit that can wait. Unless someone is in the hospital or dead, or by some Miracle of God I’ve come into some serious money, I really don’t want to hear about it. I have to talk to enough people and hear about enough problems while I’m at work without listening to anyone’s tirade about this that or the other thing that I can’t remedy until later anyway. Jerry calls me with stupid shit (pun intended) such as “Sheena had the shits all over the floor.”

Yes, Jerry, clean it up! With your bare hands! Why not?

So then I get to dread cleaning up congealed diarrheal dog shit for all the rest of the day. Thanks, Jerry, for being the shit monitor. How about YOU cleaning it up every once in awhile? Jerry’s really good about pointing out the (blessedly rare) dog or cat accidents, but then he claims that “I can’t clean it up, because I’ll puke.” Granted, I have a very limited sense of smell, but I can see, and I can feel, and I can be weird about germs, so what makes you think cleaning up shit is less gross for me, Captain Oblivious?

Mom is just as bad. She will call me with some (usually) imagined crisis (usually involving Steve-o, Sophie, or one of my nephews) that I can’t do a damned thing about, only to find out later that she was making yet another mountain out of another molehill. Steve-o is 21. If he decides he wants to hang out with his buddies, or whatever, it’s not a Federal case. As far as how he is raising his daughter, he and her mother seem to be doing a good job. Barring neglect or abuse, I will not intervene with their parenting. I had a hell of enough time raising my own offspring to be butting in on how others raise theirs.

As far as parenting my nephews, apparently she doesn’t have the courage to approach my sisters every time she thinks they’ve stepped outside their bounds. In reality, my sisters are much stricter with my nephews than I ever was with Steve-o. Unless they are doing illegal things or egregiously immoral things, it is none of my business and my sisters are responsible for correcting them anyway.

“Mother” does not start with “s.” She is his grandmother, but the no-smother clause works with grandparents as well. She might be Catholic, but, Steve-o’s not. (See the video clip from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life on Protestantism which is pretty funny.) Though I may not approve of fornication, I also know that a.) he’s going to, and b.) if he’s going to, using a rubber is a pretty good idea. He already has one offspring that we know about.

“Oooh, what are you doing with condoms!”

I only wish Jerry had been calling to bitch about something as trivial as dog shit. Apparently he failed to understand what I meant, on numerous occasions, when I said I was cancelling a very expensive automatic recurring withdrawal from my checking account (i.e. that I could no longer pay for his life insurance, etc. that had been coming out of my checking account, and that he swore up and down, “yeah, I’ll pay you for it” but never did.) Apparently (oh lucky freaking me) dumb-ass answered the home phone when he was home at lunch, which is only really there for phone solicitors and other people I don’t want to talk to. So the insurance people were wondering why we had cancelled, etc. (and those people are annoying as shit when they call because they get a spiff on every policy they convince you not to cancel) so, not remembering I said I was cancelling the EFT, he proceeded to call me at work and give me a nasty little tirade about it.

Just because I’m used to irrational tirades doesn’t mean I enjoy them.

Joy.

I know I shouldn’t let him take financial advantage of me, (and I’m done with subsidizing these ridiculously overpriced insurance policies) but I will have hell to pay for it. I’m not looking forward to that at all.

Playing Devil’s Advocate, a Perfect World #656, and My Little Dystopia

January 28, 2013Tonya Lanthron 4 Comments

The Red Guy from Cow and Chicken

I have to admit I like cartoons a little bit too much, especially the late 80’s-90’s cartoons like Cow and Chicken, Dexter’s Laboratory, Two Stupid Dogs, Ren and Stimpy and Johnny Bravo (you can still catch these late at night on Boomerang from time to time.) The artwork is simple and mostly computer-generated (as is pretty much all animation these days) but the story lines are blessedly twisted and a little bit unexpected.

I watch TV or go to movies for one of two reasons. One is to learn something, which is why I enjoy documentaries and nature shows. I’ve probably spent more time watching documentaries on WWII than the actual war lasted, which is a sort of sad commentary on just how much I live life vicariously. The other reason I watch TV or go to movies is because I want to laugh. I enjoy World’s Dumbest and 1000 Ways to Die because they’re not only educational but funny in a twisted way.

I stopped caring a LONG time ago about dippy celebrities (I could care less about the Kardashians and who they’re currently landing in bed with) and drippy lame pop stars.

They may be brunettes, but they’re still no-talent dingbats. However, their handlers are doing something right. They’re dingbats with more money than I’ll ever see.

In the 80s we had some good pop (though there was a fair share of really bad pop music then as well) and some really awesome rock and metal. Rock and metal have been long since been overtaken by rap, which pretty much sucks. Country has always sucked, but today it is a just bit less sucky than it once was. I can’t understand or get much into techno either. That stuff sounds like the soundtrack for a cheap porn movie. Today it pretty much ALL sucks, unless it’s new material from an older artist such as Neal Schon. Yes I really do enjoy The Calling, and most of his other solo stuff too, although if you want to try it out- a caution. Schon’s solo stuff is nothing like Journey. The Calling is jazz fusion instrumental music that’s generally only going to appeal to musicians. Guitar players and anyone trained in any of the disciplines of classical music will appreciate this stuff, but to assume it will be popular with the masses is sort of like expecting Billy Joe Jim Bob to get into La Bohème. It’s not going to happen.

In a perfect world, all the men would be buff. And they would all be wearing Spandex pants, like these:

Man pants- but ONLY for the buff.

Of course, since most men are not this buff, baggy jeans or sweatpants will have to do.

Jerry so far has actually gone to the Y, but has only checked out the equipment. So far he has not dared to don the sweatpants or to actually use any of the workout equipment. I’m hoping to get him to that point tonight, now that he’s seen that all the other 50-something men there are wearing plain old dollar store sweatpants and t-shirts and even those awful Velcro tennis shoes. He will fit right in that fashion parade.

Cats and Dogs, the Natty Impaired, and Physical Fitness

January 25, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

I love this chart, because for the most part, it’s true.

Most dogs are not terribly body sensitive. Sheena is a bit head-shy, but I think that’s because she’s deaf, which means she’s highly reliant upon what she sees and she doesn’t want anything to obstruct her vision. Lilo is extremely body sensitive (don’t even try to touch her feet or tail without giving fair warning) for a dog, but she’s an exception rather than a rule. Clara must think she’s a cat, because she adores having her butt scratched as much if not more than a typical cat.

Isabel and Jezebel (the two black cats, and the oldest and youngest) are cling-on cats. They love attention, seek it out, and can’t get enough physical closeness, petting, cuddling, etc. Fanny (the behemoth silver tabby and white) and F.B. (Fluffy Butt, the tortoiseshell Angora) are both more selective about who they want attention from, for how long, and when. They have their moments of wanting attention, but they also have their moments of being downright anti-social. Especially Fanny.

Me (Isabel- right) and Mini-me (Jezebel- left)

Jezebel is not going to be a terribly large cat. Isabel is very small for an adult cat (just over 5#) and Fanny was bigger than her by the time Fanny was three months old. Jezebel is about 18 weeks old at this point and is maybe 2 1/2- 3#. Jezebel will likely grow and fill out a bit after she’s spayed, but I doubt if it will be by much. Isabel’s spayed too. Cats do most of their growing before their adult teeth come in. Jezebel already has her adult incisors and canine teeth (yes, cats are carnivores and therefore they possess four elongated canine teeth, like all other carnivores) and it likely won’t be long before she gets the premolars and molars too. An interesting (nerd alert) aside- a cat is actually more of a true carnivore than a dog, because a cat is an obligatory carnivore that requires meat in their diet to survive, whilst dogs can survive without meat in their diet. Cats cannot manufacture their own taurine, which is an essential amino acid that has to do with vision and regulating heart beat. Dogs (and humans) can manufacture their own taurine, but cats can only get taurine from meat in their diet.

Vegans beware- put your cat on a vegan diet and it will soon go blind and then die- so don’t impose your meatless lifestyle on your cat. Or on me for that matter. I may not need meat to live, but I sure do like it.

F.B. is a beautiful cat, but she despises cameras. I was lucky to get this one.

F.B. is probably the quietest and most unobtrusive of my cats. She likes attention if it’s one-on-one, and she loves to just chill with the other cats. For the most part she sits back and observes, and sleeps.

Fanny was aptly named. That’s what I get for listening to Queen.

Fanny is huge. 17# for a female cat is big. She has big bones, and she has big meat on the big bones also, which is ironic because Isabel and Jezebel- each- eat more than she does. They are tiny and svelte, yet they are eating machines. Fanny is a fussy eater who eats only a very few things, (for instance Fanny refuses Vienna sausages, which the other cats adore) and she slowly and methodically chews each bite. I feel for Fanny and her metabolism. She also has a bit of a jealousy complex and an attitude. She was not at all happy about Jezebel coming in and taking her position as the young petulant indulged one, even though Fanny’s four years old and should be over it by now.

Clara and Lilo have always been close. Sometimes Lilo will get into Clara’s crate with her.

Clara (top) and Lilo (bottom) have been close ever since we got them. Clara had been with us a few months when we got Lilo, and they are only a few months apart in age. Even now that they’re older (Clara’s 10, Lilo’s 9) they still occasionally play tug of war with their toys and play-fight with each other.

They still enjoy this, even though Clara’s bigger and usually wins.

Sheena is well, Sheena. She is her own dog.

Sheena’s part Husky. Sheena has a number of flaws that are consistent with inbreeding- severe hip dysplasia, deafness, gross motor deficits (may or may not be related to HD) and she’s downright goofy. Maybe some of her cognitive deficiencies are related to the fact that she used to live at the Tetanus Farm which was also a puppy mill and (suspected) meth lab. There’s a reason why it’s a bad idea to procreate with first degree relatives, and that applies to dogs as well as humans. But Sheena’s endearing in her own weird way. I have a soft spot for rejects and misfits. That must explain Jerry. A warning to women: if a guy’s 38, straight, and never married, there is a good reason why.

Today begins Jerry’s fitness program. He’s the one who wanted a membership at the Y and actually gave me money to pay for it. This is almost scary in a way. I can’t imagine Jerry in work out clothes, on a treadmill or elliptical, or lifting any sort of weight over 12 ounces.

He will be so disappointed when he discovers the only fluids available at the Y are water, diet soda and fruit juice, and there are no beer holders on the cardio machines. But I will be happy if he at least goes and gives it a try.

On the other hand, I am anxiously looking forward to enjoying the indoor pool, being able to swim laps starting at 5:30 in the morning, and being able to work out on the ellipticals. Swimming and elliptical machines are two modes of exercise that allow me to get the cardio and strength training I need without destroying my joints even more than they are already. The Y also has nice showers, so if I choose to go there to work out before work instead of working out at home, I can actually swim laps, do some cardio, and then shower and go to work from there. Nice.

Hopefully he won’t think this is what I mean by “work out clothes.”

Dissent is My 1st Amendment Right, Freezing, and the Agony of Hat-Head

January 22, 2013Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Creepy, I know. But I did do what I said I was going to. I even wore a black bra and black underwear, should the inquiring mind want to know.

My reasons for wearing all-black mourning clothes in protest of the second inauguration of the Worst President in American History?

1. Voter fraud. If the past election had been honest, i.e. only eligible voters voting, and eligible voters only voting once, yesterday’s events would have been very different, and far happier.

2. Obama is the absolute worst president this country has seen in its 236 year history, for a laundry list of reasons: a.) wiping his pompous ass with our Constitution, b.) refusing to submit to proper background checks to prove his eligibility to hold public office, c.) his active support of terrorist harboring nations, d.) he advocates the murder of the unborn, e.) he is imposing his faux imperial will upon the people of this country (see also letter a.) against our consent.

Perhaps if Obama had won “fair and square” I wouldn’t be quite so pissed off. However, I find it curious that more than 100% of the registered voters in a few Cuyahoga County precincts ALL voted for Obama. I find it fishy that the Democrats were bussing non-citizens to the early voting center right here in Columbus, so they could vote multiple times on multiple days using nothing more than a utility bill (even though you need not be an American citizen or a resident of Ohio to have utilities in your name) for ID. I find it even more peculiar that Obama failed to win any state that requires a photo ID to vote. What’s even worse is that so-called Republicans (including the Ohio attorney general and the Ohio secretary of state) refuse to investigate these egregious and widespread frauds and refuse to speak out against them. Methinks they are afraid of rocking the boat, or of getting a visit from the union thugs that rule over Cuyahoga County.

I’m tired of people using his race to excuse his ineptitude- and his dishonesty.

The 2012 election was a travesty and a joke and no one will do anything about it. Obama might as well just have declared himself king yesterday. The sad thing is that I wouldn’t put it past him to do exactly that.

What are you boys afraid of? Sometimes standing up for the right thing means pissing a few people off. I learned a long time ago I don’t give a rat’s ass who I please as long as I can live with myself. Just because I disagree with Obama’s policies and I can see that he is a Marxist, a liar and a cheater does not make me a racist. It makes me someone who sees Obama for who he really is- a petty despot hell bent on destroying America. I don’t care if he is black, white, green, gay, straight or furry. He’s dishonest and he’s wrong. He may hide behind the façade of being black (in reality, his mother was white) to avoid scrutiny, but at the end of the day, failing to speak out against him is giving evil a free pass.

Tact never was my strong suit, but there are times when the truth has to trump tact.

Today also marks a sad anniversary- 40 years of Roe v. Wade. Another testament that just because something is legal does not make it right. The Supreme Court also decided the Dred Scott case, which was as fundamentally wrong when it was decided as it is today.

On a different note, this is one of those days when Central Ohio is too far north for human habitation. Today’s high was 15°, which is cold even for me. I know it’s colder in places like Cleveland and Detroit (both of which are places I have no real desire to visit again) but it’s pretty damned cold here too, and windy to boot. Target, of course, has lots of brand new swim attire on display, should anyone be able to find any body of water thawed out enough to swim in.

Do what you want, but personally I think this is downright nuts.

When it is this cold and windy I find it necessary to wear a hat. I like hats, but when I put a hat on it’s got to stay on the rest of the day unless I have the opportunity to re-do my hair. So I’m wearing a hat today- the same black aviator hat I wore yesterday. When the farking wind chill is 20° below and the various HVAC systems I encounter in a day are doing good to keep the temperature in the 50s in this kind of cold, the hat stays on. Don’t like it? Bite me.

Hey, it’s warm!

My “Best” Self, Time Keeping in the Post-Apocalyptic World, and Other Questions No One Asks But Me

January 16, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I forgot my watch today. That is rather vexing, even though I can make the argument that the habit of wearing a timekeeper on one’s person is rather archaic and quaint. I very seldom forget to wear a watch. It became habit when I was in elementary school (way before the days of smart phones or computers) because it was necessary for me to know the time, 1.) when I went home for lunch and had to be back at school, so I didn’t screw around too long on the way back (I don’t know of any elementary schools today that let kids leave for lunch, but that was a different time) and 2.) if Grandma was going to pick me up after school, I would know she would be there at exactly 3:00, and that I had better be right out front next to the oak tree and not messing about on the playground.

The watch I wore from the time I was 9 years old until I was in college was a wind-up Timex (good luck finding one of those, but I still have it, and it still works.) Today I generally wear a Timex digital watch (I have a few) or the really nice Fossil analog watch (talk about archaic, though this one does have a battery) I reserve for non-casual occasions. I don’t know why I hang on to that rather dated custom- there’s a freaking clock in the car for heaven’s sake, not to mention on the cell phone and on the computer screen. If I really need to know what time it is that bad, the current time is everywhere.

The impulse to always have a watch on reminds me of “Rainman’s” obsession to always buy underwear at K-Mart. Not everyone on the autistic spectrum is OCD, (and I’m not) but I do remember as a kid I did NOT like having my schedule or routine changed at all, unless I was the one changing things. I still don’t like other people screwing up my itinerary, but the older I get, I tend to be a lot more flexible.

It really doesn’t matter in the broad scheme of things, but people like me tend to get hung up on some really weird shit sometimes. Perhaps it is a lame attempt for me to maintain some sort of continuity in an increasingly unpredictable world.

This country may be going to hell in a handbasket as the new Louis and Marie strut about as if they are royalty, as they stomp on the Constitution, squander taxpayers’ money, take their Hawaiian vacations and pontificate from their ivory tower, but at least I’ll know what time it is. I can even set the chronometer, should I need to call 911 and want to know how long the cops take to get there.

I couldn’t help it. This reference to B.O. and Moochelle as the new Louis and Marie was too much NOT to share. Sad thing is, this is NOT France.

Since I am painfully aware of not having a watch on my wrist, the thought came to mind, when would it really be imperative to have a watch on to know what time it is? After the apocalypse- when there are no more computers or cell phones or cars?

At that point, when my immediate surrounding area resembles something out of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, who would give a rat’s ass about the time? It would always be half-past ass whupping time, right?

There is a politically correct phrase I’ve heard that teachers use to “encourage” the children they teach, and for the most part I loathe it: “Be your best self today.”

WTF?

Can I be my shitty self tomorrow?

This is about as far as the “best self” train is going to go today.

I’m sorry, but the way I grew up was that it was either tow the line or get a boot up your ass. I think that’s part of the problem with kids today, that parents and teachers are afraid to challenge them. I can think positive all day and blow sunshine out my poop chute, but unless I actually do something positive it really doesn’t matter, does it?

Kids today need less mollycoddling and more boot camp.

Now I do like some of the suggestions here, even though the author of the post uses that phrase. I think I will strike up a conversation with a complete stranger for shits and grins, or do something completely spontaneous just because I can. Some of her suggestions are a tad bit more challenging, such as telling someone you love how much you love them. I have emotions- I think- but I’m not very good at sharing them.

Is it just me, or am I the only one who thinks it to be bad manners to make a take home plate at a funeral wake? I went to a calling hours and wake last week for a friend of mine whose father had died. The departed was Irish, and there was plenty of liquor, so it really was a proper Irish wake. Since we belong to a group of Lutheran church ladies, we had all brought enough chow for three armies too.

Jerry actually had the cojones to ask me if I’d fixed him a plate when I got home.

Granted, there was more than enough food and nobody would have missed it if I would have made Jerry a plate, but if you don’t at least go to the wake and pay your respects to the departed, then what gives you the right to go munching on their chow?

This is the message that action sends: “Gee, sorry about your Dad, too bad I was too busy drinking beer and watching the Big 10 channel to show up for his wake, but can my wife set me up with a doggie bag?”

I know Jerry was raised by wolves, but methinks requesting a doggie bag from a wake is a bit much.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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Author: Tonya Lanthron