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.

Geriatric Meltdown, BANNED! and the Silver Tacoma of Rude

January 11, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Perhaps I should have some sort of identification/ warning attached to Jerry when he makes his forays out in public.

It must be fortuitous for the greater community that I usually get stuck running Jerry’s errands for him. I am normally the one who ends up having to go to Speedway (gas station/convenience store) to get his smokes and to put gasoline in his truck. That is a bit more complicated than it sounds.

Speedway has a promotional program in which you earn points for buying gift cards (buy a $50 gift card, get 1000 points, then turn around and buy a $43 carton of smokes with it…) as well as for buying gasoline and the various convenience store crud they sell, such as Monster drinks and “Busted” papers. Sometimes it’s a tad bit complicated to instruct the young punk clerk du jour on how to 1.) scan your Speedy card, then 2.) take your cash in exchange for the gift card, then 3.) use the gift card to buy the carton of smokes. If the order gets screwed up in any way you don’t get your 1000 points for buying the gift card.

When you earn enough points, you can redeem them for various free crap, like a $50 gas card, or an Amazon gift card, or whatever’s on the list. Jerry’s whole aim in this is to get a $50 gas card.

If he gets 1000 points per $50 card he buys, and he doesn’t buy anything except $50 gift cards, he’s got to spend $2425 to get a “free” card.

Not the Golden Ticket, but close.

Anyway, Jerry does know to check the receipt to make sure he got his 1000 points. The last time he went to Speedway to get his own smokes (I don’t know what possessed him to take this brazen step of self-sufficiency, but something must have) he forgot to have the clerk scan the Speedy card first, so the points didn’t appear on the receipt.

Ordinarily, in most places the clerk or the manager on duty can back out the transaction and let it fly again, but this kid was either new or having a bad day or both, and basically told Jerry tough titty, better luck next time, the money was already on the gift card and since the Speedy card wasn’t scanned first, he wasn’t going to get any points.

Jerry is one of those people who refuses to take “no” for an answer.

I’m just glad I wasn’t there to witness this personally.

So the clerk (who is probably not terribly thrilled with Jerry’s condescending demeanor and/or gratuitous whining by now) tersely informs Jerry that the manager won’t be in until Monday (this was a Saturday night) and that he could come back then and take it up with the manager. Jerry refuses to take the $50 card and demands his money back so he can go to the other Speedway to buy the card and get his points.

The clerk refused again. So let the pissing contest begin.

Jerry doesn’t lose too many of those. He’s embarrassed me in enough restaurants that he’s almost guaranteed a home-cooked meal. I generally know how to fix his chow to avoid most of the bitching. He’s probably one of the fussiest, bitchiest customers the Waffle House and the Frisch’s Big Boy have ever seen.

If I had to wager, I would bet he has consumed his fair share of boogers, loogies, scabs and semen, considering how rude he can be with wait staff. “I want those fries flaming hot!” I can hear him now. Flaming hot with a sprinkling of scabs and a splash of bodily fluids… hawwkkkk…but I’m the passive-aggressive one. It’s easier to feed him at home so that others are not treated to his egregious lack of manners and proper etiquette.

No wonder they cringe at the Waffle House when they see his truck. The silver Tacoma of Rude!

Then I get a phone call from Jerry while he’s at the Speedway asking me for the non-emergency cop number. It’s a good thing he didn’t call the number I gave him, because he was in a different jurisdiction than the number he asked for. Around here, if you’re outside of the area covered by a particular law enforcement agency, that means the dispatcher will tell you that’s not their problem and to call the other jurisdiction, and no, she doesn’t know who to tell you to call if the address you give is not in her area.

In other words, if you’re in the city of Columbus and you call Gahanna’s dispatch, you are SOL, which is what he would have done because he didn’t realize which jurisdiction he was in. 911 doesn’t work like that- dialing 911 will (almost always) get you the correct dispatch, but you better know which jurisdiction you’re in if you call the non-emergency numbers.

Some things were never meant to be taken up with law enforcement. They have enough to do.

I’m thinking to myself, Are you really going to call the cops – even on the non-emergency number- for something kinda dumb like this? For a moment I thought of World’s Dumbest and the guy who got arrested for calling 911 because his sandwich sucked and the restaurant wouldn’t give him a refund. I am thankful Jerry didn’t get cops involved.

At that point, Jerry decides to stage a one man sit-in at the Speedway until the clerk got in contact with the manager, who told the clerk to give Jerry his $50 back, and instructed the clerk to tell Jerry to never set foot in that store again.

Banned from the Morse Rd. Speedway. While sober. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. To his credit, Jerry did go to the other Speedway and he remembered to have the clerk follow the correct procedure so he finally got his points, his gift card and his smokes.

Jerry and the Silver Tacoma of Rude- coming to a convenience store or one star dining establishment near you!

More Fun With Obscure Old Things, Virtual Road Trip, and Winter Funk Comes Early

January 9, 2013Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

At least I can keep my sunburst plate (the top one) and save $8 as opposed to getting the new plate which I think is rather busy for a license plate.

Usually I don’t get to the really despondent depths of the Winter Funk until the butt-end of February, when my birthday rolls around, bringing with it the ominous and expensive task of going to the BMV to pay for yet another registration sticker for yet another year.. This year that task is doubly odious because I have to renew my driver’s license as well as my car registration, so I can’t just do it online. Joy and rapture. A new pic of me- four years older, that is guaranteed to be bad enough that it should either appear in “Busted” magazine, or have “Correctional Institute Inmate” underneath it. As far as “Busted” magazine, it’s a guilty pleasure of mine to gawk at the mug shots, laugh at the bizarre names (there is actually a guy in one of them whose name is “Sequin”) and examine them to see if anyone I know is in there. At least as far as I know I’m not going to get stuck with the fugly new license plate. I don’t care for that design, and it really doesn’t go very well with my Hello Kitty license plate frames.

This goes better with the old sunburst plate anyway.

Anyway, I am trying to head off the despair and gloom at the pass. I am making it a point to go to at least one Bible study class (at church, among other live humans) a week, which I’ve not been doing since last October and it shows. I am not the best Christian example in the world by a long shot, but I have an even harder go of things when I neglect Bible study with other people. Yes, I read and study on my own, but the only observations I see are my own and too much navel-gazing is not a good thing. Even though I crave solitude like a junkie craves a fix, I still need to hear the opinions and observations of others- particularly from those with different viewpoints than mine- from time to time.

More importantly, I have to remember that there is life beyond the mundane, and I have been very neglectful of the spiritual as of late.

I couldn’t be terribly interesting to watch.

Anyway, I have found some more fascinating ephemera from the early-to-mid 20th century that piqued my interest:

Toilet water cures baldness. Who’d have thought?

Men generally are less vain than women. Though comfortable, I can’t bring myself to wear Velcro tennis shoes in public. However, some men have a rather twisted sense of vanity and of utility:

What they’re not telling you is the recliner on the boat is nicer than the one in the house.

I have also discovered that the redneck love of bacon is not a recent discovery. Even in the late 19th century a national love affair with pork products was obvious.

The United States of Pork!

To quote the French: Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose!

At least back in the day – before Oklahoma was a state, obviously, you got the cool little diagram with all the piggies on it to take home.

While I’m in the road tripping mood, it’s interesting to see how people other than Midwesterners look at the US. I know foreigners probably view the great vast flatness of the Midwest with trepidation (we’re not dangerous, usually, just boring.) There are flush toilets in the South now- even in West Virginia, although West Virginia is technically not part of the South. The reason why West Virginia is West Virginia is that they decided to stay in the Union instead of becoming part of the Confederacy along with the rest of Virginia. Southern Ohio isn’t part of the South either, but try telling them that. Especially that guy in Greene County who has the barn with the huge rebel flag on the roof that’s glaringly visible from I-71 northbound. Never mind that he’s 35 miles north of the Ohio River (and therefore the Mason-Dixon Line.) I guess if the South rises again it might have to redefine its geographical boundaries.

A West Virginia view on what’s what and who’s who in the US. Or maybe a Nebraskan’s?

I still think it would be interesting to take an English speaking foreigner (and yes, I am thinking of Karl Pilkington and the Idiot Abroad series) into the depths of fly-over country. Use Central Ohio as the epicenter, and the only rule for the itinerary being that the destination has to be within 500 miles of the I-70 I-71 split in the middle of Columbus. I could have a lot of fun with that. Visit the Midwest, New England and a good portion of the South that nobody ever bothers to see. I mean, since when has anyone said much about tourism in Cincinnati (which actually is a very cool historical destination) or Detroit, which you can skip entirely, unless you’re into armed robbery and gang rape, with the exception of the Henry Ford Museum (which is technically in Dearborn) and even then, leave your valuables in Columbus. The Ford Museum is worth the drive and even worth the risk to one’s person in getting there. Otherwise I would pretty much give the entire state of Michigan a pass.

This is the Reagan Limo. I took this pic the last time I was at the Ford Museum- back in 2007.

Of course I have not (yet) made it to what might well be the holy grail of museums- the Mütter Museum in Philadelphia. I’ve never been to Philadelphia. I can only hope it’s not as bad as Detroit. I simply have to get a.) enough scratch to make the trip, and b.) I have to plan the logistics so that I can stay overnight somewhere because it’s a 12 hour drive each way.

Nothing says cool like old preserved medical anomalies.

I Don’t Seek Approval, Party Like It’s 1899, and Things that Don’t Suck

January 3, 2013Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

I usually don’t succumb to the lure of corny party kitsch, but the light up necklace was cute.

I’ve said before I don’t deal much in the currency of optimism, so I don’t see this year being much of an improvement over last. In fact, I started today out rather depressed. Today’s been one of those days where I’m actually trolling for things to cheer me up a bit. I’m actively fighting against the urge to just concede to the Dark Funk and give up. I guess the fact that I’m fighting the temptation to just give into hopelessness is either a good sign, or it’s just an unwillingness to face the reality that my life is pretty much hopeless.

The best way to give myself a reality check, I’ve discovered is to make three lists- Things that Suck that I Can’t Change, Things that Suck that I Can Change, and Things that Don’t Suck.

Things that Suck that I Can’t Change:

Obama. ‘Nuff said.

Personal poverty/ not being financially independent

Being stuck in Ohio, especially in the winter

Health issues* (can mitigate but not eliminate- bad heredity and effects from past diseases/injuries suck)

Jerry – especially when he gets into his “bitch about everything and blame everything on me” mode

Things that Suck that I Can (*theoretically anyway) Change

My own reaction to things that suck

My neglect of friends that I should make an effort to see and communicate with more often

I already turn off the “mainstream” TV news (can’t handle the constant Obama worship) and I already avoid following garbage on TV such as anything Honey Boo Boo or the Kardashians are doing. Admittedly I probably get into true crime shows (TruTV, Discovery ID, etc.) and the Military Channel way too much. I should probably cut down on “World’s Dumbest” and “1000 Ways to Die” and get back into reading a lot more than I do now (although I read a lot by any standard) and maybe get into something a bit more uplifting than unsolved murders, people earning their Darwin Awards, and 20th century history. I mean, how much is left unturned regarding WWII and Adolf Hitler?

Things that Don’t Suck

God

The dogs and cats

The vacuum cleaner when it gets clogged up with Tipsy McNumbNuts’ cigarette pack cellophanes (the irony of which is that it sucks when the vacuum cleaner doesn’t…)

There is no vacuum cleaner made that I don’t have to unclog, tear apart and otherwise rework every time I use the damned thing.

Somehow the deer in the headlights look is a little too typical for me.

Now that I’ve determined that God and the dogs and cats don’t suck, then it should probably follow that I should spend my time in the company of Entities that Don’t Suck as much as I can.

Since for now I do appear to be vertical and sucking up valuable oxygen, let’s be creative and try to enjoy it!

I rather enjoy Victorian ephemera- especially patent medicines and other creepy stuff from that era. I’m surprised anyone survived being treated with the stuff they used as medicine back then, since most of it included either alcohol or opium or various poisons like arsenic, but even today there’s some pretty questionable stuff being used as medicine.

Imagine the same scenario today, only the rednecks have chainsaws, and the little girl has a bottle of moonshine.

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

That’s actually one of the few French phrases I remember from high school French class (Why in the hell did I take French? Did I think I was going to be deported to Quebec?) and it means, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Yes, they do, and not always in a good way.

I didn’t think Harry Potter had to worry about VD. Or was that “mugworts?” That sounds like VD anyway. Something like that.

I’m thinking “Bad Hump” would be a better name for a VD cure-all. “Take this stuff for last week’s bad hump.” Or you could just leave it to Dr. Butts:

I want to be cured via the US Postal Service. By Dr. Butts. Yeah.

It’s really kind of scary considering that there really were no cures for VD in Victorian times, and if you got the syph or the clap it could kill you. Sort of like AIDS today, and heaven only knows whatever other deadly STDs are lurking out there that nobody knows about yet. Forced chastity might bite in a lot of ways, but I’m old enough to know that 1.) no man is worth a deadly disease, and 2.) there are such things as “meat substitutes” if you get my drift. The advantage of the “meat substitute” is you don’t have to fix it dinner or unclog its cigarette pack cellophanes from the vacuum cleaner. I only wish I’d figured that out 20 years ago. Just don’t run out of batteries.

Piles: Old time word for “hemorrhoid” – just an FYI

Why is it that back in the day being German cast some sort of legitimacy upon medical quackery? And I find it hard to believe that a medical doctor would spend most of his life on a hemorrhoid cure, but then everyone needs a purpose. I’ve still not figured out exactly why I’m still sucking up valuable oxygen, so I’m the last one to talk.

The 20th century wasn’t much better, but at least you could get a good night’s rest, forget about your hemorrhoids AND forget about your pathetic lack of self-esteem!

2012 Pretty Much Sucked, Here’s Hoping 2013 Sucks Less

December 31, 2012Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

If we could have unloaded this asshat, it would have been a far better year. But even in spite of Obama, the apocalypse is still pending, so that counts for something.

Then again, if a frog had wings, he wouldn’t bump his ass when he lands. I should try to be a bit more serene about things I can’t change, but I’m still outraged that anyone as anti-American and incompetent as Obama can ~~hold~~ steal the office of president. I’m more outraged that he cheated to get there and no one will do anything about all the voter fraud that went on. May 2013 bring Dick Nixon part deux. Congress needs to grow a pair and impeach Obama with the quickness, but Obama is too pompous and narcissistic and delusional to just resign and leave peacefully. I know, I can’t stand this guy and the more I see of the damage he’s doing to this country with his Marxist agenda, the more I positively loathe him.

In fairness, this past year was sort of a mixed bag. The weather was mercurial as it always is in Central Ohio. I will mention that I’ve never seen as much snow on the ground at one time here in Columbus than what I’m seeing right now. I’ve seen lots more snow at one time up north in the hinterlands, but I’ve personally not seen more than 6 inches of snow on the ground at one time here.

The White Death arrives- just in time for Target to put out the bathing suits and summer fashions. Yippee yahoo. Last year, by January 15, there was a delightful selection of swimwear, shorts, halter tops and other seasonally inappropriate attire throughout the women’s clothing section of Target. Not a pair of long johns or a parka to be found when it’s 5° outside, but there’s loads of tankini bottoms to be had. I just think that’s funny.

Happy New Year! It’s 5°! Let’s get our tans started early!

January is, statistically, the coldest month of the year here in beautiful Central Ohio. Temperatures here are not swimsuit appropriate until at least the middle of May or the beginning of June. I don’t buy clothes six months in advance. It makes me wonder just how many people are buying swimsuits in the middle of January. I can understand if you have an indoor pool or a membership to an indoor pool, or if you vacation in fairer climes during the winter, but aside from that, we poor folks have no reason for swimsuits in January. That also begs the question: how many people who have indoor pools, or can afford pool memberships or expensive vacations, shop for clothing at Target? Rich people do go to Target, but only because they need toilet paper and Glade products too. You can’t buy Angel Soft at Macy’s, or refills for your Glade plug-ins at Nordstrom’s.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Target. It’s cleaner, and there are more English-speaking people than in WalMart. The WalMart closest to me is a real life Zombie Apocalypse that I refuse to patronize since spending 20 minutes early one morning trying to find a cashier when I was trying to buy a jug of Pennzoil.

This place is too scary for pictures, and I am not easily distressed.

I also hope and pray not to have to visit the ER anytime soon. That was the worst hospital stay I’d had since the Murphy’s Law Childbirth Experience from Hell. Even when I was strapped to the bed and damned near made my Final Exit I don’t think anyone called me Mildred or asked about my diarrhea. And I didn’t have to be bunkmates with a howler monkey either. The only bright light in that hospital excursion was the two young, hot paramedics and the one nice looking male nurse in the ER, even if he did call me Mildred and ask about my diarrhea.

Contrary to popular opinion, once the hospital staff learned I was NOT Mildred, tests revealed I actually do have a heart, though like the rest of me, it’s not quite normal.

On the bright side, nobody important to me (i.e. personal friends or relatives) died this year which is always a plus. I actually got a really cool birthday present this year, which means even more considering that people generally forget my birthday. My granddaughter was born at 11:50 PM on February 25- ten minutes before my birthday. That was really cool.

Kids do grow fast. Now she’s 10 months old and running- and into everything.

As far as my own personal household, the only “kids” living at home have four legs and fur. Against my better judgment (but I couldn’t resist…) we have four cats again. Jezebel is one of the (formerly) feral cats Jerry trapped behind the body shop. There were a total of four. The two grey ones and the black and white one ended up going to the body shop owner’s horse barn to help keep the rodent life in check. We kept Jezebel because she is all black. Black cats do not fare well in feral settings and they’re not really safe as barn cats either. They are much safer (as is any cat, truth be told) as strictly indoor cats. Jezebel is now very much a strictly indoor cat. Like Isabel, she shows no interest regarding what’s beyond the door. The week before Halloween when she was trapped, she had to be handled with welding gloves. Jerry found this out the hard way when she got her mouth on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger and latched on for dear life.

Whachoo lookin’ at, Willis?

In eight weeks Miss Jezebel has made a dramatic change. She is shamelessly attention and food-seeking. She is just as bold as her mentor, Isabel (who is 14 years old and also all black) in her dealings with the dogs. Jezebel has become a perfect, prissy indoor cat. I just hope she doesn’t get in heat before her spay appointment March 5.

I hope the coming year is better- personally, nationally, financially, health-wise, etc. My expectations aren’t that high, so I shouldn’t be too disappointed.

The World’s Still Here (Told You So) and the White Death Returneth

December 27, 2012Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

The world obviously didn’t end on Friday, December 21, just like it didn’t end on May 11, 2011 or in 2000, or 1988 or 1986 or any of those other dates set by people who desperately look for meaning in the writing of the ancients and/or the scattered patterns of the skies.

It would be easier that way, maybe, but I don’t really want my life any more scheduled than it has to be. Routine is one thing, but scheduling all activities down to the minute is bullshit. I can imagine that might be part of the reason why today’s kids are so apeshit. I mean, most of them have to get up way early to go to the sitter before school, then spend all day at school with every second micromanaged, only to stay after school to play sport “A” and/or do activity “B” which is also micromanaged, and then come home to a late dinner and chores, fall asleep, and repeat the same noise the next day.

This would drive me apeshit as an adult, let alone as a freaking four year old! I really can’t schedule my whiz times.

There’s not much room for any quiet contemplation in that kind of rat race. I don’t respond to micromanagement well, and I don’t generally function well as a part of a group. What if I want to stare at the wall when everyone else is dancing about the room? I would be royally screwed if I would have to adhere to a day care schedule, let along to be a middle school or high school kid today. Granted, very few if any people share my need for copious quantities of solitude, but I’m sure that after awhile the lack of spontaneity and absence of breathing room would- given time- have to disturb even the most extroverted neurotypical.

It’s not that I’m so averse to having a schedule- as long as it’s mine and not one imposed upon me. It’s one thing if I set aside time for an activity that I’m interested in doing, and quite another if it’s something someone else schedules for me that I’d rather not be doing. There are also some things- like bodily functions- that just really don’t occur on a regular schedule, at least not for me. I take a lot of blood pressure meds, I like my coffee, and I don’t have much bladder capacity. I have to stay within reasonable proximity to a toilet.

I think that’s why holidays and so forth are so stressful for me- strange toilets. In all seriousness, there are people I want to see and spend time with, and others I’d really rather avoid. This Christmas I was pretty fortunate in that I spent most of the day with Steve-o (someone I did want to spend time with) and got to spend most of the day Sunday with my granddaughter (who I also wanted to spend time with) so I’m cool. I don’t need and I certainly don’t enjoy big formal parties and such.

All dressed up, (and this looks itchy to boot) with nowhere to go.

As far as the End of the World, I say let that be a surprise. There are some things I don’t think I really want to know about in advance.

Central Ohio is positioned in a sort of strange place in relation to weather fronts. It’s far enough south of the lake that we don’t get the “lake effect snow” that Cleveland and other cities too far north for human habitation experience. Columbus proper- or at least within the confines of I-270- sits in a bit of a valley. It rains a lot and it floods easily, but we get far less snow than the hinterlands up north. There’s a huge difference in snowfall just in going 15-20 miles further north. Most of the really wicked weather fronts end up either staying north or sort of blowing around us. So when forecasters say the White Death is coming to Central Ohio, I believe it when I see it. Far too often we’re supposed to get some huge-ass storm, the mere mention of which sets everyone off raiding the grocery stores on their quests for Velveeta cheese and Marlboros, and instead of White Death of the Apocalypse we get either a shitload of rain (that’s the default for Central Ohio anyway) or a piddly dusting of snow that doesn’t even warrant me putting on boots.

Redneck priorities- screw the milk and bread- we need smokes, and Velveeta cheese is good all by itself!

Yesterday we actually had a substantial snow- about 4″ or so within I-270. Despite the arrival of the White Death, I was quite able to get to work and get home in my nice little Hello Kitty Yaris. I think the traction control light came on once.

Maybe I’m jaded because the snow situation is very different where I come from, even though it’s only about 50 miles away. I remember one surprise storm up in the hinterlands all too well. My sister and I ended up pulling cars out of ditches with her ’68 VW Bug and a tow rope. She had snow tires on the back of it which came in handy. I also remember off-roading in snow-covered cornfields with VW Rabbits. They’re geared low and are fairly high off the ground, so they would go through a lot more than one would think by their size.

1983- when Reagan was president, the air was dirty but sex was clean, and Steve Perry wore Spandex. Damn, I should not have sold my ’83 GTI.

Asperger’s Is Not an Excuse, Actions Still Have Consequences, and Humanity is Still Totally Depraved

December 17, 2012Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I am glad that some thinking people are starting to understand that keeping people from protecting themselves and their families does nothing to change the fact that killers will kill. Even in the light of the past couple weeks’ worth of senseless shootings- and I freely admit that the existence of evil is something I don’t comprehend- I still believe that the Framers of the Constitution had the right idea when they included:

“A well-regulated Militia, being necessary for the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed. “

The Second Amendment has been expounded upon by far greater minds than mine, however, there are two points being made here. Some more left-leaning interpretations of the Second Amendment take the first part about a well regulated militia and assume that meant that the Framers were talking about the armed forces, National Guard and law enforcement but not about private individuals. What they are leaving out is a knowledge of 18th century history. In the 18th century there was really no full-time armed forces, but individuals who would volunteer in time of war (a concept similar to a very rudimentary National Guard) and individuals had to keep their own weaponry in order to be able to be available when the need arose.

Fast forward to the 21st century. Most Americans have no concept of what it would be like to have to defend one’s life and property if a scenario such as the one proposed in the film “Red Dawn” would arise, where there would be war in streets and neighborhoods rather than an abstract concept of soldiers and armies fighting over obscure hills and fields in far-distant lands. However, many Americans have experienced armed robbery, assault and other crimes of violence that could have been prevented if the victim had been able to defend him/herself. The Framers had a solution to that: “the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.” The Framers not only believed so heartily in a strong national defense that it is one of only two responsibilities of the Federal government spelled out in the Constitution, but they also added it to the Bill of Rights- along with the proviso that individuals also have the right to defend their person and property. In this statement the right to self defense is underscored as a natural right rather than a privilege granted (or withheld) by the whim of the state.

I don’t have any problem at all with responsible gun ownership. The law-abiding person who owns a gun and has had appropriate background checks and safety training is not generally the person you have to worry about- unless you are trying to perpetrate crime. On the other hand, the unarmed are all potential victims. All one has to do to be a victim is to be in the wrong place at the right time.

This being said, I can go back to the fundamental argument that guns don’t kill people any more than spoons make people fat. The conscious decision to aim a firearm and pull the trigger is what kills. It’s easy to go around screaming “gun control,” until one realizes that the decision of a killer is the root of the lethal mechanism. It is possible to kill with bare hands, with knives, with poison, with motor vehicles, with a baseball bat. The possibilities of potential lethal weapons are only limited by a potential killer’s imagination and desperation. Banning firearms just means killers will find weapons other than guns to kill people with. There are still murders in the UK and in every other country where strict gun control has been enacted. The murderous impulse does not lie in an armament of steel, but in the convoluted and dark malice dwelling in a killer’s heart.

Dark malice that can lead to murder can surface in any human being alive today if circumstances and opportunity press that individual hard enough. Evil is that pervasive in this world. I don’t subscribe to all of Calvinism (my soteriological leanings are more congruent with Molinism) but I agree with 100% of one of the petals of Calvin’s TULIP- the Total Depravity of man.

Human beings, if left to their own devices, are 100% self serving. I’ve heard every excuse out there for why people kill- video games, bad childhoods, being deprived, being over-indulged, crappy schools, being bullied, being introverted, being mocked, et cetera and so on. I think a better question, given the total depravity of man, is what keeps everyone from becoming a killer? Or are we all killers, and the severity of our behavior is simply a matter of degree? If so, then what is the mechanism of our restraint? Does it have to do with the wiring of the frontal lobe of the brain, or is it a matter of the will, or a combination of both? I believe it is entirely possible that the only thing that restrains most from indulging their darker urges is simply the grace and mercy of God.

Even though I believe that there is a God and that He is highly involved in the lives of humanity, I also believe that He expects people to respond to Him. I believe He has expectations for his creation (and maybe this is my repressed Catholic guilt coming out.) After all, when one reads Scripture we learn that most of humanity’s problems arise from thinking our ways are better than God’s ways.

We don’t have the liberty to simply say, “the Devil made me do it,” if for any other reason than at the end of the day, God holds us accountable for what we do or don’t do. Psychology would say that humans do what they do to pursue pleasure and avoid pain, but there is a deeper aspect- the aspect of “you own who you are and what you have become.”

Things in life can and do suck, but it’s every person’s responsibility to choose how to react to things that suck. The question is, do we turn to God and His will or do we let evil win?

I find it disturbing that society is all too willing to absolve people from individual accountability and blame their abherrent behavior on everything from being bullied as children to being on the autistic spectrum. As someone who experienced both gratuitous and fierce childhood bullying and is a high-functioning autistic,* (apparently that’s what the medical community is calling Asperger’s Syndrome these days) I am here to tell you that both of those theories may have some credence, but at the end of the day, the decision to move beyond a painful past and to learn to work the wiring is not only possible, but it is also a moral obligation. Maybe I say this out of a sense of noblesse oblige that I was taught- that those who are given more are held to a higher standard. I can say that the convoluted and sometimes vexing wiring of Asperger’s or “high functioning autism” or whatever is the current terminology used to categorize the introverted, weird and/or eccentric is not a license to allow the depravity within to overcome. Video games are no excuse. Technology in general is no excuse. The laxity of discipline and the pervasive faux feel good PC philosophy being taught in the schools (while dreadful, false, and a contributor to the delinquency factor) is not an excuse either. There is a God, and He has standards and rules, even when it seems like society does not.

I don’t discount the influence of mental illness, and how society so conveniently “mainstreams” the mentally ill, denying that some people do have an inability to control their rage and that some people should be isolated from the greater community for a time to receive mental health treatment. I do understand what it is to be depressed and near suicidal, but I also understand that there is help available for individuals and families when mental illness becomes overwhelming. I’m no poster child for mental health, and insanity is downright pervasive in my family tree. If there is anything that society (as opposed to the individual) can do to help prevent violence it is to identify mental illness and provide ways for those at risk to get help.

I wish this were a joke, but it’s not. I have ancestors who were crazier than shithouse rats.

I may never know for what purpose God decided to plop my sorry carcass on this earth, but I’m pretty sure that no matter how beat up on I was or how bizarre my wiring, He didn’t intend for me to load up an assault rifle and shoot up a classroom of unarmed, defenseless kids.

I’m pretty sure God never intended me to be a pole dancer, either. I’m doing good to walk a straight line without tripping over my own feet.

There I go again with that whole morality thing again, and no, I am not talking about the mundane concepts of morality- refraining from fornication, eschewing the use of swear words, and those sorts of trite formalities, but a deeper morality.

One that says, “There is a God, and He has rules.”

Crappy Santa, My Awesome Playlists, and Whitey Tighties

December 16, 2012Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

Ok, this is just a little too “festive” for my house.

I wonder what Dr. Freud would have to say about this? Is Santa a fecalphiliac? This just screams, “Ho, Ho, Ho, come crap in my mouth!”

While this little toilet decorating set is cute in a sort of creepy way (my grandmother used to always put toilet seat covers and rugs and tank covers on her crapper) I don’t see it making it through Jerry and the Natty Splatters. Poor Santa’s collar would be yellow in no time (because somebody can’t aim and won’t sit) and I have to have the plunger at the ready more than I would like to formally acknowledge.

I enjoy Christmas decorations, the kitschier, gaudier and tackier the better, but the bathroom is just an area in which the fixtures, let alone the decor, have a hard enough time surviving. Jerry was raised by wolves, and his bathroom etiquette reflects his upbringing. It is a rare day that I come home from work and the bathroom sink is not encrusted in face fur clippings and congealed toothpaste spittings. It’s so much easier to clean the sink before that mess dries, but Jerry does not clean sinks. I am doing good when he remembers to flush.

Thankfully, though Jerry’s outward leavings might lead one to believe he’s a PigPen, his personal hygiene is impeccable. He is just too lazy to clean up filth that does not directly touch his own body.

No good playlist is complete without some old, live Journey. “Still They Ride” from the “Greatest Hits Live” album (1982-3) is pretty awesome. Anything from the “Greatest Hits Live” album is pretty awesome, including “Mother, Father” and, well just all of it. I am an incorrigible Journey fan and I admit it. It’s my not so secret pleasure. I’m still on the Jethro Tull kick lately too, as well as I’m enjoying The Babys “I’m Falling” and Rod Stewart’s “The First Cut is the Deepest.”

Then I’ll probably switch over to some Metallica (“Battery” and perhaps the “Unforgiven” trilogy) or maybe some Guns-n-Roses. Or maybe Neal Schon’s “The Calling,” which I’ve been enjoying a lot as of late too. He may have a creepy girlfriend, but Neal Schon is a hell of a guitar player. I don’t understand his obsession with tall, anorexic thin creepy blonde chicks, but then he can afford anyone he really wants. It’s sad, but frumpy old brunette women with the proportions of mutant trolls do not get significant others who buy them Bentleys, or who wine and dine them. It’s hard to go fishing when you don’t have any bait. Women like me are doing good to get a cranky old fart who screams about breakfast and the failing elastic in his whitey tighties, and whose only real purpose in life is to generate filth for me to clean up. Someone has to do it, but it gets tedious, believe that.

All I can say to Jerry in response to the comment regarding failing elastic in the whitey tighties is, that if your balls really are scraping your knee caps, then it’s high time you cart your sorry ass over to Target (because I really loathe department stores anytime during the holidays, and I try to avoid them) and buy yourself a six pack or two of the Hanes whitey tighties you like. It’s really possible for you to do that.

It is not against the law for men to buy whitey tighties for themselves, and it sure looks a hell of a lot less awkward for a dude to buy these than for me to go through the checkout at Target with a few packs of men’s skivvies. I wonder how many cashiers have mistaken me for a she-male when I’ve replenished Jerry’s whitey tightie stash. I mean, the guys at one dealership I worked for did have one of my technicians (granted, the tech I’m referring to is Chinese and he’s maybe 5’6″ and 100# soaking wet) convinced I used to be a man because I have big meaty man hands. I do have big meaty man hands, even for an Anglo woman, so I can imagine my hands are really huge compared to an Asian woman. But, I was born female and even had a child in (sort of) the normal way. No Y chromosome action going on here.

No, I can’t get him to wear boxers. Pity.

So I keep on going.

I love sleeping. I should be doing that, but my insomnia is getting the better of me tonight.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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