Short Attention Span Theatre, House Hunting, and Feminine Mystique?

April 22, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I love old Victorian architecture, but not being “handy” – this would be a bad idea, at least for me.

Steve-o is finally bound and determined to buy a house. It’s probably a good idea, since Mom is getting even nuttier than normal. I know it’s getting bad for him when she leaves her TV on the EWTN (the 24/7 all-Catholic, all the time,) channel full blast all the time. I know she’s trying to work the Catholic brownie point system- and the older she gets the more paranoid she gets about it- but Steve-o’s not Catholic. If she’s looking for a conversion candidate so she can earn points for redeeming a heathen, I can think of much easier prey.

If Mom only knew. ALL guys do it.

All of his religious instruction took place in a Lutheran church (where “self abuse” and/or contraception are not generally considered sins), and even so, he’s not a particularly religious kind of guy. Wigging him out on the more bizarre points of Catholicism, which you will get a real education on if you watch EWTN for very long, is NOT going to result in him converting to Catholicism and joining the priesthood.

Major Logo FAIL. In So Many Ways…

I am surprised he’s not having nightmares similar to the ones I had as a child over some of the more bizarre teachings. He likes women and the horizontal mambo way too much for that noise. He is at a point in his life where he is really questioning the existence of God and there is nothing apart from the power of the Holy Spirit Himself that will be able to bring him to faith. Even then, sincerely it would take an Act of God to get him to even consider going back to church- any Christian church. Right now spiritually he is rather injured and cynical. He’s at that difficult point of finding it hard to believe in God because he is thinking, “How can a good God let me down- and let me hurt so bad?” He’s still getting over being rejected by his daughter’s mother, and even though he would never admit how much that crushed him, that was a really deep wound.

I know this because I have been there too, as far as being rejected and feeling as if God abandoned me. I went through that doubt and angst for about seven years at one time. Steve-o is too authentic and too intellectual to “get it” about faith easily, or without perusing the evidence. He’s going to have to be one of those seekers and knockers and askers (more like screamers at times…) like I was. For him faith will be like it is for me- only by the hard way. An unexamined faith, and a faith without doubts, is not faith at all.

Faith is vexing, but unbelief is illogical.

I don’t mean to bash Catholics, and frankly, I can go along with most of what the RCC (Roman Catholic Church) teaches. I have the same problems with Catholicism that Martin Luther had- the primacy of the pope, the celibacy of priests, the purchase of indulgences for the forgiveness of sins, and the whole concept of a brownie point system where forgiveness is earned in any way by what people do. I’ve actually read the Catechism of the Catholic Church, and according to their rules, if you don’t believe and go along with everything the Church teaches, then by definition, you can’t claim to be Catholic. I have real intellectual problems with just accepting what some person (not God) or even some “esteemed group of people” says without being accorded any sort of space for analysis or debate. That makes me Protestant by definition. Just sayin’.

No, this is NOT me.

I’m still struggling with the concept of the feminine image of God and the importance of beauty in God’s view that we have been going over in our study. Maybe that whole concept sort of pisses me off in a way, because I’ve never seen myself as beautiful, and I’ve never really been regarded as much more than a Fetcher of Beer, or someone to whine at about food, or someone to clean up when there’s dog shit on the floor. From my earliest memory I’ve been defined by what I can or can’t do, (and by how epic my failures are) but I’ve never felt as if anyone saw me as having any sort of native, intrinsic value.

I know that I talk the talk and I get it, at least intellectually, that salvation is a gift of grace- nothing that I can earn or deserve- but deep in my heart of hearts I am still that pathetic, geeky little girl who the other kids threw mud and bugs at. I’m still the awkward kid who doesn’t belong, still the girl the guys approached to get her phone number- so they could call her sisters. I was never anyone’s first choice, and was doing good to be a consolation prize.

I’m still sticking with the study even though it’s tearing open some really old wounds. Heart is a LOT harder to reach than Mind.

That’s what continuous multitasking will do for you.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I really don’t enjoy multitasking. I don’t like being interrupted at all. When I’m doing what I want to be doing I don’t get distracted…until someone else bugs me and nags me about doing something else or doing something in addition to what I’m doing.

Sometimes I just need to tell the rest of the world to bite me sideways.

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.

Orwell Was Right, (1984 Was Not Supposed to Be an Instruction Manual) and Adventures of the Inane

April 6, 2015Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

Every day, all the time.

When I got rear-ended in my 2008 Yaris, back in 2010, I had every single ambulance-chasing lawyer in Franklin County sending me all sorts of crap- in the postal mail, via e-mail and yes, even by calling and leaving obnoxious messages on my cell phone about how I need to contact their particular legal emporiums to get compensation for my non-existent “injuries.” All I wanted was to get my car fixed. Had I actually been injured, that would have been one thing, but I think had I been injured I’d been wise enough to seek out appropriate legal counsel without relying on ambulance chasers who solicit business by trolling the police reports.

That really sucked, but the car did what it was designed to do. I was unscathed.

Of course it never seems like the Entities that Be know anything important about you if they really need to, as evidenced by the “How’s Your Diarrhea, Mildred” Incident of 2012. I won’t claim that even at that time I looked “well preserved” for 43, but to be mistaken for a ninety-something named Mildred, well, that was both disarming and morbidly funny at the same time. I guess it was a good thing I was lucid and verbal. But if the health care industry (and business is what it’s all about, folks, it’s all about the MONEY,) really gave two farts in a high wind about something other than dollar signs, they might actually be more concerned with caring for people rather than being sure to collect beaucoup on every warm (or cold, for that matter) carcass that darkens their doors.

I have a great deal of cynicism toward the health care industry. In large part the government is behind the incredibly inefficient and expensive health care fiasco in the United States. It was bad before Obamacare, but with Obamacare it has become even more outrageously expensive, while the quality of care grows abysmally worse. The problem is that the government butted into health care to begin with- and that there are way too many special interests who have wormed their way into the government so they can line their own pockets- at the taxpayers’ expense. Nobody dares to address tort reform, which would lower health care costs by drastically restricting payouts to ambulance-chasing lawyers and their clients. Nobody dares to embrace the free market and encourage competition in health care- instead- it is a governmentally driven oligarchy hell bent on feeding itself while providing lackluster, substandard care at grossly inflated prices.

If any other industry treated their clients as piss-poorly as the health care industry does, they would be out of business- but since health care providers are pretty much equally over priced and equally abysmal in their standards of care, where else can one go, because they will all suck equally bad? You just have to put up with it, and keep writing those grossly inflated checks.

You would also think with all those bloody forms one has to fill out every freaking time one encounters a health care provider, that they might actually keep some of that crap on file. If you can access my social security number and birthdate and location of my first-born to be sure to avail every possible opportunity to bill me and/or the insurance company, then why can’t you find my history with the same information?

Better yet, with all the technology out there, why has no one figured out a way to keep people from having to sit in a crowded, hot hole crammed in next to Typhoid Mary, Bad Body Odor Larry, and Gonorrhea Shaniqua- a crowded, hot hole with nothing to read besides last year’s Hemorrhoid Monthlys and Urology Digests, where there’s nothing on TV but the “who’s my baby daddy” tabloid type shows, while waiting for hours to get maybe three minutes of face time with some guy who (if you’re lucky) is simply going to write you a script and send you home? If that’s all there is to the medical biz, and you’re going to rape me financially anyway, as long as nothing’s bleeding or broken, why can’t we just do it online and save my time?

I am not a big fan of surveillance cameras. Their indiscriminate use seems to violate the 4th Amendment as far as I’m concerned.

To the state of Ohio’s credit, they have ruled the red-light cameras unconstitutional, but any form of random surveillance (without probable cause) in the public sphere violates the 4th Amendment whether they’re trying to entrap criminals or not.

Since very few people bother to actually read the Constitution, here’s the 4th Amendment:

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

I do consider constant surveillance to be a violation because who really has the right (or should have the right) to watch your comings and goings? There are “traffic flow” cameras all over the intersection not even a block from my house. Where is there probable cause for anyone other than me to know where my particular black Corolla is at any particular time? Maybe I could see it if the cops knew I was out committing crimes, or if I had a history of crime, but what makes random surveillance any better? Just because they’re watching everyone it makes watching one person OK? Is random search a condition of using public roadways paid for in part by my taxes? That doesn’t seem quite right.

Better yet, I must say to the various and sundry government entities with the cameras: “Why are you randomly searching me?”

I bet this bumper sticker would arouse the attention of law enforcement.

I Am Well Aware, and Resolution Deferred

April 3, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I don’t like to think about “autism awareness” a whole lot, because a lot of the “autism awareness” hype is exactly that. I’ve been aware of autism my entire life. I just didn’t know what it was called until 11 years ago, and even then I had a hard time accepting that description as belonging to me. I rationalized that diagnosis every way I knew how. I couldn’t be “autistic-” hell, I’d just spent the previous however many years playing the normal game- academic achievement, professional achievement, raising a child. Don’t people with autism just sit and rock in a chair, non-communicative, sitting in their own shitty diapers all day? How could someone like me- addicted to overwork, obsessed with professional achievement, possibly be autistic?

I’m not asocial. I function in social situations. I get through. I come off OK. Even when I’m scared as hell. Even though I will probably never get the whole business with eye contact or how to give and receive non-verbals with any kind of accuracy. Even when at times I’ve just had too much and I have to flip into a bathroom stall or pull the car over to freak out. Even when I get emotional and lose all ability to find or use words. Even when I know that everyone around me thinks I’m a spaz and a freakazoid.

Shakespeare said, “All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.” I learned to be a damned good actress, most of the time- partially out of self preservation, and partially out of a determination to prove that I can out-normal the normals.

But by the time I was 30 and my physical health took a dramatic nosedive, I began to realize just how high a price I was paying for the semblance of normality, which was really just a hollow caricature. It was hypernormality. I had to be super-normal to hide the fact that I was anything but- and by my mid-thirties, that illusion was falling apart.

I wanted to believe that whatever was missing or wrong with me had an easy fix. It doesn’t. There is no fix. It’s hard wired. It’s just the way I am. I will never be “normal,” and that’s the way it is.

I’m aware that I don’t fit in. I’ve always been aware that I’m the “one of these things that’s not like the others” – even before the kids’ TV show made a game of spotting the oddball.

That being said, the way I’m wired is not an excuse. If anything my wiring has served as an impetus for others to impose their notions of noblesse oblige upon me- and for me to gladly embrace that position of noblesse oblige, with the hidden motive that if I do enough, well enough, I might just validate my own existence. I have some interesting abilities for what it’s worth, such as speed reading, technical knowledge, and so forth.

“You can, therefore, you must.” OK., whatever, if you promise to leave me alone when I’m done. Only they never do.

I have to wonder about that too. Most of the ones I encountered were asshats.

Maybe overwork and overachievement are coping mechanisms. Or maybe they are just ways to keep myself occupied so I don’t have to stop and think- and freak.

In music there is a concept of dissonance and resolution. A dissonant chord sounds tense and unfinished until the chord is resolved. Sometimes I feel like I live in that tension and unresolved dissonance like that, just hanging in the air waiting for resolution.

I have to admit that I am afraid to just step back and be, as weird as that sounds. I’ve always been more concerned with what I can do (as though I can actually prove my own worthiness to suck up valuable oxygen) as opposed to having intrinsic value for just being. I’ve never been a fan of psychological systems that propose to validate one for doing nothing, and maybe that’s just my own defense mechanism. I don’t believe in giving prizes to the 12th place loser, even on those occasions when I am the 12th place loser. I still have something that screams out, “I may be defective, but I can still serve some kind of purpose!”

Today being Good Friday, among more awesome truths to ponder, I am challenged to see the Biblical perspective on life and vocation and purpose, and when I look at life that way I find I’ve pretty much been chasing after wind. Ultimately I have to accept the facts that: I can’t earn or attain justification or validity, I am deeply and inherently flawed in many ways, and there is nothing I can do to change that. I have to accept that only in the death and resurrection of Christ does anything have any purpose or meaning. I don’t completely get that, but on its most basic level it means that I am free to be what God created me to be, whatever that is, and I’m still trying to figure that out.

I would add the caveat that salvation is not license, but among other things it is permission not to confuse doing with being. Still working through that one, complete with fear and trembling.

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!

Blessed Be the Automotive Technicians, and More Unconventional Prayers

March 3, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Shame on me for what was running through my mind last night when Pastor was talking about how being an automotive technician must really be a calling from God. I was giggling to myself. Yes, it is, when you stop and really think about it, but my mind is a bit jaded from being around these guys for so many years.

I guess I never really thought of technicians as having a calling, or a sacred trust, even though I have read some of what Martin Luther wrote on vocation. I grew up in and around automotive shops, and let’s just say the experience didn’t feel exceptionally holy. When the name of God was mentioned, it was usually followed by the word “damn.” Dad isn’t a particularly salty dog with language- he did try to clean it up around women, anyway, but all of his friends were. One of them (and yes, being the geeky little creature I was, I counted) managed to use a certain four letter word that starts with the letter “f” an amazing thirteen times in one sentence.

Dad had a good friend who was into really primo vintage VW restorations. The man’s body work was absolutely pristine- but his private shop where he did the restoration work was completely wallpapered on the inside with nudie pictures. They weren’t tasteful nudies, either. These were porn-star nudies in filthy poses. Worse yet, at least for me, all the nudies were women, and therefore not particularly aesthetically pleasing to me. But it was his shop, and boys will be boys. I’ve supervised technicians before, so I get it. It’s like running a day care, only not nearly as cute. Many of these “boys,” in spite of their knowledge, training, and areas of technical prowess, have an emotional maturity age of right around 12.

Until the mid 1990s or so it was common practice for parts stores and automotive suppliers to sponsor and give out promotional calendars with either completely naked women or very scantily clad ones. Those sort of things don’t really offend me as such- what else would Dad’s buddy use to wallpaper his shop walls-but the promotional nudie calendar fell out of favor probably as a casualty to political correctness. Sometimes women do venture back into the nether regions of an automotive shop, and we wouldn’t want to offend their virgin eyeballs, I guess.

I don’t believe in political correctness. I’m more of the type to say, “If you don’t like it, don’t look at it,” even when it applies to tasteless nudie calendars.

If you don’t like my Ronald Reagan calendar (and yes, I really do have a calendar from the Reagan Ranch) nobody said you had to look at it. I am more tolerant than maybe I should be in some ways, but there are some battles worth fighting, and some battles that I’ll gladly concede to avoid the conflict.

Protect your chili dog.

I knew of one techie who would grab a big bag of chow (or two) from Burger King every day. He was a tiny, wiry red-headed dude (somewhat reminiscent of a 5’1″, 90# version of the Burger King, interestingly enough) who would pack down about 5,000 calories or so worth of Whoppers, fries and other delectables every lunch hour. The pisser was that he was the transmission guy (a very busy guy, back in the days of the 700R4s and their constant meltdowns) and he never bothered to wash the ATF and/or CV grease and/or U joint lube off his hands before stuffing those Whoppers down his throat.

Greasy burger with a side of Dexron III. Yum. Maybe it was the Dexron III that kept him from gaining weight. Or maybe he’s just one of those enviable individuals who can eat like it’s the end of the world and never gain an ounce. Bastard.

I wonder if he’s still alive. That was back in 1993.

I have to wonder if his wife’s still alive too. She was every bit of 6’5″ and 450#. She wore the Suburban she drove on those days when she brought her man his Whoppers. They would sit together and snarf Whoppers. It would have been romantic if…nah…you can’t read anything remotely amorous in to that.

In all seriousness though, the message is that life and work are supposed to mean something and to have a purpose in this world. Even if I don’t get what that something is.

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, and Life is a Limited Time Offer

February 18, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

I’m not sure which one(s) is (are) dead in the pic, but I’m pretty sure they all are by now.

It’s Ash Wednesday again- a day to reflect on personal mortality and the myriad imperfections of humanity, so here I am trotting out the postmortem pics collection. As macabre as it is, I know I’m not the only one who is fascinated with Victorian era postmortem photography. As for the kid in the above pic, he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Mom and Dad look pretty much comatose, which is why I can’t tell for sure who’s dead and who’s not. I’m pretty sure I would have the same expression on my face as the kid if I were required to sit that close to dead people, so that’s another reason why I wonder if the kid, the parents, just one or the other parent, or all three were dead when this pic was taken. The reality is, now anyway, that they are all dead, unless the kid is 120 or something. Physical death is a 100% probability- it’s going to happen- and it’s just a question of when.

I could even get into a little Southern Baptist soteriology (even though it’s a bit odd because SB’s don’t observe Ash Wednesday) right about now too. Turn or burn, baby. You are gonna be worm food, so now’s your time to Get Right with the Lawd-uh!

Somehow seeking salvation from a dog and pony show like this seems about as effective as taking driving lessons from Ted Kennedy.

I do like her wig though. If only it were black.

I have had a rather cynical relationship with organized religion through the years. When I decided to read the Catechism of the Catholic Church (which many self-proclaimed Catholics have not) I learned that if I am to be intellectually honest with myself and with God there is no way I can claim to be Roman Catholic. There is some Weird Stuff in there. I almost joined an SB church because their theology tends to be very black and white. Saved/not saved, sin/not sin, and so on. You can know if you’re IN or OUT. I love the Baptist emphasis on Bible study too- but- for me the big problem with Baptists in general is that they tend to put too much on human free will- such as we “choose” to believe. I’m here to say that I firmly believe it’s God doing the choosing, and I don’t claim to understand that.

I discovered confessional Lutheranism when I was in college, and of all the interpretations and expressions of Christianity, to me it makes the most sense. Lutheranism- in its classic sense, is not perfect, but it allows for the grey areas, and allows for intellectual honesty and questions. There is space for the mystery that is God. There is understanding for my lack of ability to comprehend.

I have a hard time understanding why you would take pics of a dead kid surrounded by paper angels, but it was a different time.

I wish I could believe spiritual things as black and white (and there are some things that are) but I find myself asking way too many questions- questions where I simply have to accept the mystery and be okay that the answer is either something I don’t know or can’t understand.

I’m glad that I’m not the one who makes the vast decisions of the cosmos. I’m doing good to decide what to wear or what to eat, and grateful to have both clothes and food.

I’m pretty sure no one is going to want to memorialize me in stained glass.

I have more questions than answers and more failures than successes, but I have to believe there is some reason why I am sucking up valuable oxygen for the time being, whether I get it or not.

(Jesus said:) “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:19-21 (NRSV)

Today’s questions would be, “Where is my treasure? Where is my heart?”

I really have to think about both of those questions today.

I Think I Saw a Ghost, Some Enchanting Suppositions (Not to Be Confused with Suppositories)

February 16, 2015Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

What are the odds of encountering one’s best friend from high school (who I’ve not seen in at least 10 and more like 12 years) in a Certified station/ Subway on the way home? Probably dismal, especially considering the only reasons I stopped there were a.) because I had to take a wicked crap, and b.) Jerry had wanted me to bring him a specific footlong from Subway, and I figured I’d combine errands.

I am really crappy at recognizing people, (even people I see all the time, I might remember the face but not place the name) and I am not at all surprised she had to call me out. Then again, I see people who I think I recognize all the time- who in reality either I don’t know them from Adam’s housecat and/or they don’t know me from Adam’s housecat either. So I make bloody sure I know who I’m talking with before I assume anything. Most people who knew me in high school would probably not recognize me now since I did away with the Big 80’s hair, but yesterday I was probably even less distinguishable since I was wearing the big black rimmed cat eye glasses (the ones in my avatar pic) and a hat.

When I did finally affirm to myself who she was, I swore I had seen a ghost. And I don’t believe in that stuff.

But people who know you still know you. Even when time has not been kind to either of us. There are incidents in my past that I would rather leave there, and revisiting old friends also means reopening old wounds. I’m not saying all my memories of back in the day were bad. Some were funny. Some were difficult. There was a lot of partying. I stopped binge drinking many, many years ago- 1993 to be more or less exact- so that sort of thing doesn’t really have any charm for me now. I’ve moved into a different sphere than most of my old friends. I doubt if we have much in common, but then again, I don’t have much in common with too many people.

I know that my friend has had problems with drinking and addiction on and off, as well as myriad health concerns, which makes keeping in touch even more difficult. She has been used and abused by men. She has spent most of her life painfully poor. I don’t say that as a value judgment, because I could have gone down those paths just as easily. The wear and tear just looks different.

I almost felt guilty. I’m not a wealthy woman by any stretch, but here I am with my late model car and smart phone, and she’s asking me if I know anyone with a cheap, crappy used car because she’s been without a car for six months. Her youngest son is in trouble and has been in and out of the joint for stealing her credit card and for other things. She’s living in a redneck trailer park. It could be worse, but it could be a lot better, too.

I can’t think this could be even remotely aesthetically pleasing. Bubba pissin’ out the trailer door at 3 AM…

What can I do to help? I wonder. Would it be condescending to offer what scant help I might think I can give, because I know she is the type to be fiercely independent?

At least we did exchange phone numbers, and maybe I’ll have the courage to call.

Maybe I’m afraid that in getting back in touch with old friends I would be tempted to go back to my old ways- hot boxing cigarettes and getting butt drunk- but I highly doubt it. Perhaps I just don’t like being reminded of my own mortality yet again, and I don’t like facing the reality that there is never really a way to get back home. The spheres are forever changed.

Why is it that some stupid dude getting nutted, especially in a stupid way, is ALWAYS funny?

There are a number of TV shows that seem to capitalize on traumatized testicles as entertainment. I can’t say I know why it’s funny, but it always is. Maybe it’s funnier to me because I don’t have nuts.

I think the biggest temptation for me when I meet up with old friends is to get embroiled in the details of their lives again and to make myself too available. It’s one thing to shoot the shit and hang out with someone from time to time, but quite another to become so caught up in trying to help someone else that I get caught off balance and get my priorities screwed up. When is it appropriate to be a friend and when does being a friend become being taken advantage of? Back in the day I provided everything from transportation to cigarettes to even clothes and money at times for my friends, (and they kept me from getting my ass kicked) but I’m not in a place where I can readily do that now.

I think my first endeavor at subversive cross stitch went rather well.

I just have to mount it in the frame.

Speaking of cats, we are probably soon going to be back at four cats. The cat rescue people managed to capture the three legged all white cat that has been living on the body shop lot. I thought it was a male, but it’s a female and she’s recovering from being spayed. Jerry calls her Tripod (not a terribly nice name) because she’s missing most of her right rear leg. That cat has been missing most of her leg since she was a very small kitten.

I have had a few all black cats. I’ve never had an all white cat. I’ve also never had a cat missing a leg.

It’s going to be interesting.

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.

This Message is Jezebel-Approved, Good News, and So Forth

February 4, 2015Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Jezebel likes it. Whatever it is.

I love black cats, and I especially appreciate Jezebel. I acquired Miss Jezebel in October of 2012- she was live trapped on the body shop lot when the owner of the shop requested we trap some feral cats for him to transport up to his horse barn. I told Jerry that the shop owner could have any cats we trapped, but if one happened to be a young, black female kitten that I wanted it. We trapped several cats- some grey kittens, a couple of adult calicos and so forth, but one night we ended up with the Perfect Cat. Young (about 7 weeks,) all black, and female. The only problem with Jezebel at that time was that she was feral, and fiercely so.

I warned Jerry to handle her with welding gloves…at least until we could get her through a socialization process. He learned the hard way that kitten baby teeth can still penetrate (and latch on to) the webbing between one’s forefinger and thumb, and that something that weighs less than a pound can inflict a shit ton of damage under the right circumstance.

There is a process for taming feral kittens which is generally effective (this site outlines it well under “Taming Feral Kittens” ) and it took about 2 weeks with Jezebel. Now it would be hard to tell that she was ever feral as well as she gets along with people, other cats, and dogs. This is probably only because we got to her very young. She’s probably the most laid back cat I’ve had with the exception of Miz Izz, may she rest in peace. Isabel was also a tamed feral, but Isabel was even younger than Jezebel was when we got her. Older cats usually don’t do too well.

Jezebel is 2 years old and all of 5#. Almost exactly the same size Isabel was.

Miss Jezebel is not my only cat. I also have Fanny, who is 17# of big, fat cat. Fanny was bigger than Jezebel is now by the time Fanny was four months old. It’s strange how the variations work, but Fanny was of what I would call rural barn cat stock, while Isabel and Jezebel were city ferals. Even the male city ferals around us are nowhere near as large as Fanny. Perhaps small size has its advantages in the city.

Fanny only looks small in the first pic. In the second, the freezer gives one a sense of scale.

This is F.B. (Fluffy-Butt) who generally won’t allow pictures. She’s a sweet cat, but very reclusive.

F.B. is our only normal sized cat. We inherited her several years ago when we got Heidi, but we really don’t know much about her other than she was spayed and that she was a few years younger than Heidi. If I had to guess her current age she’s somewhere between 11 and 13. The first six months or so that we had her she pretty much lived under the basement stairs, but now she is social with the other cats and the dogs.

It’s baaa-ck!

My awesome ride has finally been returned to me, thankfully with a flawless paint match and with everything lined up as it should be. There was a smattering of body dust on the inside of the decklid from where it had been repaired, but other than that no real reason to split hairs. I’d almost forgotten how much better the stereo is in the Corolla vs. the truck. Now I just have to get used to the shift pattern again (traditional Toyota 5 speed vs. the sort-of-screwy VW shift pattern that Toyota uses on the 6 speeds) and the brakes. I almost put myself through the windshield a couple of times this morning. The brakes are a lot more touchy.

Steel Panther- yeah!

Speaking of reasons to crank up the stereo. I know they’re vulgar, sophomoric, puerile and vile, but I recently discovered an ’80’s hair band knockoff called Steel Panther. This stuff is positively hilarious. The video for “Community Property” . is pretty good as well as is the one for “Pussywhipped” although I would caution not to watch that one if you are offended by depictions of ball sacks. I also enjoy the inspirational, “Just Like Tiger Woods.”

It’s a pretty good day. Especially for being in February.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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