Stop Misanglody, Jezebel’s First Road Trip, and Lilo’s Butt Funk

December 12, 2012Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

Back in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s there were a lot of Americans who weren’t terribly fond of the Irish.

Misanglody (N): 1.)The condition of loathing all things white, Anglo-Saxon and/or Protestant. 2.) A rather pervasive and pernicious form of racism prevalent in the United States, generally ignored when directed against traditional white conservatives. 3.) Cracka-hating.

Granted, a lot of the fear generated in the late 19th and early 20th centuries regarding immigration to the U.S. had more to do with religion than country of origin. Many people in this country were afraid of Catholics (because of their belief in the primacy of the pope and the fact that the Mass was said in Latin rather than in English) and were afraid the Catholics would take over. This sounds sort of crazy today but before Vatican II, Catholics referred to other Christians (i.e. Protestants and Orthodox) as “heathens.” Today Catholics have a more beneficent term for Protestants and Orthodox: “separated brethren.”

That’s a little nicer, but as someone who was raised in Catholicism, I will tell you that the Catholics still teach that their goal on this earth is to convert others (including Protestants and Orthodox) to Catholicism. If you’re a Protestant or Orthodox, according to Catholics, you might be Christian, but you don’t have the Faith in its completeness. Catholic theology is an interesting study- and as a confessional Lutheran I am not too far removed from it, but I don’t subscribe to it 100% either. I got lost on the pope thing as well I got lost on the prayers to dead people thing. To each his or her own, and I know a lot of Catholics that live good Christian lives, but I can’t consider myself to be a Catholic because I don’t subscribe to Catholicism 100%. That’s one of the Catholic Rules, that you agree 100% with their rules. Which makes me a Protestant by definition. Just sayin’.

This was some of the same stuff Martin Luther had problems with 500 years ago. I’m not saying all Catholics are party to the corruption, or that Protestants are scandal-free, but it’s still there. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

Today most Americans aren’t particularly wicky about either Irish people (though I know a few people who aren’t really fond of Bono) or Catholics, which is a good thing. I don’t have a problem with Catholics other than I don’t entirely agree with them, and as far as Irish people go I can’t say much, because a good number of my ancestors are English and Scots- just different parts of the same island.

Anyway, the point is that racism (as well as the myth that freedom of religion means freedom from religion) in this country should be a thing of the past. It’s not, and it shouldn’t be, acceptable to use the “n” word or other racially derisive terms in public discourse. But it seems to be perfectly OK to lampoon the “Cracka Nation” with impunity, and when white people say anything about it they get responses such as,

“White people don’t understand racism,” or worse, “You can’t be racist against whites.” Really?

I beg to differ, and hence, I bring to light the phenomenon of misanglody.

The popular culture is full of examples of the bumbling, inept WASP male and/or the ditzy WalMart queen WASP female. Even in advertising, take notice how often the fall guy is a white guy. To someone who only sees American culture from what they watch on TV, they might leave with the misconception that all white guys are Larry the Cable Guy (no offense to Larry the Cable Guy, but not all white men cut the sleeves off their shirts) and all white women are just like Honey Boo Boo’s mother.

I have body hair issues but even I don’t have five o’clock shadow like that. Nor do I have three chins.

I do admit there are aspects of white culture that deserve the derision they get. One is British cuisine. Haggis and kidney pie do NOT sound appetizing in any remote fashion. My ancestors may be Scots, but I can’t bring myself to eat mutton in any form. The dogs eat mutton because that’s what’s in their dog food, but dogs lick their own butts and eat cat shit any time they get the opportunity to do so. Just because the dogs eat something doesn’t mean it’s edible for humans. I really don’t get the idea behind eating kidneys either. I do eat sushi, (on the rare occasion I can afford good sushi) which might not make too much sense, but I just can’t get beyond the gross factor on haggis or kidneys. Head cheese is another one I can’t get. The fun fact about head cheese is that it is not cheese at all.

Do you eat the stomach “casing” too? Ewwwwwww!

So called “white supremacists” deserve the derision they get as well. Hitler is not a role model. Obama is not white, but he also is not a role model for the same reason. Both Hitler and Obama are racists, just against different groups. Anyone who goes around spouting hate against other races and nationalities- as opposed to pointing out faulty ideology or bad public policy- deserves to be called out for it. I don’t believe white people are any better than anyone else, but I don’t believe we’re any worse either, unless you are taking into account that most of us can’t dance.

I couldn’t dance even when I could drink.

On another note, Miss Jezebel went on her first road trip yesterday. I decided since I had to take Lilo to the vet yesterday to get meds for her re-occuring butt funk (seborrhagic dermatitis) that I would take Jezebel as well because she’s had a slight but lingering bit of the eye crusties and some sneezing. So Miss Jezebel rode up to the vet’s tucked into my hoodie. At least I have a closer estimate on her age (12-14 weeks) and have verified her gender. Jezebel is definitely a girl. She didn’t seem to mind the road trip at all, and was most compliant even getting eye ointment (most cats loathe this) and taking liquid Amoxicillin. Usually I really hate giving cats either eye drops or liquids by mouth, because they normally hate it and it’s a good way to get scratched and/or bitten. She has gotten through two doses of each without much fuss. Let’s hope it’s that easy for the rest of the 10 days.

So far, I can even give her meds without resorting to welding gloves again.

Lilo is the easiest creature on the planet to medicate. She will even take Keflex without protest (getting it down Clara was an adventure, and yes, it does taste nasty) as long as it’s included in a bite of cottage cheese. The combo of Keflex and Prednisone will clear up her butt funk, but I feel for her. She does great with oral meds but isn’t so cool with the bath part of the treatment. Baths were not suggested for Jezebel, which is quite fine with me.

Most of the time Lilo is mellow. Except when her butt itches.

Beyond the Void, Someone to Talk To, and Miscellaneous Tidbits

December 10, 2012Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

I know where this sign is. You can see it on southbound I-71, somewhere in Madison County- between Columbus and Cincinnati.

I don’t like to think about that most terrible place I think of as simply the void, but I was reminded of it in of all places in church this week. It’s that bone chilling, thought shattering, crushing experience of being everywhere and nowhere and immersed in grinding, mind-blowing pain that is brought on by extreme trauma, whether it be emotional or physical. Stephen King sort of describes it in his short story, “The Jaunt.” What I mean by the void is a sort of airless, timeless limbo that is between time and space (if that’s possible to comprehend.) It’s the moment in which you are hit with unspeakably horrific, life-shattering news and the grief and disbelief and shock hit you like a tidal wave- and worse.

In “The Jaunt,” the entry into the void was a bit different. A scientist discovered that teleporting things almost instantly across space was possible, but that live animals and humans only made it through “the jaunt” if they were anesthetized. Live animals came through the process aged and weak and died shortly after arriving at their destination- and the few humans that attempted it came out on the other side certifiably insane.

Maybe King’s story isn’t the best analogy, but it’s the closest reference I can find to those times in which the wind is knocked out of you, you are transported to an airless, breathless, motionless state, and your world falls apart. It’s infinity in there. And not in a good way. It’s what I would imagine to be a tiny sampling of hell- and no I’m not referring to the BMV. I have to go there soon enough for the dreaded driver’s license mug shot, for which no matter what I do it will turn out positively frightening and should say “Correctional Institute Inmate” on the picture somewhere, because yes, my driver’s license pics have always been That Bad. Even so, I’d gladly take an hour at the BMV waiting on having a shitty picture taken vs. one millisecond of the void. Believe that.

My driver’s license is valid, but the pic is just as bad.

I don’t like to be reminded of the void or of the times I’ve been there.

However, as far as psychological pain goes, I am almost always a delayed reactor. I can only think of one time that I completely fell apart instantaneously, and that is when I got the news about my four year old niece being killed, which was completely unforeseen. It seems that in order for me to fall apart I have to be caught off guard.

For years I dealt with- (and at times, still do deal with) post traumatic stress, which is the gift that keeps on giving, those brief illogical terrors that show up unbidden and in the least likely of places for the most bizarre reasons. One of the most memorable unbidden episodes was back when I was working a really crappy job. The only thing that kept me from going nuts in that place was that they sent me out to run titles from time to time. It’s not rocket science but it does give you a lot of time to yourself. You find the title offices of surrounding counties and turn in the paperwork so people who just bought cars get their titles registered and all that crud. Most of the time back then, title offices were in the courthouse in whatever county seat so I got to investigate some really cool old 19th century courthouses. Today public buildings might as well be prisons, but back in the day architects built things not only to last, but for their aesthetic value. That part of the title running thing was almost fun.

This is the courthouse in Marion County. I hope that the powers that be don’t decide to tear this one down too.

I had to go to Union County, which was only about a half an hour out. The title office had temporarily been moved to the old high school which was slated for demolition, while the new county building was being built. So I find my way through the vestibule and follow the arrow upstairs. The staircases were well-worn and crumbling, but the metal framework beneath them was holding fast. I had a really strange feeling in that building, as if I were violating someone, or something’s space. I found the temporary title office, completed the transfers, and as I was leaving, a huge framed glass and gold leaf memorial caught my eye.

I don’t have a pic of the Union County memorial that was in that high school, but this memorial displays a similar concept.

It was a memorial of WWI veterans who came from that school. There were at least fifty names on that memorial, and I believe eight of those names had stars next to them, indicating that they had been killed in action. I wasn’t able to linger there long. For such a small, rural town to lose that many was sad, but the fact that the memorial was in a high school sort of struck me. These weren’t old men. This wasn’t a picture of grinning old men reminiscing over old times at the bar in the VFW. These were kids just out of high school- boys who either came home jaded and scarred, or never came home at all. I don’t know how to describe the wave of emptiness and profound grief that washed over me that day, but I had to run back to the car as fast as I could, and for some reason I was overcome with sadness and rage and I don’t know what else. I wept over strange young men who I had never met, who had experienced terrors beyond anything I could imagine, and to this day I have no idea why.

On a brighter note, I remembered that I haven’t put up any pics of my newest kitty, Jezebel. Jezebel was one of the feral kittens Jerry trapped back on the shop lot the week before Halloween. The other three went to the owner of the body shop’s horse barn to keep the vermin away from the horses. I wasn’t planning on another cat, but Jezebel, well, she’s all black. All black cats don’t fare well in feral or outdoor settings, so we made her a house cat. The first week or so she had to be handled with a welding glove (this is sort of normal with feral kittens.) Now she is very social and fond of human attention, Isabel (and she looks just like a mini-Isabel) and really isn’t fazed by much of anything, including dogs. The key to socializing cats is getting them before the socialization window more or less closes at 12 weeks. These kittens were about 6 or 7 weeks when we found them, which is the perfect age to socialize them. They can eat solid food and live OK without Mommy, so the mortality rate is low, but they can still learn to get along with humans, other cats and dogs.

Jezebel instantly gravitated to Isabel, (who is also all black) which we are grateful for because Miz Izz loves other cats and has always been good at schooling youngsters. So now I have a 14 week or so old kitten who is going to have to be spayed here in the next few weeks. But Jezebel is already a really good cat. No welding gloves are currently required.

Jezebel- “Mini-Izz”

Good Morning, Mr. Plunger!- Ass Pilots, Weenie Commentators and Wrongful Sympathizers

December 7, 2012Tonya Lanthron 6 Comments

Why am I the only one in my house who knows how to use this?

Ah, the lowly plunger. It may not be my favorite household appliance (or would it be more rightly regarded as a tool, like a can opener, or a kitchen scrubbie?) but when you need, it you need it. Especially in my house.

I should have known that the plunger would be necessary this morning, as Jerry had a lovely Natty-filled evening last night. 12 Natties or more usually = Natty splatters, but when you have the 12 Natties after half a bucket of chicken and a large pepperoni pizza, well, let’s just say the splatters increase both in bulk and volume.

Jerry is one of those rare individuals who can eat like a Sumo wrestler, drink like a whale, and remain svelte. How anyone can be 5’10” and 180# in spite of taking in 5,000 or more calories a day, I will never understand. Bastard.

Anyway, just as I am about to beat feet out the door this morning, and I try to do that before Jerry gets out of bed and takes his place on the throne, for obvious reasons. But I hesitated just long enough to hear the plaintive, whiny, cry of, “It won’t go down!”

This is the vision that went through my head. I have encountered- and had to clean up- similar blowouts.

Thankfully the mess was confined to the inside of the toilet bowl. He didn’t try to flush multiple times, which would have resulted in slightly used Natties, pizza and fried chicken all over the bathroom, which would have been a most unpleasant scenario at 7:30 in the morning, but it was bad enough. A few strategically placed plunges, and all was well. I am glad sometimes that I have almost no sense of smell. I was out the door and in the car. But it amazes me just how helpless an adult male can be, and that’s even after I’ve figured in that Jerry was raised by wolves.

Jerry’s baby picture?

I have said it before but I’m really tired of the ass pilots who go off every time some moron commits a gun crime, saying that private gun ownership should be outlawed. Guns don’t kill people any more than spoons make people fat. It’s what a person does with the gun or the spoon that matters.

How about a conversation regarding personal accountability?

I understand why all those football fans are pissed at Bob Costas. First of all, football is the last place for sentient minds to be looking for political commentary. Second of all, though I’m not a football fan by any stretch, most of the football fans I know are rather conservative in their politics. These guys, if they don’t understand anything else about the Constitution, they get the 2nd Amendment. The comments Mr. Costas made about gun control in the middle of a football game were at best ill timed and at worst simple minded. One part of winning hearts and minds is using the correct forum to speak out. The other part is having a message that actually makes sense. Poor Bob did neither.

Criminalize guns and then only criminals will have guns. Gee, that makes sense! (sarcasm alert!)

Maybe I’m just getting old, but it seems as if there are so many misplaced sympathies in this world. I don’t feel sorry for criminals, even if they had horrible childhoods and were raised by wolves. I got the living hell beat out of me almost every day growing up. I grew up poor. I was lucky on some days to have a decent meal and clothes to wear. That didn’t make me a serial killer or a psychopath. I’m sorry- but growing up poor, or getting the hell beaten out of you by everyone under the sun is not an excuse for criminal behavior. Acknowledge that your past wasn’t exactly optimal, and get over it. Do something productive with your life, even if it means merely refraining from harming others.

I think there would be a lot less crime if we went back to public hangings.

I am a believer in capital punishment in three instances. Premeditated murder, rape, and child molestation- but these would have to be crimes committed without a shadow of a doubt, i.e. someone caught in the act, or proven guilty by means of irrefutable evidence. Hang them high and hang them in plain sight. I think that swift, public justice, as well as to stop mollycoddling violent offenders would do much to cut the rates of violent crime and thuggery in this country. I also think way too much money and time and effort is wasted on drug enforcement. Most of the violent crime out there is related to the drug trade. Take away the incentive. If drugs became dirt cheap and readily available, then there would be a lot less stealing and killing over them.

It’s probably a good thing that I don’t run the world.

Especially when I decide to put up Christmas decorations.

Misplaced and Out of Time, Airing Out the Christmas Baggage

December 5, 2012Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

This is TV Christmas. Christmas in my home has NEVER looked like this.

It just struck me this morning. I was thinking about the one part of the secular Christmas stuff-you-have-to-do nightmare that was actually something to look forward to- going to my Grandma’s. Grandma had lots of cheap and kitschy old decorations from the 1950’s and 1960’s, including the aluminum foil looking tree and the really fruity looking elves, and the hollow plastic Frosty with the lightbulb stuck up his ass. She had a good number of decorations she had made herself too, which I thought were far more aesthetically pleasing than light-bulb-up-the-ass Frosty, but there was room for everything. Her display was rather eclectic. I enjoyed helping Grandma put up that corny kitsch, (and the pretty stuff she made) which was all carefully labelled, stored and you knew exactly where everything was supposed to go. Grandma enjoyed Christmas and all the decorating, cooking and baking that went with it. Her candy and pies and cookies were 100% homemade, and 100% legendary.

Jerry probably grew up with Christmas more like this.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the Christmas story and I love the way that God came to us as a human and that Jesus lived here on earth with us in a flesh and blood human body. I love the season of Advent and observing Advent and Christmas as part of the church year. It’s the materialism and the formalities and the stuff that people think you have to do that really gets on my nerves. The world could do a lot more with more quiet contemplation on what Christmas really is about rather than running around spending money they don’t have buying crap for other people that they really don’t need. Just my two cents’ worth on that. When the “celebrations” turn into being too expensive, too awkward and just plain another whole big stress, it’s time to re-examine the whole hoo-hah and maybe just drop out of a few things.

The real Christmas story (not Santa Claus or the kid with the BB gun) features a miraculous birth. It was about God becoming man and coming to earth to save humanity. I don’t care how much money someone has, you can’t top that gift. Materialists, you might as well go ahead and admit defeat now.

As far as secular holiday celebrations go, I can cook. The only thing I don’t do that Grandma always did is I don’t make my own pie crust. It’s too easy and less expensive to buy the rolled sheets of pie crust than it is to try to deal with just the right ratio of Crisco-to-flour. I have the delightfully tacky pink Christmas tree with blissfully tacky kitschy ornaments including a buzzard, (Jerry will not allow a live tree in the house, because Mr. Let’s-Get-Wasted-and-Start-a-Fire-With-Gasoline-in-the-Fireplace deems them to be “fire hazards”) and (less one Wiseman, because of someone’s bad decision to use gasoline in the fireplace) the Nativity set Grandma got for me the year before she died.

But it’s hard for me to get into the Christmas biz these days. The traffic pisses me off. The crowds in everyplace from Target to the Speedway station piss me off even more. I don’t have the money to buy gifts for people the way I would like to. I don’t have the time to do the crafts and cooking which made Christmastime fun like what Grandma used to do. Jerry goes off on his I’m-so-depressed holiday funk that lasts from December until the end of February, and it just plain drives me batshit. And to top it all off the past few years, I’ve been spending Christmas at my oldest sister’s, and that leaves me feeling more like the turd in the punchbowl than anything. I might have to break with that latter day tradition and do anything that does not require me to be around my sister’s boorish father-in-law as he’s swilling Chardonnay and catatonically staring at the football game. Perhaps I will take the camera and go to the west end of Marion and take some tacky Christmas pics. That is always fun.

My condolences to the unfortunate ’72 Super Beetle that’s flying high in this rather grotesque display.

Then this morning- I had a very sad longing, a sort of a dark epiphany. I realized the reason why the holiday cheer was getting on my nerves more than usual. As a kid, the best part of Christmas was the afternoon. Grandma and Grandpa would have dinner ready, and it was an elaborate spread. Everything from turkey to homemade cream pie and homemade candy, egg nog, scalloped potatoes, you name it, it was there. They had presents and goodies but that wasn’t the allure. There was something about the whole atmosphere in their house. It wasn’t high faluting like the house in the picture. It was modest, it was clean, it was perfect in an unpretentious way, and it was home. Truth be told, my grandmother’s house seemed more like home to me than my own home. Grandma was safe. There were no heated arguments over money or the lack thereof at her house, or being treated to Mom and Dad constantly picking at each other about this or that petty issue. My sisters were not allowed to beat on me with impunity as they normally could do at home, and most of the time when I was at Grandma’s they were somewhere else which was even better.

Grandma never decorated with whitey tighties, but now I am seeing some real motivation to decorate and innovate!

Now there’s a stranger living in Grandma’s house. Grandma died back in 2009, though in all fairness she and Grandpa had both started declining not long after Steve-o was born. Grandpa died in 2006 aged 91, after only three days in the hospital, and ten years after he had his bicuspid valve replaced (which was the first time since WWII that he’d been in a hospital for any reason.) Grandma unfortunately died a more sad and lingering death from pancreatic cancer, heart failure and liver failure at age 93, a little more than three years after Grandpa died. It was hard seeing her lose her sight from macular degeneration so for the last ten years of her life she wasn’t able to do the sewing and crochet and other crafts she loved. I guess that’s why I hope and pray that my time comes quickly when the time comes, but you get what you get.

No, I am not going out and buying tampons to do this, (I am still delighted that I’ve been able to skip that aisle at the store for over three years now) but I never thought a feminine hygiene item could be made so festive!

Grandma’s house is still there but it’s not the same. I’m sure the lady that rents it from Dad is alright. Dad generally tries not to rent to serial killers and nut jobs, although his last renter’s family were pretty crazy after he died and they left the place a disaster area. I’ve not met her but she does have a lovely Pitbull that Dad says is a very sweet dog. I think what bothers me even more than knowing that there’s a stranger living in Grandma’s house is that I’m not able to be anywhere near as involved in my own grandchild’s life as my Grandma was in mine. I seldom get to see Sophia, and even when I can, I am beholden to her mother’s schedule and whims. To make that even worse, I live an hour’s drive away. I can’t live in the safe house across the field. Her mother doesn’t want her to be in my house, because she doesn’t trust Jerry, and Jerry smokes in the house. If I want to see my granddaughter I have to either go to her mother’s house or take her to my parents’ house. I cherish any time I can spend with her, but I don’t see where I am going to be able to have much influence in her life. It saddens me.

But, as far as doing what I want to do with secular holiday celebrations, I think this is the best suggestion of all.

The End of the World, Take # 479, Pragmatism Has Its Advantages

December 3, 2012Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

I was fortunate enough this weekend to pretty much not have to do squat. So I didn’t. It was lovely. I missed seeing my granddaughter, but I had such a horrific headache yesterday that it was good for me to simply stay in bed. After awhile I felt better and figured since I pay for premium cable (mostly because Jerry has to have all those stinking sports channels I don’t watch) I might as well watch TV. The only thing that sucked is that it seems right now everything on TV is all centered on the same theme- that 12-21-12 is going to be the end of the world. Never mind that the Mayans, while technologically advanced, were superstitious enough to pull beating hearts out of live humans, to sacrifice to demons.

I really want to trust my apocalyptic timing to guys like that. I think that the whole Mayan calendar thing is sort of the same concept as going through the calendar on my cell phone and coming to the conclusion that the world must end on December 31, 9999 because no programmer thought it necessary for there to be a provision for a five-digit year. Never mind that by the time the year 10,000 rolls around either a.) all the humans will be dead, or b.) if there are humans they will be using different technologies than we use today.

People have been trying to set a date for the end of the world for forever. Odds are they’re wrong this time, just like they were back on May 21, 2011. And all those other times too.

Is this the End of the World- or just Detroit?

Let’s face it, the odds are against the date setters, and if I were God (good thing I’m NOT) I wouldn’t let them have the satisfaction. I’d pick a day and a time that’s completely off the radar and surprise everyone which is exactly how God said He’s going to do it:

(Jesus said-) “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come.But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.” – Matthew 24:42-44 (NIV)

I don’t know when the End of Days is going to be, and I’m not really that worried about it, because it’s one of those things I can’t change, but I could almost bet it won’t be on December 21. Maybe whenever it is, it will be at the end of February when the world (at least Central Ohio’s portion of it) is at its most dark, dreary and depressing.

There are, however, websites devoted to Doomsday 2012 who claim true believers with all the credibility of Britney Spears. Yeah, the crazy chick who went nuts and shaved her head. I’ll believe it when Ozzy endorses it.

Ozzy Rocks! Never mind he’s the same age as my Dad.

I just don’t see too many believable authorities giving the 12-21-12 doomsday theory much credence. Unless proven otherwise, as far as I’m concerned, the doomsday sayers are simply modern-day Millerites. We’ve all heard that noise before. NASA has pretty much shot down most of that hoo-hah. I figure if these guys could send people to the moon and get them back then they probably know a thing or two about stuff that’s going on- or not going on- in outer space.

Speaking of outer space, you really don’t hear much about UFOs anymore. I mean, they’re sort of in the same category as Bigfoot. I’ll believe there’s such a thing as Bigfoot when someone can either capture a live one or find a carcass. How can a giant ape live in the forest without ever leaving a dead body or even scat? I mean, bears live in the forest and they leave carcasses and scat. People catch live bears too. It would be as if someone is alleging the existence of redneck men but can’t provide evidence of beer cans, Hershey splatters in the toilet bowl, and a trail of cigarette cellophanes and dirty clothes behind them. Redneck men exist. Even should they try to hide, we can prove the existence of the redneck male by virtue of all the PBR and Natty Lite cans and Slim-Jim wrappers they leave behind, as well as all the fudgy whitey-tighties.

Unfortunately, most rednecks are not shy. Even when they should be.

I think I should have some sort of celebratory “The World’s Still Here” party on December 22. Then again, that’s the day I will probably be at CVS around midnight, buying all the candy my sisters don’t want my nieces and nephews to have. This year I am really only bothering to buy the good stuff for my granddaughter. Steve-o has already gotten a high dollar pair of shoes and a car seat to put in his car- early- so I’m not getting him anything else. I got Mom a velour sweater that isn’t fugly, and I got Dad a gag calendar (so far) that has Toilets of the World on it. I’ll probably also get him some socks and some long johns or something. It’s hard to buy for the man who has a taxidermied squirrel on a skateboard.

At least Dad appreciates my humor.

22 Signs of Democrat Voter Fraud in 2012 Election

November 28, 2012Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

22 signs of Democrat Voter Fraud in 2012 Election.

I’ve been saying this all along, but here’s even more proof beyond what I observed here in Columbus in the Little Mogadishu district! Here’s a few more reasons I won’t shut up about Obama illegitimately “winning” the last election!

Life is a Gift (a Gag Gift?) and Other Greeting Card Sentiments

November 26, 2012Tonya Lanthron 4 Comments

Just a little perspective- for that poor sucker I saw jogging down Morse Rd. in the freezing rain the other day.

I am not in any way, shape or form an optimist by nature. At best I am pragmatic and can adjust, adapt and overcome, but I hate to admit I am not generally one of those “carpe diem” (seize the day) types. If one is shaped by early life experience, i.e. having the hell beat out of you just about every day, then, at least in my experience, you tend toward a wee bit of trepidation in simply facing the day.

I know that Christian faith is necessarily optimistic, which is one of the reasons I really struggle with faith. I admit that there have been many times in my life when the only thing keeping me from the option of self-annihilation has been the Catholic teaching about mortal sin. I was raised old-school Catholic, even though I can’t in conscience call myself Catholic. My particular way of understanding Christianity is best described as confessional Lutheran, which is fairly close. I don’t want to end up spending eternity being tortured forever and ever being chewed up in Beezelbub’s flaming maw because I died with a mortal sin on my soul. According to Catholic tradition, suicide is a mortal sin because if you kill yourself you don’t have the opportunity to confess your sin and be forgiven for it, so you burn in hell. As miserable and painful as life can be at times- and my life has had plenty of misery and pain- I still believe that no matter how bad it gets (even though Obama was “re-elected” by sole virtue of voter fraud and I’m still pissed about that) automatic and eternal consignment to the fires of hell is definitely a downgrade.

Obama’s bad, and dangerous on many levels, but even he’s not the end of the world.

I need to believe that there will be a day when things are made right- not just in this country, not just on a few small levels, but made completely right. Yeah, perhaps in this, color me optimistic, or perhaps just a perfectionist. I want to be around to see it. No, I can’t explain faith in rational terms, other than to accept Pascal’s Wager. I would rather live with the knowledge that God IS, than to pretend He is not, and have to face the consequences of conscience-less living at some point. I know my agnostic friends have trouble with the notion that God is in charge. I’m weaker than that. I have to acknowledge that God is in charge, which is (paradoxically) liberating. I have problems when I start thinking I’m in charge.

Even knowing that God is in charge doesn’t guarantee me a sunny outlook. It’s a challenge for me to wake up in the morning and see life as a gift. Sometimes I do view life that way, but more often than not I see it as a burden or even a sick joke. Sometimes sarcasm is the only way I can get through the day, and that’s not a very good thing either. I wish I could take the Lord’s advice in Matthew 6:25 and not worry about stuff- but I do. Worse than that I let stupidity and ineptitude piss me off which (while pointing those things out can be funny) doesn’t do much for my mental state either. Anger and worry are not a very good combo.

There may be some hope for me yet:

License to Annoy, I Hate the Holidays #584, and The Drippy Winter Funk

November 20, 2012Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Ok, so I am a brunette by virtue of hair dye. I’m also over 40. Cut me some slack.

Oh, yes, this brunette remembers way too much, especially in regard to others’ drunk and stupid antics. Jerry is attempting to stay sober so he can get good and liquored up for the OSU/Michigan game Saturday. Joy and rapture. The game is at noon, which means I can forget my Saturday morning cougar nap. Jerry will be raring to go by 8AM if not earlier. I wish he had the same enthusiasm for waking up on work days. I don’t care for football on a good day, but dealing with Jerry when the beer drinking begins at noon (or earlier) is going to be hell on wheels. I can just imagine dragging him in the car to go home after the game. It’s almost enough to make me wish I could drink to forget. Right now I’m not in a particularly social mood either and I’m sure I will be even less inclined toward interacting with other humans after dealing with my relatives on Thursday.

No, I won’t have to eat this. But in the end, I don’t know if eating humble pie is worth a high class meal. I’d rather be home alone eating White Castles, truth be told.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so despondent. I do have a family. I get along with my parents for the most part and am at least on speaking terms with my sisters. But these get togethers serve to sort of rub my failure in my face. I’ve never really done anything worthwhile other than somehow manage not to either starve to death or become a victim of a spree killer, and being around my sisters only underscores the point.

I know it’s been a long time, but a tortured childhood is a gift that keeps on giving!

Steve-o has managed to thoroughly piss off my granddaughter’s mother- so much so that I would be pleasantly surprised if I will be able to have any interaction with my granddaughter again. He’s actually at the point of wanting to do what the male contributor of his DNA did- signing off his parental rights- which will in effect make me a stranger on the street. Yeah, I know, the whole biz with relationships and so forth- and I am a cynical one. I have to admit I pretty much anticipated this, though I am thoroughly disgusted with the POMC and the way he’s handling things. It breaks my heart. When it comes to kids in Ohio courts fathers have no rights except to pay up. I’m pissed at him- because I warned him not to be such a dick to her- but I also understand the futility of him trying to maintain any kind of meaningful relationship with his daughter when her mother won’t speak to or deal with him for whatever reason. The courts always side with mothers in this state, unless they’re crack heads or serial killers and sometimes even then. She is a good mother, and her relationship to Steve-o or to any of the rest of the family is not an issue there. If she doesn’t want him or any of us around her kid, she can and will get her way.

This is reason enough for me to avoid the forced family togetherness this week. I’m pissed at my own son, won’t get to see my granddaughter, and have to deal with my parents and my two sisters. Damn, I wish I could have a nice, stiff drink. Or twelve.

I’m ~~almost~~ considering feigning communicable illness to avoid the compulsory Thanksgiving roadtrip to my sister’s house, where I will have my poverty, marriage to a drunken redneck, and my painful lack of any sort of meaningful accomplishments rubbed in my face yet again. Hello, punchbowl! The turd has arrived! That’s how I feel when I go to her house, and I have to drive 100 miles to do it. Me in my Goodwill and Target discount rack clothes, driving a Toyota Yaris, showing up about as welcome as Cousin Eddy (remember Christmas Vacation) in this suburban wonderland of palatial homes and BMWs. It’s depressing. I don’t know why I even bother showing up, because I know my sisters are ashamed of me anyway. I give them something to laugh at, or perhaps my saga serves as a cautionary tale for their offspring. Even so, I don’t really think either one of them would give two shits in a baggie whether I showed up or not- except that, for whatever it’s worth, I do bring homemade pies.

I may be poor and not good for much, but I can cook.

There is a bright spot. I have to work on Friday. So I have a good excuse to beat feet quickly after dinner and not stay overnight at my sister’s. Then I’d end up having to go through the hell of Black Friday shopping with the two of them and my Mom. I think I’d rather slit my wrists with a rusty razor blade and slowly die of exsanguination. The rusty razor blade would afford a far more pleasant death than traipsing through Nordstrom’s (there’s a place where I am definitely the turd in the punchbowl) while my sister runs around flashing her plastic and Mom’s gawking at all sorts of fugly high dollar kitsch she can’t afford.

I like mustard too, but NOBODY needs this!

I can’t get into the holidays. I wish I could- but I have no money and no time to do any of the things that would make the holidays fun. I thought I would at least be able to enjoy some time with my granddaughter, but I highly doubt that will happen either, thanks to my son and his abysmal relationship skills.

If I could avoid my entire family and all the holiday crud and come out sometime in March or April that would be OK with me. But, alas, the drippy winter funk begins. I know I have to deal. Oh, and I have to remember to go to Target and get my scripts. I don’t want to run out of Prozac anytime soon.

I’ll be armed with the camera for both my Thanksgiving Dinner in the Punchbowl and the OSU/Michigan Beer Drinking and Football Outing. Comedy is the flipside of tragedy, and I’m going to be trolling for comedy this week for sure. If I can get past the tears, that is.

Here we go again!

Channeling for Dummies, and a “Today In History” Lesson

November 14, 2012Tonya Lanthron 2 Comments

Today in History, July 27, 1974 : Congress began impeachment proceedings on Richard Nixon.

I have to provide a slight disclaimer here. I don’t believe in spiritism or communicating with the dead. It is possible to communicate with the spirit world alright, but according to the Bible when one does that, you’re not talking to your dear departed Aunt Frances and you’re not channeling up George Burns. Even though you think you might be chatting with someone who’s taking the Dirt Nap, you’ve really been having a convo with Beezelbub and company. Of course, in Obama’s case, the line between him and Beezelbub is rather blurred anyway. I’m already convinced that they are already quite good chums, and that Beezelbub’s been in charge of the teleprompter all along. Just my opinion, that, but I’m pretty sure of it.

She does have skin like a rhinoceros, but not necessarily in a good way. How about some Oil of Olay?

Not long ago, Hillary Clinton claimed to have gotten messages from Eleanor Roosevelt (Eleanor being the only First Lady I can think of who was both more radical and homelier than both Hillary Clinton and Michelle Obama, but I digress) which not only speaks volumes about where Hillary’s coming from, but about just how extreme Obama and his minions really are. Learning from history is one thing. Expecting historical figures to take a hiatus from the Great Beyond just to talk to you speaks both to your own personal narcissism as well as your own insecurities.

This being said, if Obama wants to glean some useful information from the Great Beyond (and again, I don’t believe it’s possible to do that) then Richard Nixon is his man. If the people can convince the do-nothing Congress to grow a pair and impeach Obama as should have been done early in 2009, that is. It could happen. I hope it does.

There is no “working with” Obama and his cronies. Appeasement does not work with bullies.

The situation the Republicans in Congress have with Obama and his cronies reminds me a lot of myself growing up. I was the weak and sickly nerdy kid- bad coordination, bad clothes, thick glasses, the whole nerd package. I got the hell beaten out of me on an almost daily basis. I had my things stolen and broken, and my oldest sister especially, did this with impunity. My sister didn’t stop taking my stuff and pounding on me until she took my car and ran it out of gasoline and almost out of oil. I finally got pissed, saw red, and on sheer adrenaline alone, I beat the living shit out of her. To this day- 26 years later- she will not ask to drive any car I own. Appeasement just convinces bullies that they can extort more and more and that they never have to compromise. Appeasing a bully just makes you the bully’s whipping post. Take it from someone who knows. The only way to defeat a bully is to fight back and show him/her that no means no.

Yes, we the people CAN remove a failed president.

As far as the Thief in Chief, I don’t condone violence or any remedy for B.O.’s despotic and likely illegal regime that isn’t specifically provided for in the Constitution. The Framers of the Constitution understood human nature and built in a remedy for the people to remove a president who oversteps his boundaries and/or breaks the law. Obama has already committed multiple impeachable offenses. It’s just a matter of the leaders in the House of Representatives having the stones to not just call him on it but to actually DO it. The Senate will follow suit when they realize that the public outrage against Obama might just extend to them too. Stranger things have happened.

Even though impeachment might be a sort of symbolic thing (like it was with Bill Clinton) it effectively kept him under wraps and was at the very least a form of damage control.

Personally I think Obama should take the hint from Dick Nixon and bypass the drama, although I doubt if his incredible narcissism will allow him to. Resign now and keep at least a shred of dignity, or wait until all the dirty scandals are dragged out in the open.

Sometimes the Truth Hurts, I Am Not a Confectioner, and an Update from Fly-Over Country

October 24, 2012Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

I think Little Mogadishu (corner of Morse & Westerville Rd.s in NE Columbus) was an excellent place to display this sign.

I’ve always believed the First Amendment works both ways. Unfortunately when conservatives exercise their First Amendment rights, some ass-pilot has to jump in and block that freedom of expression, and they succeed in doing it far too often.

The Voter Fraud sign- which is part of the Ohio Revised Code- was deemed to be “racially offensive” and that it caused “voter intimidation” because it was put up in neighborhoods where voter fraud might be an issue (i.e. precincts that supported Obama heavily back in 2008.) Unfortunately Clear Channel caved in and removed the signs, leaving us with another public service announcement asking whether or not we know if we are using the right car seat.

Granted, car seat safety is important, but so is making sure people understand that when you vote you follow the rules. What is racist or intimidating about that- unless of course, your aim is to cheat, wink-wink? This sign should only be intimidating to potential cheaters as far as I’m concerned. What’s the problem? Oh, apparently conservatives are not protected by the First Amendment?

This really pisses me off.

I am voting- at my polling place on Nov. 6th, because early voting in Franklin County is being held at a location in a not-so-safe part of town, where I feel intimidated even in broad daylight- smack in the middle of the ‘hood. I’m sure I’m not the only one of a certain ethnic background (aka: white people) who feels that way either. But I am voting once, under one name, after showing my ID and signing the book, in accordance with Ohio law. The voter fraud billboard wouldn’t bother me in the least if it were displayed in my little corner of suburbia- or on every corner- because I plan on following the rules. Why is it “offensive” down in the ‘hood? Why do I have to be afraid to go to the early voting center because of how it’s oh, so strategically placed? Which voters are being intimidated here?

I may not vote early, for fear of not surviving the parking lot of the early voting center in one piece, or with a car in one piece, but I’m still voting. I just want to be sure my name is in the book at my precinct and that my ballot is counted correctly.

I’m not a confectioner and I don’t candy coat the truth. Racism sucks no matter which direction it’s pointed, and frankly I am tired of being made to feel guilty for being white and for refusing to apologize for being conservative.

It breaks my heart to see what Obama has done in this country, but especially in the arena of race relations. I have friends of many different races – even Jerry is mostly Native American- and it makes me sad to see the veracity with which most black people hold on to the very ideologies that keep them from achieving more and getting off of governmental dependence. I hate Obama’s politics not because he’s half black but because his politics are dangerous and wrong. As far as I’m concerned Marxism, socialism and communism are failed ideologies that need to be consigned to the waste bin of history- just like the list of “50 difficult things you can do to ‘save the earth'” list the greenies put out some time ago (which would be funny- if it wasn’t so downright lamebrained.)

I am afraid Obama’s woeful mishandling of foreign policy, his utter ignorance of history, and his thorough disdain for the importance of the Constitutional mandate for national defense is going to prove to be deadly for not only the US but the rest of the formerly free world.

As far as displaying billboards with laws and penalties on them, why aren’t the smokers screaming about this one:

These are posted in all sorts of places where smokers might want to light up!

I don’t condone smoking. In fact, I loathe it in my car and in my house and Jerry is well aware of that fact. But the anti-smoking sign follows the same principle of the voter fraud sign- the no smoking sign would only prove offensive to those who wish to violate the no smoking rule- yet these puppies are posted in just about every public place where a smoker might think it safe to light up. It’s supposed to deter the smoker from violating the law. What’s wrong with posting a law in a place where people may violate that law, to discourage them from violating that law? If it’s not the law and just a threat, I’d understand the whole intimidation charge. If it were legal to light up in public places and you posted a no smoking under penalty of law type sign then it would be intimidating smokers from doing something legal. People voting multiple times, dead people voting, and ineligible people voting is illegal. What’s the problem with pointing that out?

On a lighter note, Joe Biden made an appearance at the high school in Marion today (retch, gag, barf) but he forgot he was in OHIO and not IOWA. People in Ohio do know the difference between Ohio and Iowa. Ohio is further east and not quite as flat- for those not acquainted with the Midwest or who have never been to fly-over country. I hope the people in my hometown see through this laughable ass-clown. The Democrats have heavily contributed to fact the place has become a cracktown with very few jobs besides welfare. I will have to get the lowdown from the locals, but I don’t think he attracted too much of a crowd- other than the high school students who were probably forced to attend.

The actual movie “Beavis and Butthead do America” was funny, but these two ass-clowns are tragic.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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