My Old Friend Montezuma Stopped By, and He Brought His Cousin, Ralph

February 28, 2013Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

This year’s birthday really, really sucked ass. Then again, I should refrain from any toilet-related verbage for awhile, probably.

I appreciate the birthday wishes everyone sent me Tuesday even though I didn’t reply to anyone on Facebook or anywhere else. I wasn’t being rude intentionally. I was home in bed and quite miserable- and not because I wanted to be.

Monday, when I’d already arranged (of course) to take the day off for Sophia’s birthday and then to take Tuesday off for my own, I got to spend both days in the company of Montezuma and his cousin Ralph. They are not nice houseguests.

Not my idea of a good time. Ever.

Steve-o and I left early Monday morning with Sophie to go to Easton so she could do Build-a-Bear for her birthday. We got through the Build-a-Bear (she picked the Hello Kitty- and her clothes) and then I got deathly ill.

I’m just glad I knew where the ladies’ was at Easton, and that I could trot fast enough to get there in time to avoid a most embarrassing and aesthetically unpleasant scene. Not too many people are “down with the fountain of brown.” Steve-o had to take me home and I spent the rest of the day Monday and most of the day Tuesday between bed and…well, you know where.

I had better aim than that, thankfully, but yeah, it was about that bad.

It was my typical bad luck to schedule days off only to be sick, but then I thought at least, 1. I had taken vacation time already anyway, and 2. getting sick while on vacation saved me the dreaded necessity of calling off, which I won’t do, unless, of course, I am physically unable to remain vertical.

Tuesday night, once I did manage to keep down some saltine crackers and Diet 7UP, I felt a little bit up to reading the pages on fasting in our Lenten study book from church. I know my sort of imposed fasting of late isn’t exactly what I’d call a spiritual discipline, at least not when the cause for one’s fast is: Don’t eat – unless you want to visit Cousin Ralph. Even so, I did not fail to see the irony in reading about fasting when all I’d had to eat in the past 24 hours was a few saltine crackers. Being hungry sucks. It sucks even worse when you know that anything you think you’re going to put down is going to come right back up.

Not one of my favorite activities. It’s right down there with standing in line at the BMV.

I know as a diabetic, fasting from food, in the traditional sense of a fast, is Not a Good Idea, especially when my blood sugar was 60 Tuesday morning (don’t worry, it was 110 yesterday morning and 118 this morning, which is acceptable, so today at least, I’m staying vertical.) For the past few days, though, in spite of being somewhat vertical yesterday and today, I’ve felt like a freeze-dried dog turd.

However, even in my non-voluntary fast, I learned a few important things. One is the ever present lesson that my physical body and stamina are quite limited. Lately I had been burning the candle at both ends as well as in the middle, and it caught up with me. Sometimes these annoying (though thankfully, usually brief and not deadly in the long term) ailments give one just enough time to stop and rest and realize that there’s too much noise and too much running around and various crud going on. Saturday I was between Columbus and Marion. Sunday I was between Columbus and Lancaster and then back to Marion. Monday I’d gone back from Marion to Columbus after staying in my parents’ guest room, being kept up all night by the spooky sounds of the trains.

It’s a backwater, but even in Marion the trains are diesel-electrics, not like the cool steam engine pictured above.

If you live there, you get used to the trains, but when you don’t live there, the incessant noise of the trains is creepy, probably like the airport would be for people who don’t live less than a mile from Port Columbus.

This is a diesel-electric locomotive engine- the ones that are in use today- constantly hauling thousands of coal cars back and forth across central Ohio.

The bottom line was I was running too much, and trying to cram 10# of fertilizer into a 5# bag. That’s sort of normal for me, only the older I get I have less and less tolerance for it. If my body and mind don’t get the rest and recharging they think they need, sometimes they take it by force. Sometimes they hire Monte and Ralph to do the job.

I was forced to step back and realize that no, I wasn’t going to be able to get all the laundry done. I was going to have to ask Jerry to go get catfood (and hope and pray that the catfood bags still have pictures of cats on the front so he doesn’t come home with hog feed or something.) I wasn’t going to get to spend a day traipsing about Easton with my son and granddaughter. I was more than aware that if I wasn’t able to get myself vertical and drag myself out the door that calling off Wednesday would have been a distinct possibility (and maybe should have been…)

Jerry: no, it’s not cat meat in the bag, it’s what you feed the cats. Just so I’m clear.

It’s hard to take a hiatus from our own demands, (even if we try to plan for it) but it’s even harder to take a hiatus from the demands of others.

I think I understand what John Lennon meant about sitting and watching the wheels go ’round and ’round. I’d like to get off the merry-go-round from time to time, but it seems the only time I get that opportunity is when my grip on the merry-go-round gets overwhelmed by the centrifugal force of the world spinning. I let go, and I fall off of it. Unlike John Lennon, I don’t have the luxury of staying off the bloody thing for too long, but I need to do it more often, and before I have to be pried off of it by illness, weakness and sometimes, even, my own pride.

There is an even more profound lesson to be found in all of this. All of our provision comes from God. Apart from Him I am not able to do anything. It’s not my strength we’re talking about, but His. Sometimes I need times like this to be reminded that it’s not about my plans or what I’ve set out to do. Sometimes God simply says: “Sit down and shut up and rest for once. You have no power at all save for Me.” It’s a necessary and humbling reminder.

Monte and Ralph have beaten me up pretty good over the past couple of days. I will need to change the cat boxes tonight though, because Jerry will NOT do that. I took him way out of his comfort zone by asking him to unload the dryer and hang up his clothes. 🙂

Then again, maybe not.

More Creative Re-Writing: Because Living Vicariously Is Better than No Life At All

February 22, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I’ve always enjoyed boating.

I think I know what my problem is lately. It’s the late February Snowbooger Grey Funk. This morning I woke up to a nice sheet of ice encasing my car and no heat in the house. Jerry, noticing the lack of heat long before I ever would, will be sure to do what he needs to do to get the HVAC guys out to get the furnace running again. He won’t try to jack around with the furnace. It has electronic goodies in it that burn up from time to time. I think the old pilot light system worked better than that ignitor module that likes to burn up, which is sort of ironic, because electronics in cars generally work better and last longer than the traditional mechanical systems did. I would take electronic fuel injection over an old carburetor any day, as well as ignition modules, coil packs and ECMs (engine control modules) over the old distributor-and-points ignitions any day. Electronic ignition and engine controls don’t fail as often as the old systems and they are easier to repair when they do fail. I wish I could say the same for electronics and home HVAC working better than the old time set-ups, but I don’t think it does. At least not on our furnace. However, I am no authority on HVAC- unless it’s in a car.

So I am getting to hear about the goings on between Steve-o and the baby mama and it’s driving me nuts.

Why in the hell am I Mom’s sounding board when they go through their petty bullshit?

Oh, why, oh, why can’t she call her little old lady friends with this garbage?

At least I don’t go out in public looking like this.

I did have to go to the BMV the other day- joy and rapture-and as usual my driver’s license picture is abysmal.

I try to avoid the BMV but I have to go at least once every four years. The only good thing about the BMV is getting my license and registration and getting out.

Happy frigging birthday to me…but not until Tuesday.

I’m Not Normal, You’re Screwed Up, and That Might Be OK

February 21, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

Straight to you from the compost heap. Steamy!

The self-help subdivision of pseudopsychology offers a rich source of fodder for the cynical mind. Since my mind is one of the most cynical around, I’ve found self-help (with rare exception) to be more of a source of self-humor than self-help.

True self-improvement is a beautiful thing, but changing one’s character or habits in a meaningful way is neither typical nor easy. I’ve been saying for years how I want to have washboard abs (yeah, right) or thousands of dollars saved back, but those things don’t happen. My physical condition is better than it was, which only means that I have both feet out of the coffin instead of only one. Financially, well, there are people worse off than me and I’ll leave that exactly where it is. I’m thankful every time I’m able to pay for my scripts and have food in the fridge.

I think the thing that really turned me against the self-help genre was the plethora of vapid works available in the 80s and 90s. Crap like “Think Yourself Thin” and “Co-Dependent No More” might actually be useful for some people, depending on where they’re coming from. However, I am not a typical woman. Appealing to my emotions doesn’t generally do squat for me. Appealing to my intellect can influence me, if the information given is relevant. I need a do this=____result. I don’t do very well with a maybe do this and maybe something might result- or not.

There is a lot to be said for making a conscious choice to behave differently, to achieve specific goals, etc., but that determination only goes so far. I’m all too aware of how finite and limited my efforts are.

One of the techniques used in cognitive behavioral therapy (which, by the way, can be effective if it’s used properly) is to “re-write your script.” The thought behind this is that if you can convince yourself that you really weren’t the little geek kid who was continually getting beaten up, you’ll be able to respond and function in a healthier way as an adult. If you can convince yourself that you used to be Billy Bad Ass back in the day, instead of the nerd who got tossed face first in the trash barrel every morning, then you might be able to act like Billy Bad Ass now, instead of always being the town doormat.

As much as I like the concept behind the re-write, it’s a bit intellectually dishonest. I was never Billy Bad Ass. The closest I ever came to it was the one time I beat the hell out of my oldest sister, and that was a gut reaction fueled by years of repressed rage.

However, with a little creativity, “re-writing my script” could be hilarious as hell.

I wasn’t a sickly kid born into a poor family who got my ass kicked on a daily basis for the first thirteen years of my life. Hell no. I was a freaking princess, complete with a tiara.

Check it out!

I liked to kick ass, so I took martial arts lessons and got my black belt in Karate.

How you like me now?

And when I got older and was mega-cool, I got to hang out with Steve Perry.

Yeah, we were buds back in 1983.

While coming up with such stunning fictional scenarios can be fun, then it raises the question, “What the hell happened?”

Apparently I need to lower my standards.

I wonder if this is creative use of Paint or Photoshop, or if someone really had the balls to spray paint this on a real sign:

Something in my twisted sense of humor hopes it’s real.

Yer Gonna Die!!, Cold, Dead Fingers, and the COMA Speech

February 13, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if you’ve been born, then die you must! And if you are a conservative, Obama will be happy to help hurry it along!

I know many American Christians don’t get the whole Ash Wednesday or Lent thing, unless of course they’re Catholic or come from a liturgical tradition (Episcopals, Presbyterians, Lutherans, some Methodists, and the Orthodox observe Lent to some degree.)

A simple explanation of Ash Wednesday is it’s a day to remember our mortality. Yer Gonna Die!!!- get used to it- is the message. Sooner or later everyone’s going to end up worm food. It’s just as guaranteed as Obama making an idiot of himself in the State of the Union address by addressing gun control (something about 70% of Americans fervently oppose) and not saying anything of relevance or substance on the economy or anything else that people who pay taxes actually care about. Unless of course, it’s about how he wants to raise taxes to pay for more drivel that the taxpayers are already sick as hell of being forced to pay for to begin with.

Wormy wormy wormy worms, dancing in and out of my eye sockets, feasting on my liver, yum!

I don’t remember where I saw it or I’d give due credit, but I heard someone refer to Obama’s sickening speech last night as the COMA speech- the Condition of My Agenda. Unfortunately his agenda- Marxism- is alive and well, no thanks to those in Congress who have no spine and who will not stand up to illegitimate tyrants. If Congress had a pair, Obama would have been impeached and removed in 2009 for not proving his citizenship, which he still has not done in a satisfactory manner. His wanna-be highness has absolutely no clue as to the “state of the union” – hint #1- it sucks, and hint #2- he has positively no idea what’s going on in the real world. The main problem is Obama doesn’t care about anything unless it interferes with his vacations and his hob-nobbing with the smarmy likes of Jay-Z and Beyoncé. Far be it from His (un-)Holiness (I guess since the Pope’s retiring, Obama will just start using that title too) to actually give a fart in a high wind about all those “rednecks who cling to their religion and guns.” He’s more worried about whether or not non-citizens have the “right” to go to the early voting center to vote multiple times- as long as they are voting early and often for Democrats, of course.

If the election of 2012 was fair and legitimate, I’ll be the first native born American to become the Queen of England.

I’m surprised Ted Nugent wasn’t more incensed by what he heard, as he was in attendance while the Thief in Chief spouted his lies, but I have a feeling Ted is treading lightly. I don’t think Ted could have been shocked at the lack of substance in that speech as it was typical Obama hearts and flowers and faux do gooder tripe with lots of taxpayer-funded “giveaways” and warm fuzzies for Democrats and their lackeys. That’s the only spiel Obama can do. However, I agree with Uncle Ted on one thing- the infringement upon Second Amendment rights is not something that the majority of Americans is just going to look the other way at. There are people in this country from whom their guns will have to be pried from their cold, dead fingers, and there are more of those kinds of people than B.O. and his minions can dream to imagine.

If it sounds like I’m angry, I am angry. I know there isn’t much I can do to change the situation, but silence implies consent. I do NOT approve and I did NOT concede. Millions of Americans do NOT approve of this illegitimate squatter in our White House, or of what he’s doing to this country.

Yesterday I was reminded of one of the two absolutes in this world: Taxes, and the Marxists who want to steal from me to give to the chronic welfare class as well as to union lackeys and Obama’s corporate pets.

Let’s see: identity fraud, voter fraud, the Benghazi scandal, bypassing Congress with frivolous executive orders-

Congress, What the HELL is this guy still doing squatting in OUR White House?

Today I am reminded of the other absolute in this world: Death, and it almost makes me thankful that in the grand scheme of things, my time is short.

Because we all know how splendidly Marxism worked in the USSR!

Don’t Wanna, Can’t Make Me, and Sweet Dreams are Made of These

February 6, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

So, for a brief sanity break, leave those who were raised by wolves to figure things out for themselves from time to time.

The zoo calls that “enrichment” time for the animals. Let the bears dig their dinner out of a bucket instead of just putting it in front of them. It makes their lives more fun. Or at least, it makes it more fun for the humans to watch.

I strive to have high standards for myself, but I don’t really expect much from rest of the world. I know that might sound arrogant, but should I expect anything from anyone, even if I spell it out clearly, odds are that they will disappoint. The old axiom, “if you want it done right, do it yourself,” certainly does apply in my life, although I should re-word it a bit for the 21st century.

“If I want it done at all, I better do it.”

If I keep my standards low, then when someone actually does perform adequately or appropriately, I am pleasantly surprised. It’s sort of a twisted way of looking at the glass as being half full.

Of course there are some things I could give a rat’s ass less whether they’re done or not, because they just don’t make an appearance on my priority list.

I’m not a sports fan. I struggle to commit to regular workouts for my health’s sake. I’m still trying to learn to enjoy exercise. I appreciate being able to go to the Y and use the machines and the pool there, but the only person I compete against as far as fitness or athletic (in)ability is myself.

I will make time to work out, but I still don’t care to watch sports. Especially next month when they will be clogging up TruTV with that March Madness basketball mess. I know some people want to watch basketball, but why on the same channel that “World’s Dumbest” is on? Why not cut a few of the late night pecker pump infomercials and have basketball on then?

I can’t say I am a huge fan of constantly dusting things either. I don’t dust as often as I should, but dusting is one of those exercises in futility that I positively loathe. Jerry is a constant smoker, which creates even more dust than what would be in a normal house. That nasty nicotine encrusted film covers everything in the house. If I get to it, I get to it, but it’s not one of my really compelling priorities. I can dust the whole frigging house from top to bottom and the filmy sludge will return in less than a day. To me that seems like an insane waste of time, which reminds me of poor Sisyphus. We the unwilling, doing the impossible for the ungrateful. Sometimes I think I have more in common with Sisyphus than I’d like to acknowledge.

I know I torqued Jerry off last night by not fixing him dinner, however, he has spent the last few days being particularly obnoxious. Last night I did make a special trip to get him chocolate milk. That favor was greeted with a tirade about how he had to get up and lock the door. I was gone for five minutes, in broad daylight, and the door leading into the kitchen was locked. The outside door was unlocked because it’s a little easier to only have to dig for one key- once you’re already in the foyer- when it’s cold and your hands are full. But since His Nibs doesn’t do anything that might involve carrying in groceries or anything like that, he wouldn’t know.

It’s my own fault for being too nice.

Here’s a lovely little slice of paradise. Or it would be, if there were a pool and a pool boy.

The bad thing about me and utopian scenes is that I’m always the one who cues in on the one nasty thing in the picture. For me the idyllic scene above becomes:

This would be the kind of dream I have. Everything is perfect for a minute, and then there’s flaming porto johns, Richard Simmons, and flatulence-provoking taco references.

Now here would be my definition of a nightmare:

It would be my luck that when I die I’ll end up in Detroit.

February 6, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

It wasn’t just Milwaukee, or Wisconsin. The same garbage went on in OHIO too!

Playing Devil’s Advocate, a Perfect World #656, and My Little Dystopia

January 28, 2013Tonya Lanthron 4 Comments

The Red Guy from Cow and Chicken

I have to admit I like cartoons a little bit too much, especially the late 80’s-90’s cartoons like Cow and Chicken, Dexter’s Laboratory, Two Stupid Dogs, Ren and Stimpy and Johnny Bravo (you can still catch these late at night on Boomerang from time to time.) The artwork is simple and mostly computer-generated (as is pretty much all animation these days) but the story lines are blessedly twisted and a little bit unexpected.

I watch TV or go to movies for one of two reasons. One is to learn something, which is why I enjoy documentaries and nature shows. I’ve probably spent more time watching documentaries on WWII than the actual war lasted, which is a sort of sad commentary on just how much I live life vicariously. The other reason I watch TV or go to movies is because I want to laugh. I enjoy World’s Dumbest and 1000 Ways to Die because they’re not only educational but funny in a twisted way.

I stopped caring a LONG time ago about dippy celebrities (I could care less about the Kardashians and who they’re currently landing in bed with) and drippy lame pop stars.

They may be brunettes, but they’re still no-talent dingbats. However, their handlers are doing something right. They’re dingbats with more money than I’ll ever see.

In the 80s we had some good pop (though there was a fair share of really bad pop music then as well) and some really awesome rock and metal. Rock and metal have been long since been overtaken by rap, which pretty much sucks. Country has always sucked, but today it is a just bit less sucky than it once was. I can’t understand or get much into techno either. That stuff sounds like the soundtrack for a cheap porn movie. Today it pretty much ALL sucks, unless it’s new material from an older artist such as Neal Schon. Yes I really do enjoy The Calling, and most of his other solo stuff too, although if you want to try it out- a caution. Schon’s solo stuff is nothing like Journey. The Calling is jazz fusion instrumental music that’s generally only going to appeal to musicians. Guitar players and anyone trained in any of the disciplines of classical music will appreciate this stuff, but to assume it will be popular with the masses is sort of like expecting Billy Joe Jim Bob to get into La Bohème. It’s not going to happen.

In a perfect world, all the men would be buff. And they would all be wearing Spandex pants, like these:

Man pants- but ONLY for the buff.

Of course, since most men are not this buff, baggy jeans or sweatpants will have to do.

Jerry so far has actually gone to the Y, but has only checked out the equipment. So far he has not dared to don the sweatpants or to actually use any of the workout equipment. I’m hoping to get him to that point tonight, now that he’s seen that all the other 50-something men there are wearing plain old dollar store sweatpants and t-shirts and even those awful Velcro tennis shoes. He will fit right in that fashion parade.

Dissent is My 1st Amendment Right, Freezing, and the Agony of Hat-Head

January 22, 2013Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Creepy, I know. But I did do what I said I was going to. I even wore a black bra and black underwear, should the inquiring mind want to know.

My reasons for wearing all-black mourning clothes in protest of the second inauguration of the Worst President in American History?

1. Voter fraud. If the past election had been honest, i.e. only eligible voters voting, and eligible voters only voting once, yesterday’s events would have been very different, and far happier.

2. Obama is the absolute worst president this country has seen in its 236 year history, for a laundry list of reasons: a.) wiping his pompous ass with our Constitution, b.) refusing to submit to proper background checks to prove his eligibility to hold public office, c.) his active support of terrorist harboring nations, d.) he advocates the murder of the unborn, e.) he is imposing his faux imperial will upon the people of this country (see also letter a.) against our consent.

Perhaps if Obama had won “fair and square” I wouldn’t be quite so pissed off. However, I find it curious that more than 100% of the registered voters in a few Cuyahoga County precincts ALL voted for Obama. I find it fishy that the Democrats were bussing non-citizens to the early voting center right here in Columbus, so they could vote multiple times on multiple days using nothing more than a utility bill (even though you need not be an American citizen or a resident of Ohio to have utilities in your name) for ID. I find it even more peculiar that Obama failed to win any state that requires a photo ID to vote. What’s even worse is that so-called Republicans (including the Ohio attorney general and the Ohio secretary of state) refuse to investigate these egregious and widespread frauds and refuse to speak out against them. Methinks they are afraid of rocking the boat, or of getting a visit from the union thugs that rule over Cuyahoga County.

I’m tired of people using his race to excuse his ineptitude- and his dishonesty.

The 2012 election was a travesty and a joke and no one will do anything about it. Obama might as well just have declared himself king yesterday. The sad thing is that I wouldn’t put it past him to do exactly that.

What are you boys afraid of? Sometimes standing up for the right thing means pissing a few people off. I learned a long time ago I don’t give a rat’s ass who I please as long as I can live with myself. Just because I disagree with Obama’s policies and I can see that he is a Marxist, a liar and a cheater does not make me a racist. It makes me someone who sees Obama for who he really is- a petty despot hell bent on destroying America. I don’t care if he is black, white, green, gay, straight or furry. He’s dishonest and he’s wrong. He may hide behind the façade of being black (in reality, his mother was white) to avoid scrutiny, but at the end of the day, failing to speak out against him is giving evil a free pass.

Tact never was my strong suit, but there are times when the truth has to trump tact.

Today also marks a sad anniversary- 40 years of Roe v. Wade. Another testament that just because something is legal does not make it right. The Supreme Court also decided the Dred Scott case, which was as fundamentally wrong when it was decided as it is today.

On a different note, this is one of those days when Central Ohio is too far north for human habitation. Today’s high was 15°, which is cold even for me. I know it’s colder in places like Cleveland and Detroit (both of which are places I have no real desire to visit again) but it’s pretty damned cold here too, and windy to boot. Target, of course, has lots of brand new swim attire on display, should anyone be able to find any body of water thawed out enough to swim in.

Do what you want, but personally I think this is downright nuts.

When it is this cold and windy I find it necessary to wear a hat. I like hats, but when I put a hat on it’s got to stay on the rest of the day unless I have the opportunity to re-do my hair. So I’m wearing a hat today- the same black aviator hat I wore yesterday. When the farking wind chill is 20° below and the various HVAC systems I encounter in a day are doing good to keep the temperature in the 50s in this kind of cold, the hat stays on. Don’t like it? Bite me.

Hey, it’s warm!

My “Best” Self, Time Keeping in the Post-Apocalyptic World, and Other Questions No One Asks But Me

January 16, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I forgot my watch today. That is rather vexing, even though I can make the argument that the habit of wearing a timekeeper on one’s person is rather archaic and quaint. I very seldom forget to wear a watch. It became habit when I was in elementary school (way before the days of smart phones or computers) because it was necessary for me to know the time, 1.) when I went home for lunch and had to be back at school, so I didn’t screw around too long on the way back (I don’t know of any elementary schools today that let kids leave for lunch, but that was a different time) and 2.) if Grandma was going to pick me up after school, I would know she would be there at exactly 3:00, and that I had better be right out front next to the oak tree and not messing about on the playground.

The watch I wore from the time I was 9 years old until I was in college was a wind-up Timex (good luck finding one of those, but I still have it, and it still works.) Today I generally wear a Timex digital watch (I have a few) or the really nice Fossil analog watch (talk about archaic, though this one does have a battery) I reserve for non-casual occasions. I don’t know why I hang on to that rather dated custom- there’s a freaking clock in the car for heaven’s sake, not to mention on the cell phone and on the computer screen. If I really need to know what time it is that bad, the current time is everywhere.

The impulse to always have a watch on reminds me of “Rainman’s” obsession to always buy underwear at K-Mart. Not everyone on the autistic spectrum is OCD, (and I’m not) but I do remember as a kid I did NOT like having my schedule or routine changed at all, unless I was the one changing things. I still don’t like other people screwing up my itinerary, but the older I get, I tend to be a lot more flexible.

It really doesn’t matter in the broad scheme of things, but people like me tend to get hung up on some really weird shit sometimes. Perhaps it is a lame attempt for me to maintain some sort of continuity in an increasingly unpredictable world.

This country may be going to hell in a handbasket as the new Louis and Marie strut about as if they are royalty, as they stomp on the Constitution, squander taxpayers’ money, take their Hawaiian vacations and pontificate from their ivory tower, but at least I’ll know what time it is. I can even set the chronometer, should I need to call 911 and want to know how long the cops take to get there.

I couldn’t help it. This reference to B.O. and Moochelle as the new Louis and Marie was too much NOT to share. Sad thing is, this is NOT France.

Since I am painfully aware of not having a watch on my wrist, the thought came to mind, when would it really be imperative to have a watch on to know what time it is? After the apocalypse- when there are no more computers or cell phones or cars?

At that point, when my immediate surrounding area resembles something out of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, who would give a rat’s ass about the time? It would always be half-past ass whupping time, right?

There is a politically correct phrase I’ve heard that teachers use to “encourage” the children they teach, and for the most part I loathe it: “Be your best self today.”

WTF?

Can I be my shitty self tomorrow?

This is about as far as the “best self” train is going to go today.

I’m sorry, but the way I grew up was that it was either tow the line or get a boot up your ass. I think that’s part of the problem with kids today, that parents and teachers are afraid to challenge them. I can think positive all day and blow sunshine out my poop chute, but unless I actually do something positive it really doesn’t matter, does it?

Kids today need less mollycoddling and more boot camp.

Now I do like some of the suggestions here, even though the author of the post uses that phrase. I think I will strike up a conversation with a complete stranger for shits and grins, or do something completely spontaneous just because I can. Some of her suggestions are a tad bit more challenging, such as telling someone you love how much you love them. I have emotions- I think- but I’m not very good at sharing them.

Is it just me, or am I the only one who thinks it to be bad manners to make a take home plate at a funeral wake? I went to a calling hours and wake last week for a friend of mine whose father had died. The departed was Irish, and there was plenty of liquor, so it really was a proper Irish wake. Since we belong to a group of Lutheran church ladies, we had all brought enough chow for three armies too.

Jerry actually had the cojones to ask me if I’d fixed him a plate when I got home.

Granted, there was more than enough food and nobody would have missed it if I would have made Jerry a plate, but if you don’t at least go to the wake and pay your respects to the departed, then what gives you the right to go munching on their chow?

This is the message that action sends: “Gee, sorry about your Dad, too bad I was too busy drinking beer and watching the Big 10 channel to show up for his wake, but can my wife set me up with a doggie bag?”

I know Jerry was raised by wolves, but methinks requesting a doggie bag from a wake is a bit much.

Ode to the Crapper, Snake Handlers, and Reality Bites

January 14, 2013Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

I had an ’88 VW Fox that was similar to this car, only mine was a 4 door, and I knew better than to run it into a tank.

I am not your friendly neighborhood optimist. There are times when I wish I could be, but I was the kid who asked the catechism teacher* (*but NOT any of the teachers who were also nuns) where the bathroom is in heaven. I’m probably the only person on the planet twisted enough to ask that question, but it has a rational foundation. It’s always wise to know the proximity of the nearest crapper, and as much as I would hope eliminatory functions will not be necessary in the next life, I figure if there’s toilets in church, then the need for commodes might just transcend the Great Beyond. It would be my luck.

They would probably be cool old-style Victorian era crappers like this one.

There was indoor plumbing in the late Victorian era, but only rich folks had it. Poor folks had to use the outhouse. My grandparents didn’t get indoor plumbing until the late 1950’s. No, I am not that old. I wasn’t born until the late 1960’s, so I don’t know about their particular outhouse from personal experience. The closest I ever got to a real outhouse was having to use the latrines at the Girl Scout Camp and the State Parks and/or Porto Johns. That was bad enough.

I’m glad I don’t have balls. I do wonder, though, if it’s so nasty, why are you lingering long enough to pull out a Sharpie and make commentary on the Porto-John wall?

For the uninitiated, outhouses may contain snakes, spiders, biting insects such as wasps and hornets, raccoons, mice and possums, or a combination of all of the above. Non-venomous snakes don’t really phase me. I have a ball python. Jerry has a rather tempermental red-tail boa. But pythons and boas are constrictors. They can bite you and that’s not fun, but generally a bite from a constrictor will simply leave you with a few puncture wounds- not much worse than a cat scratch. It’s rare for constrictors that are handled to bite unless they’re hungry and you smell like food.

This is a ball python. Pythons are NON-venomous snakes. I have one just like it, and I have no problem picking him up. He eats juvenile rats.

Venomous snakes are quite another matter. I pretty much know what the “harmless” snakes, such as garter snakes, ball pythons, boas, rat snakes, etc. look like. Rattlesnakes and copperheads are NOT snakes to be handled unless you know what the hell you’re doing, and even those people get bit rather often and sometimes die from it.

Perhaps I shouldn’t mock the snake handlers, but I think the Lord gives out something called “discernment,” and He would rather see people use that to avoid doing dangerous things, instead of people doing irrational things that increase the chances of them earning their Darwin Awards.

The thing I never really understood about snake handling is how is it any different from any other risky behavior? Did Jesus tell people to get drunk and drive, or to run with scissors? It just doesn’t make much sense. Thankfully the snake handling tradition is obscure and it takes its origin from the long ending of the Gospel of Mark, that does not occur in all of the original manuscripts:

“And these signs will accompany those who believe: by using my name they will cast out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes in their hands, and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover.” Mark 16:16-18 (NRSV)

I wonder if this disclaimer would hold up in court? Does it also apply to the coffee, or are Pentecostals allowed to drink coffee?

I don’t take that snippet from the Gospel of Mark as a directive for going out and deliberately picking up rattlesnakes and copperheads or swilling poison for something to do, but I wasn’t raised in Appalachia or in the Pentecostal tradition. I was raised with old-school Catholicism, which is plenty scary enough, even without venomous snakes or cyanide being involved. We had to deal with nuns. Most of the really creepy stuff associated with Catholicism has to do with the whole business of praying to the dead, people getting the stigmata, and exorcisms, and other way out supernatural freaky kinds of things. I don’t disbelieve in the supernatural, but I do believe that when the spirit world makes itself known here on earth that it’s usually demons and such behind it, and I’d rather steer way clear of that noise.

I have my share of problems, but at least for now my head is screwed on straight, for what it’s worth.

So, maybe I’m the only one to have made the inquiry regarding the necessity of the loo in the Great Beyond. Maybe not. I’m not the only one who wondered why people’s clothes stayed clean on Gilligan’s Island even though they didn’t have either washing machines nor access to Tide.

They are simply too clean.

Maybe there was some of this under the seats in the Minnow or something.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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