assorted rants

things that piss me off

Ineptitude is Possible, and the Obfuscater in Chief!

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Ineptitude is Possible!  I love pragmatic slogans.  This one would be a good one for the Obama campaign, although in my opinion, framing Obama as being “inept” would be akin to saying, “Obama might be a socialist,” or, “Hitler sort of disliked Jewish people.”   

“Incompetence and Apathy” would probably be a more accurate assessment of the Obama regime, though in all fairness, he’s been perfectly competent when it comes to obfuscating.*    Obfuscation is Obama’s number two skill, right behind deception, which is closely related.  I’ll give him credit: It’s easier to lie, cheat and otherwise deceive the American public once the smokescreen is in place. 

*obfuscate: (verb) To confuse someone or to obscure the meaning of something. To make so confused or opaque as to be difficult to perceive or understand.

I know that I am very clearly politically biased, so yes, anything I say politically is almost always going to be at least a bit right-leaning.  I do find it a slight bit justifying that Bill Clinton (not exactly a paragon of economic conservatism, but he does tend a bit more to the center than BO and crew) has called Obama out on his economic policies.  The problem is, Obama isn’t going to listen to critique from the left anymore than he gives a rat’s ass about anyone on the right, or anyone who actually has to work for a living.  He’s going for the gay activists’ and (as a natural progression, Hollywood’s)bank roll, and setting up a nice, thick smokescreen for the rest of us at the same time.

In all honesty I don’t consider gay marriage to be a civil rights issue any more than it’s a civil right to do the nasty with your car like that dude on TLC.  Discriminating against someone because of their race is a civil rights issue, but failing to make provisions for those who indulge in unorthodox behavior is not.  Should furries get a special dispensation to dress up like Secret Squirrel at work?  What about their civil right to be whatever woodland creature their heart desires?

I don’t care what people do to get their jollies.  Generally if you’re not hurting someone else, then the government really shouldn’t mess with you, even if you are a nut job.  I would even go so far as to say there would be a lot less drug abuse (and a LOT less of the associated crime) if that crap were all legal and inexpensive to obtain.  The gene pool would necessarily chlorinate itself- the dealers would go out of business quickly as the junkies OD and die off. I find it sad that we have not learned a lesson from Prohibition.   No demand, no supply.  Make it easy to get and the illegal suppliers go out of business overnight.  Problem solved.

It sounds cruel to say that, but I can’t think of a better deterrent to drug abuse and the associated crime than to witness what it does to people.   However, I don’t think it’s imperative for society to sanction and encourage irrational and dangerous behavior.  There’s a difference between permitting something to occur and encouraging it.  If two people of the same gender want to live together and share all their business it is possible to do all those things on a legal basis.  What two consenting adults do behind closed doors is their business too- and I am including straight people in this assessment.  Many homosexual practices spread diseases, but straight people can spread diseases and such too.   Admittedly observing strictly monogamous partnerships (regardless of orientation) would be healthier over all for everyone.  However, in practical application, strict monogamy, especially among straight people-  is a lofty goal. 

Be careful what you wish for.  It might really suck.

The benefit to society in the whole straight, monogamous marriage paradigm is that generally it’s better for children to be raised by two parents (one male, one female) and human reproduction still requires one male and one female to produce children in the first place.  I understand that there are geezers out there who are done with the whole breeding thing (me included) and there are people who for whatever reason do not wish to procreate.   Sometimes people of the same gender are attracted to each other even though that whole concept holds no charm for me.   Whatever floats your boat.   That’s fine.  Live together.  Do the horizontal mambo.  Share each other’s checking accounts and all that.  I don’t care.   But there is no benefit to the greater society in sanctioning or encouraging such relationships, and it is well to remember history.  Much of the reason for the downfall of both the Greek and Roman empires was the acceptance and popularity of homosexuality- the populations could not sustain themselves. 

The bottom line is as far as individuals go, do what you’re going to do.  I have no problem with “special friends” having a legal agreement that protects the other partner should the other die, or to have power-of-attorney for each other, or shared properties, etc. as if they were relatives, but those provisions (at least in Ohio) are already in the law.  Leave it be.  And truth be told, if every fairy princess on the planet decided to marry his boyfriend- or his Ford Escort for that matter- it truly wouldn’t matter all that much to me if I could afford my scripts.

Now that Obama has become the belle of the drag queen ball, it becomes easier for the media and people in general to forget about his dismal economic policies, Obamacare, the millions of people who are already paying a LOT more for their healthcare because of Obamacare, and his stonewalling on domestic energy development.  These are the real issues.  There will always be gay people.  There will always be gay people who want the greater society to celebrate their particular fancy, and who have deep pockets with which to buy liberal politicians.  However, that issue pales in comparison to the energy and economic failures that BO doesn’t want to talk about.  Those are the issues that should be front and center, not whether or not gay people are going to live together and have relationships, which they are going to do whether the state sanctions them or not.

In all seriousness, I sincerely hope people think before they vote.  Obama is not qualified to run the toilet paper roll in a porto-john, let alone the Oval Office, and the past 3 1/2 years have proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.  I am not an incredibly huge fan of Mitt Romney, but I’d take Bill Clinton again over Obama.  At least Bill Clinton was smart enough not to entirely rely upon the lunatic fringe.

Killing Me With Country Music, Bad Tats, and Civility is Dead

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I am not a fan of country music.  Ironically, many country musicians espouse political and social views that are similar to mine, and for that reason alone I’d like to show their art a little love, but there’s something about that music genre in general that makes me want to projectile vomit, cry, and drive my car off a bridge all at the same time.

I don’t know if my loathing is born out of being trained in classical voice- it might be hard for some to imagine, but I enjoy opera and have actually performed a few arias in my time.  The most important part of classical training isn’t so much about style as it is control- learn the control and you can adapt to any style.    I also enjoy rock and heavy metal (especially the more orchestral types of rock/metal) and have been known to (long time ago) cover everything from Rush to the Scorpions to Stevie Nicks and even some Led Zeppelin.  I have a broad vocal range so I can get away with pretty much any style I want.  I actually enjoy most music (except for rap, which is simply loud drug-induced glorification of cop-killing and sister-raping) including some country-related genres such as bluegrass (as long as they don’t sing) and blues and jazz.  I even find David Allan Coe hilarious, mostly because his music is gloriously politically incorrect and he will lampoon anything, but start in with the “achy, breaky heart” stuff and you lost me.

Unfortunately, Jerry adores the country music that I can tolerate the least- the really old time twangy, sad sap songs about dead dogs and Momma gettin’ drunk and Daddy beatin’ all the youngin’s.   He likes to crank it up when he’s wasted, which is usually at night when I’m at least attempting to get some sleep.   This is not the country music that is a bit less odious, the kind you can almost mistake for pop.  It’s the kind of music that if you play it backward you get your truck back, your old lady back, the train un-runs over Momma, and you end up with a fifth of Jack Daniel’s in the bargain.  I can’t stand it.  I’ve tried to make myself tolerate it, but the love’s just not there.  Maybe you have to get drunk to appreciate it.  The only way I can appreciate it is when it’s turned off.

Something about that “Achy, Breaky Heart” song makes my IQ drop just thinking about it.

When I worked in some of the rural dealerships I had a few techies who insisted on blaring that awful stuff out in the shop.  I responded by cutting the breaker to their power strips so their jamboxes wouldn’t work.   Once they figured that out, I came in early and re-tuned all their jamboxes to the classical station.  Classical music in general (but especially Mozart) is good for the analytical mind, and some of those six-fingered yokels could use a little help with that.  At least after my re-tuning the oat opera lovers decided that they would humor the old bitty and listen to the Oak Ridge Boys,  Hank Williams, and Boxcar Willie with headphones.

It seems that the only people group out there that is acceptable to lampoon these days is the Redneck Nation.  Perhaps my distaste of Waylon Jennings, et al is a way of distancing myself from my redneck heritage.  I have to admit though, that I’m not that far removed from the trailer park.  Poor white folks are poor white folks after all.  I may not care much for NASCAR, (stock car racing has to be the most inane “sport” ever) either, but at the end of the day, yeah, I still believe in God, the US Constitution, guns, and guts.  The alternatives to those aren’t panning out so well.

I also refuse to get tattooed.  I’ve played around with the thought of having eyeliner tattooed on but I don’t like the thought of someone getting that close to my eyeballs with a needle.  I have a lot of friends with tats, and as far as I’m concerned, to tat or not to tat is a personal decision.  I still envision those horrid monstrosities- really bad sailor’s tattoos- on my Grandpa’s forearms.  I can’t imagine they looked good when he had them done when he was 18 and in the Navy- in 1943.  In 2006, when he was in the assisted living center, right before he died, they were positively frightening.  I knew there was a reason why he wore long sleeved shirts, carefully buttoned at the wrists, even in high summer.  He was a railroad executive for many years after he had served in the Navy- and didn’t want anyone to know he had those horrid tats.    That would be my luck.  I would end up with something positively embarrassing and hideous, like my best friend in high school who had her boyfriend’s name (Ray) tattooed across her back in huge letters.  When she broke up with him, his name was still there, to remind God and everyone.  I suggested to her that she modify her back and add the letters BESTOS- and see if she can get paid to advertise brake pads.  That got me a punch in the arm.

I find it hard to imagine this dude ever finding gainful employment, unless he can wear a ski mask, or keep the bag on his head all day.

It used to be that people had some manners.  Not anymore.  I can play that game too, and in some ways I do.  The next time Jerry decides to drop a load when I’m brushing my teeth (we only have one bathroom- acck!) and neglects to flush and spray, so my toothpaste ends up tasting like “shit with a hint of mint,” I’m going to leave some dog bombs under the seat in his truck.  And I’ll set all the presets on the truck stereo from “Country Torture 105” to the classical station too, since he doesn’t know how to change them.

Country is to music like Homer Simpson in a muu-muu is to fashion.  Humorous and nauseating at the same time.

Creative Use of Free Speech and Feminine Hygiene Items!

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Every time I go up north I get some kind of culture shock, whether it be the chick in the 5X snowman print jammies (with the thong strap hanging out) attempting to single-mouthedly devour an entire Taco Bell, or the dude in the Walmart with a face full of piercings, and arms covered in various white supremacist tats that I wish I had been able to get a picture of but I didn’t have the courage.  I always get to see the cutting edge of redneck culture when I visit my parents, and this weekend did not disappoint. 

Dad did wonder why I wanted a picture of that, until I blew it up and he could read what was written on the Kotex.  Then he had to acknowledge that it was funny, and worth taking a pic.  I am glad that Steve-o never put Sharpie + maxi pad together when he was going through his Puberty Demon visitation.  I am sure he would have left Kotex commentary everywhere.   I know he covered one of his buddy’s cars in them once, but they must not have had a Sharpie handy.

I can think of better pranks, but this one is fairly harmless.

One of my favorite things about digital cameras is just how easy it is to point, click, upload and share.  I know the guys at work have been begging me to get a video camera for the longest time so they can observe Jerry’s antics, but I can’t dig it up in that little emotional stub I have in place of a heart to do it.  Just because it is potential YouTube gold doesn’t mean it’s very nice to film it.  Admittedly, after last night’s oat opera episode I did feel like getting some sweet, sweet revenge, but I plugged in the Skullcandys (they have some really nice noise cancelling headphones) and enjoyed some favorites from the 80s instead.  I don’t know why, but when Jerry gets into his “I wanna crank up bad country music” mode, he goes for the twangiest, most god-awful country station in the area.  Even when I used to get shitfaced (and this was years and years ago)  I can’t think of a time when I was ever shitfaced enough to enjoy Boxcar Willie- or Willie Nelson for that matter. 

Fanny, my behemoth wandering feline, is adjusting much better to her collar, bell and ID tag than I thought she would.  I did get a few days’ worth of stink-eye out of it (and cats are masters of the stink-eye) but once it got through her head that the collar wasn’t coming off she has gone into normal Fanny mode which is, “aw, what the hell, as long as I get food.”  I should also say catnip, because she goes apeshit over that.  Every cat I’ve ever had except Forrest (and he had major Issues) has positively adored the stuff.  Isabel rolls and thrashes in it, as does Fluffy-Butt, but Fanny (who normally is not a fighter) will swat the other two away and actually attempt to box them.  It’s hilarious to watch.

It’s almost sad that I’m reminded of poor Forrest.  He was half-Siamese and had the most beautiful blue eyes.  However, the poor guy also had feline herpes, and had been kicked in the face by his previous owner, so he had a broken jaw that never healed right, and most of his teeth were missing.  Feline herpes is not a social disease in the way we think of social diseases in humans.  It is a disease that can be prevented with a vaccine, but the vaccine has to be given before the cat gets herpes for it to be effective.  The herpes infection is present in many cats that never show symptoms, but for some cats, like Forrest, it weakens their immune systems and predisposes them to wicked eye and respiratory infections.  The first time he got sick he was dehydrated, blowing snot, had to get sub-cu fluids (this is not a fun process) and had to be force fed with a syringe.  Then he had to take the l-lysine supplement for the rest of his life, which did give him several years until he got sick again and he died almost as soon as he got sick the second time.  Poor guy was only 12, which isn’t all that old for a cat, but he had suffered a lot before we got him, and he had a weak constitution.

Oh, well.  Poor Forrest.  And yes, he was named after Forrest Gump, because when we first got him he was terrified of everything and it seemed all he did was run.

Dubious Distinctions, Freud Would Have a Field Day, and It’s Cougar Pool Time Again

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I have not set up the Cougar Pool again, but I have everything ready to go- chlorine, shock, a brand new floatie, and a new filter kit.  I do not swim – at least I don’t dare dunk my head- in unchlorinated water.  I learned the lesson long, long ago when I got a wicked as hell ear infection from swimming at one of the reservoirs.   I should be thankful the water in the reservoirs is chlorinated before it ends up coming through my faucet if it’s that filthy.  I might go to a public beach at the reservoir, and I may consider wading, but I sure as hell am not dunking my head.  Never again.  I like the Cougar Pool water to be crystal clear and Ph perfect.  That way if I do want to dunk my head- or if I fall off the floatie- it’s all cool.  I shouldn’t catch any diseases at least.

So as soon as I clean off the back patio and make sure Jerry hasn’t left anything sharp lying around, it will be ready to go. I should know that Central Ohio in May is generally still Monsoon Season, and that the temperature still hasn’t quite stabilized at Stygian Heat yet.  We don’t put in vegetable plants until those two weeks or so between May 15 and Memorial Day for that reason.  It can snow in May.  Jerry will be a busy little camper with planting next week, but this week it’s supposed to rain and temperatures will only be in the 70’s at best.

Highs at 80° and above (somewhat consistently) are required to use the Cougar Pool.  There’s no heater, so if temperatures dip into the 50s at night, that will be one frigid pool the next day even with the greenhouse effect of the sun and the pool cover.

Isabel is 5# of all black feline sweetness- when she’s not being evil, that is.

I have to wonder about some of my dreams lately.  I think that I’m going to have to close the bedroom door so I don’t wake up to Isabel chewing on my hair again.  I don’t know why she does that, but it’s highly annoying.  Generally Clara and/or Lilo, and all the cats are quite welcome on the bed.  Sheena doesn’t attempt to get on the beds because her bad hips do not allow her to jump high enough, which is fine with me, because she lacks the precise motor skills the other dogs have.

Maybe Sheena’s a total klutz because she has no hip sockets, and the ball portions of her femurs just sort of free-float.

Even if it’s not painful- and it probably is- such a condition can’t allow for terribly fluid movement, but Sheena is what Sheena is.  Sheena usually simply flops at the side of the bed and splays out on the floor, occasionally grunting and snoring, but she’s a sound sleeper.  Clara and Lilo both are attentive to every little noise, and sleep very lightly, but when Sheena’s out, she’s out.  The cats usually simply curl up and purr and sleep and don’t give me any trouble.  Usually when the cats get annoying at night, it’s because their food bowl is empty, but I had filled the cats’ food bowl and the water bowl before I went to bed.  So who knows what Isabel’s problem was last night, but I really don’t need to have dreams of assorted men-I-think-are-hot chewing on my hair.

I really don’t think (at least I hope not) that Neal Schon would really want to chew on my hair (ewwwww) and spy on me in the shower.  I really don’t think any man alive would really want to do either of those things, (and one that would want to do either of those things would scare the hell out of me,) but dreams are weird.  When the old man puts a bottle nipple on a Heineken so he can drink beer whilst horizontal, well, that’s scary too.  Fortunately that too was a dream.  Jerry would never dream of drinking anything more highbrow than Bud Light, he doesn’t like beer in the bottle anyway, and if he could remain horizontal whilst drinking beer, he’d never leave the bed.

I was thinking about it this morning and realized I have the most bizarre luck.  It’s not necessarily bad, it’s not necessarily good- but my life seems to be an ode to Murphy’s Law.

1.  If I am “lucky” enough to get the last of a highly sought item, it will either be broken, missing pieces, or entirely not the thing pictured on the box.  I really couldn’t use *and should have checked, shame on me* the “last” pair of  size 7 sandals, on the clearance rack that I really wanted, only to get home and discover that there was one 7 and one 9 in the box.   I may be ill-proportioned, and the instep on my right foot is slightly higher than the left, but both feet are generally happy in a size 7.  9 is way the fark too big even for my higher-instepped right foot.   Bastards.  But, I should have checked.

2. If I remember to bring the DS when I have something boring to do that potentially involves sitting and waiting, I get right in.  If I forget the DS, I will encounter every imaginable delay and will get to spend an eternity either immersed in the abyss of daytime TV or buried in vapid, aged, so-called women’s magazines.   I don’t really get into too many periodicals.  At least the Vet has some good ones- Dog Fancy, Cat Fancy, and various scientific and veterinary journals and such.  But I really can’t take Glamour, People, Good Housekeeping or any of those “parenting” magazines.   That crud makes me want to vomit.   The good gossip rags ended when they stopped printing the Weekly World News.   That was Great-Grandma’s favorite gossip paper, even though she subscribed to them all for the entertainment value, and for the hope that they would lampoon Ted Kennedy yet again.  She really despised Ted Kennedy. WWN is still available online, but you have to have Internet access, and most Dr.s offices and such do not have free wi-fi.  It is nice to know, however, that someone is keeping track of who has the World’s Biggest Butt.  That piece of knowledge could be important.

3. I probably have more medical anomalies than 99% of the population.  While this makes me really popular when I’m in a medical setting, it can make my healthcare become a real circus.  I have had medical students, nursing students, ophthalmology students, phlebotomy students, you name it, get to observe my bizarre body as a instructional exercise.  Usually I don’t mind, because hey, maybe something about my bizarreness might benefit the cause of science, but sometimes it’s a bit off-putting.  The medical student who freaked out at being shown my CT scan before I had sinus surgery was priceless.  He stood there next to my family Dr., wide eyed, simply saying, “OH MY GOD, how does this poor woman stay standing???”  Not very well, I assure you.  It was even more fun when I went to the cardiologist for an echocardiogram several years ago, and of course, it was his day for the medical students.  They glared  at my beating heart on the monitor (which was kind of cool to watch,) as the Dr. (who seemed as excited as a kid in a candy store,) informed them, “This is classic rheumatic heart disease.  You usually don’t get to see this outside of the third world,”  as he pointed out my two damaged heart valves.  Special.  He also said that I probably won’t need them replaced until I’m 75 or so.  If I live that long, that is.  This doctor obviously didn’t know that for all intents and purposes I did grow up in the third world.   Just like Deliverance, only without the benefit of mountains or banjos.

Now, class, don’t put ’em in the bed like this. They might snap their necks, and that would make us look bad.

I Am the Anti-Tan, Screwy Things in the Name of “Beauty,” and the Joy of Being Inciteful

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I’m no beauty queen, but this is SCARY.

All this hoo-hah about some very deranged woman who is accused of dragging her five year old into a tanning bed is really disturbing.  Tanning was trendy back in the ’80’s too, and back then the bulbs used in the beds would literally fry the hide off a person.  I don’t think today’s tanning beds use such intense bulbs, but it certainly can’t be healthy to voluntarily expose oneself to all that direct heat and radiation. Oh, and anyone who would drag a five year old into a tanning bed to be toasted like an English muffin should not be allowed to have custody of a kid.  Ever.  Then again, in a perfect world only certain people would be capable of breeding.  The fact that the fittest aren’t always the ones spawning sort of casts some doubts on Darwin’s theory.  The gene pool doesn’t really seem to be chlorinating itself.

Many of the girls I knew in high school went to those tanning beds like religion- and now they look like the California Raisins.  I am certainly no beauty and I am certainly not free of skin damage- most of mine is actually through burns, (especially one bad incident from taking a radiator cap off a bit too soon…) but I have more than enough stretch marks, and a plethora of assorted scars from everything from a horrid case of chicken pox to bug bites, to abrasions, to falling into the coffee table, and even one interesting scar from a claw mark given by a very frightened dog.  However, I don’t tan.  When my super white skin is exposed to the sun, the results are freckles, splotches and burns.   I have never even attempted tanning in a tanning bed in my life, and at 43 I don’t plan on starting it now.  I have seen the leathery, wrinkly visages of the tanned “beauties” of the ’80’s as they look today- and I don’t want to go there.  Ever.

In the summer I can barely leave the house without slathering on the Factor 50, and this is in Ohio, where there isn’t a whole lot of direct sunlight, and it is not exactly a tropical paradise.  Even so, I’ve been known to get sunburn in the car.  It does get hot in the summer here, but it seems hotter than it really is, because the humidity is usually somewhere around 100% most of the time.   I have been told that 88° in Columbus OH in high summer seems hotter than Phoenix AZ at 110°, but never having been to Phoenix, I really don’t know if this is true, at least not from my own experience. 

Throughout history women have done some pretty screwy things in the name of beauty.  Ancient Roman women used lead as face powder.  Chinese women bound their feet so they couldn’t walk.  Even today we color our hair, (I freely fess up to that one) pierce our ears (yeah I did that too) and pierce various other places (not really game for that) and get tattoos (I might consider getting eyeliner tattooed on, but that’s about it.)  I don’t know of any culture that regards excessive body hair on a woman to be attractive, so removing superfluous hair is a Big Deal too.  It’s one of my major battles- to avoid looking like Sasquatch at all costs.  As fast as the hair grows on my body in unauthorized places, remaining acceptably hairless requires constant vigilance.

I know I shouldn’t enjoy controversy as much as I do.  While part of me wants to hide out in the ivory tower, another part of me can be derisive and critical.  There is a fine line dividing healthy, rational debate and presenting the facts, versus rabid activism, and for my own sense of rationality and sanity I have to be careful not to cross it. 

As far as things political go, the easiest way for me to describe where I stand is, “just to the right of Reagan.”  I am more conservative (at least politically) than most, and I have my reasons, but my reasons should never keep me from listening (sometimes the “other side” is right) or from being so focused in my disagreement that I can’t see little bits of good in what I perceive to be an ocean of bad. 

Conservatism doesn’t mean closed-mindedness, (nor does it mean racism or bigotry) but it does mean keeping a bit of a skeptical eye- on both sides.  I may not like someone’s philosophy on certain things- and I am outspoken enough to say so- but at the end of the day my goal is to stay rational- and to remember that while some ideologies may be detrimental or even what I consider to be evil- other people have their reasons for holding them that may not be rooted in evil but because they came from different background and perspective than mine.

It’s going to be a long next few months for me, trying to remain somewhat civil, keeping from alienating dear friends who don’t have the same political outlook I do, and trying not to get caught up on rhetoric, even when I can base it on facts. There are few things that can ignite that tiny little emotional stub I have in place of a heart, but love of country is one of them.  I ran the streets at 11 years old- delighted that even at 11 years old I could volunteer- with campaign information for President Reagan.  So forgive me if I get caught up.  I need to remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, it will be what it will be, and I can only do so much to bring about the world I would like to see.  Besides, beyond a bit of snarky satire here and there, what else am I good for?

Well, I can think of a few things.  I know more about things automotive than anyone other than a technician or an engineer would ever want to know.  I have a broad vocabulary. I can spell and define words such as catamite, hemorrhoidal inflammation, impunity, and gynecomastic.  Even better, I can use all these words and phrases in a sentence:

When Maurice, the gynecomastic catamite, came home from his boyfriend’s party, where he was taken advantage of by the others with impunity, he was suffering from severe hemorrhoidal inflammation.

Even if one doesn’t already know the definitions of these words, it’s possible to figure all but one of them out from the context clues.

Drunken Tilling! Everyone Has a Double, and Here’s to the Mysteries of Life!

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Sometimes I am truly amazed and humbled by things I don’t understand. 

Especially how Jerry has managed to live 55 years and still has all of his fingers and toes.  Then again, since he only has ten of each, he may have lost some in the past.  It’s probably in poor taste for me to make a West Virginia joke, but it’s not uncommon in some parts of WV for entire families to have six or seven toes on each foot.  Maybe he had more genetic diversity in his family than in others, because I think he was born with the customary ten toes and ten fingers, which is a good thing.  I went to school with a guy who had six toes on each foot, and he also had a thing for eating boogers, paint and dead bugs.  I don’t think extra digits=extra intelligence, but I’m no geneticist, so there may not be any correlation between having too many toes and whether or not your mamma and your sister are the same woman.  (“Aunt Mom??”)

Anyway, back to more of Jerry’s drunken activities.  Last night’s drunken activity of the evening was tilling.  For those who are extremely urban and have never grown a garden, or observed someone grow a garden, tilling is what you have to do to break up the ground so you can put seeds or plants in it.  Our garden plot is somewhat large, which means manual tilling, with a shovel or hoe (also a digging tool, but not to be confused with “ho”) is not practical.  Tilling a large garden plot requires a roto-tiller, which is a funky thing that is powered by a lawnmower engine, but in the front of it there are vertical, rotating tines that dig up the ground (versus a horizontal blade like a lawnmower.) 

It would be in one’s best interest to be relatively sober when operating such a potentially dangerous machine, but Jerry was at least a 12 pack into it.  So he is traipsing through the mud with the tiller dragging him along.  His shoes ended up so caked with mud that I am surprised the dog shit he stepped in on the way in the house managed to stick to them, but of course, dog shit sticks to anything.  I could have killed him for tracking in dog shit (again) but in his defense I don’t think he could see it and I’d be surprised if he could have smelled it as shitfaced as he was.  I retrieved the shoes, tossed them on the back porch and of course, had to clean up the shit that got tracked all over the floor.

Just a quick passing observation.  Legend has it everyone has a double.  Even Obama.  I couldn’t stop laughing the other night when Jerry and I were watching “The Legend of Awesomest Maximus,” which is about the most corny spoof of Greek mythology I’ve ever seen in my life.  The movie was funny in a puerile, sophomoric way as most National Lampoon humor is- nothing highbrow here-but my uncontrollable, blow-iced-tea-out-my-nose laughter was caused by the uncanny resemblance shown here:

This is King Erotic, the evil king of Greece (from “The Legend of Awesomest Maximus”)

I think they look alike.  Too alike. Creepy.

 

Despair, Venting and Cool 80’s Music

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I’m trying really hard not to fall into the trap of despair.  I know I should be seeing the glass as half full rather than half empty and all that, and I’m responsible for my own attitude.  This being said, I’m trying to stay out of that festering pit of gratituous self pity that I can get mired in if I’m not paying attention.  Chronic depression, the mental disorder that keeps on giving.

I’m dreading my excursion to the Dr. on Monday.  I know that even though I’ve gained some ground in the Snot Wars that whole business has thrown both my blood sugar and blood pressure off whack, and neither of those have gone back down to where they should be.  I really, really can’t afford any more meds and tests and such, and it’s frustrating that I try to do the right things and I’m still screwed.  Sometimes I just wish I could just quit taking all the damned pills and shots and going through all the bullshit and just drop dead, but it’s not that easy.  Knowing my bad luck I’d just turn into a drooling vegetable and/or end up a double amputee or something and then be even more screwed, so I’m not going to take that path.

I’m also quite pissed off about the POMC and the financial aid bullshit he’s going through.  Supposedly he is still a “dependent student” even though a.) he works full time, b.) he pays all his own bills, and c.) is supporting his own child on top of everything else.  Where in the hell did they get this noise that he’s still a “dependent”- he doesn’t live with me and I can’t claim him or his expenses for tax purposes- SO why in the flying effing hell do they need my farking tax information if I”M NOT PAYING FOR HIM?????  Hello?  Obama, you jackass, is this what you call “education reform”- counting a student’s parents’  income  as if it were the student’s, even if the student doesn’t live with and/or isn’t financially supported by his parents so that it’s harder for the kid to get financial aid?   Of course this is his last year of school (YAY!) but every single time the kid has applied for financial aid he- and me by  proxy- has gotten nine kinds of shit.  Why do they have to make it so damned difficult?  Why the hell am I involved at all?  He’s a farking adult!!!!  Is he supposed to be a 21 year old titty baby?   He supports himself and provides a good deal of support for his own kid.  If anyone needs/deserves a break it’s someone like him who is 21 and NOT still leeching off his parents.  Does the government really think it’s a good idea for parents to support their adult children ad infinitum?  Is this their answer for lazy, ill-educated thugs who want everything handed to them and for their parents to cover for them until they’re 40?  It really gets on my freaking nerves.

 

I thought cutting him off the teat once he got teeth was the right thing to do, but apparently the government doesn’t think so!

Anyway, now that I’ve got that venting out of the way, maybe I shouldn’t be quite so pissed.  It could always be worse, but I guess the frustration is that I deal with the same shit over and over and over and it keeps coming back. 

On the bright side, I have been trolling about for even more MP3s for my collection to add to my cloud drive and player.  I was never much of a Rod Stewart fan back in the 80’s- I always thought him a bit too on the mellow side- but I’m enjoying some of his stuff now.  I have a lovely eclectic mix of tunes- mostly because I really can’t stand most of the local radio stations, and I can’t really narrow down all the music I like to one particular genre.  I like classical, I like blues and jazz and funk, and of course I get into rock and metal- especially the orchestral, grandiose rock of the 70’s and 80’s.  Maybe it’s because I played music long ago, and I studied classical voice, that I tend to be a bit fussy and perhaps even a bit highbrow at times.   I wonder if I could remember how to play bass after 15+ years of not playing at all.  I still have a voice and I still have the range (a little over 3 1/2 octaves- alto II through soprano I, believe that) but my age, lack of stamina and constant snots pretty much keep me from doing much more with that besides singing in the car and at church.  Yes I sing it loud and sing it proud in church.  Lutherans can get away with that.  I’m kind of curious to see on Sunday- I have to go to my nephew’s Confirmation- if the Methodists can crank it out. 🙂

I’ve got to get in a better state of mind.  Maybe a few rounds of “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” might help.

All the cool musicians looked better in 1981.

I have a good time with that- until I remember that Rod Stewart is older than my Dad.  Then I get kinda sorta creeped out. 

 

 

 

 

Examples of What Not to Do, Inner City Wildlife, and The Bright Side of Life

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I am never going to be one of those people who runs around spouting sunshine out of my nether aperture.  It just isn’t going to happen unless someone waves a magic wand and I’m suddenly permanently hairless in all the right places, that I’m about 5’9″ with perfect proportions, that I’m independently wealthy and can do what I want, Reagan is alive and well and back in the White House, and that I’m suddenly free from all of my various and sundry health afflictions. 

I am a perfectionist, but I’m also a realist. I know that nothing in the above list is ever going to happen to me in this lifetime.  I’m cool with that, but not because I like it.  I’m cool with that because I’m thankful that the sources of my discontent are so trivial.  Of course I am troubled by many other broader issues, but most of them are things for which I’ve done what I could and/or have very little power to change. 

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There are things that will not change for the better – current popular music, the rate at which my eyebrows go from finely sculptured to Sasquatch-like uni-brow,  the frequency and duration of Jerry’s whining episodes, etc.- no matter how much I wish they would.  The challenge in life is navigating around the Murphy’s Law outcomes and working within the parameters you get.  I may not have gotten the best box of chocolates, but I didn’t get the worst one either.  More importantly, as the esteemed philosopher Mick Jagger once noted, “You can’t always get what you want/ you can try sometimes/ you just might find/ you get what you need.”  Sometimes I really have to wonder about that, especially when what I get arrives packaged appearing as anything but a gift- but those who have everything handed to them without any blood, sweat or tears often have very little appreciation for what they have.

I guess I was supposed to get the box of chocolates with a lot of icky tasting maple and pecan ones in it- the one with the cellophane partially missing and the corners all bashed in, that’s marked down on clearance once the holiday’s over.  Even though someone else got the primo one with all the good dark chocolate and mint creams in it, I still got more than what I deserved.  Some people just get an empty box, or show up after all the clearance boxes have been sold.

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It’s only human to take a look around and observe (and feel a little jealous toward) the beautiful people. Knowing that the beautiful people aren’t always so lovely- in and out of each other’s beds and/or in and out of rehab and such- is a sort of cold comfort. 

A good friend of mine (who I need to call and have a nice long chat with- yes dammit-) once said that money can’t buy happiness but it does buy the misery you like the best.  I have to wonder how much damage I would end up doing if I had the resources to do exactly what I wanted all the time.  I know I would end up telling a good number of people to f-off and die – and I probably should do that with a few people in my life- but I’d go overboard.  I’d end up alienating everyone who ever had the audacity to piss me off, and that’s just about every human I’ve ever come in contact with.

If I weren’t forced to leave my ivory tower and interact with the unpredictable world I’d never be treated to such spectacles as the Canada goose who likes to hang out in front of the door at work. Right here in the middle of Little Mogadishu!  (Just like Blackhawk Down but with fewer helicopters.)  

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Of course if the coyotes can survive thrive here (the beautiful Central Ohio area is known for its urban coyotes) so can the geese.  From what I see in the article the coyotes are actually eating some of the goose eggs, which most people should consider to be a good thing.  Canada geese are pretty, but they do crap a LOT, and when there are too many of them they can get aggressive too. 

Obstacles and adversity and unavoidable unpleasantries force us to deal with the things we’d rather not.  I don’t enjoy waiting and I don’t enjoy crowds, but I’ve met interesting people and had enlightening conversations I would never have had if I had done everything online or on demand.  I could see myself- if I had virtually limitless wealth and therefore power- becoming like Howard Hughes- isolated and trapped in a hell of my own design.  I think everyone has to be forced into doing certain things they find distasteful in order to really enjoy the important things.  I appreciate being able to watch Ren and Stimpy episodes every once in awhile, but I think I’d get bored with them if that’s all I did 24/7.

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By the grace of God I’ve managed to steer clear of the criminal justice system for the most part.  I say by the grace of God because I know how evil I have the potential to be.  I believe that anyone can become a killer in the heat of passion, or fall for the wrong scheme, or be in the wrong place at the right time. 

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Full body tats are never a good idea- especially when you’re on your way to jail.

I don’t think Cadillac was looking for that kind of endorsement (his neck tat is a Cadillac crest) from a guy who ended up shooting and killing his ex-girlfriend.  I can’t say how he ended up this way but it sort of breaks my heart that someone born in 1988 (I was in college in 1988…) could have already screwed up his life so bad.  I know there’s hope but prison isn’t a nice place, and he’s likely going to be there for awhile.

I am thankful for a number of things, just a sampling are listed here:

I’m thankful…

That I’m not in prison.  That would definitely suck.  Especially because I’m straight and can’t fight.

For my beautiful dogs and cats.  Even though Fanny is really pissed about wearing her collar, bell and tag, she’ll get over it.  I’ll get a pic of that as soon as she will let me get close enough with the camera again.

For remotely understanding friends and family who have no idea what it’s like to live the way I’m wired- but who put up with my eccentricity anyway.

For going on almost three years of freedom from my 18 year long nightmare with pelvic pain. One thing I will stress about that- I don’t want to see any woman suffer through what I did for all those years.  There is help available if you persist and speak up.  (Here’s where I am another example of What Not to Do.)

For indoor plumbing.  For those who have experienced the unique olfactory joy (not to mention the company of the various insect and arachnid life that take up residence in the outdoor shitter) of an outhouse or outdoor latrine, you get where I’m coming from.   Two weeks of traipsing back and forth from the tent to the latrine in the middle of the night with naught but a flashlight and a roll of TP at Girl Scout Camp were more than enough to convince me that I prefer performing my excretory functions inside, on a flush toilet, with the light on.  Camping means (at the very least) “where’s the RV” to me- and in a perfect world, at least a two star hotel.

For not having to own, be seen in, or pay for the gasoline for this:

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Leave Uncle Ted Alone (He’s Actually Read the Constitution) and Deal With the Issues Already!

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I’ve never been a huge Ted Nugent fan- I always cranked up “Cat Scratch Fever” when Mom was around because she hated that song even worse than Meatloaf’s “Bat Out of Hell,”  but I was into the more melodic, grandiose, orchestral rock and metal.  I adored (and still do adore) Journey, Rush, Led Zeppelin, ELO, REO Speedwagon, Meatloaf, and such, and I even got into the hard core stuff like Iron Maiden and Metallica.  I never disliked Uncle Ted- but I wasn’t really into his music either.

I do agree with Ted’s political views for the most part.  I might be a bit more subtle in my language, but I understand where he’s coming from.  The far-left is evil and they are doing some pretty nasty things in this country that shouldn’t be allowed to continue.  I’m glad he had the courage to tell the truth about our self proclaimed emperor.  Obama’s  the Emperor With No Clothes. He’s naked, he’s likely not even eligible under the Constitution to hold the office of President, he panders to terrorists, he is deadly to American jobs and commerce, he’s anti-life, and he needs to be voted out.  The First Amendment protects an American citizen’s right to state the facts.  I will expound upon them myself:

1. Obama cannot prove in a satisfactory manner that he is a natural born citizen (as opposed to a person born with dual citizenship or a naturalized citizen) who is eligible to hold the office of President (see Article II, Section 1 of the US Constitution : No person except for a Natural Born Citizen or a Citizen of the United States at the time of the Adoption of this Constitution shall be eligible to this Office of President; neither shall any person be eligible to that Office who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty five years, and been fourteen Years a Resident within the United States.)

Since we know Obama wasn’t around in 1789 when the Constitution was ratified, then he has to prove he was actually born in the US.  The Hawaii birth certificate thing seems shady at best, and downright contrived at worst.  Too many things don’t add up as Joe Arpaio and others have pointed out.  However, I don’t think it’s of primary necessity (though proving one’s eligibility for office is Constitutionally sound) to question Obama’s eligibility.  I would rather let his flawed ideology- and his own ineptitude- speak for itself.

2. Obama has consistently abused executive power to override the other three branches of government- to stifle private industry, to obstruct the development of domestic natural resources, and to squander taxpayers’ money on (Michelle’s vacations, Secret Service trips to the whorehouse, campaign fundraisers…and) various other personal pork projects.

3. Obama has bowed down to terrorist nations and offered apologies where apologies were not called for.  There is something in the Constitution about “giving aid and comfort to the enemy.”  (US Constitution, Article III, Section 3: Treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying War against them, or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort. No Person shall be convicted of Treason unless on the Testimony of two Witnesses to the same overt Act, or on Confession in open Court.)

4. Obama has consistently supported the pro-death lobby (aka: abortion and euthanasia)  in this country by upholding funding and legislation facilitating easy access to abortion- and at the same time supporting legislation and policies that make legitimate health care both more expensive and more cumbersome for working people to obtain.

Yes, even raging right-wingers like myself have First Amendment rights.  At least for now!

Obama needs to be voted out for any one of the four points I’ve raised above.  The first and third points violate the Constitution itself.  The second and fourth more or less reflect my own personal distaste for the far-left, but those are valid points of opposition as well.   Notice that none of them have anything to do with what color the guy is.

I find it incredibly disturbing that the first charge levied against those who oppose Obama is racism.  I would oppose anyone who is doing what Obama’s doing to this country be he/she white, black, green or paisley.  Why does being black or in Obama’s case, being half black, give him a pass?  Isn’t affirmative action just an insidious form of racism/sexism that says, “Well, since you are a minority or a woman or a person who has to work around a disability, then we’ll lower the standard for you, give you preferential treatment, and give you a pass on everything you screw up?”  Is Obama beyond scrutiny because there’s a double standard in play?  Obviously the media loves and agrees with him, so they are not going to go to any great lengths to expose him for what he is.

I’ve had people question my critiques of Obama by citing all the expensive pieces of paper he has, as if all of his degrees and accolades from high faluting universities are supposed to put him above the scrutiny of working class automotive parts purveyors and other obscure, non influential white people who happened to be born with a plastic spoon in their mouths, such as I am.  The problem I have with such credentials is that  they probably aren’t authentic, and even if they are, it’s also likely Obama didn’t earn those either- I can almost guarantee he was “affirmative actioned” in his educational history as well as in his political career.

But the real question for the future of this country- Is it really OK to screw up, to espouse anti-American ideologies, to implement policies that are killing economic development and punishing working people for actually being productive, and not be held accountable for your failure – simply because you’re half black?  Entitlement is an experiment that this nation can no longer afford.

I know that I want to be held to a high standard and not given any sort of preferential treatment in my professional life.  I’m female, I have various and sundry chronic health issues, and I work with an atypically wired mind- however- those facts do not change the standard I hold myself to.  I don’t use the way I happened to be dropped on this earth as an excuse for mediocrity.  I don’t get a pass.  I don’t want one.  I’m not entitled to jack shit beyond what I earn.  The main problem I have is that more than half of what I earn is taken away from me before I ever see it, to pay for those who sit back and make excuses- and for those who squander taxpayers’ money with impunity and arrogance just because they can.

Obama should not get a pass and be excused for his massive ideological and practical failures simply for being half-black, arrogant and heartless.   Martin Luther King’s dream was that people be judged for the content of their character, not that black people (or half black people) be given a pity party and have everything handed to them whether they deserve it or not, all because their ancestors might or might not have been slaves at one time.

The pity party needs to end.  Like it or not, messengers like Uncle Ted are telling the truth. It’s time to listen.  It’s time to speak out and do something.  B.O. Must Go!

Humor Me, Breathing is Fundamental, and Anytime is Naptime

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I love it.  My granddaughter is already learning the art of the stink-eye.

I think gradually, ever so painfully slowly, my sorry carcass is beginning to get the picture that drowning me in snot is rather counterproductive.  I’ve been on the Allegras for a little over a week and they do seem to help- that along with the saline rinses (now there’s a really fun activity- spraying salt water up your nose to rinse out your sinuses) and the homeopathic nasal spray made from capsaicin (capsaicin is what makes hot peppers hot) that burns like hell right after you spray it-  but it is effective, and at $11 a bottle, I can afford that. So far it’s working better than the steroid sprays that cost $100 + per script and as an added bonus, can give you glaucoma.  I’ve used the steroid sprays before, and they are effective, but I can’t afford them, and since I’m already at risk for glaucoma, I think I’ll steer clear.

Of course, as always, I have a sick sense of humor, even though it has been temporarily stifled by misery and fatigue.  I hate being so tired, but the word “tired” does not capture the depth of the sloggingly slow, painfully apathetic state I’ve been in.  The snots have subsided enough to allow me at least some sleep- but no matter how much sleep I manage to get I feel like I can always use more.  I hate dragging my ass through life.  I would love to wake up hyper- in a good way- with something fun to do that I actually have the energy for.  Maybe I’ve just been sleep deprived for so long that there’s no possible way for me to catch up. 

I do have to go next week and get my blood drawn for labs.  I wonder if yet again something is out of line with my funky-assed body chemistry. In the past I’ve had fatigue caused by low iron (that shouldn’t be an issue since the hysterectomy,) and low potassium (I have to take a supplement for that.)  I’ve had my thyroid stuff checked in the past and it’s been normal, but Grandpa had low thyroid, and he was virtually narcoleptic over it until the Drs found it and started medicating him for it.  Maybe my thyroid has gone south.  It would not surprise me.  I am the repository for most of my family’s genetically transmitted diseases after all.  I can only hope that if that is what’s making me want to sleep 24/7 that they actually run a thyroid test on my blood.  I have no idea which blood panels my new Dr. is going to run.  If I were him I would run everything known to man, because Murphy’s Law would indicate that I have a greater chance than most of having obscure and bizarre anomalies and diseases, especially if they are inherited. 

As a kid it always pissed me off that the world “wastes” so much time sleeping.  Back in the day I could run on four or five hours’ sleep and be wide awake and ready to go.  Now I can sleep on and off for 10-12 hours and still be dead tired.   Perhaps it is a bit of cosmic justice for being so wired as a kid, or punishment for all those years of chugging coffee, chain-smoking and taking all that mail order speed.  Pseudoephedrine and caffeine pills were easily obtained back in the 80’s and 90’s.  I could stay awake for days. Now I wish I could sleep for days, but even then I’d still wake up dead tired.

Maybe I don’t have enough excitement in my life.  Maybe I had too much excitement earlier on, and I’m so jaded I can’t get enthused about very much.  Then again, the odds of waking up with a hot young stud in my bed are next to none.  I wake up with dogs in my bed, but that’s not quite the same.

Clara manages to get herself in the smallest of spaces to sleep- while the other two dogs like to take up as much surface area as possible.

Here’s Lilo- all stretched out as usual.

Sheena doesn’t even try to get into the beds with her bad hips- but she can sleep on the couch- and just about anywhere else.

I force myself to exercise- 30 minutes a day of strenuous cardio most days- and supposedly that’s supposed to make one more energetic.  It’s done wonders for my upper and lower body strength- but not a damned thing for my energy level.  I can go through a workout and then turn right around and go back to sleep.  I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way but it does for me, and some days it takes everything I have to get through 30 minutes.

I think someone could make a killing if they could find a way for people to workout while they sleep.  Just hook me up to the marathon running machine while I’m sleeping.  If I could sleep and run a marathon at the same time, then I would be well on my way to a buff bod.

I’ve always liked the idea of stealth exercise.  Swimming is the closest I’ve ever gotten to it.  You feel great while you’re swimming laps, but don’t realize how much energy you’ve burned up until you get out of the pool.  Unfortunately I don’t have easy access to an indoor pool.  It was nice when I had the “Y” membership but Jerry whined and cried about it every time I went to the “Y,” because every minute I was at the pool was a minute I wasn’t available to fetch beer or otherwise cater to His Nibs. 

To hear him talk about it, I think somewhere back in the reptilian part of his brain he might have thought that other guys were “looking at” me in a bathing suit.  I think it’s funny he assumes that because I’m female that my partially clad body would cause other males to lust, (??? I’m not really lustworthy material by any standard????!!!!) but he fails to realize two very important truths- 1.) I purchase swim attire that affords me the most coverage I can get,  because 2.) there are laws in this country against cruel and unusual punishment.  Subjecting others to the visual of my incredibly pale, scarred skin is just plain nasty- nobody wants to see my stretch marks, surgical scars, varicose veins, burn marks, etc.  If I could find a swim top with sleeves I’d wear that too, so nobody would have to get an eyeful of my meaty arms.  As far as I can see, the visual of me in a bathing suit would motivate projectile vomiting rather than provide fodder for a hand party.