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!

If You Only Knew What’s in Food, You’d Never Eat Again

February 9, 2013Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

Today I am glad I don’t live in the UK. Or at least that I didn’t eat frozen lasagna in the UK.

Cheddar cheese on lasagna? That’s almost as bad as eating Mr. Ed!

Maybe I shouldn’t be so critical. I love the Brits in most things, but English food is scary as hell to begin with, at least to American sensibilities. It’s not necessarily dangerous to eat horse meat, but it is culturally taboo, even in the UK where people eat really nasty sounding things like blood pudding and kidney pie and haggis. I think as far as frozen lasagna goes I’ll stick with the Stouffer’s red-box stuff. It may be mystery meat, but it’s still some tasty stuff.

They don’t claim that the meat is beef. It’s just “meat” which could be anything.

I think if we really knew what was in food we would never eat again.

Gravy happens. And this stuff looks like puke. I want to know who tasted it to verify that it “tastes like beef stew.” Used beef stew?

When my Dad was growing up on the west side of Marion, there was a dog food manufacturing plant about 2 miles from where he and my grandparents lived. In the 1950’s horse meat was a major ingredient in dog food, as well as carcasses of various livestock. Back then, pretty much any meat source that could be rendered down was used in dog food. The dog food plant closed down in the early 1980’s, (long after it had been made illegal to use horse meat in dog food) but I can still remember the stench of that joint if the wind was blowing the wrong way. It was not a pleasant smell.

One night the horses they were keeping to slaughter the next day got out and followed the railroad tracks to my grandparents’ house. Dad woke up and was screaming about horses running through the back yard. Grandpa thought Dad was nuts until he saw the horses for himself.

Sometimes I almost get the vegans’ argument against eating anything with a face. I couldn’t imagine eating an animal like a horse or a dog if I put a face on it, but then I remember that cats are obligatory carnivores, and I remember that most humans who espouse vegan eating really aren’t as healthy as they want to suggest, mentally or physically. I just don’t think that smelling like an abattoir, (in spite of not eating meat?) having grey, scaly skin, braid-able hair on the armpits and legs, and straw-like scarecrow hair sticking up from one’s head are indicators of health. Nor do I think wiping with reusable cloths or burying my car is a good idea to “save the planet” either. I like an occasional Porterhouse steak. I like my leather shoes, I like to remove superfluous body hair, and I’d rather be dead than have dreadlocks.

Never trust the unbathed.

I understand meat-eating is a cultural thing. Personally I find the thought of eating dogs highly offensive, but they do it in Asia. I have no problem with eating rabbits, squirrels or deer, while some people I know think that’s the grossest thing ever. I don’t care for lamb or mutton, but the dogs love it. Supposedly that’s what their food is based on, but I really don’t want to know what’s in dog food. It’s bad enough to consider what’s in food meant for humans.

I found a taste tester.

I could save a lot of money this way. Just shut up and eat it. You just don’t want to know.

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!

Dog Doo, Tea Bagging, Dingbats and Family Annoyances

January 29, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I’ve never been much for political correctness, but my boobs aren’t speaking to you, bubba.

I’ve always had a sort of loathing for meetings/seminars/workshops in which the facilitator requires the participants to wear name tags. At least a name tag like this could have served a practical purpose in a few of those sort of events. I appreciate my anonymity, and hide behind it whenever I can. I never had the choice of a cute HK tag to wear, even as the only chick at most of the automotive functions (there still aren’t very many female parts or service managers in car dealerships) I’ve attended.

I really don’t give two shits in a high wind if some stranger from Moose Dick, Alaska, who I will never see again, remembers my boobs, or my name. I’d rather he forget them both. Unless he’s hot, and there are exactly -0- hot guys on the planet who have ever bothered to drool on my shirt.

I’ve considered it a plus when the boob-oglers had teeth and hair.

Of course now that I’m older, the kinds of guys who would be ogling my cleavage (providing their vision is still good enough) have gotten even more scary than they used to be.

Some older guys are hot. Unfortunately they were hot when they were younger too, and they ignored me then, too. I was a kegger when I was 21, and that has not improved with age. I am not one of the beautiful people, and usually that doesn’t bother me much.

I guess if you’re that dumb, you deserve to be removed from the gene pool.

Today I’m sounding pretty misandrist (which is unusual for me, because I generally like men and get along better with them than with other women) and I’m sure it has to do with Jerry. He did go and work out last night which I am proud of him for. I just hope he isn’t too disheartened to find out that he can’t keep up with me. I can bench press more than he can. But in all fairness I quit smoking over 10 years ago, I don’t drink, and I’ve been working out already pretty consistently for the past 3 years. He’s 12 years older than me, still smokes like a freight train, considers beer a food group, and lifts weights 12 ounces at a time. That mindset apparently doesn’t do jack for your upper body strength.

Jerry can be a horrible dingbat at times and he displayed that today. I really hate any family member calling me at work unless it’s something important. Usually it’s dumb shit that can wait. Unless someone is in the hospital or dead, or by some Miracle of God I’ve come into some serious money, I really don’t want to hear about it. I have to talk to enough people and hear about enough problems while I’m at work without listening to anyone’s tirade about this that or the other thing that I can’t remedy until later anyway. Jerry calls me with stupid shit (pun intended) such as “Sheena had the shits all over the floor.”

Yes, Jerry, clean it up! With your bare hands! Why not?

So then I get to dread cleaning up congealed diarrheal dog shit for all the rest of the day. Thanks, Jerry, for being the shit monitor. How about YOU cleaning it up every once in awhile? Jerry’s really good about pointing out the (blessedly rare) dog or cat accidents, but then he claims that “I can’t clean it up, because I’ll puke.” Granted, I have a very limited sense of smell, but I can see, and I can feel, and I can be weird about germs, so what makes you think cleaning up shit is less gross for me, Captain Oblivious?

Mom is just as bad. She will call me with some (usually) imagined crisis (usually involving Steve-o, Sophie, or one of my nephews) that I can’t do a damned thing about, only to find out later that she was making yet another mountain out of another molehill. Steve-o is 21. If he decides he wants to hang out with his buddies, or whatever, it’s not a Federal case. As far as how he is raising his daughter, he and her mother seem to be doing a good job. Barring neglect or abuse, I will not intervene with their parenting. I had a hell of enough time raising my own offspring to be butting in on how others raise theirs.

As far as parenting my nephews, apparently she doesn’t have the courage to approach my sisters every time she thinks they’ve stepped outside their bounds. In reality, my sisters are much stricter with my nephews than I ever was with Steve-o. Unless they are doing illegal things or egregiously immoral things, it is none of my business and my sisters are responsible for correcting them anyway.

“Mother” does not start with “s.” She is his grandmother, but the no-smother clause works with grandparents as well. She might be Catholic, but, Steve-o’s not. (See the video clip from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life on Protestantism which is pretty funny.) Though I may not approve of fornication, I also know that a.) he’s going to, and b.) if he’s going to, using a rubber is a pretty good idea. He already has one offspring that we know about.

“Oooh, what are you doing with condoms!”

I only wish Jerry had been calling to bitch about something as trivial as dog shit. Apparently he failed to understand what I meant, on numerous occasions, when I said I was cancelling a very expensive automatic recurring withdrawal from my checking account (i.e. that I could no longer pay for his life insurance, etc. that had been coming out of my checking account, and that he swore up and down, “yeah, I’ll pay you for it” but never did.) Apparently (oh lucky freaking me) dumb-ass answered the home phone when he was home at lunch, which is only really there for phone solicitors and other people I don’t want to talk to. So the insurance people were wondering why we had cancelled, etc. (and those people are annoying as shit when they call because they get a spiff on every policy they convince you not to cancel) so, not remembering I said I was cancelling the EFT, he proceeded to call me at work and give me a nasty little tirade about it.

Just because I’m used to irrational tirades doesn’t mean I enjoy them.

Joy.

I know I shouldn’t let him take financial advantage of me, (and I’m done with subsidizing these ridiculously overpriced insurance policies) but I will have hell to pay for it. I’m not looking forward to that at all.

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.

Cats and Dogs, the Natty Impaired, and Physical Fitness

January 25, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

I love this chart, because for the most part, it’s true.

Most dogs are not terribly body sensitive. Sheena is a bit head-shy, but I think that’s because she’s deaf, which means she’s highly reliant upon what she sees and she doesn’t want anything to obstruct her vision. Lilo is extremely body sensitive (don’t even try to touch her feet or tail without giving fair warning) for a dog, but she’s an exception rather than a rule. Clara must think she’s a cat, because she adores having her butt scratched as much if not more than a typical cat.

Isabel and Jezebel (the two black cats, and the oldest and youngest) are cling-on cats. They love attention, seek it out, and can’t get enough physical closeness, petting, cuddling, etc. Fanny (the behemoth silver tabby and white) and F.B. (Fluffy Butt, the tortoiseshell Angora) are both more selective about who they want attention from, for how long, and when. They have their moments of wanting attention, but they also have their moments of being downright anti-social. Especially Fanny.

Me (Isabel- right) and Mini-me (Jezebel- left)

Jezebel is not going to be a terribly large cat. Isabel is very small for an adult cat (just over 5#) and Fanny was bigger than her by the time Fanny was three months old. Jezebel is about 18 weeks old at this point and is maybe 2 1/2- 3#. Jezebel will likely grow and fill out a bit after she’s spayed, but I doubt if it will be by much. Isabel’s spayed too. Cats do most of their growing before their adult teeth come in. Jezebel already has her adult incisors and canine teeth (yes, cats are carnivores and therefore they possess four elongated canine teeth, like all other carnivores) and it likely won’t be long before she gets the premolars and molars too. An interesting (nerd alert) aside- a cat is actually more of a true carnivore than a dog, because a cat is an obligatory carnivore that requires meat in their diet to survive, whilst dogs can survive without meat in their diet. Cats cannot manufacture their own taurine, which is an essential amino acid that has to do with vision and regulating heart beat. Dogs (and humans) can manufacture their own taurine, but cats can only get taurine from meat in their diet.

Vegans beware- put your cat on a vegan diet and it will soon go blind and then die- so don’t impose your meatless lifestyle on your cat. Or on me for that matter. I may not need meat to live, but I sure do like it.

F.B. is a beautiful cat, but she despises cameras. I was lucky to get this one.

F.B. is probably the quietest and most unobtrusive of my cats. She likes attention if it’s one-on-one, and she loves to just chill with the other cats. For the most part she sits back and observes, and sleeps.

Fanny was aptly named. That’s what I get for listening to Queen.

Fanny is huge. 17# for a female cat is big. She has big bones, and she has big meat on the big bones also, which is ironic because Isabel and Jezebel- each- eat more than she does. They are tiny and svelte, yet they are eating machines. Fanny is a fussy eater who eats only a very few things, (for instance Fanny refuses Vienna sausages, which the other cats adore) and she slowly and methodically chews each bite. I feel for Fanny and her metabolism. She also has a bit of a jealousy complex and an attitude. She was not at all happy about Jezebel coming in and taking her position as the young petulant indulged one, even though Fanny’s four years old and should be over it by now.

Clara and Lilo have always been close. Sometimes Lilo will get into Clara’s crate with her.

Clara (top) and Lilo (bottom) have been close ever since we got them. Clara had been with us a few months when we got Lilo, and they are only a few months apart in age. Even now that they’re older (Clara’s 10, Lilo’s 9) they still occasionally play tug of war with their toys and play-fight with each other.

They still enjoy this, even though Clara’s bigger and usually wins.

Sheena is well, Sheena. She is her own dog.

Sheena’s part Husky. Sheena has a number of flaws that are consistent with inbreeding- severe hip dysplasia, deafness, gross motor deficits (may or may not be related to HD) and she’s downright goofy. Maybe some of her cognitive deficiencies are related to the fact that she used to live at the Tetanus Farm which was also a puppy mill and (suspected) meth lab. There’s a reason why it’s a bad idea to procreate with first degree relatives, and that applies to dogs as well as humans. But Sheena’s endearing in her own weird way. I have a soft spot for rejects and misfits. That must explain Jerry. A warning to women: if a guy’s 38, straight, and never married, there is a good reason why.

Today begins Jerry’s fitness program. He’s the one who wanted a membership at the Y and actually gave me money to pay for it. This is almost scary in a way. I can’t imagine Jerry in work out clothes, on a treadmill or elliptical, or lifting any sort of weight over 12 ounces.

He will be so disappointed when he discovers the only fluids available at the Y are water, diet soda and fruit juice, and there are no beer holders on the cardio machines. But I will be happy if he at least goes and gives it a try.

On the other hand, I am anxiously looking forward to enjoying the indoor pool, being able to swim laps starting at 5:30 in the morning, and being able to work out on the ellipticals. Swimming and elliptical machines are two modes of exercise that allow me to get the cardio and strength training I need without destroying my joints even more than they are already. The Y also has nice showers, so if I choose to go there to work out before work instead of working out at home, I can actually swim laps, do some cardio, and then shower and go to work from there. Nice.

Hopefully he won’t think this is what I mean by “work out clothes.”

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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