The Wisdom of Reagan, Auspicious Ohio?, and Use Your Leverage Wisely

Yes, yesterday’s election results are (though not really a surprise) quite pleasant, but I will temper my glee with a few caveats.  First of all, if you want to ACT like the Republican you profess to be, look no further than the wisdom of the Gipper.  We the people voted for people who are going to act like Republicans, NOT suckupedy RINOs.  We the people said a loud and clear NO to Obama’s lackeys.  Think Nancy Pelosi and you will see what I mean.   Almost everyone Obama campaigned for went down in a blaze of shame. His endorsement should be considered the political equivalent to the kiss of death.    I think the only close Obama lackey to survive yesterday’s housecleaning was Harry Reid, and I have to wonder if that’s only because Nevada allows people to vote until they’ve been dead for a hundred years.  We all know how dead people, homeless winos bribed with cartons of smokes, and convicted felons prefer Democrats.

During the 20th century there was a political axiom that stated, “As Ohio goes, so does the nation.”  We can only hope so, if yesterday was any indicator.  Taxin’ Ted is out – and I believe Obama did Kasich a really big favor by campaigning for Strickland so much.  I just wish that if Obama feels he has to come to Ohio that he would have the balls to go to Cincinnati, or if he’s not quite ballsy enough, he might think about visiting some of the rural locales in Central Ohio such as Marion County or Morrow County.  That would be a learning experience for him.  All of Obama’s pandering in the union mob cesspool that is Cuyahoga County (and to a lesser degree, his pandering to the small island of wannabe elitist class-pandering, pro-homosexual liberals here in Franklin County, arrgh!!) helped people to equate Strickland with Obama.  Even though in Strickland’s defense (?) Strickland  is more “center left”- mildly delusioned and fiscally irresponsible- than “I’m-shithouse-rat-crazy ultra far left,” i.e. Karl Marx is my hero – like Obama is.  If one would remember the 2008 primaries, Strickland came out heavily for Hillary and only embraced Obama after he got the nomination.   Compared to Obama, Hillary (who we know is no friend to the cause of conservatism) is a moderate. One nice thing I will say about Taxin’ Ted is he didn’t shy away from the executions like our last wussy assed Democrat governor (Dick Celeste- what a nut job) did.  Ohio is a death penalty state, as it should rightfully remain. Other than that I wasn’t terribly impressed with Strickland.  He really pissed me off with the raising motor vehicle fees and gas taxes, and spending all that time and taxpayer money pursuing his great union-boss payback scheme to build the crazy train.   The unions owned Strickland as they do virtually every other Democrat and let’s face it, union boss control is a large part of why Ohio has bloated and inefficient government, abysmal schools, exorbitant taxes, and it’s a large part of why private sector business avoids Ohio like the plague. 

Unions are the elephant in the room that nobody wants to discuss but they are hugely responsible for the economic decline of Ohio.  Strickland was trying to keep feeding the union alligator like his predecessors for the past 60 years instead of confronting them…because they bought and paid for him to keep the gravy train pork projects and cushy redundant government and school system jobs rolling in.  It would be different if the train was something that would bring true economic development to Ohio, or even something that people would actually use, (and if non-union construction companies could actually bid on the contracts…) but  the crazy train isn’t practical.  I am really going to use a train that travels 40 miles an hour to go from Columbus to Cleveland and then be stuck in Cleveland for an inordinate amount of time with no car.  I might as well go to the nearest Crack Town wearing a t-shirt that says “Rape and Rob Me, Steal My ATM Card, I Have No Get Away Vehicle!”   I really don’t have any dire compulsion to go to Cleveland for any reason, and if I did, I would want to have  my car so I could get out as soon as I got my necessary business done.

All I can say about the recent GOP victories: Use our leverage wisely.  Remember the Gipper.

I have a theory about the next two years of enduring Obama (too bad we didn’t take the Senate too, so we could seriously consider investigating Obama’s eligibility to hold office and/or pursue impeachment.)  Obama is NOT going to be conciliatory.  He is far too arrogant and delusioned to think that the Emperor Could Be Wrong.   He is going to cling to the bat-shit crazy left wing  of the Democrat party with a tenacity and a delusional conviction that the world hasn’t seen since Johnny Cochran argued OJ must be innocent because the glove didn’t fit. 

The Emperor is naked.  Everybody knows it now.  The Emperor is Wrong.  The Emperor has just now effectively been rendered a lame duck.  His spell over the drooling masses has been broken, and his dive into delusion and vitriolic anger in the next 26 months will almost be funny to watch.  The Emperor is going to be GONE.  1-20-13. 

Humor Is Where You Find It, Somewhere in the Generational Disconnect, and I Hope the Stupid People Stay Home Today

I can imagine Steve-o’s embarrassed indignation yet again at Mom as she is trying to pry into his sex life.  Steve-o is not Catholic and wasn’t raised Catholic so he really doesn’t understand that Mom learned sex-ed- from nuns.  I tried to impart to him at least a nominal Christian education in the Lutheran tradition.  Therefore the oddly Catholic concept of “sex-is-sin-except-if-you-are-married-and-actively-procreating-and-even-then-you-better-not-enjoy-it”  is not a concept that is dear to his heart.  I will add, that as in line with is correct Protestant theology, he has been taught that abstinence is the correct course of (in) action before one is married, but after marriage sex is perfectly hunky dory, and you can enjoy it without procreating, as long as it is consensual and with one’s spouse.  Of course for me, this concept of  “sex after marriage for recreational purposes” is merely a theory and not something I’ve experienced any time recently.  But I am an old cougar whose carnal drives went away pretty much completely after the hysterectomy anyway.  In contrast, Steve-o’s a 19 year old male for heaven’s sake, and there would be something wrong with him if he didn’t have a healthy case of cat scratch fever (as Ted Nugent called it.)  I was going to say “perpetual boner,” but I don’t want to imagine that.  Ever. Eww.

I would rather have Steve-o be honest with me.  I know he has been doing the dirty deed ever since Jerry caught Jezebel riding him like a pony when he was 14.  I am glad to have been spared the visual, and no I don’t approve of it.  However I am a realist, and I know that I didn’t practice abstinence until I was married.   If  lust is a difficult thing for women to resist, (and I struggled with it for many years, and still do in some ways) I know men in their impulsiveness have it a lot worse.  It’s a high standard, and even if I expect him to uphold the abstinence standard, I would rather he trust me enough to be honest with me if he doesn’t.  I understand.  Really.

Mom on the other hand does a very good impression of the Spanish Inquisition, which is what she did to him the other night of her own admission.  I know she means well because she fears for the state of Steve-o’s soul, (and I think Catholics still regard fornication as a mortal sin) but the Inquisitional method isn’t going to work with him.  The old-school Catholic guilt complex doesn’t register with him.  He was never taught to be terrified of dying with unconfessed sins, and I don’t think he’s even heard of the concept of mortal sin.  I wasn’t about to tell her what I know about Steve-o’s amours and break Steve-o’s confidence. I know that she more or less browbeat and cornered him into a sheepish denial, a denial arrived at specifically to appease her and to avoid her wrath.  I don’t think she really wanted the truth anyway.  Sometimes the truth is exactly what you don’t want to hear.  He told her what she wants to hear to avoid her inevitable diatribe about fornication and mortal sin and how the “pecker leads the way down the path to perdition.”  I think she learned that speech from the nuns way back in 1960 and can still quote it verbatim. While as I said earlier, I don’t approve of what is technically fornication, and in my own life transgressions of that nature have caused me a great deal of regret and heartache.  God put the boundaries around our behavior for a reason, and when we cross those boundaries there are consequences.  Even so, I can think of much more harmful offenses.  In spite of my Catholic upbringing, I find it hard to believe that sex is the unforgivable sin.  I know that sin doesn’t have categories and one is as bad as another and we are all guilty.  I am not the one Steve-o or anyone else will have to answer to.  We can sound the warnings but ultimately each one of us is going to make mistakes and each one has to live with the consequences of those mistakes. 

I have to find some humor in the fact that I got the same Inquisition from Mom, years ago, and I pretty much reacted the same way.  I was the Queen of Denial (he-he.)  My sister was nominally less fortunate, as she got the Inquisition after Mom found her birth control pills.  That was not a pretty scene. 

I think my generation views things carnal in a different light than Mom’s generation.  While technically she and Dad are “boomers” (came of age in the 1960’s) one has to remember they grew up in a town that is chronically 20 years behind the rest of the world.  The 1960’s for them meant 1940’s social mores, not hippies or Woodstock or free love.  My generation was into the whole “love the one you’re with” thing- at least until the advent of AIDS.  Then we started getting picky.  When I was in high school it was not uncommon for girls to get pregnant and not even know who fathered the child.  When Mom and Dad were in high school if a girl got pregnant either she was Sent Away to have the baby and then give it up for adoption, or forced into a shotgun wedding at age 16.  Neither of these scenarios are good, and both of them underscore the fact that behavior has consequences.  Waiting is better but waiting isn’t easy- especially when you’re 18 or 19 and a month seems like an eternity.  All I can say is time moves faster the older you get.

Today is election day and it is long awaited for those of us who abhor Obama and his dreadful administration.  I hope for a few things.  One, that the stupid people stay home.  Two, that we here in Ohio get a new Governor, and three, that enough Republicans make it into Congress to stop the Obamanation in his tracks.  I have never loathed an American President this much.  Carter was terrible- I remember writing him letters as a nine year old kid pleading with him to do something about the coal strikes and the hostage situation in Iran- but Carter at least had some humility if not sensible ideology.  Obama has abhorrent ideology as well as he is an arrogant fool.  May he please be a one term president!!!

History is Written by the Winners, the Vexing Scourges of Cougardom, and Halloween=Diabetic Hell

Yikes.  Sometimes when I look in the mirror I see my mother.  I am not saying Mom’s a bad person or anything- her heart is in the right place, but sometimes she can be scatterbrained.  Maybe my surprise comes from my own presumption that I was going to be more flexible, more with it, more cosmopolitan, etc. than Mom was.  When we were kids she seemed to be (and truly was) incredibly naive.  Working in the public school system has done much to erode her naivete, especially now that she works in one of the poorest sections of Crack Town and she gets to see exactly why some people should be forbidden to breed and/or to have custody of children. 

I have my own brand of naivete that comes from spending the past 20 years or thereabouts firmly entrenched in white middle class suburbia.  I freely admit I have absolutely no idea (nor do I care) what songs are on the Top 40- I despise rap music and don’t care for country either, so my knowledge of popular music ends around 1985.  I also really don’t give a rat’s ass about fashion other than it pisses me off that it’s hard to find shirts with frigging sleeves and I really hate the “hipster” style pants which obviously were not made for women who have a.) given birth, or b.) had abdominal surgeries, in which case I am disqualified from attempting to wear them on both counts.   I want pants that go up to my waist, thank you.  And I want shirts with sleeves to cover my meaty arms that are still meaty, although thanks to the shake weight thing, the flabby flaps underneath them have mostly been replaced with muscle.  See, these things sound like Mom talking, as she would repeat the nuns’ admonitions (she went to an old school Catholic school ) about modest dress and all that.  Mom learned about coverage from Catholic nuns who wore the full length nun habits:

Back in the day I had no problem with mini-skirts, fishnets, displaying cleavage, etc.  My quest for modesty today springs more from a desire to be polite.  There are things the rest of the world shouldn’t have to endure, namely the visions of an aging cougar’s thunder thighs, meaty arms or sagging boobs.  I don’t think I am to the point of needing to don the nun’s habit, or even to resign myself to the muumuu, although the nun’s habit would save on hairspray.  I hope if I get to this point though, that someone will put me out of their misery, or at least cover the important stuff up.

I am surprised that there is a TV commercial pawning a prescription cream to fight the scourge of female facial hair.  It is a lesser known scourge of cougardom that post-menopausal women grow facial hair.  Yeah, I mean like beards and mustaches, and I am not talking just about certain ethnic groups whose women are hairy from birth, but about women of northern European descent like myself.  I’ve been using the face Nair for the past few years.  Unlike leg hair, arm hair and unmentionable hair, shaving face hair  just makes it grow back worse.  Plucking is just too labor-intensive even though I have had to tenaciously fight the unibrow since my teens.  It’s not just about the unibrow these days, although Mom was wrong about that.  I pluck and pluck just as much as ever and my eyebrows do NOT “naturally thin out.”   Two days of no plucking and The Unibrow Returns.  With a vengeance. But now it’s the unibrow AND chin hair and upper lip hair and farking sideburns for heaven’s sake. 

I can’t afford to pay $60 for a month’s worth of a script cream to keep face hair from growing in the first place, but I can pay $5 for a bottle of face Nair to burn it off every week or so.  I so wish I could afford laser hair removal, and that I could get rid of leg, arm, pits & bits, unibrow, and face hair forever.  I think Permanent Unwanted Hair Removal needs to be #1 on my Bucket List.   The Bucket List is something I need to start putting together.  Assuming that at 41 I am middle-aged, if I’m lucky I might have another 40 years to accomplish it.

I love Halloween.  It’s one of my favorite holidays even though some people argue that Christians shouldn’t celebrate it.  I don’t have a problem with it as long as nobody is sacrificing black cats or damaging property or anything.  But for a diabetic, Halloween is difficult.  I can’t have the candy.  I used to love the candy.  I hope Mom keeps Dad away from the candy. 

As a kid I wasn’t diabetic and I could enjoy the candy cornucopia with impunity.  KitKats, Snickers, Mounds, Milky Ways, Milk Duds, Smarties, Tootsie Pops, Sweet Tarts, Reeses, Hershey bars, I loved them all.   Today I have to be satisfied with watching Steve-o and his buddies stuff their faces with chocolate,  as I am wistfully chomping away on sugarless spearmint gum. Dammit.  But I can still dress up.

Eternity is Fixed in the Minds of Men, Horribly Politically Incorrect, and a Cougar’s Eye View

Leave it to Steve-o to find an authentic SS helmet to try on when we were doing the museum tour with Dad’s car club last weekend.  I understand Steve-o is half German at least as far as ancestry goes (his “sperm donor” was 3/4 German…as if that means anything- I am more English than anything, but have some German ancestry) but the Nazis weren’t exactly the pinnacle of German culture.  The only things Hitler did right were building the Autobahn and commissioning the development of the Volkswagen.  Other than those two exceptions, he was a Really Bad Guy.  I’ve tried to explain to Steve-o, being the student of 20th century history that I am, that the Germans lost the war.  I hope he’s changed his mind about going as a Waffen SS officer for Halloween and about having his buddy paint a Luftwaffe cross on his newly acquired ’68 Bug.   Knowing Steve-o he will do both things, because he likes stirring up shit for the sake of the smell.  Perhaps Steve-o’s love of all things German goes back to a co-worker of mine who had commented that when Steve-o was a little boy he looked like a perfect specimen of Hitler Youth.  Thanks a lot.

When I confronted him about his bizarre love for the rebel flag, (Steve-o adores the Confederacy) I also explained that slavery really wasn’t a good idea, and that no one in my family as far as I knew ever owned slaves even though many of them were originally from Virginia.  Even for those who claim that the Confederate states had the right to secede, (which they may very well have) the Confederacy was defeated.  I don’t see Jefferson Davis on the $20, Robert E. Lee on the quarter, or any other Confederate player on any other denomination of American currency, and I don’t think I will any time soon.

History is written by the winners.  Had Germany won the war the world would have been a very different place. Better, who knows?  Worse, one could only imagine, but it would be different at least in ideology.   One could speculate that instead of communism being the forced collectivism menace of the 20th century that fascism would have taken its place.  However, forced collectivism or totalitarianism, whatever one wants to call it, and regardless of the ideology that is behind it, total governmental control effects the same results. 

It’s a shame, but all the hot ones are queer.

A Sad Farewell to Heidi, the Presence of Absence, and So Much Left Unsaid

I am still finding it hard to believe she’s gone.  This time last week Heidi was going about her business, a bit stiff and ungraceful, but doing all the normal dog things nonetheless.  Yes I knew she was 12 years old, which is the outer limit of the normal life expectancy of  female German Shepherds, but in the back of my mind I envisioned Kayla (also a female German Shepherd) who had almost reached an astounding age 16 before she lost use of her rear legs.

Heidi was getting along reasonably well with minor accommodations for her progressing muscle wasting and rear limb ataxia (unfortunately GSDs are prone to a number of neurological and orthopedic disorders as they age) -that is until she fell.

Thursday of last week we decided to go to the campground with the dogs.  I brought the girls down and decided to sit out on the deck because the weather was nice.  I’d been keeping an eye on Lilo because she was very interested in what was going on in the woods and I didn’t want her jumping over the edge of the deck.  At its steepest point it is about a sixteen foot drop from the deck to the hillside below.  Out of the three dogs I would never thought Heidi would try to go over the edge.  Heidi was usually happy to simply lie on the deck and listen to the birds and sniff the air.  I had gone back to my reading and iced tea- glancing over at Lilo from time to time just to be sure she wasn’t getting any ideas about jumping off the deck.  A short while later I heard a blood  curdling scream and thought to myself, “dammit, Lilo, what were you thinking?” I had envisioned Lilo with a broken leg or some other grievous injury.  But it wasn’t Lilo.  Lilo had obediently stayed on the deck where I had told her to sit.  Clara was clinging on to me like she always does when she’s away from home.  The screams were coming from poor old Heidi, lying on her side, bleeding from the nose and either too startled or hurting to move.

I didn’t see her land so I don’t know how she hit.  She only fell about four feet as she was on the side of the deck and not the part that juts out the highest above the hillside. I could not see that she had broken any bones, and she could stand with help.  Unfortunately she wasn’t herself again after that.  She didn’t want to eat or do much of anything beside just lying down.  Her every move looked to be an agony.  To make a long story short I took her to the vet- who did not have much to offer in the way of hope of recovery or improvement- and had her put down Saturday.  As painful as it was to let her go, it was obvious that I was not doing her any favors by trying to prolong her misery.  It sounds so high and lofty to say that but in practical application it is harder than hell to do.  Even as the injections are given and you know they are irreversible, something in your mind and heart screams, “take it back!” Even though you know you have sent your beloved over the Rubicon and and there is no return, you still want to cling to that last moment.

Finality is not a concept I accept willingly.  Perhaps this is what Dylan Thomas meant when he said, “rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Now it seems that many things remind me of gentle Heidi- when the dogs have their treats and Heidi is not the first one leading the way demanding her share, when I see Clara sniffing at the places Heidi used to nap to get a trace of her scent, when I look at her rug in the hallway and Heidi’s not there.

So much left unsaid.  Welcome to the void of absence, where there is no breath and no words.

A week ago I would never supposed poor Heidi would be in her grave.  A week ago she was doing all the normal dog things like she had done for the past three years she lived with us.

I know, I know, ask not for whom the bell tolls.  It will be ringing for me soon enough.

Yeah, this was the deck, and this pic of Clara and Lilo was taken just minutes before Heidi fell.

An interesting aside concerning the pic below- back in the 19th and very early 20th century, undertakers also made furniture.  I guess if you’re already making coffins, why not couches in the off season?

Golf Spelled Backward is “Flog,” and Other New Things I Learn Every Day

I would have to think that advertising a “Blowout Sale” at the porn emporium is somewhat counter intuitive.  Think about it.  This is a place that sells inflatable dolls, ya know?  I sure would hate to think that “Hunky Hank” would spring a leak on our first “date.”   I highly doubt if Lion’s Den takes returns even if the merchandise is defective.  I  can’t imagine being the one to explode the love doll OR having to be the poor sucker who would have to verify defective returns.  Can you say contagious bodily fluids?  Nasty!

I have a whole week to make these kind of observations as I’m on vacation next week.  Since I can’t really afford to go anywhere I have plenty of time to simply muse upon things I normally wouldn’t have time for.  I discovered today while playing word find on the DS that “golf” spelled backwards is “flog.”   Yes, I would rather be flogged than to be forced  to play or even watch golf, so that was a minor epiphany.

I share some of George Carlin’s feelings about golf and golf courses.  It’s a tremendous waste of real estate for a bunch of pretentious, pompous fools to wander about chasing a ball.  When I worked at the Infiniti dealership we dreaded the whole Memorial Tournament deal as we would be invaded by every PGA wannabe who needed car repair. Infinitis are popular among the golfer set- and the out of town owners were notoriously demanding and rude.  Granted there is a lot of money in and around the sport of golf, but I have no use for it other than it is sort of fun to ride around in the golf carts.  I still for the life of me can’t understand why the real estate surrounding Muirfield is so ungodly expensive, as if it would be a good thing to live right next to a golf course where you run the risk of wayward duffers putting their little white balls clean through the picture window.  I guess if you can afford to live in that zip code you don’t give a rat’s ass about having the glass guy come out a few times a year.  It beats living in the hood where they break out your glass so they can steal your stuff.


Toilet Paper Love, Canine Communication and More Medical Fun

You know you’re getting old when your significant other measures the depth and intensity of your love for him/her based on whether or not you have left him/her sufficient toilet paper to handle the “morning paperwork.”  Jerry expects me to leave him a whole roll of TP in the mornings, and I can understand why. 

I am continually amazed at how my dogs communicate with each other.  I’m not talking so much about the dog greeting that we humans think to be so nasty, even though I wonder why a creature with such an infinitely acute sense of smell will readily plow its nose into a fetid pile of trash, a steaming pile of shit, or into another dog’s asshole.  I am a dog lover, but I find their preoccupation with offensive (at least to humans) smells rather bizarre.  Kayla (rest her soul, and yes I do believe dogs have souls) used to love to roll in dead things, and she would come in smelling to holy high heaven of some partially decomposed carcass from time to time.   I miss dear Kayla, (she is much of the reason why Clara is such an excellent dog) but I certainly don’t miss that dead carcass smell.   Luckily for me Clara didn’t pick up that nasty habit.  Lilo likes to carry around dead things, but not necessarily to roll in them. She spent two weeks playing with a dead bird before it got so gross I took from her and put it in the dumpster.   Heidi as usual is in her own little world, happy simply to have food to eat and not have to spend her whole life in a 6X6 pen outside anymore.

It is amazing how dogs read behavior- not only among other dogs but also human behavior.  Since I am very weak in intuitive skills (I gravitate more toward the concrete that I can see and understand and prove) I gain much from observing my dogs.  They speak primarily through their body language with the others.   A head nod or a nudge or a glance speak volumes in the world of dog communication, which makes me wonder if they are not more visually oriented than many researchers think.   We know they are heavily reliant on  olfactory and auditory input (far more than humans who are primarily visual) but I believe there is much said in the visual signals.  I don’t know exactly who did the study, but even the way that dogs carry their tails is a form of communication.  It’s more than simple up or down but even the direction of the tail wag means something- subtle visual cues that are likely used in combination with the auditory and olfactory information all dogs both emit and translate.  They know and understand more than we give them credit for.

Thankfully (hopefully) for the next month or so I will not have any more medical fun to endure.  Yesterday I had the liver ultrasound, more blood draws, and the paper nightie visit.  The scary part of this is that as many times as I’ve had to have medical tests, procedures, etc. it is becoming almost second nature.  For the most part I know the drill a lot better than I want to- where to park, to make sure to ask the phlebotomist to draw blood from my left arm because that’s where the good veins are, and to have my laundry list of meds neatly printed out so I don’t have to try to remember them all and/or scrawl them all down in a space where there isn’t enough room to scrawl them all.  I am thankful most of the Dr.’s offices have gone to an automated format so all they do is input your information. It saves me time too.

I’m trying not to get too freaky about the liver tests, etc.  The abnormal readings are likely a result of diabetes and may not mean a whole lot.  I know they want to rule out really nasty things like hepatitis or cancer.  The whole idea of cancer scares the hell out of me not so much because I am afraid to die but I am afraid of a long,  painful and expensive death.  I can only hope and pray that when it’s my time to die I go quickly, painlessly and inexpensively.  Sometimes I wonder why the medical profession tries so hard to delay the inevitable rather than do what they can to make a person more comfortable if they are terminally ill anyway.  I don’t have the answer for that.    I am glad that I don’t have to endure the paper nightie visit again until next year.

The Wussification of America, Blame it on the Bullies, and What a Crock of Shit

In all fairness I can’t really say my parents beat me, at least not intentionally.  My sisters and their friends and kids at school beat me pretty much daily and with impunity, but I didn’t get too many parental beatings.  Mom could be rather severe when giving whacks or other physical punishments (i.e. being dragged out of church by the hair as any good Catholic mother would do if a child slips up on the proper performance of the Catholic calesthenics during Mass) but I really wouldn’t call those physical punishments “beatings” as they were probably deserved, or at least Mom thought they were.  Mom is bi-polar and at that point in her life she was both undiagnosed and untreated, so she deserves a lot of slack on that one.

It’s in the news again- the media and others raising a stink about cyber bullying.  Granted, the most recent case of cyber bullying in the news is rather shocking- someone broadcasting a video of a guy with his male lover in compromising activities- and I can imagine the emotional trauma involved, but suicide is a little extreme a response. I have to think the guy had problems long before his comrades took their nasty video into cyber space.  There is no way to rightly justify the invasion of privacy and the just plain malicious nature of broadcasting such a thing and I don’t condone such activities, but to hold the perpetrators responsible for a suicide death or to call it a “hate crime” is a bit much.  A lot too much. 

I understand more about bullying than most people probably ever will, even though the Internet was unheard of when I was in high school and college.  I endured not just name-calling and embarrassing pranks- but regular full-on physical beat downs that would be referred to as aggravated assault today.  Yes, it’s traumatic.  Yes, it sucks.  Yes, I do agree that kids should face severe repercussions for inflicting physical abuse on others, unlike when I was growing up and everyone just looked the other way or just joined in on it themselves.  But I draw the line at holding another culpable for someone else committing suicide.  After all, suicide is defined as a self-killing, an intentional act of the will, and a conscious decision to end one’s own life.  Believe me most people have had times in their lives when they have considered suicide for whatever reason (been there…more times than I can count) but thought better of it.  In my mind I would want to live and to overcome if for no other reason than to stand in defiance to those who would destroy me, and to fulfill whatever purpose God has for me- even though I am far from clear on that one. 

I don’t agree with the whole “hate crime” mentality, either.  The motive and intent behind an action does not make the action itself more or less severe. The whole concept of “hate crimes” seems to violate the First Amendment in a way to me.  In a free society we are entitled to our opinions and our thoughts as long as our actions do not violate the law.  Who cares how much someone hates a particular group or person or behavior as long as they obey the law?   A crime may begin as a thought, but the act of a crime is defined by what’s actually done, whether it be bodily injury or defacing property or even murder.   Why should any crime be considered a more heinous offense simply because it is committed against a “protected” group?  Does one group merit more protection than another under the law?  Is it more evil to kill a gay man than a straight man?  To me that idea – that killing a gay man may carry a heavier penalty than killing a straight man because the killing was done out of hatred for gays-perverts justice by placing a higher value on the lives and property of certain groups than others.  This is disturbing.  Aren’t both killings equally wrong? Aren’t both lives of equal value?

It bothers me that kids today are so sensitive to every slight.  It bothers me even more that we are being conditioned to be ever so careful of sensitive psyches, that we can’t call failure what it is.  I used to get beat up for “throwing the curve” in school- the rest of the class got D’s and F’s because I was the only one to get 100% on certain tests when the next highest grade was 75% or worse.  I don’t agree with grading on the curve even though I usually benefited from it academically because it is individual achievement that should be measured when testing.  Let each one stand on his or her merit.  Today no one grades on the curve for a different reason- not to make the overachiever stand out, but to attempt to keep the underachiever’s failure under wraps.  Instead of saying to the underachiever, “You have failed, you need to improve,” there is this horribly misguided idea that ignoring failure, or worse, dumbing down the entire class to the underachiever’s level, that everyone will be equal.  All I can say to this is that everyone will fall to the same level of mediocrity and failure which is readily evident in the public schools today. 

It’s about accountability.  It’s sad that anyone would be driven to suicide by the callous prank of another BUT when all is said and done, suicide is an individual’s choice.  The prankster didn’t physically push him off the bridge or take the pills or pull the trigger.  No one wants to take accountability for their own wrong choices or failures.  It’s easier to blame the bullies.  I could do that.  I could wrap myself up into my own little world of PTSD and blame everyone who ever smacked me around for all my shortcomings and failures.  They did it because they could.  They did it because it was funny.  But that’s n the past and today I need to choose for myself what I would do today.  I would rather be a thorn in their sides.  I would rather stand up and overcome- learn from my failures, stand up to opposition and succeed in spite of all the circumstances in my life that drag me down. 

I would rather be the one to take such nasty little bastards who would invade my privacy and publicly embarrass me to court and sue their butts into poverty for the rest of their natural lives.  I know a lot about passive-aggressive revenge.

Another thing that bothers me is all the fussing about “sexual harassment.”  To me as long as you keep your hands to yourself, say what you will.  After 20+ years in the automotive industry I’ve cultivated a rather thick skin as well as a catty sense of humor. I’ve been called everything but a fine upstanding white woman at one point or another.   So what.  There aren’t too many things one could say to me that would really bother me much.  Again there is such a thing as the First Amendment.  Say anything you want, but touch me and you cross the line.  How difficult is that? 

Society needs to lighten up.  There are plenty of beatings, shootings, stabbings and robberies being committed in the pursuit of illicit drugs.  The illegality and the harmfulness of the drugs is eclipsed by the illegality and the harmfulness of the violence perpetrated in the pursuit of them.  Legalize all of it, and destroy an entire black market economy in one fell swoop.  When the junkies can get all they want and then they OD on it, then they will automatically chlorinate the gene pool as it were.  The economics of supply and demand state when there is no more demand (i.e. the junkies have pretty much all OD) there will no longer be a market, hence no need for a supply.  Human beings have been getting high for millenia and will continue to do so, legal or illegal.  Might as well thin out the gene pool and let the stoners do as they will without the collateral damage.

Respect My Authority (Yeah, Right) and Power to the Control Freaks

 

 

I always wondered why Steve-o’s friends were afraid of me.  I really am not a violent person, no matter how much I watch cop shows and episodes of Dr. G.  In fact from my earliest conscious memories until I was about 14, I got the hell beat out of me pretty much daily.  At one beating a day from ages 2-14, that would be  4382 beatings (assuming there would be two leap years in that time range)  logged in- years before I could legally down a fifth of vodka or so to forget it all.

Granted, some days I probably avoided a beating and other days I know I got multiple beatings, so it all works out.  I know how to assume the position of least resistance to better protect the more vulnerable areas while I’m being pummeled.  The only time I ever fought back was when I was  17 and beat the living hell out of my sister (who had probably inflicted at least 3,000 of the beatings previously mentioned) and that only because she took my car without permission and ran it low on oil.  Taking my car without permission and with impunity (she assumed she had a “right” to just take anything that was mine) as well as almost blowing it up was simply the tipping point that crossed me over the line from fearful and resentful deference into seething rage.  My rational mind wasn’t even engaged. This beating was given on seething, festering anger and adrenaline alone. To this day I wonder how I did it and it scares me to think that I did. I just saw  red.  I will concede that even the meekest and most unassuming soul can be pushed to the point of doing damage.  I truly believe any person, if pushed long and hard enough, or given the right circumstance such as self-defense or defense of a child, can be driven to kill.  My sister got off easy with a busted lip and a few bruises.  Even after Dad had to almost carry me off to keep me from continuing to kick her in the face, he even admitted she got less than she deserved, and that she had been asking for it for years.

This was 17 years’ worth of retribution for as many years of bullying and beatings.  It takes a lot to provoke me to physical violence. I don’t like getting physical with anyone, mostly because in a battle of brawn I will most certainly lose.   Anonymous passive-aggressive revenge is my preferred mode of vindication.  It takes more intelligence and keeps me from potential bodily harm.  I would be the one who would put catfood in your meatloaf, or put on the Souza march CD at full blast when it’s early, and you’re hungover.  I prefer to watch from afar with concealed glee as you shovel in mouthfuls of meat by-products intended for feline digestion, and snicker in secret delight from a different room as you almost hit the ceiling and pee your bed to the tune of “Stars and Stripes Forever.”   That’s usually about as far as I would go with trying to get even.

Anyone who would be afraid of me must have their wires crossed or something.  I am neither large nor strong.  I am so uncoordinated that walking without falling is somewhat of a challenge, let alone coordinating the efforts required to smack someone down and deliver an effective pounding.  So just what is so intimidating?  The dogs know I’m harmless, but then I believe dogs are more intuitive than most people.  Dogs just know certain things. 

I do have a loud voice and a broad vocabulary, but that and $5 will get you the footlong sub of your choice at Subway.

I have to admit that I can be a control freak about a number of things.  I don’t like my schedule disrupted unless I am the one doing the disrupting.  It does disturb me when I use a particular brand or product and then can’t get it for whatever reason.  Toothpaste (Colgate Total Whitening- Gel) is one I am very picky about as well as shampoo and conditioner.  I use the Pantene Restoratives.  Target was down to one tube of conditioner the last time I ran out, and I ended up having to climb up on the shelving to reach it as (of course) it was on the top shelf behind everything.  It’s sad but I think I would have had a major meltdown had I not spotted the last lone conditioner tube. 

I am surprised that such trivial inconveniences have the power to get me so riled up.  Perhaps there is something to the theory that learned helplessness (knowing that life is going to kick your ass so you roll over accordingly) leads to all sorts of autoimmune disease and high blood pressure (I could be the poster child for that.)  There are very few things that I can control but when even those few things don’t work right then even more anger gets turned inward.  I let it burn and seethe and simmer which is exactly the wrong thing to do- and then I have the potential to explode over something stupid like not being able to find conditioner at Target. 

On a lighter note, I found a rather delightful blast from the past.  It’s been a long time since I watched Pee Wee’s Big Adventure – admittedly the Pee Wee films are not paragons of the motion picture art, but the guy is funny.  He’s so insipid and annoying that it makes him funny.  I don’t know why but the Mr. T Cereal caught my attention- after watching the Rube Goldberg breakfast clip from the Pee Wee movie  I was reminded that Mr. T Cereal was an actual food item that could be purchased in the mid-80’s.  Perhaps we have moved forward after all, although I know that there are still kids’ cereals out there that are based on cartoon characters or fake time wrestling or whatever.  I know kids hate being forced to eat breakfast.  Mom would never bow down to the latest sugar coated delights of the 70’s (and there were many!) so we were stuck eating either Honey Combs (why she thought these to be healthy I’ll never know) or Cracklin’ Bran which looked, smelled and most likely tasted exactly like dog food.   Sure, you get a week’s worth of fiber in one bowl, but face it- kids just don’t need that much fiber to be able to plop out a good one.  I can see someone my age needing a cereal like Cracklin’ Bran or Super Fiber Colon Sweep, but not kids.  They haven’t had the opportunity to accumulate all that colon drudge that we old people have hanging about.  

Steve-o never really liked cereal regardless of the cartoon character on the box or the prize, but he would eat chocolate Pop Tarts by the box.  He probably still would if he could afford them.  It seems that funky food preferences are easier to maintain if they are maintained on someone else’s dime.  By now he has probably learned how to make a pack of ramen noodles and a bottle of Texas Pete’s last for three meals.  It’s a valuable skill.

More Medical Fun, Poverty Sucks, and Trying Not to Freak Out

I’ve never been much to enjoy exercise.  In fact, I hate it- but unfortunately it’s a necessary evil.  30 minutes on the health rider machine every day, so I at least get some cardiovascular activity.  I’ve been doing the six minutes a day thing with the “shake weight” too, although I think all it’s doing for my meaty arms is replacing the pendulous skin under my arms with bulky biceps some dudes would kill for.  It is not giving me shapely feminine arms, rather, I think it’s making my upper body and shoulders even more formidable and off proportion, as if I were lifting weights or something.   I’ve always had huge arms- which is why I refuse to wear sleeveless shirts or dresses alone.  The sleeves of my wedding dress had to be cut off and re-done so my meaty arms would fit in them.  I might wear a sleeveless shirt under something or over something with sleeves- but never alone.  I don’t want to encourage those guys who have speculated that I used to be a male.  I know for a fact I am a biological female (even had a kid in the somewhat normal biological fashion too) but I have bizarre proportions.  I even looked bizarre the summer after my senior year when out of stress, chain smoking and probably a little too much mail order speed, (I admit I had a weakness for psuedoephedrine back when you could buy it by the 1,000 white crosses at a time) I’d unintentionally starved myself down to 115#.  I did not look sexy.  I looked like a top heavy scarecrow, a fact that even my Dr. pointed out when Mom dragged me in to see him because she thought I was anorexic or something.  Mom always used to be on my ass about  being too heavy (pot calling the kettle black, but I digress) but at that point even she thought I looked skinny and sick.  My Dr. at the time informed me that I needed to weigh somewhere between 130# and 150#, and that, “You might as well forget about looking like a model or something because that’s just not the way you’re made.”    I had to agree with him on that one.  At 115#  I looked like an emaciated dwarf.  The sad fact is, that even at a healthy weight I have bizarre proportions.  I know beauty is fleeting and I never had it anyway, but I still don’t want to be an ill-proportioned land whale.

This being said I am still on the quest to get down to 140#.  I have about thirty# or so to go, but I figure that with enough portion control (aka starvation…but it saves money on food too) and exercise that I will get there.  Eventually.  That’s one of the motivating factors behind getting through daily exercise and enduring all that hotness and sweating.  I think the sweating is the worst part about exercise.  I hate being hot and stinky.  I can be very disciplined about eating even though I don’t particularly like it.  The other reason for the whole fitness regime is I’m trying to keep my blood sugar down.  Diabetes sucks.  But if I could get down to 140# that would put me back to where I was for most of high school, and at least assuage my fears of becoming a 300# behemoth slob like so many of the girls I went to school with.

 

It really doesn’t seem fair- I know I could use to lose 20-30# and am actively working on it, but what about all the really, really fat people you see who never get diabetes?  I know there’s a heredity factor there also (Grandpa and Dad) but neither of my sisters have it either.  I don’t wish diabetes on anyone but it just sucks.  I think sometimes people look at you like it’s all self-inflicted and it’s not necessarily so.  Admittedly in my youth I lived on caffeine, nicotine, sugar and grease- but I changed that tune long before I was ever diagnosed with diabetes. 

Now I have to go back for yet even more lab work- it seems my liver is doing funky things which may be nothing or may be something (good question) and an ultrasound test on my liver too which is freaking me out.  It’s bad enough I already scheduled my paper nightie visit- apparently I still have to go get the nether area checked once a year even though I haven’t gotten lucky since Clinton was president, and I had a hysterectomy so there couldn’t be a whole lot left to have to check- but now I have to get more freaking blood tests too.  I’m sorry but that shit freaks me out.  I don’t know which is worse, the paper nightie visit, or the ominous specter of more blood work and the possibility of having even more shit wrong with me. 

Not having any money and worrying about how I’m going to pay for the bare necessities is a whole other issue I’m dealing with now.  Steve-o is costing me a small fortune not to mention scripts and all these Dr. visits that I really can’t afford.  Jerry is whining all the way about paying for anything which doesn’t help.  I am trying to trust that God will provide- and He does- but I really wish I didn’t have to go through the cliff-hanger version.  I can only pray for neither poverty nor riches- I just want to have the resources I need to get by.  Sometimes I have  a really hard time.  I know other people may have it harder so I really shouldn’t complain, but it scares me having to scramble and shift and scrape.  It never seems as if there is enough money to cover all the endless bills and needs and all that, and frankly the stress of it all drains me.   I’m trying not to freak out about money or the lack thereof, but I need some real help in that area.  I know God answers prayer and right now that’s where I’m at with it.  Trying to trust…I believe, help my unbelief.