Insight From the Empathy-Impaired, and an Ode to Caffeine

August 7, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

I have feelings. Sort of. When I choose to acknowledge them.

I am not a warm and fuzzy individual. I never was, and probably never will be. If I live to be my great-grandmother’s age (she was 94 when she passed) I will probably end up like the old battle-ax that lived across the street from my parents’ house who was dead and decomposing for months before the water meter reader had the bad fortune of being downwind.

By that time it was high summer, and the coroner opined that she’d expired some time in February. Nobody missed her for that long. Thankfully she hated animals as much as she did humans, otherwise some little ankle biter (I couldn’t imagine this woman as a dog lover at all, but I really can’t imagine her having a real full size dog) would likely have developed a taste for human flesh.

Dogs are not gourmets, nor are they picky. (note: this incident of “dog eats humans” happened in the UK.) Mom had one dog (of the ankle biter persuasion) who would dine on soiled feminine hygiene items, and another that would eat entire pairs of underwear. Decomposing, rotten old fossil would probably be a step up from those culinary delights.

I think I just found my next Halloween costume.

Mom’s dog really did eat these things though. Another reason for my disdain of ankle biters.

Even considering my fear and loathing of most social interaction, for some bizarre reason, I end up being everyone’s twisted Ann Landers. Perhaps my carefully crafted outer façade is too good. I’m trying to blend in and navigate through the sea of humanity with all its complex nuances and petty flourishes, but I’m not asking to get pulled into the fray. Most of the time I just want to be left the hell alone.

An iron skillet is a multipurpose tool.

I considered the collection of iron skillets in the kitchen for a brief moment last night. Yes, they are excellent for making fried chicken and/or cornbread (ironically, two foods I no longer indulge in) but I have to admit I was not amused by Jerry’s drunken forays into my room at 9:30 and again at 11:00.

I’m generally out by 8:30 or 9PM. I don’t do late nights very well, especially when it’s a Tuesday night and I have to work the next day. I have no idea how he can party like a rock star during the week and not fall asleep (or worse) at work. I know I’m a long, long way from the days when I could party all night and go all day long too. 44 is a long way from 17- but 56 is even longer. I don’t know how he can remain vertical the next day, especially after both swilling Natty Lites and staying up until all hours of the night. I can’t do it even with coffee and Monster.

I figure if I were going to die from caffeine overload, it would have happened back in the day.

Ah, the good old days- when “nutrition” for me meant the Four Food Groups: nicotine, caffeine, sugar and grease. I gave up the cigs and generally avoid both sugar and grease whenever possible, but I don’t see me giving up the caffeine entirely. I’m one of those people who likes coffee “thick,” and I’m not referring to loading it up with extraneous crap. I like my coffee black and thick, almost like espresso. I like espresso too, come to think of it, with nothing in it but coffee.

No liquor. No sugar. No cream. Just coffee. Concentrated. Mmmmmm.

I could use a double shot right about now, come to think of it. I like iced coffee too, as long as the coffee is super strong and there’s nothing in it other than ice and coffee, unless I don’t have anywhere to go, then I don’t mind adding a couple of shots of Bailey’s. I don’t drink often, but I actually like the taste of Bailey’s and coffee- iced or hot.

A shot or two of this in some iced coffee would be a beautiful thing right now.

Another Dog? Yes I’m Nuts, and More Obvious Truths

July 17, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

I am surprised that I’ve been 2 1/2 months with only two dogs. Clara and Lilo don’t seem to mind one bit, as they have been constant companions for the better part of a decade, but I know what I’m thinking in the back of my head, and what Jerry’s thinking in the front of his head. Our dogs are treated better than most people’s kids, but they still are working girls. They don’t just look cute and eat high dollar dog food. They are our home security. In this day and age I don’t want to be dog-less. It’s hard enough to sleep at night as it is.

I am more than mindful of the fact that a dog’s lifespan (ideally) is about 15 years, though a large dog’s lifespan can be shorter than that. Sheena was only about seven when she died, although Sheena had Issues that Clara and Lilo don’t have.

Sheena’s laundry list of health problems finally caught up with her- at only seven years old.

Clara’s 11. Lilo’s 10. Both of them are in good health, but they are not young dogs by anyone’s standards.

Kayla (right) at age 14, Clara (left) at age 2

Kayla was almost 16 when she passed, which is almost unheard of for a large GSD. We were given the responsibility to care for Kayla in her retirement (she was 11) and were told, “they don’t live much past 12.” Kayla was an effective security dog up until the last six months of so of her life- after she had already had Clara well-trained. I know that Kayla’s lifespan is the exception rather than the rule. Heidi (also a GSD) didn’t “live much past 12. ” She was 12 when she passed-but Heidi had some of the same issues Sheena did. I almost want to avoid GSDs completely because of all the health problems they’re known to harbor, unless I luck upon another Bavarian import like Kayla. Even though Kayla was from a good bloodline and enjoyed good health for almost 15 of her nearly 16 years, most GSDs are not that fortunate.

To make the whole dog-finding process more complex, I really want a Belgian Malinois, or barring that, at least a Malinois/GSD mix. I’m probably going to have to spend $800-$1000 to get the dog I really want, and I will probably have to make a substantial road trip to boot. I’m willing to do that for the right dog, but if I can find a shelter dog that fits the bill, better yet.

Here’s what I’m looking for- a young female Malinois. 16 weeks to 2 years would be ideal- the younger the better.

I have time, and I’d rather keep a lookout for suitable shelter dogs or rescues, but Jerry is Jerry. He can procure or find just about anything that exists. The girls need a protégé.

I’ve never had a male dog, and don’t particularly want one, as the girls tend to have fewer health problems (when spayed) and longer lifespans. That, and I really can’t deal with dogs that hump people, and that hump other dogs, or unfortunate petite black cats. I know not all males are humpers (and some females oddly enough, are) but the visual of Jerry’s Mom’s weirdo odd-eyed Shih-Tzu humping poor Isabel is burned into my retinas. That might not be entirely fair, as ankle-biters are strange anyway. As far as I’m concerned, a dog should be at least 50#, and I have a strong preference for the “protection” breeds. They seem to be more intuitive and intelligent than the average ankle-biter.

When anyone is “more equal” by merit of their race, gender, behavior choices, et cetera, there is no equality and no justice.

I don’t believe in the concept of retribution when it is not directed toward the original wrongdoer. I understand that people of certain races were targeted for unfair treatment in the past, up to and including torture, lynchings and genocide. The problem is that those wrongs are not “made right” today by denying justice simply because a person is of a certain race or ethnic group.

In order for justice to be just it has to be colorblind- not politically correct or expedient for certain “more equal” pigs.

If someone breaks into my house and threatens me and I am in fear of my life, I’m going to blow his/her head off and I’m not really going to care if that person is black, white, green, straight, gay, bi or furry. I have to agree with the Zimmerman acquittal for that reason. I have a right to defend myself if I am being attacked and am in fear of my life. I shouldn’t have to think twice because my attacker belongs to a “protected” group, like the Al Sharptons and Obamas and other race baiters of the world want us to believe.

Should black people be able to perpetrate crime against white people with impunity because some black people were victimized by white people in the past? Obviously the race baiters would scream bloody murder should anyone suggest the opposite scenario, (and they do even when it’s not warranted) but why should crimes perpetrated by ANYONE get a pass? Deeper yet, why should any person have to forfeit his/her right to self defense when he/she is being threatened by a perpetrator of any color? The Trayvon Martin issue was conveniently crafted into a racial issue- when the real issue was the right of self defense.

It seems like a white person using a white toilet is enough to get the race baiters going. It’s reverse racism and it’s just as ugly regardless of who’s being racist toward whom.

To those who are protesting the Zimmerman acquittal, perhaps the real issue is crime- and remembering that in this country, much to Obama and Al Sharpton’s chagrin- citizens still do have the right to defend themselves.

The Second Amendment is crucial to the preservation of American freedom…which is why Obama and others who are anti-freedom can’t stand it.

Then again, the best way to know if a public policy is wrong- and/or in support of the criminal element- is if Obama supports it. That’s why he’s all for gun control, abortion, punitive taxation on commerce, and letting every third world terrorist nut job in the country. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is trying to set us up for a takeover by his friends in the terrorist world.

It’s long past time for this country to get beyond race and start addressing the entitlement culture and the nanny state, which are the real roots of both poverty and crime.

Victorian Ephemera, Patent Medicine and Today’s Mollycoddled Offspring

July 11, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Here’s a Victorian-era product that probably wouldn’t go over too well today. Except maybe to NAMBLA members.

I know that knee pads are available for kids today – as well as shin guards, mouth guards and bike helmets- but these I think were designed more to preserve expensive clothing rather than to prevent injury. One need only examine some Victorian-era playthings to understand that safety wasn’t first. Or fifth. From the looks of some of that stuff, safety couldn’t have really been considered at all.

I can only imagine the geek factor involved for kids whose mothers required them to wear these, but then again, boys of the Victorian era typically wore those awful little man-capris with knee high socks. Knee protectors couldn’t make that dreadful fashion too much worse.

Screw the pellet gun- let’s just give them rocks and a mace!

Granted, Steve-o had toys, ranging from the innocuous to the deadly. He had Legos, Thomas the Tank Engine, Power Rangers, those annoying little finger skateboards, a BB gun (I’m still picking BBs out of the walls) and a Zippo (not to be confused with a flashlight.)

He had the latest video games, and a lot of other electronic toys too, but I didn’t want him to simply sit on his ass and watch as it grew huge, so I did allow skateboarding and in-line skating, which were responsible for both times he broke his right arm, once at age 6 and then again at age 11. I should have stopped at the BMX bike, but even the BMX bike proved quasi-deadly. Some little ass-pilot at his school decided to jam the rear wheel so the bike wouldn’t move when he went to take off on it. Unfortunately the little ass-pilot behind the engineering of that prank didn’t have much understanding of physics. Steve-o went to take off on the BMX and as the rear wheel was jammed all 160# of his 14 year old body went over the handlebars and landed square on his mouth- blasting his two front teeth to smithereens, though by some miracle of God sparing his skull.

$3800 (that insurance didn’t cover,) three root canals, and two crowns later, Steve-o was redeemed from a lifetime of Billy-Bob mouth. I was redeemed from $3800. I guess the love of money is the root of all evil. The only thing is, I’ve never been able to hang on to money long enough to fall in love with it, so I’ve not gotten to test the theory.

Wrong on many levels, but still cute.

Patent medicines have always fascinated me. They would have been awesome if they actually worked. One of my favorites is the wash-the-fat-away soap. If only one could scrub away the bingo wings and thunder thighs.

Wash away the lard- and eliminate the ravages of time. What’s in this shit? Acid? Flesh eating worms?

Even better are the adjectives used in patent medicine ads to describe overweight people- “corpulent,” “stout,” “too much flesh,” and just plain “fat. “

Hey! You! Lard Ass! Try this shizzle. It’ll CURE your fatness! Or should I say “corpulency” and “stoutness?”

Maybe the fat reducing ideas of the Victorian era were more effective than the potions and fads we try today, but then I would wager there were fewer fat people back then because everything one ate or drank had a good probability of giving one Montezuma’s revenge. You got to crap your way thin whether you wanted to or not.

Then again…

Perhaps if you lived on salt pork and corn cobs, constipation may just be an issue. I have to say that using a bird (presumably that’s a crow) to hawk (pun intended) a constipation remedy is brilliant. None of nature’s creatures craps more often or in more quantity for its size than birds. The subliminal is right here: Take these pills and you’ll shit like a bird!

The Most Redneck Phrases Ever Uttered, and Workout Etiquette for the Courtesy Impaired

July 3, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Ah, a repurposed ’84 Ford Escort. It beats replacing that pesky head gasket again.

“I broke my leg falling out of a deer stand.”

How many PBRs preceded your unfortunate tipsy tumble, and isn’t it rather unsporting to take the high ground when you’re hunting a large terrestrial creature such as a deer? I could understand taking the high ground to hunt for squirrels who live in the trees (and therefore would be easier to shoot from the heights,) but deer?

“Bubba, cain’t nobody understand ya without yer teeth in.”

Ironically (which I shouldn’t point out, being largely of Anglo descent myself) most rednecks have genetic ties not only to each other, but also to our friends in the UK, who are known world wide to be the most dentally challenged people on earth. The UK, Kentucky and West Virginia, that is.

I love the Brits, but like many of our Appalachian friends, they aren’t known for straight teeth and dazzling white smiles.

Clean up after your damned self in the locker room!

I’ve actually come to enjoy morning workouts, but I’ve also found that Jerry isn’t the only person out there who was raised by wolves. Civilized people should know enough to “leave it as you found it.” Especially in a locker room. I don’t want to see your dirty towels, used snot rags and heaven only knows what else strewn all over the benches and the vanity and the floor. That’s just nasty.

I also take care not to indulge potential “taco watchers.” Just as there are “meat gazers” in the men’s locker room, there are “taco watchers” in the women’s. I am not one of those women who simply wanders about with naughty bits all out in the open. I keep everything covered at least with a towel, even as I’m changing clothes or getting ready to shower. Nobody wants to see that. And if the watchers are women, I really don’t want them to see that.

Civilized people should also have the courtesy to wear swim caps in the pool so I don’t end up back stroking and ending up with human hair sticking between my fingers. Chlorine does not dissolve hair. It can, however, strip the color out of it, which is why I am always careful to have my swim cap on.

My ultimate dream is to have my own indoor pool (complete with pool boy) but at least I have access to an indoor pool so I am very grateful for that. I just wish that other people would be considerate of their surroundings and of other people by observing some simple courtesies.

Then again, I’m old, and I wasn’t raised by wolves.

“

Strange Dreams, and Some Thoughts on Current Events

June 26, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Maybe I’m going to have to give those subliminal mind-improvement MP3s a rest. The next time I have a dream in which the showcased event is an old high school nemesis dancing on the dinner table at a swanky event sans trou and waving Mr. Willy in the wind, I might just have to think about staying awake at night. The night before last was even weirder. I find myself telling my mother that my sister can change her own diaper (as far as I know, she’s a tad bit scatterbrained, but not in adult diapers yet) and not to call it a “diaper,” but to call it “pants.”

Note to self: 160-180# refers to the size of the wearer, not the amount of human effluvia it will hold.

Oh, yay. Sigmund Freud would have an ever loving field day with me. Then again, every mental health specialist I’ve ever seen has probably made some interesting notes. Just don’t let my Prozac script run out and things should be OK.

I’m not entirely surprised by today’s turn of current events. I can’t say I support the concept of gay marriage, my primary reason (morality aside) being I don’t buy the argument that one’s “orientation” is something outside of one’s control, any more than any other aspect of one’s behavior is out of one’s control. I also don’t buy into behavior or “orientation” being a civil rights issue. The members of NAMBLA will tell you that their “orientation” is toward little boys, and that they can’t help their behavior because they didn’t “choose” their orientation, so does that make pedophilia OK?

Using the “‘orientation’ absolves me from being accountable for my behavior” argument, I could rationalize that my “orientation” is to attempt to do the nasty with every fine young stud I see between the ages of 25 and 50. I can’t help it. That’s how I’m oriented. I didn’t choose it. So to take that rationalization to its logical conclusion, my desire to be every hot young-to-moderately middle-aged dude’s naughty cougar fantasy should be celebrated, encouraged and subsidized. I should be able to marry as many men as I like, so that when their willies don’t work anymore it doesn’t matter because I can just choose another stud from the stable. Why can’t I engage in polyandry? That’s how I’m oriented. I didn’t choose it.

See how dippy that sounds when straight people try to use the same argument to legitimize their own personal selfish choices?

If I choose to engage in promiscuous behavior, I could almost rationalize that because I’m married to a guy with ED- or if I choose to do the honorable, not so easy thing and live in involuntary celibacy because it’s the right thing to do, that choice is on me. If I decided I wanted to get involved in intimate relationships with multiple men to make my life more tolerable and fun, the rest of society shouldn’t have to celebrate it, encourage it, or subsidize it, or even make it sound legitimate and healthy.

The whole idea behind marriage isn’t so much for personal happiness and all that fairy tale crap as it is a long term commitment between a man and a woman (ostensibly but not always for the purpose of begetting and raising children)- even when that commitment involves illness, non-functional equipment or dealing with a spouse who was raised by wolves. It’s more like joining the army versus “forever after in happy land.” You’re in it even when it sucks.

Even so, before one might consider me a gay-basher or a homophobe, I really don’t care what other people do in the dark- as long as I don’t have to pay for it, or watch it, and it doesn’t involve me. Then again I’m not gay, so I admit it’s hard to see it from their point of view. I generally don’t get along with women very well to begin with, with few exceptions (most of my friends are guys) and frankly there’s nothing any woman’s got that I want. I’m straight, though I’ve been pretty much living without any kind of action for a number of years, so I guess in practical application, I would be a “none of the above.” I guess love is where you find it, and at this point in my life that’s a dead horse regardless of my “orientation”- unless it involves battery powered devices.

Different strokes for different folks, and I’m cool with that. I don’t care if a person has the hots for a Ford Escort as long as I don’t have to watch, and I don’t have to call it normal. I don’t have a problem with what other people do or who they think they are for the most part, but I do have a big problem with trying to make behavior choices a civil rights issue.

Attitude, Middle-Aged Angst, and DNR

June 11, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I’ve said it before, but since my offspring has more or less achieved the high holy goals of parenting, which are being potty trained, literate and gainfully employed, I am somewhat free to enjoy my second adolescence.

Now that I have a pretty bad ass replica of Théophile Steinlen’s Chat Noir on my calf, I want one more tat. I will wait until fall/winter time to do it, because in the summer two weeks worth of workouts outside of the pool are just too hot. One bad thing about getting a tat if you prefer aquatic exercise, is you can’t get in the pool for two weeks until the tat is pretty much healed.

I have a DNR on file– meaning that I do not want to be resuscitated should my heart stop and I’m on my way to the Dirt Nap. No heroics. If it’s time for me to die, let my sorry carcass go. I don’t want to live through a dramatic resuscitation effort only to suck up resources for years- being chronically ill and mindlessly drooling away in some nursing home if that can at all be avoided. Having one’s DNR tattooed on one’s left chest area (on Hello Kitty’s dress no less- and I’ll have the lettering done in either bright red or black so it’s even more obvious) should drive the point home.

I figure if I’m going to die anyway, why prolong the process? Maybe it’s a morbid thought, but I want people to be crystal clear that it’s fine by me to keep me off the machines and to let me just die with some comfort and dignity.

I have to try to get a better outlook. Granted there have been some incidents in the recent past that have completely pissed me off and demoralized me but I’ve gone through a lot worse. I may not have much but I do have a healthy sarcastic streak, and comedy is indeed the flipside of tragedy.

I have to change this stuff.

I’ve fallen back into the age old pattern of letting people simply walk all over me. It’s bad that I’m so used to being a doormat that I have to consciously think about confronting people when they are just plain being assholes. What is so wrong about calling out the conspicuous douchebag? I’m sure that my megadouche detection skills are just as good if not better than most people’s, given that I have had exposure to more than my fair share of megadouches in my lifetime.

This is what I want to say to Jerry when he whines about food. Unfortunately, when he isn’t in the mood for the entreé du soir, it means I either end up going out for subs or to the Chinese joint for his hineyness. Last week I got to get him a sub, and then a replacement sub, when the zit faced high school kids working the evening shift at Jersey Mike’s committed the unforgivable sin: his Philly cheese steak had green peppers on it. You’d have thought it was anthrax the way he reacted to a few green peppers. They weren’t even the hot peppers, which if you ask me are quite nice on a Philly cheese steak, among a plethora of other things. But green peppers? If you don’t like them, pick them off. As rude as Jerry is in restaurants, green peppers are the least of his worries. I bet fast food workers see condescending assholes like Jerry from a mile away.

I’m sure Jerry’s gotten things far worse than a few green peppers on his sandwiches. Saliva, semen and boogers come to mind. I understand the longing for passive-aggressive revenge more than most. I might not actually perpetrate vengeful acts, but I fantasize about them a lot.

If thinking about passive-aggressive revenge is just as bad as actually perpetrating it, I’m in big trouble.

An Ode to the Crapper, The Big 80’s, and a Japanese Toilet, Too

May 24, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Technology is beautiful…when it actually works.

When I was in high school, there was a discount department store that had pay toilets. The theory was that you put a dime in the slot, turn the lever and the bathroom stall door opens. It was slightly reminiscent of a parking meter, only it wasn’t timed. In practical application, however, people liked to do funky things with the slot, such as jamming it up with popsicle sticks (what they were doing with those in the crapper I’ll never know) or super glue.

The end result was that even if you were one of those people who were willing to pay the dime to keep from having to slide under the stall door, the odds were very good that even with the dime you weren’t going to be opening that stall door any time soon. Many individuals saw fit to shimmy under the stall door or barring that option, (somehow, considering this was a ladies’ room) pee in the sink, pee in the floor drain, or, which did happen on occasion, drop a deuce on the floor drain.

The motivation behind that great old poem:

Here I sit, all broken hearted

Paid my dime, and only farted.

I don’t think that I ever had to use the bathroom so urgently while at that store that I couldn’t make it across the parking lot to the Burger King to use their (free) toilet. I was never good enough at doing the Limbo to consider trying to shimmy under the stall door. I wasn’t tall enough to consider peeing in the sink either, and considering how many people just relieved themselves on the floor, I didn’t want to risk touching that floor with clothing, body parts or hair to begin with.

Today is one of those “somebody jammed a popsicle stick in the crapper lock” sort of days. It’s an automatic “go to option B” sort of day. Our invoicing system isn’t working, which means I’m not selling anything. I can’t do reports. I can’t check inventory. The phones are still on though, so I can still listen to people bitch, and I can freak out about all the people I’m going to have to call and all the catch up I’m going to have to engage in once the system is actually working again.

Leave it to the New Englanders to find another way to make you pay!

Pay toilets seem to have lost their popularity, at least in central Ohio. I am surprised someone hasn’t figured out a toilet lock that accepts MasterCard and Visa. If the City of Columbus can find parking meters that take plastic then I’m sure the technology exists. If I really, really had to go, I’d be willing to pay, let’s say $5 on my debit card to get in.

I probably shouldn’t give people ideas, although maybe there was a lesson learned from the behavior of the sink whizzers and floor crappers of the early-to-mid 1980’s. It just might not be worth the potential $5 per crap in the toilet if most people forgo the pay device and just crap on the floor and/or pee in the sink.

Considering the dismal condition of many public toilets, perhaps a $5 debit card swipe at the door (at the main door, not the stall door) would be worth it IF the toilet was kept immaculately clean. The Japanese have it pretty good as far as toilet technology goes. I’d be willing to pay to use one of those funky self-cleaning Japanese toilet/bidet/health monitor things.

Elimination: Star Wars Style

Unfortunately most public bathrooms look more like this:

No wonder I see so many trucker bombs.

I don’t understand the motivation behind wanting to trash a public restroom. One might think it a good thing, a sort of karmic justice issue so to speak, to keep the crappers one uses tidy so the next time it’s necessary to use one it might be clean and somewhat safe to use. Then again, the lesson I’ve learned over the past week is that logic doesn’t necessarily apply to what actually happens in the real world.

In high school I used the school bathroom once. I didn’t even attempt it at the old Freshman Building, because it had the original (wooden seat) toilets from 1915. In 1982 these were not safe to use. The way they were originally designed was cool- you sat on the seat, used the toilet, and when you got up there was a spring-loaded device that automatically flushed.

I’m sure in 1915 that was amazing state of the art technology. But by 1982, when (and if) they actually flushed, they would send a geyser of toilet contents skyward, often showering the toilet user with the toilet contents.

A shower that will not promote bodily cleanliness.

In the main high school (built in 1959) the functionality of the toilets wasn’t the issue. They were regular industrial-style toilets with the toggle-lever flushers like one might see in your local Taco Bell. The things the girls did in the bathroom was the issue. There was graffiti- everywhere- that would make a porn star blush. Many people smoked in there. I didn’t have the courage to light up in the school crapper though.

I used that bathroom exactly once. It seemed OK, until for some inexplicable reason I looked toward the ceiling. To my horror, a heavily used maxi pad was hanging by the tiniest bit of adhesive on to the ceiling. If that tiny bit of adhesive had let go before I made a swift exit, I would have had a very nasty mess splattered all over my verdant, thick, big 80’s spiral permed hair.

Yes, I had hair like this at one time- long, long ago, back when the air was dirty, sex was clean, and Steve Perry was oh-so-hot in Spandex. Spiral perms (i.e. the infamous Uni-Perms) not only fried your hair, they sucked the color out of it too. Needless to say it would have been rather nasty to clean a bloody mess out of a massive hair nest like that.

Skoal was bad enough. At least the girl who saw fit to spit Skoal in my hair ended up getting pinned down and having her head shaved. I did have a few good friends in high school who really enjoyed the fact that I had cigarettes- and a car.

The Big 80’s. Steve Perry was probably the best thing about that entire decade.

You’re Up Next, After the Dead Dude: a Medical History Out of Monty Python

May 13, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

In the course of my life I have sort of drawn the short straw as far as physical robustness goes. I’ve had bronchitis and pneumonia so many times I’ve lost count. I’ve had sinus infections from hell- even after sinus surgery. I got rheumatic fever from an untreated case of strep throat when I was ten years old which has led to countless joint sprains and strains. Any time an orthopedist looks at any x-ray of mine, they anticipate the repeat business. They see dollar signs and drool. I’ve had ongoing female issues ever since the illustrious birth of the POMC – severe pelvic pain and other unmentionable nasties- that culminated in a hysterectomy almost four years ago (which hindsight being 20/20 I wish had been done right along with the Childbirth From Hell and saved me the years of hassle.)

To add to the fun, I’m also diabetic. Yay.

One of the several surgeries I’ve had was memorable for the humor involved. About 13 years ago I had a funky, mole-like growth on the side of my head about the size of a dime. I really didn’t care about it much because my hair covered it up nicely, but I made the mistake of mentioning it at a Dr.’s appointment when he asked me if I had any funky skin issues.

Of course, that meant a trip to a dermatologist and then a plastic surgeon, because said funky growth was right on top of an important facial nerve. If it caused a problem (i.e. if it was melanoma or some other horrible cancer thing like that) or even if it was removed incorrectly, I’d end up drooling out the side of my mouth, and my speech would be incoherent. Forever. Oh, what fun to be a drooling imbecile, should this guy cut through the wrong thing- but should it be melanoma- well, let’s take the risk and get rid of that.

The good news is that the plastic surgeon was comfortable doing this surgery with a local anesthetic (oh, dammit, Lidocaine burns…) so they set me up at one of those outpatient surgical centers where people go to have stuff done that would have been done in the primary care Dr.’s office back in the day, but that they’re too afraid of lawsuits to do in the office now.

I got to the center about 15 minutes early. I was supposed to have this done at 7:30 AM, be done before 9, and back to work in the afternoon.

One really sucky thing about even an outpatient, local-anesthetic surgery is they won’t let you eat a damned thing for hours and hours ahead of time, because they’re afraid you’ll ralph on them. By 1:30 (PM) I was getting pretty pissy from not eating, and highly annoyed from enduring the barrage of torrid daytime TV garbage cranked up in the surgical waiting room. I had already finished both my word-find and my crossword books, and was actually thinking about reading the three year old copies of such lovely periodicals as Urology Digest, Hemorrhoid Monthly and Sports Illustrated. I was so perturbed that I almost didn’t notice all the activity going in and out of one of the operating rooms.

There is boredom, and there is waiting room boredom. It’s excruciating.

Apparently the guy who was on my surgeon’s schedule ahead of me dropped dead on the operating table while having some sort of minor surgery, like an ingrown toenail removal or something. Only he took his time dropping dead, because they had the freaking trauma team running in and out of there for about three hours.

At 2PM the surgeon finally comes out to get me, and frankly, I’m somewhat rattled by that time. I hadn’t eaten all day (or the night before) and I was not in a very nice mood. He asks me if I want to go ahead and get it done. I told him hell yes, because I had only taken one day off work, and knowing the ass-clown paper pushers at that hospital I’d be 90 years old before they would see fit to schedule me in again.

So I get wheeled in and the surgeon starts in with the Lidocaine- with what I thought was a bit of unnecessary roughness, but I figured I better not comment because I know what happened to the last guy. As my head is burning from all the Lidocaine shots, he comments,

“Just don’t die on me like the last guy. It sort of makes me look bad when my patients drop dead.”

Five minutes later the funky growth was on its way to pathology, and I had about 8 stitches in the side of my head. In spite of his roughness with injecting all that Lidocaine, the actual repair was done very neatly, and I’m happy to report he left me vocally articulate and drool-free.

Thankfully whatever the funky growth was, it never came back, and it wasn’t melanoma or anything else that would have killed me. It probably could have stayed there forever and not been any kind of big deal- but- Murphy’s Law being what it is, if I’d left it there it would have turned into something nasty.

What scares me is that the way that the healthcare industry is going (and especially with the government gravy train and the abominable, evil Obama being involved in it) is that people like me with chronic conditions are going to be hurried along to die. Part of me sort of goes along with that- and there is a time when medical intervention is pretty much pointless, but part of me wonders why it’s so hard to get just basic, necessary care. Every time you go to a doctor they want to send you for this or that test or this or that specialist or this or that study, when they know that a.) nothing you have can really be cured, just managed somewhat, and b.) you don’t need to see 14 different specialists for every stupid basic problem that a primary care Dr. should be able to (and allowed to) treat. The entire medical industry is geared toward how much money they can shovel in. The doctors are more afraid of lawsuits than anything, and they can’t really afford to care much about actually getting people better. They care more about not getting sued, and I can’t blame them.

How about tort reform? Get rid of the bullshit lawsuits, and let doctors do what they’ve been trained to do. Unfortunately that would make too much sense and save too much money, so nobody’s going to do anything to derail the gravy train.

If I could I’d go to the dogs’ vet. She went to school longer and has a lot more actual sense than a lot of medical doctors, and she charges a whole hell of a lot less.

A Requiem for Common Sense (Part 2)

May 10, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Ah, the paradox.

This car I spotted in the Target parking lot cracked me up. The likelihood of this decrepit old Accord attaining highway speeds is actually fairly good if it’s getting a reasonable amount of regular maintenance. I just hope the timing belt’s been replaced some time in the past ten years, otherwise the unfortunate owner of this rather obsolete piece of automotive technology will get a thorough schooling on the definition of interference engine. Usually when the belt breaks, it occurs at highway speeds, out of the blue, in the middle of nowhere. The non-motorhead translation is, that if that timing belt breaks on an interference engine, your engine is toast. Instantly and irrevocably, as in bent valves, or even valves through the pistons. The repair cost (i.e. engine replacement…) is usually more than the value of the car.

This is one reason why I chose a vehicle with an engine that features a timing chain, but in their defense, the old Accords- properly maintained- are often 300,000 mile or more cars. Toyota still uses belts on some models, but most of their engines are clearance engines, (if the belt breaks there’s enough clearance that the valves don’t hit the pistons) so the worst that happens to you is that the car immediately stops running. You’ll have to have the car towed and replace the belt, which will cost more than if you had replaced it before it broke, because the tech will have to line up the cam and crank before installing the belt.

Ok, enough motorhead jargon. Automotive is almost worse than the medical profession as far as specialized language. It’s sad,but every time I see one of those old Hondas I remember the people who didn’t pay attention to replacing that belt from time to time. Just like every time I see an old Camry I think about (well, a number of things) but primarily about a certain primadouche technician who couldn’t stand the sight of blood and guts. I couldn’t help it that mice liked to make nests in the blower fans.

This morning I was rather disappointed when I went to go to the Y and the pool was closed due to thunderstorms. I know they have rules regarding closing the pool (even though it’s an indoor pool) during thunderstorms and for a little while afterwards, which may be based on dubious science, but it still sort of sucked. I didn’t waste workout time though. I got on the one of the elliptical machines and still got in my 40 minutes of exercise. I do have to wonder, though, if lightning could strike the pool, isn’t there’s an equal chance that lightning could strike the workout room where the ellipticals and other machines are? As long as the building meets modern electrical codes, which it should since it was built in 2005, you’re safer in the pool than you would be in the showers, in the locker room,- or dashing out to your car in the parking lot. Hell, I’d probably been safer in the pool than on the elliptical machine, but either way the odds of getting struck by lightning while working out indoors are probably about as good as me winning the lottery or suddenly being 6′ and 120#. Ain’t-a-gonna-happen.

However, sometimes rules are made either without considering the science that nullifies the need for them, or old rules hang about that were made using outdated standards. Whether a rule is logical or not isn’t my judgment call. When I was in high school the whole concept of having to abide by illogical and archaic rules drove me bat shit, and still does to a certain degree today, but doesn’t change the fact that I still have to abide by them.

Last night when Jerry and I were out at Little Sicily’s- a tiny but fantastic pizza joint on the far east side of Columbus- there were a group of geezers sitting across from us. I like old people. Their perspective is closer to mine than people my own age or younger seem to have.

So as I was eavesdropping on their conversation, one of the ladies mentioned that life has gotten way too complicated today. In a lot of ways yes, and even in some ways for the better, but I understood her frustration at how unsafe the world has gotten. It seems that the powers that be try to take all the danger out of things we consider fun- it’s a major ordeal to get a kid in and out of a car seat for instance, and anyone who would have worn a bike helmet back in the 70s would have been assumed to be someone who had a weak skull or prior brain damage. But in spite of adding more precautions and layers of safety, the world gets more and more dangerous- or at least that’s what we hear about.

A good example is what people do with their kids. Back in the day no one had a problem with letting the kids roam the neighborhood, because everyone knew everyone else, and any adult could correct a child and bring that malfeasant offspring to its parents’ attention. It was a double shame to be caught in misadventure by someone other than one’s parent, because not only would the first adult likely tan your hide, so would Dad, for committing two offenses- the original offense, and the added offense of misbehavior within public scrutiny.

This was Dad’s definition of the “Board of Education.”

Today I would be positively mortified of correcting another’s spawn, even though the little barbarians may richly deserve it, for fear of being sued. Parents are afraid of correcting their own children for fear either of the child him or herself reporting them for child abuse (another reason to keep your kids out of public school- as the kids are drilled from day one to report, report, report) or because some well-meaning but thick-headed bystander will mistake well-deserved discipline for a “beating” and call Children’s Services on them.

Personally I think that it’s abuse to keep a child locked up inside, to let them become obese, and to fail to discipline them when they deserve it. The wussification and the overprotection of children is partially in response to the horrible headlines we see where children actually are abused, but most of it stems from a parental desire to “make things better for my kid.” This desire to “make things better for my kid”- combined with the abysmal performance of most public schools- has resulted in an entire generation of overindulged, undereducated, young adults who expect everything to be handed to them and for their actions to lack consequences.

Inevitable Entropy: i.e. The Shithouse Rats Have Assumed Control

May 7, 2013Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

Anywhere but here!

I’m not the sort of person who tries to shove my faith down people’s throats, at least not in an overt manner. My faith does inform my worldview, and it does influence what kind of an example I strive to be, (remembering that some of us are examples of what NOT to do) but I’m not going to be the one handing out Chick Tracts or scaring the holy bejezus out of people with threats of damnation and hellfire. I believe there’s a real hell, but I can’t keep anyone out of it who really wants to go. I can’t bring anyone to heaven either. Jesus said He is the Way, the Truth and the Life. If you want to inquire about heaven, then Jesus is the one you want to get to know, not a crusty old purveyor of automotive parts.

Anyway, I’ve made an observation that is not surprising. I’ve known for years that the gene pool could use some more chlorine, but I think that the shithouse rat crazies have assumed control. Mind you, I am no paragon of mental health, but today’s headlines (even as much as I try to avoid mainstream news) are positively insane.

Chris Christie had LapBand. Is this a surprise?

In my world “news” should be unusual or enlightening information. I’m glad that Governor Christie could afford to have LapBand, despite the fact I’m one of the poor suckers who has to decide which scripts I can afford when. I am sort of reminded of the morbidly obese who ride around in the WalMart motorized scooters. If they would get off their rumps and walk through WalMart, perhaps the scooter would not be necessary. If not for the expensive (and calorie laden, no doubt) diet, perhaps he would not have needed the expensive surgery. But I will be merciful, because I know poor metabolism is a bitch.

As far as being one challenged by weight management, I will say one thing about the correlation between being poor and fat (as opposed to being rich and fat.) When you can’t afford healthy food, you will buy what will fill your belly, even if it is discount mac-n-cheese, or all kinds of corn-laden, sugar-filled, salty snacky food. Fresh produce (especially in places like Ohio) is of poor quality and exorbitant high price in winter. Granted, if you are observant you can get frozen fruits and vegetables- which are almost as good health-wise as fresh, at a reasonable price without preservatives, salt or grease, but you have to look.

This isn’t news. If he loses weight and gets buff, and stays away from Obama, AKA: Beezelbub, that would be news. Maybe. I lost a lot of respect for Governor Christie when he sucked up to Obama after the hurricane. One does not kiss up to evil just because it is expedient, but hell, if I could afford a medical procedure (if if existed) that would make me 6′ tall and 120# I’d be the first one to break out the MasterCard.

Kim and Kanye– How Dare She Wear My Curtains!

I understand that most conceptions are accidental. The illustrious Steve-o wasn’t planned, and neither was his daughter. However, I think she could have done a better job at picking a baby daddy as well as picking a dress that doesn’t make her look like someone wrapped the Titanic in my dining room curtains. Then again, should the DNA verify the unfortunate child’s paternity, Kim will never have to eat cheap boxed mac-n-cheese or have Cream-of Wheat for every meal the first week of the month ever again, as if she ever did anyway.

Now You Can Leave Cleveland!

I would be bat shit crazy too if I had to spend ten years locked away in Cleveland. Ten minutes in Cleveland is too much for me. Just think: one of these women’s captors was a school bus driver for the Cleveland public schools. Think of all the little girls who rode on his bus. Creepy. Granted, Cleveland is the hotbed of far-left nut jobs (think New York, west annex) in Ohio, but I have to wonder how nobody noticed three women (and the six-year old girl) hidden in a house for ten years. In all seriousness, I really feel for these poor women, especially the little girl, who probably has never seen the light of day.

The shrinks are going to be plenty busy with these people, which is really sad.

This guy hasn’t been impeached and removed yet.

The devolution of humanity is on the the fast track and is incrementally gaining speed.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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