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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snowbooger Grey and Oat Opera Torture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. A day at the indoor waterpark.

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

6. A $25 gas card.

7. A 12 pack of Diet Dr. Pepper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Nuff said.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

More “As Seen on TV” Dreck, Sheena the Table Dancing Dog, and Things to be Thankful For

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The last refuge of the insomniac- infomercials.  I don’t know exactly why, but most nights I  have to get up once or twice during the night to take a trip to the bathroom.  Sometimes I find it difficult to get that last three hours of sleep between 2AM (when my bladder routinely rudely awakens me) and 5AM when both the dogs and my bladder decide I need to get up for the rest of the day. 

Some of the worst dreck on TV is on between 2 and 5AM.  I have to say the prize winner for most hilarious infomercial is for the Post-T-Vac.  I insist that anyone who can get Medicare to pay for old men’s pecker pumps has got a racket going on.  I’m glad this one doesn’t air during the day.  I remember it was bad enough back in the ’80’s and 90’s when there would be douche commercials or hemorrhoid cream commercials during the Westerns on Sundays.  I don’t know if there is such a thing as an effective segue from John Wayne to Summer’s Eve.  It was interesting to find out that you can extinguish a match with a hemorrhoid cleaning pad though.

I like this product, as gross as it might seem- it’s a butt wipe holder.

 No more reaching around all that way to make the distance around one’s fat ass- and no more “brown finger blues!”  I should get this for Dad for his birthday.  He loves gag gifts.

Some of the worst things that end up in infomercial hell are exercise equipment.  My mother owns most of this dreck.  I am surprised Dad hasn’t cancelled cable just to keep her off of QVC, but then he enjoys TruTV and History Channel too much to do that.   She hasn’t lost an ounce, but then again to be fair the products have to at least be assembled to make an honest assessment of their efficacy.   She has an entire home gym in her basement- still in pieces, in the original boxes.  And as far as I can tell, her butt is still as big as ever.  So much for the Ass Master 5000 or whatever they’re calling it now. I’m just glad she didn’t order the Totally Nude Aerobics.  I’d give myself a concussion bouncing around like that without wearing a bra.  If I am going to bounce around like a banchee I can guarantee it is in everyone’s best interest that I cover all the important parts thoroughly when I do it.  I don’t want to burn the dogs’ retinas with that visual.

I look at it this way.  I’m cheap.  I certainly am not going to pay “three easy payments of $39.95” for what looks to be an artificial step and some straps.  I can run up and down the basement stairs until I can’t catch my breath for free.

The beauty enhancers are also hilarious, and Mom has quite a few of these scattered about her house in the original boxes also.  I think she still looks the same as she always did, plus or minus a few more white hairs.  She doesn’t look bad for sixty-four, but then again, I’m forty-one and really don’t care if anyone can see the scars and potholes on my legs.  I think of them as battle scars, because a lot of them are- results of my ongoing battle with poor coordination and falling and running into things.   If I’m that worried about it I can do one of two things very easily: wear pants, or wear opaque tights- which thankfully are back in style.

Sheena is not exactly a graceful dog.  In fact, Sheena has even worse coordination than I do, which I thought was impossible without the assistance of vast quantities of alcohol.  The dog’s not a drinker, she’s just an extreme klutz.  She also has a thing for getting up on the end table (Sheena is not a small dog- she is a GSD/Husky mix and at her last weigh-in was 65#) to look out the picture window in the living room, much as a cat would do.  I am surprised she hasn’t tipped it over or destroyed the blinds.  She’s tall enough to see out of the picture window without standing on anything, but for some reason she prefers her perch on the table.   I haven’t gotten a pic of her on the table-yet-but as you can tell from this pic, she’s a pretty good size.

Clara likes to look out the dining room window, but she has enough class to simply stand on her hind legs and rest her elbows on the sill.  She and Sheena are almost identical in size (Clara is slightly taller but not as long as Sheena) but Clara is deliberate and precise in her movement, almost graceful.  Sheena lumbers and stumbles.  I am not sure if this has to do with her previous neglect, or if it has to do with inbreeding, or if it is a combination of poor environment and shady genetics.   Clara (in the pic below) certainly didn’t have the greatest genetic luck of the draw either (she was born with an umbilical hernia, rear dew claws, and has no undercoat), but then again it is sad what we humans have done with certain dog breeds’ blood lines.  GSD’s in particular have some pretty horrible genetic diseases inherent to most bloodlines. 

I am thankful for many things today.  I am thankful that I have never considered Totally Nude Aerobics as an exercise alternative.  I am thankful that the PP Perfect is not a real product. 

I am really thankful that I don’t have to use a toilet that is attached to a trailer hitch.

I did it!  I can honestly say that I used the words “toilet” and “trailer hitch” together in a complete sentence!

Dear God: I like to be lazy and watch tv and eat food

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This kid’s prayer is positively hilarious, which is why I had to pass it along:

I like to be lazy and watch tv and eat food.

Oh, Steve-o… are you sure this lady didn’t get your sermon note by mistake?

This is definitely a Dude Prayer. No female would write a prayer like this, especially one raised by an old school Catholic mother who made you feel guilty for not being thankful for day old tuna casserole served over burnt mashed potatoes with big black flakes in them.  (How many times did I hear,”You should thank God you HAVE food!” and Mom meant it.)  No female I know would have written this prayer, regardless of age, not even a girl raised in a more “Jesus loves me” type Protestant tradition.  

I remember if you were doing an assignment on prayer for CCD- first you would go with the standard rote prayers such as the Our Father and Hail Mary.  Those were Safe Prayers.  If you had to make up your own prayers, you pretty much came up with the obligatory prayers for the conversion of heathens (i.e. Protestants…) and for starving children in Africa.  If you had the gall to write a prayer asking God for a pony, or a prayer asking God to send your sadistic older siblings to Africa with the starving kids, then Sister Mary Refrigerator Perry (and I think she was actually bigger than the football player and a lot more ugly) would call your Mom and you would be dragged to Confession so you could tell Father Whoever Was Hearing Confessions That Day how evil and selfish you were.   

Father Furey was the only priest with a sense of humor.  Everyone wanted to get Father Furey at Confession time.  He would usually laugh and tell you to pray to the Holy Spirit to help you do better. I think if Jesus had been a priest He would have been like Father Furey.  He had a lot of compassion for human frailty, especially kids’.  The other priests weren’t usually as forgiving, and one in particular would go on and on about all the stuff you have to do to cut down your time in purgatory.  (I became a Lutheran in high school, BTW…Martin Luther had a point- 95 of them, to be specific!)

I would never have written out a prayer as an assignment in CCD that would make any insinuation that I might be proud of the fact that I occasionally indulge in any of the Seven Deadly Sins (Pride, Greed, Envy, Anger, Lust, Gluttony and Sloth), let alone both gluttony and sloth.  I did not want Mom to get a phone call from Sister Mary Refrigerator Perry (the director of Religious Education,) for any reason, and I tried to avoid going to Confession any more than the one time a month when Mom made us go.   My childhood prayers mostly consisted of asking God to forgive the sins I couldn’t remember doing so I wouldn’t die and go straight to hell, and asking Him not to send me to hell for wishing my sisters would either run away or drop dead.   I remember when I was reminded to pray, thanking God for puppies and kittens, and thanking Him for those few and far between days when my sisters didn’t have the opportunity to beat the hell out of me.  Hell was quite the ongoing theme in my childhood.  Prayer, and religion in general, to my childhood mind, was all about avoiding hell.

There is so much more to Christianity than avoiding hell.  I appreciate the kid’s honesty though.  Who doesn’t want to watch TV and eat? 

Jesus told the disciples to let the little children come to Him- not to scare them away with hellfire.  I believe there is a literal hell, and Jesus Himself said that apart from Him that’s where I would be headed,  but there is so much more to God and life and relating than simply avoiding hell.  I would rather come to Jesus just like this little boy did- honestly.  I am one of those people who has done a lot of theological questioning over the years.  Mom was none too thrilled when I joined the ranks of the “heathens” (to be fair, Catholics now refer to Protestants as “separated brethren,” which is a little nicer sounding than “heathen”) but I had to be honest with my own heart, my own relationship with God and how He is helping me understand it.  There were too many things specifically in Catholicism that I couldn’t reconcile in my heart and mind to honestly profess to be Roman Catholic.  I’m certainly not the model Christian by any stretch of the imagination, but my upbringing forced me to ask questions- to “seek, knock and ask” because I saw so many apparent contradictions between my very old school Vatican I Catholic mother and my very fundamental old time Baptist grandmother.  I come to find out that neither “side” is completely “right” or completely “wrong.”  They share far more in common than most people realize.  No one “side” has a corner on the truth- and the starting point is that of the little child.  Honesty.  The little child doesn’t get the starving kids in Africa.  I know I did wish a lot of evil on both of my sisters.  I liked eating and watching TV as much as the next person.  The cool part about this is God already knows that, but He wants to love and work through us anyway.  We come to Him as we are and then HE makes us what He created us to be.

Now that’s an honest prayer!

elysianhunter’s Wide World of Sports, cont., Limited Time Offers, and Political Commentary (a Bit to the Right of Reagan)

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I don’t mean the above as an insult to Special Olympics.  I’m glad that there is a venue for those with physical and/or mental challenges to participate in sports activities if they so choose. It’s great to encourage people to overcome obstacles and work hard to get healthy, have fun and achieve a higher goal.  However, the idea of the mentally challenged engaging in a motorsport seems a bit counter intuitive.  I’ve yet to see a chainsaw sculpture competition for people with tremor disorder. I hope nobody ever thinks of that one, because Jerry with a chainsaw could be a very dangerous thing. I don’t know of chess tournaments for those in a vegetative state, or beauty awards for old cougars with bodies that look like roadmaps of Atlanta either. 

Ohio State actually won the Sugar Bowl last night.  I dozed off around 9:30 or so.  I read it in the news this morning.  So now everyone can shut up about Terrelle Pryor and company getting caught hawking memorabilia and getting free tattoos- at least until next football season.

The more I think about it, I don’t think either chess or beauty pageants are technically considered sports.  I could possibly gain an interest in chess, if I had the time, motivation and a worthy opponent.  Chess requires a strategic mind. The closest I get to honing my strategic abilities is in playing freecell and other variants of solitare.  My oldest sister did the beauty pageant thing only to discover two important truths: 1.) There actually are people more vapid and self-absorbed than she was in high school, and 2.) Beauty is generally not compatible with brains.  The beauty pageant crud is also incredibly expensive.  By the time you buy the dresses and the makeup and hairdos you’ve spent a small fortune, but that’s just the beginning of the indignities. To me, the exquisite torture of being confined for inordinate lengths of time with a bevy of dingy bimbos who would like nothing better than to rip out your throat and crap down your neck is even worse than parting with boatloads of cash.  I would pay boatloads of cash to avoid confinement with dingy bimbos if I had to do so to preserve my sanity. 

Thinking about the beauty pageant tomfoolery almost makes me glad I never had a daughter, and that my son is the Straightest Man in the World.  Just ask him.

Apparently chess and beauty pageants aren’t sports, but bowling, billiards and poker are considered sports, at least on ESPN.  Poker I would have to put in the NASCAR category of “non-athletic” sport.  If it were possible to get ripped by sitting on my ass and playing cards, believe me, I’d be learning poker with the quickness.  The same goes for driving around in a continuous left turn with the pedal to the floor for 500 miles.  If I could drive my way to a buff bod, believe me I’d be on it.   I wouldn’t mind continuous driving except for one thing.  If a race is four hours long, do they wear a Depend under their racing outfit?  I don’t know of very many people who can drive for 500 miles without having to take a whiz.   Maybe they have empty Mountain Dew bottles to whiz in, like truckers do.  

Billiards (or pool) might have a bit of athleticness to it, as you do occasionally have to stretch across the table to make those awkward shots.  I thoroughly suck at shooting pool.  Bowling also requires some physical coordination, which is why I completely suck at bowling.  Even though I suck, I do like to go bowling occasionally.  I’m doing really good if I can score 100 or more.  My bowling scores are usually more like 48, 71, or 82.

I have to love the “limited time offers” I see on infomercial TV.  Probably the most hokey one I’ve seen (other than the foot washer and the pecker pump) is for colorized two dollar bills.  Basically someone thinks I am going to pay $10 plus freight for $4.  Not in this lifetime.

I try not to follow the doings of British royals too closely.  Americans don’t have royalty, but we have Hollywood, and that’s far worse.  I try not to follow Hollywood either.  Even though I am not enamored of inbred Europeans, and I generally don’t follow their escapades,  I think  the “limited time,”  “As Seen on TV” horrible knockoff of Princess Diana’s engagement ring is beyond tacky.  I can only hope that Prince William takes after his mother and not his creepy dad. It would be sad if he treats Kate as bad as old creepy Charlie treated Diana.   Ultimately Charlie got even creepier Camilla.  Charlie and Camilla are a far more appropriate match.  Eww.

On one hand, it seems to be a lovely gesture for William to give his fiancee his mother’s engagement ring.  It’s worth a huge amount of money (unlike the cheap gumball machine knockoff advertised in the commercial) but to me, considering the trainwreck Diana’s marriage was, I would consider that ring accursed.  I don’t even want a cheap gumball machine copy that will turn my finger green and has a slide adjust so it “fits any size.”  Anyone who pays $20 plus freight for this is a.) asking to share in someone else’s 30 year old curse, and b.) is stuck with yet another worthless piece of poorly made costume jewelry.

I might like it better if it were amethyst instead of sapphire, but that’s just me.  I’m not a big believer in costume jewelry with the exception of funky earrings.  If I’m going to bother to wear rings, bracelets, necklaces or watches, I want decent stuff that won’t turn me green or fall apart.  Otherwise, I just don’t need it.

The “limited time” offers seem to drag on forever and ever.  I mean, how long is Billy Mays going to be selling stuff from beyond the grave? I can imagine his Oxy Clean and Awesome Auger commercials are still going to be aired twenty years from now, and there will still be warehouses full of that crap for the hawking.  When you think they’re gone, they magically reappear, announcing for the fourth or fifth year in a row, that it’s imperative to call in the next ten minutes- to buy crap that has been sitting in some warehouse gathering dust since the Clinton administration.  I hadn’t seen the Lipozene commercial for some time, until last weekend, when it reappeared in its original form, where you pay $30 for a 60 day supply.  I tried it a few years ago, when I was just a little less cynical and had a little more money than I do now.  It doesn’t work.  Anything that sounds too good to be true generally is. 

I’ve said it many times that I am politically slightly to the right of Reagan.  I am deeply concerned that the political correctness BS has gone amok yet again.  For those who don’t know what political correctness is, I do have a summary.  If I knew who originally wrote it, I would give due credit, but I don’t. Rumor holds that the following definition was written by the winner of a Texas A&M contest in 1997, but I can neither prove nor disprove it.  I do, however, agree with it:

“Political Correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end.”

This being said, it is downright offensive to me (but who cares when a Christian or a conservative is offended, eh?) that a distinguished Navy captain can be dismissed for some off-color videos recorded several years ago for the entertainment of his troops.  The videos may have been in poor taste, but shouldn’t the punishment fit the “crime?” It seems a bit ironic that DADT was repealed, and then *all the sudden* no one in the military can make any kind of remark (in jest or otherwise) regarding homosexuals.  I find it offensive that certain special protected groups have more right to be offended than the majority.  Nobody cares about offending a law abiding, native-born, conservative WASP, but just stand back and watch the fireworks when someone says something derogatory about Obama’s pet groups- such as gays, minorities, illegal immigrants, or convicted felons!

The Navy captain incident was bad enough (but again, nobody cares because he appears to be a native born conservative WASP type) but now a jail employee (presumably also a native born conservative WASP who nobody cares about) has been suspended for saying the “Obama Prayer.”  I need this T-shirt. 

The shirt says:

Pray for Obama

Psalm 108:9

Psalm 108:9, in the King James Version, reads:

“Let his days be few; and let another take his office.”

AMEN!

What native born, conservative WASP isn’t praying this prayer or something very similar?