Enough With the Size 2 Models, and Persistence Is Not Always a Virtue

September 17, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I think “she’s” a chick. Maybe.

Just a thought to share with the purveyors of apparel and fashion designers out there:

The average woman who buys your wares is NOT completely flat chested, is NOT 6’2″, is NOT 100# or less, and does NOT wear a size 2. Many thirteen year old BOYS fall into those categories (of being flat-chested, tall, and super thin), and I understand that many men called to the fashion industry aren’t exactly straight, but please, remember who your customers are.

Just because that dress might look good on a thirteen year old boy, (or on my 24 year old who’s about 6’1″ and maybe 140..but don’t get any ideas, because he doesn’t swing that way) that doesn’t translate into looking good on the average 40-something cougar with a body ravaged by time and stress and childbirth.

Here’s what real women look like. Heads up, boys. Meaning “boys,” as in “Boy” George, I presume.

The average woman who buys your wares DOES have these things springing from her chest area called breasts, otherwise known as tits, fun jugs, bazongas, hooters, and/or boobs. Those of us with rather large things springing from our chests need to wear an item of clothing known as a BRA, not as a decoration, but as a functional support device, preferably one with suitably wide straps so as not to leave divots in our shoulders, to keep those things from hitting our knees as we perform our daily functions.

This being said, sleeveless garments of any type are generally not acceptable for the meaty-armed set unless they look good worn with a t-shirt underneath. Please try to bear this in mind when designing and marketing clothing for and to us.

Notice how pencil-thin her arms are? This woman has never unloaded trucks, manhandled unruly toddlers, or even picked up something as light as say… a fork!

Also, dresses should come in lengths other than “just below the butt-crack” and “3” past the feet.” Either I buy a dress that is so short I have to wear leggings or tights with it or give the general public a free show that they really don’t want, or I end up chopping and hemming just to keep from stepping all over the son of a bitch. I’m 5’4″, dammit. Neither extreme is a good one, boys. How about a dress that hits me just below the knee? No butt-crack exposure, and no tripping over it. That would be nice.

Now, how about something like this in a size 12- that doesn’t drag the floor?

My grandmother made a lot of her own clothes. She was a far more accomplished seamstress than I am, although I can do the basics. I have two of the dresses she made for herself back in the 1950’s, which fit me relatively well, even though she had a bit more ample chest than me and I’m a bit taller than she was. I don’t have time to make my own clothes, and I don’t have a sewing machine (that was one of Grandma’s things that my oldest sister- who has never sewn- made off with before Dad could hide it.) Otherwise I would. At least I could have dresses made to the proper length, with sleeves, and with enough shoulder and boob room. In a perfect world… all the clothes would have been made in the 1940s.

Not just dresses, HATS! I love hats- and I’m not afraid to wear them!

Steve-o has always displayed the propensity for wisdom beyond his years.

Yesterday he pointed out to me that persistence isn’t always a virtue. Sometimes persistence is the manifestation of obstinate and perverse stupidity. Of course, his perspective on persistence and vexation is colored by being the father of a three year old. Sometimes it takes her (my three year old granddaughter) awhile to realize that throwing fits and screaming will fail to achieve the results she wants. In the three year old’s defense, she’s not stupid. She is beginning to understand when “no” means “no” and when it is unwise to push the issue. That’s a skill that a few more adults need to get- before I throttle them.

Oh, yes, it does.

If I tell you that I can’t get you something, it’s because I can’t get it for you. It’s not because I don’t want to. It’s not because I haven’t tried. It’s because what you want isn’t available for me to get. Get it through your skull. If you feel it necessary to keep ordering the same thing I’ve already told you myriad times is not available, discontinued or otherwise non-existent on Planet Earth, your persistence in requesting the impossible has become a form of stupidity.

So what is the definition of stupidity, friends? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

At least my offspring has a clue.

The Wonderful World of Online Reviews and Other Assorted Subjectivity

September 3, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I never realized just how entertaining Amazon reviews can be. I went trolling online for reviews on a perfume I’ve been thinking about buying. I like fragrances, even though I have to take a French bath in most colognes just to smell them at all. The only ones I can enjoy in slight doses are the really, really strong ones such as Liz Taylor’s Passion, Esteè Lauder’s Youth Dew or Opium. I really like all three of those fragrances, although I don’t dare wear any of them, because Jerry says they all smell like a combination of “nursing home” and bug spray.

***

So in my quest for more subtle scents, I check out the reviews, and stay away from the Dollar Store knock off shelf. I have been assured by more than one person that the dollar store shit that is supposed to smell like Chanel No.5 (and it does- to me) really smells like a combo of Black Flag and drain cleaner.

***

I did find an eau de toilette I found intriguing called Dahlia Noir by Givenchy, which I am going to try in spite of this review-

All I can say to this one is that I’m glad that I’m not “Dave’s” old lady:

2 of 3 people found the following review helpful

It covered up her stink real nice.

By Dave on November 18, 2014

Verified Purchase

I got this for my lady friend. It covered up her stink real nice.

“Dave’s” review notwithstanding, his comment reminded me of something Jerry would say, which sort of swayed my decision toward buying it. I am a believer in stringent personal hygiene, and I’m pretty uptight as far as observing stringent personal hygiene practices at all times. I shouldn’t have a “stink.” Even so, hygiene practices aside, one can’t be too careful about one’s olfactory impact upon others when one’s sense of smell is pretty much transitory and unreliable at best. So I do like to indulge in wearing a sensible and pleasing fragrance- just in case.

***

I’ve never been the outdoors type, and I hate to be dirty or to sweat. So I’ve never really had a need for Vagisil, but if I did, this is the most glowing review I encountered:

18 of 20 people found the following review helpful

This should be in every woman’s first aid kit

By Geekier than thou TOP 1000 REVIEWERVINE VOICE on August 28, 2004

Style Name: Original Size: 1 Ounce (Pack of 1)

It smells like burning fur, but who cares? If you’re out in the middle of the woods camping, or on a forever road trip and you haven’t had a chance to change your drawers in a day or two, chances are, your unmentionable areas are gonna get itchy. Some areas are more sensitive than others when it comes to persistent itching and scratching. Vagisil allows you to temporarily relieve the itch so you can concentrate on driving or sleeping instead of scratching your parts off.

Remind me to never put myself in a position where I don’t get to “change my drawers” and hose off at least from the waist down, Every Freaking Day. Some areas were never meant to be scratched. If my nether area were to itch so bad I can’t drive, I think it’s time to see a doctor, not time to run out and buy some over the counter cream that smells like burning fur.

Too bad a gauge like this doesn’t really exist.

***

I have been accused at many points in my life of being highly subjective in my assessments, which is a bit ironic considering that I tend to be logical and pragmatic rather than emotional and flighty.

***

Perhaps those assertions are based on the fact that I can have rather narrow parameters for passing a judgment or making a decision. I make up my mind very quickly, and usually based upon the information I have on hand that I deem relevant at the moment. I’m not one to hunt and peck or hem-haw around. The only disadvantage to that is that unless I make a conscious effort to do otherwise, I can be very closed minded and unwilling to try new things. I know that a love of the familiar and a desire for order and routine go hand and hand with the way I’m wired, (oh, the joy of navigating the autistic landscape!) and sometimes I have to purposefully override familiarity, order and routine in order to learn anything, or to do anything fun.

***

I think rigid would be a better word to describe my decision making process than subjective.

I realize that my tendency toward rigidity makes spontaneity almost impossible. The older I get, the more difficult spontaneity gets. I’ve been meaning to take that day trip to the Mütter Museum in Philadelphia. It’s not necessary for me to take Steve-o with me, which is good because his schedule is nearly impossible (although he would thoroughly enjoy it.) I’m not afraid to travel alone, and have done it before, so what’s the big deal about a 500 mile (one way) road trip?

***

Yes, I would need to book a motel room as well as make my admission arrangements in advance. I would have to see that Jerry takes care of the dogs for a couple of days. They have survived being alone with him before. I’m really good at trip planning, and this one wouldn’t be terribly expensive… so why haven’t I done it yet?

***

True, I have never been to Philadelphia. I am concerned about crime, such as carjacking, rape, robbery etc. because those things happen in densely populated urban areas, but crime is just as statistically likely to happen right here in central Ohio. Granted, I know the times and areas to avoid here, but would the additional risk of being in an unfamiliar urban area be statistically significant? Probably not. I have traveled alone in the rural South which is statistically safer- but if you were to be a crime victim somewhere down in the hollers, let’s just say your body and/or your car may never be seen again.

***

I need to shut up and just go. The medical oddities await.

I Have No Patience Left—– An Open Letter to the Instant Gratification Generation

August 26, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Like a good number of techie-type people, I generally operate more efficiently (and with a lot less stress) when my interactions with fellow humans are simple, brief and (most importantly) few and far between. The older I get, the less tolerance I have for doling out tedious and lengthy explanations. The pisser is that it seems that the older I get, and the thinner my patience gets, the more stupid (and hence more needy of tedious and lengthy explanations) those around me seem to be.

Perhaps it sounds hard-hearted and/or arrogant of me to point out that the average person is as dumb as a post, but it’s a hard truth. I’ve said it before, and if I knew who came up with the phrase I would credit it, as credit is due: “Intelligence is a constant, the population is growing.” Unfortunately, there are days when I just don’t have it in me to smile and explain the same thing thirty different ways just so that I might have a chance of relaying some tidbit of necessary information into some dullard’s thick skull that he/she might or might not retain for more than five minutes.

It probably doesn’t help that I work in a business in which I have to engage in tedious explanations all day long. I have to explain to people why this goes with this, or why you can’t use that with that, or that such-and-such is discontinued, which means it is no longer being made. Discontinued means what it is you’re looking for is not available (unless you find someone with used or old stock) and it will never be available again. Please get that through your thick skulls, people. There’s a reason why you can’t get all-weather floor mats for an ’86 Chevette. It may have something to do with the fact that if there were a surviving ’86 Chevette in Central Ohio, it would be very unlikely to still have floors. Deal. Better yet, move up into the 21st century.

These just didn’t have the appeal of chicken nuggets apparently.

Either that or they hadn’t come up with the hot mustard sauce yet.

The problem with having to tell people that they can’t always get what they want, is that unlike MIck Jagger and company, I have to listen to the asinine reactions of the instant gratification generation when their desires are unable to be fulfilled. All Day Long. it wears on my brain.

Another thing that wears on my brain is the upcoming contingent of warm bodies emerging from (so-called) institutions of higher learning. I’ve said it for years that political correctness is poison, and that there will be hell to pay for mollycoddling and insulating kids from anything difficult or challenging. Face it, in the real world there is no medal for 12th place.

Not in my world. Or yours, either.

Now that particular dirty bird- the concept that one is “special” simply due to being vertical and metabolizing valuable oxygen- is coming home to roost, and it’s really sad. Now we have people getting all butt-hurt over any kind of controversy or discourse- and people who are unwilling to accept the truth when it’s right out in the open, if that truth reflects the fact that there are inherent inequalities between people because let’s face it, life ain’t fair.

Hypothetically, I may have had a life’s goal to be a center in the NBA. (No I didn’t, but this is a hypothetical scenario.) The only problems with that goal are the realities: 1. I am as white and Anglo-Saxon as a person can possibly be and live. 2. I have physical motor deficits. 3. I’m female. and 4. I’m 5’4″. Rather than lament that I can’t be a center in the NBA due to forces outside of my control, is it not in my best interest to choose a vocation that is better suited to my biological reality? Why should I feel compelled to change my biology or to whine and cry that it’s not fair that white, uncoordinated, short females (who really aren’t even interested in basketball) can’t be centers in the NBA?

College campuses are no longer institutions of learning, where debate and open thought are encouraged. They have become centers of artificially inflamed outrage over everything from perceived racial slurs to “gender inequality.” Hmm, last time I checked, “race” is something different cultures pretty much made up. There’s plenty of different ethnicities and colors, but only one human race. There are generally two sets of human genitalia, and you either have one or the other. It’s pretty rare (and not usually natural) to have both.

I wonder what they’re pissed about now. Most places have a “mystery gender” bathroom somewhere.

My first reaction to the “ooh, everything offends my precious little self,” is, “what kind of horse shit is this?” Then I remember my grandfather mocking the hippie generation for “going off to find themselves.” His contention was that you shouldn’t need to “find yourself” if you’re sitting right in front of your face.

“The Emperor’s New Clothes” is one of my favorite Aesop’s Fables. I’m dating myself in admitting that I ever read such archaic children’s literature (today the Aesop’s Fables collection would prove far too “damaging” to impressionable young children and their precious little self-esteems,) but there were some valuable life lessons in those stories. There were important lessons in those stories, such as, “the world doesn’t revolve around you,” and “actions have consequences.”

The emperor (and I’m not just referring to Obama, but the fact that someone of his level of extreme ineptitude and overwhelming vapidity is in a position of power and influence is an ominous sign of the times) has been stark raving naked for a long time.

Let’s call the truth the truth, and clean up the political correctness bullshit before Orwell’s visions become fulfilled in their entirety.

The Nexus of the Crisis, and the Origin of Storms

August 20, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

I wish I would have thought of the title line, but it’s actually from a song by Blue Oyster Cult (later covered by Metallica) called “Astronomy.” It’s probably a good thing I don’t have (and I certainly don’t need, nor want) access to the psychotropic drugs that were available in the mid 1970s, but people came up with some hella cool song lyrics while stoned on that stuff. Now it seems the pop stars and rappers are more worried about whether or not the words rhyme, and/or if cop-killing and sister-raping can be successfully included in the story line. Apparently today’s drugs just don’t motivate good song lyrics.

I like that old psychedelic stuff. The song lyrics, that is.

I found last Saturday’s short hiatus and respite to be most energizing. I love it when I can turn off the world for awhile, and I need to do it a lot more often than I do.

Tonight I have to do something rather distasteful, although it does involve a short solitary road trip (that part of the adventure should be pretty good.) I have probably at one time or another told the story of my grandmother’s twin sisters – the ones who, when my great-grandmother died, were about 70 years old. The both of them were rather eccentric, and their tastes were largely indulged, as they were both married to relatively wealthy men. I never really liked either of them very much, but I acquired a little bit of contempt toward them when they got in a fist fight over my great-grandmother’s paltry belongings.

70 year old twins duking it out over a bunch of worthless old lady kitsch is a little bit over the top. I’ve walked past better stuff at garage sales. Great-Grandma was not a wealthy woman, and she didn’t need a lot of stuff. None of her stuff was particularly valuable. Neither of the twins needed any of that stuff. It was about possession and control. I was never close to either of my great-aunts, and after that I never really wanted to be.

Witnessing that little melee convinced me that I never want to fight over dead people’s stuff, even if it’s really good stuff. My sisters will cannibalize my parents’ stuff, should they both outlive my parents, and they will fight over it, though the oldest one will ultimately end up with everything she wants. If I am still alive, I won’t be there to stand back and watch. They can have it all. My Dad had to hide a lot of Grandma’s stuff- as well as all of Grandpa’s WWII medals and other memorabilia- to keep my oldest sister from taking everything. What she wants, she takes. Unless she can’t find it.

The only reason I don’t drop dead is that I don’t think my son can stand the visual of my sisters fighting over my bras and underwear.

The older twin (I think she was 98) finally went to the Great Beyond last Saturday, and the calling hours are tonight. I can’t take off work tomorrow to go to the funeral (OK by me) but I at least have to show up at the calling hours to keep my mother from having a coronary, and so Dad might have one sane person to talk to. Mom’s relatives are downright weird, and they are the huggy-kissy type which is positively nauseating to me. But politeness dictates.. so I will show up. Briefly. Very briefly.

I wish funeral homes had drive-thrus. I don’t think the idea would catch on in Ohio, where people make a really big deal out of funerals and wakes, but I wish that at least that the one I have to go to tonight had a drive-thru. Sign the book and get the hell out…

Politically Incorrect, Fashion Forward, and More Things I Shouldn’t Do

July 28, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Sometimes I have to wonder when I see old people wearing stuff like this. I’d bet Nixon was in office the last time this dude gave a mustache ride. The chick in the “virgin” t-shirt probably lost it sometime around V-E Day. Do they really read the t-shirts, or do they just put something on because it’s clean? Or do they just put something on because they’re going to be painting, or varnishing, or prancing around in dirty things so they really don’t care?

When I wear snarky t-shirts (and I wear them a lot) I usually have my snark-effect planned out. I want people to wonder when they see me in a shirt that says, “Only Trust People Who Like Big Butts, They Cannot Lie.” The “big butt” comment is even funnier when the reader of the shirt realizes that I am, shall we say, “bootily challenged.” I have the flattest, most non-existent white-bread ass on the planet. Except maybe for my illustrious son.

If that’s the story behind these oldsters’ fashions, more power to them. Keep ’em wondering.

For the younger set, Nixon was in office from 1969-1974. As far as American presidents go, Nixon gets a bad rap. The dude was a choir boy compared to Bill Clinton, and a veritable saint when compared to the current illegitimate occupant of the White House. But get me started on the detestable Barry O., and my rants can go on for days.

V-E Day (the day Allied victory was won in Europe) is May 8, 1945. The more I think about it, I bet a lot of people lost their virginity on V-E Day. I can’t really correlate Nixon’s presidency with mustache rides, (I know when I think “sexy,” Richard Nixon doesn’t come to mind) other than to comment that in the 1970’s almost all VD was curable.

Sit on your ass and keep your mouth shut. That’s not terribly heroic, but it is 100% effective in preventing all forms of VD!

I wonder if it is considered offensive to refer to Germans as “Huns” (generally a WWI reference) or “Krauts” (generally a WWII reference) or is it OK to use either term- because Germans are white?

I know that the term “Cracker” is considered derisive (in some circles) when directed at white people from the American South, but when did it become gauche to make fun of rednecks? It seems rednecks are the only socio-ethnic group that it’s OK to malign.

It’s time to stop worrying about offending people.

Speaking of which….In spite of myself, I really like Donald Trump. I don’t know if I would really want him to be President (although I would gladly prefer my dead dog Sheena over the current illegitimate squatter) but I do like him speaking the truth and rocking the boat. HIs politically incorrect approach is refreshing, if nothing else. There are people who need to be offended, and who need to have their heads pulled out of their asses. If we haven’t learned anything else from the debacle of the Obama Administration, we should know that we need to call a turd a turd. Those who don’t get it that the “Emperor” is naked – as well as being morally bankrupt and an aider and abettor of terrorism to boot- richly deserve a wake up call. If Trump accomplishes that, more power to him. The only thing I don’t want to see is a replay of Ross Perot, who in a roundabout way (another 20th century history lesson, kiddies) bought us eight long years of Bill Clinton.

If it’s cylindrical, brown, and left by the cat, it is best to assume the item is NOT a Tootsie Roll.

My cats are generally really good about using their boxes, and most cats are unless you let the boxes go too long or the cat is sick or something. Healthy cats usually don’t have much trouble shitting where they’re supposed to. Of course, the cats have the basement to themselves, with a small (too small for dogs) cat door so they can come and go downstairs as they need,.

I didn’t generate this meme. I’m enough of a grammar Nazi to know that the author should have used “to” instead of “too.”

Still, it’s a good point.

I can use the men’s locker room and watch the sausage show. Or not. It would be my luck that the guys who wear Speedos but who should be wearing Bermudas would be showering. I’d get a big old eyeful of something like this:

Better for me to shower in the women’s – and dress modestly behind the curtain.

Passionate Pragmatism, “Gifted,” but an “Underachiever,” and Related Descriptives

May 20, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

The lot is cast into the lap, but the decision is the Lord’s alone. – Proverbs 16:33 (NRSV)

“Life’s a box of chocolates, you never know which one you’re gonna get.” – Forrest Gump

I actually used to have a tapestry like this- only it was of cats playing poker- when I lived in Downtown Columbus. It covered up some old plaster imperfections in the wall. From the looks of me lately I could use something like this to cover up more than plaster imperfections.

Holy shit, I’m looking old.

Even though I look every flipping second of my age and then some, I went to school with some people who look a hell of a lot worse than I do. Some of them look better than me too, but that makes sense. By and large, the golden people tend to stay that way.

I was never, ever, ever, one of the golden people.

I know, comparison isn’t very fair and isn’t really very comforting, especially when I realize that if I let the hair color go and didn’t bother to do makeup I’d likely be mistaken for deranged or even dead. I didn’t come from a particularly affluent part of the world, either, and many of my cohorts are even poorer than I am. Poverty does not do much for one’s appearance or outlook. As the saying goes, money may not buy happiness- but it can buy you the misery you like the best.

I guess if it is rumored to be shitty it must be funny.

Speaking of all things shitty, I remember all too well there’s a holiday weekend coming up which means I will have lazy asses goldbricking at my expense even more than normal. “Skippy” as I like to call him -because even when he does show up at work he comes in late, wanders off for hours at a time, and has the balls to leave early to go to Every. Single. One. of his 17 year old son’s baseball games (and he’s not the coach) has got to be the laziest man on earth. Anyway, Skippy has managed to take his level of apathy and work avoidance even higher by taking off Friday afternoon before a holiday weekend- probably to watch even more freaking baseball.

I can think of so many more things I’d rather do.

Granted, he doesn’t do anything when he is at work, so why do I care? I’m already doing his job as it is. I guess I’m just pissed because he’s getting paid for not doing shit. I am getting a bit of entertainment as he is trying to train his buddy (who has the IQ of paint) to be as adept at shirking work as he is.

Yes, I am burned out. Crispy. Fried. Smoked.

I am so tired of how stupid people can be. It might be because of the stupidity I encounter at work, and yesterday was especially choice given that I was horribly sick most of the day. Of course I couldn’t just leave because we are (as always) short staffed and one of the guys (as usual) had a child care issue. So screw me sideways again. It’s good I am not a frequent puker, and that I didn’t have the screaming shits.

I’ve been called many things in my life, and a good many of them derogatory. I always thought “gifted but an underachiever,” was a funny one, as the only ones who ever used that descriptive were math teachers who couldn’t understand why I was doing good to get a “B” or “C” in math when I pretty much slept through everything else and got straight “A”s.

Math was the only subject I actually studied for, and I still sucked at it. I love it when people just assume that if you’re good at one thing then you’re slacking if you suck at something else.

If they thought I sucked at math, they should have watched me attempt team sports.

I suck at sports like no one has ever sucked before. Except swimming, but that’s just for personal exercise.

Creative Use of Just About Everything, and Adventures in Eclectic Home Décor

April 30, 2015Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

If Steve-o thought I had problems with the whole “warm and fuzzy” mommy bit, just wait until I try my hand at home décor- in his house. That is just plain scary, given that my idea of decorating has much more to do with function than the aesthetic. I still have the big Ohio State tapestry on the wall in my room that Jerry put there, for some inexplicable reason. I’m not even that much of an Ohio State fan. I like some hangings on the wall to break up the monotony, but I don’t really give décor much thought. Unless, of course, it’s funny.

For example, this is funny. It will be even funnier when I get the outhouse next to it done.

For the most part, however, I can live without a whole lot of kitsch.

I already told Steve-o he will have his very own G T F O sign- since he doesn’t really get into cute little “Welcome” signs.

Figure it out.. it’s not difficult.

Of course he will probably come up with his own unique flair:

I can imagine all the other funky things that being a man, he won’t mind, such as shall we say “dated” furniture, archaic bathroom fixtures and strangely colored kitchen appliances:

In all seriousness, Steve-o’s house has two full bathrooms. Both of them have new plumbing and faucets, but the tubs, sinks and toilets are straight out of 1975. One bathroom set is this horrible yellow (like the above kitchen) and the other one is a sort of medium brown. On the plus side, the brown will probably hide a lot of stains. Especially in the toilet bowl.

I envy him the 70’s non-low-flow toilets though. Those things are industrial strength, heavy duty beauties that will flush down horse piles, and various and sundry objects up to as large as Jimmy Hoffa. The way he shits, that’s going to be necessary. I don’t know how many times he has had to run for the plunger not just in my house but in my parents’ house (Dad replaced the toilets in the early 2000s and they are awful) as well.

I’m still getting him a couple of plungers as housewarming gifts. In fact, three- one for each toilet, and one for the sinks.

I’ll have to put together my list of crap you need when you move but don’t think about, and then work on collecting said items for him.

1. Drain cleaner.

2. Clorox.

3. Paper towels.

4. Cleaning rags and towels (cloth.)

5. Lysol and various spray air fresheners.

6. Mop and mop bucket- also Murphy’s Oil Soap and magic erasers.

7. Plungers.

8. Coffee- coffee pot, coffee filters, coffee cups.

9. Paper plates, Dixie cups, plastic silverware and napkins.

10. Toilet mints (the blue things you put in the toilets to keep the water blue and to keep dogs from drinking out of the bowl)

I’m sure I’ll come up with more. I have time.

Femininity, Autism and Faith- Hitting on a Few Nerves

April 8, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

While intelligence has its own rewards-

Unfortunately, most men are not attracted by intellect.

I should know that I should be more involved in my women’s Bible study group’s study choices before I decide to get into the study. I probably would not have suggested our current study-even though it involves areas where I really need work, because it is hitting on some sore nerves. This go-round it’s a book called Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman’s Soul by John and Stasi Eldridge.

The study starts off with asking those touchy-feely questions about feeling desirable as a woman, and by going on with definitions of femininity. I’ve pretty much assumed that I was haphazardly plopped into a female body and pretty much had to make do with being hopelessly uncoordinated and proportioned like a mutant troll.

I never really gave the whole idea of femininity much rational thought (much less to relate being feminine to spirituality) other than to know, a.) I am a woman, b.) I am physically attracted to men, and c.) It’s hard to be successful at fishing when you really don’t have bait.

I’ve said before that I consciously choose to be involved in a women’s group precisely because I am generally not comfortable in friendships with other women. It is a challenge for me to muster up the courage to dredge up and analyze and discuss anything to do with feelings- especially with women. I get along better with men as long as the conversation stays on things concrete and/or technical, and with them it usually does.

When I have conversation with men, I am not subjected to someone going on and on about horrible fictional TV dramas, or being told how to do my makeup or hair, or having to care about what the Kardashians are doing. Of course, the guys never really look at me as a woman either, until they are dateless and desperate and are scouting about for a twisted Ann Landers to give them some advice. Asking me for relationship advice is about as ill-advised as taking driver’s ed from Ted Kennedy, but hey, you asked me.

It’s confusing and awkward enough to be wired the way I am- with the disconnect I have between having emotions and being able to express them- but even more so to be female with that disconnect. Everyone expects women to be all emotional and touchy-feely, which I most assuredly am not. I am definitely female, and a straight one, but not an emotional one. From what I can see being wired to think more like a man than to emote like a woman is an odd conundrum, but then, I’ve never been “normal,” and really don’t know apart from observation what “normal” is like.

This is an interesting test. Mine came out as INTP…surprise? Not!

There are “thinking-dominant” women-people for whom thought is more natural than feeling- out there (even some who are not autistic) but most women tend to be “feeling-dominant,” where feeling is a more natural process than thinking. According to the Myers-Briggs assessment, I am most definitely thinking-dominant. I get (intellectually at least) that some people are feeling-dominant, but I don’t get that. It doesn’t make sense. For me “heart” doesn’t even enter the scene until “mind” has had a chance to process things first- and not always then. I miss a lot of subtle nuances of expression because I just plain don’t see them unless someone points them out.

There are feeling-dominant men too. Jerry is one, which might be the only reason why I put up with him. He has that reptilian gut instinct about things and people that I absolutely don’t have. I can only go with what I observe and with what makes rational sense.

So this study into “being made in the feminine image of God” is proving to be more than a bit uncomfortable. I’ve always felt sort of inadequate and inferior as a woman because I am neither physically attractive nor emotionally attuned. Then there’s always that nagging, ongoing tension of thinking it necessary to validate my existence at all times, even though I know that’s if nothing else, bad theology.

I am not a believer in happily ever after, or fairy tales, or even that any man would ever look at me as more than a designated driver and/or Fetcher of Beer. So I don’t know what good it might do me to pick open old wounds, but I guess I’ll find out.

Yes I Am Female, Shopping for Funky Shoes, and Men in the Women’s Locker Room

March 18, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Big meaty man hands, but what can I do?

I am not a typical female, but I never claimed to be typical. I generally get along better with men than I do with women, because I tend not to be weepy and emotional like most women. I also get into “manly” things like cars and heavy metal/hard rock music. I’m more like one of the guys in a lot of ways- but I’m far from butch. (Yes, I am very much a biological and a straight female, should anyone even think to wonder.)

In spite of my mostly logical and practical self, I do have a weakness that is well known among women. I love shoes. I have over 100 pairs of shoes (that probably shouldn’t be considered a bragging point) and I have some pretty funky ones. Sunday I was out with Steve-o as he had pretty much trashed his one regular pair of shoes, a rather distressed pair of DCs. He had decided he just had to have a pair of the new Nike Airmax shoes but he wanted them in sort of a (ha-ha) conservative color. He does not like bright colors and bold patterns the way that I do.

So dragging me into a shoe store is generally not a good idea, because I will find the one over-the-top shoe style, and they will inevitably have it in a size 7. Even if they don’t, I will find a way to order it in a size 7 if I want it bad enough.

While Steve-o is mulling over the various black shoes in his size (and really having a hard time finding an Airmax shoe in his size that wasn’t neon green and/or pink or rainbow colored) I spied the ultimate pair of Nike Shox.

Wanna get ’em. Gotta have ’em. They are on the way.

As Steve-o decided he wanted the shoes he tried on at the other store, I thought I would behave myself and not buy anything. I didn’t- then. I ordered them yesterday online.

He ended up with black and orange Airmax shoes.

Similar to these- fairly dude friendly.

I saw a protest on Facebook (and when isn’t there a protest on Facebook) against some health club called Planet Fitness. Apparently men are allowed in the women’s locker room if they “identify” as women- even if they have a sausage and two meatballs. Okay… and if I “identify” as Marilyn Monroe- or Marilyn Manson should I want to be catty- does that make it so? If my black cat Jezebel “identifies” as a dog, does that make her one?

Planet Fitness is committed to creating a non-intimidating, welcoming environment for our members. Our gender identity non-discrimination policy states that members and guests may use all gym facilities based on their sincere self-reported gender identity.

WTF- piece of politically correct drivel?!

As a woman who is really not into strange people getting off on staring at me in varying states of undress, and I am certainly not into unauthorized people touching me- male or female, this joint sounds like a place for women to avoid.

Unless of course, I want to pretend I “identify as a man,” so I can go on in the men’s locker room and enjoy the sausage show.

I bet the boys would really enjoy my old cougar ass checking out the buff young studs. I bet that policy would change with the quickness.

As far as locker rooms go I am all about the modesty factor. I don’t want anyone gazing at my train wreck of a body- especially women because to me that’s ultra mega creepy- so I get dressed in the cubby behind the curtain. That way it really doesn’t matter who “identifies” as what. They can “identify” as a 1993 Ford Escort for all I care as long as I’m left out of it. I “identify” as a woman who doesn’t want strange people -male or female- looking at my nakedness, and is against strange people-male or female- touching me. See how easy that is?

Here’s my latest cross stitch work in progress. Yes, it is relevant!

Things Not to Do in a Communal Showering Environment

February 6, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

I go swimming at the “Y” in the mornings before work- partially for health reasons and partially for sanity reasons. It’s a stress relief most days, and gets my joints moving.

Most of the time I have a quiet and uneventful morning. I get there at 5:30 when they open so I can do my laps and strength training in the pool. Then I shower, dress and get ready to go to work all right there in the locker room, which keeps me from having to deal with babysitting Jerry in the mornings instead of getting my own stuff done. It’s a lot more efficient than trying to go home and shower and put makeup on while Jerry is doing his morning shitting, showering and shaving in the same bathroom.

Most of the time I am one of the first ones in the shower. I try to be very conscious of those around me. I try to take my shower quickly, efficiently and with the least amount of distraction. All I want is to get clean, get dressed, and get out. I do dress behind the curtain as I believe there are some things no one wants to see in the light of day, things which include my unclad ass hanging out of a towel.

We do have a few rude girls in the showers though, and there are things I observe that I consider to be very poor shower etiquette.

The Moaner:

I know it feels good to take a nice hot shower. The problem is when you choose to articulate your satisfaction with the hot shower by moaning like the girls’ gym teacher in that scene from Porky’s. Did you bring your dildo to the shower? It sure sounds like it. Does being in a communal shower with others of the same gender turn you on? That is creepy beyond words. I have to wonder- but please- keep those kind of noises to yourself.

The Doucher:

Some people do rinse out their hair with vinegar, which to me is sort of weird, but it’s even weirder if that vinegar smell from the next shower over is from someone doing the douche. If your nether parts get that skank nasty just from a morning work out, there is probably something funky going on down there that Summer’s Eve is NOT going to fix. I’m all about feminine hygiene, but that’s one of those kinds of things that should get done at home. Better yet, if in spite of regular bathing, the old cooter keeps on smelling like last week’s catch was left out in the sun,

you might want to seek medical attention of some sort.

The Streakers:

I don’t want anyone in the locker room to see me naked. It’s more courtesy than anything else. I don’t want to see any female naked. I would make an exception for hot, buff dudes. I would assume that most women really don’t want to see other women naked either, and if you are one of those women who like to stare at other women naked, I don’t want to be the one giving you a thrill. So the courteous thing to do is not to run around the locker room “clad in naught but air,” or with nothing on but a towel that leaves your ass hanging in the wind. The little cubby in front of the shower with the curtain is there for a reason. Get dressed behind it after you shower, so nobody has to see you naked.

Of course, bodily noises in the shower are always in bad taste. I know sometimes farts slip out, but it is possible to take a shower without cutting a few big, lusty, long, juicy rippers all during it. It also is possible to get through a shower without hawking up a lung, or blowing one’s nose (that is just a nasty thing to do in the shower.)

The last thing I want to worry about in the shower is sliding around on someone else’s snot. I wear shower shoes, but still.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

Menu

Widgets

Search

creative writing